Megan had her eighth grade graduation, which I'm guessing was a wee bit different from the one at home. It featured the requisite slide show, plus a flute and violin duet of "Yesterday," a break dance by three eighth grade boys and a rousing rendition of I'm-not-sure-what by two electric guitarists and a guy with a lot of hair and a microphone (also 8th graders). The headmistress of the school then gave an inspirational speech about how, after 8th grade, life heads pretty much straight downhill. She then handed out diplomas and, apparently unaware that her microphone was on, hissed at a kid behind her to "tais-toi" (shut up).
Who can blame her? The French are very unhappy at the moment. First, Les Bleus (the French national soccer team) got embarrassed at the World Cup and left after losses to South Africa and Mexico (and a tie with Uruguay) in the first round. If you're having trouble processing the impact, imagine the US putting together a national football dream team and losing to, I don't know, Belize (with requisite apologies to all NFL Pro Bowlers from Belize).
Two of my favorite headlines in the newspaper the next day:
"Les Bleus Devores Par La Sauce Tex-Mex"
Translation: "The Blues Eaten Up by Tex-Mex Sauce"
"Les Bleus Lamines Par Mexique"
"The Blues Laminated by Mexico" (I'm getting a Flat Stanley visual with this one)
(By the way, when your team is called "The Blues," why are you surprised when they lose???)
The team flew into a tiny airport in rural France hoping to elude the press, but no such luck. It's all anyone can talk about. They are, according to one gentleman I spoke with, spoiled brats who make too much money. That about covers it, I think. Oh, except for the fact that Sarkozy got a call from the German chancellor Angela Merkel who, I'm told, said:
"Hey, Nicki! Your team sucks! Neener, neener, neener!"
Germany, of course, has made it to the Round of 16. So has the US, by the way, which I like to mention, loudly and frequently, on crowded buses and metros. And we're not even good at soccer! Or, whatever they call it.
Oh, I almost forgot. The French government has launched an inquiry into the dismal showing of the French team in South Africa. I know you think I'm kidding, but I'm not.
Second, and it truly is second in importance to the World Cup disaster, the government is pushing to raise the retirement age to 62 from 60. This has caused much disgust, consternation, fist-shaking, and aggressive driving by the average French citizen. Well, actually, he was going to drive aggressively anyway, but now he can blame it on the government.
Third, and this situation is likely to deteriorate in a very Greek way before too much longer, President Sarkozy has decided to cement his unpopularity by canceling the Bastille Day Garden Party at the Palais de l'Elysee. This is the equivalent of Obama canceling the 4th of July celebration on the Washington Mall. Only worse.
As I'm sure you know, Bastille Day is on the 14th of July, and commemorates the storming of the prison where political prisoners who annoyed the king were held without trial, bail, cigarettes, soccer balls, or beautiful, long-legged French women. The king was easily annoyed by the way, especially by concepts like "democracy," "human rights," "personal hygiene," and the like. To correct this terrible injustice, the Bastille was stormed at great personal risk by thousands, only to discover that there were maybe 7 prisoners inside and, in fact, they had plenty of soccer balls. However, once the proverbial ball got rolling, they figured they might as well have a big old fight anyway, since they had plenty of ammo and a fair amount of pent-up hostility towards the king. To be fair, the king wore a wig and tights and was suspiciously unmoved by long-legged French women which, while perhaps not enough to cause a revolution, sure as hell warranted a day of cannon-blasting, sword-fighting and collateral beheadings.
Sarkozy ostensibly took the decision to cancel the Garden Party (decisions are taken in Europe, never made) out of respect for the pan-European austerity movement. The word on la rue, however, is that he's afraid if he hosts the party, it will devolve into a giant food fight, with bellicose 60-year olds who now have to work an extra 2 years hurling petits fours at Les Bleus.
The mood is somber at the gym. No one is actually exercising, just complaining. The old men don't even have the energy to insult me, which usually cheers them right up. They're too busy polishing up their resumes.
Rob and John (my brother) arrive tomorrow. We leave on Tuesday for our last European adventure (for this year, anyway); we are driving to Croatia via Munich. We'll spend about a week in Croatia, then drive back to Paris via Verona and Geneva. Should be a great trip. I promise to submit a full report.
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