AliThinks

Earworm

Some of you reading this are aware that Allan and I are currently in France. We're in Paris with my kids for their fall break.

In the mornings we take our time getting ready. My daughter turns on the TV; there's cable in the apartment, so she flips around the various video channels and I roll my eyes and think of my mother, who was quite vocal about my watching MTV back in the day.

And if you know me, you know I don't listen to Top 40 or commercial radio. Ever. At home it's streaming radio; in the car it's Sirius satellite radio. So I'm out of the loop of what's popular as far as music goes.

Thank goodness for the video channels. Between them, it's possible to hear the same song three times in the course of however long it takes us to all get ready. I've compiled a list of the catchiest tunes out there. One of them I already knew and liked, and I'll leave you to figure out which one that is. In no particular order, here's what's going through my head, all day every day. The links are to the videos of these songs on YouTube, and they will open in a new window — and that's my disclaimer: click at your own risk. Don't blame me if you get any of these stuck in your head.

Rihanna - Disturbia

Madcon - Beggin'

Kenza Farah - Au Coeur de la Rue

Erik Prydz - Pjanoo

Coldplay - Viva La Vida

Britney Spears - Womanizer

One Reason I Love The French

Lip Dub IUT SRC Rouen 2008
Uploaded by arcanes-prod


The best thing about this video might be the fact that it's one continuous shot. One. Shot. Chapeau, les gars, chapeau.

And the boys in the game room? I taught them. Not them, but boys who looked just like that at the IUT and ESC of La Rochelle. That scene brought a smile to my face.

I...

Katherine over at Chatiryworld did this meme a week or so ago eighteen days ago, and I commented that I might like to do it, since my blog mojo went AWOL and I am having a lot of trouble posting these days.

I am: stronger than I think.

I think: therefore I am. (Also, see the name of this blog.)

I know: that might does not make right.

I have: an amazing support system.

I wish: that I wasn't so worried about what will happen on November 4th.

I hate: casual use of the word "hate," even though I am guilty of it.

I miss: my children. And I miss my mom.

I fear: too much.

I hear: Radio Paradise. (No, I don't really get sick of it, even after nearly six years of almost-constant listening.)

I smell: Precious Chandan.

I crave: simplicity.

I search: you search; he, she, it searches; we search; you search; they search.

I wonder: Wanda! Wanda‽ I-I-wonder...

I regret: the demise of a friendship.

I love: so many people.

I ache: on occasion.

I am not: who you think I am.

I believe: in karma.

I dance: when the beat moves me. I often dance internally.

I sing: in the car. Allan may well hate dislike that, but he's never said a word, bless him.

I cry: when the occasion or situation warrants it.

I fight: the law, and the law wins. I'm a lover, not a fighter. (Eww, did I just quote Michael Jackson?)

I win: the occasional game of Scrabble, or whatever game you challenge me to.

I lose: see above.

I never: fail to put on my turn signal, even when it's not necessary.

I always: drink two mugs of coffee in the morning.

I confuse: a few people who, frankly, deserve to be confused.

I listen: to the world around me by never wearing headphones.

I can usually be found: picking my nose.

I am scared: that John McCain will become president (see: VP Sarah Palin super-unqualified to be President of the United States of America).

I need: a goodly number of weekly massages. Nope, it's not a luxury. It's health care.

I am happy about: spending my kids' Fall Break with them and Allan in Paris!

I imagine: the future.

Only Slightly Dead*

I haven't calculated this, but I do believe that the total "weight" of the photos I have taken this entire year — as in 2008 — doesn't even equal a month of photos from 2007. By weight I mean file size; in France, a large file is referred to as a "fichier lourd," lourd meaning heavy in this case. (Lourd means other things in French, which we will not delve into now, parce que c'est trop lourd pour moi en ce moment.)

Wherefore the lack of photographic evidence? I don't know. I couldn't even say if the loss of my photographic mojo coincides with the loss of my writing mojo. That's how complacent I am.

So while I contemplate all of this, I'll ask you to look at some other notable photos I've seen around the web lately. The first one to come to mind was taken not far from me; Louisville is 60-some miles to the northish-west.

Next is pretty much anything on this guy's Flickr stream. We've met once, but only because he recognized Allan and me in the Rite-Aid down the street. Seriously. We need to touch base with J.

And while I know she doesn't *need* the traffic, I can't resist directing you to dooce's Daily Chuck series. If ever I have a dog, he will be like Chuck. No, really.

Last, but not least, Explore is always a source of cool photos.

*As opposed to mostly dead, in reference to a movie which shall remain nameless until you mention it in the comments.

The French In Me

Last week Elisabeth wrote a blog entry about why she is still so French after living most of her life in the US; she was inspired by this post from Reb, who counted ten ways she knows she's still American after years in France.

I read both lists, and thought, heeeeyyyyy, I could write about how I'm still kinda French after living there for a long time and then moving back to the States. I mean, I lived there for a third of my life. And I have French citizenship, so I truly am French. No, I'm not de souche, but I still have a vast understanding of French culture; when I left France I had just the tiniest of accents. (I didn't even get the "vous-êtes anglaise ou américaine" anymore.)

After the jump, my reasons while I'm still "French" even though I live in the dark and bloody ground of Kentucky.

A Word On Peanut Butter

Regarding my last post, I just have to say that this peanut butter Allan bought has ALL the fat. I mean, it's peanuts and salt, people. Peanuts and salt.

Peanuts. Salt.

So it's not low-fat by any means (although it's devoid of partially hydrogenated oils, i.e. trans fats). It just doesn't have any extra sugar or, um, trans fats. Or anything else.

It's peanuts. Mmmm. Peanuts. And salt. Mmmm. Salt.

A Completely Random Expression Of Annoyance

On the jar of natural peanut butter (ingredients: peanuts, salt), in no less than two prominent places, are these words:

Oil separation is natural. Just stir and refrigerate.

Are we really this far removed from our food?