And while the rest of the world is collapsing, I am having the time of my life.
1- we saw Woody Allen’s Manhattan on a rooftop (actually, the terrace of the Yotel). Champagne, earphones, recliners. That feeling of flying transatlantic with PanAm in the sixties, except everybody was posting selfies on Facebook. After the film my husband told me sweetly “never had a better time with you darling”. I purred. Then I realised that had both been wearing earphones and none of us had said a word. Not that sure he likes it when I talk after all.
2- we saw Goran Bregovic at the Lincoln Center. Didn’t expect such a good concert when I walked in. Quite a bunch of self-righteous-pearl-necklaced-50ers. My neighbour had apparently eaten rotten onions. And the security was out of control. No camera, no dancing, no standing, no walking in the aisles. However, after thirty minutes and rightfully so, Goran had turned the Lincoln Center into a stadium. Everybody was dancing and sweating, the whole audience was screaming in serbian, including the self-righteous-pearl-necklaced-50ers. As for my neighbour, he turned out to be a Goran exegete. Unfortunately, there was nothing Goran could do about the onion smell.
There are 14 three year olds in Nayla’s class, and two teachers. The first teacher is greek, the second portoricain, and each kid has a different mother tongue. Russian, chinese, danish or hebrew, “you name it”, as they say. I tried to explain the difficulties of bilingualism to the teachers, but they told me they got everything under control.
There are also 14 kids in Charlotte’s classroom, from 1 to 2 years. They don’t really speak. They rather drool, just like zombies,in several languages. The teachers all speak spanish (and most of them don’t really speak English). So during the day, Charlotte is solely exposed to Spanish. It took us 3 months to figure this out. We were stupidely bragging about her future fluent English, and obviously, apart from “papa maman”, her first word was “agua” (amazing: it also works for “jaguar”).
Now that we are perfectly sure our daughters will master geopolitics and contribute to the israeli-palestinian reconciliation from their playground, we can involve them in our racist jokes contest …
A/ I don’t have to pretend that I care about politics in France and THIS IS FREAKING GREAT.
OK, I do look at the headlines sometimes, but noone is going to stress me out with absurd questions like “have you read this article about – insert a subject noone cares about, including me and the person asking the question -” and worse, “what do you think”? THIS IS AWESOME.
B/ I don’t have to pretend that I care about politics in the US because:
– French people are easily fooled by my answers that always include a “hey, I know better, I LIVE there” subtext, even if what I say is a huge commonplace (and it usually is)
– Americans smartly assume that I don’t give a shit.