overheard at the airport

"A Frenchman tried to get mommy to break up with daddy on the plane just now," said a girl in her 20's seated next to her mother. "He said, '22 years of marriage is too long.'" Four comments.

1. Good job upholding the stereotype of a nation, Frenchie. Were you also wearing a horizontally-striped shirt and beret, on strike in an invisible glass box while you chain-smoked with one hand and held a tiny dog with the other, your nose sniffing a fine bordeaux and your mouth full of baguette, cheese, and words of surrender?
2. The daughter had clearly witnessed this first-hand. I choose to envision it with her in the middle seat.
3. The mother and daughter in question were continuing on to Minneapolis, the waiting area of which flight is where I overheard them. The Frenchman, unless he was skulking about, was not. Unless he was proposing entry into the 10-kilometer-high club to a married woman with her daughter sitting next to her, it's pretty stupid to hit on someone who lives in a different city than you're going to on a continent you don't live on.
4. In his defense, the general consensus in France, at least as reflected in my language partners, is in fact "22 years of marriage is too long." As soon as the kids are old enough, man finds a new girlfriend and woman gets a job as a therapist.

welcome home

My first night back in New York, I did my best to adjust to the time change, by getting back home around 2:10 am. Letting myself in, I was only mildly surprised when my key didn't work in the lower lock -- it's persnickety. 2 am is pretty early for my family most nights, so I knocked softly, waiting for my father to let me in. I progressed through various stages, starting with not wanting my mother to be unnecessarily woken up, and eventually reaching the point where I was continuously ringing the doorbell and calling the home phone, occasionally leaving a message like "Hi, this is your son Janak. I'm locked out, and I'm standing outside the door." Around 2:30 am, I gave up. I was pretty sure I could go bother my friend Jomy, with whom I'd been hanging out before, but he lives in Chinatown, and I'd already splurged on a taxi one-way. So I decided to sleep in the hallway. I figured that either I would be unable to sleep, and then would continue ringing, which would have to eventually work, since no force on earth can keep my mother from using the bathroom 5 times a night, or I would be able to sleep, in which case, no problem. Remember, it was 8:30 am after an all-nighter by Lyon standards. I woke up half an hour later with no feeling in my right arm, and rolled over onto my left. After another 20 minutes, I had two numb arms and sat up to sleep on my knees. Around 5 am, the elevator door opening woke me up, and I started to my feet, fumbling for my keys as if I had just arrived. The woman coming out of the elevator knew me, but she was puzzled by the situation. Fortunately, another burst of ringing and calling roused my father, and I was finally admitted to the house. My mother told me later, "whenever Shantha is out late, I can't sleep very well because I worry about her. Not with you." Given that anyone who knows us would have infinitely more confidence in Shantha handling herself in any difficult situation, this can only speak to my mother loving Shantha more. So it goes.

my grandmother

Paatti: can you set the time on this watch for me?
(I set the time)
Computer technician: He's a good boy.
Paatti: No, he's my grandson.

---

Father: (In living room) Did you understand what I said?
Paatti: (In kitchen) I didn't hear it at all.
Father: Why didn't you tell me that you didn't hear?
Paatti: I'm shy.

patriotism

I was expecting it, but it was still strange to be in a French supermarket and hear the opening strains of the "Marseillaise" dissolve into the Beatles singing "love." I wonder how the French feel about it.

Manifest destiny

I went to my first French demonstration a few weeks ago. The universities are having weekly "manifestations" against the proposed reforms of the government, which would do various things, among them increasing teaching loads, making graduate students more fireable (?), and making it more difficult for high school teachers to complete training.  It's pretty impressive that they can get 1000+ every week to march Thursday at 2 pm for two hours, and also impressive that Lyon lets them shut down the center of the city to do it.  Some slogans (that I caught) from the march:

Mar, Mar, Mar

Marcel Proust

La recherche n'est pas de temps perdu

Lyon 1, Lyon 2, Lyon 3, Sarko-zero

[when asked for an explanation, one guy I was with said that 3-0 is a very important score in France, since France won its only World Cup in 1998 against Brazil 3-0.  The better explanation is that there are 3 main universities in Lyon, named Lyon 1, Lyon 2, Lyon 3.]

Sarko, cedez

Sinon, on viendra

avec des bazookas

[Sarko, give up, if not, we'll come with bazookas]

A sign with an arrow pointing down at the holder, saying

"Future chercheur . . . du travail!"

[Future (re-)searcher . . . of work!  That guy was in the math department.  He's right.]

At one point, the march started to disintegrate, with large portions of it cutting across a square, seemingly to take a more direct route.  I, as well as my companions, were confused.  Eventually, I discovered the facts: a bus/van was set up by the UMP (Sarkozy's party -- a crucial fact I took a while to learn) to campaign for the European elections.  The demonstration, being basically anti-Sarkozy, devolved into a protest against the two or three people in the van, who were surrounded by a ring of police.  Video is available, and the story says that three eggs were thrown at the vehicle, though unfortunately neither the video nor I captured that.

The march never fully recovered, since the marchers were torn between the symbolism of the march and the action of attacking the van.