Bad Manners

google images

(Subtitle) Bad Manners and Repugnant Behavior According to Whoopie Goldberg


So, yesterday I finished reading Whoopie Goldberg’s book, Is It Just Me? Or Is It Nuts Out There?

This, to me, was a hilarious book which basically implied that the United States has become a nation of arrogant and smug Philistines!

I would like to share with you a joke from her chapter: "Buddy is the new Nigger:"


A little black cherub is up in heaven and is kind of cruising around, and God comes walking by, and the cherub flies over and says, " Hi, God !"

God says, “Hey how are you doing?”

The cherub says, “Fine, God. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” says God.


“Am I an angel?”

God says, “No, nigger, you a bat!”



Do you find this funny?


Is it me…or is this simply a sly reference to the American majority population’s opinion of President Obama?

Wall Street English: Does The Sun Still Not Set On The British Empire?

(photos from google images )


Taiwan

For years I noticed…all over Nice… on bill boards, buses and bus stop shelters, humungous ads for The Wall Street English Institutes.

Having no need to study something like this nor the desire to teach English, I continued to remain mildly curious without checking out what it was all about. Besides, here in Nice, the School was originally located at the Nice Etoile. The Etoile is not someplace I frequent often since I had already "o.d."-ed on Malls in the States and had no intention of taking up the habit here in France with all the fabulous specialty shops and boutiques in town that fullfil every need of a Francophile with international predilections like myself.



old location at Nice Etoile

But…I digress…


Well yesterday, I discovered that The Wall Street English School had relocated to a building on the rue de France. It also has a residence in what I call the English Countryside on avenue Guynemer, in Saint Laurent du Var. Since we were in the neighbourhood, I decided to stop in on the one in downtown Nice.

When I walked in, the exotic-looking young lady at the desk looked as if her Mom had entered ready to reprimand her for some disreputable act.

I introduced myself and then asked her to define "Wall Street English." Did it mean that they taught American English instead of British English?  After all, last I remember Wall Street was located in lower Manhattan. In New York City. In the United States.

The young lady responded by saying, “Both, Madame”. And then she handed me this brochure:

Question: As an American, should I be insulted by this?

In addition, it is stated in the brochure that The Wall Street English Institute is recognized and approved by THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE!!! 

Oh golly...gee wiz...imagine that!

http://thenovelladyfingers.wordpress.com

http://gingersnapsanovel.wordpress.com/

Expat Quote ...of the Day

"Mona Laughter" by Charlie Hall

"He who laughs last …is surrounded by dead people!"


-- Dat Phan

Apropos of Food...

This is for all of the Americans abroad.  Let's never forget where we came from.  Don't you guys miss any of this?

(food photos from google images)

pancakes and sausages



Chicken and Waffles



Manhattan Clam Chowder

New England Clam Chowder

Crab Cakes

Corn on the Cob

macaroni salad



potato salad

macaronia and cheese



Barbeque Spare Ribs

collard greens

shrimp Creole

okra

cornbread

Barbeque Chicken

Ham and Scalloped Potatoes

Well...do you?
Just remember...you are not an orphan.  You come from someplace.

Cupcakes in Paris?

Honey...pul-eeese....

What's all the hullabaloo about kiddy vittles in the world of Haute Couture Patisseries?


The way I was raised in the United States, Cupcakes were simply an children's snack.  I guess I wasn't as underprivileged as I thought.

If we be Ambassadors...let's bring out the big guns in homage to our Grandmamas:

'Membah deeze?




( food photos by google images)

pecan pie

pineapple upside down cake

sweet potato pie

cherry pie

peach cobbler

Utensils absolutely required!

What Is An Expat?

Nice, France google images

Who am I?

What am I? Expat? Refugee? Immigrant (certainly felt that way living on the weak and erratic dollar for the past 8 years)? Artist? Gringo? Defector? Adventurer? Long time resident of the French Riviera? An American who enjoys living France?

Below are two definitions of Expatriate that I found interesting:

*one who lives outside one’s own country; One who has been banished from one’s own country; To banish; to drive or force (a person) from his own country; to make an exile of; To withdraw from one’s native country; To renounce the rights and liabilities of citizenship where one is born … en.wiktionary.org/wiki/expatriate

*ex patriate – A person who has abandoned his or her country of origin and citizenship and has become a subject or citizen of another country. http://www.irishclaims/

Most of the Americans I have met, proudly call themselves Expats! The word itself has come to represent glamour, exotic choices, worldly intellegencia, café life… But you see, my problem is with the prefix!

EX-!

When I think of “ex”-something…I think of EX-husbands, EX-friends, EX-boyfriends, EX-roommates…EX-change…uhh …oh…never mind… but I think you get the point.

In the mid eighties, I took a vacation to visit the beaches of the French Riviera. I fell in love….no… not with a Frenchman, I was already happily and firmly married…with the light and colors of the Mediterranean. From Monaco to Saint Tropez. I was captivated by the foods of the region, the markets, boutiques, the souk of Nice (the Old Town), the laid back pleasures of the South. The politesse of the population. I kept coming back to the area until my husband and I were able to move here in 1999. I sold my business, published my first novel, my husband retired, and we left Dodge City (New York City) to move to the sunny Côte d’Azur.

Permanently?

Who knows.

Am I an Expat?

I am an American.

An eighth generation American, female of African, Irish, Native American ancestry, who lives in France with my American spouse of Russian, Scottish, English ancestry, because we love the food, rocky beaches, cheaper travel options…and the National Healthcare System.

Trompe - l'Oeil Niçois

Sometimes you find that it’s just time to move on.

In our case, living this laid back life in the South, we’ve become so provincial that moving on simply means moving closer to the sea. The weather this winter…and actually last winter as well… has caused us to feel that we were living more of an Alpine experience than a Mediterranean coastal one.

So yesterday, since the sun has reappeared and folks here are actually eating out in the sidewalk cafés (either Scandinavians or folks in serious denial…I’d surmise… despite the sunshine and all)), we decided to embark on our first New Year’s resolution: find a place somewhere not far from Nice where there are more palm trees and bougainvillea than thickets of pine.

Driving along the coast brought back memories of our early years of living here where we actually lived on the coast... smack dab in the middle between Nice and Monaco. Heavy handed urbanization, of proportions we could never have anticipated caused us to be catapulted up hill into the arrière pays de Nice! Eventually, urban expansion stalked us by constructing numerous luxury housing blocks connected by various jitneys and expanded bus lines to the long awaited Tramway.

Several people told me not long ago that Nice, over the years, had evolved into a “proletariat” town. Nevertheless, despite this theory, what I notice is massive housing projects involving the construction of “Grand Standing” and “Standing” apartment complexes, and real estate listings which reflect the income levels of Fairfield Country, Connecticut back home…or Beverly Hills. Imagine an area whose major industry is tourism competing in cost of living prices with New York City, Washington, DC, Los Angeles and San Francisco!

Now, we have found that we escaped the rat race of the banking, government and communications industries of California and New York City only to find that everyone has decided to emulate the kind of lifestyle depicted in a Jay McInerney novel. I still can’t get over seeing ads for “Wall Street English” classes. What kind of political agenda is that for a European population?

But, I digress…

One of the few neighbourhoods that retain the flavour of the Riviera I fell in love with years ago is around the area called Maeterlinck. The views are breathtaking and rival the vistas of Villefranche Sur Mer, Eze and Cap d’Ail. I won’t bother to offend anyone by discussing the asking prices of property here. Let’s just say that they are certainly the explanation as to why this superb area feels so desolate and devoid of human spirit. I mean Nice is a “Proletariat town”…so they say. Perhaps developers are planning another huge housing project… who else could possible afford these prices per square meter… or perhaps there is some sort of plot more insidious in operation here à la Stephen King.

Maybe I’ll find that this search for a coastal abode will prove to be fodder for some future novel of mine.

I’ll keep you posted.