Rime of the American't

Prelude
One week of civilization courses at Paris 4 and I feel, in fact, less civilized than usual. The first lesson I learned was that in every institution, there can be found at least one classturbator. In this case, it's Lydia, a sixty-year-old mother of two who likes to hear her own voice describe the academy's usages of the subjonctif passé in eighteenth century literature. Classturbation will forever be the essence of my education, the bridegroom to my knowledge.

Part I
I received my ballot several days ago and I've been carrying it around with me like an Albatross about My neck, my blog was hung.


Is it still 1996? Don't they know Kevorkian lives in the 'hood?

Part II
Contributing to my savageness, J recently added the word "slave" to his swelling English lexicon, id est, in asking me to do the laundry via gchat:
j: mais fais aussi pendant le week end un lavage de serviette
6:01 PM
me: okay je vais le faire
maintenant
j: thanks slave
me: parce que je ne vais pas me doucher
right, exactly
6:02 PM
j: not really
douche toi
me: gbhlghwbgtljhb
bleehhh
6:04 PM
j: come on slave time is running
(Ignore the part about how I don't shower on a regular basis.)

Part III
Severe dissatisfaction plagues my every waking hour. The new season of Grey's relies on unbelievable plot-lines, vodka burns my esophageal soul and my iPod freezes every time it hits Wham.