The French

No surprises yet. My French, which I have been decrying for weeks as justification for lynching, has turned out to be more successful than I expected. The right words just seem to fly out of my mouth. I visited the school’s “campus” yesterday to pick up some paperwork, and today to use their computers (LibertySurf, the free French Internet service provider I installed, had screwed my TCP/IP preferences; all is fine now). I am struggling to keep an open mind about my classmates, as I will be spending the next year with them, but they are working overtime to stimulate my misanthropy. They remind me of when I first returned to school last year: I couldn’t figure out what that supercilious grin was on everyone’s faces. A constant, subconscious smirk. I’ve decided this is the smirk of privilege. This is what a certain type of spoiled child who knows he’s got a good thing going wears. That is what my classmates are wearing. Otherwise. Paris radio is way, way better than New York City radio. More variety, fewer commercials. Lots of African and Middle Eastern music, more ecletic programs. Cloudy and rainy yesterday, mostly cloudy and drizzly early today, partly sunny later. It took an hour and 15 minutes to get from Charles De Gaulle airport to my apartment. Cabs are not driven exclusively by immigrants and men. The subway cars run on big rubber tires like you’d find on a bus. Makes for a quiet ride.

Posted June 7, 2000

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