You peeps are going to have to bear (or bare- I can never remember) with me for a bit. I am still processing a week’s worth o’ stupid and you may be getting snippets of conversations for the next few days.
George: What’s funny is that the Mormons don’t practice overt sexism
Me: Let’s see, a woman can’t get into heaven unless her husband dies first, I think that’s pretty overt.
George: I’m not talking about religion, I’m talking about their lives. You see all these successful, professional Mormon men, but never women
Me: Cause keeping the ladies at home, pregnant and with no income of their own isn’t overt sexism? Besides, how is that different from any of the Christian religions that want wives to be submissive?
George: You can’t compare two religions, nobody does that. If you did it would be way too complicated.
Me: Actually there is a whole line of academics devoted to comparing religions. It’s called Comparative Religion of all things.
So I have learned a VALUABLE lesson- do not go on a week long trip with someone you don’t know very very well. George (previously known as hot doctor, now know as BIGGEST ASS IN THE WORLD) has got to be the worst kind of American tourist ever.
It started as soon as we met in the airport. He started loudly proclaiming that the French should be catering to his every need because we liberated their ass in two world wars. Funny thing is, George is only recently an American. While my grandparents actually did storm the beaches of Normandy and help liberate the French from the Germans, none of George’s ancestors have ever fought in an American war. He was not terribly pleased when I pointed this out to him. Later, when he was trying to get “frisky” and I wasn’t in the mood, he was PISSED that I wasn’t going to roll over and spread my legs for him. When I said that acting like an ugly American tourist was a giant turn off, he couldn’t understand why I didn’t get that he was just kidding.
So the next day I tried to be nice and he “tried” to be nice. But he turned all his pent up ugly American behavior on me instead of on the French and proceeded to argue with Every. Single. Thing.I. Said. I stopped being nice when George woke me up from a dead sleep because he couldn’t figure out how to turn off the bathroom light.
Bernard and Ruth had both decided to keep in check their jokes about how med school would be easier than being mathematicians and Bernard has mad jedi skills at diverting George when it became obvious that his behavior was going to cause me to stab him in the eye. By Tuesday, I stayed home and slept while they went to the Eiffel tower. By Wednesday, George’s bitching about wanting a cheeseburger and only drinking diet cokes was making me nauseas. As was his screaming at lovely French waiters in English and interrupting Ruth when she talked to them in French.
I became openly hostile. He deserved it. While watching a French fireman work, George thought it was appropriate to scream at him in English “Success! Success!”. The look the firefighter gave George was priceless. It said “Some of us have real jobs you asshole frat boy”.
By Thursday, after having George the wonder ass disparage everything I said without having any sort of well rounded knowledge in anything, I took to treating him like an imbecile. At Versailles he made the genius discovery that there was “a lot of Roman influence” to which I replied “yeah- it’s a whole art movement called Neo-classical, you dumb ass”. He then decided to be bitchy because he wanted a cheeseburger. In France.
George had to leave early (thank god) because he said he had a patient having problems back home. True or not, he still was there about 6 days longer than I could tolerate.
I think I know what was wrong with him though. I think he has the citizen equivalent of “New Money” syndrome. The newly rich go through great pains to show off their wealth and importance as a way to prove that they have arrived. Old Money doesn’t have anything to prove. I think as a new citizen, George may feel the need to prove his American-ness by being every ugly stereotype of us there is: arrogant, loud, rude, aggressive, ignorant, uncouth, un-read, incurious and abusive.
That doesn’t excuse his behavior, and he is still the only person I have ever felt I really had to restrain myself from stabbing through the eyes. The great thing is that Paris was awesome in spite of George, particularly Friday when we had a lazy frittata breakfast and much informed rambley discussion about life and politics and everything before heading off to the Pompidou where I got to play art historian for Ruth and Bernard. To contrast the behaviors, Bernard who likes art but doesn’t know much about it asked me about who “that guy that makes the big square paintings is”. At first I thought he meant Mondrian, but then I figured out he meant Rothko. We searched the museum so I could find him the 2 Rothko’s they have and I explained how you can tell when a Rothko painting was done by looking at it because they get darker and sadder later in his life, right up until he committed suicide. I also got toe explain the industrial scariness of Leger and how it was very timely with two world wars and the industrial revolution and how Picasso was not the inventor of nor the only person to do cubist figures. I showed him Braque and Gris and Klee and the distorted figures of Modigliani and we all marveled at Niki de St. Phalle’s The Bride.
Despite speaking no French and having no art background, Bernard was easily able to deal with the French politely and show a sincere curiosity and humility. George did neither. I am not the most humble of people, but I do think think that travel requires you to act like a guest in someone else’s home. Tread lightly, be polite and don’t demand respect without giving any.
I wish I had taken pictures of these- but we ate them too fast.
After wandering around one of the moving farmers markets (that happened to be on our street twice a week from 6am to 2:30p,) Ruth and I went a wee bit produce and cheese crazy. We bought these giant green onions that were perfectly mild and lovely, the best gouda ever, mushrooms, chervil, a bunch of thyme so fresh it still had dirt clods on the end, dill (I LOVE DILL!) olives and peppers, and so much more.
Ruth has all sorts of weird food allergies (no wheat, nothing that ever came from or touched a cow- so no beef, butter, yogurt, or milk, most beans except soy, and a few other randoms veggies like potatoes and bell peppers) so having a kitchen was a huge blessing in making sure she was fed all week and not sick ( a big problem when she travels and the reason I found an apartment to begin with). One of the things I love about my friendship with Ruth is that cooking for her is like an iron chef challenge. She is the reason for the all vegan but the turkey Thanksgivings (she can eat turkey)
After our little farmers market trip I made breaded veal with spring veggie rice pilaf. I also made a couple of lazy ass frittatas- one made with coppa, a thin sliced round shaped bacon and the other with smoked salmon. The recipes for both are the same, though the awesomeness of fritattas means that you take eggs, whatever cheese you have handy, and whatever veggies are dying in your fridge and have an awesome breakfast.
So- Smoked Salmon or Coppa Frittatas:
Pre-heat oven to 375. Grease a 7 x 9 inch baking pan (I used french butter- the best butter in the world for the bacon one and veggie oil for the salmon cause Ruth can’t do butter)
Lay salmon or bacon (or ham or prosciutto) in bottom of the pan in strips. Pull some of the strips up the side so that little bitts will stick out of the top of the egg mix and get all crispy.
Mix 7 eggs with enough water or milk to loosen eggs up a bit, like a quarter cup. French eggs come from super happy, healthy chickens so the yolks are bright orange and they are thick as hell when whisking. Yuo will develop massive arms whipping french eggs. Whisk until little bubbles form at the sides of the bowl.
Grate in a generous about of cheese. For the salmon I used a mild sheep manchego and for the coppa I used gouda. I’ve also had greek style frittatas with good feta (throw the feta in in largish chunks)
Add whatever chopped veggies and fresh herbs that you like. We used chervil (which has a mild anise scent) dill and thyme. Also a few chopped mushrooms and some of those giant green onions. Leeks would work almost as well as the french green onions, but you could use shallots or a yellow onions too. Or even a red onion if you want the color. You could also throw in a handful of spinach and make a cheaters quiche lorraine or some flat leaf parsley. Some zucchini or yellow squash is also lovely. Or some bell pepper strips.
Generously salt and pepper egg and veggie mix. Pout into baking dish and bake until eggs are firm and set (our oven was weird and slow in france, what should have taken 10 minutes took 20) so check it regularly by pulling out pan and seeing if the eggs shake. When they don’t shake anymore and the middle is firm it’s done.
That’s it. Easier than omelettes cause there is no flipping and you only have to make one for a crowd of peeps.
I have just returned from a trip to your lovely country. As will come to no surprise to anyone with a pulse, the food, the wine, the art, the bread and the cafes were all lovely and awe inspiring. But being that I am an American (who was traveling with a couple other Americans) we thought it would be in your best interest to fill out this little comment card about France so that you may improve your customer service skills.
1) Please soften all French tap water. It is the hardest water in the world, I am sure. I think France has the best beauty products because without gallons of lotion and creams, French women would molt out of their skin because of the hardness of the water. After just a few days of drinking the water, my friend Ruth and I were both oddly bloated and dehydrated all at the same time. Actually, I reacted so badly to the water that my feet and ankles are still swollen to an unusual size. Which brings us to…
2) Please please please get Volvic to import their flavored, fake-sugar free waters to America. What a brilliant idea to flavor water with fruit juice and 2 whole grams of sugar (about 8 calories for the calorie freaks out there- less than a handful of tic tacs)instead of a shit load of cancer causing brain rotting sucralose. I discovered the lemon flavor one last time I was in France, but this time I will be having dreams about pammplemousse (grapefruit) water forever.
3) Cobblestones dude- what is up with the fucking cobblestones? I get them in the old places like Versailles, but you cobblestoned the entire outside of the Pompidou. WTF? Cobblestones hurt, they twist ankles, they make me cry. Please replace all cobblestones with sensible concrete, or maybe bouncy rubber sidewalks.
4) The Metro- WANT! Can you loan your metro system to my fair city for just a week? Pretty please? Friday night we were completely across town in the Bastille area having dinner when it was getting close to metro shut down time (12:30pm). At 12:11 we caught the first train we needed to get back to our apartment in the north end of the 18th. 5 minutes later we got off at the Champs Elysees and caught the next train up to Guy Moquet. We were home before 12:30, including the kilometer walk back to our apartment from the metro stop. In Seattle, I would still have been waiting for the 48 at 12:30 (the 48 is always late is almost a nursery rhyme for bus riders here)
5) Dude, we need to discuss the goat cheese funk. I love goat cheese, don’t get me wrong. But goat has a very particular rank ass stink to it. It permeates the grocery stores and cold storage boxes at the farmers markets. A goat brie stank up our kitchen until we figured out it was not something that had gone off, but the natural eau de goat from the cheese. Marie Antoinette had her animals perfumed, I would think you could find a way to eliminate goat funk from cheese.
6) Versailles started off as a home for the elite. Now it is packed full of screaming children (and a better advertisement for birth control than even this commercial
Please either muzzle the children or have child free days at the palace. I am quite sure none of the Louis had gangs of screaming middle schoolers roaming the the grounds. Send them to Euro Disney instead.
7) Speaking of Versailles, it is HUGE. I don’t think it would ruin the aesthetics to install moving sidewalks like they have at the airports.
8)Charles De Gaul is the most evil airport in history. Most airports have signs telling you where certain airlines check in desks are. CDG has four giant terminals and not a sign in sight. I am pretty sure that I hiked about 15 miles with a heavy backpack from the train stop to the Continental desk today, all because there was no way to know where the hell i was going without walking for days.
9) Your idea to have French schoolchildren each adopt the history of one Jewish French child killed in WWII is brilliant. Don’t let the haters stop that.
10) The Pompidou makes my heart happy. Can I please have a tiny closet to live in on either the 4th or 5th floors. I will happily give art history lessons to hapless American tourists in exchange for a sleeping closet. Pretty please, with sugar? On just those 2 floors I saw works of art by at least 10 and more like 15 of my favorite artists of all time.
I am sure that if you take these few minor requests into consideration, Paris will be the most awesome travel spot in the world. Thank you for your hospitality and attention to these matters.
For the most part, our adventures in Paris have been very pleasant. We are in a residential neighborhood far from most of the tourist places and the shopkeepers and waiters have been kind and patient.
But tonight we went to the Pigalle neighborhood, or red light district. I was a bit put off at first, as the only women we saw were “hostesses”( who just looked sad and desperate, I wanted to pay their rent and feed their kids), but we had a blast at the erotic bookstore and then settled into the patio of a brasserrie and drank a hit load of wine. The area was lousy with drunk Brits. There was even a broken bottle fight. But eventually the bar we were at emptied of all the tourists but us. Next to us was a table full of drunk french men.
Ruth, being the awesome phenom that she is, is fluent in french and totally understood when the french drunks started talking shit about us. She asked them if they had a problem, but that didn’t shut them up. I could feel the cockswagger vibe coming off them, I think any women in the world understands the universal language of asshole misogynists. But it wasn’t until we got back to our apartment that Ruth felt comfortable telling me exactly what they were saying.
“For the right amount of money, we could fuck them both”
Now had I known that was the gist of their conversation, I would have pulled the ugly American card. I am seething right now because I didn’t get to say what I would have said to them in English. “Really, how much have you got? Oh I’m sorry, you don’t have enough for me to fuck such a small dick”
On the other hand, all of the North African immigrants we have met have been exceptionally kind and respectful. Next time some dickwad wants to go on and on about how much more sexually liberated Europe is than the rest of the world, I am going to remember the fucking french men and then punch someone in the face. The next time someone declares that all muslims are sexists, I’m going to do the same thing. Misogyny is everywhere and kindness often only comes from people with little power.
but something has been really pissing me off lately.
Swearing.
I swear. A. Lot. I use “colorful language” pretty loosely. I use the word “Fuck” like a comma. Sometimes when I write I use a lot of slang and “profanity”, and I feel like it gets my point across. I am a grown up. A fucking “adult”, so if I want to rip loose with a few good “fuck that”‘s and “to hell with this”‘s, I am going to. My writing is pretty damn good, I wouldn’t be getting published now and then if it wasn’t.
I am getting a little sick and tired of hearing people criticize writers, speakers, activists, especially women, for swearing. If I had a dollar for every time I heard or read in a comment that I should watch my language, or that swearing makes me seem immature, or that using a “cuss word” (seriously, does anyone who actually “cusses” use the word “cuss”?) detracts from my point I could give up writing altogether and retire to a tropical island.
Whether it is people saying that Jessica Valenti is really smart until she opens her mouth (even her wonderful feminist primer, Full Frontal Feminism is sharply criticized for it’s conversational writing style) because her swearing takes away from her point, or a woman being completely discredited on a valid point or not taken seriously about assault because she had the audacity to say “Don’t fucking talk to me like that” I am getting seriously pissed that people are being judged on their choice to thrown “shit” into a sentence or not.
Swearing doesn’t show that you are uneducated or that you don’t know what you are talking about. It doesn’t mean that you lack the skills to verbalize something in a more “friendly” way. It sure as hell doesn’t mean that we have no better way to say something. Sometimes the best sentiment out there is “right the fuck on“.
There are many, countless intelligent writers out there, many more so than myself, who are more than comfortable using “foul” language regularly. Whether it be Cara at the Curvature, or Roy at No Cookies for Me, Jill or Zuzu et al at Feministe, the wonderful team at Shakesville, any of the ladies at Feminising, BlackAmazon, or our very own Red Queen, the fact that we swear doesn’t detract or lessen the message. I would dare anyone to call any of them uneducated. There are plenty of people out there who are saying things “politely”, and frankly, I don’t think it is getting the message across. What is happening when we decide to swear in our writing is that we are making people pay attention. We are making people wiggle in their chairs and think “Oh, no! She didn’t!”, and I am going to tell you, “Oh, yes! She did!”. We have got you thinking, and if all you can see is the swearing and “impolite” language, then I think you might be either reading the wrong blogs, books, articles, or your brain just isn’t capable of handling the message. If all you can see are the trees, get the hell out of the forest.
I am done taking criticism because I use any type of swearing. If you want to police language, put your efforts on the people throwing around “gay” or “faggot” as if it is an insult, or have a round or two with someone who thinks it’s OK to call a woman a “bitch” or a “cunt”, or to say that someone who enjoys having sex is a “slut” or “whore”. Focus your censorship on someone who is using hateful speech to keep someone in their place, usually a woman (or, for that matter, calling a man a “pussy” or “girl” as a way to insult him, cuz you know, that is the worst thing a man can be, the strongest human anatomy unit ever…don’t believe me…what do men have that stretches to about 300 times it’s size and shoots whole people forcefully out of a ten centimeter hole?).
We are a culture all our own. We are writers, speakers, activists and feminists who are finished being “polite”, worrying about who is going to be offended reading a few choice four letter cherries and we are going to say exactly what we think exactly the way we see fit. If you don’t like it the door is over there, and I promise not to get choked up.
And if you are one of us, thank-you for taking the time to stop by. Take the message with you when you leave and pass it on.
