According to this quiz on the 2005 Academy Award-nominated movies, I am "not even a player" but I learned a lot of great factoids, such as the original title of "The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind" which proves Charlie Kaufman's insanity.

So far, I have seen 4 of the 5 nominees for Best Picture and I plan on seeing Finding Neverland (mmm....Depp) this weekend, as it comes out today in France. My predictions to come once I have seen it.

Anyone that was in Europe during the summer of 2004 will know this song, but even if you don't know it, you should and this big boy is just the person to make you appreciate its charm.

See his lip sync here.

It's a game! Go here and then click on Cheerleader Toss. It is pretty fun, particularly the comments. Thanks to Mehilainen for this one.

After sleeping, what activity occupies the greatest percentage of my days? During college, it was definitely studying. In NYC, commuting would probably take the prize. In France, considering the thimble-sized washer-dryer I have, that doesn't do either well, I would have to say laundry. I am constantly putting in a load (about the equivalent of 2 sweaters and a pair of socks), hanging clothes up to dry, folding them, ironing them. Now I understand why Europeans have the reputation of wearing the same clothes everyday. I have become quite meticulous about my clothes, sacrificing fashion for cleanliness, hiking up my pants when it's raining and tip-toeing across our garden which is currently trapped under the remnants of a MASSIVE snowstorm that dumped over 2 inches of snow on the Parisian region, shutting down roads and airports. (wusses) So, Parisian weather intolerance being a whole other chapter, the goal is to have as few dirty clothes as possible. Despite my gargantuan efforts, I haven't been able to rid myself of the Anglo-Saxon obsession with clean underwear and socks, and thus the hamper fills up quickly.

Over the past year, I have lost 12 socks, their widows and widowers huddled together in a drawer that has since been deemed "the sock cemetery" by my roomie. Most of the newly single socks are my best ones, trouser socks in black, brown, and cream, poofy ones that are pratically slippers, sleek ribbed black ones, and the little ones that fit just inside shoes to give the illusion that no socks are being worn; all rendered completely useless by the escape of their partners. However, one race of socks seems immune to the temptation of escape. They are the blue socks. The ones that come in the package with the white, gray, and black cotton socks that my mom buys me every year for Christmas. Not only do they never abandon each other, but they are infatigable. They stay soft and full while the others develop holes in the heals and toes, or become stiffened by the lack of fabric softener to the point where they are nearly impossible to pull over my inflexible feet.

I long to wear these pinnacles of sock excellence, yet what occasion calls for blue socks? I can't wear them with my dress shoes because they are truly unchic. Black shoes? Yuck. Sneakers are a no go, for I only wear sneakers for exercise and, as I learned from Mr. Schilstra, my first gym teacher, sweat can make the dyes in colored socks run and turn our feet strange colors. With my boots? They are too thick. So, the best socks of the drawer have been relegated to emergency status, used only when all other socks are indisposed. And thus, I make reference to Jet Li's screenplay of The Kiss of the Dragon, by saying sometimes the best are also the worst. It's quite sad actually.

You remind me of the babe.

What babe?

The babe with the power.

What power?

The power of voodoo.

Who do?

You do.

I do what?

Last night, I had a flash of homesickness for quarters, flippy cup, beer pong, and asshole. I realized that getting obliterated is not fun unless there is a game involved. I was at a party and I kept trying to instigate something, but without the American guys there the enthusiasm wanes. So I settled for tequila shots with a lot of French guys and an Asian-French girl who, I kid you not, was named Lay. She kicked ass. She did four with me. And I am happy to report that waking up this morning to go to a 7 hour chorus rehearsal, I was not hungover. After the detox, I have a liver of steel. I figure the 3 weeks of detox are a bit like my friend Tim's concept of half-time : during a night of drinking, a half hour of non-drinking should be inserted in order to gauge the body's capacity for alcohol processing. If at the end of the half-hour, you feel good, keep drinking. If not, half-time needs to be extended. Well, I feel great, so keep the glasses filled!

Just had a wonderful dinner at Restaurant Chinois de Sichuan (the Grand Sichuan of Paris) and wanted to wish you all a happy year of the cock, I mean, rooster...

Ok, I don't know how I feel about this one. I am at once offended and amused, but I figure I'll put it out there for you all to make your own decision about it. It is a special ed teacher's account of her daily experiences in the classroom.

Go to the Tard Blog

I invite you all to take a tour of a truly brilliant online museum.

The Museum of Bad Album Covers

I particularly like the rooms "The God Squad" and "Great British Awfulness". If you don't have time to see it all, at least check out their Top 10.

In response to the post "United Morons of America," karebear brought up a good point. She wrote:

"you know sometimes I wonder if it's a case of the school system or a case of the media -- that seems to be more an effective conduit for education these days, as sad as it is. And for the record, I didn't know flag burning was not illegal. Either way, americans need some sort of help."

I started to reply in the comments section but realized that it merits a whole post.

Both the media and the education system are instruments of the power structures in place (or you could argue that they are the power structures themselves.) To many, the manipulative powers of the media are as obvious as a blood stain on a white shirt. To many others, CNN is an objective information source. The role the schools play in maintaining the political power structure also seems glaring to many and has led to many a polemical debate (example: Columbus as the discoverer of America, the role of black Americans in the construction of the US, the Algerian War taught by the French, etc.) Yet all but the most militant activist parents don't desire the successful memorization and assimilation of this suspect information. By the time we get to college we have at least 13 years of information brainwashing to undo. That is if we are lucky enough to have some professors who think past the propaganda (thank you Leland Glenna). Of course, we can't forget the large numbers of young people who won't make it to college and for whom the media does not only constitute a more powerful educational channel, but perhaps their ONLY educational channel.

But I still believe in education. I still believe that more knowledge is inevitably better than more ignorance. It may disrupt an individual's peaceful existence, but it can only benefit the planet. Let's face it, the marketing machines want to find out everything they can about people and play a huge, and not totally negative, role in the construction of our realities. The only way to survive in this environment is to try to learn as much about them as possible. Due to their nature as a tool of political control, public school curriculums can hardly be called upon to undermine the power structures in place. However, I do believe that, instead of arguing about the place of religious values in public schools, we should all be fighting for the place of American values in schools. Obviously, we as a people have a weak grasp of the Constitution. We all know vaguely how a bill becomes a law, but we don't know what these laws are. We also do not make the connection between our rights that were laid out in this document and in the Declaration of Independence and our cultural values (meaning what we truly value: individuality, equality of opportunity, entrepreneurship, ambition, etc.). This is the schools job. Every high school graduate should be able to cite the Bill of Rights and understand why each amendment was made (including the 2nd, I'm sorry to say).

As for the media, I have always thought that it was essential not to protect children from the media machines (kids who's television watching was restricted always came out messed up), but to educate them about how the media works: how advertising works and television programming, the flaws in the press and the news media, the idea of spin, techniques of persuasion, etc.) Children deal with the media long before they deal with school, yet there is very little guidance for parents about how to make their kids smart users of media. Unless your a Menonnite or a Luddite, you're going to live in a highly mediatized world and it is key to not only understand these concepts and techniques, but to master them. Even the most altruistic and ethical causes require a great deal of mediatization and, well, marketing. Those that are not aware are not only more susceptible to manipulation, but they also lose their voice. I believe that media education, whether through private organizations or through families (if not through schools) is as necessary as civics classes in school to protect our democracy, which, despite the current regime, has accomplished great things and still has the potential to do good in the world.

I have to admit, I too thought that it was illegal to burn an American flag. Once again, a reason why we need to reinstate Civics education in our schools.

U.S. students say press freedoms go too far from Yahoo News

I just watched my first John Wayne movie and I think I am going to be spoiled from now on. Not only does The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance star Mr. Wayne but also Jimmy Stewart and it is directed by THE director of westerns, John Ford. I always shunned westerns as another man genre, but this movie kicked so much ass that either it has proven me wrong or the water in France has testosterone in it and I am losing my womanly reflexes.* Unlike so many westerns, this film wasn’t about the landscape but about the collision of two prideful men who are classy enough not to hate each other, despite an awkward love triangle. Oh, and they are united in their desire to bring down the nuisance of Shinbone, Liberty Valance, who has absolutely no redeeming qualities. One of them gets him, the other gets the girl. Want to find out who gets who? I highly recommend adding it to your Netflix list (or asking Stéphane if you can borrow it, for those of you living in a lame-ass country that has no NetFlix.)

I am bad with movie reviews, so go read about it at IMDB if you want a more cinephile opinion. I watch movies like I drink wine, I either like them or I don’t but don’t ask me for an essay about why.

I guess learning how to describe likes and dislikes would be a good exercise for an aspiring writer. Oh, well. Guess I will stay at the aspiring plateau for a while. Enjoy the glib comments while they last. For example, I liked this movie for the names of its characters : Ransom Stoddard, Marshal Link Appleyard, Dutton Peabody, esquire, and Major Cassius Starbuckle. The best one, however, is Amos Carruthers, played by Denver Pyle. Why even give Mr. Pyle a character name? I wish they had a Western Name Generator. That would be great.

* NOTE: I must also point out that the screenplay (written by men) is based on a story by a woman, Dorothy M. Johnson. Rock on with your bad self Dottie. It’s so nice to see a woman’s name in the credits of an old movie for something other than costumes or hairstyling.

So, I spent yesterday watching movies (it was a three movie day) and I have to say, that the Quote of the Week comes from the film The Kiss of the Dragon that not only stars Jet Li, but also is based on a screenplay written by him. This great literary mind gave us the following piece of Confucian wisdom:

"Sometimes the best are actually the worst. It is quite sad." -Inspector Richard (spoken with a lovely French accent).

I think that you should all leave work early to ponder this enigma which has as many layers as an onion patch. Really.

Wednesday night inaugurated our adventurous cuisine outings at a little restaurant (16 seats) called Café Lapon, a combination antique shop/restaurant that features specialties from Lapland and Finland. We were a small yet burly crew who, when seeing the prices on the menu (the most expensive dish was 8 euros) decided to go all luxe and have the house aperitif. Now, I have been known to drink a carafe or two of vodka without a problem (well, just mild coordinational dysfunction, but not to the point, as Hunter S. Thompson would say, that I look like the town drunk in an early Irish novel). But this viscous et viscious Finnish vodka that the owner pulled from his freezer and poored into a glass of cranberry syrup caused semi-consciousness to set in quickly amongst the adventurers. But perhaps vodka was just the liquid courage we needed in order to psyche ourselves into the food, which consisted mostly of reindeer meat (sorry Rudolph) and smoked fish, all brought directly from Lapland by the owner himself, along with the vodka which unfortunately is not exported.

We decided to design our own personal tasting session and we had no fear. We ordered the creamed and smoked herring plate , the reindeer-potato tartine, the reindeer sausages of all kinds, and the Finnish grilled cheese, all the while butchering the Finnish language shamelessly. "We'll have the mooojaharigahda...please"

We figured the plates would be small, as they were each about 4,50 euros. We were wrong. They were huge and accompanied by industrial quantities of beets and pickles. My plate became the destination for exiled ingredients (mostly cheese and pickles) from other adventurers plates. The Elba of food items if you will. Once everyones particularities were accounted for, we dug in. Now, as in all new experiences, you win some and you lose some. I still can't stomach the herring, although I tried, and the reindeer-potato mash had a gamey kick to it that came a little too close to reminding me of the pungency of goat cheese (which for those of you who don't know, is one of my culinary enemies.) Fortunately the cranberry sauce offered a perfect counterflavor and kept me from sinking too much into goat cheese dispair. On the other hand, the Finnish grilled cheese, that consisted of a melted mild white cheese on top a bread that, as far as I can tell, was made from rye and unsweetened rice pudding (it was very moist), was delish. Other highlight of the meal was the reindeer salami, which I would like to have in my fridge at all times. Very yummy. I will have to pick some up next time I am in Lapland.

I really wanted to try a dessert (Finnish pancakes with wild strawberry jam that they made themselves from strawberries they picked themselves in Finland...) or berry-licorice birthday cake, but the vodka was having its way with us and we were getting tired and impatient. Because two of the three other tables were birthday groups, they got dessert priority and we were not about to wait for yet another round of Happy Birthday (in English, French and Finnish) for our dessert. Instead we settled for a floral infusion and ginger snaps. But I swear, next time, I want the Finnish pancakes.

So, I would just like to congratulate Finland and Café for their efficient use of reindeer meat, their perfection of vodka (how can I ever go back to Absolute Crap???), and for the invention of the ginger snap (they share this credit with Sweden, I think.) Next adventure: a Chinese restaurant for Chinese New Year. I know it is a suicide mission, but we will go down as the food martyrs we are.