How a deceptive triangle (almost) stole Christmas

For an early Christmas present, I wanted to take Carson on a quick day trip. I decided on Ghent (a big city in Belgium) because it was only an hour away by bus, has a big Christmas market, a medieval castle in the middle of downtown, and cheap beer galore (though I suppose this applies to pretty much anywhere in Belgium.) Though, what really sold me on Ghent was that it was described to me as “much less touristy than all of the other places with Christmas markets.” After having to essentially swim through a sea of witty British tourists to get anywhere in Lille over the past few weeks, I jumped on this opportunity. 

I refused to tell Carson what we were doing—just that he needed to keep Monday free—and I’m pretty sure it remained a surprise until we reached the train station. Our bus was driven by yet another hilarious, ancient Dutch man with an incomprehensible accent no matter what language he was speaking. Once everyone had arrived, he announced that the bus would be late due to traffic by about “fouteeee-(nn)?” minutes. Everyone looked around, clearly very confused; fourteen...forty? WHAT IS THIS NUMBER?? Fourteen minutes was no big deal, but we already were limited to five hours in Ghent and couldn’t afford to lose nearly an entire hour. Luckily, one bold woman said “I have no idea what you just said, so do I have time to smoke a cigarette?” He replied: “Yes but only fourteee (n)? miutes so stay by the bus.” Everyone still didn’t really know what this meant, but it turns out we were only stuck for fourteen minutes and still got to Ghent exactly on time. 

And it was very pretty and charming

Canals really should be an everywhere thing

Our first stop upon arrival was the medieval castle: Gravensteen. I usually wouldn’t opt to spend an hour walking around on top of an old thing if I were limited on time and there was a Christmas market near by, but this castle was special. Not only did it have a really cool torture museum (I had never seen a real guillotine and decided that was a necessary life achievement), but it was decorated to look like a “winter wonderland” castle. Torture and Christmas magic all in one locale! 

A sword larger than I am just seems impractical

The entrance  

Channeling my inner Arya

But really...straight out of Game of Thrones

View of Ghent from the top of the castle. I feel like The Ferris wheel in Europe
is equivalent to the mall Santa in the States...children are terrified to approach either
yet towns and cities are not considered legitimate if they don't have one and display
it elaborately. 

We then made our way over to the Christmas market for lunch and browsing. We were both reaching a pretty dangerous level of hunger, and this was only made worse by the fact that my brain had fixated on the idea of soup after we passed a make-your-own-soup place on the way in. We walked through the whole market (which was awesome and gigantic) on our seemingly hopeless quest to find a soupery. I was convinced that between these millions of waffle stands, there had to be at least one place that sold soup. When we were on the verge of giving up, we magically came across a stand that was selling big cups of soup for ONLY one euro. Christmas magic is real. Unfortunately, the nice people at the stand said the soup needed to be reheated for about 10 minutes because the power went out. Since there was now no other option for me at this point, I decided to wait. Carson then realized he wanted a sausage from a stand that was a couple minutes away instead of 1 euro soup (fair enough), so we headed that way. When we reached the stand, they informed us that it would be a fifteen minute wait because the bread wasn’t ready.

Ultimately lunch was postponed for about thirty minutes and I’m sure Carson has never feared more for his life. However, it was worth the wait. I ended up buying roughly three giant soup cups—mostly because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything in a Christmas market for only one euro and felt a need to exploit this cheapness—and Carson obtained his dream-wurst. 

A gigantic grill for a gigantic hotdog

So much culture in one sausage

After lunch, we walked around the market with some vin chaud. It was about 10x bigger than the Lille market, and vendors were much more liberal with free samples. We stood by one stand that was giving away incredible Mediterranean-ish food for like twenty minutes until Carson started feeling bad about loitering.

We slowly made our way to the other side of town and accidentally came across a bar I had wanted to go to but decided we would never find. It’s a pretty typical Belgian bar, with a rustic cabin-like interior and gigantic beer selection, but it has a key, defining feature: the kwak. 

The Kwak

Kwak-in like I've been doing it my whole life

Basically, you order this gigantic chemex type thing full of beer and give the bar a shoe as collateral in case you break the Kwak. They then put your shoe in a basket that is hoisted up to the ceiling for safe keeping. Probably the most unnecessary and lengthy process we’ve ever gone through for a beer.

Eventually, we made our way back to the station to head home. I am sure that we were simply delightful bus-mates after having spent about 2 hours at the kwak bar. Anyway, it was a wonderful day trip and a great way to get even more into the Christmas spirit.

Another Christmas-spirit-enhancing happening came shortly after with the arrival of a package from Cathy. It had even MORE decorations (our house looks seriously ridiculous at this point, but in a great way) and awesome presents. One gift for me had a tag that said “from Cathy and Skylar.” I thought that was kind of strange because I know for a fact Skylar would generally have no involvement (or interest) at all in finding me a Christmas present. When I opened it and found my favorite pajama pants ever, which just happen to also be Skylar’s ex-girlfriend’s pajamas that Cathy let me borrow once last year and I instantly fell in love with, all became clear. So, thanks again, Skylar and Cathy. It is an honor to now have these pants in my possession (also, I would love to see the ex-girlfriend’s reaction to learning that her old pajama pants are now being worn daily by Carson’s girlfriend in France).

Surprisingly, Carson and I finished all of our Christmas shopping on the 23rd and had all Christmas Eve and Christmas to just hang out. It was all magical and wonderful and perfect aside from when I almost ruined everything.

Okay, that’s an extreme exaggeration, but I still feel bad about it. On Christmas Eve, I woke up to find Carson had wrapped my presents by using various Christmas decorations because we didn’t really have wrapping paper. When I saw a present wrapped in a Santa hat, I knew exactly what it was: one of those paper-maché stars that Carson loves from the Christmas market. I mean...it was the EXACT shape and size. I was convinced. I was also a bit disappointed because every time we passed the stars at the market, my reaction was verbatim: “meh.” Carson was the one who freaked out about the stars every time we passed the stand and wanted one desperately.... which is why I had already gotten him one and was saving it as his big present. 

 The triangle in question can be found in the bottom left corner

When Carson woke up, he knew something was awry and asked what was wrong. I tried so hard to convince him nothing was up, but ultimately caved because I was so baffled by his choice of present.

Me: “I just...and it’s totally fine if you did...did you get me something that maybe you subconsciously wanted too and thought I wanted because you wanted it?”

He was clearly very confused.

Carson: “Uh. I would never use any of the things I got you...I don’t even know where you would have seen any of the things I got...did you look at your presents?? HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT I GOT YOU???”
Me: “I just know!! The shape!! It’s soooo obvious!!!

This almost turned into both of us revealing everything we got one another, but luckily it did not. I decided that, perhaps, it wasn’t a star. And even if it was, what am I, three? I was disappointed by my disappointment in a present that someone clearly took time to pick out for me and ceased my Grinch-ing.

When I opened the gift later, it was an easel, because I’ve recently been painting a lot.

I am the worst. 

But COME ON...Could there be two more similarly shaped things in existence???

In any case, we really did have a perfect Christmas that was made even more perfect by all the packages we received throughout the month. The decorations and gifts are appreciated more than I can express, so thanks again to all our loving family members! I hope everyone had the merriest of Christmases. Personally, I’m in denial and plan on continuing Christmas until well into January. Finally, here are some of the pictures of the apartment that I took a month to upload: 

My elaborate gingerbread estate

Our neighbors across the street totally stole this idea from us. We are bitter.

Candy canes!

Necessary Christmas countdown

3 doors + 1 set of keys + 2 people who are bad at math = not a great plan

Having only one set of keys has proven inconvenient at times, but it had never been an actual issue until Saturday.

That night, Carson went to a dinner in Valenciennes that was held for the assistants at his school. He wasn’t getting back until pretty late, but I kept the keys in case I had to go to the store or escape a fire or something like that. When Carson called me at 1am to let him in, I opened the window, threw him the keys, and immediately went back to bed.

Several seconds later, I received yet another call from Carson, informing me that the lock was jammed and I needed to let him in from the inside. He then proceeded to try to throw the keys back through the window of our second-story apartment. It was a Saturday night, so there were tons of people passing by and observing our struggle, which I imagine was both confusing and awesome to behold. Eventually, the key made it back into the apartment. I walked down to the front door, put the key in the lock, and...it continued to be jammed. Not sure why we were so sure it would work on one side if it was jammed on the other.

Although there was only a door between us, it became quickly evident that unless we could find a forklift to get Carson through the window, he would be sleeping elsewhere. Luckily, Carson’s younger teacher friend that drove him to Valenciennes earlier that night happily agreed to take him in. Problem solved, sort of! We would just wait until the next day to call the candle shop manager (we had decided he definitely broke the door and that this was his fault entirely) and tell him to fix our door.

To my surprise, the front door was open the next morning when I went downstairs the next day to assess the situation. I reasoned that candle manager man called a locksmith early that day so as to not inconvenience the people living above him. How nice!

The rest of Sunday went by normally, and when it came time to cook dinner I asked Carson to run out and get some ingredients. The candle shop was closed at this point, and somehow, our door was once again magically jammed.

How?? Did we enter some parallel universe (or crappy Disney movie) where doors are sealed when the clock strikes closing time and we are consequently confined to the highest room of the tallest tour by a man who sells whimsical cupcake-shaped candles for a living?

CURSE YOU, CANDLE SHOP MAN...Because of you my stir-fry must go eggless.

I had work the next morning, and I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t be able to get there on time. Then, randomly, the candle shop manager came back when Carson was downstairs trying to make the door work.

According to Carson, the candle man came in and said that it was his fault—he had hired a new employee and forgot to tell them to only turn the lock once, not twice. With his own key, he then showed Carson that everything worked and the problem was resolved.

Ideally, we would have also tried our key before the manager left again, but that would have made things too easy. Carson came upstairs to deliver the good news and we carried on with our night.

On Monday morning, I got up early to go to work only to find that the door, yet again, was not a fully functioning door. And of course, we didn’t ask the manager for his number the night before because sometimes we just aren’t so good at things. The shop didn’t open until 10:30, so I immediately called my mentor professor to explain the situation and apologize. I was half expecting skepticism at my ridiculous story, but since she is full-blown French, she just thought it was hilarious and pretty standard Monday fare.

After informing my teachers that I wouldn’t be able to get to school until after lunch, I embarked on the most intense Facebook creeping session of my life. I scarily was able to find the candle shop manager in less than 20 minutes, and asked him to come to the apartment ASAP. Also, at this point, I was more convinced than ever that this was all his evil doing.

The doorbell rang shortly after and I gleefully skipped downstairs, thinking it was the manager and that he finally was also locked out and we weren’t crazy. I greeted him by screaming at the very thick door.

Me: HELLO! YOU CAN'T OPEN THE DOOR EITHER NOW? NOW DO YOU AGREE THAT IT'S JAMMED??

French person: What?

Me: *Realizing it is not the candle shop manager* Oh...I CAN’T OPEN THE DOOR...it’s...LOCKED.

French person: ...WHAT?

Me:...right...the DOOR is JAMMED

French person: ...OKAY?

Me: So...WHO ARE YOU?

French person: The POST OFFICE

...Really? The very VERY first time that we had ever been home when a package came, and I could not open the door to obtain it. I could literally see the outline of the box... it was so close...again, CURSE YOU, CANDLE SHOP MAN.

The post office man left and I put what I knew would be yet another future struggle (acquiring a package) at the back of my mind for the time being.

Later, when the manager finally arrived, I demanded he show me how he was opening the door. He did so without any issue and then tried my key, which continued to have no influence on the door whatsoever. Then...it all became clear. Our key was broken (maybe or maybe not as a result of throwing it back and forth through a second story window...) and the whole time I had been blaming this poor candle salesmen for my own dumbassery.

Also, naturally, it couldn’t be the easily replaceable keys to the middle door or to our own door that broke; it had to be the giant security key that only has three existing copies and is illegal to remake.

I had to go to school to catch my last three classes of the day, so I left Carson in charge of solving the key dilemma. I suggested he go to a key shop to see if they could fix it through some welding voodoo and then call our landlord when that inevitably failed.

I was pretty stressed out all day, thinking that we would have to plan our comings and goings based on when the candle shop was open until our landlord came at the end of December, but then—for the first time ever in France—there was a plot twist that actually worked in our favor. When Carson called the landlord (surprise! wielding voodoo is not actually a thing), he just nonchalantly was like: “Oh, well you can just use the key to your terrace for the front door. It’s the same key.”

I’m not an architect or a door officianato, but this seemed like a very weird design: the terrace on the top floor that is connected only to our apartment has the same lock as the front door? Even if that’s entirely normal, we were confused as to why our landlord wouldn’t have maybe mentioned that this whole time we had two keys and could have been coming and going without planning around one another to such great lengths....In any case, it’s a moot point because we are once again down to one key.

Luckily, this incident was yet again overshadowed by a wonderful package received from a family member. Dad’s package was magical (seriously, he sent really thin cookies and not even one was broken. This was almost certainly the work of some higher force (read: Santa)) and without a doubt made my week. Of course, to get the package I had to pay a 23 euro tax (apparently customs just picks packages 100% at random and then taxes them random amounts....I was also skeptical of this explanation until about 6 different French people confirmed that that was the way it worked). I am now convinced that French customs=the bureaucratic Grinch. Like really, customs, you’re going to make me buy my own Christmas present back from you?

Anyway, it was totally worth it because of the awesomeness of the package contents. Thanks again, Dad!

In other news, Carson and Will finally saw Star Wars. This did not stop them from talking about it endlessly as I hoped it might.

In other other news, we are officially on Christmas break!! I’m not sure when vacation starts for people with real jobs...but I assume it’s at least soon-ish. In any case, it’s the weekend, so happy pre-Christmas break everyone! (Pictures to come eventually). 

How I became even worse at phones

Even to me, this seemed impossible. It was probably 99% my fault for assuming that changing operators in France wouldn’t be a ludicrously difficult task for no real reason. Lesson learned. All I wanted to do was switch to Free mobile, which offers a 2 euro/month subscription. Two euros. Incredible—what could go wrong! Previously, I was paying 20 euros for a monthly recharge, so I was excited about all of the future money I would be saving. I ordered a SIM card online—already a pretty ballsy move to leave my ability to communicate in the hands of French mail—and it surprisingly came right on time. I popped in the new card, validated it online, and...the card was not valid?

Luckily, this is when Katie was still here, and she explained that my phone was probably blocked by my prior operator, SFR.

Okay, that didn’t seem so hard to fix. I could surely just go online to my SFR account and find a link to unlock my phone. Sure enough, there was a tab called “unlock your SIM card.” Hooray! Such simplicity! I clicked the link and it led me to a page that just said: error. I got on a different browser...still: error. I tried on three separate computers, once again to no avail.

No problem, I would just go to SFR and get them to unlock it in person. Working with people is more productive in any case and my phone will be operating again in no time...

This is where the horrible game of French customer service roulette began. At the first SFR boutique, I had the following interaction:

Me: Hi, I need to unlock my phone. I switched services and the link online doesn’t work.
Guy at welcome desk: *Glares meanly*
Me: ...Uh...you know...the link...? *thinking that I am using the wrong word for link*
Guy: We can’t help you. It is impossible. You have to call someone.
Me: Right, but my phone doesn’t work. So I can’t...

And then I realized he had already decided there was absolutely no way he was helping me. I angrily walked to the SFR a street over, because ultimately in France it comes down to the person helping you and generally has nothing to do at all with the actual capabilities of whatever organization or service.

Luckily, after I explained my situation, I was given a number and asked to wait. This seemed like a good sign. Eventually, my number was called and I was helped by a super nice guy who has family in Missouri. We had a great conversation about the States/the Simpsons and I felt that he would undoubtedly solve all of my problems.

He tried the link online first, which continued to lead to the error page. I then proceeded to watch him talk on the phone for 30 minutes with someone about my phone.

From what I gathered, the person on the phone went through a really confusing series of realizations:

1. My line does not exist.
2. My phone was already unlocked.
3. Wait, no. My line does not exist
4. My phone cannot be unlocked.
5. Actually, my phone is already unlocked.

Even Oussama (the guy helping me) was confused. He then called someone else, who told him they would email me my code to unlock my phone. They also said it could take anywhere from 5 days to 4 weeks. Oussama either didn’t know I was eavesdropping or misunderstood, because he then told me I would get an email that night or the next day with my code and to call him if I didn’t. He wrote down his number/name, explaining: “it’s Oussama, you know, like bin Laden! Ha!”

Of course, the email never came. I then resorted to talking to SFR customer service online. They told me once again that the phone was already unlocked. I wasn’t accepting that this time around (mostly because I couldn’t see the person’s expression of disdain), and sent back a message explaining that it indeed was locked and that even if they thought it wasn’t I wanted my code.

The woman online said she would look at my file and send me an email. I naively thought that this might result in...any result at all. It did not. I then Facetimed Free customer service. They could do nothing. I moved my SIM card in and out of my phone about a million times. This also did nothing.

I decided to just give up for a few days until I could go to the SFR in Valenciennes. Unfortunately, the guy who helped me did 100% what Oussama did and received the exact same series of responses. His conclusion: “Your phone is unlocked, go talk to your new provider about your SIM card. I guess it’s broken!”

So, I went next door to Free, where they took out my SIM card, put it in another phone, showing me that the card was working perfectly fine. My phone was indeed just blocked.

I had to catch the train, but vowed that the next day I would go to the same SFR and prove to them that I am not an insane person. I had a whole speech prepared in which I made them put my SIM card in another phone and then did something smug with my eyebrows.

My speech ended up being unnecessary. The guy helping me was just like: “Oh yeah, this is locked. Really no other explanation.” He did everything the other guys did to a T, and gave me yet a different conclusion:

SFR man: Yeah, apparently you’ve already put in 3 requests and they are in the process of emailing you your code, which could take 5 days to 4 weeks.
Me: ...so.
SFR man: Yeah, in the meantime, I would just use a different phone.

Oh good, let me just go dig one out of my convenient stash of crappy French cellphones.

....I thought unlocking a phone was such a reasonable request. Surely this code exists on an easily accessible, online database and can be found in seconds. Otherwise, where exactly are these codes kept? Are they in locked file cabinets at SFR headquarters just sitting there, being ignored, mocking me with their impossible-to-get-to existence? Apparently, yes. 

In any case, after over two weeks I broke down and bought a 10 euro phone, not because I needed to contact people, but rather because of another “why France WHY” moment in which I HAD to have a cell phone in order to make any payment online (i.e. my rent).

WHYYYYYYYYYY. Anyway, this probably could have been summed up in less than 200 words, but if I ever live in France again I want to be able to go back and remember the mistakes of my past.

In other news, teaching is even better now that I’ve realized that every single class has more or less the same demographic. Here is my running list of profiles:

1. The timid, seemingly standoffish group of girls in the corner: I had extreme difficulty with this group in the beginning. They weren’t as actively annoying as the class clowns, but they refused to participate, rendering me entirely useless through their lack of caring. This frustrated me to no end. However, I discovered that these girls are not actually smug or too good for English—they’re just really really not comfortable speaking out loud. Once I got that, I started making lessons plans that catered to them (which should have been my goal all along because if I could interest that bunch I would be unstoppable in my crusade to make English fun) and they are probably my most effective.

2. The one who is more or less bilingual: These come in two varieties: the know-it-all and the thank-god-you-exist-in-the-world-where-can-I-get-more-of-these? The know-it-all can be summed up in this interaction that took place when they were doing a “create your own country” activity.

Bilingual know-it-all: You have written that the political system can be a democracy, dictatorship, or anarchy. Anarchy isn’t a political system. What is even the point of this?

Sigh...I don’t know. To speak in English maybe? To make you be creative while doing so, maybe? Not to teach you political science, maybe?? I mean, really, kid... never mind the fact that the majority of your classmates don’t know how to say how old they are, please, let me try to conduct a class in English about political theory. That should go over splendidly.

Anyway, the other doesn’t need explaining. They are just a delight.

The next category is the cut ups. Young teachers have to deal with these students carefully, because they are naturally less afraid of you than the other, older professors and basically dominate the class dynamic with their overbearing extravertedness. Yelling at them only makes them stop what they’re doing for a short amount of time and also kind of kills the mood, but allowing them to do what they want without saying anything has also been historically unsuccessful. Finally, I found the solution: my high school French teacher, Mr. Stewart. He never openly said to not do something (which translates to “now you have to do it so everyone thinks your cool” to high schoolers) or endorsed our behavior. We all loved and respected Mr. Stewart—mostly because he was hysterical—but also because he never yelled, but instead diverted our attention through humor. This usually involved making fun of us ruthlessly. I also realized that while you can’t make fun of the timid girls because they will more than likely cry, you can totally make fun of the cut ups. That’s what they live for. SO, this is now how I deal with the different varieties:

3. The one who thinks that comedy peaked with the invention of the F-word and shouts it periodically in a ridiculous French accent.

This one is easy to deal with, as all I have to do is play my trump card: I am American and in my 20s and therefore the encyclopedia for what is cool. If it’s an intermediate or advanced class, I usually stop what I’m doing and just stare sympathetically at the kid for a few seconds before saying something like: “There is nothing that sounds more awkward or lame than a French teenager with braces attempting to pronounce English cuss words.” This generally gets a response of “OOHHHHHHH” from the rest of the class and I briefly feel like I won a rap battle.

If the kids don’t understand English well, this dis doesn’t really get any recognition. So, instead, I once again stop what I’m doing and then just stare condescendingly at the kid for a minute. Think the way Mike looks at you in an argument: you don’t know exactly what he’s thinking, but you know he’s belittling you and it makes you feel stupid nonetheless.

4. The one who thinks that coolness peaked with the invention of sex and that if he talks about it enough people will think that he has actually had it. (Grandparents, I apologize for the following paragraph. High schoolers are gross.)

So, these are always fun and by far the easiest to deal with. It’s different every time, but the best example I can think of is the other day when I was playing a family feud-type game with a class. We had just finished the category “Name a sport in which a ball is used.” I should have known better in hindsight. When I turned around, a kid raised his hand and said: “Wait, what about SEX, there are BALLS in SEX, SEX is a sport!!”

I said nothing and turned to the board to write the next category: Things teenage boys do to look cool that actually make them look painfully lame.

This was also met with a chorus of OHHHHHs, and on cue a girl said: “talk about sex even though he does not know about it.”

That girl’s team was given an unfair amount of bonus points. I also added “still has braces and talks about sex.” It’s just too easy. Luckily, cut ups can take a joke, so he just laughed and then we moved on with life.

5. The one who is actually good at English and very participative but simultaneously extremely disruptive if not kept on topic.

You can’t shut these kids down because when they participate everyone else gets excited and will usually also be more participative. However, they can get out of hand if ignored for too long. I mostly just try to distract them/use them as much as possible in a way that focuses on the lesson and not on their antics.

Then, there are of course: the one who has no idea what’s going on, the one who does not care at all about school or English in the least, and the Carsons. An ideal class ratio for me is 5% cut ups (I like having someone to make fun of), 5% bilinguals (when I awkwardly don’t know how to translate something into French I pretend like I’m giving the class a task and ask them what they think the translation is (Thank you, Socrates) and without bilinguals this sometimes doesn’t play out...), and 90% Carsons (I really think this goes without explaining...I mean, I didn’t know Carson in high school, but it’s safe to bet that he was a teacher’s dream.)

There are certainly many more, but those seem to be the most prevalent. 

In the best news, we received the most amazing care package last week from my mom. It made me entirely forget about my phone issues and contained an endless amount of Christmas cheer. I didn’t have any idea what I wanted for Christmas, yet Mom somehow managed to get me everything that I desperately wanted. Also, a big thanks goes out to Nanny for getting the package over here! There are pictures...but they are on Carson’s currently dead and charger-less iPhone. I’ll be sure to add them to the next post. 

Also (last thing I promise) in Christmas cheer news, I made an advent calendar-type-thing that has 24 days of tasks. Some tasks are mine, some are for us both, but most are for Carson. They are also generally very weird and I wanted to share my favorite so far. On December 7th, Carson had the following task: Photoshop yourself on top of/riding/somehow interacting with a fruitcake. What resulted was a veritable masterpiece.

Best Christmas gift he’s ever given me.

Friendsgiving weekend

On the first full day of Katie’s stay we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving. Although we already had many Thanksgiving food items that I listed in the prior post (thanks Cathy!), we still needed some crucial ingredients and some sort of bird-like creature. This mission required a trip to the gigantic Carrefour in the center of the city, which I hate going to much like I hate going to Walmart or any other gigantic warehouse of crap that is impossible to navigate and makes checking out a task from actual hell.

We ended up successfully finding everything we needed (I was worried about not being able to find whipped cream or evaporated milk, which would have resulted in a very weird version of a pumpkin pie). For the meat component, we decided on a rotisserie chicken because they are essentially adorable mini-turkeys.

After putting away our groceries, we went to explore the Christmas market and I had my first vin chaud (mulled wine) of the season. Since the market is so close to my apartment, I foresee many post-school vin chaud/market perusing trips in the future.

When Carson got home that night we cooked everything up and had a magical Thanksgiving. The only glitch was when I dropped the microwavable mashed potatoes, immediately teared up, and started repeating: “I am the Thanksgiving ruiner” over and over (think: Kelsey circa Thanksgiving 2013). Everyone assured me that the mashed potatoes were by far the weak link of the meal and totally subpar. Maybe they were just being nice, but I’m going to go ahead and believe that this was true and that I am not a Thanksgiving ruiner.

Our spread

Cam and I belonged to different sweet potato schools of thought (he wanted sweet, I wanted savory), so we ended up doing half and half and cooking them in the same pan. It turned out surprisingly awesome. Also, Katie made an excellent gravy substitute out of a package of pepper soup.

The next day we did the pastry tour that I promised Katie if she made the trip down. We started at Aux Merveilleux de Fred, where we got the sampler box. This included all six favors of...whatever they are...and we chose to wait until that night to eat them.

The boys then wanted to take us to a place they had seen last weekend for a “surprise.” We knew it had to be food, and alas, it was a cupcake shop. Cupcakes are somewhat of an anomaly in France because the French don’t understand what icing is (their main culinary downfall); however, these cupcakes were amazing and the icing, though not quite like in America, was really good all the same. Carson and I split a chocolate cupcake with chocolate chips baked inside and peanut butter frosting on top--accurately named “The Uncle Sam”--while Katie and Cam “shared” an almond cupcake with raspberries and vanilla frosting. Also amazing.

Cupcakes! 

After our cupcake, we headed toward the main square to ride the Ferris wheel. Carson is terrified of heights, but he agreed to give it a shot because he’s a good sport. It was only when we sat down in our cart that I realized the extreme extent of his fear. He was gripping the railing so hard that if the Ferris wheel crumbled to the ground, he would have remained permanently attached. At first I acted extra calm so that he wouldn’t freak out even more and because I was genuinely fine with the situation. That is, until we started slowly moving up and stopping at every level so that new passengers could get on.

For some reason, when the Ferris wheel was moving at a rapid pace, all was well. But, when it just stopped every five seconds and the wind started blowing the cart with surprising force, all was terrifying. I then also permanently fused myself to the railing of our cart.

Meanwhile, Katie and Cam were taking pictures and didn’t seem to register at all that we were currently on a spinning death wheel. I would say Carson and I loosened up once the ride sped up, but it was more like a manic cycle of fear—while descending was fun and implied we had avoided, once again, potential death by being blown into the abyss, ascending meant that the possibility of death was still imminent.

So, it turns out that I too am afraid of heights...if the height can only be reached by gigantic structures built essentially overnight that are far too easily moved by wind, have no seatbelts or bars to contain a human, and no rules or safety precautions listed anywhere. In any case, we survived and it was totally worth it for the beautiful views of the city.

So happy and whimsical

So seemingly happy and whimsical until you notice the emotionless eyes

During the descent--therefore somewhat enjoying ourselves 

As we had decided earlier that morning to do a Secret Santa type thing with a 5 euro limit, we then split up to find our gifts. I had already gotten mine that morning when we stopped by our beer cave before going to Aux Merveillieux. I found these cool coasters that were decorated with little beer mugs in each corner and some sort of French drinking saying in the middle. Since I had Cam as my Secret Santa, I thought they would be perfect. While everyone was looking around at beer, I looked over to the cashier who is always there and signaled that I was leaving the money on the shelf and to be “shhhh” about it. I wasn’t sure how he would react to this, but apparently I’m there so much that he trusted me not to steal his merchandise and started laughing.

Once we had our gifts, we stopped at meert to get some vanilla waffles because, after all, it was pastry day. We also went back to the Christmas market to get some more vin chaud and to try the hot beer (which was shockingly not terrible).

When Secret Santa time came along, Katie gave her gift first. She had drawn Carson and got him a hat that looks like Santa’s lower half going down a chimney and a light-up bow tie. Her reasoning was something like: “Since Rachel hid your tuxedo shirt, I thought you might want something to annoy her during the holidays.”

Well played...

Carson then gave Katie these really cool, old postcards that she had pointed out in the thrift/pawn/antique market in the center of the city. (Katie is a pro at Secret Santa and had been pointing out everything she thought was cute or cool all day). Since there were only four of us, it was obvious Cam and I had one another—and he killed it. He got me a “paint-your-own-ornament” kit, some red clothespins with Santa faces on them, and a Santa candle. (These were not random gifts at all—I’ve been decorating like an insane person and obsessing over finding a candle that looks like Santa). Everyone truly seemed to love their gifts and I think this reflects how well we know one another.

On Sunday we went to the gigantic covered market in Wazemmes (about a 20 minute walk down the road). This market is a huge deal in Lille and considered one of those things you have to do; of course, we had never been because we have a different market so close by and are lazy. It was clear what the hype was about: it is indeed gigantic and covered and there are even cafes and art booths inside. We had a nice time but didn’t buy anything as per usual (well, I did buy a sole clementine—consequently making the woman behind the counter’s head nearly explode. If you don’t buy by the kilo or half kilo everyone just thinks you are supremely weird).

A lot of weird smells going on here considering it was basically just a warehouse
of paint and fish and cheese...

After the market we continued walking around and stopped at a Mexican place for lunch. Without fail, every single time I am ever with Katie a burrito is involved. Every time.

We ended our day once again with vin chaud at the Christmas market and dinner at the house. They left on a night train at about 9 that night and we saw them off at the station. All in all it was a wonderful, Christmas-filled weekend and I could not have been happier to spend some quality time with Katie and Cam.

This week has been going smoothly thus far. We only have about two weeks left of school before our break, so I’m looking forward to dedicating all of my free time to making the house as stupidly festive as possible.

Finally, since I haven’t been including many photos recently, here’s what I would have posted before if the pictures had been on my computer:

There is no way this picture could be improved

Katie creeping as we toured

We should really get her to just follow us around
permanently  

Pre-secret Santa! 

Katie being an appropriate amount of excited for this
vanilla waffle

Katie being almost identically excited about a chocolate covered pear from
the xmas market

Artsy pic from the xmas market

Katie's photography is forreal the best

Friends!

At an awesome wine bar next door called FiFis. It's way too cool for us
but we annoy them sometimes anyway.

Ferris wheel/the main square at night

And most important of all...

SNOW 

MORE

YES

EEEE

All things holiday

Cam's arrival coincided with some awesome Christmas-y events and we had a wonderful, festive weekend drinking Christmas beer, listening to Christmas songs, putting up Christmas lights, etc etc. Cam’s visit also gave us the chance to act like tourists…and by that I mean we used his presence as an excuse to eat more pastries than usual and compare every baguette in the neighborhood.

The most magical moment of the weekend was when it started to snow at the Christmas market. I nearly exploded with festive cheer. The Christmas market is indeed adorable and fantastic at capitalizing on how much of a chump I am during the holidays. Along with standard Christmas market fare, they also sell everyone’s favorite foods and beverages BUT made even better by being heated up and/or spiced. Examples: hot wine, melted cheese, hot waffles, spicy hot beer (skeptical about this one but I obviously have to try it because it’s seasonal and I bet it’s Santa’s drink of choice), and so on…

The best part is that we can continue these activities this weekend with Katie. Also, unrelated to Christmas, I am very excited to have someone to talk to when Cam and Carson start talking about Star Wars. It was fine at the beginning, but I can only handle listening to so many theories about Jar Jar Binx. (I feel like I should be embarrassed by how wrong I potentially spelled this/Carson will never let me live it down, but I’m leaving it as is to show the extent of mental effort that I am willing to put towards Star Wars from now on).

It snowed on and off all of Sunday and we could not have been more obnoxiously happy about it. Also, the festive cheer continued all week thanks to the reception of two awesome packages from Cathy and my Dad. Carson’s mom sent us a BUNCH of thanksgiving food that you can’t find here (pumpkin purée, Pepperage farm stuffing mix, cranberry sauce in a can, corn muffin mix, and of course a bag of Reece’s) through a magical service called my American Market. I can’t decide if I’m more excited about the cranberry sauce (Cathy had no idea but canned cranberry sauce is possibly my favorite thing on the planet) or the pumpkin pie. We’ll be sure to take pictures of all of our creations.

Of course, Carson was able to pick up his package from the post office without any issues, while I had to go on a horrible bureaucratic treasure hunt to find mine. I saw the package slip after work one day, and dropped all my intended plans to trudge to the post office in the rain because I REALLY wanted that package. When I got there, the man informed me that the package was not there and that he could not do anything to help me find it because he had no computers...or Internet...or phone. Apparently our post office was moving locations and only acting as a...kind of...post office. He advised me to go online and look up my package location. When I did this, it once again said that it was at the same post office. I went back the next day and the same guy still had no idea. I asked if it could be at another post office, to which he responded: “Yeah, I just don’t think it would be at another one.”

....well if it isn’t at this one, and it isn’t at my house, then where the hell could it be?? Is there a secret location in France that random packages are put just so France can maintain its reputation as the least efficient western European country to exist ever?

Anyway...I checked online again the next day and it said there was something wrong with the address. I sent them a strongly worded message over Facebook (because they didn’t have an email or phone number...?) confirming that the address was correct and WHERE THE HELL IS MY PACKAGE. My status the next day said “out for delivery,” so I waited eagerly at home.

When I checked it again a bit later, it said it had been delivered...to the same post office it had already been delivered to three times. I returned again, this time with absolutely zero percent hope, and found that it was just...closed down overnight. Entirely. I was baffled at the inability of this post office to just be a post office. There was an address vaguely written on a sheet of paper taped to the door, so I figured I would give it a shot since it was close by.

Finally, I got my package. I have no idea why the guy didn’t mention that this post office about 50 feet away existed. Regardless, it was worth the wait and Carson and I have no idea what to do with all of the incredible food now in our possession. My dad sent a very random and wide assortment of items, from chocolate covered Oreos that are decorated like penguins to a container of tuna...so we will certainly have fun with that over the next few weeks.

In other news, since it’s Thanksgiving, we’re going over to a friend’s place for dinner. There should be about 10 people and in theory everyone is bringing a dish. I’m still not sure what I’m going to take, but I don’t have any time to cook and don’t want to lug a casserole across the city, so I’ll probably take some canned green beans...and more than likely wine so that people will forget that I’m the one who brought canned green beans.

After dinner, we’re going to pick up Katie at the train station. She gets in pretty late and Carson and I work on Fridays, so we our having our official friendsgiving on Saturday. We will be sure to take pictures of all the awesome stuff we make AND of the beautiful decorations I put up this week. I found a fake tree for 5 euros that actually looks great and a bunch of other adorable things that need to be shown in pictures and not just described. I PROMISE the next post will contain pictures. Promise.

Anywho, happy thanksgiving!! We love and miss you all and are thankful for your existence/hope you have the most wonderful day possible!

Drake + literally anything = a successful lesson plan

Making lesson plans that you actually want to teach and that the kids actually want to sit through is hard. That is why I am very, very proud of my most recent, which I have named Desert Island.

...I realize now that the title is slightly less original and climactic than I previously thought...so, I’ll have to rethink that. BUT, regardless, the game had hysterical and wonderful results that I think are necessary to share with you all. (Also—I should specify considering my readership—Drake is a very famous rapper. If you do not already know who Drake is, this is all going to seem significantly less funny).

The PowerPoint starts like this:

I am sending all of you to a deserted island.

I’m going to give you scenarios and a list of 9 objects.

In groups of 2, you have to decide what objects you will use and how you will use them to resolve the problem given in the scenario. In ENGRRISSHHHH PLLLLZZZZZ. But seriously. Please.

You will present your plan to the class and I will decide who has the best plan.

The objects are:

1. A fork

2. A flashlight

3. Toilet paper

4. A jar of pickles

5. A sheep

6. A Christmas tree

7. A yo-yo

8. Three paperclips

9. Drake

Scenario 1:

You are stranded on a glacier in the middle of the ocean. You see a boat in the distance and must find a way to get its attention. You can choose 3 objects to help you accomplish this task. Which will you choose and how will you use them?

The winner:

“We put a christmas tree on the glacier. We put Drake at the top of the tree. We put paperclips on his nipples so he is in pain and scream and get the attention of the boat.”

Brilliant. I immediately knew this was going to be amazing.

Scenario 2:

You manage to flag down the boat; however, you then notice that a pack of flesh-eating, zombie seals is approaching you. You have to evade them, distract them, or kill them. You may choose 3 different objects to accomplish this task.

The winner:

Student: “We will use pickles, the flashlight, and Drake. We put the jar of pickles on the edge of the glacier so the seals will eat them and fall off and shine a flashlight near the pickles so that we can watch the seals go into ocean.”

Me: “Wait, what about Drake?”

Student: “Oh, Drake is there to, you know, lighten the mood.”

I thought this was hilarious, because that’s exactly what Drake’s purpose would be on a deserted island.

Scenario 3:

Hooray! You’re still alive. And look! The boat is here.

Unfortunately, the captain of the boat needs a fancy new hat and says that you must make one for him before getting on the ship. You may choose 4 objects to make a fancy hat for the captain. Draw a picture of the hat.

The winner:

I don’t remember exactly but it was shockingly disgusting/morbid and had something to do with Drake’s left buttock.

Anyway, that was fun. I’m excited for the teaching week to be over in any case because 1. I am exhausted and 2. Cam-a-Claus is coming to town! Or rather, Katie’s (one of our BFFs who is doing TAPIF in Grenoble) boyfriend Cameron is coming to stay with us for the weekend. He’s woofing (some sort of farming thing...) in Lille for the next few weeks; so, we will hopefully be seeing a lot of him. We are super excited about this because Cam is the best. If I manage to peer pressure Katie into getting out of work, she’s going to come to Lille next weekend so we can all four be reunited. I am determined to make this happen because we could have friendsgiving + friendsmas all at once, which is a dream.

In other news, Lille is in decked out in all things Christmas with the decorations and lights and market and gigantic Farris wheel etc etc. It’s beautiful, and now that Carson’s iPhone is again functioning, we will be taking lots of pictures. Expect a bunch in the next post and everyone have a great weekend!

A quick note on Paris

I’ve started and erased this post several times. I am not sure how to talk about anything other than the events of this past Friday, but at the same time I do not assume to have any unique insight into tragedy. I can’t say anything that hasn’t already been said, but the victims and their families and friends are at the front of my mind, as are Paris and the French people.

Carson and I are safe and everything is carrying on as usual; school was not canceled and all stores/businesses/etc. have remained open. Security has tightened up at the train station and other places that get a lot of foot traffic. No one needs to worry about us.

The fear and sadness is impossible to ignore. That being said, the amount of support and empathy I’ve seen over the past few days is perhaps equally evident. Empathy is a weird thing. Everyone naturally empathizes, though some are better at it than others, and it’s basically like a sixth sense. I think as long as we don’t lose this ability to feel/understand the emotions of others, we will always have the necessary support to get through terrible events like this.

Despite anxiety and grief, life goes on and we have to return to our everyday responsibilities. However, as we do so, this event will remain in our thoughts and we will continue to spread our support and empathize with those affected.

Ariana Grande: The only good thing about America

The second week of classes has been going significantly more smoothly now that I am aware of what I’m supposed to be doing. That being said, it turns out that my task of “just making them speak” is kind of difficult. Speaking a foreign language in front of your school friends/an actual native speaker is daunting and a horrible thing to be forced to do. I sympathize greatly because I was in this position not long ago; however, I also know that the most dreaded, embarrassing activities are what really improved my French. So...bottom line is, I’m just glad to not be them.

But really, I enjoy the challenge of forcing them to participate while simultaneously making the situation somewhat comfortable. It’s allowed me to get creative/come up with some (hopefully) cool ideas that I’m excited to try after I’ve had my “introduction” day with all of my classes. (I essentially have a different group of students every period for two weeks). Introduction days are fine and probably necessary, but I’m ready to move on to actual lessons because I might strangle something if I have to answer one more question about McDonalds or Ed Sheeran.

Actually, at the end of the day on Monday (I have 6 classes in a row, which is...just a lot) I was so tired of questions that I cut the Q&A short. I also ended it because I wasn’t sure if the students were actually picking up on anything I was saying. They were just nodding and smiling at everything, which is what I do when I don’t understand or am not paying attention, so I became suspicious. I decided to do a quick dictation to see if I was talking to actual humans or the equivalent of a sack of potatoes. The dictation was:

I went to university in North Carolina, where I received degrees in music and in French. I like to sing and when French people say the word “squirrel.”

As expected, the outcome was hilarious. Highlights include:

About half the class wrote: I received the Grease in music and in French.

Yes. This Grease.

I like to sing and when French people say “sure.”

I like to sing and when French people say ????

I like to sing and when French people say “school.”

I like to sing and when French people say no words at all.      

The last one was my personal favorite. Since this was so entertaining, I’ve decided to start every class with a weird dictation and then make them pronounce the weird words/learn the vocabulary.

I then told the class to write down what they wanted to discuss/learn in the course (once again, avoiding questions). Here are some of my favorite suggestions:

From the kid who thinks Ariana Grande is America's sole redeeming quality: 

“American foreign policy interests me even if I’m not a fan of America. I don’t like America a lot. Or  I want to talk about Ariana Grande because she a good singer.”

The political savant:

“I’m interested in the battle between Donald Trump against Kanye West. I’m intrigued by the talk show like Ellen’s show or Oprah whatever. Is the political system look like “Scandal” series?

The one who didn’t remotely understand the assignment...or where Harry Potter lives:

“I would like to go to Orlando in order to visit Hogwarts.”

The Grinch:

“I don’t want to talk about politics. And the other assistant talked about Thanksgiving and Christmas year before so I don’t want to talk about this.”

I immediately threw the last one in the trashcan and informed her that Christmas would be discussed every period during the month of December regardless of how she felt about it.

But anyway, they really are great/respectful kids and a lot of them are fantastic at English. The rest of the week should be pretty easy and I’ll have more updates soon!

France: The Land of Quasi-Officialness

Since we were both getting over a cold/tired from our Amsterdam trip, Carson and I stayed in on Halloween and were generally lazy. The most festive thing we did was walk all the way downstairs to the soap/candle shop, where they were handing out candy, giving scary makeovers, and selling Halloween scented Yankee candles. All of these themed on-goings were to promote a clothing line, which was selling T-shirts in the shop. This seemed like a weird, non-intuitive place to promote merchandise, especially considering the shop is as big as an unimpressively sized closet, but it was cute to see nonetheless.

That night, things started to get really crazy. We watched “A Series of Unfortunate Events” and I made jack-o-lantern themed pumpkin tagine. Not going to lie, I am super proud of how it turned out.

Probably more adorable than scary

I can’t remember if it was that day or the day before or some other time in space (my brain is mush), but I went to the pharmacy to try to get something like Nyquil, where I ran into a cultural difference that I was entirely unaware of.

If you have a cold in America, you can walk into almost any store, pick up your drugs, and get on with life. In France, you have to go specifically to a pharmacy and all of the drugs are behind the counter. Also in France, instead of just giving you what you ask for, the pharmacists are supposed to diagnose you and then tell you what you need.

I personally feel that I know how to handle the common cold and require no unsolicited advice from pseudo-physcians. Taking Sudafed and eating soup is just not that hard. Anyway, I digress; the conversation basically went like this:

Me: Hi, I have a cold. I would like something to help me sleep at night and unclog my nose.

Prying pharmacist: Okay, are you already taking something for the daytime? Or is this only happening at nighttime?

...Yes. Yes, I have an exclusively nocturnal cold.

Me: No...I already have something for the day. I need something for night. So I can sleep. Something like Nyquil.

Sir pharm’s a-lot: What are you taking during the day?

Me: *Becoming increasingly more impatient/confused by the length of this interaction* I don’t know. My boyfriend bought it. I just want the nighttime medication for colds. I see it right there. That is what I want.

Pharmacist of my actual nightmares: So, your boyfriend also has a cold? Is this what you are taking? *Shows box that has daytime and nighttime pills in it.*

Me: No, but that is what I want. That has nighttime pills in it. I would like to buy that box.

Worst human in world: Well you can’t just start taking these new pills if you’re already taking another brand. Also, this will not help with congestion. We will start you on a new regiment. *Proceeds to put a pile of drugs on the counter.* This is a nasal spray. You can use this at night to unclog your nose. This is a device to clean your nose before putting in the nasal spray. This is a new set of daytime pills to complete the new regiment.

Me: *Dies inside.* Well...no...I don’t need a new regiment. I want something to help me sleep and unclog my nose. I just don’t sleep well with a cold.

Satan posing as unqualified doctor: Well, frankly, nighttime cold medicine won’t unclog your nose.

…Then why do nighttime cold drugs exist?? I don’t care if it gives me exorcist-like side effects as long as it also knocks me out.

Me: You know, I’ll just…I’m fine. I don’t have a cold (read: a will to live) anymore.

I just had to get out of that place. Unfortunately, later that night it became clear that I would not sleep without something like Nyquil. That’s when Carson, being the amazing human he is, went to a different pharmacy and simply said he had a cold and wanted the day/nighttime pills. So heroic. I slept like the impatient baby that I am that night.

In other news, we finally had our official first week of classes. I wasn’t entirely sure what I would be doing, but I assumed it would involve sitting in the corner of a classroom and occasionally explaining idioms or how to pronounce certain words. I was totally fine with that, because I had more or less lost my voice and only had about one long conversation left in me. This also means I had prepared absolutely nothing.

When I got to the school, my mentor professor gave me my schedule (which inexplicably identifies me as Madame Rachel Jackson, the German teaching assistant) and I went to the classroom listed for my first course. The room was filled with students, but I didn’t see the teacher.

Me: Hey guys... is your teacher just late?

Student: No, he is in other room.

After an extended and confusing interaction with the students, I realized that I was, in fact, the teacher. This was kind of problematic since I didn’t know what the class was studying or who the actual teacher even was and, worst of all, I sounded like a 60 year old man who had smoked 3 packs of cigarettes a day since his youth. I almost had a mild freak out, but then remembered it was France and more likely than not, nobody cared what I was doing in that classroom. I ended up making it an “introduction” day and, to my surprise, having a really great time.

After this class, I felt like a little bit of clarification was in order so I went to see my professor, who explained that I would be teaching literally all of my classes alone. I told her that was fine but my voice was about to give out, and she proceeded to give me a box of tiny little pills. She instructed me to take one and my voice would be magically fixed. I continue to have no idea what these things actually are but they worked surprisingly well and I ate about 17 of them. Hopefully that is somewhat close to the recommended dosage.

I also went around and asked some of the other teachers what subjects they were covering in their classes so I could plan my lessons around their curriculums. It became obvious that they did not care at all what I did as long as I got the students to speak in English. Only one teacher specified what I should discuss:

Teacher: Oh, well since it’s a literature class, just talk about literature.

Me: All right, I can do that. Do you have a list of books that they’re reading this year?

Teacher: Well, no. It doesn’t have to be that specific.

Me: Okay, got it. Is there any time period or genre or techniques...

Teacher: No. Just literature.

So...that narrowed it down.

Anyway, I didn’t know how I would feel about teaching, but it turns out that I really really like it; I basically get to talk endlessly about myself/whatever I want to a captive audience who already thinks I’m super cool solely based on the fact that I’m American. All of my classes went really well the first day, and the kids were very respectful and participative. The only issue I had was with my last class of the day. Granted, it was 3pm and at that point no one is thinking about anything but going home. No matter what I did, they would not speak; they just stared blankly every time I asked a question. I was also very tired after having taught 5 classes in a row, so things started to get weird. To my recollection, the conversation went like this:

Me: If you guys don’t start responding, we’re going to go around the room and everyone has to say the word “squirrel.”

**Side note: squirrel is possibly the most hilarious English word for French people to say

Students: *Staring blankly*

Me: I’m serious. I’ll do it.

Students: *Blank stares turn more into looks of confusion/fear*

Me: Fine. But this is your doing. *Points at terrified student* You, say squirrel.

Student: *Looks around at friends, clearly has no idea what a squirrel is* Eh... Sqwee-rreel? What is this?

I then realized that the word for squirrel in French is equally impossible/hilarious for English speakers to pronounce, so instead of subjecting myself to that humiliation, I just started acting like a squirrel and scampering around the classroom. Much better.

Other than that, the first week was very successful. I’m generally with pretty advanced students, which makes my job very easy. I feel more or less like an imposter eOn Friday I just took in a deck of cards and taught them how to play black jack/casino and card terms. This will surely be very helpful knowledge when taking the baccalaureate.

Aside from school, this week was super busy because I was commissioned to compose a song by someone on the freelance website I use. So, instead of writing blogs on the train, I was doing that. Hence why this post is enormous and choppy.

LAST THING... Carson’s first week also went very well and his tutoring gigs are a great side job. He reports that he has nothing else to report.

Happy Sunday to all!