mitochondria watch that plasma nerd blog post #13
Sooo yesterday I met Merrill, another lecteur in my department at the train station. I walked there. It's on the other side of town and took only 30 minutes. I love how everything is so close. I took her to the slum motel and she got a room. That makes 3 out of 5 in the English department who now live there. Hilarious.
At 2pm I was to meet my French date, Pierre-Antoine. This story is chock full of typical Hinckster awkwardness.. Get ready. Pascal's advice was to be late. I guess that's fashionable? I took his advice, but am really bad at being late, so was there at about 2:03. Which is late. No P-A. I waited. 2:10. I'm getting annoyed. 10 minutes late for a first date? For me, that's kind of unacceptable. I decided that the best idea was to hide around a corner and wait for him to get there so that I would be the later one. Okay, so we were meeting in this big square called Champs Jacquet at the big statue of the famous man. When I met P-A on Saturday, I learned that he lived just around the corner from the slum, so I knew which way he would be coming. From around the corner, I could stand on this store window ledge (a foot off the ground or so) and peek through that window, and then through another, to have a good view of both the statue AND the road he should have walked down. Good idea? Nope. Busted. "Emilie?" He was right behind me. He asked what I was doing.. Waiting, I said. Hiding, he asked? Umm... Busted. I had nothing.
We went to a restaurant/cafe place. He ordered so fast that I didn't understand. I didn't know if he had ordered a beer, or a sandwich, or a coffee.. I didn't want to order a giant pint if he was to receive a little OJ. So I said the same. A double espresso came. The first thing I did was to cross my legs under the table, which knocked the table and his piping hot coffee all over his trendy pants and white shirt... Oopsies. He got another one. It was kind of bad.
The awkwardness basically ends there. We had a good chat and then, after talking about his dog (!) for a long time, went to meet the dog. This dog is a giant, all white beauty. I love dogs. We chilled at his place, and had another coffee. He offered me yet another one. No! A double espresso AND a cup of coffee is enough, Pierre-Antoine! What are you thinking? I had H2O. Then we took the dog for a walk. We went this back way out of his building which is right on the Vilaine. It was really pretty - not next to a road at all, but just like the country. It led to a huge field with tall grass, and then into a forest. Very cool. Then back along the river and looped around back to his place. A nice, long walk. With dog.
The dog's name? Thelma. I thought that was totally bizarre. Thelma is a grandma's name. Not a huge white dog. So strange, Pierre-Antoine.
After that, I went to Cynthia's and read over her med school essay. She studied genetics and French at the University of Rochester and is applying to med school for next September. She left today, actually, to return to Texas (her home state) for 2 interviews, and will be back Monday.
Then her roommate came by and we went for dinner to this nice Italian place. It was pricey, which I hate, but sucked it up as I knew we were to talk about the apartment. Since she has already paid the rent for September, she said she'd move out slowly over the rest of the month and that I could take over officially on October 1st. Great news! It's a great place and I'm excited to live there. She offered that I can stay there whenever I like, and take my stuff in when I like. I'd like to start next week so that Doctor can stay there with me when he's here, if she doesn't mind. There's more space and it's nicer.. Since I'll still kind of be at the slum motel, he'll definitely get to see it. Which is good, too. Someone has to see my pad there.. This girl is really nice. My age, from Indiana, went to Rochester, and had our job last year. She's great for telling us about the job and the city. And is really happy that a Torontonian is taking her room - she says she loves Canadians. Obvi. Then she paid for the whole dinner as a welcome presie! I couldn't believe it. So nice.
After that, we met the other lecteurs on Thirsty Street for a bevvie and then I went home and to bed.
I'm not sure what I'll do today. I might get a bike and do the epic ride I wanted to do Sunday. I have no administrative things to do, and I start work tomorrow. With Cynthia gone, I look forward to a day by myself. But with two other lecteurs in my building, eager to hang, I might see them a bit, too. I don't know yet.
I would just like to say how much I love being Canadian. I really do. Most people guess I'm American. I always say, "NON!" really loudly, as if I'm offended (I'm not) and then, with a big smile, "Je suis canadienne!" They always laugh and become much more at ease.. They love Canadians. Everyone knows someone who moved to Canada and never came back, which I guess is proof that it's good. They also think I'm brave for handling the winters there since it never snows here. More than a couple of people have said that my parents must be nice people. They are, but weird comment! They also know that most of Canada is English-speaking, so they like that I embrace the Quebec side of Canada. And Toronto is a famous city, so they like to ask about the big buildings there. Basically, by saying, "Je suis canadienne," I win a free smile, conversation, and immediate respect. Plus, a difference in saying it in French than in English, is that in one short sentence I include both my nationality and my gender. So really there's no confusion anywhere. I see the difference it makes being Canadian when I'm with Cynthia. They ask her which state, she says Texas, they call her a cowboy (this has happened almost every time), all parties laugh, and then they just want to talk about Canada. It makes me really proud. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
With Canadianne pride,
Hincks.
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6 comments:
When I was in university, I went on a first date with a woman to an Indian restaurant, but it was in England, and English people are, of course, notoriously short. So the table was quite low. We had just ordered a bottle of French red wine (yes, it was Indian, and I don't usually drink heavy French reds with Indian food, but it was a date, right?), and I pulled in my chair, but I banged my knee against the (irresponsibly low) table, and sent wine flying everywhere, mostly over my date, and her clothes, particularly a beautiful sweater that her mom had sewn for her just before she left for her trip to England, which is where one would go to meet clumsy Canadian boys. So she went to the bathroom to mop up and I had to just sit there and eat poppadoms while eight Indian waiters scurried around to clean the wine off of their walls and linens. The date and I were together for three years after that.
Thelma strikes me as a perfectly lovely name for a dog. Also, I hate to be the guy to burst patriotic bubbles*, but they don't like your country Emily: they just hate the United States. They probably know sixteen people who have moved to the States, promptly ripped up their French passports, weathered snow gamely in some dreary place like Minnesota or the Dakotas, and were born to saintly parents who raised them to dream of a better place, where the government isn't run by a cabal of cheese-sniffing farmers. But those anecdotes are conveniently forgotten. They're prejudiced against ordinary Americans because of their idiot President, for whom a whopping 21% of the U.S. population voted, and fawning over Canadians is just a socially acceptable way to express that prejudice. Like they're so frickin' impressed by Toronto: a big tower? MILLIONS of people? Is it possible? So transparent. They're on the rebound, kid. Don't be fooled.
DP
*So not true.
My dear DP,
You could never burst my bubble(s) with such long comments. You have me smiling throughout. You write just as you talk, and it feels like we're at the Green Room, sipping on warm beer and talking for hours.. Your date story made me LOL in Esprit Cafe, and I shared the story with Pascal. Thanks for always trying (and failing!) to burst my bubble. You must know by now, though, that it is an impenetrable one. 63 points for your comment, Mr Peer, and love from Rennes.
I'd like an audit to see how you arrived at 63 points. I'm writing eulogies on Facebook and strident blog comments that rival the original post in length (it wasn't meant to be long, just kinda got out of control), while spinster Bronco gets 73 points for a t-bomb, which, by necessity, could not contained more than 160 characters. You, missy, have to respect the 80/20 rule.
DP
P.S. I wrote that comment on my laptop, in the Green Room, warm beer sitting in front of me on an empty table, yammering to nobody.
One more thing: we're getting closer with the layout. Purple is a nice colour on you; you should wear it more often.
I COULD say something about how, if Dave and Emily order just the right sort of wine while dining together, she probably WILL wear more purple, but since I've never even met him, that would be kind of mean. So I won't.
Instead, I will just confirm Dave's analysis. In more than four months in France, I don't believe I ever received a compliment about being Canadian that didn't include some invidious comparison with Americans. It's grossly unfair. Almost as unfair as taking cheap shots at spilly people.
What I'm prepared to believe, however, is that they sincerely like Emily, our Canadienne errant.
I am finally all caught up!
I love vicariously reliving your adventures in Europa. I think someone really does need to publish this. I was distraught when you went you knocked over the coffee and overjoyed when Cynthia picked up the cheque.
Tech week is a bit crazy, would have loved if you were here but France sounds like incredible fun. I thought you might enjoy reading this in the meantime:
http://www.nowtoronto.com/stage/story.cfm?content=164885
Best,
M
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