No Verb

We are going to Mexico this weekend with my parents and my older sister, Nicole, and her family. So far, in preparation, C has bought Mexican car insurance over the internet, taken cash of varying denominations out of the bank, made Super Shuttle reservations (a complicated procedure designed to simplify our one-car existence), and is now chatting it up with a T Mobil representative to find out what our cell phone service will be like down there. So far, in preparation, I have had very intense conversations with both my mom and my sister about what and when we will eat while we are there and thought about maybe buying some bottled water before we leave, but have I bought the water? No.

This issue came up when we were in Europe various times last year. C was involved in planning our weekend in Zurich. When I arrived, he had found a place to stay, and he had also studied a map extensively, so that he always knew where we were at any given time. A few weeks later, I was in charge of planning another weekend away. I decided once we were at the train station with our bags packed that we should probably go to Luxembourg. This resulted in dashing around train stations and missing buses. It also involved wandering aimlessly and hungrily around Luxembourg City because I had done no hotel or hostel research whatsoever. However, both weekends turned out to be equally wonderful. And I’m sure this weekend will too.

From Peter Mayle’s book Frech Lessons (imagine that as underlined), as he has had enough of the hubris of a Frenchman named Regis:

“After half an hour of this relentless crowing, I’d had enough, and I thought it was time to remind Regis of a legend that, so far at least, the French have been able to suppress.
The story goes that the bounties of France were deeply resented by her neighbors, the other Europeans. Eventually, jealous of such an overprivileged country, they got together in a rare moment of unity and decided to send their representatives to God in order to protest.
‘You have given France the best of everything,’ they said. ‘The Mediterranean Sea, the Atlantic Ocean, mountains and fertile valleys, southern sunshine and romantic northern winters,a supremely graceful language, cooking rich with the finest butter and olive oil, the most varied and productive vineyards on earth, more cheeses than there are days in the year–everything, in fact, that man could desire, and all in one country. Is this fair? Is this divine justice?’
God listened to their complaint, considering them carefully. Thinking it over, He was obliged to admit that the protesters had a point. It was possible that He had been rather generous–perhaps overgenerous–to this blessed patch called France. And so, to make up for all those unfair advantages, God created the French. The other Europeans went home happy. Justice had been served.
Regis sniffed, one of those eloquent, disdainful French sniffs. ‘Very droll,’ he said. ‘I suppose that would appeal to the English sense of humor.’
‘Actually, it was a German friend who told me the story. He thought it was funny, too.’
Another sniff. ‘What do you expect from someone who likes dumplings and sauerkraut?’ He pushed back his seat and composed himself for sleep. Even his snores had a faintly supercilious sound about them. I don’t know why I like him so much.”

I think the title says about enough. I need to suck it up, put the computer down, and read some bad writing, already.

Remember when I was reading that terrible allegory and the introduction said I was free to agree or disagree? Well, it turns out I wasn’t. I wrote my paper, and, like an obedient child, praised the wonders of the new ELL program. Another teacher in my department, however, did not. She wrote a criticism of the system and the new proposed program (not anything nasty or rude or hostile, just a critical analysis), and she just got her paper returned with a nice little note to the tune of, “As it turns out, we don’t think you fully understood the course material. Please reread some material until you DO understand it and then rewrite your paper.” In other words, “Tell us what we want to hear or you won’t have a job next year, sucka.” Cool. We’re supposed to teach the kids to think for themselves, or something like that.