Nom c'est bizarre :: A collection of short stories

Writers block never seems to be my problem when I finally manage the time to sit in front of Word and compose a blog. My problem is that there’s so much to recall, recount, remember that the task of taking this “memory vomit” and carving it down to something concise feels impossible.

This is usually when I pop a bottle of wine and get on Facebook.

I’m beginning to become a bit more independent in the lab. I know where the chemicals are, their French common name equivalents (ex: Acide comes first) and my days are becoming more routine. I go from being constantly busy running reactions, setting up and running columns, working up calculations to sitting at my computer with nothing to do but read papers.


MissElaineous Short Stories

Strasbourg has been dreary and rainy the past few weeks. Sometimes I feel like the gray skies make it feel like what one pictures when they imagine a cozy street side café on an early spring morning.
This image sucks when one:

1) has to ride their bike to/from work

2) is usually cold all the time & all central heating has been turned off.

I’ve been walking around the lab in several layers and exchange my jacket for a labcoat. Well one of the thermometers monitoring the reaction temperature was reading room temp at something an unusually high. This was troubling since it meant it was giving false readings for the reaction temperature. Jean, the PhD head of the lab, announced that we would know that the room temperature had reached 24 degrees Celsius and was working when “Elaine the Texan takes off her sweater!”

___________________________________________

I went down to the stockroom to pick up my own set of glassware to use for reactions and I had to give the lady my name. I was proud that I was able to spell it in French. French Women #2 (sitting next to the one typing) quickly mumbled something and grabbed a sticky note off her computer and scribbled down my name. French Women #1 laughed and said “You would!” causing French Women #2, smiling, to explain to me “Nom c’est bizarre!”

Translation: apparently as a daily amusement, French Women #2 keeps a list of unusual names and mine made the cut. I laughed all the way back to the lab.

___________________________________________

I forgot to mention that the Belgiums prefer wardrobes that include, and are strictly limited to; beige, black, grey, white, off-white, and when feeling quite bold – chocolate brown.

Accustomed to French fou (crazy) fashion, I managed to bring my most brightly colored EVERYTHING on my trip. Kelly green sweater, pink polo, sky blue jacket, azure blue polo, etc. For church on Sunday, I also managed to bring a “loud” patterned skirt.

Talk about a traveling faux pas. Surprisingly, Chris never lost track of me in the crowds of Belgium introverts.

___________________________________________

Jean’s wife, Jenny, a former American and fellow chemist, taught a class this semester in Scientific English. Students would attend a seminar about a scientific paper and hear a talk in English about it before their test. Since the talk was in English, one of the other Americans and I went to go sit in on the class.

The shaming I’ve received all my life as an American student about our lack of discipline and disrespect I know understand the truth to: it’s complete crap.

Despite the fact that this was a small class, and college students, they were some of the most impolite and insincere group of students I’ve ever seen. UT students may not be angels, but I’ve never seen students have to be asked to separate or leave the room since middle school. They talked, they left early, they didn’t take notes…..

The desks in the lecture hall were covered in layers graffiti (some were written in very poor English and were hilarious) which helped me realize the problem. The government pays for almost all of their school, meaning the university doesn’t have very much money to spend on their campus and that kids take little ownership of their education. Tuition and fees here cost about 400 euros per semester.

Yet they complain…

___________________________________________

Travel Tip: for extended stays always take a small sewing kit. Last summer I had to fix a hole in my jeans and a tear in my purse, and this summer I’ve already had to re-sew on the strap to my backpack. In must be a European thing because I never sew in Texas.

___________________________________________

Chris said that after leaving Texas for a year it was obvious: my accent. This is not ok. I need to get out of Texas more often.

___________________________________________

The French have an obsession with putting ID photos on every single ID.

For your picture:
Step 1: Put yourself in a box
Step 2: Make sure your face fits in the oval circle of the box
Step 3: Get of the box with a horrid image of yourself – 5 euros later.

I had to go get liability insurance incase I blow up the lab or hit a slow pedestrian on my bicycle. Imagine my confusion when my insurance came with:
1) Discounts to the local pool
2) Movie ticket reductions
3) Random, worthless discounts labeled “le pack”
4) A set of McDou passes (another alleged cool name for…McDonalds) for a free hamburger or milkshake.

I know = satan. But my first thought was, maybe now I can get my money’s worth! Guess what…they want a PICTURE on your coupon pass.

In my American opinion, this is an odd fetish.

___________________________________________

Early this week I went and grabbed Thai take out to eat for lunch. It came in a plastic bag.

My reaction:: awesome, free bag!

This is both sad and very European.

Plastic bags are rare, and cost 3 cents at the grocery store.

___________________________________________

I realized the sad truth that my room felt much homier when I bought paper towels. Since that purchase, my quality of life improved greatly.

___________________________________________

Today, 25/05/2008 (written as the Europeans do, date first) is Fête des Mères.

Literal Translation = party of the mothers
American Translation = Mother’s Day

That being said, Happy French Mother’s Day Mommy!

You can see me waving in the reflection.

Queer observation: Mother’s Day apparently markets “making your mother sexy” in a way only the French can get away with and avoid Freudian suspicion.





I’m getting up early tomorrow to call a certain Fly Boy in Corpus Christi.

The next entry will include but is not limited to:
- Short French guys, beers, and baguettes (sounds like another chemistry BBQ!)
- Day trip to Colmar yesterday
- An epic recount of my day today when I decided to ride my bike into Germany

Elaine