Thank you disillusionment

A new craze has taken over the internet. People feel the absolute need to disclose twenty-five random, little known factoids about themselves.

I shall divulge also.



First, I am in a constant state of flight.

I am an ass-man, for sure.

I have relegated myself to low expectations for others, thus rendering myself constantly impressed.

I sometimes question friendships. I question whether friendships aren't inherently more valuable than any romantic relationship.

I strive to be as benevolent as my deceased grandfather.

Career title: Professional Student. My mother coined this while I was young.

As much as a place can understand a person, Paris gets me.

Violence disgusts me.

One of my favorite feelings is the frosty lungs while running in the winter. I developed this love around a tiny lake in Verdun. Old habits die hard.

I would love to mature into a profession of interest, not wealth.

Bjork calms my soul.

My mother knew more about me in my childhood than I know currently.

My brother is my biggest fan.

I am not a fan of being 'comfortable.' I love to sit properly. I don't enjoy wearing sweat pants, tennis shoes, etc.

My father is a quarter of a million dollars behind in Child Support and South Carolina does not care.

I am terrible at commitment (for dinner plans, etc) so I am making a concerted effort to rectify it.

Today I realized that I have very little uncommon with a homeless man.

I met my future self. I loved him. In this same vein, I have a very unhealthy love for myself.

I love the questions more than I appreciate the responses.

I am not an elephant.

I am passion.

I adore pimento cheese.

I found love under a quilt in a religion class.

Sometimes I ponder a life changed: a different college, a different family. I think I would be the same, no matter the circumstances.

I am not ashamed of my family - although they think otherwise.


I cannot count apparently. I meant for there to exist only twenty-five of these useless facts. I believe that there are currently twenty-six. Oops.

You can combine two of the less significant ones. Pimento Cheese and Bjork can very easily be combined. There is probably nothing better than eating a pimento sandwich while listening to bjork.

You must decide.

she'd scrubbed the bathrooms and made them smell like pine

My mother deserves more.




A lot fucking more.

i learn

For the first time in my life, "Are you always this quiet?"

No. I'm learning how to listen. I'm learning how to listen to myself. For quite some time, I've been lacking direction. Typically I adhere some vague yet powerful mantra to my life. Since high school, I have lived deliberately per Thoreau's instruction. I strove. I achieved. Now, it seems as though living deliberately just is not enough. I've matured beyond.

In this constant quest for truth, I have become a recluse. I must admit that the original motivation was a bit askew but things come full circle. I have made a habit of frequenting a local cafe in order to get back in touch with an old friend, Adam. Adam and I have never been the best of friends, but I enjoy his company. In so doing, I developed a manner of turning inward - I began reading, once again. At first it was solely as a distraction. Quickly, however, I found myself drowning in the text, gasping for air.

Initially, I reread Thoreau. Walden Pond, one of the greatest literary feats of mankind was unable to satiate my appetite. I devoured it. It was quite pleasing to the senses.

I then thumbed through my library of literature. I tried to read something I'd never read. The problem here is that I have read through just about everything that I own at least two or three times. Finding a 'new' fascination was quite the challenge.

Late one night, as I was evaluating the contents of my library, I discovered a Kahlil Gibran book that I had never even opened. As part of a compilation, I pushed it aside attributing its contents to similar processes of thought as his other works.

Boy was I wrong. As I read through Gibran's latest sermon to Isaac, one sentence stood out. Authors usually throw these obnoxious phrases at me, no shame.

March on. Do not tarry.

For the whole of 2009, I will march on. I will not tarry.

Il y a quelque chose qui manque...

As I sit on the pier to nothing, I contemplate what I am doing.

While I enjoy the friendship of the seasons

I trust that nothing can make life a burden for me.

Happy Birthday, Phillip. ( I know that you hate this common misspelling of your name. It's intentional.)

Today has been an unusual day. It began with a desire to sleep for as long as I could humanly withstand the dark. I surrendered. I raised my white flag to combat the melancholy.

The salon introduced me to her might. She raised her strong hands. She taunted me, she slowly plowed her fists of malcontent into my visage. She ruined me. I coyly handed her my white flag, doused in crimson paint. I don't need it any longer, I said.

My mother called. I spoke with her. It was cordial. Hello? Hey, is Ian with you? No. Where are you? I'm at a coffee shop. Where is he? He's at grandma's, he said he needs to do some stuff around her house tomorrow. Oh. She sniffles. You always take their side. -silence-

I throw in that dingy white flag one last time.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Ce que je veux

Parfois, j'aime pas trop ce qui se passe dans ma vie. Je sais bien que c'est pas une question de ce que la vie emporte mais plutot une question de ce que j'avais fait.

Je suis la. Dans un sens, confondu. Dans l'autre, petrifie. Je sais meme pas quoi faire. Ca c'est nouveau. Il y a des trucs qui sont la, ils sont toujours la. Mais, je monte sur cette montagne d'incertitude. Je ne sais pas quel genre de travail je voudrais faire. Je n'ai que mes amis. Ca suffit, je crois.

Et aussi, j'ai leo. j'ai mon amour, ce personnage d'un lion. lui, il sait ce qu'il veut. il veut vivre, vraiment vivre. il veut vivre pour ecrire. ou, veut-il ecrire pour vivre? moi, je peux pas distinguer. c'est dur cette vie.

je veux son coeur. je veux le voir chaque jour. je veux me reveiller a cote de lui.

mais pas de chance, isaac.

pas de bol.

je peux pas voir la seule chose que je veux.

Alora

Voici-le.

Au debut, c'etait moi devant lui.
je ne faisais rien.
j'etais seul devant lui.
faisant rien.

Et mon regard, il le traversait.
je ne l'ai meme pas vu.
donc, c'etait moi tout seul.

Une fois, j'ai ete seul, comme d'habitude
devant lui sans le voir.

Il m'a vu.
Il m'a vu de l'autre cote de la salle.
La salle vide avec personne sauf moi.
Et maintenant lui.

Il s'approchait.
Il disait quelque chose.
Il demandait quelque question.
Bizarre.

J'ai pas vu avant.

J'ai pas de bol!

Upon arrival in Verdun, goal one was to find a cafe to call my own. I want to be a local. After very minimal searching (one because it was one of the first I tried and two because there are only so many cafes), I found it. Vitali's was to become the new homestead.

After frequenting Vitali's several times with friends, teachers, etc I realized that one of the bartenders/waiters was extremely attractive. Now, don't get me wrong. He's no "knight in shining armor," "charming prince" attractive. He's normal attractive. He has no superfluous features. He doesn't have a huge nose, he doesn't have an incredible physique. He's normal. Yet, he's gorgeous.

Normally in Vitali's we're all English speakers so we very rarely speak in French. Thus, I'd imagine all of the bar staff were quite intimidated by us. Needless to say, we had very minimal activity between us and them.

Using this distance to our benefit, we speculated. We decided that two bartenders were married, the female of which happened to be the daughter of the owners, etc. My world was undone, however, when I asked a student of mine (friends with the female bartender) if the two bartenders are married. His response was to scoff at me. Well shit, we had it all wrong!

Now the big question, why aren't they married?

Because Jen and I have begun to frequent rather frequently and for prolonged periods of time, I think they have become much more comfortable around us. So, the male bartender (hot) has started talking to us. Recently, he locked the doors to the bar whilst we were there and offered us drinks until we wanted to leave. We continued to talk for hours on end, about random things. Nothing majorly important. Since we were unsure of his general sexuality, I asked Anne-Isabelle, Verdun's own fag hag. She happens to be one of my teachers as well. She confirmed suspicions that he is, in fact, a homosexual. She was disappointed to inform me that he is taken and has a dog with the boyfriend (aka he's married).

Wow. Now with all that said, I can very happily say that the past four days have been spent in Vitali's talking to Axel Delandre. I am, for what it's worth, infatuated beyond belief. I will try to slyly take pictures so I can post them (and you can see him). We have talked about many many things but the gay topic and the boyfriend topic have not come up. Although, the opportunities have arisen.

A toute a l'heure!

and all work is empty save when there is love

work has become quite the blessing. obviously i was not too content with the teaching profession at first. i dealt with it. i stomached it, even.

i then discovered that the amount of preparation is directly related to the contentment with which i get from the class. so, i prepared. discovery then told me that preparation was silly. i take questions to class, i force the students to answer them. this technique seems to work best, at least for my students.

having learned that, i can say that i'm actually enjoying the genre of work with which i've been charged. as an example, i decided, per request of a student, to meet a small group of guys every saturday night at a local cafe. these guys truly make an effort and, it seems, they absolutely love having me as an assistant. that attitude changes things.


even though i am enjoying the job, i'm still very uncertain if i should teach in the future. it's exhausting. teaching a foreign language is a very painful process.

knowing that you are helping people that want to help themselves is one of the best feelings i've ever experienced.

Little boxes, on the hillside

I have discovered something relatively useful in future endeavors: no matter what obstacle is thrown at someone, he will always react similarly despite the gravity of the situation.

Friday night, Kateri had her birthday party. Considering she's about as fish-like as Amber, we had a night out on the town. We started the night in her apartment with a bottle of Vodka and various other drinks, and quickly head out to Le Lapin qui Fume. Already with a decent buzz, we all drank (whiskey for me) a good bit. After a few glasses of whiskey, I decided to peace out with the birthday girl and her boyfriend.

5 am, I wake up.

"Hello?"
"I'm in the hospital. Come get me."

Suzanne called me from the hospital in Verdun (I have no idea where it is). She was in hysterics and insisted that I come get her. Again, I had no idea where it was.

I stayed up another 30 minutes in anticipation that she'd call back to let me know how to find her. No call. I find out around 5 pm the same day that she had been in the hospital because she slammed her finger in the door at the only night club in Verdun. Not only that, but she had fallen on numerous accounts on the dance floor. Needless to say she was slightly hu um inebriated. Just a smidge.

She is never allowed back again, so they say. Ridiculous Irish girl, get your shit together.

That's all I got for now. You can get another post in a few days, I have a more interesting story to tell. I'm just too lazy to do it now.

A spare moment while sparing your time...

Things that I have learned while being in Verdun:

- Take things for what they are; never more, never less.
- You decide your own attitude towards everything.
- Every day presents an opportunity to learn.
- Again, you choose whether to take that opportunity.
- People are by and large good (with a few annoying exceptions).
- People/Things that I took for granted at home are now fantasies.
- I have absolutely no idea what my life holds in store, hopefully it will include some of the crew from Verdun.
- I am a very intimately-driven person. I crave human contact, and I am not alone.
- Removal of television enhances life tremendously, although guiltily I watch a little.
- Never underestimate the power of written word; whether written by you or by someone else.
- Equilibrium. Balance. Moderation. Key elements to any type of success.

Happy Thanksgiving

Edinburgh, Scotland with Amber and Carolina...the whole Furman crew...

Those are all things that I did not see over the weekend. Being well-prepared seems to work in reverse in France. At the beginning of November I decided to book my flight to and from Edinburgh so I would not run out of money. So I booked it. My flight was to leave at about 10pm on Thursday from Paris. In order to get there, I wanted to give myself plenty of time to get to the airport in Paris. So, I left at 3:30pm from Verdun. Well, I was supposed to leave at 3:30. I arrive at the station only to discover that the train conducters' strike has failed to end as announced on the news.

I sit around at the station waiting for the train, watching people come in and out, buying tickets and such. As the time approaches for the train to depart, I notice that I should get onto the platform. I try every set of doors - nothing. Then some guys installing a sliding door were like, "Are you sure that there should be a train?"

I have a ticket. Yes. Then again, we are in France where the national sport is striking.

Train never showed. I carried my sulky body back to the center of town and called mom from a telephone box. On the verge of tears, anger, an overwhelmingly strong desire to return home, I met Suzanne at a local bar. That was only the beginning. We stayed at that bar for about 1.5 hours. We then went to the Middle School were the other assistants live, and Chris cooked some pasta dish. If I remember correctly it was very good. Then we continued to drink my sorrows away...

Basically this past weekend developed newfound disdain for France: Do not mess with Thanksgiving, France.

Hopefully I won't experience anything similar as regards Christmas. Kateri and I decided that we are going to the south of Spain to spend Christmas with Carolina, Dan, and Carolina's cousin.

Thanks for listening to my rants.

ps I have Chris back. For about 2 weeks he was attached at the hip to the girlfriend so I never saw him. Alas, he has returned.

Il y a presque deux mois...

Two months.

What have I learned?

The first and foremost thing is that I absolutely love and am completely accustomed to the American work ethic. Last Wednesday, the train conductors decided to go on strike because they feel as though they should be able to retire at 55 instead of 60. Frankly, I do not care which age they choose, just give me some trains.

Secondly, I find that French people overestimate their influence in the world. As I see it now, it would be hard to convince me that they have any say. They contend that their cuisine is the best (it's good but probably not the best), they are very arrogant about their wine (which is falling in popularity being replaced by Napa Valley wines alongside the Australian/NZ wines). Needless to say, some things about the French are bothering me.

Now onto the good things, wine. I can easily say that I polish off a bottle of wine every day. I think it was Friday, but one day last week Beaujolais came out. For the French, this marks a special season because this type of wine must be consumed within the year it was made. Also, it is apparently one of the wines that carries the most pride for French people. I must say, it's very good. Very very good.

BIG NEWS...
My apartment should be getting internet soon. If you were not aware, I have to use the school's computers during the week and typically have no access during the weekends. Recently, we slyly got keys to access the school's computers during the weekends but we aren't supposed to. With that said, I kept asking our boss the possibility of getting internet in the apartment; she broke. She said we should be getting it soon. The problem, however, is that it will have the same restrictions that the school computers have (no aim, restricted sites, etc).

I also discovered that which is skype. If you don't have skype, download it immediately. If you have skype, we can talk for absolutely free. If not, I can call you for like 2 euro centimes a minute (that is super cheap).

Things are looking up...or am I just short?

Declaration:

I refuse to be a complainer. Life here is so simple, yet so enriching. I have decided that I will no longer look at Verdun as a supplement of hell. It is quite breath-taking in aesthetics, and the people here are great. The assistants that I live with and the townspeople.

Sure there are instances where I doubt the validity of France's economy, but as a whole it isn't half bad.

During the vacation time I spent the week with other assistants that live in Verdun since my roommates both went home. Spending time there was absolutely incredible. The people there are very nice and we ate really good meals the whole week. It was as close to a family environment as I will find here, I imagine.

I spent an evening and a day in Paris with Chris, who has consequently become my new best friend. Chris and I, whether it be to lack of other boys, have become significantly closer during the break. Crista, whom I haven't much talked about, is from San Diego. She ended up leaving Verdun for undisclosed reasons about 2 weeks ago, and we don't anticipate her return. Since her room is now vacant, Chris offered it to me. Given that I do not want to create an odd divide between my roommates and myself, I did not accept his offer even though the apartment is nicer.

On a different note, I received two packages this past week! One was my camera cord from grandma and papa, the other the best thing ever. Along with the camera cord came a quickly scribble note written by my grandmother. She isn't the type of woman that would pour her heart out, frankly I was surprised that she even wrote a note. Just reading her writing made me extremely homesick. Anyways, I need to write her a letter or two explaining my life here.

The second package, hot damn. Lindsay Scott might be the BEST goodie boxer ever. She sent me a goodie box with: Reese's, Gobstoppers, Skittles, Tissues (just in case), Red White and Blue Confetti, a USA jewel tattoo thing, and a HOMEMADE SCARF! The scarf is honestly the best gift I think I've ever received. Aside from the fact that it's made with her own hands, it looks like I bought it in the store. Wowsas. So far, about 24 hours later I'm still wearing it.


Oh yea, I love cold showers. I'm learning German as well. Get excited!

The life of a pilgrim...

Sometimes I get this overwhelming feeling as though I am a pilgrim. I have taken a step back in time. I can try to explain and hopefully you will begin to understand exactly what I mean by this.

First, there are certain amenities that France has not discovered. Among these things is the dryer. It does not necessarily bother me that dryers do not exist in France, but the fact that I have to wash my clothes in the shower does bother me. At times I am able to take a little trip to the laundromat, but the act of washing clothes in the shower has become commonplace. AND we don't have a dryer.

The part that makes me laugh the most is that France is still considered "First World." What in the hell is "First World" about not having dryers? Damnit. Maybe it's just me who notices these things. But it is not. I have a British friend here who feels the same way. My mind explodes on a daily basis. No wonder French people smell so terrible; they never wash their clothes. Ew.

That's pretty much the only rant I have for now. Today I hate France. It's that love-hate relationship bullshit.

Isaac Melvin Arnold is a pilgrim, that is all.

"You are the epitome of impulsive..."

Lots of time has passed since the last entry, but I must say that not a lot has happened.

Actually, a decent amount has gone down...

I guess I'll start with that which most of you are already aware, the tattoo. So, another American assistant, Crista, is in Verdun. She's from San Diego and her boyfriend/friend/tattoo artist came with her for the first, oh two weeks. His name is Dan. Well, of course I had already divulged to a few folks that I did want a tattoo while in France, so it was common knowledge. Then Dan outed himself as a tattoo artist. Of course I was like, eh sure. I was still a bit hesitant though.

Crista let him tattoo her last Friday, and I thought the tat looked great. Then, this crazy British guy Chris very quickly and all-of-a-sudden drew up a design and got it. That tattoo covered his shoulder, so it was quite large.

I watched as Chris got his tattoo, and I was like "Damnit, I need one and I might as well since Dan's here." So he and I talked to square away the details - clean needles, etc. Then started the tattoo...

And now it's done. If you haven't seen already, you can find the pictures on my facebook account (search for Isaac Arnold at Furman University), or at myspace.com/isaacmarnold.

It just so happens that I got the tattoo the same day as the France-England rugby game, so all the Frenchies that I watched the game with (a bunch of school supervisors about 23-25)loved it. Of course they assumed it was for the game and I chose not to correct them. When the game wrapped up, I must say I was quite disappointed. Apparently all of France went out and got trashed though. Whew there were some drunkies. This one super nice French guy Julien ended up buying all the assistants' drinks - NICE.

As far as the work day goes, it's pretty boring. I'm still at the stage where I'm introducing myself to high schoolers that have zero clue as to what is going on. I observed one class the first week that I absolutely fell in love with, but the English teacher in charge of us couldn't fit them into my schedule. I cry on a nightly basis. Ok I don't really, but you know.

As for home, I miss Waffle House big time. I can't even tell you how many times I've just wanted to eat some scrambled eggs and grits. Of course, I miss everyone too. Often times I just wish I had a phone card so I could just tell one of you what just happened and blah blah blah. You know, those useless conversations...

That's all for now, if you love me you will send me things. I shall try to send some back.

It had to end...

Last Wednesday, the other English assistant and I had a meeting in Metz (pronounced Messe) where we met a ton of other assistants living near to us. For the most part they seemed pretty cool, so we exchanged numbers and all that jazz.

So, this weekend we decided to spend lots of time together. Jason (Maryland) came in from Thionville, while Jen (Scotland) took a break from Stenay. Jo (Liverpool) and Nadine (Germany) took a wrong turn and drove into Verdun instead of Metz. Moral of the story - there were a lot of English speakers in Verdun this weekend.

Needless to say, we felt it necessary to go drinking. Friday night proved to be a fun yet mediocre night of bar-hopping. Suzanne got trashed and was speaking in Irish all the way home. Jason needed a place to stay, so with us it was.

Saturday night proved to be the most fun. We all went to a few bars and then went to a discotheque. Ha. This discotheque makes me laugh. La Planete has the doors closed and they make you wait in line - granted this is Verdun. I was like, "Who is that busy in Verdun?" Oh well. So we finally are allowed in, and we get a free drink with the entry fee.

I grab some champagne.

Then, Jo the Brit asks everyone to chip in for a bottle of Vodka (mixers free). We decide it's the best deal and we get it. That was a great idea. We all ended up pretty well trashed and dancing our little "arses" off as Suzanne would say.

I went to bed at 6 am. What a night.

FYI

Just for your sanity and reassurance, I began writing snail mail yesterday. I can assure you that they will be, for the most part, very personal. I cannot assure you, however, that they will arrive in a fast manner. That responsibility is left to La Poste.

I have one letter down, but I'm going to look for stationary today so I can personalize lots of things.

Do not lose hope.

I know, I know you want to hear from me.

If you choose to call me, you will need to dial (exactly) 00336 29 91 61 90.

Obviously a calling card makes that call significantly cheaper. Also, I am 6 hours ahead of you; so do not call me at midnight(your time)or anything.

Piedmont, no really

When you think of Piedmont, SC, what exactly do you think of?

Probably Verdun. They are one in the same. No night life, no young adults, nothing for a wannabee-professional to do.

So I live with an Irish girl, Suzanne; a German girl, Norma; two French aides; and a random professor who stays there about 2-3 times a week. We share a bathroom, toilet, and kitchen/living space. Notice that I separated bathroom and toilet. They aren't in the same room at all. Actually, there is a floor between them. Bizarre, bizarre.

Gladly, things have been easy to figure out here. I can buy meals at the school for 1.90 euro, which is about 2.50 or so dollars. They don't have the best vegetarian options, but I'm not crying. It's cheap.

Yesterday I met other assistants in the area; English, Irish, American, etc. So that provided a huge breath of fresh air. Hopefully we can hang out and speak English together although I am speaking a lot of English - I might put an end to that soon.

That's all for now.

La France ne change jamais...

In all of my plans for the beginning of the trip, I had no idea what would occur.

First, my flight was early. An hour early, so I arrived in Paris at 6:30 am and not 7:45. That was convenient; an earlier start is always preferred. As usual, I hadn't the slightest hint of sleep on the plane. Au contraire, I sat awake all 6 hours of it. That was miserable in itself. I did, however, have an empty seat beside me so I had room to stretch, thankfully.

Following the flight, I immediately had to stand in line for baggage (about 30 minutes) and I also had to stand in line to purchase tickets for the subway system. Thank God I am familiar with that system already: I was able to purchase a one-way ticket into Paris proper and then buy a ticket that is good for a week.

All the while I'm carrying my luggage, mind you. Within Paris I decide that it's best to get my luggage somewhere to stay (not a hostel), so I head to Versailles. At this point it's nearing 11:00 am. I arrive in Versailles and don't hesitate whatsoever to attempt to discover the Furman kids there. They discovered me, though. I was toting that luggage around, and I heard, "Is that Isaac?" Yes it was.

A few of the Furman kids I knew told me that they were having a scheduled lunch with Madame Maiden (the supervisor/professor on the study abroad), so I attended the luncheon. Mme Maiden obliged and allowed me to leave my suitcases at her hotel room while I gallivanted. Gallivanting included a trip to Notre Dame with the young 'uns. That was enjoyable; it was nice to do the simplistic yet interesting traveling. After the trip to Notre Dame, it was getting late so I returned to Versailles to find some lodging arrangements (yes, procrastinating). I called Mme Chauchat who happened to have her grandchildren for the night. All the hotels in Versailles were booked. Of course. Then Mme Maiden and I talked, and she suggested les Sinnigers. We made plans for that so I had dinner with the Sinnigers and then stayed the night. Whew. In the meantime I booked a room at Cheval Rouge (the hotel where Mme Maiden stays) for the following night (Thursday night).

So. I have new muscles, I have a new understanding of traveling (and its pains), and hopefully very soon a new city to conquer.

Also, I ate pork or beef. I'm not sure which. I was invited to dinner chez the directors of the Study Abroad program from two years ago. They were on a roll with a completely vegetarian meal. Then came the half-cooked pork or whatever. I almost cried. I ate it. It didn't taste too bad, but god. I was devastated.

La France ne change jamais.