I could grow babycorn in my room for cheaper than that...

I attempted to post yesterday but for some reason this site has decided to function only occasionally. I blame the internet and not France.

Speaking of which: I've decided I need to be careful how I word things when I blame France as a whole for all of my woes.

Imagine that you've just moved to America and that the first place you end up is Detroit. In the winter. It's cloudy, it's dirty, it smells funny, everyone looks completely strange and acts sort of intollerant towards you in your struggles. And everytime you try to make your life better, it doesn't work because that's just "how Detroit is."

I am in the Detroit of France. Had I ended up in the San Diego of France, perhaps I would be singing a different tune. Like, maybe something by The Pretenders.

I will say that my esteem for the country goes up with every degree by which the temperature rises. It has been beautiful outside and tomorrow we're scheduled for frisbee and picnics in the park, where people are so thrilled to not be indoors that they take cases of beer and sit around drinking at high noon.

Josh and I found the most confusing/hilarious/indescribably disgusting thing I have ever seen yesterday. KNACKI BALLS. Yes, these tiny balls of hotdog are the perfect compliment to any meal. How you cook them, what you eat them with; WHY they exist at all... so many questions!

Happy St. Drove-the-witches-out-of-Ireland-let's-celebrate-by-drinking Day. Shamrocks all around.