So my mom hates the new template, but I rather like it. It’s called Bueno, which is why I investigated it in the first place. Is there are more perfectly delightful word to say in any language than “bueno”? Doubtful. Also, the second best* candy bar in the world is surely a Kinder Bueno bar. I remember having an argument with someone in college about whether or not it would be called a Bueno bar in France or Germany. On the off chance that my college friend reads this blog, I’ll settle the score now: Yes, they are called Bueno bars, no matter where you buy them. And they are always delicious.

But I guess there is a real formatting problem happening with my mom’s browser (Firefox on a PC, no wonder). I worry that this is because she doesn’t understand how to zoom out in the view box, not because there is anything actually wrong with the site (which looks terrific, if loud, on my Safari-running Mac).  But what say ye, other readers? Is the blarg horrifyingly ugly to look at now? I’m not much for democracy, but if you will be much less likely to come here with this new template, speak now! I can change it back! But I felt like a change and this one seems oh so Bueno!

In other news, I’m in love with my students in this rapturous way that I never expected to be totally wild about teenagers. They never fail to say things that absolutely kill me, I mean, stop me dead in my tracks, I JUST DIED, KILL ME.

I’ve got this little anarcho-punk in my Public Speaking class who gleefully talked about how she hopes civil unrest in Greece will result in the people burning down the banks and seizing control of the government. She quoted Fanon in my classroom the other day, and not because I’ve forced her to read it (I only make my American students do that). Her idealism spouts, of course, from the warm, comfortable nest of the white, Western, and upwardly-mobile upper middle class (which, let’s face it, is waaay more terrifyingly sometimes than the complacently upper class). But she was so earnest, so absolutely, unbelievably convinced that the revolution is coming, that it actually broke my heart that one day she will surely be a compromise-formation liberal like myself who watches John Stewart and shudderingly votes for whomever the equivalent of Barak Obama will be in France. Someday she’ll be talking about “building social programs” and “sustained reform,” and her revolution will seem but a naïve oversimiplification. But today, in all her youthful vigor, I was completely in love with her. I defended her against her already-jaded classmates. I even helped her find difficult phrases in her English pocketbook, phrases like “high capitalism” and “prison-industrial complex.”

In fact, lately I’ve sustained a seriously intense fantasy about becoming a high school English teacher, basically so I can just hang out with teenagers and tell them about books and hear what they think about things ALL DAY LONG, EVERY DAY.  This isn’t to say that it would be ridiculous for me to be a high school English teacher, despite the fact that I’ve now accrued quite a few (cough) more years of graduate school than such an endeavor would really require.  But man, oh man, do I  dream about it!  In my fantasy, I’m the cool teacher with the chunky jewelry and the cluttered classroom of taxidermied animals and framed posters of lesser-known modernists, the one who makes them read the best books and changes their mind about everything important and encourages a few of them to go on and pursue egregious graduate degrees that involve reading until your eyes bleed.  I had a few of those kinds of teachers, and man oh man, were they great.  I suspect more than a few of them were terminally ABD as well.  Just saying.

Seems like I’m doing a lot of “just saying” lately.

Finally, have you been watching the La Toquéra videos on the Le Fooding website? It’s how I’ve been spending most of my time. Translating as “camera hat,” the videos showcase awesome French chefs from Le Fooding-endorsed restaurants as they put together a delicious snack. The Sonia Ezgulian video finally pushed me over the fence with the French convention of eating raw radishes with salted butter. Now I don’t know what I’ve been doing all these years. She mixes her butter with seaweed flakes and sesame, but I’ve been doing the same procedure with a touch of mustard and fresh chives. Bueno. Caveat emptor: if you are having trouble justifying a pure-butter aperitif snack, don’t bother trying this with some hydrogenated soybean oil butter substitute. I’m not judging you –it’s only in France that I use real butter this liberally (read: flagrantly). My fridge in the States is usually filled with Earth Balance Light. But this is kind of a go-big-or-go-home** kind of recipe.  A raw radish with a smear of Earth Balance just sounds gross.

* Snickers are the best candy bar in the world.  Obviously.

** I taught the kiddies “go big or go home” the other day.  I also taught them “make it rain.”  You’re totally welcome, France.

So today is two important things. The first is Mother’s Day. I’m a bit ambivalent about the Mother’s Day thing. In general, I loathe holidays that are the product of American commercialism and it seems to me that marketers have been especially insidious about making this particular day a guilt-ridden festival of six dollar greeting cards and shitty supermarket bouquets. They don’t do “Mother’s Day” in France, and none of the mothers I’ve met here seem particularly bothered by it.

That said, I have a pretty terrific mother. The best mother, you might say (others have, besides me, that is). I have a mother that other people envy. She’s smart and witty and some of the best company that you’ll ever keep. She gives excellent, seasoned advice without being invasive or judgmental. She’s an incredibly savvy businesswoman who somehow build a successful accounting firm from the ground up while always managing be there when her kid got home from school. She bought me big stacks of books for every holiday and is the reason that I do what I do for a living. She’s a great cook, a better hostess, and always cheats at board games. She’s quick to kick her shoes off if there is sand to be walked in or water to be waded in. She’s the best, really, and I’d be a shuddering pile of mud if it wasn’t for her. So happy mother’s day, Mom. If anybody deserves their own Hallmark holiday, it’s you.

Secondly, it’s my best friend MT’s birthday today. I met her my sophomore year of college when we were randomly assigned to live together after we had both ditched our disastrous freshman year roommates. I didn’t know if we would get along at first – MT is almost inhumanly beautiful and pulled together and I was terribly intimidated by her when I met her. But she proved herself immediately to be as equally smart and funny and silly as she is gorgeous and we’ve been friends ever since.

What kind of friend is she? Well, she’s the first person I want to talk to when something goes wrong or right in my life and I never feel bad about calling her when I’m crying hysterically with snot running down my face. She’s a great listener and while she is able to give well-tempered, level-headed advice, she also knows exactly when I just want somebody to be on my side, no matter how ridiculous my side might be at that particular moment. Last year, I had bizarre experience that consolidated all my love for MT. A woman I barely knew threatened to beat me up out of the blue (there was a guy involved, and a lot of alcohol, surprise, surprise). Chicken-shit dork that I am, I didn’t even know how to handle the situation, except to sputter something like “We’re in a PhD program!  I didn’t even think physical fighting was on the table!” as I scampered away in fear. About a week later I was at a party with MT. Another friend came over to talk with us and to let me know that it was possible that the threatening woman might show up later that evening. My other friend asked if it would be a problem if the threatening woman showed up. I started to hem and haw, but MT immediately snapped to attention. “Uh, yes, there’s going to be a BIG fucking problem if she shows up!” MT announced as she put her arm around me protectively. I suddenly realized that MT wouldn’t even hesitate to get in a fight for me, or at least make a lot of noise in that general direction. I tell this story not because I want you thinking that my best friend is anything short of a class act (she isn’t, and she’ll probably hate me for recounting this). I tell you this because I realized that night that she’s got my back in a way that I didn’t even know that my back could be gotten, and every time I think about how protective she was of me I get kind of teary and emotional. It’s nice to have a friend that makes you feel like you always have somebody on your team. It makes you feel like you can take on anything. I’d tell you to go get one of those friends for yourself, but I know firsthand how hard they are to find.

So happy birthday, chickadee.  You’re my ever after favorite.  While I’m a total wimp when it comes to my own confrontations, I’d totally take out anybody who ever messed with you.

Final news!  It appears that despite the suspicions I’ve aired here that I’m a pretty lousy English teacher, the university where I teach in Paris has nevertheless renewed my contract for another year. This means I will be in France through the summer of 2011, and I couldn’t be happier. I can’t believe I have another year to keep badgering you with an inappropriate level of information about my diet! Just think how many anachronistic idioms I’ll be able to teach the youth of France in another two semesters!

Now all you punks that promised that you were coming to visit might actually have time to do so.  Just saying.