zher kom-pron

The first time I ever recall touching the french language was in Mr. Thompson's Introductory French class in sixth grade.  Firmly believing that I would never use it, I immediately dropped it at the first chance I got [after the final exam, C+, thank you very much], and never considered learning it again.

Unfortunately.

I've learned, over the course of the last two and a half-ish months I've been here, that a) one does not come to Paris to learn French, and b) the best place to learn any language is at the dinner table, in a debate, and in bed.  I have the unfortunate news to report, however, that regardless of the French phrasebook I bought in Buenos Aires, my repertoire of sentences I can [somewhat] confidently say can only get me tickets to the metro, food in a restaurant, and a finger wagging in the direction I want to go...

... usually a highly offended and confused look from the person to whom I'm speaking.

Which, in my case, was enough to get by for two and a half months.

Dedicated with wonderful gratitude to my hosts, dance partners, and complete strangers who spoke with me, I present a list of the most interesting things I've learned to say in French, and their translations.

And, of course, the responses I've received when speaking them.

 -||-

Je m'appelle Joshua.  Je suis enchanté !  or  Enchanté !
My name is Joshua.  I am enchanted!  or  Enchanted!

Interestingly, this is not the first sentence [or second, third, fourth, etc] that I use upon meeting someone.  Maybe after the second or third meeting is when I finally get to introduce my name.  The enchanted part is in response to said stranger introducing themself.  And until then?  I attempt to explain [in English] what it is I am doing in Paris.

-||-

Je suis un étudiant pour le danse.

I am a student of dance.

Not EXACTLY my reason for being in Paris, but at its basic, basic, basic core...  Vaguely close enough.

 -||-

J'habite à Puteaux avec un ami.
I live in Puteaux with a friend.  Not to be confused with I live in dirty whore water with a friend.

Also not absolutely necessary information people need to know, but I like to attempt to impress the Parisians with what I know how to say.  Unfortunately, the only ones who ARE impressed are female and older than thirty-five.

 -||-
 

Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas français.  Parlez-vous anglais ?
I am sorry, I do not speak French.  Do you speak english?

My default phrase when a flurry of French words are thrown in my direction.  Although the person to whom I am speaking normally responds in English [or even Spanish], it's at this point Host 2 will appear out of no where and whisper in my ear, 'You've already said too much.'

-||-

Voulez-vous danser avec moi?
Would you like to dance with me?
 
Voulez-vous guider ?
Would you like to lead?
 
Je voudrais guider.
I would like to lead.

 

À gauche, à droite.
To the left, to the right.

Maintenant.
Now.

Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Pardon !
Sorry!

The dance basics.  For either partner or solo dancing, these have gotten me incredibly far in all the classes I've taken.

-||-

Combien coûte une tablette de chocolat ?
How much is that chocolate bar?

I buy a lot of chocolate here.  A lot.

-||-

Je voudrais ... un vin rouge, un vin blanc, une carte, une baguette, un croissant, peroxyde d'hydrogène, etc.
I would like... red wine, white wine, metro tickets, a baguette, a croissant, hydrogen peroxide, etc.

Je cherche...
I am looking for... 

Being the demanding American I am, I've also gotten considerably good at stating what I want.

-||-

Merci !  Merci beaucoup !

Thank you!  Thank you very much!

Bonjour, bonsoir, bonne soirée, Bonne nuit.

Hello/Good day, good evening, good evening, good night.

However, being the gentlemanly son my parents raised me to be, I've also learned greetings and farewells.  Interestingly, I might not normally speak to things that can respond.  As a mnemonic device, I greet and say farewell to nouns [sheep, macaroons, Paris, stars, plate, cheeses, etc.] as I learn their translations.  Bonjour, mouton!  Bonsoir, fromage!

 -||-

Où est ...?
Where is...?

The problem with learning how to ask something in another language is that you REALLY have to understand the answer.  Unfortunately, whenever I ask for the nearest public toilet, the museum, a particular road, or even a monument, I receive a barrage of French words and a series of hand gestures that I can only assume to be French sign language.  So I simply nod and walk in the direction of their last hand gesture.  This, of course, only gets me more lost and late than I originally intended, but hey, at least I got directions in French.

-||-

C'est beaux/belle.

It is beautiful.

I once wanted to comment on the atmosphere, the ambience, the aura of the dance room I was in, and I thought that this was what one should say in French.  However, as a friend explained to me, 'Yes, that is how you say it.  But no one in Paris would ever say that, because we complain about everything.'

-||-

Je ne regrette rien.
I regret nothing.

La vie en rose.
Life in pink.

Quelqu'un m'a dit…
Someone told me... 

I once was asked by a Parisian to say everything I knew how to say in French, and these came out.  And with each one, he immediately knew to which song I was referring.  'Ah,' he would say, 'Like Edith Piaf,' or, 'Like Carla Bruni.'

-||-

Ah, l'été parisien, c'est romantique.

Ah, the Parisian summer is romantic.  

The same Parisian heard me say this, and responded accordingly:  'That eez, ah, like we say, ah, a cliché.'

-||-

Ah, c'est trop américain, ça.
Ah, it's too American.  

Host 2 noticed that I tend to shut my mouth and look in the other direction when in the presence of other loud Americans.  When I asked how to curse the Americans in French, this is what I got.

-||-

Ah, c'est une autre grosse américaine. 
Ah, it's another fat American.
I learned to say this only because I had crossed paths with a fairly petite American girl who complained LOUDLY at 5 in the afternoon: 'I AM SO HUNGRY I JUST WANT DINNER NOW.'  When I asked how to curse the Americans in response to her complaint, this was the translation I got.

-||-

Le fauteuil m'étend les bras.
The armchair reaches its arms out to me.
 

Possibly my favorite phrase, I wanted to learn how to say, 'I need to sit now,' but a dance partner said that this was the more Parisian thing to say.  Apparently.

-||-

Imagine me.  As she.

[le garçon]

La Vie

In honor of a friend's wedding and la Fête Nationale today...

Although I very much prefer Edith Piaf's version, I know they'd appreciate one in English.


[en train de voir en rose]

Pride

A moment for honesty:

The idea of going to a Gay Pride Parade had terrified me for a very, very long time.  Having gone to only one last year, I assumed that overly feminine men and overly masculine women would tromp around in heavy costumery or almost nothing at all.  I assumed that everyone who participated in the parade must have been absolutely out of their mind.  After all, who would ever walk for 6 plus kilometers in incredibly hot weather and body glitter?

So, of course, when the opportunity to perform in Paris' Pride Parade this year came around, I threw caution to the wind [such was the nature of this year] and agreed to be part of Aquahomo's dance float.  Doing so would prove my assumptions wrong [another assumption in itself], or at least attempt to, and embrace everything the gay culture had to offer.

Instead of articulately describing what and who I saw, I present to you several handfuls of snapshots.  You'll find realizations at the very end.

"Do we know yet why the group's called AquaHomo?"

"Nope."

Sounds like some friends back home.  Natalia.

 No butts about it.

Jock Strap?

 A tolerant people, the Gays are.

 "Oh, crap.  We're following the Amnesty International float?"

 Bonjour, Les Gais Musette!  Avec José!

Dirty Dancing.

 Note:  Heels.

 Putt-ing themselves out there:  gay golfers.

God Save the Gays:  Surprisingly Supportive Christian Group?

 Gaysian.

Gayngels.

Our float was between Les Gais Musette and the Queer Biking group...

 ... and the Queer Rugby team, accompanied by a mime nun.

 I WONDER what these CATs were up to.

 Jasmine?

 Happened in the middle of the parade,

for those who committed suicide in struggling with their identity.

 Jam sesh, whilst not doing choreography.

Ye olde queeres!

 This group listened to the same 5 songs [1, 2, 3, 4, 5] on loop for 6 hours.

The sun won't set.  It's FRUITless to hope or to fret.

C'est Binh!

Oh, The Thinks You Can Think!

Even my cookie was happily proud!

What's a queen to do when her float stops playing music?

Start singing herself.

Ah, c'est le fin!  A la Bastille!

One major highlight:  Watching Kazaky perform LIVE.

 ... Sadly, without heels, oversized scarves, or onion heads.

 Reunited with a tango professor from Buenos Aires at his workshop in Paris!

Here's what I've learned from performing in the Pride Parade:

In a world laced with criticism and  disapproval, only the brave love partaking in the occasional demonstration/protest to piss off some a**holes.  The Pride Parade doesn't focus solely on being gay, or lesbian, or trans, etc.  It's all about taking the time to realize the many facets that make up the jewel you are, and embracing them.  You might focus on one, two, or twenty things that you identify with, and spend an entire day parading around in a caricature of that/those facets.  And in doing so, you own who you've become.  

Yes, there might be 60,000 people oggling you and taking pictures and making videos like you're the albino giraffe at the zoo, but you'd be surprised how much you don't notice them, or even care.  Not when you're doing the things and showing off the person you most love.

[Proud]

One Day

 

"Joshua," he remembered his mother saying to him, a very, very, long time ago, "One day we'll go to Europe.  You, me, Daddy, and Kikay."  She looked back to the TV screen, where a young cartoon woman began to cry as she reunited with her long lost grandmother.  He remembered not taking his mother seriously, only being interested in finding another peanut butter jellybean somewhere in the bag they bought earlier that afternoon.

"Aye, my god.  Paris...  London...  It's always been my dream to go to all those places before I die.  We'll go.  One day.  Maybe.  When we win the lottery."

Many, many years later, as he pedaled his way past the Arc de Triomphe, past the Louvre, and past la Bastille, this tiny fragment of a memory, however minimally detailed, surfaced to his conscience.  Almost colliding with a parked car, he pulled into an alley and locked his bicycle.

He had fallen in love with the City, that much was obvious.  Throughout his travels, he never regretted any of the places he had gone, but was always asked,

Why did you choose to go there?

His initial answer was simple:  I want to touch each continent before I die.  Upon further consideration, he realized that different reasons brought him to different countries.  India:  where he would experience sensory overload.  Uganda:  where he would learn to appreciate a much more simple life.  Australia:  where he would find how much more he needed to grow.  Argentina:  where he would experience passion, firsthand.  But France?

Where he would live a dream - his or his mother's, that wasn't clear - at the end of a dream year.  Why the rest of his family never made it to Europe, he couldn't exactly understand.  He had made it here without the lottery [although the definition of lottery was now in debate], accomplished before the end of the first quarter of his life.

"Don't worry about your mother," Betty said in Argentina, "If she didn't travel somewhere, she had her own reasons."

As he walked past the patisserie full of macaroons and tartelettes, he couldn't help but think, How fair is it that I got to live her dream before she did?  A tiny pang of guilt tugged at his stomach.  

In Australia, Philip had once expressed hesitation in becoming a parent.  "I think the real challenge in being a parent," he argued, "would be to help my child find happiness.  And if my son or daughter could say one day that they found happiness, I know I'd have done my job."

Later that night, he would take his camera out of his bag and snap a picture of himself with a flower-shaped cone of gelato.  Maybe it was the mix of raspberry and chocolate, or maybe it was the first night that felt like summer, or maybe it was just the good company with whom he had dinner.  Happiness had been sitting there with him so far this year, and he was sure that it wouldn't leave afterwards.

Maybe knowing that would be enough for her.

[Living There TOday]

[in]conveniently II

My computer finally drew its last breath a few days ago.

Therefore, writing posts of inexplicably intricate and high quality will be difficult.

I´m currently writing from an internet café with a difficult keyboard.

So in the meantime, while I figure out what to do for regular communicae, I´ll leave you with this:

Tango is beginning to make MUCH more sense.  And sooner or later, you can just call me


[Mr. Smith]

Of Complaint

A long rant.  Still in the editing phase, of course, but I felt it was right to release a rough draft as soon as possible.

-||-

To One Ms. She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named,

[Because, after all, I actually don't know your name.  But if I did, I cannot say that this letter would be any more pleasant than I'm predicting it to be.

Which won't be very much.]

Let me say this first and foremost: I love me a woman who can lead  knows what she's doing.

Not only does this momentarily remove the pressure of having to stressfully decide what to do for a whole four minutes [an uncomfortably long time for a beginner tango student], it shows me how to properly signal to a partner what to do, and how it feels to be lead.  Suprisingly, not many male students who learn to lead learn to follow in the same class, which - as most teachers believe - makes one a more well-rounded, smarter, and understanding dancer.  A woman who can lead a [reasonably] naive and shy beginner around a milonga will always have a place in my heart and continuously growing list of people who have made this year bearable.

It is at this point in my letter I hope to distinguish the difference between two statements, one of which I have just claimed true, and the other of which I will elucidate:

1. I love me a woman who can lead knows what she's doing.
2. I DO NOT love me a woman who has her head so far up some dark crevice of her being to convince herself that she THINKS she can lead knows what she's doing.

I like to reminisce all the way back to one week ago when you first appeared at the milonga.  When I first laid eyes upon you, I chose to ignore the warnings from fellow students about you.  "Oh, watch out for her," one would say, and, "Yikes.  Hide while you can."  Upon asking for further details, all I received in response was, "She is a terrible dancer.  If you're smart, you'll find other partners."

Apparently, I wasn't.

Although I didn't dance with you in class - Mariana [teacher at Tango Queer] chose not to change partners - you found me worthy to dance with later that evening.  Perhaps it was my staring at the empty dance floor that inspired you to dance with me [did I appear as if I was longed to be on the floor?].  Or perhaps it was my sitting alone for two tandas that made you take pity on me.  Most likely, it was my outburst of "SOY SOLO PRINCIPIANTE || "I AM JUST A BEGINNER" followed by my palms keeping you a safe radius away from my body that you found endearing.  My immediate confession to being unworthy of your experience must have been a good enough excuse to still want to dance with me.

Nevertheless, our two or three songs together wasn't even remotely painful.  Heck, you even taught me some rumba during the cortina.  And when I was teased/asked about what it was like to dance with you?

"She wasn't terrible at all," I claimed, DEFENDING YOU, "I don't know what you all were thinking about.  Have you even danced with her?  Give her a chance!"

To this, they just shivered and waved away the thought.

You probably don't read my blog, but as I've expressed before, I like to think that there are two kinds of experienced dancers I've met so far:

1. The kind who give you hope that you will eventually crack this Da Vinci Code of a social dance.
2. The kind who make you want to curl up into the fetal position in the middle of the dance floor while everyone seeks mental and physical assistance.  For you, of course.

As much as I love talking crap about someone I hardly know dislike observing and analyzing what I perceive to be someone's eventual downfall room for improvement, I must conclude that you are

THE LATTER KIND.

Considering I enjoy making lists, I present to you several observations in bold and academic commentary in italics that support my conclusion.

• Repeatedly shaking your head and saying "NO NO NO NO."
• Lady, do you know how traumatizing this is?  Especially for beginners?  Are you trying to scare people from ever stepping into a milonga again, or are you just unable to control both vocal and neck muscles, resulting in a discouraging response to a horrifying situation?
• Repeatedly telling your partner that he/she is not moving the correct foot, and that he/she is not moving the foot back far enough.
• If I'm NOT moving the right foot, it's because my lead IS NOT making me do that.
• Similarly, If I'm NOT moving it back far enough, it might be because my lead is DRIVING MY SHOULDERS INTO THE GROUND.
• Repeatedly pressing your fingers to your temple in frustration.
• Again.  Traumatic.  I understand that as a beginner, it is my duty to learn how to respond correctly, HOWEVER, as an 'experienced' dancer, it's your duty to teach me patiently and not get frustrated in two minutes.
• Repeatedly telling your partner that he/she is not doing what he/she is supposed to be doing.
• Like above, if I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing, maybe it's because YOU'RE NOT MAKING ME DO IT.
• Additionally, as the lead, you should be able to SIGNAL to your partner what to do.  As a fellow dancer at Tango Queer once told me, "Think of it as an invitation to let your partner do something.  They might accept it and do what you want, or they might not.  Nevertheless, you continue."
• Repeatedly telling your partner that he/she is missing and/or forgetting a specific step.
• I'm not an expert in tango.  [Not yet.]  But what I've come to learn in the past five/six weeks is that regardless of whether or not your partner does a specific step you learned in class, KEEP GOING.  DO NOT drop your arms and tell me to start over with a heavy sigh.  No one is perfect [not me, and ESPECIALLY not you].
• When doing combinations of different tango moves you learn, you're always going to have to omit a step here and there.  Just because it didn't happen like it did in class DOES NOT MEAN you should stop the dance and start over, or even worse, stop.  Only one species of person does this in the real world: the Diva.
• Telling your partner that "That's the problem with beginners; they don't know how to walk correctly."
• Not only is this an insult to your partner, it's an insult to almost everyone in the room.  You're taking a class, and so is everyone else.  Know what that means?  To some degree, WE'RE ALL BEGINNERS.  Yes, that includes you.  Last time I checked, YOU WERE NOT teaching the class.
• And if it's a problem, help me correct it.  Don't roll your eyes in pain and make your partner do it over and over again without HELPING.
• Waving the teacher to come over and personally correct your partner.
• I like to consider this one the lowest of the low moves you can pull in the middle of the class.  Yes, it might be my fault.  But DO NOT call the teacher over and demand her to "Tell him what he's doing wrong."  Not only does this imply that your partner is absolutely wrong, it implies that you are absolutely right.  This, of course, will always lead to both mistakes and humiliation.
• The teacher might even actually correct YOU and what you are NOT doing.  Like, properly leading your partner for example.  Oh, wait, wasn't that what I was telling you THE ENTIRE TIME?!?!?!
• I think I'm reasonably modest.  Therefore, when my partner doesn't do something I expected him/her to do in a dance, I take the blame for it.  Please, do us all a favor: Grow up, and STOP BLAMING EVERYONE ELSE.  

If I've learned anything from this experience [not the correct steps for today's class, I can tell you that], it's that I've become much, much, much, more patient with dealing with difficult people situations.  This a life skill [perhaps there'll be a How-To I'll write from this] that few people develop before their eventual death [Exhibit A: YOU].  In some situations, I've learned to take the time to slow everything down and talk through a situation, bit by little bit.  In others, I've learned to gracefully admit defeat, accept losses, and move in a different direction.  Both show an immense amount of maturity and require an equal ammount of patience.

None of which, as I soon learned, I had for you.

Thanks to you, I've revived an old and effective defense mechanism [one that I haven't used since high school...  Cheers, Mom and Dad!]:  The smile and nod.  Often accompanied by music that I hum in the back of my head to drown out your voice, I'll smile as I choose to ignore everything you say, and nod when your lips have stopped moving.

The song I've chosen for you?  This little pick-me-up, specifically chosen when it was played as the cortina when you and I let go of each other and sought new partners.  Eyes glazing over is a bonus, if you can get that to happen next time.

Not that I'm ever hoping for a next time.

Not expecting to hear from you soon,


[Bitchin']

Like Making Love

Betty [preparing to leave the apartment]:  Ah Joshua, how are your tango classes?

Me [looking up from jar of dulce de leche]:  It's... okay.
B [concerned]:  How do you mean?
M:  It's already been three weeks, and I still can't lead.
B:  But you are just eh beginner.
M:  I know, but when I lead, most people who dance with me get frustrated and tell me that I need more force from the body, esfuerza del cuerpo.  But when I try doing that, I feel like I'm just ramming my chest into theirs.
B:  Ah but ees not just eh force.  Eets ah...  ahn energy.  Eets eh feeling.  Eet has to come from here [clutches her abdomen] and that's when you connect with another person.  When you hear tango, don't you feel eet here?

-| As seen at La Viruta |-

M [nodding slowly with raised eyebrows]: Si...
B [raising her eyebrows]:  Are you sure?
M:  No...
B:  When I hear tango, I...  [she shivers] Eet ees like when you make love.  You must, I forget how you say...
[Silence in which Betty looks off into the distance.]
M:  You can say it in castellano.
B:  Entregarse.  Without that, eets just eh dance.  And tango ees not just eh dance.  Without entregarse, there ees no connection, eets just moving.  Without-
M [finding the translation on GoogleTranslate]: -To surrender.  Entregarse is to surrender.
B:  Si.  Without surrendering, you are just moving.  Without that, eet ees just sex.  But with eet, eets making love.
M:  So I have to surrender to my partner?
B:  Si.  For me, you have to have that feeling, or you won't understand eet.  For me, tango and making love are the same.  That's why I like doing both. [Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she turns to leave the apartment.]  Eets okay.  You'll get eet soon.




[ Learning to Make Love?  Every Night? ]

Kailea

Imagine, at Australian Dance Theatre's beginner contemporary class, a teacher who calls out choreography.

"run, run, run, run

Tina Turner, Tina Turner

and swing, and swing

back, back, fence, fence

and lovely!

beautiful!

lovely!

beautiful!"

Hilarious, and loving every minute of it.

[Not Letting Go]

Used to Be

From the collection of the year's theme songs.  Enjoy.

Yes, I saw it in a Corona ad with friends at the movies.


[Miles Away]

If The Fates Allow

To play whilst reading.  [ I know, I know.  The Frank Sinatra version is my favorite, and in my opinion the best.  But hey, why not go for something a little alternative this year? ]:

| Far Away |

He knew his troubles were far, somewhere beyond the sea.  Wherever he was now, [ uncle: "Hello joshua. Where are you this time?" ], he was living.  Living.  As much as he didn't want to admit it, he would.

I don't remember being this happy.

Yes, this year had plenty of setbacks.  But wasn't that all part of the experience?  Missed appointments, wandering for kilometers, questionable healthcare, shattered self-confidence, and insecure isolation were all absorbed and relished.  In the long run.  Sure, he could have gotten this back at home, but instead, it was all in india/uganda/australia.  For the first time in his life, he could do everything without regret.  Win and lose, it was everything he ever wanted and more.

So why ask for anything this Christmas?

| Golden Days |

All was golden.  He realized, as soon as he had landed in Australia, that the fuzzy heartwarming feeling of Christmas wasn't going to come, not this year.  What he didn't expect, however, was how fine he'd be without it.  Maybe it had something to do with the trips to the beach, the optimistic sun constantly blaring, the moments in which his nasal cavities had enough ocean water, the hilarious accents, and the incredible talent he had seen onstage, offstage, and everywhere in between.  Although he didn't want to say it out loud, he knew that somewhere deep down, he missed snow, Christmas trees, and hot cocoa.

He was getting everything he needed, that much was obvious.

What he wanted, however, was certainly lacking.

| The Fates |

He remembered his mom always telling him, "If it doesn't happen, it's wasn't meant to happen.  It will when it does."  And although there was more than enough pressure from his host parents to have an Aussie Flame before he left - and remember, the Christmas season is during the summer; ergo, it would be considered a summer fling - he just didn't see that happening.

Really, he was okay with that.

Cutting back on expectations was a HUGE part of the things he'd learned during his few months abroad, and it was proving to make this trip even more incredible than it already was.  In addition to decreasing his chances of disappointment, it was teaching him how to deal with it.  And to be honest, the world was chock full of it.

What he needed would come to him, and what didn't come to him taught him to wait.  Everything would get better in time.  And the interesting thing was, as soon as he didn't get what he'd want...  Something else would fall out of the blue and tell him that it happened

for

a

reason.

| Near to Us |

He knew that his back was always covered.  The invisible hands of friends and family back home and around the world would always be there to catch him.  Small messages here and there were more than enough to remind him that somewhere, someone was waiting for him.

Everyone deserves to know that.

They would tell him what he needed to hear, not what he wanted.  He would be told the right thing at the right time.  It was the ones who mattered the most that ended up surprising him.  And it was these for whom he would momentarily allow himself to feel homesick.

| Now |

This wasn't the most well thought out post, but I guess I haven't really been writing in this very often.  It's not that nothing is happening right now... things are always happening.  I guess it's just that I haven't really been interested in writing in this.  It's kind of exhausting.  And as with most people who keep a blog while they're abroad, there's always a sudden decline in how much they write.  To wriggle against that, I guess I've just decided to slap together something in honor of the holidays.  Sorry for the inconsistency/lack of comprehension/elements of a train of thought.  But if you've gotten this far, hey, I think I've entertained you enough.

In short, I'm still having an incredible time.  Difficult, hilarious, gut-wrenching, smile-making, but most of all incredible.  

Merry Christmas, Friends.

[ Gifted ]

p.s. Oh, I took a day of dance workshops a couple of weeks ago, and this was a song used by one of the teachers at Adelaide College of the Arts.  A new addition to my growing list of favorite life songs.  Enjoy.