All the way at the bottom of the Purple Lake ( Read more... )

tomorrow I am leaving France and all my students who give me going-away drawings that kick cul, such as one of this animé (?) warriorish guy with an enormous knife, which is reflecting many startled faces. next to it is written "good bye carrie." they also color their scabs. kids are kids all around the world, it turns out. and then they turn ( Read more... )

elementary schools smell like locker rooms in this 31°C heat. the kids still ask surprising questions and one eight year old girl does strip-tease sort of dances when I ask them to mimick animals. I'm leaving in less than two weeks now; I'm exhausted, excited, emotional ( Read more... )

france is on strike. I am crossing off calendar days like pulling off petals. we will see what happens at the end. I argue a lot with little kids. get drunk and see students on the tram. have given up on arguing with crazy middle aged roomate who, preemtively defensive, explains in a sin-cosin voice why it's necessary to kill bears (e.g. "if ( Read more... )

I have this class of six CE2s... the equivalent of 2nd graders in the states. I usually refer to them as "my monsters" but I'm considering redubbing them "assholes" since that is a more just description of how they behave. they are jerks. the three girls gang up on the one preciously mouse-ish looking boy and make fun of him till he cries. ( Read more... )

remember that time down by the bay- when we were deserted by everyone we walked down through the trees with? remember how you carried three beers in your jacket and I kept one like a joey in my pocket? we saw stars in the water, that night, remember? we weren't even on any drugs. just lukewarm beers and summer licking at the corners of our ( Read more... )

paris is a funny thing, when you're cold and stuck in shoes that insist on walking with feet that have no one to talk to. looking for philosophies in the hand rolled cigarettes of the bearded men, the sway backed steps, the curving cobblestone. straining for comedy in the metro mazes, the exotic pop songs, and empty green bottles ( Read more... )

so, commuting is cool. as if waking up with a head full of snot to go fight with eight year olds about whether "football" means "rugby" or "soccer," there's the added bonus of the ride to work, when the sun's not yet scraped the sleep out of its eyes, and all the world is in the greatest of moods ( Read more... )

I'm sorry. I can't help it. little kids are weirdos and frozen spit is funny. some things in life aren't worth arguing about ( Read more... )

tonight I went with catherine chez astrid who is little and incessantly moving her hands as she talks, smiling. we spoke in french like motorboats- speeding from the second we entered to the moment of our departure- what is being french or a woman or someone's ex... what is the meaning of "manipulation?" are we gullible or just ignorant? trying ( Read more... )