Niveau 4!

J'aime tellement niveau 4, beaucoup plus que 3.  J'aime mes professeurs et les etudiants; il n'y a pas trop d'étudiants cette fois!  Il y a 11 dans le cours, un numéro qui est parfait a mon avis.  Je sens confortable avec l'environnement, et je suis TRÈS contente sur le sujet de mes examens pour la placement.  J'ai scored à niveau 5 (le niveau le plus haut) en expression et écriture et ma nature compétitive est vraiment heureuse à la moment.  Je souhaite que ce n'est pas necessaire pour moi de sauter une seméstre; je veux plutôt finir la diplôme immediatement!

Ignorez, s'il vous plaît, mes erreurs d'accentation et de la grammaire.

Chin chin!

Je ne le crois pas...  J'ai fini niveau 3!  Ça fait longtemps depuis j'ai posté.  Je crée des nouveaux mots, excusez-moi.  Donc, oui, shit got real.  Mais, je pense que je suis fonctionnelle en français maintenant.  Sûr, ma grammaire est terrible parfois, et je ne sais pas toute la vocabulaire, mais je bien comprends et peux repondre awesomely quand je suis dans le droit état d'esprit.  Je suis sûr que je fais beaucoup de erreurs ici!  Je me promets que je ne utilise rien des utiles comme Google Translate...  C'est seulement pour pratiquer mon français.

For the first four weeks of this last level, which was complete immersion, I was utterly blocked.  But two weeks ago, I woke up and suddenly French clicked into place.  I can use relatively complex sentence structures (but not a couple of important tenses, like the subjunctive or conditionals), speak fluidly and with excellent pronunciation.  It's absolutely true, and I'm just so fucking proud of myself today, the day of the last two final exams.  So fucking proud.  It's not much longer now.

It is such a joy to be alive!  Nine days, free of work and school, stretch before me, to be filled with afternoons of lying in the garden in my yellow bikini, painting furniture bright colors, cooking excellent meals, reading and watching Sailormoon (I am on like episode 60/200 right now, and I still feel like I got an A somehow).  I haven't had a single day off for thirteen weeks, including weekends.  I am sure you don't blame me for forgetting to post for almost a month.  ;)

I made things even more challenging by starting my very first 30 Day Challenge (see www.ted.com)...  To run 5k every morning at 6:15 AM for the next month.  I realized on day 4 that this is unreasonable, and amended it with "running interspersed with days of weight lifting."  I'm on day 7 today and I find it very easy and simple to wake up 40 minutes earlier to get in some extra exercise.  I feel closer to my ancient ancestors, closer to the earth, when I run in the morning.  There are a few moments when most of the city is asleep but everything else is wide awake.  Why sleep through it?

Finally, all of my tuition is paid, through level 5 (the final level).  I will obtain, fingers crossed, my certificate of proficiency at the beginning of December, 2012.  And I will have accomplished my "30-years-old goal," which is to become fluent in another language.  I could cry right now I am so happy.  WAIT.  Still two levels to go.

Level 4 begins in 9 days.  BRING IT.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

I'm armed and dangerous.  With Rosetta Stone.  Watch out world.

Felix and I had our first dance lesson in a month today; what with all of our traveling and his crazy schedule and Pierre and Mireille off adjutanting or whatever at different comps around the world, it's been hard to find the time.  Breakthroughs on waltz (1 hour), foxy (20 mins) and quickstep (20 mins).  There was a 20-something standard dancer there who kept checking himself out and I'd keep catching him at it, and it was completely redonkulous.  He is a decent dancer, pre-champ I'm sure, but his dainty posturing didn't give him a particularly virile edge; at least Felix has that going for him.  Anyway, this guy would paste on his vapid waltz smile and sashay around the room, stop in front of the mirror, puff out his chest, examine his bubble butt and then catch me with my eyebrows raised and twinkletoes off in a new direction.  This happened at least four times during my lesson.

Whenever Felix and I get into frame, we have a silent war with our clasped, outstretched hands.  He wants my hand to fit his a certain way, but I want it to be a different way, and we stand there battling with our thumbs until we reach a compromise.  Pierre thought this was singularly funny, us with our airy smiles, standing gracefully for long periods of time while the music leaves us behind, squishing and twiddling our hands midair.  Well, we finally solved this problem today!  All Felix has to do is hold his hand up in a mitten shape at a 45-degree angle!  We are using the parallel thumb hold rather than the crossed thumb hold.

And at least 5 times during our lesson, Felix would screw up and shout out "TA-ber-NAC!" (an old-fashioned Québecois curse word with roughly the same oomph as "FUCK IT!") and the moms of the little kid couple (dayum those kids are skilled) would look up in startled irritation every time.  Pierre would dissolve in peals of delighted laughter.  In addition to being a 12-time North American Ten-Dance Champion, he loves slang, dirty words and especially scandalizing people.  Fun times.

In other news, I got a bombshell e-mail from my trainer manager that pretty much knocked me into grad school pre-exam levels of stress...  Apparently, the Japanese coordinator wants to give me another Japanese test.  Why?  No clue.  I took one last fall, and I'm sure as hell not going to score much higher now unless they give me some time to get my vocabulary up to par.  And Caspian is [rightfully] pressuring me to get more serious about French, as my certification studies at McGill University are about 6 months away (if all goes well, financially).  Oof.  And thus, Rosetta Stone!  Caspian gave Level 1 a test drive this afternoon and now I hear a calm woman's voice announcing une fille!  un homme!  un avion!  une fille et un cheval! over and over in my brain. I also learned today that 'hangover' in French is mal à les cheveux, something like 'hair trouble' or even 'hairache.'  Weird.

Oy vey.

Despite oversleepings and apocalyptic nap dreams (naps are unavoidable after oversleeping) involving falling down a mineshaft in Arizona in a pitch-black, out-of-control elevator after being chased by sentient bulldozers speaking German (Hitler apparently won the war?), I will post.  I'm not precisely in the most buoyant of moods, but there is chicken pie in the oven and Caspian and I will be making margarita-esque drinks in our new blender (we actually received about 10-15% of the stuff on our modest wedding registry and have been slowly acquiring the needed items ourselves, one by one).  I say margarita-esque because we will be ditching the cointreau and adding puréed raspberries, and perhaps an extra splash of tequila beyond the 4 parts in the classic recipe.

Our car is rented, our taxes are belatedly done (US taxes are allowed to be quite late, due to our foreign address and the fact that we had to do taxes for two countries) with fabulous results, a kitty-sitter has been procured and I have one more week of work before a much-needed vacation.

I have seen a whole pile of movies in the past week:  Iron Man 2 (fun!), The Orphanage (incredible and completely demented), Bridesmaids (I laughed until I cried), X-Men: First Class (I LOVED IT AND ESPECIALLY MAGNETO :X) and V for Vendetta (well, it was actually the 2nd time, but dayum, Hugo Weaving's voice is mesmerising).  I think Hugo Weaving possesses the paragon of English-speaking voices.

Felix is speaking French more and more in person and over the phone, and I can't decide if he's doing it by accident or on purpose, to improve my ear.  It sounds completely accidental, almost like he's taking for granted the fact that I understand him, when he used to meticulously translate each tiny phrase into English (to practice for himself, I think).  I so desperately want to be bilingual.  Unfortunately, I was getting a migraine in the car after our practice yesterday morning and he was relentless about making me pronounce rouge and rire properly.  Which I can't.  Arrrrgh, French.

We had a long discussion about the pragmatism of English vs. the conventions of French.  For example, accents in English are common.  It is, for good or ill, the language of international business.  Hearing and accepting and enjoying accentation, even and especially within the realm of native English, is as natural to me as breathing, yet Felix insists that there is only one true way to speak each French word; anything different is not French.  He told me his sister slightly rolls her Rs, and that it's wrong.  His brother speaks through his nose, and it's wrong.  Felix is such a purist.  Caspian uses much harsher consonants than I do (which I had never noticed until Raomi pointed it out to me), but his version of English is just as valid.  I think it has to do with culture more than language.  I don't even notice accents half the time.

Oh man, this "margarita" is killer.  Probably 5 parts raspberries, 8 parts tequila, 4 parts lime, and ice.  And a smidge of sugar.

Shinseiko's Honey Lemon Oatmeal Cookies

I was up at 7am, sweeping, mopping, cleaning and cooking, just for the heck of it; I made egg salad (with horseradish, minced red onions, dijon mustard and dill), oatmeal cookies and wheat bread.  Caspian planted his herb and vegetable seedlings into their little places in his hanging garden.  It was uncommonly beautiful outside; the atmosphere here in Quebec is much different than where I grew up in the south - deepest blue skies, plenty of wind, tall firs and other evergreen trees that like the cold temperatures.  I jogged a good 6 miles or so in the afternoon, then slept...  Ahh, life is beautiful.  Except Jesper chewed through the USB cord of my keyboard and thus I am forced to type on my tiny netbook.  I ordered a new one, and also won an eBay auction for an otherwise pricey headset to replace one that Jesper nommed.

I cobbled together a surprisingly healthy recipe that I am SURE you will enjoy.

Shinseiko's Honey Lemon Oatmeal Cookies

1/2 c lightly packed brown sugar or to taste
1/4 c honey or to taste
2-3 T butter (or margarine)
1 egg
1/8 t nutmeg
1/8 t cinnamon
1/2 c flour (any kind, white, wheat, all-purpose; I only had bread flour and whole wheat, so I used wheat)
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt (or to taste)
1 1/2 c quick oats (more or less, depending on how runny you want your dough)
A dash of water, if needed

For frosting:
1 t lemon juice, freshly squeezed (a little bit of zest might be good too)
1 T margarine or butter
1/2 c loose confectioner's sugar (adjust to make frosting thicker or thinner)

Mix egg, butter, water, honey and sugar together to make a paste.  In another bowl, mix all of the remaining ingredients.  Add the dry ingredients to the wet paste and mix thoroughly.  Drop onto a nonstick cookie sheet and bake at 350 F for about 13 or 14 minutes.

After the cookies have cooled, gently melt the butter and mix up your frosting ingredients to make a lemony glaze.  Drizzle or dollop on your cookies.  Wait a few minutes for the glaze to harden, then enjoy!

This recipe only makes about 1 sheet of tablespoon-sized cookies, a nice number for a 2-person household.  The interplay of the honey, lemon and spices are what makes this oaty, cakey cookie a joy to eat!  I thought the recipe would taste too autumny, but the lemon really makes it work.  I had five of these babies today, Caspian had more.  ++WILL MAKE AGAIN!

Tomorrow, we are invited to a garden brunch at Felix and Raomi's country house, after our dance lesson (Caspian is coming to meet my coaches, Mireille and Pierre, for the first time).  I'm relieved the world didn't end today.  Or start ending.  Or whatever.  The city may be beautiful and diverse, but I am tired of the sounds of cars.

I had my first real "French moment" on Friday night, as Felix and I were chatting with the night guard, J, at Conseil des Arts.  She and Felix were discussing the merits of the three ballrooms in the building; one has an ultra slippery floor (with mirrors), one is just right (but the room has no mirrors) and the other has a pointe floor for ballet (but beautiful mirrors), which is very gritty.  J and Felix were talking in French, and without even thinking about it, I swear, I nodded and added some of my thoughts...  In English, though.  It was effortless!  No concentration, little translation, etc. and as we made our way to our practice room, I grabbed Felix's arm, squealed in his ear and told him all about it.

I like the word cumulonimbus.

I think that's the first time I've typed cumulonimbus in my life.  Now I've done it twice!

It's a slow, gray evening.  I watched snowflakes tumble onto the earliest spring flowers this morning, and then observed the slow drumming of the chill rain upon the still-salty sidewalks.  I worked as usual, but Caspian was at home, nursing a sore throat.  I worked, worked out, worked more, read, napped, worked, drank gallons of Moroccan mint green tea (Caspian kept it coming), washed dishes, and listened to songs originating in warmer climes.

You know, it's really hard to begin something new that's huge and shapeless and daunting.  Like learning a language.  I've read articles about people who have taught themselves fluent, Tokyo-standard Japanese without setting foot in a classroom.  It's like looking through a storm through a window and drawing dry-erase diagrams of it upon the panes.  Even if I impose rules and definitions and outlines over my giant cumulonimbus (third) of a task, it's still back there, looming as it laughs at my little bullet points.

I want to learn French.  Like really, devotedly learn it, not piddle around in it.  I sit here telling myself that I could learn French myself; after all, I live in a predominately French-speaking province.  My lexicon automatically expands whenever I walk outside.  My dance partner's Parisian accent has graced movie screens.  I have identified massive quantities of online information and resources to fuel my journey, from podcasts to coursework.  Caspian would spout beautiful singer's French at me all day if I asked him to.  But from the deepest recesses of my brain comes a little voice that whispers, "You won't learn it unless you go to school for it."  This little voice is holding me back.

Caspian and I have discussed and discussed, and my daydream of attending McGill's intensive French certificate program is a likely possibility, but not until next spring, after we have established ourselves a little bit more firmly.  I was accepted into the program for this fall; all I have to do is pay tuition.  In one year, via self-study, I think it's possible to skip two levels (and a semester of tuition)...  If I could get off my ass.

Maybe if I set out all of my French books on my desk?  Maybe draw cute, compelling faces on them with a sharpie?

An R-Rated Post (by American Standards)

I thought I could be happy in almost any company.  But can't stand being around groups of young men.  Or maybe certain groups of young men?  It's depressing.

I may take pleasure in learning the foulest Québecois expletives and using them at opportune moments to make P crack up.  I don't begrudge a few choice vulgarities and keenly appreciate it when they are used with flair.  So I don't have the cleanest mouth, but variations on "fuck" are not universal adverbs/adjectives/verbs.  It's not a substitute for "um."

Have you ever paid attention to what they talk about?  Whether they are married or single, more often than not, porn, sex, anatomy and biological functions feature in dumb ways.  Yes, dumb!  I won't use a more colorful word.  There's no subtlety, there's no art, not even anything brashly erotic; it's just a race to see who can piss everybody off first, who can utter the most non-PC racist joke, who can shock the others to their breaking points by insulting their wives and girlfriends.  There must be some sort of dubious pleasure to be had in this kind of interaction, but it drags me down.  All I notice is the dirt and the shit and piss in the world when I listen to them.

On a related but more amusing note, Felix botched our double outside spin followed by two open reverse pivots (or something) one too many times during practice on Sunday morning and said hotly, "OH my damn FUCK of pivot!  Son of bitch!"  I chortled.  Later, he asked me, "So, how do I say "damn fucking of pivot shit" without sounding like son of bitch?  See, in French I might say %&pivot#* or #%&!pivot, or maybe even &pivot%#@!@! [all of which sounded like poetry to me]...?"

I really couldn't come up with anything other than the understated "darn," uttered with an ironic flair?  Expletives become jokes if you don't say them juuuuust right.

Beauty and the Breakdown

Thirty seconds ago, I sent $80 CAD and an application to McGill's Intensive French Language Certification program beginning this fall  The mere notion of returning to school makes me want to squeal and perform a spastic, seizure-like dance.  God...  I want this.

Two evenings ago, at about this time, I was sitting across from Felix at a deserted Greek restaurant somewhere off of St. Denis, drinking fumée blanche and trying not to look as intoxicated as I was.  I think I failed.  Felix told me about his theory of five; in one's lifetime, one can expect to count those people that one truly, utterly connects with on the fingers of one hand.  He explained that he pursues me so ardently because he believes I am one of his five.  Of course, I was shocked at his audacity and wept.  He also told me, very seriously, that he thinks I am insecure about some huge life choice I have made, or will make...  That I am insecure about who I am in some deep way and that I am terrified of failing to become what I want to be.  Something like that, but I'm not sure, because it was half in French, half in English, and partially translated by Raomi by cell phone.

He told me kindly that he knows that I am not as confident as I pretend.  I was mortified (looking back now, I  wonder why I was so intensely mortified?) and had no words and spun my wineglass in my fingers.  He believes that P, our coach, is beguiled by my façade and pretty face, has no idea who I am or how deep our (Felix and me) dynamic goes, and is approaching my dance education from a less-effective angle.

He said that I was like a small animal who sees the snow for the first time and extends a paw in fear.  He entreated me to frolic in it, that my whole life was ahead of me, that I didn't have time for this nonsense and indecision (what choice am I making again?!) ---  And I reacted exactly the way I feared... With tears and shame.  Is it so wrong to be shy?  Am I so transparently meek?  Why did his words feel like a caress from one hand and a backhand from the other?  Why do I care what he says?  Am I aluminum foil, to be molded to fit and then crumpled so easily?

And then suddenly he was dancing rumba and so was I?  Through the aisles of this deserted Greek place?

Littles, French and Bathrobe Coats

Kiska and Jesper, our little polar opposites.  You can tell by their poses that Kiska (white) is the shy, OCD one and Jesper (orange) is the sunny, gregarious one.  Kiska suspects something, as evidenced by her little peeking eye.  They are snoozing on a wool rug hand-woven by my gramma 30 years ago.

I wish we had French class every day.  When I first came to Montreal, French sounded absolutely bizarre to me, especially after 5 years of Japanese.  I took three years of Latin, one year of ancient Greek and one year of French in high school, but it's been so long since the French that it was like a completely new language.  After encountering it constantly for the past month (has it been that long?!?), not only am I used to French, but it is comprehensible - if spoken relatively slowly.  The sounds of French make sense now and fit nicely into little categories, whereas before, there seemed to be a bazillion different sounds.

I finished my bathrobe coat this morning!  It's not really a bathrobe, but it's voluminous, falls to my ankles and has a cowl-neck collar, which gives it a sort of decadent, bathroby flair.  Very nice, and all of that wool herringbone will be so warm and cozy this fall!