exp. - I’m finished – literally
This isn’t to be confused with “j’ai fini” or I’m done, as in finishing one’s meal for example. Speaking of meals, one has hunger “j’ai faim” vs. being hungry.
When one has had enough to eat, you say you have eaten well, “j’ai bien mangé” and not I am full because “je suis plein” means you are drunk. If you are however drunk it’s better to say “je suis saoul” rather than the more slang “je suis bourré,” which means sloshed, hammered, wasted, etc.
If you quite smoking, which the French are still attempting to do given that it’s harder and harder to smoke indoors any more, you actually stop smoking, “j’arrete fumer.” “J’ai quitté” means I left.
“Encore” can mean yet or again. “Je n’ai pas encore arreté de fumer,” I have not quit smoking yet (well I have actually for many years now). “J’ai encore recommencé a fumer,” I have started smoking again (again, not true in my case). “Toujours” can mean still or always. “Je fume toujours” or I still smoke, which I don’t. “Je fumerai toujours,” I will always smoke. I don’t know many people who make this proclamation since most want to quit, but just for sake of making my examples, I stuck with the smoking theme.
There is some controversy surrounding “par contre” and “en revanche,” both meaning on the other hand. I was warned that en revanche is more proper, but I have no idea why and even the person who told me never fully explained it. It has traumatized though ever since to use par contre and every time someone else does I cringe a little even if I’m unsure why.
Nothing makes people cringe as much as when I confuse my “cou,” neck, “coup,” blow or “queue,” line with “cul” which means ass. All sound frighteningly similar especially to a foreigner. The other day when I was telling a story about my husband standing in line, but pronounced it like ass, my friend corrected me and then joked that if I meant the other, she was not one to judge.
My husband has the same problem with collar and color in English, but obviously getting them mixed up isn’t quite as controversial.
The word “bague” actually means ring where the word for bag is “sac.” “Sac a main” literally translated means hand bag. “Poche” is the word for pocket, but can also refer in the southwest to plastic bag. And that brings me to a pet peeve I have with the supermarket check-out system here.
I think it must be listed somewhere in the union rules that the supermarket cashiers are not allowed to help you put your groceries in the bags. I don’t know why and nobody has had a sufficient explanation. If you’re alone, it’s especially problematic because you have to put all your things on the conveyer belt and then run through to start loading them into your bags. If you haven’t brought your own, you are at the mercy of the cashier to bring out plastic ones for you to use. And if they can’t help you put your things in the bags, I wish they would at least help open the plastic bags because it’s as if they are hermetically sealed shut and much time is lost trying to pry them apart.
By the time they are, everything has been rung up and now you have to stop packing and picking apart the bags and pay. Once that’s processed, it’s the next person’s turn and their things are now piling on top of yours. Phew or as the French say “Ouf – j’ai fini!”
Nov 14, 2009
Je vais chercher les croissants
exp. – I’m going out for croissants or I’m going out for cigarettes, or I’m not coming back at all
For those having a little dalliance, but who are eventually coming home, there is an expression “cinq a sept,” literally translated meaning five to seven or the hours between work and the time a man gets home when he may be spending time with his mistress. This isn’t to be confused with “Cinq a Sec,” which means five to dry and is a dry cleaning chain.
Another afternoon expression is “le quatre heure” or “gouter” which means four o'clock or the taste or afternoon snack, literally though and having nothing do with a little afternoon delight. Moving into the evening, “Sept a Huit,” or seven to eight, is both a news program and a supermarket chain.
“Sieste crapuleuse” or sneaky siesta is what parents tell their children they’re having when they’re not really siest-ing at all. And when children aren’t really at school, but rather are playing hookey, it’s called “faire l’ecole buissonnieere” or making school in the bush. This actually dates back to 1423 when the plague drove people away from the cities and into the countries to avoid catching it. Others say it comes from the 15th century where the thieves would hide in the bushes in the middle of the forest. One more theory is that it comes from the secret schools hidden in the bushes during the Lutheran period so that the repressed Protestants could take classes there.
In any case, there are no birds in the bush worth less than in the hand, but rather “un ‘tiens’ est mieux que deux ‘tu l’auras’" or quite simply, one that you have is better than two that you will have.
All this sneaking around can also lead to “casser du sucre sur le dos de quelqu’un,” breaking sugar on someone’s back or criticizing someone behind their back. More seriously, one could be stabbed in the back or have a banana peel put under their foot, “metre une peau de banane.” And of course all of these things could lead to opening a can or worms or “comme usine a gaz,” like a gas plant. And none of us want that!
For those having a little dalliance, but who are eventually coming home, there is an expression “cinq a sept,” literally translated meaning five to seven or the hours between work and the time a man gets home when he may be spending time with his mistress. This isn’t to be confused with “Cinq a Sec,” which means five to dry and is a dry cleaning chain.
Another afternoon expression is “le quatre heure” or “gouter” which means four o'clock or the taste or afternoon snack, literally though and having nothing do with a little afternoon delight. Moving into the evening, “Sept a Huit,” or seven to eight, is both a news program and a supermarket chain.
“Sieste crapuleuse” or sneaky siesta is what parents tell their children they’re having when they’re not really siest-ing at all. And when children aren’t really at school, but rather are playing hookey, it’s called “faire l’ecole buissonnieere” or making school in the bush. This actually dates back to 1423 when the plague drove people away from the cities and into the countries to avoid catching it. Others say it comes from the 15th century where the thieves would hide in the bushes in the middle of the forest. One more theory is that it comes from the secret schools hidden in the bushes during the Lutheran period so that the repressed Protestants could take classes there.
In any case, there are no birds in the bush worth less than in the hand, but rather “un ‘tiens’ est mieux que deux ‘tu l’auras’" or quite simply, one that you have is better than two that you will have.
All this sneaking around can also lead to “casser du sucre sur le dos de quelqu’un,” breaking sugar on someone’s back or criticizing someone behind their back. More seriously, one could be stabbed in the back or have a banana peel put under their foot, “metre une peau de banane.” And of course all of these things could lead to opening a can or worms or “comme usine a gaz,” like a gas plant. And none of us want that!
Clochard
n. – homeless person
Sadly the problem of homelessness has only escalated due to the crisis, but I find the situation much more prevalent here than it was in New York. It’s ironic that in a country with such a strong culture of helping those in need that the problem is as bad as it is. At the same time, perhaps it’s that very culture of respecting the rights of others that prevents a round up, if you will, where the homeless are taken off the streets and forced into shelters, even if only temporarily.
I find the situation in stark contrast to the background it’s painted on. The other day for example, my husband and I visited one of those ultra high-end haute couture designer boutiques. It’s the kind where you don’t really go to shop and certainly not to browse, but rather call in your order being a regular client and have things sent to you or ready for your assistant to pick up.
I am by far not the clientele, but I went at the request of a friend in the US who wanted to know what the new line looked like. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to describe the clothes so luckily, with the aid of my husband, who I dragged along for support, I secured a look book.
It took about half an hour and four people to get it. There were Amazonian women teetering around in impossibly high heels clopping noisily across the vast expanse of the showroom’s parquet floors. My husband read the paper as I paced back and forth pretending to feign interest in the clothes, but not sure how any mere mortal like myself could even wear them, much less afford them!
With look book in hand, we exited as gracefully as possible and headed down the trendy street in equally trendy neighborhood only to be confronted by a group of homeless men who, unlike in most cases, looked rather menacing. My tendency is to panic, but my husband calmly responded to their request for change that we didn’t have any. Something I found ridiculous because here we just came out of this hideously expensive store and dressed for the occasion. (Yes, I did dress in one of my best outfits knowing I was going there!)
We chose to grab lunch at a fast food restaurant just near by and as we sat down to eat, there was another homeless man in the restaurant not just casually asking for food or money, but literally harassing people – lingering at their tables until they either gave him something or snapped at him to leave. (I’m embarrassed to say we did the latter.)
It’s awful really because it makes me feel like a monster. This happens to us often in these types of restaurants I hate to say, but it was the first time I saw a homeless person of that condition. Usually, it’s women with sleeping children tied to their chests. I’ve often wondered if they replace the child with a smaller one as they get older because I’ve seen the same woman with the same sleeping child since we moved almost a year ago and it’s impossible that that child wouldn’t have outgrown the harness by now. I wonder too why it’s never awake.
I wonder about so many things. I can’t imagine the lives these people endure. I see them in the subways either sitting or pitched forward with foreheads pressed to the ground and outstretched hands. I see them all over the sidewalks near our office. Some are alone, but some have dogs or cats. It’s both heartbreaking and strangely comforting when I see the pets because I feel like they at least take care of each other. The animals look relatively well fed and their owners make an effort to wrap a little scarf or sweater around them on the days when it’s cold.
I know the situation here is nothing in comparison to places like Egypt or India. And the misery throughout the world, not only in third world countries, but even in the US, is impossible to reconcile. Again the stark contrast of extreme poverty against opulent wealth is difficult to fathom. But it grows more and more difficult to look away and even the beauty of Paris can’t hide this very real problem. The solution, on the other hand, remains sadly elusive.
Sadly the problem of homelessness has only escalated due to the crisis, but I find the situation much more prevalent here than it was in New York. It’s ironic that in a country with such a strong culture of helping those in need that the problem is as bad as it is. At the same time, perhaps it’s that very culture of respecting the rights of others that prevents a round up, if you will, where the homeless are taken off the streets and forced into shelters, even if only temporarily.
I find the situation in stark contrast to the background it’s painted on. The other day for example, my husband and I visited one of those ultra high-end haute couture designer boutiques. It’s the kind where you don’t really go to shop and certainly not to browse, but rather call in your order being a regular client and have things sent to you or ready for your assistant to pick up.
I am by far not the clientele, but I went at the request of a friend in the US who wanted to know what the new line looked like. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to describe the clothes so luckily, with the aid of my husband, who I dragged along for support, I secured a look book.
It took about half an hour and four people to get it. There were Amazonian women teetering around in impossibly high heels clopping noisily across the vast expanse of the showroom’s parquet floors. My husband read the paper as I paced back and forth pretending to feign interest in the clothes, but not sure how any mere mortal like myself could even wear them, much less afford them!
With look book in hand, we exited as gracefully as possible and headed down the trendy street in equally trendy neighborhood only to be confronted by a group of homeless men who, unlike in most cases, looked rather menacing. My tendency is to panic, but my husband calmly responded to their request for change that we didn’t have any. Something I found ridiculous because here we just came out of this hideously expensive store and dressed for the occasion. (Yes, I did dress in one of my best outfits knowing I was going there!)
We chose to grab lunch at a fast food restaurant just near by and as we sat down to eat, there was another homeless man in the restaurant not just casually asking for food or money, but literally harassing people – lingering at their tables until they either gave him something or snapped at him to leave. (I’m embarrassed to say we did the latter.)
It’s awful really because it makes me feel like a monster. This happens to us often in these types of restaurants I hate to say, but it was the first time I saw a homeless person of that condition. Usually, it’s women with sleeping children tied to their chests. I’ve often wondered if they replace the child with a smaller one as they get older because I’ve seen the same woman with the same sleeping child since we moved almost a year ago and it’s impossible that that child wouldn’t have outgrown the harness by now. I wonder too why it’s never awake.
I wonder about so many things. I can’t imagine the lives these people endure. I see them in the subways either sitting or pitched forward with foreheads pressed to the ground and outstretched hands. I see them all over the sidewalks near our office. Some are alone, but some have dogs or cats. It’s both heartbreaking and strangely comforting when I see the pets because I feel like they at least take care of each other. The animals look relatively well fed and their owners make an effort to wrap a little scarf or sweater around them on the days when it’s cold.
I know the situation here is nothing in comparison to places like Egypt or India. And the misery throughout the world, not only in third world countries, but even in the US, is impossible to reconcile. Again the stark contrast of extreme poverty against opulent wealth is difficult to fathom. But it grows more and more difficult to look away and even the beauty of Paris can’t hide this very real problem. The solution, on the other hand, remains sadly elusive.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)