Saturday, November 19, 2005
Getting my KIBA on
What is KIBA.
Is it...
a) Korea Information & contents Business Association
b) An anime character from Wolf's Rain
c) A German non-alcoholic drink that looks cool, tastes good, and was MADE FOR ANGELICA
...
Time's up!
KIBA = KIrsche + BAnane, a swirl of banana nectar and cherry juice, the designated driver's drink of choice in many German discotheques. As soon as Sabrina described it to me, I knew I had to have it. But do you KNOW how hard it is to find cherry juice in Nice? Almost as hard as finding tapioca balls.
That day, I had my KIBA. Here are some recent photos of me spreading my newfound joy to others:
Is it...
a) Korea Information & contents Business Association
b) An anime character from Wolf's Rain
c) A German non-alcoholic drink that looks cool, tastes good, and was MADE FOR ANGELICA
...
Time's up!
KIBA = KIrsche + BAnane, a swirl of banana nectar and cherry juice, the designated driver's drink of choice in many German discotheques. As soon as Sabrina described it to me, I knew I had to have it. But do you KNOW how hard it is to find cherry juice in Nice? Almost as hard as finding tapioca balls.
That day, I had my KIBA. Here are some recent photos of me spreading my newfound joy to others:
Friday, November 18, 2005
Non non, tapioca, seulement petit petit
The feeling is intense and ever-present. It's kind of like a spidey-sense, knowing deep down that something is amiss. The air weighs down heavily on Nice, consoling her in light of this somber fact:
There is no bubble tea in this town.
No one knows what it is, except for maybe Kenzo because I've talked his ear off exclaiming the wonders of the exotic (although I swear, very Canadian) drink.
We took on the challenge of finding the raw tapioca balls ourselves to make the drink ourselves. As there is no T&T in France, we systematically visited every asian store in the vicinity. It was kind of cool hearing asian-accented French...
- "Vous avez des boules de tapioca? Des grands comme ca?" (Do you carry tapioca pearls?)*mini hand symbol for OK*
- "Comme ca?" (Like this?)
- "Non, plus grand en fait..." (No, bigger, actually)
- "Non non, tapioca! Seulement petit petit!" (No no tapioca only small small)
Alright. Over and over, it was the same thing. No fat pearls, and why in the world would you want them anyway.
At the end of the day, I did realise that this onerous journey for the Real Deal would only make the result taste sweeter. We'd find a way. Don't get me started on the difficulties of making tapioca balls from scratch... (for the record, I only heard how tough it was second-hand lol).
There is no bubble tea in this town.
No one knows what it is, except for maybe Kenzo because I've talked his ear off exclaiming the wonders of the exotic (although I swear, very Canadian) drink.
We took on the challenge of finding the raw tapioca balls ourselves to make the drink ourselves. As there is no T&T in France, we systematically visited every asian store in the vicinity. It was kind of cool hearing asian-accented French...
- "Vous avez des boules de tapioca? Des grands comme ca?" (Do you carry tapioca pearls?)*mini hand symbol for OK*
- "Comme ca?" (Like this?)
- "Non, plus grand en fait..." (No, bigger, actually)
- "Non non, tapioca! Seulement petit petit!" (No no tapioca only small small)
Alright. Over and over, it was the same thing. No fat pearls, and why in the world would you want them anyway.
At the end of the day, I did realise that this onerous journey for the Real Deal would only make the result taste sweeter. We'd find a way. Don't get me started on the difficulties of making tapioca balls from scratch... (for the record, I only heard how tough it was second-hand lol).
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Kounalis and the Great Outdoors
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
No real bombs, just bombing midterms
Oddly happy right now. Well, considering que j'ai complètement raté my midterm d'architecture, I'm very content. I remember the days when I'd come home to an empty appartment and sulk alone the couch. No more! Now I can sulk with the warm company of my roommates.
Take Neli for example. She's from Moldavia (are there other Canadians out there that have never heard of it either?) and is the nicest girl ever!! Both she and I adore music, although she's more into singing. So into singing that she actually has produced two songs in Romanian - they were on the radio anad everything!
Right now I should be studying for my databases exam on Friday, but instead I'm learning the lyrics to her song Te Astept... yay procastination!
Sorry for the lack of interesting things to say. My brain is fried like an egg on the engine of a Mack truck stuck in traffic on a hazy summer afternoon. *falls over*
Take Neli for example. She's from Moldavia (are there other Canadians out there that have never heard of it either?) and is the nicest girl ever!! Both she and I adore music, although she's more into singing. So into singing that she actually has produced two songs in Romanian - they were on the radio anad everything!
Right now I should be studying for my databases exam on Friday, but instead I'm learning the lyrics to her song Te Astept... yay procastination!
Sorry for the lack of interesting things to say. My brain is fried like an egg on the engine of a Mack truck stuck in traffic on a hazy summer afternoon. *falls over*
Monday, November 14, 2005
Exasperation
Okay, who the hell is calling in to my university and making bomb threats!? This is the second day in a row that they'd had to evacuate the university. It ain't funny! Can you imagine? All it takes is one 3-second call from a random phonebooth, and the entire community is brought to its knees. We can't go back in, of course, until the police checks every building, just in case. Two days worth of courses will have to be added onto our semester somewhere.
Sure, I should be glad that I get 2 days off, or that there isn't a real bomb (heaven forbid), especially given all the recent atrocities that've been happening. But it really makes me feel weak, paralysed, like a small child again. No control, no way to know if it's just a threat this time, or if it's the real thing.
I just hope the French police won't let it happen a third day in a row...
Sure, I should be glad that I get 2 days off, or that there isn't a real bomb (heaven forbid), especially given all the recent atrocities that've been happening. But it really makes me feel weak, paralysed, like a small child again. No control, no way to know if it's just a threat this time, or if it's the real thing.
I just hope the French police won't let it happen a third day in a row...
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Cooker's Log, 6:54pm
Angelica's Chop Suey Noodle Thingy
1 zucchini, bought mistakenly thinking it was a cucumber
1 carrot, half-chopped in cubes, half julienned. With a butter knife.
1 package of dried noodles from the Baker's care package
1/3 onion
4 inches green onion (the non-wilty part)
sauce soja (SO-jah)
salt and pepper
random maggi-brand seasoning
Soak the dried noodles in a bowl with someone's warm leftover water from the electric kettle. Heat the big frying pan (the one for big kids) on high. Splash in some olive oil. Olives are gross, but olive oil ain't bad. Throw in the chopped veggies, flinch from hot oil projectile attack. Stir bien. After a couple minutes, transfer to a glass bowl. Hope it doesn't crack. Go back to noodles and gently separate remembering if you washed your hands first... Drain. Fry up with soy sauce for a minute or two, while smiling to self: "How awesome am I!" Then mix with veggies, realize there's no taste, and plunge hand randomly into box of seasoning bottles. Add oops-this-ain't-pepper-but-hey-might-taste-good seasoning, then black pepper and salt. Repeat till tasty!
I am SO good.
1 zucchini, bought mistakenly thinking it was a cucumber
1 carrot, half-chopped in cubes, half julienned. With a butter knife.
1 package of dried noodles from the Baker's care package
1/3 onion
4 inches green onion (the non-wilty part)
sauce soja (SO-jah)
salt and pepper
random maggi-brand seasoning
Soak the dried noodles in a bowl with someone's warm leftover water from the electric kettle. Heat the big frying pan (the one for big kids) on high. Splash in some olive oil. Olives are gross, but olive oil ain't bad. Throw in the chopped veggies, flinch from hot oil projectile attack. Stir bien. After a couple minutes, transfer to a glass bowl. Hope it doesn't crack. Go back to noodles and gently separate remembering if you washed your hands first... Drain. Fry up with soy sauce for a minute or two, while smiling to self: "How awesome am I!" Then mix with veggies, realize there's no taste, and plunge hand randomly into box of seasoning bottles. Add oops-this-ain't-pepper-but-hey-might-taste-good seasoning, then black pepper and salt. Repeat till tasty!
I am SO good.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Living under a rock
I bought a radio alarm clock today. Nah, not because of the whole cellphone swearing fiasco... There's a good reason why I need to start waking up to French news each morning:
I didn't know there were riots going on in France.
That's right, more than 1300 cars have been torched over the last 2 weeks here, of which 155 were in my region of France. The violence urbaine has escalated to the point that a 10pm curfew has been smacked down on my city. And me, lollying along in my own little world, didn't have a clue.
Well, not until just a couple days ago. I mean really, my daily life hasn't been affected, and I haven't been watching TV nor listening to the radio. How was I supposed to know?
Although, today my university was evacuated.
Another alerte a la bombe, with the police and sirens and everything. Kinda cool that I understand that term now, but in a way, not so cool that I've had multiple occasions in which to learn it...
I didn't know there were riots going on in France.
That's right, more than 1300 cars have been torched over the last 2 weeks here, of which 155 were in my region of France. The violence urbaine has escalated to the point that a 10pm curfew has been smacked down on my city. And me, lollying along in my own little world, didn't have a clue.
Well, not until just a couple days ago. I mean really, my daily life hasn't been affected, and I haven't been watching TV nor listening to the radio. How was I supposed to know?
Although, today my university was evacuated.
Another alerte a la bombe, with the police and sirens and everything. Kinda cool that I understand that term now, but in a way, not so cool that I've had multiple occasions in which to learn it...
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
I can feel the love
I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And it's not just because I'm sitting here in my blue flannel teddybear PJ's with the heater maxed out.
Naw, I'm smiling on the outside and inside, because I really feel like I'm being taken care of.
Yesterday night:
I come home late after another grueling 11 hours of class, tired and hungry. I push open the heavy wooden front door and am greeted with a flood of warm light. There are my two roommates standing there, smiling pleasantly.
"Salut Angelica!" Sabrina is cupping a bowl of couscous and veggies with both hands, and offers it up to me. "I made dinner tonight and we saved you some." Aww! I love these girls!
"A package came for you today, I put it on your desk."
I squeal with delight as I run into my bedroom.
There it is. It's what I've been longing for for so long (aside from that ideal fictional boyfriend, sigh).
MY HARD DRIVE!
Thank you, Daddy! Yay yay yay! I hopped around the kitchen, clutching the tiny box to my chest. Kati and Sabrina watch me, bemused, as I zoom around like a 5-year-old, on ecstacy, on Christmas morning.
Oh finally, finally. The past two weeks of laptop-crashing torment would soon come to an end!
But alas, as I realised around 11pm that night, the Windows Install CD was not in fact bootable, and thus I consoled myself with the Strawberry Bonne Belle Lipsmackers my mom included in the package. Yum. I can taste the love.
Today:
Wake up at 6:30am, a little frazzled yet eager to attack my computer problems once more. Unfortunately, calling my dad doesn't help much.
However, another caring character comes to the rescue once again. Thank you, Kenzo! I head to his place after school, and him and his brother work in tandem to resolve my problem. I've never seen such efficiency. Operating system acquired within minutes. I speed off to get my computer back online toute de suite!
I get home, and find more mail waiting for me. A postcard from Debbie! Mail from the BNP Parnibas bank! And another box, which I assume to be the 2nd box of Usana vitamins that my mom told me to expect. But WAIT.
So this is why Greg asked me for my address. How cool, it's not more gross vitamins, it's a package from Greg and Kat!
I tear into the parcel, and the first thing I see almost brings tears to my eyes.
A recipe for Adobo and Sinigang! How did you KNOW!? Are you psychic?? Seriously, I was wanting to make these exact things for the next Friday dinner, and I hadn't a clue how....
Now, I've never experienced the apparent joy that comes from tearing into Christmas gifts, but this must be at least 10000x better. Each discovery as I dig deeper into the box makes my smile grow wider and wider.
Ingredients for the Filipino dishes! A box of Pocky! Shrimp crackers! BUBBLE TEA RECIPES, MIXES, COCONUT MEAT, and even them FAT STRAWS. Oh lordy, I almost fainted with delight. You have no idea how much I've missed bubble tea. Sucking on tapioca balls in milktea mixtures just ain't something Europeans do, apparently. How sad!
I sit there at the counter, happily munching on my shrimp chips, legs swinging, reading the note and recipes. For a good 20 minutes, I forget completely about my mission to repair my laptop.
And now, I've got my computer back online and working beautifully. I'll be back to blogging regularly, this time for real.
Naw, I'm smiling on the outside and inside, because I really feel like I'm being taken care of.
Yesterday night:
I come home late after another grueling 11 hours of class, tired and hungry. I push open the heavy wooden front door and am greeted with a flood of warm light. There are my two roommates standing there, smiling pleasantly.
"Salut Angelica!" Sabrina is cupping a bowl of couscous and veggies with both hands, and offers it up to me. "I made dinner tonight and we saved you some." Aww! I love these girls!
"A package came for you today, I put it on your desk."
I squeal with delight as I run into my bedroom.
There it is. It's what I've been longing for for so long (aside from that ideal fictional boyfriend, sigh).
MY HARD DRIVE!
Thank you, Daddy! Yay yay yay! I hopped around the kitchen, clutching the tiny box to my chest. Kati and Sabrina watch me, bemused, as I zoom around like a 5-year-old, on ecstacy, on Christmas morning.
Oh finally, finally. The past two weeks of laptop-crashing torment would soon come to an end!
But alas, as I realised around 11pm that night, the Windows Install CD was not in fact bootable, and thus I consoled myself with the Strawberry Bonne Belle Lipsmackers my mom included in the package. Yum. I can taste the love.
Today:
Wake up at 6:30am, a little frazzled yet eager to attack my computer problems once more. Unfortunately, calling my dad doesn't help much.
However, another caring character comes to the rescue once again. Thank you, Kenzo! I head to his place after school, and him and his brother work in tandem to resolve my problem. I've never seen such efficiency. Operating system acquired within minutes. I speed off to get my computer back online toute de suite!
I get home, and find more mail waiting for me. A postcard from Debbie! Mail from the BNP Parnibas bank! And another box, which I assume to be the 2nd box of Usana vitamins that my mom told me to expect. But WAIT.
So this is why Greg asked me for my address. How cool, it's not more gross vitamins, it's a package from Greg and Kat!
I tear into the parcel, and the first thing I see almost brings tears to my eyes.
A recipe for Adobo and Sinigang! How did you KNOW!? Are you psychic?? Seriously, I was wanting to make these exact things for the next Friday dinner, and I hadn't a clue how....
Now, I've never experienced the apparent joy that comes from tearing into Christmas gifts, but this must be at least 10000x better. Each discovery as I dig deeper into the box makes my smile grow wider and wider.
Ingredients for the Filipino dishes! A box of Pocky! Shrimp crackers! BUBBLE TEA RECIPES, MIXES, COCONUT MEAT, and even them FAT STRAWS. Oh lordy, I almost fainted with delight. You have no idea how much I've missed bubble tea. Sucking on tapioca balls in milktea mixtures just ain't something Europeans do, apparently. How sad!
I sit there at the counter, happily munching on my shrimp chips, legs swinging, reading the note and recipes. For a good 20 minutes, I forget completely about my mission to repair my laptop.
And now, I've got my computer back online and working beautifully. I'll be back to blogging regularly, this time for real.
Thank you to everyone who's made my day :)
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Kalim, the butcher
My butcher's name is Kalim.
Not Costco, not Superstore. I have my very own butcher, and his name is Kalim.
Allow me to explain. It's a long story.
First, we must understand that this week I've undergone a very drastic change. I'm not talking about me getting my carte de sejour...this is a preoccupation of the old Angelica. The gal who you once knew is now gone. France has allowed me to blossom into someone who even my own mother wouldn't recognize. Get ready for it...
People, I have learned how to cook*.
Well, sort of. Last week, I took it upon myself to skool my German roomies in the ways of the Canadian-Chinese-Filipinos out there (Kat, where are you?).
Why? Because all too often I'd get wide-eyed incredulous stares as I asked ignorantly, "Really? You mix banana and cherry juice together?" or "Oh my god, I can't believe you just ate that raw ground meat." Obviously, I had a lot to learn when it came to food and Germans.
Anyway, Friday, comme d'habitude, would be our dinner party, and I volunteered to faire la cuisine for the evening. On the big day after school, I wandered around my block looking for a boucherie. I'd be making Lumpia Shanghai, my favourite meat-filled spring roll of deep-fried goodness. A small shop with a red and white "Boucherie" sign caught my eye, and I sauntered in hesitantly. A young, 20-something dude with brown curly hair grinned at me from behind the counter.
Oh crap, quick, what the hell is ground beef in French?
Boucher: "Bonjour!"
Moi: "Bonjour, je pourrais avoir...euh..."
I looked around at the vast array of red slabs neatly arranged behind a glass, and made vague wrist-circle gestures.
Boucher: "Hmm, du porc?"
Moi: "Non, le....?"
Boucher: "Boeuf?"
Moi: "Ah ouiouioui, du boeuf."
Boucher: "Haché?"
Moi: "Oui voila :D"
Thank god he can read my mind.
We made pleasant conversation (yay for knowing how to talk about myself in French) as he ground it up in the machine and tallied up my total.
Boucher: "C'est 8,10 euros."
Moi: "Je peux utiliser ma carte bleu?"
Boucher: "Oui vas-y."
I slide my interac card into their machine and wait. And wait. And wait...Hmm... I look searchingly up at him as we realize it wasn't working. Crap, t-minus 2.5 hours to the dinner, and my main ingredient has become another casualty of my banking misfortunes (more about that later). I sigh, looking at my empty wallet and start to hand back the bag 'o beef.
Boucher: "Mais tu peux revenir plus tard pour le payer." (Nah, just come back and pay for it later.)
Moi: *blink* "Vraiment?" (Really?)
Okay, what is going on? He was really going to let me walk out of there without paying?
Boucher: "Ouioui, je fais confiance en toi. Et si tu n'as pas le temps ce soir, reviens demain." (Yeah! I trust you. And if you don't have time tonight, just come back tomorrow.)
Moi: *still standing there dumbfounded, holding the meat bag* "Wow. Merci!"
And I left, amazed. Amazed, but with a light heart. So there *is* still some good in the world. And that makes me smile.
---
*one filipino dish
Not Costco, not Superstore. I have my very own butcher, and his name is Kalim.
Allow me to explain. It's a long story.
First, we must understand that this week I've undergone a very drastic change. I'm not talking about me getting my carte de sejour...this is a preoccupation of the old Angelica. The gal who you once knew is now gone. France has allowed me to blossom into someone who even my own mother wouldn't recognize. Get ready for it...
People, I have learned how to cook*.
Well, sort of. Last week, I took it upon myself to skool my German roomies in the ways of the Canadian-Chinese-Filipinos out there (Kat, where are you?).
Why? Because all too often I'd get wide-eyed incredulous stares as I asked ignorantly, "Really? You mix banana and cherry juice together?" or "Oh my god, I can't believe you just ate that raw ground meat." Obviously, I had a lot to learn when it came to food and Germans.
Anyway, Friday, comme d'habitude, would be our dinner party, and I volunteered to faire la cuisine for the evening. On the big day after school, I wandered around my block looking for a boucherie. I'd be making Lumpia Shanghai, my favourite meat-filled spring roll of deep-fried goodness. A small shop with a red and white "Boucherie" sign caught my eye, and I sauntered in hesitantly. A young, 20-something dude with brown curly hair grinned at me from behind the counter.
Oh crap, quick, what the hell is ground beef in French?
Boucher: "Bonjour!"
Moi: "Bonjour, je pourrais avoir...euh..."
I looked around at the vast array of red slabs neatly arranged behind a glass, and made vague wrist-circle gestures.
Boucher: "Hmm, du porc?"
Moi: "Non, le....?"
Boucher: "Boeuf?"
Moi: "Ah ouiouioui, du boeuf."
Boucher: "Haché?"
Moi: "Oui voila :D"
Thank god he can read my mind.
We made pleasant conversation (yay for knowing how to talk about myself in French) as he ground it up in the machine and tallied up my total.
Boucher: "C'est 8,10 euros."
Moi: "Je peux utiliser ma carte bleu?"
Boucher: "Oui vas-y."
I slide my interac card into their machine and wait. And wait. And wait...Hmm... I look searchingly up at him as we realize it wasn't working. Crap, t-minus 2.5 hours to the dinner, and my main ingredient has become another casualty of my banking misfortunes (more about that later). I sigh, looking at my empty wallet and start to hand back the bag 'o beef.
Boucher: "Mais tu peux revenir plus tard pour le payer." (Nah, just come back and pay for it later.)
Moi: *blink* "Vraiment?" (Really?)
Okay, what is going on? He was really going to let me walk out of there without paying?
Boucher: "Ouioui, je fais confiance en toi. Et si tu n'as pas le temps ce soir, reviens demain." (Yeah! I trust you. And if you don't have time tonight, just come back tomorrow.)
Moi: *still standing there dumbfounded, holding the meat bag* "Wow. Merci!"
And I left, amazed. Amazed, but with a light heart. So there *is* still some good in the world. And that makes me smile.
---
*one filipino dish
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Spinning the bottle
...didn't work. Me being the monster of reason that I am, realized that exploring new, faraway towns on a jour férié (national holiday) wouldn't work. Yeah, let's take a train for 5 hours, arrive in town, and... find that nothing's open...
Good plan. Not!
(In case you're wondering, November 1st is All Saint's Day, observed in most of the surrounding areas.)
I was also reminded that I have almost a month and a half next summer to travel to distant lands. I suppose I'll do it then.
So what DID I do, other than wrestle with my ordinateur?
I decided to take a spontaneous one day trip to St. Tropez. Now, "St. Tropez" to most people conjures up images of glitzy stars tanning on their yachts in azur blue waters, or chic celebrities strolling along palmtree-lined beaches in white sarongs and Gucci sunglasses... oh la la!
But, I'm not rich, and I'm not famous.
A roommate warned me that in that case, "y a pas grands choses à faire!" (there ain't much to do!)
But when I got home that night, before my computer crashed, I couldn't help but start a blog entry:
-----
31/11/2005
Good plan. Not!
(In case you're wondering, November 1st is All Saint's Day, observed in most of the surrounding areas.)
I was also reminded that I have almost a month and a half next summer to travel to distant lands. I suppose I'll do it then.
So what DID I do, other than wrestle with my ordinateur?
I decided to take a spontaneous one day trip to St. Tropez. Now, "St. Tropez" to most people conjures up images of glitzy stars tanning on their yachts in azur blue waters, or chic celebrities strolling along palmtree-lined beaches in white sarongs and Gucci sunglasses... oh la la!
But, I'm not rich, and I'm not famous.
A roommate warned me that in that case, "y a pas grands choses à faire!" (there ain't much to do!)
But when I got home that night, before my computer crashed, I couldn't help but start a blog entry:
-----
31/11/2005
Can I gush? Allow me to gush, please.
TODAY WAS SO AWESOME!
-----
I need a moment to compose my thoughts.
I've been having problems. Computer problems.
Alright Igor, here's what you've been waiting for! ;) Sorry it's been so long. Trust me, I've been yearning to blog because this last week has been quite eventful, but my laptop has gone suicidal. Blue screens of death and funky clicking noises from my HD. Rarr! Let's just hope it doesn't die while I write this post. My dad's sending me a 80 gig harddrive and an external case to shlop the old one into, so soon I will have a nice fresh install. Oh baby, how long have I been waiting to get back the speed my laptop used to have...
Enough heartfelt geekiness. Off to blogging like I've never blogged before!
Enough heartfelt geekiness. Off to blogging like I've never blogged before!
