And thus Chunk explains it all. France has launched a massive biological weapon campaign. They seduce you into their perfectly manicured gardens packed with freshly blossomed flowers, but beware. It is all a ruse. These flowers emit a killer pollen that has infested every orifice of my body. I have the idea that my lungs are blooming and will eventually asphyxiate me. It is ebola pollen.

If I am sick tomorrow for my birthday, heads are going to roll, and I am in just the right place to do it. (Did you know that the last official use of the guillotine was in 1977? That is savage!) But here is a question for those of you that have suffered from pollen allergies in the past. Does the rain make it better or worse? Or does it have absolutely no impact? Ok, I am putting myself to bed. Damn flowers, damn pollen, damn bees...

So, I received a letter from my Uncle Jimmy today. He is thinking of volunteering for the Kerry campaign--a big deal for someone who lived at Haight-Ashbury during the '60s and '70s and thought of hippies and the Black Panther Party as simple annoyances that often blocked his way to work and parties. Anyway, in his letter he said that he thinks America needs to go on a no CARB diet, meaning no:

-Cheney
-Ashcroft
-Rumsfeld
-Bush

Here, here!

So there is no confusion. My 25th birthday is Thursday!!!

Mes Parisiens: J'espère vous voir au Lizard Lounge (rue du Bourg Tibourg dans le Marais, Métro Hôtel-de-Ville) pour Happy Hour de 20h-22h, jeudi, 1er avril.

Everyone else: I look forward to the flood of e-cards.

First birthdays in a new place are always difficult for me, so please, remind me that I am not growing old alone.

Woohoo!

I normally don't like films in which nothing happens. Although I certainly can appreciate stunning cinematography, it normally isn't enough to keep me interested for 90+ minutes. But something about the trailer of Gerry, a film by Gus Van Sant/Matt Damon/Casey Affleck from 2002 that had a very brief run in the States and was only released in France after the (inexplicable, in my opinion) success of Elephant in the fall. But this something is not as mysterious as I make it sound: it is the music of Arvo Pärt, whose score is the most remarkable component of the trailer.

Stéphane had warned me that absolutely nothing happens in the movie (of course, he was one of the 10 people to have seen it during its US release), but I felt a very strong attraction to it nonetheless. So, to bridge our last Friday class to a night out at Café Banal (1e50 for all drinks and that is not banal), a fellow Pärt fan/Sorbonne student and I headed to the cinema across from the Centre Pompidou.

For 90 minutes I sat, spellbound by the tragic splendor that unfolded in front of me. Not only was I moved by the expansive desert images and Pärt's haunting score, as expected, but I was consumed by the story . Two friends decide to avoid the tourist-ridden trail to "the thing" (we never learn what they were going to see) and try to find their own way. They get lost, they get thirsty, they barely talk to each other accept for the occasional mindless banter about Wheel of Fortune and video games (which I found to be a perceptive reflection on 20-something American boys). The movie spans 3 and a half days with the tension building subtly as time passes. The very slow pacing of the film allowed my to get inside every shot and I felt that the more I explored, the more there was to find.

I was surprised to see how many people found it boring...yeah, there are long straight shots, and the editing is not as rapidfire as we're used to in our channel flipping culture. The tonal, simplistic music of the beginning gives way quickly to a sound collage of noise, where the soundtrack and the score become indistinguishable. But anyone who watches this film and is in no way touched by it visually, emotionally, or aurally has been destroyed, in my eyes, by the modern world. I am not a pretentious filmster. There are a lot of underground indy films that I think are crap. I liked Good Will Hunting and didn't like Elephant so much (although I found it interesting). But Gerry really got under my skin. Perhaps it is because I am learning to appreciate nothingness, ambience, and stillness. Perhaps it is because I am hypersensitive. Perhaps it is because I love going to the movies in Paris. I found beauty in this film.

Picked up a copy of A Nous Paris (the free weekly paper distributed in the metro) and discovered that my recent lifestyle change from a workaholic perfectionist to an aimless joyrider is actually trendy. Laziness is back in all its glory. According to Catherine Laroze, author of L'Art de Rien Faire (The Art of Doing Nothing), a lazy person is someone who knows how make the most of the time in their life. People who aren't afraid of quiet time and know that doing nothing is in fact doing something very useful and healthful. People who fight against the supremacy of "doing". So there you go. I am mega-hip in France because I often get lost during my hikes in the woods and know the value of procrastination. Vive la France, the only country I can think of that would actually declare laziness as being à la mode.

So, apparently the inventor of the power bar, a former marathon runner, collapsed in line at the post office and died at age 51. Makes me wonder what exactly is in this Power Bar...

Brian Maxwell, 51, Marathoner Who Created Energy Bar, Dies

The first time I came to France, I found that an abundance of alcohol was the best way for me to become fluent in French for an evening. With the help of a giraffe of beer (that's 3 liters folks) or half a bottle of wine, I bull-dozed right over complex verb constructions and finicky pronouns and found dramatic new ways to express words that were not in my vocabulary, like, "Yesterday, the weather was weird. It was raining, but not really. It was between rain and snow. The rain was hard and it pricked me in the face." Instead of, "Yesterday, it was hailing." All of this added to my innocent charm. But somewhere along the line, alcohol stopped working. My drunken party tricks--like training myself to use chopsticks with my left hand and declaring it the "Year of Rum"--fell flat too many times to crowds of uber-chic Parisians who had their sense of humor genetically bred out of them. Plus, hangovers suck and I still have yet to find the right preventitive remedies.

So, with alcohol out and weed definitely out (can't understand a damn word of French when I am stoned...it's just a bunch of funny sounds strung together), I have found my new happy potion, one that I was resistant to for a very long time: coffee. Coffee makes me sparkle. I can switch languages at the drop of a hat; I can say clever things to the old men who try to touch me in the street; I can talk on the phone and prepare a three-course meal at the same time; I can philosophize about Karl Marx or Groucho Marx; I can conceive of a piece of music while being engrossed in a lecture about Proust. It is a miracle! But I am afraid. I am afraid of the addiction. I try not to have one everyday...but it makes me so happy. I think about the metabolism problems, and the high blood pressure, and the dehydration, and the stained teeth...but it is so good! What is a girl to do?

An article appeared here in France about a week ago containing a translation of a letter supposedly from Al-Qaeda forces delivered to an Arabic newspaper in London. Here is a link to the article, but for those that don't speak French, here is a very brief rundown of the letter's contents.

1) Al-Qaeda target list: Japan, Italy, Great Britain, Saudi Arabia, Australia, and Pakistan. Because they supported the American war in Iraq. "Who will protect you from cars, trains, and planes of death?" the letter reads.

2) Given the choice between war and peace, the Spanish people--who elected a government that vowed to pull Spanish troops out of Iraq--chose peace. They are no longer on the target list.

3) The United States (or "tyrant of the century" as they call it) is also no longer on the target list. Why?
Because they don't want Mr. Bush to lose the election in Novemeber. Why? Because "we need your stupidity and your religious chauvinism so that our [Arabo-Islamic] nation can rise."

After reading this article I went to look for its equivalent in the Anglophone press. Other than one AP article on yahoo news (claiming that the letters content had not been released) and another one on the Akron Beacon Journal site (barely touching on the attacks against Bush and failing to mention that the US is no longer on Al-Qaeda's hit list) In any case, the usual suspects, the NY Times, the Washington Post, BBC, CNN, and MSNBC, as far as I can tell, posted nothing about this. I understand that the authenticity of the letter, signed by Abu Hafs al-Masri (supposedly an adjoint to Al-Qaeda), was questionable. HOWEVER, I do believe it is newsworthy. Scoops are printed all the time with authentification pending. If it is a hoax, than print a follow-up article that it was a hoax. But to not print it at all? That is a little fishy. Especially when "Bush Congratulates Troops on 1 Year Anniversary of War" is considered newsworthy, with a slideshow and everything.

But anyway, here are a few questions that this mystery has provoked for me:

1) Why would Al-Qaeda be threatening Saudi Arabia? Isn't "Bin Laden" (he gets quotes until they can produce an actual human being and not a video tape) a Saudi? Weren't nearly all of the 9/11 hijackers Saudi?

2) Why would no major media force pick up this story?

3) Are the same graphic and gruesome images of the war in Iraq that I see frequently here finding their way to televisions in the US?

4) Do American journalists realize that they are tools of terror?

and finally,

5) Who else misses the crackerjack reporting of Jayson Blair?

I was depressed all day yesterday because French people (actually, most non-Anglophones) just don't understand the beauty of St. Patrick's Day: a totally banal holiday dedicated simply to drinking and pretending to be Irish. What's so hard about that? I've decided that one thing I miss about the US is our approbriation of world holidays, erasing their significance and simply using them as a reason to drink. The French don't even celebrate their own holidays well. And I will tell you why. Wine. Wine is the problem. It is a PARTY KILLER. Don't get me wrong. A glass or several of wine at dinner is a beautiful thing. It makes you all romantic and chatty and nostalgic. But beyond the meal, the sleepy wine intoxication just doesn't lend itself to the right levels of debauchery that make a party great. And to top it off, I find that red wine gives the most wicked hangovers. So what's the point?

That is why yesterday, which I spent mostly pining for green beer and shamrock shakes and sloppy Irish kisses, I was so grateful for the freeflowing pints of Guinness that I was fortunate enough to experience at some nameless, cave of a bar that I discovered with my fellow choristers after rehearsal. All together we were a strange-looking, multi-lingual bunch: a Japanese painter, a Brazilian embassy employee, an American college student, and a gay man from St. Kitts. But you know what? After about 3 pints, everyone seemed Irish to me! So the point of this story (other than irony) is that I think the French could learn a lesson about partying from the Irish. More beer, less wine. Maybe then all the Parisian young people who long to get back to New York to relive their drunken freedom, will stop bitching and start having fun. But then again, if they were to stop bitching, would they still be French?

After inspiring a week of fear and anger for Mandounette, D.S. Angler (the D.S. stands for Deep Sea) has finally launched his blog. While Mandounette was convinced that Angler was beginning a blog simply to steal her thunder (after all, she was the first in this apartment to conceive of a blog!), she became even more nervous after examining the first few posts which were, as promised, very funny. HOWEVER, D.S. Angler's witty posts cannot overshadow the major faux-pas he made launching his blog: forgetting to include a link to the site in his e-mail announcement. With this one move, the threat against Mandounette has pretty much disappeared. Not to mention his atrocious butchery of the English language... :)

Mandounette dares to include a link to Deep Sea Angler, so that you can all have a better idea of what we are dealing with.

So, a message from Heather O'Buck, calling for a "pints across the globe"-type event that I thought I might participate in. No better time for a Guinness than at 5 AM...perhaps Jameson and coffee might suit me better...
--Mandy O'MacBlane

O'Buck writes:
As you are all aware, tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day, possibly the greatest day of the year. My heart breaks that I cannot be with each and every one of you to celebrate the occasion with. Instead, I propose that we all raise a glass of whisky, beer, or whichever Irish libation you choose at a common time. It will be a "great Guinness toast" of our own, if you will...

Date: March 17, 2004
Time: 11 pm EST, 8 pm PST, 4 am GMT, and so on and so forth

Remember the words of Sigmund Freud, "The Irish is the only race of man for whom psychoanalysis does nothing."

Slainte, darlings!

But I haven't JUST been thinking about my life over the past 5-6 days. I do actually have a life and a pretty busy one, which is why I haven't had a spare minute for posting. For those that enjoy reports on my daily activities, I'll let you know what else has been going on very briefly and then we can move back into the present: gave a presentation in class which I was really proud of, although my professor proceeded to grill me for 45 minutes afterwards in front of the entire class, which drained my brain of all functioning ability. At least after that, my oral exam at the end of the semester (on the same topic) will be a piece of cake. Received a 10/20 on my first grammar exam...goddam anteriority. I just don't understand the past...Have been reading La Machine Infernale, Jean Cocteau's take on the story of Oedipus Rex. I am greatly amused by the Queen who believes that her possessions and clothing are trying to kill her, particularly her scarf...became a work of art at the latest KMZ "happening" when a clumsy, unapologetic woman bumped me from behind causing my glass of red wine to splatter Jackson Pollock style on my brand new white coat, penetrating through one of my favorite shirts ever (now a cleaning rag), a tank top, a beautiful bra and eventually hitting my skin. I was prettier than the paintings!...I continue to be in love with my professor who teaches 19th century literature, who actually makes me want to read Balzac, even though I KNOW I do not want to read Balzac. His novels make me want to vomit, but after one lecture with this guy, I want to read his entire oeuvre and visit his house here in Paris...went to see Big Fish and have to give props to Mr. Burton for a really funky film that I enjoyed immensely...more movies (it is Le Printemps du Cinema here, so all movies are really cheap!): Along Came Polly, which unfortunately places a super cool female character (total insouciant bohemian) in a vortex of bathroom humor, Chuck and Buck, a really wonderful film from a few years ago that Ste and I have been quoting incessantly since we saw it..smoked a lot of shisha at Cafe Baghdad...sang, sang, sang with the choir I am in (with my friend Kay who is a super experimental rock singer from San Francisco)...was asked to put a short program together for oboe for a concert in May...had a real Moroccan meal at a friend's house (his mom wanted to cook for me) and understood why he was not impressed by the Moroccan food in New York when he came to visit (I gained a pound in just three hours, I swear)...went dancing at a place called La Flèche d'Or in the 20th (my favorite arrondissement) where there was a "Turkish Ball" followed by a Moroccan drumming circle (that featured a really fascinating double-reeded flute that I want to learn how to play). Very cool stuff. But with pounds of pastilla, beef, almonds, and prunes in my tummy, I was not the most graceful or energetic dancer in the world. In any case, the slow-pace of my life is becoming a part of the past. That's it for my summary. Now I can get back into real posts, hopefully later today.

For the past 25 years, I have used the excuse "I am still young" to justify ignoring the big question that will ultimately define my life. When I was 5, the question was "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Even the biggest slacker knows that you have to come up with something so that people don't label you a pariah, but for those of us that really have scattered interests and diverse talents, this question will ultimately be our nemesis. For me, I have been sure of what I wanted to be many times in my life. First, I wanted to be a dancer, then an actress, then a clown (I had my eye on the Barnum&Bailey Clown College for at least 6 months). I grew out of my entertainment phase around aged 10, when after being complimented enough on my math skills, I decided to try something a little less expected: nuclear physicist. Whatever that is! Once I had arrived in high school and had forgotten my desire to be the first woman to play in the Major League, I began to pursue each whim with the ephemeral ardor that only an Aries can know:

Principal oboist of the Philadelphia Orchestra, world-renowned oboe soloist, medical researcher who finds the cause and cure of Multiple Sclerosis, poet, astrologer and spiritual advisor, filmmaker, neurosurgeon, family practioner, owner of my own PR firm, science writer, music critic, DJ, composer, idle wanderer and world traveler working menial jobs to pay my way, political activist against everyone and everything, diplomat, professor with my research in how music is used by social movements, videographer, rock star, cultural commentator, lawyer, freelance writer, trophy wife, event planner, teen novel author, bartender, tour guide, elementary school teacher...

This is a basically chronological list, although many of these ideas have been recurrent, particularly music critic, rock star, and idle wanderer. A lot of them were eliminated for one reason or another, after having given a valiant effort. My reluctance to make up my mind has always been an esthetic annoyance with occasional existential flair-ups, but nothing quite like what I have been experiencing the last month or so. As modernity has been pretty successful at basing identity around the way in which one make's money (or at least wishes to make money), I have been floundering since I arrived in France with nothing to do. At first I continued with the music journalist schtick, and while I still am waiting to be paid for a lot of my work (ahem, NY Press...), I haven't had anything published since November. Calling myself a student while certainly accurate is not satisfying as I am not working toward a specific degree. Plus it makes me feel like I am 19 again (or younger). Here is the issue at hand:

I am nothing.

I am nothing right now. And there are some times that I envy those that are something, no matter how banal that something might be. And there are other times when I look at these people smugly, thinking how lucky I am that I am free of occupational restrictions.

But as my 25th birthday comes flying around the corner, I am beginning to think my time for reflection is running out. Although I am economically frugal, I have been spending my youth and liberty with abandon. It is time to get a plan. So this is what I have been wrestling with for the past 5 (sleepless) days--and why I haven't been posting so much. The truth is that my ideas for a life plan have always been pretty superficial and this is because I am terrified of the issues that form the base of choosing an occupation. In the past it was enough just to pick something that seemed impressive, whether on an intellectual or artistic plane, but that hid the real issues. What is important to me? Money? Status? The opinion of others? Social milieu? Family? Time? Creativity? Responsibility? Helping the world? Helping myself? Helping those I love? What does living the good life mean to me? What are my values and what is the best way to integrate them into a life that I will be proud of?

I have been suffering from severe anxiety at the thought of having to choose something to do with my life, mostly because, for all of the abstract thinking I do, I have never been brave enough to really look inward. Despite all of my meditating and mind-expanding, I never actually went inside. But my internal journey began, like most things, not out of desire, but out of desperation. I need to find a way to stay in France and I want this reason to be valid and useful and the beginning of something bigger. Coming to France, while the realization certainly of one dream, and a step in my relationship with Stephane, is not an end. It is the most awesome of beginnings.

I am resorting to some Bloom's Taxonomy bullshit (that's for all you Project Challenge people out there!), trying to figure out my criteria for life and how best to fulfill them. I am fleshing out all the options I can think of. I am getting closer to an answer. I know there will always be an element of the random in my life...I have always loved that aspect of how my life goes, but I am tired of reacting instead of acting.

It is time to mold the chaos of the past 25 years into a base of experience and knowledge that allows me to move forward. All this swirling around in circles is making me nauseous.

The images that greeted me this morning were live from Madrid. I have to admit that nearly every time I get onto a crowded train there is a split second where I think about how easy it would be for someone to... I guess it is the last of the post traumatic stress that hangs around in my brain after 9/11. So what happened in Madrid has really left me upset. I see all of these people being carried out of trains and collapsing on the ground and think, what is accomplished by this? Early reports attribute the attack to ETA and I understand that most terrorist attacks come from groups who are in fact marginalised by larger societal and economic structures, but I can't see what is accomplished. It just makes people hate them more, strips their own people of rights, pushes them more into a hole. I sincerely don't understand what end such acts serve. It seems that no one wins.

I would just like to extend my sincerest congratulations to Christina who just accepted a new job with Simon&Schuster after pitting them against Random House in a price war. How cool is that? AND she gets to work as a supervisor in the children's book department working on, as she described it, "pop up books, books with fur and sandpaper on them, the real deal."

Christina, I hope that when you get home today you will hurl yourself onto your bed and yell out "Superstar!" because that is what you are. Will you teach me your tricks? Will you give me a job when I get back to New York? I'll get your coffee for you... :)

I would like to introduce you to gringoman, a friend of mine and a fellow blogger. A journalist (and one of the last Americans to leave Saigon in 1975), his posts range from military corruption and American politics to his extensive and ongoing travels through Cambodia and Vietnam. Self-described as "Not sleeping with the Left, the Right, or the Politically Correct," gringoman (aka Dan Cameron Rodill) offers some pretty underground information, that will be sure to piss everyone off one way or another. It's great!

Little did she know, that one of her top advisors, which had nurtured her from the beginning would turn so suddenly against her. Intelligence sources revealed today that D.S. Angler, a former Mandounette aide, has been covertly creating his own blog, with the intent of competing with Mandounette, ultimately destroying our hero.

"My blog will be better," Angler wrote in a message that was intercepted by the Mandounette team just moments ago. "It will take all of her readers, with my links to hip articles and my funny comments about them. It will be the end of Mandounette."

Mandounette has issued an orange alert, requesting that all Mandounette readers be wary of any strange comments or e-mails that could be coming from Angler and his gang of lackeys. Known aliases for Angler include Stephanie, 'Nou, and Le Tigrou.

Mandounette needs your support more than ever. Keep reading, posting comments, etc. We cannot live in fear.

God Bless Mandounette, Blog of the Free...

And may the Schwarz be with you!

Just another sign that while my body and most of my mind is in France, there is still some little piece of me that is still in Brooklyn. Today, walking home, I stopped on a street corner to wait for a light...the same street corner I have waited at for the past 4 months, and I was reading the chalkboard sign for the cafe on the corner: Salade aux endives 5,80, mousse au chocolat, 5,20, etc. Service continue, 7h - 2h....at Da Terrasse. Wow! I thought, what is this place doing in a neighborhood that Stephane and I call the antithesis of hip (think bourgeois babies with immigrant nannies, fat boys with Jewfros on tiny, little scooters, old ladies with little dogs, an institute for the blind, a lane for wheelchairs on the sidewalk, and plenty of elderly people that use it, and for some reason one of the most well-known swingers clubs in Paris...) Anyway, I thought, hey maybe Saint-Mande is beginning to get some street cred, like some other Paris suburbs: Da Terrasse. Yeah, it's like I am back in Crooklyn! Then I looked more closely. It is not Da Terrasse, it is La Terrasse and I was having trouble reading the handwriting on the sign.

So, heard this one from Smilla: the chick that sings with the Black-Eyed Peas (who were so much cooler before they collaborated with Justin Timberlake) is actually Stacy from Kids Incorporated. At first I thought that it was another case of "Marilyn Manson is Paul from The Wonder Years", but in fact, this one seems to be true.

http://www.hartfordadvocate.com/gbase/Music/content.html?oid=oid:28302

And it's official...hip-hop has been Disneyfied.

So, I was in a bit of a dilemma over the past week or so, as Stephane's mother invited me to come skiing with her and the littlest sister (she's 8) for the first week of my spring break. A chance to go to the Alps (where I have never been) for FREE and learn how to ski for a week was quite a temptation, but then there are the cons: sharing a room with the two of them and one straight week of Stephane's mom. And although she is quite a wonderful person, she is not without her quirks.

In any case, the free trip (to a Club Med, nonetheless...how Euro of me!) won out over the possible psychological damage the trip might cause. I am psyched to learn how to ski. After my first skiing disaster at age 14, I never wanted to do it again. Basically, for those of you who don't know the story, while me and a whole slew of 6 and 7 year-olds were learning how to do snow-plow turns, I decided to go for the gold: hunched over, poles under my arms, I went straight down the mountain towards a bunch of trees. I was like a flash of lightning zipping down the slope. Panicking, I sat on my skis and rolled into the woods. Fortunately, my brother had witnessed this humiliation and came to find me, which was a good thing, because I hadn't gotten to the part of the lesson where you learn how to stand up. So I was just rolling helplessly in the snow, cursing the skis. Refused to go back up the mountain and spent the rest of the day in the lodge, mumbling about how stupid skiing and skiers were.

The second time I went (age 19) I was definitely better. I was getting confident! So I am hoping that after one week of skiing lessons (probably again with a bunch of nose-pickers) that I will be ready for the Olympics. SO, I depart the 10th of April. Please help me to manifest snow for that week, which is pretty late in the season. Without snow, I will be trapped for one week in a room with a bored 8 year-old and an exasperated mother. And that is when a free trip can become expensive.

My Spark personality test results are in. And since college, the last time I took this test, I have changed from a Mentor to a MasterMind.* The one aspect that changed is that I came out introverted this time around. In fact, it is the same change that happened on the eMode test, changing me from a SkyDiver to a Secret Agent. As far as I can tell, I am becoming a sneaky bastard!

To be honest, I always looked down on introversion. Perhaps these changes in my test results (yes, and I know, I am putting way too much stock into these ridiculous time-wasters) reflect more the fact that I am actually more comfortable with myself now...that I know myself better and am actually able to respond more honestly. OR perhaps repeated moments of spewing idiotic sentences here in France have made me think twice before letting my mouth go off. In any case, is it possible for someone to become more closed? Is this a bad thing? Does it mean I am losing confidence in myself? Maybe it's just a result of the Second Puberty that I am going through, which is jumbling up everything in my life. During my first round of puberty, I pretty much hid in my bedroom for 2 years in a little fantasy world. So, I guess I am hiding again. Only my bedroom is much cooler now.

OR this is all just bunk that I should not be fixating on as I avoid doing my homework.

*Like just 8% of the population you are a MASTERMIND (SIAT). You can be silent and withdrawn, but behind your reserved exterior lies an active mind that allows you to analyze situations and come up with creative, unexpected solutions. Normal people call this "scheming." Don't learn German.

Anyway, your sense of style and originality are your strengths, and people will respect your judgment once they get to know you. If you learn to be a little more personable, you could be a great leader--you've definitely got the "vision" thing down. Just make sure all the plotting you do behind those eyes of yours is healthy.

Famous masterminds in television: Dr. Claw, The Scarecrow and Mrs. King, Montgomery Burns.

PS-And by the way. Thanks to a couple of my German friends here, I am learning German. Achtung!

Here's my personality according to eMode's personality test. I took this one maybe four years ago. I have changed! Or at least, my perception of myself has changed, which is what these tests are really testing. Anyway, I'm a Secret Agent. Like Sydney Bristow! Unfortunately, eMode is now a pay site, so you can only get brief results descriptions. But here it is anyway:

Your personality is actually determined by two personality sub-types - your primary, or dominant sub-type, and your secondary sub-type. You are a Secret Agent which means you are a Thinker / Seeker Your primary sub-type is defined by "Thinker" characteristics and your secondary sub-type is defined by "Seeker" characteristics.

That means you're basically a smart, shrewd loner. Chances are although you prefer solitude, you're a deeply caring person full of energy and ideas. On a personal level, you're sensitive. You may worry too much about how you compare to others, and your mood suffers under such intense personal scrutiny.

According to Marina Margaret Heiss and Joe Butt (whoever they are), some examples of fictional ENFPs are Balkie from Perfect Strangers and Steve Irkle. Perhaps I am not as cool as I thought I was...

Here's a link to that super personality test:

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm

Take it! And share with me! I love finding out these things.

Oooo! I love personality tests. Stephane sent me this one. Take it and tell me your results! I am an ENFP or Champion Idealist. 11% Extraverted, 11% Intuitive, 56% Feeling, and 33% Perceiving. Read the details of my results and tell me if you think it is accurate. I hope so. Champion Idealists are cool!

Portrait of the Champion

The Champion Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in accomplishing their aims, and informative and extraverted when relating with others. For Champions, nothing occurs which does not have some deep ethical significance, and this, coupled with their uncanny sense of the motivations of others, gives them a talent for seeing life as an exciting drama, pregnant with possibilities for both good and evil. This type is found in only about 3 percent of the general population, but they have great influence because of their extraordinary impact on others. Champions are inclined to go everywhere and look into everything that has to do with the advance of good and the retreat of evil in the world. They can't bear to miss out on what is going on around them; they must experience, first hand, all the significant social events that affect our lives. And then they are eager to relate the stories they've uncovered, hoping to disclose the "truth" of people and issues, and to advocate causes. This strong drive to unveil current events can make them tireless in conversing with others, like fountains that bubble and splash, spilling over their own words to get it all out.

Champions consider intense emotional experiences as being vital to a full life, although they can never quite shake the feeling that a part of themselves is split off, uninvolved in the experience. Thus, while they strive for emotional congruency, they often see themselves in some danger of losing touch with their real feelings, which eNFps possess in a wide range and variety. In the same vein, eNFps strive toward a kind of spontaneous personal authenticity, and this intention always to "be themselves" is usually communicated nonverbally to others, who find it quite attractive. All too often, however, eNFps fall short in their efforts to be authentic, and they tend to heap coals of fire on themselves, berating themselves for the slightest self-conscious role-playing.
###

More about me if you care: http://typelogic.com/enfp.html

Ooooh! I love it when I get to read about me!

Oh, and for those that are curious, Stephane is an INTP or an Architect Rational. Apparently I am living with Howard Roarke.

So, Sara brought this to my attention. I put the title on it. But I thought I would break my blogging silence with a scream against all of the forces of oppression that are being elevated in the US. Here is a link to the article:

Some Texans Boycott Girl Scout Cookies

READ THE ARTICLE FIRST and then read a letter that Sara wrote in response. I think what she has to say is very relevant and eloquently expressed. It is time for people to understand that the relative morality preached by conservative Christians is not equipped to deal with the very complex, diverse, and troubled social reality. Let's end the witchhunt. And now, without further adieu, Sara's letter (which is much more diplomatic than my own rants.):


I just read the US National AP article from March 3rd about the "Texans Boycott Girl Scout Cookies" issue. As a socio-politically minded woman who sees herself as a feminist, and a former girlscout of five years, I want to say that I commend the Texas troups for attempting to provide a healthy, positive, safe environment for girls to learn about sexual health and their bodies. That age is where questions arise, and often the only safe source for discussion is a community of equally ignorant peers.

This is a women's issue - women need access to this information, and to be able to feel guiltless and unashamed with the discussion of it. The quote from parent Shannon Donaldson, "It embarrassed me to look at it with my husband", made me wish that someone had reached out to her earlier -
how sad to feel embarassed to discuss sex openly with your own husband!!

It is unfortunate that a specific group was able to disband a girl scout troop for political issues. I can understand that these discussions are not the choice for every family, and I respect that. But what
Pro-Life Waco director John Pisciotta and his followers did was teach these young women an unfortunate lesson early on. In my experience, girl scouts was the forum where we learned to organize, work as a team, share triumphs and setbacks, face adversity and come to believe in ourselves when so many other things in our life at that time had the ability to make us feel awkward and incapable. These single minded adults have succesfully broken a team, used the media to create shame, and worse of all, censored the distribution of valuable information.

I'm writing this, as someone who rarely writes letters in response to news or media, but as someone who's been truly upset to hear such a story. Besides the cookies and costumes, I do associate the Girl Scouts with positive images of female empowerment, bonding and fun. I'm writing this to show my support for the creative programming that the leaders of Troops 7527 and 7087 had devised and to support the Planned Parenthood organization which has helped so many people through the most difficult of times in their lives.

If there is a need for a public response to the actions taken in Waco, Texas, I will be happy to add my voice and comments in opposition to this oppression.

Thank you for taking the time to read my letter. I wish you all the best.

So after an ill-fated happy hour at Ruloff's my senior year (that damn spinner kept landing on $1 Sambuca shots…it was only a matter of time before I would be seduced by the comfort of the bathroom floor and the oh-so-lovely Ruloff's toilet) and a raki incident in New York City which ended with me serenading my fellow passengers on the 4 train, anise-flavored liquors have pretty much been off-limits to me. So while waiting in line at the fabulous traiteur-cum-restaurant Le Feyrouz, a Lebanese restaurant here in Paris, I approached the cloudy shot glasses that kept be handed to me by the owner with care. You see, there was a long line and to keep everyone content they kept putting out plates of appetizers and serving this cloudy, raki like liquor.

Upon further research, I discovered that arak is actually a brandy fabricated from sugar cane that is then mixed with anise and drunk with water. It spread through Europe (think raki, ouzo, grappa, etc.) in the millenia that followed. The history of sugar cane distillation is pretty fascinating (wine nerd, what??): the Egyptians used it to cure certain maladies and then in the middle ages the alchemists adopted it, calling it the "water of life" or "eau de vie" and it was recommended as an elixir for longevity. For you hip drinkers out there, the liquor used in caipirinhas is also derived from sugar cane.

BUT what I think is the best find of all of this is that in Brazil there is actually a museum dedicated to "Sugar Cane Brandy." Here's a quote from their website: The sugar cane brandy, made from the traditional sugar cane is an important step in the evolution of Brazil as a great nation. Hmm, I think more accurately this statement should read, "The sugar cane brandy, made from the traditional sugar cane, is a key reason why we are unable to fight our way out of 'developing nation' status." But hey, they sure know how to party!

Ok, I have no idea how I arrived in Brazil from Lebanon, so I am going to go to bed now. It was a tiring trip…

When I went to eat at one of the student dining halls today, I walked through a pile of fishheads (roly-poly ones) on the sidewalk outside the building, only to find out that the "plat du jour" was pretty much fried headless fish...Needless to say, I made do with an Orangina.

That I will post again, but this week may be a little spotty. Lots of work. But that doesn't mean I don't have lots of ideas in my head. Here's a sneak peak at what may be to come:

• Paris vs. New York (yeah, I know its a lame topic, but someone and something provoked it in me)
  
• Unwittingly ending up in Academia
  
• A skiing trip with strings attached
  
• "Arac" my world!
  

Oh, and for a very brief update on my day, I was just at the swimming pool and let's just say that the man in the lane next to mine really helped me to visualize the Aquatic Ape Theory of human evolution...