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The French connection

The other day I mentioned that I would be going to Islands of Adventure next week. Now, about that… But first, I have some backstory.

My friend Kevin, a frequent commenter on this site (if there is such a thing), is a Francophile studying to be a Francophone. He’s even joined a foreign exchange program for this summer. This French kid named Quentin is going to stay with him for a few weeks, and then he’s going to France to stay with Quentin for a few weeks. When Quentin and Kevin were instant messaging each other about the upcoming visit, Quentin said he wanted to go on a trip as far from Kevin’s house as possible.

We (my circle of friends which includes Kevin) thought this was kind of rude, but I could see where he was going with it. After all, if Quentin wants to see America, he might as well see America. I’m sure that if I were staying in France, I’d want to go see Paris, no matter how far. Anyway, it was decided that Kevin’s dad would take him and Quentin (and some of Kevin’s friends, including me) to Islands of Adventure next Saturday.

But Quentin is arriving on Monday. So before the grand excursion we’re going to immerse him in some good American culture. On Tuesday night we’re taking him to see Star Wars because he likes Star Wars (maybe he won’t understand it in English, but it shouldn’t matter much because he’s probably seen it in France already). On Wednesday one of Kevin’s friends happened to be having a barbecue, so he’s taking Quentin to that. (It can’t be a coincidence, though; after all, who has a barbecue? I don’t even think I‘ve been to a real, all-American, hamburgers-sizzling-on-the-old-fashioned-grill, picnic-table-with-red-and-white-tablecloth, playing-ball-in-the-grass-with-sprinklers-relieving-you-from-the-hot-summer-sun barbecue.)

Anyway, I want Quentin to get a taste of the real America. I hear we get a bum rap over there in his country, and maybe even others. When he comes to my house (as he almost certainly will, because Kevin lives in my neighborhood), I want to shake his hand heartily and say “Welcome to America,” and then maybe add a “bonjour” to make him feel at home.

So, Kevin’s learning French, Quentin’s learning English. I wonder who’s better at the other’s language? That’s the thing about languages, you know. I’d hate to be in a country where strange people would expect me to master all the subtleties of their native tongue. It makes me glad I’m learning Esperanto, which is a neutral language that belongs to nobody. If I were to go to France and chat it up with an Esperantist, we’d be meeting each other halfway instead of having me make a gargantuan effort to learn French (or having him do the same to learn English). Esperanto is big in France, I hear. The Pasporta Servo, which is a hospitality service for Esperanto speakers, has a bunch of hosts in France. If I ever want to go to France sometime…

Pass the Ask Jordon, please.

ashleigh: Would you lie about your age?

Depends. I wouldn’t do it on any official forms or anything, but I might do it to a real person. For example, if someone asked for my age, and I told them to guess, and they said, “Oh, I dunno… 17?” I might say “Hey, you’re right!”

Tom: I’m in the middle of moving. Half of my stuff is in storage, and I can’t find the tv remote. Do you have any idea where it is?

Don’t worry, Tom, it’s here under my desk. I just bumped it with my foot. Oh, and if you’re missing a sock, I think there’s one back there, but it’s probably Todd‘s.

Mick: Sexy pics

I’ll construe this as a question and answer “No.”

About a year ago, I linked to a LiveJournal whose entries are typed by a cat. Looking back at the LJ, which is still active, I find it sad that Ripley the Cat’s blog routinely gets way more comments than this one.