#13

Actually, a lot has happened since you heard from me last my most cherished friends and acquaintances I sort of want to impress. For example, I took a week long intensive program in French. For those of you who are aware of the hilariously tragic ineptness of the portion of my life subtitled “Andrew’s adventures in learning foreign languages,” (for example when, during a french oral exam in college, while trying to describe things I didn’t like to do (je deteste), I repeatedly told my interviewer that I hated her (je te deteste) you may already be aware, too, that mild forms of hilarity ensued.

Probably the most amusing part to me was that each day had a theme around which the studying and activity occurred. On the third day the theme was “the myth of the weak female.” The only other guy in the class dropped out the day before, so that was a fun day for me.

Probably the best part was, at the end of the day, organizing a feminist rally in French ,which came naturally. A poor mythical French woman had been fired for getting pregnant and we were rallying on her behalf. I came up with a number of slogans, of course, including “Fire my husband, I’m working for two,” “My cravings? Pickles, Ice Creams, a Job,” “My husband is an astronaut” (a long story. Okay, not that long a story. An activity earlier in the day involved a faux family counseling session where it turned out the difficult was that she had to take care of the baby all the time, as he was an astronaut. Later this turned out to be only a prelude, as the REAL tragedy was his dalliance, on the Russian space station, with a woman named Svenka. Our hearts were broken because of Svenka. Why couldn’t he take the baby into space with him sometimes?) and “don’t mess with me I’m large and angry.” Probably my favorite though was a little drawing I did of a woman sitting at a computer typing, and then a baby in swaddling clothes, sitting in a tiny chair next to her, also at a tiny computer, and typing. First, it’s adorable, second it’s practical.

The first day the theme was love. My French love letter was ultimately voted best in the class. Why, you ask? Because I didn’t understand the direction (inasmuch as they were in French) and broke pretty much every guideline. So well done there…

(The letter was from superman to Lois Lane. Honey, I have to tell you, I have an entirely secret identity. But I don’t want you to worry. You can trust me, even though I’ve lied to you about every single thing about me and have this double life which involves me leaving at all hours of the day and night to save the lives of beautiful women who are, afterwards, very grateful. No big, right? Hey, has anyone ever tried this as an adultery defense?)

The other thing that happened was a new chapter in my ongoing feud with the library. I wanted to check out a book over my lunch break but again, I already had 10 out. Because God knows, WRITING A DISSERTATION AND AN ESSAY ON SAMUEL BECKETT SHOULD IN NO WAY TAKE MORE THAN 10 BOOKS, RIGHT? I went back to French class to bitch about this (in English, so upset was I), only to hear that undergraduates are apparently allowed to check out FOUR books at a time. I was horrified. “How can that possibly be?” I said. One of them asked me what the big deal was. She could, she said, only read one book at a time anyway.
Sometimes real academics like to, you know, reference things from time to time. You know, to do work that’s actually relevant and worth doing and professional. But hey, what do I know?
During an afternoon break I walked back to my dorm, took a checked out book from there, returned it, and checked out the one I’d been looking at AFTER class, because I’m never going to let those particular illegitimus me carborundum. But it was a darn close run thing.

The list of things I hate now looks like this:
1. Racism, Intolerance, injustice, baseball cards
2. Journalism, Journalists
3. A world with no puppies
4. Trinity College Library

The French thing was two weeks ago; this week Maggie came to visit me over her spring break. We had an excellent time. St. Paddy’s day came and went and we saw a bizarre parade full of hungover highschool students from the United States and drank beer out of Gatorade bottles like the extremely classy folks we are. Later, Maggie took me out, for my pretend birthday (more on that later) to (my choice) what was supposed to be a pretty good Mexican restaurant, something I’d never dared attempt on my own. It started with the margarita, which promised a smooth, “creamy” taste, “unlike anything you’ve ever tasted.” Indeed it was like nothing I’d ever tasted, as I consider most Margaritas possible to be drunk with at least a modicum of pleasure. I might have gotten the hint, as “creamy” is not an adjective I would seek out in margarita experimentation, but I didn’t. Then the salsa, which was probably ragu, was poured on top of a bowl of burnt chips, and cost five euros. Then nachos with beef, involving chips, ground beef, something green resembling guacamole, and a couple fragments of melted cheese. Thus endeth experiment Mexicaine, without pleasure.
(It was MexiCAN’T! HA!)

At least the company was good. I mean my company, for Maggie. I’m a charming rake, if you hadn’t noticed.

Sometimes I have to call people’s attention to it.

Another basketball game, performed about up to my usual standards. Three or so minutes played, 1-2 (I know, that drops my average from .750 to the sign of the beast, but I guess that’s more appropriate). The guys tell me my one make was a kind of cool looking hook shot. I don’t remember, myself, all I can recall is getting the ball while pretty much unguarded under the basket and thinking “if I don’t put this in, they’ll never let me on the court again.”

Anyway, I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure my minutes and points per game is pretty much identical with J.J. Redick’s, on the Orlando Magic, and that my shooting percentages are probably even better, and he was a former college player of the year, if memory serves. So I’ll be waiting for that call from the Magic. You know, NBADL. That’s all I’m saying.

(Seriously though, lest this sound bitter, I’m having a great time on the team. Sometimes people get upset while playin the game, but in general we act like a B team. Hell, we look like a B team. I play all the time in practice. It’s all good.)

What else? Nothin’ man. This is getting really long and I got some damn work to do. So final word:

I may regret this entirely but I’ve decided it might be fun to make this a little interactive. Since during my actual birthday, in April, I’ll be in Spain or some place, Maggie brought me several lovely birthday presents. One of these was an itunes gift card. Now, I love new music, but if I don’t know that it exists, I can hardly know that I want it, can I? Thus an open invitation to anyone out there who is reasonably familiar with my music tastes and knows some kickin’ tunes: feel free to suggest songs for me to download avec le fiche d’itunes. I may take you up on it. And if I don’t like it, I’ll come to your house with a bunch of spray paint cans and spray them into the air, emitting tons and tons of fluorocarbons into the atmosphere weakening the ozone layer directly above where you live and melting your house. It’s kind of a high stakes game, but that’s what makes it so exciting.