The Weather, The Water, The Woo

In a really tragic turn of events, Paris has turned cold. Freezing cold. It's like, in the thirties. Yes. I'm from Michigan. Yes, I'm used to the cold. But this is absurd. Don't give me a January and February full of 50s and 60s and picnics and lovely sunny walks around Paris, and then hit me with freezing rain and freezing temperatures as Spring approaches. That is just wrong. I might, however, be less bitter about it had I bothered to look on the window today before I left for school and not worn no coat, no umbrella, and no boots. C'est la vie.

* * * *

Yesterday, Roomie came home from work and as I was filling my water bottle at the sink started yelling in French. Finally, it switched to English, and I could understand.

"You don't drink ze water." She said. "My friend, she has told me zat zere is a probleme wiz zhe terroriste, you know, bin Laden"

Yes, I thought, I'm familiar with this bin Laden character you speak of.

"She says zere is problem wiz zhe water, how you say javel?"

I pause the conversation to look up javel in my new trendy dictionary - it means
basically water from the sink. Roomie continues.

"Zhe terroristes, zey want to put gnldsak (she says a word in French, I stare blankly, she tries again) ze bad stuff zat eet makes you sick and it kills you (I nod, now understanding) zey want to put it into ze water in Paris and so ze government, zey put a lot of chemicals in ze water to make it get rid of the aslgksngd (she says French word again) and so it is not good to drink zis week."

Now, Roomie often talks about how because of the war we started the terrorists are mad and that since the US, Spain, and England have been attacked, it is now France's turn. I often try to make the case that since France is not a part of the war, they should have a free pass on bombing, but she seems pretty convinced of it. Which made me question the validity of this claim. But, to be on the safe side, or rather, because I have a tendency to be a bit of a hypochondriac/believe anything I'm told, and because I remembered thinking on Friday that the water tasted funny but maybe I was just hung over, I walked myself down to the Franprix and bought some bottled water (Mon Dieu! I hate paying for water!).

Today I went to French class and asked my teacher (who, I recently decided and found someone who agrees, looks like the teacher in the children's book where their regular teacher gets sick and they have a new substitute teacher who looks like a witch and has frizzy black hair. We can't remember the name of the book, if anyone can name it, I will pay them in a postcard) about said water crisis in Paris. With a huffy look on her face she said something in French. She could tell by the blank look on my face that I had gotten approximately three words and launched into her seldom heard flawless English to explain to me that the water in Paris is perfect and two years ago they tried to put biological destruction in it but now it is fine.

I have returned to drinking good old fashioned tap water.

* * * *

Roomie has been spending more time than usual in the apartment. I hope this does not mean she is breaking up with her boyfriend because I enjoy the benefits of a roommate whose boyfriend owns a bar. However, this has given me the opportunity to use her Frenchness to my advantage. I often have her correct my homework so I can appear to be a star student in class. Sometimes though, she teaches me more casual French and when I read it in class I get a funny look from my teacher - I think she might be on to me.

The other day, we were learning the difference between the following phrases:

Qu'est-ce que Qu'est-ce qui

Qui est-ce que Qui est-ce qui

I know, it seems like a game of "Which of these thing is not like the other" only the options aren't Orange, Banana, Potato. Or something. But it's not. And frankly, I still don't know the difference. But it all led to a very humorous scenario. This is the French background you need to know to appreciate the story: Que = what, qui =who.

"Roomie," I asked, pointing to the page where the mess of quis and ques was, "can you explain to me the difference between these?"

She studied it for a long time. Like, a really long time.

"Okay, zis is it," she said, looking confident but not sounding all that confident. "Que is what, qui is woooo"

"What?" I asked.

"Que," She said. "Qui, is woo"

"Qui is what?" I asked.

"Wooo," she said. "Qui is wooo"

"Wooo?" I said. To be fair, I should have gotten it by this point but sometimes when you speak French all day you no longer understand broken English.

"Oui, qui is woo. Que is what," She answered, clearly not understanding my apparent loss of intelligence.

"Oh!! Who! Qui is who? I mean, wooo?" I asked.

"Yes," Clearly, she was happy she was making progress with me. "Qui is woo, que is what. You understand?"

I didn't understand. It was all still beyond me. But it gave me a glimpse into the fact that the English language also makes very little sense. Roomie still says woo. Sometimes I repeat who back to her, but bless her heart it must be like when I say a word with an R in it to her. I butcher her language, she can take a couple swipes at mine.

* * * *

It is almost 2 am in Paris and I am obsessive compulsively checking the election results. It's bizarre but every step of this election feels so important. Like the whole world is watching to make sure we don't fuck it up again. I'm hoping a winner will be chosen tonight so the Frenchies will go back to their favorite past time - making fun of Bush - instead of trying to understand (through asking me) the idea of a caucus.