You Can't Stop the Beat!

Song of the moment: Semi-Charmed Life
Dose of amusement: Down with August!
Foucault quote of the day: With these themes of surveillance, and especially in the schools, it seems that control over sexuality becomes inscribed in architecture. In the Military Schools, the very walls speak the struggle against homosexuality and masturbation.

Okay, so maybe I danced to that this morning, maybe I like Hairspray (but hate John Travolta), and maybe I have a crush on Zac Efron (only in hairspray, hs musical is too lame and unattractive, unless you're lauren :p)...they blured out the tongue.

Any who...on a brief technical note, everyone has been telling me that the pics don't work via email and that the email also doesn't have spacing between paras. I'm wretchedly sorry about all of this. I've been trying to fix it, even putting 2 spaces between paras but alas it won't work. (damn you must seriously hate me for that one yesterday if had no spacing!) I think your best bet is just to go to foucaultfosho.blogspot.com and then everything is there all beautiful and um space-y!

Life in my world has been pretty good thus far every day I make small strides which feel like miraculous communication breakthroughs. Last night I got the courage to introduce myself to one of the scholars. French people really don't say hi to you, my friend the chef who speaks english told me that if you want to be included in a conversation you just have to jump in. It took me a while to figure this out, then I realized brand new people at the table who didn't know I didn't speak french (because I hadn't uttered a word in their presence would never say hi to me) wouldn't say a thing to me. Once I started talking to him he was so nice and he speaks some english. I've also found that the harder the subject matter the more cognates there are. So we actually talked about politics, and how the stock market sucks right now in the U.S. it was great! Then after dinner he sang in italian! Since we're in an abby the acoustics are amazing. It was the most random thing, right after dinner the man just bursts out in song upon noticing an echo. Delightful!

Today the guy who was translating Foucault into Chinese, who I mentioned earlier left and I was actually sad to see him go. Over the past couple days we really talked a lot and even though it was really broken little by little we understood each other. I used the really crappy freetranslation.com to write him a goodbye/thank you letter and he was so happy he almost cried! It was so cute. And then I realized that Deleuze (a pretty sweet french philosopher) wrote about Foucault and visibility, kind of like i'm doing in my thesis but much more intensely, and it turns out he translated that book in chinese! So after a whole week of trying we had this huge break through and he understood exactly what I was talking about! We missed an hour of working at the library talking about the projects we're working on. I know that this might sound trivial but when you finally understand someone after a week of trying, about a subject we're both passionate about, it's great! It will never cease to amuse me how many cognates there are in hardcore philosophical vocab. So basically I can discuss Sartre's phenomenology with people, but we can't talk about what we ate for dinner.

The rest of the day was spent researching and then I ventured to the grocery store for dinner. Sadly, the grocery store is no longer my friend. I went at 5, when people had just gotten off of work and it was so crowded and more indimidating. Trying to figure out what things are is immensely immusing, but I have chicken, bread and brie down oh and diet coke with lime. Then on my way home I stopped at this cute little bakery and I got a strawberry tart. It was almost as much as my dinner but it was worth every penny, one of the best things I've eaten. Although not speaking french makes me terribly rude, I just have to point at what I want like a child. :p

Well I must be off because my French friend the chef is taking me out with his friends. He said they all want to meet someone who speaks english. I'm really excited. We're all going for dessert and then to the beach! Attached are pics of the abbey, the outside of where I'm studying! Au revoir!

Foucault-ff!!!

Song of the moment: Whirlwind- Dispatch
Dose of amusement: my heroes.
Foucault quote of the day: It’s a machine in which everyone is caught, those who exercise power just as much as those over whom it is exercised. This seems to me to be the characteristic of the societies installed in the nineteenth century. Power is no longer substantially identified with an individual who possesses or exercises it by right of birth; it becomes a machinery that no one owns.

Haha, okay if that dorky attempt at a Foucault joke wasn't warning enough here's your official disclaimer: this is that email where I hook you up with the down low on Foucault. Don't worry it won't be intense or anything, but I figure since he's the reason I'm here it would make sense to just give a basic run down of what I'm doin exactly. I'm even currently dressed for this momentous occasion. Yep, I'm wearin that sexy little number and it's hotter than the 7 black dresses I own. Yeah I own that many.

Well here we go, and for those of you who hate when I talk philosophy enjoy this cause you can shut me up with just one click, but that wouldn't be very nice to Monsieur Foucault. My finger puppet agrees. Yeah I own one.

For my thesis, as I mentioned and sent the wikipedia link earlier, I'm writing on the French post-modern philosopher/historian/genealogist Michel Foucault. I'm focusing on one of his more popular books Discipline and Punish. Here are two short youtube videos (5 mins each) that basically give you a run down with some cool pics and Foucault's cute english. Here's a bit of a simple thought experiment to wrap your mind around what Foucault is talking about:

_____

Let’s say it’s four o’clock in the morning and you find yourself driving in a small town. It is still dark outside and there is no one in the car with you, nor is there another car in sight. You are completely alone on the road and you have been for the entirety of your journey. As you approach an intersection and notice you have the red light you slow down and come to a stop. Even though there are no cars for miles in any direction, you stop. Perhaps you do so grudgingly or your mind momentarily considers not stopping. Yet, your first impulse is to stop and you do. Moreover, not only to you stop but you wait, you hesitate. Something keeps you at that stop light while thoughts pass through your mind: Is it really necessary for me to stop? There’s no one around, should I just go ahead? Time drags on as these questions go through your mind. Maybe you go before the light turns green. Maybe you stay.

There is not something about the stop light that physically forced you to stop. It is not an untenable wall in your path. It’s a symbol, one of many we encounter everyday, to which we have been taught to respond. We stop without even thinking. Everyone stops not only because they fear getting in an accident but also because they fear getting caught. At any moment a police officer could catch you or there’s the chance the intersection has cameras which monitor traffic. In this simple commonplace event, we are able to see a way in which we become objects of scrutiny. We live a field of surveillance, always aware of the potential to be watched, to be caught, even if no one is actually watching. It is that awareness which makes us stop at a stoplight at four in the morning when no one is around. Even in absence of a verifiable form of scrutiny or the actual presence of an individual, we are constantly aware of the potential to be observed. This fear then seems to be something we have internalized. We have become our own police, our own discipline.

Whatever it is that makes you stop at a stoplight at four in the morning when no one is around is one way to begin thinking about central questions Foucault explores in Discipline and Punishment. Foucault is interested in the “what”: the complex forces that make you stop; the forces that make you aware of surveillance and of punishment.

___

Foucault uses what has become an extremely popular metaphor to explore these forces: the Panopticon, a prison designed by Jeremy Bentham, which was never fully implemented. The pic in the link will help this make sense, but basically there's a central tower and all the cells face in to the tower. The prisoners cannot see each other or anything else, only the tower, and the tower is designed as such that the guards can at all times see all the prisoners but the prisoners can never see the guard in the tower. Bentham argues that the genius behind this is that there then doesn't even need to be a guard in the tower because the prisoners will discipline themselves because at any given moment, they know they could be watched-- the potential threat of observation like with the stop light. Foucault then uses this as a metaphor for our society as a whole. The stoplight would just be one example of how we are aware of the potential thread of surveillance in our daily lives. Basically, society is one big panopticon, of course in a non literal sense.

In my thesis I deal directly with this metaphor and I will argue that it should be interpreted in a non-literal sense, meaning that we de-emphasize the visual element. I know, wtf matey, huh? Meaning I don't think we should say we are living in a panoptic society because of the literal ability to be seen. There are different ways we can become "visual" or legible to power. For example, if you're writing a paper for a prof, while you're writing you're constantly thinking "Will the prof like this? Is this making sense? Will I get an A? Do I sound smart?" etc. While writing you paper there is [hopefully] no way your prof could see you. Unlike with the stop light, you're not worried about a camera or being visible, you're worried about inteligibilty, the ability to be understood. And you are constantly discilplining yourself, being your own police, with the potential threat of being misunderstood. Even thought the prof isn't there, you're changing your behavior based on what you think he or she might think of your paper.

Perhaps to make it a bit clearer, the panopticon has become a really popular subject in the U.S. There are a ridiculous amount of articles that say "look my bosses' desk is in the middle and we're all sitting around it in the circle...my work is the panopticon!" I'm going to argue against those people. Foucault's metaphor, I believe, isn't about actual architecture, spacial arrangement, or the the ability to see someone with your eye. Power relations are more complex than that and we're missing the picture if we think Foucault is just talking about videocameras and desks. It's the way we've been disciplined to sit, talk, act, think, or even communicate with our professors.

Okay now look at the cute monkies and don't hate me. There you go, now you're thinking about cute monkies and your mind can relax or do whatever it does when it thinks about monkies ;)

Well I hope you can forgive me, and if you can't remember it was voluntary and this is really important to me and the reason I'm in another country where don't speak a word. I promise this will be the only email of it's kind, and thanks for letting me share my project which I'm really passionate and excited about. If you have any q's do ask and if you want to learn more I have a cute intro to Foucault book you're welcome to borrow that you could read in under 40 mins and has tons and tons of fun pictures. Peace out!

Amo espanol tanto como amo Diego Luna

Song of the moment: God's Bathroom Floor- Atmosphere
Dose of amusement: As I gladly return to embrace my caffeine addiction, these might help you kick yours
Foucault quote of the day: "There is no need for arms, physical violence, which each individual under its weight will end by interiorizing to the point that he is his own overseer, each individual thus exercising this surveillance over, and against, himself. A superb formula: power exercised continuously and for what turns out to be a minimal cost."

Well I'm not going to lie, I doubt that the title of this post is correct but either way today sure made me love Spanish.

Fortunately, I have managed to find a time to eat breakfast when no one else comes, so I can just read and eat in solitude without having to utter I don't speak French. I've grown rather weary of the word. Regardless, today was a much better day! The woman who speaks spanish worked again and we had such a good conversation, my spanish is ridiculously rusty but speaking with her made me feel fluent because I was finally able to ask all these questions that the french language barrier had prevented. I saved myself some money by explaining to her how the other women kept telling me I need to pay 40 euro, the annual fee to the library but since I would only be there for two weeks it was cheaper for me to pay the weekly fee, which the other women didn't understand. She also finally helped me find a huge section of audio tapes and another Foucault book section I didn't even know existed. It was just so wonderful to talk to someone and be understood. Coming here has really made life a lot simpler in the happiness department. If someone understands me, then I consider it to be a good day. I always forget life's small but pleasurable daily victories.

I also met a scholar at lunch who spoke english and was so nice to me. Sadly, she was only at the library for that day. And even though she had a ton of work to do, she told me to please ask her for help if there was anything I didn't understand. It was just the nicest thing in the world. I didn't trouble her because the offer was enough to make my day.

Finally, in my third and proudest communication victory of the day I made a friend! The chef I had mentioned earlier, who clarified that contrary to popular belief I'm not hired help, had several nice conversations with me in english. We talked and laughed, and I realized that it is something I haven't done in days: had a real conversation with someone. I know, this serves me right for being far too talkative for my own good all my life.

Before dinner I sat out in the garden an read. It was absolutely beautiful. All the pics I've included today are from it, so you can check it out for yourself. The chef also told me that all the fruits and vegetables they use to cook come from the garden, isn't that awesome?

Today has also led me to believe that the dinner hour is a torture device. Honestly, it is just cruel for me to sit for an hour and fifteen minutes only understanding the last names of my favorite authors! Foucault, Sartre, Camus, Deleuze, Derrida...It's like a contest to see how many of my favorite authors they can name and discuss and I have no idea what they're saying. Regardless, I just sit in silence the entire time and wish I understood. Now if Paul is out there reading this, I know he's saying to himself "it's about damn time you learned to keep your mouth shut for that long woman." Ah yes perhaps he is right; as the juliana theroy says "the silence is a secret, a weapon in disguise, listen to the silence, open up your eyes." Oh well, even though I feel I have taken a vow of silence for two weeks, I agree as does each one of you who knows me, that it's probably a good thing :p As a side note- the French are ridiculously polite at dinner. Before eating anything, they first offer to serve everyone else and everyone waits for the rest to finish a course before moving on to the next one. This only worsens my predicament because I really want to be polite and offer them things but I don't know how to, so my inadequacy is mistaken for rudeness. I've tried gesturing inquisitively with the wine bottle but sometimes they don't understand. I have also learned that salad is eaten after the main course, I must have missed the memo on that.

Well sorry for a lack luster email, hopefully the beauty of the garden will compensate for my sleepiness.

"The more you drink the better your studying will go"

Song of the moment: Wade in the Water- Eva Cassidy. I'd like to dedicate that one to my lindy partners in crime Marina and Tom. It's fitting cause it was my first day in the abbey and it sure was baptism by fire.
Dose of amusement: this comes recommended by my friend Henry. enjoy.
Foucault quote of the day: "The prison, that darkest region in the apparatus of justice, is the place where the power to punish, which no longer dares to manifest itself openly, silently organizes a field of objectivity in which punishment will be able to function openly as treatment and the sentence can be inscribed among the discourses of knowledge."

I woke up this morning with a bit of a mental hang over, you know that feeling when you awake and wonder if you really hooked up with that guy last night. Induced by jet lag, I wondered was I really in France? Indeed, I am, yesterday wasn’t a dream. After a pump up dance in my room I felt ready to meet the scholars.

I was the first person at breakfast and one of the chefs greeted me and then started talking to me excitedly. I told her my standard line “I’m sorry but I don’t speak French.” She laughs at me as if I was kidding and asks me to follow her upstairs. Confused, I followed. She introduced me to the chef and when she told him that I told her I didn’t speak English he went off on a rant which seemed to say “they sent us a german?” I was so confused, I just wanted to eat breakfast. Fortunately, they grabbed a chef who appeared to be my age, and not too bad looking, who had just gotten back from studying a year in America. He explained that she thought I was hired help, who was working at lunch, and apologized. After that slight ordeal, I was glad to have gotten though eating breakfast in silence. The only other scholar who came said bonjour and left me to my book, which I was quite happy about.

Next hurdle of the day was the library. It was actually quite a pleasant surprise. Two of the librarians speak English and the other speaks Spanish! I was so happy I could have cried. I had a very funny conversation with the woman in Spanish who said she didn’t blame me for not learning French because Spanish was definitely a better choice. :p The library itself is also quite beautiful! Here are some pictures of it online. I didn’t want to be the silly American girl taking pictures while everyone was studying. The archives are all in a beautifully renovated Abbey. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen. There are three floors of stacks and the floors are glass, so you see directly below you. Each shelf has a row of rope lights almost. It looks like it’s straight out of a movie. I spent all day there giddy like a little school girl listening to audio tapes and reading, all in English. I think it will take me a few days yet to muster up the courage to tackle the French. I’ve learned that Foucault is almost as difficult to understand as his handwriting. The handwriting wins out though cause it’s in French.

Lunch was also quite the experience. It turns out that the Abbey hosts conference luncheons. I was surrounded by 60 excited francophones, who, inspired by hunger I suppose, taught me there is no directionality in a buffet line apparently. If you wanted food you just had to bully your way in and grab it, and not walk down the line in order. I gave in after trying to go in a line from one end and then from the other. Politeness and order are overrated any way, so no complaint. I’ve also found that wine and coffee are like water in France. Served and drank at every meal. The wine was really good and a fellow scholar, sitting at the designated scholars table with me, kept trying to fill my glass. He kept insisting and finally said in broken English “the more you drink the better your studying will go, I have always found that.” Amen my friend amen.

The food was phenomenal, even though I was unsure of what half of it was, and by the end I was so full I thought I might be sick. Otherwise the lunch was sad because I sat in silence while the 3 other visiting scholars talked excitedly in French. They’d always look to me for my agreement and I only smiled. It’s sad they all think I’m foolish. It’s perhaps even sadder they might be right. Honestly though, it’s tragic to be sitting with some of the most brilliant Foucault scholars and not be able to speak a word. One scholar who can understand English but can’t speak it had a funny conversation with me at lunch in which he spoke to me in French and I responded in English. I actually wasn’t doing too badly, surprisingly. Because the subject matter is pretty basic, I was able to understand. It turns out that he is from Thailand but has been living in France for the past 15 years. He translated Deleuze and now Foucault into Chinese, the first person to make the works accessible to those who speak Chinese. Amazing! The woman I mentioned yesterday, who works here told me not to feel bad because several scholars come who can’t speak French and that I just came on a down time, when there happens to not be anyone. Just my luck.

I did more studying in the afternoon followed by exploring around the grounds of the abbey and I managed to get into a beautiful garden. It was kind of like the secret garden. My night then ended on a downer. Dinner was just 6 of us and three of the people who joined us worked at IMEC. I was quiet as usual for about 40 minutes and then a woman who worked there said in english "You're studying Foucault right?" "Oui" I said. And she says "ah yes I've heard about you. (*me thinking, super I'm the talk of the archives*) You don't speak French right?" The other two employees gasped "you don't speak French? well then why are you here?" I tried explaining that my school gave me money no questions asked, and I can read some french and many of the lecture tapes are in english, and how I am trying and wanted to learn French and make the most of it for my thesis. And the woman just angrily replied that "There's no way I can know anything about Foucault or have anything to say about him if I don't speak French." Then they started speaking in french, gesturing at me, and from what I gather it was to the effect of "what a silly university who sends a girl here that can't speak a word." I just hung my head. Noticing my frown the woman asked if I could understand what they were saying and I said yes and then goodnight in french and left. I guess you win some you lose some. I just think I'll eat more quickly from now on and spare myself. I think more time in the flower garden I found will cheer me up.

Well I must go do some work. Attached are some pics of my room and the building I'm staying in. More pics from my walk will come tomorrow.

Lost In Translation

Song of the moment: Fortunate Fool- Jack Johnson
Dose of amusement: dedicated to vagsam and inspired by a special request by lo (if you think it's funny, imagine me doing it as my final anal. perf. piece as a sexy sex ed teacher :p)
Foucault quote of the day: "Don't think that by saying yes to sex, you're saying no to power"
Philosophical q of the day: If there were no liars would there still be lies?

Well I'm happy to report that I am writing from my destination, the Ardenne Abbey in the middle of beautiful rolling hills and mooing cows. Seriously, they greeted me, it was cute. But I must say that after a day like today it is a miracle that I'm here. Where to begin? At the top I suppose.

So after 11 and a half hrs on a plane, only sleeping one of those (partially because Ryan Gosling makes a hot lawyer in Fracture- and for the record i have not watched the notebook and i refuse cause it looks like crap, there i said it :p), I found myself in Charles de Gaulle airport. Before getting off the plane a french woman was making fun of my suitcase saying "stupid americans, who brings a suitcase that size to europe," asking a few people around her if it was theirs. I hung my head, not wanting to fight. Apparently you're only supposed to bring the clothes on your back when traveling. Regardless, I'm rather proud that I brought everything I need for two weeks and all my thesis books in a small carry on suitcase which I could easily lift above my head. I think it's the lightest I've packed in my life. My awesome single serving friend (if you haven't seen fight club we're not friends any more :p) who was starting her study abroad assued me it was okay.

Being France hit me exactly when I thought it would: the moment I passed through customs and went to navigate public transportation knowing little to no French. Now to preface- the moral of today's story will surely be what you are currently thinking "sarah, remind me why the hell you went to France when you can't speak a word." Point taken and granted. But if a school gives you a $3,000 summer, no q's asked, and you haven't studied abroad you take and run. So at the end of this I am bound to have one heck of an adventure. Plus, I can name at least 6 ppl who spent theirs on kegs. So to each her/his own posion

Any who, back to the progression of the day. I managed to get on my first RER train, which is like the metra. It goes kind of to the suburbs and is a bit more expensive and faster then a metro/el. I realized that paying for a ticket is hard when the prices aren't posted and I can't count past ten, but handing the woman the biggest bill I had did the trick. To bounce back I tried to feign confidence in where I was going, hoping I could convincingly play a snobby french woman which requires no words. That was quickly shattered when a gorgeous french boy approached me. Renaked told me not to smile at boys because it means I want to have sex with them, and after realizing my mistake I tried to force a frown. Apparently he was asking me to close the windown on the train which was open a bit. I got it after the gestures and an incredulous look. Just my luck the window was broken, which meant I had to keep closing it every few minutes, afraid I'd get yelled at again. The next transfer was my only official slip up. I accidentally took a train one stop in the wrong direction which I realized right away and figured I'd just get off and to back the opposite way. Well apparently going one stop put me in a new "zone" so I had to buy a completely new ticket to go back. Anyone who told me everyone speaks english lied. I only encountered one person who spoke english the whole trip. Don't get me wrong, that's totally cool. I hate that ignorant "everyone should speak english" bs. I'm in france I should be speaking french. So it's definitely my fault, but was frustrating none the less. Finally I managed to get on the right train and eventually figured out how to transfer to the train to Caen after a conductor yelled at me until I gave him money for a new ticket.

A few things I learned in the portion of the trip: sometimes signs will point you in the right direction and then just completely stop out of no where; a train's name doesn't always indicate which direction it's going in (ie a purple line linden train wouldn't go to linden); some trains only go half way; and trains heading in the same direction but to different points are on completely different platforms. good times.

Once on the train in caen it turns out I was sitting in some guy's seat, even though no one else but this guy seemed to have an assigned seat. He yelled at me, and then when I gave myself up, pathetically uttering in french that I'm sorry but I don't speak french and handed him my ticket, he realized there was no seat assignment and apologized while still making me move. Finally, I took two buses. To get to a bus a kind man explained to me in english where to go as I stood looking confused. It turns out, that if it says it's a transfer point for a bus, that means that somewhere with in two blocks in no particular direction could be one of the lines you need to transfer to. And if you find the line going in the wrong direction you can't just cross to the other side of the street but need to go a few blocks in two different directions. Needless to say, after this the cta can bring it cause I'm ready.

Sorry for that long ass rant about public transportation, I realized now that it's pathetic and my apologies. But navigating a foreign land for 4 hrs on public transportation (15 hrs traveling on 1 hr of sleep) was quite the adventure. The public transportation system in france is also really nice and clean, and I'm sure it's easy to use if you speak even the slightest French. So any of my issues can be attributed to my incompetence. The highlight of the traveling though was hearing a girl who had "suavemente" on her ringer. That's goin out to you marina ;) I almost started singing, and then remembered the aim of the game was to look pissed off at all times, and when in rome...

At last I found myself at my destination, the beautiful Abbey. Pictures will come tomorrow, as I am exhausted. Fortunately, the one woman who speaks english at the Abbey was working today and was very helpful. She also gave me a much needed cup of coffee, breaking my two week long detox from any caffinated product (which is quite the accomplishment given I was having a huge thermos of coffee, a soda, and a double shot of expresso to get me through my work day and dancing habit). She introduced me to the Directer of the archives who greeted me with a long and warm welcome of which I understood nothing. The woman explained that I could read but not speak french and the woman said "You do know that Foucault writes in French?" Ouch. That was some colder than ice stuff there. I nodded my head and said "oui." (for the record, the abbey has stuff in both french and english)

Demoralized, I was ready to give up on the day, so exhausted I was sure the whole day had to be a dream. But it turns out dinner isn't served monday nights so I needed to bike to the grocery store. Well it turns out that I haven't biked since I was, oh about 6. The fact that the bike was made for a 6' 10'' man and they couldn't lower the seat didn't help either. I had to stand on my tippy toes with one foot and quickly swing the other leg over before I fell. I almost ate it every time I stopped because I would have to let the bike fall a bit before my feet could touch the ground. After traveling on streets with no names, making my map useless, and realizing that I had foolishly set out looking for a grocery store without knowing what grocery store was in french I contemplated how long I could go with out food, and if the answer was not very, which cow would go first :p. Then, miraculously, I found it. I picked up a scrumptious dinner of fresh french bread, brie, grapes, and the biggest bottle of syrah I could find and suddenly the grocery store was my new favorite place. All I needed to know was "pardon" and "merci" to make my way in and out.

And that my friends is where I currently sit, enjoying a good glass of syrah in bed. Contrary to the day's events, life is indeed good. Tomorrow I have the dreadful task of meeting the scholars a breakfast. I don't know a soul and the woman informed me that I'm the only person my age, and the only person who doesn't speak french staying. super. at least the isolation will inspire me to work. this whole thing still seems like a dream.

well sorry for the long email, i promise to try and keep it short in the future. i couldn't help it since today was a day of a lot of firsts. i'm going to watch the devil wears prada...err i mean, i don't own it...err crap. I outed myself. It will be nice to listen to someone talk and understand for the first time today and I figure since it's in paris, and it taught me my second most popular phrase today: J'suis désolé (i'm sorry). And i also must practice some new phrases renee taught me, seriously, renee has saved my life on this trip. i'm proud to be bearing her child in return.

Well night all, I hope all is well in your worlds! i miss you!

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

Song of the moment: My Sundown- Jimmy Eat World
Dose of amusement: the rationality of crack
Foucault quote of the day: “Freedom of conscience entails more dangers than authority and despotism.”

Haha that’s right my friends, I’m off to France tomorrow and that is the only phrase I know. That jam “Lady Marmalade” was definitely good for something. Joel’s sentiments on the matter were:

GURL...going to france for the summer knowing only how to ask a guy to have sex with you in french is bound to make for some AMAZING stories...GO FOR IT! and take a picture of the chanel boutique in paris...and buy a gown from escada...and a scarf from hermes...and some perfume from creed...oy...just GO!!!!!

Sadly my grant money won’t stretch that far. Actually, thanks to Renaked and Lo I have a little French under my belt, at least enough to function, hopefully. If not it should still be a fun trip, as long as I get there.

So for those of you who don’t know I’m heading here. Its a renovated Abbey that was damaged in World War II, located just outside of Caen in the Normandy region. It is home to the largest collection of works and unpublished documents of the French post-modern philosopher Michel Foucault who I’m writing my thesis on. More on my thesis later. And it hosts scholars from around the world. Ooo la la, me a scholar! That will be a fun role to play for a few days. Being a scholar is actually pretty hott.

Well, I think with those links that’s enough to chew on for today. This whole blog thing is kind of strange, forgive me if I’m not too good at it yet.

After being on a plane for 11 hrs and 3 hrs of public transportation tomorrow and Monday I will hopefully end up in the beautiful Abbey in the middle of those beautiful rolling hills. If not I’ll be in a café somewhere commiserating my inability to navigate public transportation with a cute French boy a over a good Bordeaux. Au revoir my friends, off to a new and more enlightened me!