7 posts tagged “humor”
I have several things to say about this shirt. First of all... Dude, you are the co-owner of the new Thai restaurant in Lourmarin, so if you really are part of some far-reaching conspiracy, you have created an excellent cover for yourself. Well done, indeed. Also, your seafood in green curry sauce is delicious. But you have sort of blown your cover by wearing this shirt. You see, when you're part of a conspiracy of any kind, it's really the type of enterprise in which the participants shouldn't wear uniforms, name tags or any type of clothing that identifies them as part of the secret plot. That's how the guy who shot Kennedy got away: Not wearing a t-shirt that said "I just shot JFK." That's common knowledge. All you need to do to remedy the situation is take a seam-ripper to the back of your shirt and remove the lettering. It may look a little ragged. And as a garment, it will still violate several fashion regulations. But you can't get arrested for that. But then again, this is France. Maybe you can.
Today, on my way home from yoga, I passed a group of 30 or so hikers descending a dirt track on our land. They were serious hikers, with real boots and metal walking sticks and everything. They looked like they were really enjoying the weather and the scenery.
As I smiled and waved at them, the ridiculousness of it all hit me. These people saved up their money and vacation days and came all the way to Provence from who knows where just to walk around on our property. We are their holiday destination! I live in a tourist attraction! I realized that I need to make this official and start a list:
Ways in Which My Life Is Similar to the Late Princess Diana's:
1. Blond hair
2. Blue eyes
3. Both really excited about her wedding in 1981
4. Married into a royal family
5. Live inside tourist attraction
6. Wave at crowds as we drive by
As long as the subject of stereotypes has been broached (it was, briefly, in yesterday's post) there's a French stereotype about Americans I thought you would find amusing. French people are under the impression that the most popular drink in the United States is whiskey.* And because they think it's a very cool, American thing to drink, they all drink it. Every French household has a bottle of whiskey behind the bar.
It's amusing to witness their confusion when I politely decline a whiskey on the rocks in favor of a nice white wine or a rosé during cocktail hour. "But Americans love whiskey," they say with absolute certainty. "You really don't want one?" They usually seem puzzled, then consult the label and assure me that it's very good whiskey and ask me once again if I am very, very sure that I don't want one. Non, merci.
This misconception is so common that there is kind of a standard exchange when I go to get a drink at the bar of any wedding, anniversary party or village fête. First, they spot my accent and ask if I am British. I tell them that I am actually an American and then apologize quickly for the Bush years. The person manning the bar then says, "American! So you'll be wanting a whiskey then, right?" I say, no thank you, and order something else. The bartender then repeats, in an amazed tone of voice that is usually reserved for scenarios in which people are being told that the world is coming to an end unless they rescue a cheerleader, "Not a whiskey?" I assure them calmly that I don't want a whiskey and then try to leave with the drink I ordered before the temptation to mess with their heads and tell them that I can fly or travel through time becomes too great.
Through careful questioning over the years, though, I have finally discovered the root of this misconception. It is, unsurprisingly, telelvision. Some of the most popular American entertainment here in France has featured either whiskey-drinking fatcats: Dallas, Dynasty; whiskey-drinking detectives: The Untouchables (the series starring Robert Stack) or whiskey-drinking cowboys: anything by Sergio Leone or starring Clint Eastwood. With this being what French people are using to base their assumptions about American drinking habits on, you can see how confusion has resulted. Given that American series are notoriously slow to make it to French television, I fear for their opinions of us when the current batch of new programming makes it over here. Will 30 Rock have the French offering me hot dogs for breakfast? Will old episodes of Survivor have them daring me to eat bugs? Will Scrubs finally popularize the apple martini? Top Chef is going to confuse the hell out of them! Just the thought of it is making me want a drink. Maybe I'll have that whiskey after all, please.
*I'm spelling it the Irish way in honor of our upcoming trip to Ireland. If we ever make plans to go to Scotland, I will spell it "whisky."
If there's one thing French people love, apart from wine, rich sauces and long lunches, it's spicing things up with a bit of English. Unfortunately, this isn't always done with the savoir-faire that the French are known for. More often than not, they only have the faintest idea what their t-shirt, business name or bumper sticker actually means. And charmingly, this doesn't seem to bother them much, as is evidenced by the boy in the jacket pictured. That's Vincent, Johann's cousin, and when we asked him if he knew what his jacket said, he admitted that he didn't. So we explained it to him. That was three years ago. He's still wearing the jacket. Why? He doesn't care what it says and nobody he knows understands it, anyway.
You gotta love that.
I have a lot of policies that I live by. Rules, so to speak, that govern the way I navigate life. You couldn't really call them morals or ethics, because they apply to things that are too trivial to be governed by such lofty ideals. No, they're definitely "policies." For instance, one of my policies is that I will not purchase anything from a store with a name that involves improper spelling, punctuation or grammar. For example, there's a lovely furniture shop between Aix and Marseille that I won't allow myself to buy anything from (even though everything in it is gorgeous) because it's called "Interior's." To purchase an ottoman at this store would just be encouraging misuse of the possesive, I feel.
Anyway, I broke one of my policies today. I have a strict policy against buying any magazine with a picture of Paris Hilton on the cover, and not just because I can't stand to have her horsey face staring vacantly at me from the magazine rack. It's because I want mankind to get over its obsession with the fact that this completely useless human being is needlessly famous. It's a self-fulfiling prophecy, people! You're making her more famous by writing articles about how pointless she is! I feel like I do my part to discourage this behavior by not reading anything that's written about her. So you can imagine my disappointment with the people at Intelligent Life when I saw the cover pictured above.
What's up with this, Intelligent Life? You're a subsidiary of The Economist! Shame on you. And don't get me started on the photo... You actually expect me to believe Paris Hilton is reading a BOOK? Let alone a book by Tolstoy? You're not fooling anybody, Intelligent Life. Her EYES ARE CLOSED, for crying out loud! Yes, I realize that a photo of Paris Hilton reading a book is meant to be ironic to everyone but Paris Hilton, who likely thinks that "irony" is an adjective describing a shirt someone has just pressed for her. But anyone not temporarily blinded by the weight of her own false eyelashes can see that your cover still features a photo of a grown woman who is wearing eyeshadow and lipgloss with glitter in it. And that's beneath you. In fact, it demeans us all.
So why did I buy this, then? I needed two watch batteries replaced, and the only shop in town that does this is the newsagent. I had to spend a minimum of €10 to use my credit card, so I had to buy something. This was the only magazine they had in English. You see, I also have a policy against being late for things (it's inconsiderate) so I really needed the watch batteries. But it's clear now that I need to create a policy for situations where my policies conflict with one another. I'll let you know when I come up with one.
It's been raining a lot here lately and consequently, I've been trying to occupy my time with in-house entertainment opportunities. During this recent effort, I ran across a book that I bought when we toured the castle in Les Baux last year but never got around to reading. It's called Genealogy of the Kings of France and Their Wives. I know. What can I say? I hate to leave a gift shop empty-handed. Anyway, I was flipping though it today and found this (pictured below).
Pepin the Elder, Pepin d'Heristal... The Pepins were kings! And whose name is that, just under King Pepin the Short? CHARLEMAGNE. Hell, yeah, man! Charlemagne! Charlemagne's last name was Pepin! This fact was somehow left out of all the history books I was made to read in school. In case you're not up on your turn-of-the-9th-century kings and don't remember Sean Connery's character mentioning him in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," Charlemagne is considered one of the founding fathers of French royalty. He conquered the adjacent parts of Italy and Spain, as well as some huge swaths of Eastern Europe in the Saxon wars. You could do worse when it comes to a family tree.
After I got over my initial excitement of having married into a royal family (and without even KNOWING it, unlike that social-climbing Kate Middleton) I inspected the drawings of King Pepin and Charlemagne in the book and on the Internet, trying to spot a family resemblance. I can't say that I can see much of one, but then again, I have almost no pictures of Johann in either a crown or a laurel wreath, so who's to say? So next I consulted the text, which describes Charlemagne like this:
"He was heavily built, sturdy, and of considerable stature, although not exceptionally so, given that he stood seven feet tall. He had a round head, large and lively eyes, a slightly larger nose than usual, white but still attractive hair, a bright and cheerful expression, a short and fat neck, and a slightly protruding stomach. His voice was clear, but a little higher than one would have expected for a man of his build. He enjoyed good health, except for the fevers that affected him in the last few years of his life. Toward the end he dragged one leg. Even then, he stubbornly did what he wanted and refused to listen to doctors, indeed he detested them, because they wanted to persuade him to stop eating roast meat, as was his wont, and to be content with boiled meat."
Hmm... Well... Johann certainly also has a round head, lively eyes and a cheerful expression (except when he catches me buying things we don't need at the secondhand shop, as as my wont). And he, too, enjoys general good health and is not a fan of boiled meat. But that's pretty much where the resemblance ends. And while Johann is tall, he's no seven feet tall. Seven feet tall? And that was considered "of considerable stature, although not exceptionally so?" If seven feet wasn't considered quite the long drink of water back in the ninth century, then why do I always have to duck when going through the doorways of any French building more than 200 years old? Something's not right, here. Given the history of recreational head-chopping amongst European royalty, I suspect it was likely in the best interest of the king's biographer to exaggerate a bit. But still. Seven feet seems like overkill.
Then I noticed the descriptions of following generations of Pepins: Charles II the Bald, Charles the Fat, Louis II the Stammerer, Charles III the Simple... I can only assume that these kings' biographers weren't the sycophants that Charlemagne's was. Either that, or these monikers were applied posthumously. I'm working on a short list of nicknames for Johann, as clearly you cannot afford to let these things be left to chance and/or historians. Vote for your favorite! Pepin the Benevolent, Pepin the Hilarious, Pepin the Liverpool Fan, Johann the Effervescent, King of the Hill, Pepin the Cheese-Hater, Pepin the Guinness-Drinking, Johann the Hungover, Frog One, Pepin the Nearly Vegetarian.
Attention, wine lovers! Do you suffer from the kind of debilitating loneliness that can't be cured with a puppy? Do you need something to fill the hours between the kids' bedtime and yours when your spouse is out of town? Or maybe you're a single person who could do with a nice glass of white wine after work, but can't be bothered to go to a bar. Have I got the wine for you!
Domaine de la Solitude is a white Bordeaux made from 60% Sauvignon grapes and 40% Semillon grapes and has been given the distinction of being named a "Grand Vin" of its region. It's a light, crisp, fruity wine that, as is clear from its name, has been specially made for drinking alone.
Wait. What's this? Oh. I've been told that's not right. It's called that because it's made by monks.
Okay, well I didn't get it that wrong, did I? After all, what are monasteries but substance abuse centers where the patients are encouraged to develop their drinking problems in the safety and security of a mountaintop hideaway where they won't endanger the general public with their drunken antics, erratic driving or late-night phone calls?
No? That's not right either? Oh. Okay. Got it.
It seems that's not what monasteries are all about after all. They're places where like-minded men can retreat from the pressures of society in peace. They're provided with their own tiny quarters there, which they leave only to join the other men in singing and communal meals. And also there's an open bar.
Are you sure about this? Because now it sounds kind of like a gay cruise. Oh. I see.
All right. I guess a monastery IS just like I described it above only with lots more genuflection, deities and vows of silence than the gay cruise. And after "hallelujah," they sing "amen," not "it's raining men." There's also some light gardening involved, which sounds nice, though the gay cruise still sounds like a lot more fun, quite frankly.
I guess the moral to this story is that learning about wine is hard.
