R.I.P? No, wait...

Wow. Some realness went down this week… Well not this first part, so feel free to skip the next bit if you’re not feelin’ it. But later.

First off, we had a game in St. Raphael on the Med coast and it was maybe the single most ridiculous volleyball game I have ever been a part of. I don’t even want to revisit the sad event but suffice it to say that good competition doesn’t take place when both teams are trying to lose. To get all poetic on y’all, the essence of sport is lost. So why were we wanting to lose?

Well there are 2 major leagues/competitions here, the French Championship and the Coupe de France. If you finish in the top 4-5 places in the Championship, your team earns a bid for the following season in the Champion’s League or one of the 2 European cups. For example, we finished 3rd last year in the Championship, hence the journeyings to Romania, Italy, etc. this year. Anyway, this is all pretty important and prestigious and basically everyone competes in their country’s leagues for this chance.

Anyway, since you don’t earn a berth by winning the Coupe - and since Cannes, the top team in the French league has won every year since about 1904 - everyone figures there’s no point in spending more precious club bills to make the trip to wherever each round is played. So somehow this works out to, “let’s go to the first round and hopefully lose so we don’t have to advance” or something of the sort. We went with 5 players and a player with a torn ab, so we were fit to put up a good fight. We played the drawers off that game and (successfully?) lost. That’s about all the reminiscing I need to do about that. Not too sure why I wrote all that out now. Apologies.

Anyway I was less than pleased with the whole experience but when we got home Saturday afternoon, I realized that other than Christmas break, for the first time since September we had a Saturday evening off. The American and I located some tickets to the local pro rugby game and went in for round 2 of spectating. For the record, I still only understand approximately 50% of what’s going on.

I was late to the game but apparently before it got underway, the locals had a minute of silence for an older gentleman that used to play for the team and was a member of the club (or something like that) who had passed away. Please just take a sec to picture the scene with me y’all – some club official gets on the mic, gives some sort of tribute, and fond memories are quietly recalled during the minute of silence while the crowd of 10,000 strong remembers a lost friend… People are sad. Some people are also pretty shocked for reasons to become apparent.

Now fast forward to Monday - it comes out that this guy is not in fact, dead... Yeeeah.

Dude was ON VACATION.

Oh. Snap.

So ya screwed up...

Yeah I know y’all are sittin there, minds blown like, Say whaaaaaaat. Bahaha. And please believe, I couldn’t, heck, I wouldn’t make that up. Word on the street is there was an apology to the family in the local paper and such but ya can’t really take that one back too easily… Either way, that’s the way to get a warm welcome home after a nice holiday. On the bad side, the day this guy’s time actually comes, nobody’s gonna know to believe it or not. Took me a sec to process all that ridiculousness in one sitting, but try as I might I can’t even really begin to figure how someone just jumped to the conclusion they did. He missed the local bridge club meeting last week so he couldn’t be anything but automatically just dead, straight up…? And then they go ahead and even organize some public tribute without, I dunno, checking with the wife and kids? Pretty funny. More unbelievable.

Bisous Nation

I know I'm lag-status on putting somethin new up hurr, but let's be real and assess the situation at hand - it's mid-February, I'm a little bored, cold and don't really have anything good to say. Then again, the latter 3 of those points apply approximately 98% of the time so... Snap. Well then. Here goes more of the same...

Last week a French teammate and I had to be the trophy presenters at this local sport association recognition night (say that 10x fast...) and it was mostly an unmentionable experience save one thing. Ok, actually two things. The first is that I got to be a trophy girl. A fully-clothed trophy girl on a drafty, tackily decorated 70's-era stage. How many of you can say that? What was actually somewhat worth mentioning was the fact that we had to hand out probably 15 or 20 trophies on this fateful eve, and for each one had to greet both the person presenting the winner and the winner. No big deal. It's at this point in the game I must point out, however, that this greeting was conducted in the form of the French custom of "faire la bise" (which I ranted a little about back when I first got here) aka an ever-changing number of air-kisses, or bisous, on the cheek.

This is all well and good, being that it's been 6 months back in this 'hood I'm finally (mostly) getting over the weirdness factor - except for every so often when you get a creeper who slips in a REAL kiss on one or both cheeks... the perp is almost exclusively of the male sort over age 45. I definitely need less of that in my life. But I digress.

So consider this pro tip/knowledge dropped: I say "ever changing number" of bisous due to the fact that depending on where you are in France & Belgium you have to greet people with either 1, 2, 3, 0r 4 kisses. This can be problematic and awkward for obvious reasons. In Albi, for example, you greet folks with 2. In Montagnac, where I tore France up as a young'un, it was 3. I've been told it's 4 somewhere in the North, but I can't remember where so maybe that's just an urban legend? Somebody Wikipedia that noise. Point is, it's all very confusing and in my opinion, a little/a lot awkward.

I prefer kissing strangers of the non-Brad Pitt variety at this distance

I understand cultural differences and whatnot but where I'm from a stranger gets a hearty handshake, a nod, heck, a high-five or a chest bump but there is definitely no kissing goin' down. The weirdest thing, in my opinion (that's the 2nd time in a minute I've prefaced my thoughts with "in my opinion". Am I secretely fearing some onslaught of French hate-mail/comments for this? Screw it.) is that strangers get a bisou but close friends get the same treatment too. Where's the love? I likes me a nice big hug when I see a buddy. Unfortunately, I'm alone in this sentiment over here. It's like back in the day the greetings for both strangers and loved ones were averaged out and they figured half-way between a handshake and a full-body hug is a kiss for everyone...? That's democracy at its finest.

Anyway, probably the worst part of this nonsense is that when you meet a large group of people, everyone has to bisous everyone else, sans exceptions. This was demonstrated on Tuesday and on one ocassion where we had to say hi to a team of 15 yr olds and it took no joke, a good 20 minutes for 12 of us to give 12 kids 3 kisses each. The number of kisses thrown around is mind boggling. How 'bout just a wave and hey to the group. Less bisouing, more work.

So culture lesson aside, Tuesday trophy presenting got awkward not only because of all the stranger kissing going on (and you best believe there was some creeper kisses bein slipped in left & right...yikees) but because in the town we were at they for some reason rock the 3 bisous. Take note. Bear in mind place is less than 20 km away from Albi so needless to say, the 3 bisous-ing was information that would've been useful earlier in the evening. We didn't get told until like 8 people in and this resulted in a lot of awkward on-stage waiting for extra bisous that weren't bein given out and then for the rest of the evening half the people tried to accomodate us and go with 2, which only left me hangin'. My question for the day is then: How do they decide to go with 3 instead of 2 like everyone else in this region? And if we're going to be kissing, why more than 1, period?

Discuss amongst yourselves and please share any/all insight. I still have 3 months left over here.

P.S For anyone who questions the awkwardness of said situations - picture kissing your coach/boss. 'Nuff said.

I Dunk, Therefore I am

So I just got back from a little trip to Italy on Friday night. Started in Albi, mini-bused it to Barcelona and then flew to Rome and some other Italian city next to Jesi where we played. "France to Italy via... Spain?", you say. Sounds like a logical way to travel. Go west to get east my son!

As predicted we got pretty much owned in 3. I believe the scores were 25-14, 25-20, 25-19 and though we played well, they played better. A lot better. Actually it didn't go as bad as I thought it might so thanks for the prayers on our behalf. No noses were broken and other than a few egos, we got out unharmed. Unfortunately as soon as the game ended, I realized we get to recreate the drama a week later when they come to our house for the rematch next wednesday. All we have to do is beat them in 3 at home and then win a sudden-death "golden set" to take the series...

We played this...

In a word, we're about to be eliminated. And sadly, that means my days of gallavanting across (predominantly eastern) Europe are soon to be over... Pour out a little liquor of your beverage of choice for me.

Side note - back in France, we won yesterday in a record quickness of 1 hr 13 mins vs. the last team in the league. I'll take it.

Also, in keeping with the _______ of ______ album theme (see: "Hats of Romania" post for that reference to make any kind of sense), The American and I almost did an "Artwork of France's Neighbors" album on this trip since we saw some pretty clutch paintings in the hotel and truckstop restaurant throughout our travels... But the title didn't quite have the right ring to it.

Selections would've included a vivid watercolour of hot pink and red wild horses and a still-life of a lobster on a telephone. Not talking on it (that would be a reasonable artist's depiction) but sitting on the phone. Unfortunately we never got around to taking pictures of pictures, or of anything else much for that matter, so this post is conspicuously low on photos... Our bad. Either way, obviously I've been deeply moved since I'm for some reason writing about these paintings and though I don't know who's painting them - keep doin' your thing. I'd try to speculate what the deeper meaning or message behind the art could've been but it will only end badly in puns or stupid metaphors so we'll move on...

I was watching the NBA dunk contest this fine Sunday afternoon, a mere 12 hours late because of the unfortunateness of time zones and my need to sleep at night. And dayum, I wasn't too impressed. Other than ridiculously bad commentating and someone (not naming names, DWIGHT HOWARD...) attempting the oft attempted and boring dunk-from-the-foul-line, it was underwhelming. Nate Robinson, the 5'9" phenom, took the title with less-than exciting displays of physical freakishness. Here's to hoping Lebron does it up right next year.

Re-reading that paragraph, I realize nothing I just wrote really makes sense, so scratch all that. It just wasn't good. For any of you who missed out, this play-by-play was a lot more entertaining. Dude said it right:

"And he dunks the ball into the hoop, and people are ecstatic. Also, keep in mind ... same gag as last year. NBA: Where Creativity Happens."

Stranger Danger

It's funny what speaking the same language in a faraway land does to connect people.

Case in point - the other day The American and I were in need of some nourishment and decided to get some kebab from God's gift to humanity, this little kebab shop downtown I don't even know the name of. It's that good.

As we're waiting for the taste of succulent spiced meat to greet our palettes, we hear the sweet sounds of familiarity behind us. Our mother tongue being spoken at close range. By young bucks. Who, by all accounts didn't seem to be tourists. Say whaaaaat. Now, even though I speak French, hearing English spoken by people other than myself and my American partner-in-crime is music to my ears and it happens about, umm wait, yeah. Never.

So being that we were stoked and maybe somewhat out of our minds due to dangerously low blood sugar, we strike up a conversation with the two young English gents. They're over hurr takin' a year off "uni" in London and well, the details of the story are unexciting except that within approximately 3.42 mins of glorious English conversation, we go from strangers to good-enough-to-ask-you-to-my-birthday-party status. It was their "joint 21st this weekend" and we got an invite. Belieeeve dat. I go to school with punks for 12 years and don't reach that level...?!

Nobody can even claim that it was our rugged good looks that won the boys' hearts because we were makeupless and in usual post-practice street gear aka sweats, an old t-shirt and our team parka... and makeupless. For anyone lucky enough to have seen me uncoifed and sans at least some mascara, they know that it's not a pretty sight. For example, I regularily get asked if I'm feeling alright and have I slept in a few weeks by concerned passers-by. Or 50 cent these days... his eyebrows seem to be conspicuously missing... In short, without help, my blondeness is a curse on the invisible eyelashes/brows/face front.

His makeup artist is on vacay?

So, it's pretty obvious that it has to all be attributed solely to the fact that we could converse freely in the language of our forefathers. Strangers to BFFs. Just like that. We'll probably never see nor talk to the fools again but the fact remains, that's English uniting people at its finest. Warms my heart.

This, That & The Other

I'm bored and I don't really have anything good to say... So here goes another post. So what have I been up to lately, you ask.

Well as I said, not much.

For example, in an effort to do something more productive with my time, I applied to a graduate program through a university in Sweden last week. Pray for me to your respective higher power that I get in. It's a Master of Child Studies, which I don't know what I'll do with or if I actually want to break my back to get, but since I've about the most indecisive person I know when it comes to my life and I'll likely not make a decision as to what I'm doing with my post-volleyball career anytime soon... I figure it's something. Whatcha gon' do. Great reasoning, I know.

Also related to life direction & time usage, I decided to make a new year's resolution for the first time ever this year. This is normally the part of the post where I have a passionate reason for not doing one before... but in this case, I guess it's just 'cause I was too lazy for the first 22 years of my life. Anyway, instead of only one grand 2009 resolution that I'd never remember, let alone fulfill, I decided I'd do 12. One per month. If I like it, I'll keep doin it... If not, it's out. It's all dramatic like that. Anyway these mini-resolutions aren't exciting enough to mention here but I'll indulge y'all on one example.

I unfortunately have a genetic weakness for chocolate (runs in the fam. It's my cross to bear...) and February is that time of the year where I realize I have 3 months til people I know will see me again and will be horrified by the way French cuisine has treated my bod. So I decided it was time to reign in the beast and give up my vice. (See what I mean about the resolutions not being exciting...) Unfortunately I shared this idea with The American back in January and a couple days later she decided she was gonna give up drinking for 4 months. I couldn't be shown up just like that, and so to make it fair and due to the challenge, my chocolate-less life has been extended to 2 months, starting yesterday. It sucks already. For example, in the 2 days since starting I've
had the following eaten in front of me - chocolate-filled crepes, a box of belgian chocolates, and homemade white chocolate mousse. I knew this endeavour would suck, but it's like people are inadvertently pullin' out all the stops for me to fail. Why do bad things have to happen to good people?! Why.

Cancel the Valentine's shipment

In other areas of life, things are little better. Kidding, life is good for the most part but we're going to Italy for a match soon and it's about to be rough. We made it to 1/4 finals of CEV cup and consequently we get to play Vini Monteschiavo Jesi, aka the 3rd ranked team in Italy's A1 Series. Italy is the best league in Europe and who knows if we would've even beaten the Ukrainian team we didn't have to play in the 1/8 finals... this might all sound pessimistic but for those in the know, it's more like reality. To break it down, think of it like we're a high school team playing the Bulls in their MJ heyday. I've had at least 5 different fans tell me we have absolutely no chance whatsoever... Oh the love. Those would be our "fans". So yeah, the people are behind us and should be fun. On the bright side, free trip to Italy?

Are you there God? Its me, Co.

I won't get into personal volleyball frustrations, but this is about the time of year where one feels the need to start a countdown to the end of the season... Which I'd be looking forward to if, for various reasons, I had any idea what or where I'm gonna be for the summer... And that about wraps up another round of super optimistic upate of the latest whatnot that's goin' down in my hood. Don't say I didn't warn.