Don't Panic, I'm Back

It's been a long 4 months since I've written, and now, hyped up on adderall, I regret that. That chemically induced regret, the urge to do anything to postpone working on any of my theses, and my indulgence of the three to seven people who said they liked my blog has convinced me to try again. Well, that and the fact that Jabari Greer has a blog that's not half bad. The man already out-mans me and is an athlete an order of magnitude greater than I can ever aspire to, so I've got to beat him at something. Now's my chance.

This time, in order not to disappoint my four fans out there, I'm not going to make a general announcement about it's rebirth, so as not to disappoint when it falls by the wayside.

Speaking of Rebirth, congratulations on the Grammy, gents, it was a long time coming and just in time for Mardi Gras.

These guys

As much as I like this picture, I prefer to think of them like this:

Yes, like this. It has a certain je ne sais quoi.
Of course, that could  very well be the gorilla and hint of  a breast.
Who knows.

All that being said, I'm going to cruise my Facebook status updates to look for the highlights of the last four months.

I Take Back Everything I Ever Said About Russians. For Now.

All names in this post have been changed to protect ME, in case they ever read it. Plausible deniability is huge in my life.

I've spent a good amount of time bitching about Russians. Mostly because it's easy, partly because it's true. I've gotten more chuckles with stories about Russian classmates than anything else so far. I'm not going to take back what I said about them, I just want to add an addendum to what I said about the ladies being a tad aggressive.


I would like to thank them, for a moment, for a complete about-face. Yes, they proved aggressive. But I understand - you have to do something to keep warm in the winter. If not sex, then you end up writing an extremely depressing 800 page novel and dying of liver failure at a very young age if you haven't already rotted in a Siberian gulag for making a pooting Putin joke. 

This man really needs a girl. Asceticism is bad for your health.

 

Anyway, I was cornered in a really awkward situation the other evening with a [slightly inebriated] young lady who simply wouldn't catch a hint, no matter how many times I mentioned my girlfriend. While obvious, she hadn't said anything that would leave her without plausible deniability (there's that damn word again) if I called her more bluntly on her advances. The situation was clear enough, though - or maybe it was my distress - that Svetlana (who, by this point, knows all about Dayaamayi) swooped in to my rescue with the grace and subtlety I've seen in a Russian before, "Alec, come wit me, you need more dr-rink. Anna, I will take dis boy from you. He has a date vith his own self when he gets home. I sure you vill find another American for tonight."

There was another exchange, most of which I missed, in which Anna (western European) harangued Svetlana in a very whiny tone about the previous interaction. The important part is that she used the term, "knocking down her Berlin Wall." Something which I gathered hadn't happened in a bit. I'll leave that to your imagination.

"Tear down that wall!" A moment of great relief and catharsis for both the East and West.  It was a long time coming, apparently (I wouldn't know. Wasn't there.).

A Note on Pictures

Obviously, I have a camera here. I just never think to use it. This is a problem, as I like to add pictures to emails and posts, mostly so I don't have to waste time describing things. Really, that was the whole point of learning how to use this blog technology. It makes it incredibly easy to post pictures and video. It's not like taking pictures is prohibited, I just forget. I wish I could say that I would get in trouble for taking photos, but with the notable exception of the first few weeks working on the oil spill, this is never the case.

It didn't stop Moe, Larry, and Curly, so why should it stop me?

"You shoot a picture, we shoot you!"

Besides, those shots would have been worth losing my job. I could have made a fortune selling them to news agencies. Ahhh, regrets. I guess that means I'll have to start doing a better job. Just for fun:

Locking Up

I know that this would make more sense with pictures. I'm working on that.

They are actually going to close down large parts of American College to us soon. Now that the University owns the place, they want to start cleaning out the parts that they aren't using so they can start remodeling whenever they decide what to do with the place. I understand why they are doing this, and I would probably do the same in their place, but...

It's a damn shame.

Granted I still have plenty of space to roam, but I like to pretend that the whole damn castle is mine. Besides, being able to forage for and requisition whatever I can find has it's advantages. My neighbor in the community, has turned his room into an art gallery, and for me, moving antique furniture to my room will take time. Really, I'm bummed because I have a fear that there are things there that I haven't discovered yet. Just this morning, I found a cellar with a dozen or so several decades old bottles of wine.
[photo]
I don't know if they are good or not, but that is quite beside the point. The point is that I got to find a section of centuries old wine cellar that had been forgotten for at least a few decades. [The actual building was built in the 1800s, but there was a medieval Cistertian monastery on the spot, and cellars often are kept even when their top-side buildings are destroyed.]

Besides, with full run of the place, I could hide a body with the concrete knowledge (and likely under concrete) that it wouldn't be found for centuries.

It's very strange knowing that a building that has been the home of Americans - seminarians (mostly), soldiers doing the world wars, visiting US officials - for almost 200 years will soon change completely and that I, along with my next door neighbor, Matthew, will likely be the last Americans to see it. It has been the center for Americans in this part of Europe, and soon it will be Flemish. It's a very bizarre feeling, and I don't know how to explain or where it's coming from; whether it's patriotism, sentimentality, or jealousy from a newly blossoming sense of ownership of the place, but I feel like I shouldn't have the emotional responsibility or the privilege of being the last American to live here.

You walk through the rooms here, and there are signs of home everywhere. Pictures, paintings, books, odds and ends that no one but an American would have - things that don't make sense in another context. These are just little touches that make it easier for someone from the US feel at home and make it obvious that Americans have lived here for a very long time. Pretty soon they'll all be locked up then tossed out by people who have no personal connection to it whatsoever. The temptation is to run around and hoard everything I can carry back to my room.

I guess I'll have to settle for the wine.

Note: A few days later we found a liquor cabinet, full mostly of ouzo and a ton of sherry. Delicious, but not near as cool. Also, the wine aged surprisingly well.

America! and Other Good Things

Internet's been down in my place for the week, so I haven't been on skype much. Rectifying that problem. Sitting in the only place in this giant building that has wifi - the VIP guests suites in one of the abandoned wings. The plaque on the door says "Bishop's Room" Let me tell you, these bishops were living well. Great views of the gardens, a bathtub, queen size bed, small living room. Then again, you got to make up for the celibacy some how. 

  

That being said, this week has been good. I found a workout room and a SAUNA in American College. This place just keeps on giving. Especially connsidering how damn cold it is right now. Days have been in the 40s and that's not likely to change. But a sauna? Really? I mean, I pay next to nothing to live here. I am really wallowing in smugness. My friends are ready to kill me. Except if they did, they wouldn't be able to use my kitchen. Or the gardens, study/game rooms, gardens, and definitely not the sauna.

 

I made a gumbo this weekend, partly to soothe my home sickness and partly because the other people in the community have been feeding me and we don't want to be ungrateful. It went fairly well considering I had no andouille, duck or game, seasonings I wanted, ect. Later found some sort of a smoked sausage, okra, and cayenne pepper. Still no Tony's [ahem, ahem]. Also, it turns out that the Belgians have figured out a good way to deal with their urban pidgeon problem: they eat them.

 

 

Not only does this take care of the pidgeon problem, it put retirees back to work.
You think he's harmless? Think again.

 

In honor of that (and this is the only time I've ever seen a Belgian take decisive action on anything since I've been here) I  bought a few and ate them. It went over well.

 



The man in the middle is a Czech Andre the Giant.
To his left is the Indian Vizzini.



I live next to a check guy named Josef, who is HUGE. Andre the Giant with a Eastern European accent. (The man to his left is an Indian Vizzini) He has been trying to make the point that all the soups people eat here are not fit for men (mostly joking?) and that men should eat more red meat. But, he had some gumbo that was leftover in the fridge and the next day I had a note on my door that said, "Alex the soop was very man soup! It was pretty good. - Josef" And I appreciate that. It is. Manly as hell.



 

Great guy. Luckily, or else he'd just kill us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The spice problem has been amended somewhat because I met a woman from Alabama in one of my classes who immediatly identified me as South Louisiana/Cajun (she's Cajun, too). Turns out her husband is in the military here, so she managed to requisition me every different type of Tabasco from the base store and gave it to me today in a bag, complete with bow. God bless the USA.

Defending Freedom, Feeding ExPats

 

Also enjoying my Innovation Management class for the sole reason that the Europpean Prfessor keeps telling the European class how much more productive we are in the US, better at wealth creation, better and leading technology innovation, and so on and so on. Really, I go to class just to preen and smirk at my classmates every time he points out one of their percieved inadaquacies as compared to the US. Every line graph akes you stand a little taller.

 

To cap it off, today I went to go get the invoice for my tuition, estimated by me at 1150 Euro ($1600) for a masters and a bachelors. We pay per course credit, and it turns out that hours after the normal 60 hours are discounted 60%. With my two programs, I'm taking 120, which means that I'm paying, for my entire masters degree, a grand total of.........$250. 650 Euro ($900) total, for two degrees. Bitchin.

 

And God bless the Belgian taxpayer.

 

Yeah you right.

Class? Dammit.

Classes have been crazy - average of about 5-6 hours a day. Everyone from here thinks I'm crazy for trying to follow two programs at the same time. Despite having thousands of students in the two colleges, every time I go to an admin office for something, they always say something to the extent of, "Ah, I remember your file." Or, even better, "So you are him...." Naturally, this means I've got to pass all of my courses, just so I can shove it all in their face - not the mention the blow to my ego if I don't.

Also working on my thesis proposal for business. Thesis topic allocation process is competitive, so professors choose the best proposals to work with. This generally means that the best professors and topics get the most proposals and thus the best professors. I'm trying to get a professor who was educated in the US and really likes me because I'm American. He seems to be the most helpful promoter and has a big business network in the US, which could be useful later. Also seems to be flamboyantly homosexual, though he could just be Dutch. Only problem is, I can't think of a topic that seems even remotely interesting.
I officially take back all the time's I said Dad's master's thesis in geology was mind-numbingly boring. I know there are interesting topics out there, I just can't think of them.

I might go to Antwerp on Saturday with a friend. It should be more interesting than here. Leuven is very quiet on the weekends, because Belgian students go home on the weekends to restock their tupperware, have their mother do their laundry, and sober up. That means that thursday is the big party night here. Down the hill from where I Iive is a vast lake of beer most weekday nights with twice the alcohol content (if half the nudity) of Bourbon street. (In case you were wondering, it's generally just too cold - bit too nippy - to run around nude here).

It doesn't help that most of my views are similar to this.

The faculty of business' student union, which is by far richer than any other three combined, throws huge, free keggers almost once a week. Really, it's no wonder the failure rate is so high. I don't have to go to class (I am), I don't have to study yet, as there is only one exam, which is after Christmas (will start soon), and there is one brewery for every four square miles of territory (haven't finished the ones in town yet) and and any given Monday (or Tuesday) I could get enough free beer to melt my liver, most of it from my faculty (liver intact). I don't know whether it's heaven or hell to have to try and study here.

Antwerp is a maybe, though, because I promised my replacement I would help him move into the house saturday. If nothing else I'll go to Brussels or the Ocean. Place is so damn small I could be in France, Holland, Luxembourg, or Germany an hour after I left my room if I timed the trains right. Or, I could just get smashed at a monastery after afternoon prayers...

OK, going to run. By the way, my skype name is alexander.fournet, i think. It's on any time I'm in my room, so if you see me on, feel free to give me a call.
Don't forget I changed my address.

It's Not Easy Being a White American Male in the 21st Century

It's a little strange here, being one of the only Americans. I actually met a few people who had never met an American. I'm used to it being a big thing to other people that I'm from the US, for good or bad in their eyes, but now I'm just another foreigner.

Though I do get more respect in the business school (where I'm the only American masters student) than other internationals. And teachers like me because they can ask me questions in class about US business stuff. Everyone has this idea that Americans are naturally better business people than other nationalities, and American practices on a personal and firm level are held up as the golden standard. This means that I'm in high demand for the group projects (they're all group projects) because I have a huge advantage in giving presentations and writing reports. It's hard being a white American male in the 21st century.

It's hard to make Belgians understand that W was right.
It's pronounced A-Mur-Ka

Regardless, living abroad, you certainly become either more of a patriot or much less connected with your home country. For me, the inner George Washington is rearing its fearsome, wigged head. Or, in my case, the inner Ben Franklin is raising its beer soaked, opportunistic head.

It certainly is easier being American abroad than it was 5 years ago, the first time I was here. Part of that was probably that most have forgotten that we're in Iraq and the other is that I'm the only American and so neither threatening nor obnoxious. Or maybe they're just tired of the Russians. That's probably it.
People complain about obnoxious and arrogant Americans, but I promise you, we have nothing on the damn Russians. It always starts when the professor - even in classes 0f 150+ people - ask where everyone is from. Immediately, the Russians, who are normally seated together yell, "RUSSIA!" in unison, at which point everyone who knows me looks at me until I stand up and say"US".

Last Tuesday in our Political Economics course

It's like they're waiting for a fight to break out. Of course, make a bad Russian joke at the wrong time and you may have to fight someone. They are completely convinced that Russians are God's perfect people, and don't let you forget it. It's really amazing how easy it is to forget the last 100 yrs of Russian history...and to gloss over Putin.

That's me on the right.

That being said, the best part about living in an international community is that I can stereotype so many more groups than ever before. Three weeks ago, I could never have laid out gross misrepresentations of Poles, lithuanians, Ugandans, Urdu or pacific islander.

At breakfast I got to see one of the Indian priests show a Nigerian how to use soap to wash dishes. One of the better things since I've moved in.