French Word of the Day: rhume (room)- headcold

Everyone in Paris has a cold right now.  We all caught it at the exact same time.  I went to a concert (classical, not rock) last night and the two musicians were almost drowned out by a symphony of phlegm.

That’s the lovely image I’ve decided to start my entry on.

I’ve finally managed to wash all my clothes without incident.  In the other foyer, the machine somehow turned all my whites an unattractive shade of brown.  Before you all say catty things like, “SEPARATE, Meghan.  Whites, colors, darks.”  Let me just say, I did separate colors.  Why did it turn everything brown, then?  I don’t know.  Maybe it was trying to make a statement about how all clothes should be equal regardless of their color?  Maybe sensed that my clothes were American and felt a prejudice against them?  I don’t know the inner workings of French laundry machines.

The French haven’t stopped their strike yet.  They had a huge manifestation (demonstration?) on Tuesday.  Many of the metro lines weren’t affected… except for mine, which was running half the trains of its normal schedule.  Thanks, strikers.

The manifestation on Tuesday occurred right by my school during class.  It sounded more like a huge party than a mass of angry people.  They were shouting things, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.  My teacher said it was something like: “Sarko, tu es feu (fou?), les jeunesse sont dans la rue.”   It translated to “Sarkozy, you’re done.  The youth have taken to the street.”  The teacher said, “It’s hard to control the youth, so when they take to the street, you’re in trouble.”  I tried listening to what they were saying after she told us, and it still sounded like, “Blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blue!”  I guess chanting can be equated to figuring out the words to a song: hard enough in your own language, impossible in another.

Of course, the street that the strikers decided to have their huge march on was the street I need to cross to get home from school.  I inadvertently took part in the parade by jumping in front of it, but no one complained and I managed to get to my metro stop.  Luckily, the strike has lessened and my metro line is running full-schedule again.

I’m out.  Jenna and I are joining Arnaud at his place for some good ol’ American rap before heading to a club with even more American music.  You just can’t get away from it.

Pain au chocolat count: 20