Tag: France

Ohn honh honh! (Mar 30 2026)

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Sacre Bleu! 

Flight attendants are mostly useless. Sure, in one-in-a-million situations they’re highly trained experts, but in general I don’t need a full-time air servant to bring me water and snacks. And if I did, the ratio is all wrong: one flight attendant per aisle should be sufficient. I view flight attendants the same way I view the TSA: mostly useless, sometimes incredibly helpful, overall a huge waste of money. 

Today, my opinion soared to new heights. 

Air France flight attendants don’t deliver snacks by hand. They perform the two shift meal service (the first an hour after takeoff; the second an hour before landing). Aside from that, they set up a drink station and a snack station in the stern of the plane so passengers can help themselves to any needed items, while the flight attendants do god-knows-what for the remaining 5hr15min non-meal-service duration. 

90 minutes east of Newfoundland, I visited the stern of the aircraft to relieve my bladder and acquire a second (read: fourth) chocolate-covered madeline. The starboard bathroom was full, so I sauntered over to check the port side bathroom. This latter bathroom was not where I expected it to be: a sign saying “Crew Only” labeled that door, with the bathroom itself was farther to the back, closer to at the tail of the plane. I mention these details only because it’s necessary for what happens next: 

  • I’m standing by the rear of the plane, attempting to overcome a particularly hairy video game boss on my iPad when the Crew Only door opens and a female flight attendant tumbles out  She bumps into me, and is immediately followed by a male flight zipping up his trousers. Behind them, I catch a glimpse of the Crew Only room. It is, in fact, a bathroom. 

Is this why French flight attendants need the permanent self-serve stations? Otherwise, how would they solve their two patrimonial loves: not working and sex. 

I didn’t know Air France hired husband-and-wife teams.

The Maginot Line (Mar 26 2026)

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Crossing lines and having great times 

After World War I, having been invaded by the Germans five times in under 200 years, the French devised a novel strategy: build an impenetrable line of defenses along the French-German border. The Germans could not defeat this line. The forts and artillery were too strong. The Maginot Line held. I see this same concept all over French culture. 

The Germans went around The Line. Through Belgium. And invaded France yet again.
Oops. 

In the 2010s, France experienced a rash of bombings. In response, there now exist security officers at every sporting event and even many grocery stores. These security officers check bags for weaponry. But if you simply don’t stop? What if you walk through, refusing their patdown? Do they tackle you like the potential terrorist you are? No, they shrug uncomfortably and continue about their business. How do I know? I’ve done this many times. 

When the park closes at 6pm and it’s 5:45, the French gendarmes stand at the entry to prevent your entry. They do this because the park closing at 6pm means everyone must be out by then, not merely in the process of leaving. I accept this difference as a cultural choice and have no qualms with it. But when an American in a silly teal dinosaur hat argues with the gendarme for forty five seconds and then simply plows ahead, they do not apprehend him. They do nothing more than shout “Monsieur! Monsieur” a few times before returning to their croissant. 

Some local frogs (that’s the PC term for French people) taught me a silly game of throwing sticks. I happened upon these frogs thanks to one time I was out for a stroll in the darkness and saw lights and heard laughter. I approached to watch. They said (in French) “this is a private club”. I replied (in French) “we were out for a stroll and saw the lights”. They invited me and Partner to play. 

That experience isn’t the Maginot Line connection. (Even though a boundary did go un-enforced, ahem.)

The Maginot Line connection is that I taught a frog classmate how to play the game and she kept stepping over the line. When I called her out on it (it’s like bocci or bowling: a restriction on one’s distance is literally what makes it a game), she didn’t stop. She continued stepping over the line, stepping on it, using her foot to move the line, etc. It’s like she needed Germanic-level rule enforcement to keep her in line. 

The public parks in France close at sunset. That closure is my least favorite part of French culture. My research suggests this trait is due to the French desire to prevent people from doing bad things. In American legal culture, we’re deeply skeptical of preventive restrictions. Our permissiveness is part of what makes us innovative: you’re allowed to break the law; it just leads to punishment. 

And the fact that we Americans are a violent bunch means people have the honor not to step over lines. Viewing a nude performance art piece in Texas, I asked a fellow audience member what would happen if someone started recording. The local longhorn (that’s PC term for Texan) said that at least a dozen people would beat you up and take your phone. 

During the French Olympics, the U.S. State Department warned Americans about Parisian pickpockets. The Americans responded by beating them up so frequently it became an international meme.
Presumably when a native frog catches a pickpocketed in France, the appropriate response is to shout “Monsieur! Monsieur!” as they run away.

Clown School Weekend 6.2: The Rules of Clowning

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In which Our Hero attempts to eff the ineffable.

For weeks I’ve been trying to reverse-engineer what we’re actually doing in clown school.

There are moments in class when something works—a laugh, a tiny eruption of joy—and the teacher says, “Yes, that.” And then there are moments when the entire room goes still and we all collectively realize the joy has petered out.

Our teachers keep highlighting the importance of the game. I kept wishing there were actual rules. Not to restrict play—but to name what’s already happening.

So I wrote them.

This document is the clearest articulation I’ve managed so far of how the “game” of clowning works in the Gaulier school of thought: the goal, the metrics, the tactics, the traps, the physics of pleasure, the difference between Major and Minor, how to avoid killing your own play, why dignity matters, why heaviness kills the audience, and the one rule that seems to underlie everything: maximize total pleasure without harming yourself.

If you’re in clown training, or theatre, or comedy, or anything requiring presence and sensitivity, you may find this helpful. Or validating. Or confusing in a way that becomes helpful later. That’s typically how this school works.

Here is the full writeup. Comments are enabled in case you’re curious or want to poke at any element:

The Rules of Clowning

It covers:

  • What the “goal” of clowning actually is
  • What makes someone an attractive player
  • Why the audience’s pleasure outweighs your own
  • How to find a “good game”
  • How to play it without destroying it
  • Tactics for impulse, aura, dignity, lightness
  • The mechanics of Major/Minor
  • How to play beautifully with partners
  • How to avoid hurting yourself—physically, emotionally, professionally

If you’re not a clown and don’t plan to be one, it still might interest you. Clown logic rhymes with life logic more than we admit: be sensitive, be generous, be open, don’t force things, play the game that’s actually happening instead of the one in your head.

And share your pleasure. People open to you when you do.

Clown School Day 2: On Priorities and Preferences

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Clown school is the study of choice.

Wait, no — that’s economics.

Clown school is the study of…

Well, now I’m thinking about choices.

Here they are:

  1. Study the Shakespeare lines for next week
  2. Drink alcohol at the local bar
  3. Sit with people drinking alcohol at the local bar
  4. Run
  5. Eat
  6. Clear out my email inbox
  7. Write
  8. Rehearse with classmates for this week’s presentation

A day only has so many hours.

School takes four, plus thirty minutes on either side to prep and recombobulate. Add eight hours for sleep (okay, nine — I like to wind down in bed :), and you’ve got thirteen hours accounted for. I like running every day, so add an hour for stretching, run, five-minute abs, and shower. That’s fourteen hours. Ten remain.

So if the math works so well, why have I been failing?

Sequencing.

I haven’t been eating lunch, so I’m starved after school, which is prime socializing time. If I brought my lunch, I’d be less famished at 2 p.m. I like doing movement class fasted, so I’ll keep that. But maybe a nice burger patty and baguette for lunch… could be nice. 😋

And then, who to socialize with?

Drinkers have it easy: go where people drink → drink → hours disappear. I don’t enjoy drinking, nor do I enjoy drunk people, so I’ll pass. (I gave it a try today. “Maybe this context is different,” I thought. Turns out it’s students slowly soppifying, discussing people who aren’t present, maybe one bit of information every thirty seconds, and a lot of “what was that?”. And when someone stands up to leave, it feels like monkeys pulling the escaping monkey back into the boiling soup.)

I’m glad I ran. I’m glad I ate. I’m glad I wrote.

I’d like to be more social. The key, I think, is to socialize in my own way.

It’s day two. I’ve not yet clicked with the people I’m going to click with.

I grabbed coffee with a student today. That was nice. Worth doing. An enjoyable hour.

There are thirty of us. Will I get coffee with everyone? At one per schoolday, that’s six weeks. 😬

I prefer meeting people one-on-one. Spending time in depth. Learning what makes them tick.

I’ve scheduled dinners for tomorrow and Thursday. I hope to find people I enjoy seeing socially.

The class itself has been nice. Not much to it, but nice. We’re learning the definitions of words by repeated use. A few tactical elements (“Show your teeth! We want to see your teeth!”); mainly punishments (“You forgot the game: you get a zero!”).

I want to meet my people. To find the ones I fancy. Then, to build habits around those happenings.

9 a.m. wakeup. 9:15 a.m. rehearsal. 10 a.m. movement class. 11:30 a.m. lunch. Noon improv class. 2 p.m. rehearsal. 2:30 p.m. phone call with my sister, perhaps while running. 3:30 p.m. rehearsal, study, socialize, catch up on life… 🤔

Clown school is about choice, if only because everything is.

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