#felippa

[the-heartlines]

| felicity x pippa | sapphic aesthetic |

"something i cannot name passes between them, and then pip’s lips are on fee’s in a deep kiss, as if they feed on one another, their fingers entwined in each other’s hair." - the sweet far thing by libba bray

[prideflagcontest]

ok as previously established i have now read act one of “if we were villains” by m.l.rio and it was so good? so here you have my theories on how the story continues 

first of all someone dies. that was in the prologue (which is so very like the secret history)

it could be oliver that would be great, but as he is still alive ten years later also very unlikely (but narrating-vise it would be fun) oliver has the same role for now as the narrator dude in the secret history whose name i cannot remember rn

james could die but i don’t want him to (he would be a good killer tho bc he was a great villain in macbeth but has always been the nice guy). james is henry winter in my opinion rn. or francis bc the gay and put together 

that james and oliver are best friends is interesting of course 

killing meredith would be like femme fatale is dead. but like why. i mean pretty corpse and stuff but they all fancy her ecxept for james. (she would also make a good killer tho bc nobody would think she could be) meredith is camilla 

alexander is random and i can’t really place him anywhere in my brain. but he did always play the villain so idk. i also can’t coin him as anyone in the secret history as of now. maybe charles but also not bc alexander doesn’t have a sister to abuse 

who else

oh yeah filippa (spelling is unimportant) idk about her. the cross dressing thing comes off as random to me but she is a great shapeshifter apparently (also don’t know about the secret history with her)

gren? gwen? fren? idk? the rude guy’s cousin. she is quiet right? i don’t know why i can’t remember anything about her 

which brings us to the best part: the rude guy whose name is unimportant. meredith’s bf. you know who i mean. it would be the classic move to kill him. bc he’s the leader. he took things way to far on halloween. meredith could cry which was already specified never happened. oliver could get revenge for james. or idk. mr. rude guy is bunny though. the it’s just a game i want to play was so creepy. it bugs me that i can’t remember his name. anyway 

what about colin. killing that one rando third year would be a plot twist at least 

so in conclusion i don’t know anything 

but i like to imagine that this book and the secret history play at the same university at the same time with different groups and fields of study. the art people are just chilling mixing blood 

the blood was weird. why did it smell bad if it was fake. did the art people give them a bucket of actual blood? what

yeh bye

i looked up mr. rude guys name and he’s richard. also wren. joy. 

the way richard almost drowned james was so ew. dude stop. the scariest thing in this world is a man who doesn’t know when to stop and gets loud and angry even when it isn’t physical violence yet. but to me (girl, no method of defending myself) even guys raising their voices are scary even if they’re exited and not angry. so yes richard is scary there for a long sec. 

also the way he got upset when he didn’t get the lead role like mf stop not everything is about you 

but killing him would be fun bc everyone hates him and everyone would have a reason to 

but why does oliver end up in jail anyway. did someone frame him or did he do it. also the police officer is so random 

anyway richard is the tyrant and killing him would be the very obvious route to go. but idk isn’t that to simple? especially with them playing julius caesar?

idk i’m going to start reading act two now bye

act two scene six update:

richard is scary fr now

james has definitely faced physical abuse before from someone 

alexander is gay

oliver being protective suits him

meredith standing up for herself 

i’m scared that meredith will get killed by richard for that tho. it wouldn’t be the first time (battles have been fought over less / women have been killed for less)

from the prologue of this act, felippa, meredith, alexander and oliver make it out alive 

scared for wren and james now

idc about richard the asshole 

ok i’ll keep reading now

act 3 scene 2 update 

ok what the fuck

first of all richard died of course but that was kind of obvious 

they didn’t help him but watched him die instead bc they choose the trauma ig

richard was an asshole even more

why did meredith and oliver have to fuck pls how unnecessary 

oliver if i eat an olive that’s cannibalism marks. 

i can sense the oliver/james fanfics after whatever that was

why did oliver have to go in the water with a corpse 

like hello

just call the police 

the secret history comparison:

they watched richard die without helping in iwwv and killed bunny in tsh so yeah

dark academia doing it’s thing 

idk what to say

i’m only half way through the book so i’ll keep going byee

alexander kept on with his villain stuff tho 

act 3 scene 5 

ok they’ve declared it an accident 

but why the hell was oliver in prison for ten years then

does someone else die

i need a break from reading now but what

helllp who did he kill

finished it two weeks ago and forgot about this update

i forgot what happened 

james and oliver

joliver olives pls make it olives 

his body was never found so they’re gay together forever 

was it exeunt siempre? idk that ending was a slay

100/10 experience 

idk what else

richard died what a surprise 

[closetrewind]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: BCBGMAXAZRIA Asymmetrical TEAL Top SMALL.

[mundoagrocba]

Ércole Felippa presidirá el Centro de Industria Lechera

Ércole Felippa presidirá el Centro de Industria Lechera

Reemplaza al Ing. Agr. Miguel Paulón y tendrá un mandato de dos años. El Centro de la Industria Lechera (CIL) comunica que en el día de la fecha, en su 101° Asamblea General Ordinaria, fue elegido como nuevo presidente el Sr Ércole Felippa. Con un mandato por dos años, sucede en el cargo al Ing. Agr. Miguel Paulón, a quien la Comisión Directiva agradece sus valiosos servicios al frente de la…

[sanchezsacco]

MUJERARTE, Artistas en pie de Igualdad, lanza su 5ta. temporada “Mujerarte XXI” por YouTube

Inauguración: 24/9, 19 hs.

Streaming + Estreno Video Homenaje Emilia Bertolé 125º aniversario

Invitadas: Nora Avaro (Emilia Bertolé, obra poética y pictórica) y

Georgina Gluzman (El canon accidental, MNBA)

“MujerArte”, programa de radio dedicado a visibilizar a las mujeres artistas contemporáneas e históricas, reivindicar su rol, valorizar sus obras y estimular la reflexión sobre género, imagen e identidad, lanza su quinta temporada “Mujerarte XXI” como ciclo de Videos y Podcasts por el canal www.youtube.com/c/MujerArteradio

El 24 de septiembre a las 19 hs. Mujerarte XXI realizará la inauguración del ciclo con el estreno del Especial “Emilia Bertolé: de poemas y retratos”, un díptico de videos de divulgación que homenajea a la gran pintora y poeta argentina Emilia Bertolé (1896-1949) a 125 años de su nacimiento. El especial será presentado con un streaming en vivo por su equipo de realizadoras, Sandra Giron, Silvia Fernández y Silvia Talía, y la participación de Nora Avaro, Lic. en Letras y Magister en Literatura Argentina (UNRosario), autora del libro Emilia Bertolé, obra poética y pictórica, y Georgina Gluzman, Dra. en Historia y Teoría de las Artes (UBA), curadora de la muestra de pintoras argentinas El canon accidental, actualmente expuesta en el Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. La charla de presentación y los dos videos se transmitirán por el canal MujerarArteradio de YouTube

El díptico actualiza la importancia de la retratista rosarina y explora cómo la pintura y la poesía se relacionan en torno a su concepto de “ideas-cuadro”. El primer video, “Bella niña rosarina”, pone en diálogo el poema Retrato con el autorretrato del mismo nombre y el segundo, “El único lazo”, relaciona el poema El viejo libro con un retrato del poeta mendocino Alfredo Bufano. Ambas obras se encuentran en el Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes.

El equipo de Mujerarte XXI eligió a esta artista para inaugurar su ciclo porque “Emilia Bertolé fue una célebre retratista y sensible poeta, artista exitosa en su época, reconocida y admirada. De proverbial belleza, tuvo a la vez fama de mujer inalcanzable. Sin embargo la falta de noticias acerca de su persona y su figura “borrada” de museos y textos de historia del arte argentino no hace más que confirmar el mismo destino que se asigna a otras artistas que como ella pasan de la notoriedad en vida a la postergación luego de su muerte”, expresan Sandra Giron, Silvia Fernández y Silvia Talía, quienes sienten afinidad con“la sensibilidad que manifiesta Emilia Bertolé en su obra; tanto sus pinturas como sus poemas son delicados, emotivos y dan cuenta de un manejo técnico impecable”.

Además de los videos, el ciclo Mujerarte XXI incluye una serie de PODCASTS ILUSTRADOS con entrevistas a artistas argentinas como Marta Bianchi, actriz y cofundadora de la ONG La mujer y el cine, la escritora Liliana Heker y notas sobre figuras internacionales como la cantante y compositora veneciana del s. XVII Bárbara Strozzi, la reportera gráfica Gerda Taro (Robert Capa) y la banda de rock Fanny. Las piezas son ediciones ilustradas de las mejores notas y entrevistas de las cuatro temporadas de radio y se vienen emitiendo desde agosto con estrenos los viernes a las 19 hs. por el canal www.youtube.com/c/MujerArteradio

El ciclo Mujerarte XXI cuenta con el auspicio del Programa de Mecenazgo del Ministerio de Cultura de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires.

ESTRENOS DE SEPTIEMBRE

Viernes a las 19 hs. por www.youtube.com/c/MujerArteradio

VIDEOS

24/9: Especial “Emilia Bertolé: de poemas y retratos”.. Streaming: Presentación en vivo. Invitadas: Nora Avaro, autora del libro Emilia Bertolé, obra poética y pictórica y Georgina Gluzman, curadora de la muestra de pintoras argentinas El canon accidental.. Díptico de videos:Video I: Emilia Bertolé: “Bella niña rosarina”.Video II: Emilia Bertolé: “El único lazo”.Actrices: Berta Vidal, Mónica Felippa. Producción: Silvia Fernández, Sandra Giron, Silvia Talía. Edición: Julieta Rivera López. Auspicia Mecenazgo Cultural BA.

PODCASTS

3/9: “Mujeres del rock: Fanny”. Grupo de rock emblemático de los primeros ’70.

10/9: “Retrato de Bárbara Strozzi”, obra del pintor Bernardo Strozzi (ca.1581-ca. 1640).

Entrevista con el clavecinista y arpista argentino Federico Ciancio, sobre Bárbara Strozzi.

17/9: Gerda Taro, fotoperiodista alemana y corresponsal de guerra, pareja del fotógrafo Endre Ernö Friedmann junto a quien fotografiaba bajo el alias de Robert Capa.

Locución: Graciela Almada.

Acerca de Emilia Bertolé

Emilia Bertolé fue una talentosa pintora y poeta rosarina nacida a finales del siglo XIX. Pasó de ser una niña prodigio, excluida de la escuela por problemas de conducta, a convertirse en casi la única alumna mujer que estudió formalmente dibujo y pintura en la prestigiosa Academia Casella. A comienzos de 1920 se instaló en Buenos Aires, donde participó en la bohemia porteña y se convirtió en una de las más célebres, requeridas y exitosas retratistas de su tiempo refutando la vana profecía de Lola Mora, quien siendo jurado de un concurso que le otorgó la medalla de oro a Emilia a los 12 años dijo “A los 18 años no será nada”. Expuso varias veces en el Salón Nacional y museos provinciales y obtuvo importantes premios. Retrató a las principales personalidades de la política, la sociedad y el espectáculo; trabajó como ilustradora de colecciones editoriales, diarios y portadas de revistas populares como El Hogar y Sintonía y se desempeñó como modelo publicitaria para marcas como Cutex. Como escritora integró el grupo literario Anaconda, fundado por Horacio Quiroga. Forjó amistad con Quiroga -su eterno enamorado-, Alfonsina Storni y Alfredo Bufano. En 1927 publicó el libro de poemas Espejo en sombra. Artistas de la talla de Storni, García Lorca y el escritor y editor Juan Felipe Mantecón elogiaron públicamente su obra y su talento. Sin embargo fue sistemáticamente excluida de los libros de historia del arte. Dijo sobre ella Mantecón: “Bertolé es una mujer obsesionante. Físicamente bella y gentil, fresca e ingenua y, a la vez, delicadamente sensitiva y misteriosa”, y ella dijo de sí misma: “Con el arte, yo me siento extraordinariamente fuerte…” (OPP p. 34) “Y si fuera hombre, bohemio como yo no existiría en la madre tierra...” (OPP p. 39).

Acerca de MujerArte

MujerArte fue creado con el objetivo de visibilizar a las artistas mujeres con obras de una calidad admirable cuya trayectoria no fue reconocida y que ocuparon un lugar mínimo en las artes a lo largo de la historia. Al mismo tiempo, dar a conocer la problemática de la lucha por su des-ocultamiento a partir del auge de los movimientos feministas, la producción bibliográfica de la historia y la teoría del arte con perspectiva de género y el trabajo de las asociaciones y colectivos feministas que conquistaron el espacio público. Nació a partir de una idea de Sandra Giron, Profesora de Filosofía de la UBA, docente de Estética en UBA y UNA, traductora e investigadora, junto con Silvia Fernández, guitarrista, Magister de la UNCuyo, fundadora del Instituto Superior de Formación Artística J. P. Esnaola y gestora cultural y en 2019 se sumó Silvia Talía, docente de idioma inglés. Se emitió durante cuatro temporadas como programa semanal en vivo en RadioyPunto y PuntoCero, en las que entrevistaron a más de cincuenta artistas y expertas argentinas en distintas disciplinas y rescataron a valiosas creadoras del ámbito internacional. En agosto de 2021 iniciaron su quinta temporada como ciclo de videos de divulgación y podcasts ilustrados Mujerarte XXI, con estrenos semanales en su canal de YouTube y redes sociales.

REDES

https://www.facebook.com/mujerarteradio

https://www.instagram.com/mujerarteradio/

https://twitter.com/MujerarteRadio

https://www.youtube.com/c/MujerArteradio

Equipo MujerArte XXI

Sandra Giron es Profesora de Filosofía (Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, UBA), docente e investigadora. Dicta las asignaturas Estética en la carrera de Artes (Filosofía y Letras, UBA) y Estética de la Música (Depto. de Artes Musicales y Sonoras, UNA). Como investigadora se dedicó a la estética del romanticismo temprano alemán y tradujo varios textos del mismo período del alemán al castellano, entre ellos Conversación sobre la poesía de F. Schlegel (Biblios, 2013). Participa en los proyectos de investigación La flauta travesera barroca y su repertorio: Problemáticas estéticas de la música antigua en el presente (UNA, dir: Gabriel Pérsico) y La experiencia estética en el contexto del arte y la reflexión estética en Latinoamérica (UBA, dir: Inés Buchar).

Silvia Fernández es música, docente y gestora cultural. Licenciada en Música, Profesora de Guitarra y en Educación Musical (UNLP) y Magister en Interpretación de Música Latinoamericana del SXX (UNCuyo). Fue Profesora Adjunta de Guitarra en la Facultad de Bellas Artes (UNLP) y de Guitarra en la Escuela Superior de Educación Artística en Música Juan Pedro Esnaola, institución donde también desempeñó cargos directivos en el período 2000-2015, siendo Rectora fundadora del Instituto Superior de Formación Artística. Actualmente continúa su labor como docente, guitarrista solista y de música de cámara y como gestora de proyectos culturales como Compositoras (Beca Creación FNA), Encuentro Internacional de Mujeres Guitarristas, Cuerdas que Unen yMujerArte.

Silvia Talía es docente de idioma inglés. Realizó sus estudios en el Instituto Nacional Superior del Profesorado Técnico, BA. Entre 1989 y 1990 cursó el RSA/UCLES Diploma in Teaching English as a Foreign Language en Bell School, Cambridge, Reino Unido y en 2002 obtuvo el Teachers' Diploma otorgado por ESSARP, BA, Argentina. Fue directora de inglés del Colegio Aletheia desde 1998 hasta 2018, posición que incluyó la organización de jornadas educativas, semanas literarias y muestras escolares además de las tareas pedagógicas específicas. De 2005 a 2018 participó en jornadas de capacitación sobre la propuesta educativa de Reggio Emilia, Italia y en 2015 realizó un intercambio en Barcelona sobre propuestas innovadoras en educación en Catalunya.

Contacto de Prensa: Lorena Sánchez

11-5818-1800 / lorenasanchezprensa@gmail.com / https://sanchezsacco.tumblr.com/

[carmendias]

Roubadas feat. Felippa e Thotianna Hilton

[444names]

swedish forenames BUT excluding "j"

Adalie Adamaltor Adara Adarry Adra Adria Agnele Albina Albinelie Albinord Alea Alen Aleximoa Alfra Alfreddan Alfreta Alia Aliana Aliastera Alie Alin Alindanna Alindrama Alinelia Alinnna Alipparie Alla Alliver Ally Almalex Almalla Almara Almelicia Alvinamy Alvinilda Alvinoann Alvisaken Alvisar Amel Anke Annagexan Annan Anoa Anteolly Anustavik Ardera Aria Ariank Aridam Aridandra Arleo Arliotria Arliper Arllenteo Arry Aspera Astage Astria Augory Aximoa Cara Carantent Carlin Caron Casmusta Casta Chamoa Chan Chander Cobbahea Cobelia Cole Colingrie Collykke Dama Danar Dannalie Darida Ebbank Ebbarda Ebbella Ebbenry Edda Edithanna Edviax Edvingrid Edwarlie Edwarry Eleddamus Elia Elialex Elialia Eliana Elieranna Elietavid Eliex Elinda Eliv Eliva Eliverry Elividara Elker Ellar Elle Ellexande Ellia Ellian Ellinna Ellinneo Elsabe Elsira Elster Elstera Elto Elva Emelheo Emelielly Emelmax Emer Emin Emiot Emioten Emiran Emmadanin Emmax Emmaxel Emmykke Erianneo Ertamon Esiggones Esva Feldama Felicora Felie Felielin Felippa Felle Felly Fiaster Filda Film Filovea Frarida Fred Fretadra Fretavan Gabelma Gria Gusa Gusmira Gusta Hamelin Hamelly Hamohanry Hank Hantora Harlie Helvisak Heoahar Hildax Hildeta Hilteon Hugus Idamelva Idra Incenille Inda Ingrida Inna Inusam Isam Isiminnea Issage Ivanoa Ivearda Ivin Ivinathar Keneah Klantina Klar Leahugova Lealmax Leiamelin Leiampusa Lemmy Lenry Leodor Lexan Leximil Liamilhed Liaminea Lian Liande Liannesa Liavince Licora Licto Lictona Liea Lielly Liemince Lieon Liexan Lildantor Linea Linelly Linelte Lingrid Linna Liperiker Lippa Lisardari Lissabrid Livar Liver Livikla Lixte Lixterd Lohamella Lokera Louia Louincel Louine Louira Lovanton Lovarry Lovea Lover Loviamoah Lovigrid Lovisarl Lucastava Ludviciah Lunaron Luniellin Lunien Lunilda Mabriken Manes Mantera Mara Marar Mardar Marlia Marry Marvineah Mary Mathalen Matheo Matton Maxella Maxelle Maximon Medvigria Melielida Melielly Melix Mellarry Mellinna Melly Milda Mildalin Mildamel Mildavid Milia Millenry Millix Mindeonar Mineanna Minelin Minn Miottera Moah Moahaleo Moahann Mohank Mohanove Moharanna Mohn Mohnarry Mohnnelle Molinna Molisak Monelker Nage Nathana Nedditham Nelicenry Nesaben Nesix Niedda Niellex Nielly Nike Nilhelvia Nillian Nillie Nisa Noadas Noahank Noahilma Noar Noelianda Noelly Norida Nornebbe Norvilmar Nory Novallera Novan Novea Novine Oleialtor Olia Olie Olindan Olisager Olisarlix Oliva Olix Olla Ollineste Oscara Oscaras Otagalex Otinry Otterry Otton Ottonea Ralenry Ravin Rona Rone Rutilda Sabelvid Saben Sabeonor Sabriella Sagne Saker Sakton Salle Samellar Samoa Saron Sattervia Seba Sebaron Sefia Seliea Selippa Selisara Siga Siggelian Siggo Signeahea Sigoria Sigria Similmy Similsa Simio Simiollie Sira Siraugus Siriank Sirida Sixan Sixtenry Sixter Sofilil Sofiliper Sofillex Stenova Stila Strianna Svalian Svalto Svar Taga Thanken Tharry Theah Thearlix Theavisa Thedvida Theodorta Theon Tiantorne Tiary Tililto Tilmmy Tinderieo Tine Tinn Tinna Tinusmus Tuvalva Tuvard Tuvarry Tyramy Valvin Vamuella Vedda Velia Veranna Verik Vialia Vicenenry Vida Vidavara Vidavex Videlle Vignera Vignes Vikton Viktory Vilian Vina Vinalla Vinam Vine Vinea Vineante Vinenry Vinn Vinustia Vira Viran Virida Visa Wilda Wilgothea Wiliagnea Wilicemmy Wilio Wilisva Willa Willina Willy Wilmarry Wilmatina Wils Wilter Wilton

[aprendizmestre]

erin michelix e felippa franson: o último poder para escape é o poder dimensional se elevar ao uma outra dimensão para escapar de um confronto e de um conflito em cima ou de forma tridimensional você vai para uma dimensão falsa enquanto na dimensão verdadeira você desaparece ou não é você esse é o escape... by mestre

[multipleservicelisting]

What happened when I tried to become French

(CNN) — Julien was a tennis instructor with steel shoulders, blue eyes and two terraces we could never sit on because he stuffed them both with his marijuana plants.

Everyone back home in New York City told me that if I’d move to France I’d fall for some French guy, and that French guy was Julien. (Well… at first it was a guy named, Nico, but he had a girlfriend.)

It was the summer of 2008, and I was 28 years old and I’d done the crazy thing and moved to Montpellier, France. My rent was 250 euros a month. I munched an entire crusty baguette each and every single day. I got tan on Mediterranean beaches and I got drunk on bottles of pale French beer at open-air boîtes de nuit (night clubs.)

Very quickly, I’d become that girl, dating that French guy and living exactly that French dream we all think will be so damn beautiful.

And it really is…

… until it really isn’t.

If I’d stayed in Montpellier, I might still be that French girl. After several months, though, I couldn’t get the French dream to match the French reality, and that damn return ticket was always there waiting for me.

Escape from New York

Turns out Montpellier is France’s seventh largest city.

PASCAL GUYOT/AFP via Getty Images

I’d been living in New York City for eight years in one insect-ridden apartment after another. I had a job in television programming my coworker described as “moving color bars around a screen all day.”

I was tired of the crowded expensive city and I needed much more than a two-week vacation. I have dual American and French citizenship thanks to my Caribbean dad, and I was thinking the French life would be for me.

So, I decided to attend a language school. All across Europe you’ll find these small, non-credit, unofficial schools which offer three or so hours of conversational classes per day. They help students find housing and organize group activities. They’re probably meant for European college students, but they attract anyone looking for a short escape.

In my case, it was a crutch to a new start in French life.

Once I bank transferred my 1,000 euros for my first month of classes at Odyssea Language School, I got on the web to buy a one-way British Airways ticket leaving in June. Then I panicked. I clicked instead on a refundable round trip returning in October. If my savings ran out, and I couldn’t find a job, the return was already paid for.

The school was in the Languedoc region in southern France. From the online photos, the town looked blissfully suburban compared to New York and Boston (my college town.)

In fact, Montpellier is France’s seventh largest city.

My creamy colored heaven

Day trips from my French school included an outing to the historic city of Avignon.

AFP Contributor / Contributor

When I arrived, I stashed my stuff in a closet-sized room in a tiny apartment the school hooked me up with. I shared it with a girl who spoke not much English and not much French.

With no help from her, I somehow figured out how to explore the town on my own before my classes started.

Montpellier is actually a sprawling little city known for big universities that bring in 50,000-plus students seasonally.

Tall clusters of apartment buildings and department stores dot the outskirts and a small metro snakes in and out of the town center. The central square, or Place de la Comédie, is paved in white and cream-colored stones and anchors a maze of tiny shops and restaurants.

Every friend in this photo comes from different ends of the Earth: Italy, Hong Kong, Canada, US and Germany.

Channon Hodge

There were too many historical buildings to count, but I vividly remember walking by a plaque commemorating one of the first medical schools in France. It had been there since before the United States was even a concept. That’s when my decade spent studying American History seemed rather trite.

On a tour the school organized, I learned about Europe’s southern history before borders carved it up. Some of the townspeople still speak a Catalan language and love explaining the region’s ties to Spain before it became part of France. They made sure Catalan names were etched on signs along with the French ones and their independent spirit was a precursor of what I would eventually encounter when I finally found a job.

The Spaniards taught us how to play ‘Merde’

Open-air clubs were everywhere in a region where summers are long and winters are mild.

Channon Hodge

The school organized wine and cheese “meet and greets” for new students and bus trips to Avignon and Carcassonne. They organized trivia nights at the local British pub, The Shakespeare, and made sure everyone gathered for outdoor watch parties to see the French lose out in the World Cup.

The social part seemed as equally important to the language classes. I’d taken French in high school, college and even doled out $500 for classes at New York’s Alliance Francaise. My entrance exam at Odyssea informed me that none of that effort put me above “advanced-beginner.”

I could answer “Comment allez-vous?” but I couldn’t have a conversation for more than two minutes before becoming mentally exhausted.

Odyssea – Institut Européen de Français – Language schools attract European students who can take long breaks to learn a language. My friends did not feel the pressure to graduate from university in four years and thought nothing of a long break.

Picasa 3.0

No worries. These schools have no set term start or end dates. You simply roll in any week at all, get placed with students at your level and “graduate” up if your teacher feels you are ready. That open acceptance helped me make all manner of new friends, including:

Jim — An American film editor determined to pick up a language in between contracts.

Marianna — A vivacious, gorgeous, curly haired Russian Italian who refused to wait in any line ever.

Hannah — An adventurous Canadian who’d eventually convince me to scramble down an off-limits cliff in Marseilles because we’d heard the waters were crystalline blue (they were, and they were freezing).

Felippa — A smiley Swede who shockingly explained that Ikea product names actually have real meanings and who would become my roommate in a much bigger and nicer flat.

A young German couple who’d just had a baby and who were spending their year of parental leave hopping around Europe.

Plus a gaggle of young dance-loving Singaporeans on exchange, a party-hardy group of Italian nuclear scientists sponsored by their company, and a rowdy group of Spaniards.

We’d spent so many days on the beach, we once foolishly tried spending the night on one. We were frozen by midnight and fled home at 4 a.m.

Channon Hodge

A bunch of us would spend our afternoons biking out to the beach in a town nearby. I’d found a massive red checkered sheet on our apartment’s clothesline and we’d sprawl out on the sand while everyone turned out offerings of cheese, sliced meats, chips, fruits and baguettes.

The Spaniards had a car, they smoked like a coal factory, and they soon taught us a card game they insisted was called “Merde!” (S–t!)

We sadly mostly fell into speaking the more mutually understood English. Try as we might, French all day was simply exhausting. Eventually, though, I did get the accent down straight. That’s all thanks to a lot of fruit and a questionable pick up line.

Framboise, fraise and frozen juice

After a few weeks, I realized if I wanted to stay in Montpellier for a long time I’d need a job. The euro was nearly double the value of the dollar then and my savings were dwindling fast.

Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to find a job as unemployment for young people was around 20%. Businesses were loath to take on news part-time employees because once they had you, they were stuck with you because of labor laws.

At this organized social event, we learned how to make crepes and a local favorite – bread with goat cheese, honey and herbs de provence. Events cost extra, and the euro’s value was double the dollar then.

Channon Hodge

The Russian Italian convinced me to try working for an Irish bar in town by pretending that my first name, Channon, gave me some Irish cred with the owner. That failed as soon as he realized I was African American.

Instead, he offered me about 15 hours per week making frozen juice at his new Jus Plus store in the mall. It was a new concept in France, then, and I suppose I looked like I could handle a blender.

I easily learned the frozen mixes, mostly based in apple juice, and quickly blended them together before calling out the drink orders to guests.

“FRRREZ!”

“FRRRRAMBWAZE!”

(Fraise = strawberry, framboise = raspberry)

Customers stared back at me dumbfounded and I didn’t know why. My dear coworkers Stella and Charles helped me to realize that a hard American “r” doesn’t really work in French. I quickly learned to make the correct and softer sound using the middle of my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I describe it as a mix between: a soft g, w, and que.

“Fgwquezzeeee”

“Fgwquambwazzee”

It worked! Stella also kindly forced me to speak French. Charles was a musician and he loved to explain all the rights I then had as a worker and all the great ways young people were starting revolutions.

The “mec” taught me something else entirely.

Le mec et la petite amie (the guy and the girlfriend)

I’ve been told French relationships can become serious rather quickly, which is completely at odds with what I’d assumed about French promiscuity.

Channon Hodge

French people do indeed drink lots of wine and eat lots of bread and cheese. But they also guzzle down cheap beer and stock up on tinned meats, packaged toasts, bags of processed cookies and cartons of highly processed milk.

I was drinking beer with a group of friends at a café (which is, in fact, a bar), when a guy named Julien walked up to me and asked in English:

“Where are you from?”

“New York,” I said.

“Oh really?” he asked and then added: “I thought you were from paradise.”

Maybe it was the French accent? Maybe it was the tennis instructor body? I was immediately in like.

We had one date. He kept texting me and after a few weeks he referred to me as his “petit amie'” I quickly learned relationships can really form that easily in France.

Julien had lived off chômage (French unemployment) for nearly two years and would gasp when I used all his beurre on my baguette. He knew not much more English than he’d used to pick me up, so our relationship was mostly about what you think it was mostly about.

One day he did manage to scrounge some cash for gas and we went out to the beach, swimming out as the waters turned choppy and filled my nose with salt.

My days were all free and clear and sunny, until I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

The French way — No bills, no laws, no worries!

It was completely against the law to scramble down the dangerous cliffs to the water in Marseille, France. Even moms with little children ignored the signage.

Picasa 3.0

I’ll never know if it was all that saltwater, but a week or so after the beach trip my lungs started shrinking. I could barely wheeze. One day it got so bad, I woke up in a panic sinking to the floor beside my bed feeling like my throat had become a red cocktail straw.

When I walked into a doctor’s office, I signed my name on a slip of paper because there was no receptionist, just him. He took a listen to my sad lungs and gave me a prescription for expectorant and a calming agent at the pharmacy. When I asked about the bill, I mentioned my French citizenship, but I admitted I hadn’t worked long enough to get a medical card.

“Well, you’re French so you’re not supposed to pay,” he told me, politely letting me go.

The medicine cost me around 15 euros, but over the next several weeks the infected lungs never quite went away. I never spoke again in France without coughing.

The beautiful haze grows hazy

My typical morning started with café au lait, baguette with cheese, and French magazines. I lived in four different apartments over the season. My last room cost me €250 per month.

Channon Hodge

The weather got cold and crisp and the beach lost its charm. Then my friends began to leave, one by one returning to their home countries. The Spaniards left, then the Canadian, then the Russian Italian. My cheap summer room had to be turned back over to the fall student I’d sublet it from.

Then the strikes started. First the wine growers protested land taxes. Then the metro stopped working for weeks in the name of metro worker’s rights. The strikes caused chaos and brought attention to a cause, but they always ended without much progress.

To truly improve her French, my roommate enrolled in a real university for the fall and she wanted me to join her. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of being a college student again living in a dorm at then 29. (I’ve only realized now, of course, that 29 is still so young.)

I grew tired of never completely understanding anyone and only getting the gist. I hated all the money I’d spent buying tickets for the wrong day, and having packages sent to the wrong destination. I was frustrated that I couldn’t have a real conversation with Julien.

And it was so hard to shout “fgwquambwazzee!” while coughing.

While the news in France was full of les grèves (strikes) and the financial crises, the news in the US was becoming more hopeful. Senator Barack Obama was quickly gaining speed as the nominee for President of the United States.

Channon Hodge

At one point I realized I was a lot funnier back in New York. I just didn’t get French humor. I didn’t understand why movies never had a real ending but were instead vaguely unsatisfying. I didn’t get all the constant anger at the government.

Then my coworker Charles started his own revolution in our little shop. He and my British boss screamed at each other over shift changes until he stormed off one day and I lost him, too.

But I still had that return ticket.

Just a tourist again

Jardin du Luxembourg. I spent my days wandering the beautiful parks of Paris and headed home each night to my dear aunt in Villejuif before nightfall hit.

Channon Hodge

Late September, I left Montpellier and took the TGV up to Paris to stay with my aunt for a few weeks before my flight out. As I rode the smooth train north, I gazed out at vineyards whipping by with their grapes hung low to the ground waiting to be picked and crushed.

In the city, every morning my dear aunt made me a bowl of café au lait along with pâté smeared on bread. She sent me out into the city with a thin paper booklet called “Balades a Paris.” I climbed the bright Montmartre hill, learned Notre Dame’s secrets from a volunteer tour guide and bought a classic leather Cassandra bag at the Marche aux puces.

My mom and my brother joined me for my final two weeks and we were dazzled by the marbled figures at the Musee d’Orsay. We loved the thick chocolate at Angelina cafe. We drove down to see the Loire Valley’s castles.

As the date of my return flight drew closer, I realized I was dreading finding a new job in New York and starting my life there over again. Moving to France hadn’t been so hard after all. What had been difficult was staying there, building up a real life. That’s the work you have to do wherever you choose to go and wherever you try to stay.

I realized too late that you never pick up a language. It simply drags you along till you’re standing.

For a short time, I had been that girl, dating that French guy, living that French dream, but eventually I became just another American in Paris and a return ticket took me home.

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[ansuf]

Lozenge Algorithm

this algorithm used for extrapolation (in finite element method) that speeds up the convergence of many sequences [Felippa, 2004: page 20]

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