I'm working on this email exchange that a class of seconde students (15-16 years old) are doing with a French class at my old high school. Their assignment was to write an email in French telling a little about themselves, which I would then forward to the French teacher in the U.S. It's amazing how such relatively simple directions can produce chaos: several assignments haven't been turned in (due last Friday), some are in English, some are page-long letters from the kids who got into it, others are-- er-- slapdash (I like the boxe I have tree cats). Ah, working in a high school. . .
What else have I been up to? I joined a gym. Rather, I joined the gym. It's a small, but diehard operation. There are body-building trophies behind the desk, the words "Get Big Fast!" are painted in mural, and the walls are lined with photographs of the repulsively ripped. You know, I think the owner might be into body-building.
He's very nice, though. Not scary at all. When I signed up he asked me, "So what are you joining for? Do you want to get in shape? Do you want to get MUSCLEE?!" ("Just get in shape." "Oh, that's good, too.") As he was showing me the layout of the gym and the different machines, I suddenly realized: Wow, he really thinks I've never seen the inside of a gym before! Gyms are certainly more popular than they used to be, but still occupy a sort of frontier in daily French life.
Well, that's my latest update from Podunk, France. I'm going to Paris this weekend to raid the Soldes!-- I'll report on the plunder when I get back.
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