Check out this article (which I just noticed is 3 years old...why haven't I heard about this yet? Maybe because I don't work in public schools in the US?):
http://www.redorbit.com/news/oddities/489062/poll_shows_many_cant_find_la_on_map/
Some of what this article talks about I found in my research for the thesis I wrote last year (nobody can find Iraq on a map yet we've all been hearing/seeing/arguing about it and America's policies there for years now).
"...just 14 percent believe speaking another language is a necessary skill."
As an American abroad, who has interested herself in learning a foreign language (or two, sort of), I am the anomoly. I explain this to Frenchies all the time: a lot of Americans think we're the best country ever and don't want to travel or even learn about what's beyond our borders. This isn't all their fault, however: America is A. massively huge, and B. extremely (self)-important on the international scene. For those who don't plan on traveling/living/working abroad or at an international level, speaking another language wouldn't necessarily be necessary. But Americans should start learning second and third languages to higher levels of proficiency, and everyone should at least be able to read a map! These are fast-paced, interconnected times we're living in these days, so I totally support this move by National Geographic (but really, when wasn't the NG the epitome of cool?).
Living as I do right now in a real French family (I don't get out much), French is becoming commonplace...in a group of 13 or so, children and adults, I realized that I was the only anglophone in the group...and the shocking part was that it isn't so shocking anymore. Yes I've been in France for many moons now, but usually always with my 'safe' American posse just a text away. Being the 'American' (a.k.a. the odd one out) has become my accepted, kooky role (one of the many appealing things about the grad school in Geneva I want to go to is that only 6% of the student body are from North America. That's including Canada and Mexico too, presumedly). I don't know what I'll do with myself in September when I'm back in the homeland, and being American isn't necessarily special anymore...perhaps I'll be the snooty Francophile, baguette-toting, French literature-reading, fancy cheese-eating, high fashion wino in the crowd. Wait a minute, minus the high fashion, that's what I've always been, (and I did just pick up a nautical-themed pashmina afghan at a vide-grenier last weekend)!
Things I'm looking forward to:
1. There's this character in the French book I'm reading right now named Annette...we haven't exactly met her yet, but she's the fancy Parisian current-love-interest of Charles and is currently abroad in Scotland...I'm sure that when she enters the scene she'll stir things up and wake up the so far pretty ho-hum tale! I mean, she is an Annette after all!
2. Sailing on Wednesday (weather permitting)! It occured to me today that I'll learn French sailing terminology. Interesting.
3. Aunt Robin and Reid next weekend! I can't believe they're going to be here in a matter of days! Aunt Robin will be coming at the perfect time...mid-month, midway through this au-pair gig, and my summer wine consumption so far has not nearly been what it was last summer in Santa Cruz (yet I still managed to outdrink two recent high school graduates from Memphis while in Sète, like that says anything).
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Why Americans are in France...why am I here?
There are different reasons why young college-aged and/or 20-something Americans come to France, and maybe I'm being unfair but I've noticed a few stereotypes running about (note--there are dozens of other reasons older-than-20-something Americans find themselves in France too...marriage, retirement, what have you, but I don't care about them here and now...they're old!):
Of course these categories are fluid, and not exclusive. An individual can identify with multiple caricatures simultaneously or at different points in their life/Europe experience. In fact, I hope it's become clear that I have been at one point or 'tother a little bit of each of the aforementioned caricatures. So what do I think sets me apart from these 2-dimensional stereotypes? I've usually gone with the idea that I'm only in France because French just happens to be the language I studied, through high school and college, par hazard, and that if I had studied something else and stuck with it, I'd be in that (those) countries (and when I studied Spanish, which I'm planning on picking up again someday, I did go live in Chile for 3 months). But what if there's more to it: what if (gasp!) I actually do feel some sort of connection/affinity to this country? Not that that would be the end of the world, it's just not how I have understood my relationship to this place to date.
It is easy, natural, nay, perhaps even impossible not to fall in love with France (bias, bias!): for all the reasons above, plus the wine, the cheese, the bread, the joie de vivre, the fashion!, the seemingly never-ending parade of (often Catholic) holidays from work, even the social welfare state (depending on whether you're paying tons of taxes or benefiting from said taxes...I'm hoping to be on the receiving end...come on CAF and the aide a logement!). It is a deeper and purer, realer affection I and some close American friends (Whitney, Steve, Zandra, Jennifer) have for France. We love it for the obvious reasons, and the not-so-obvious ones, and in spite of the hassles that arise: even when French lovers are faaaaaaaar less than fantastic (or too persistent when their attentions are unwelcome), even when incompetent whores keep you running around for months for your carte de sejour (green card), even when old ladies on the bus refuse to even try to understand what you're asking them, even when it's raining and mistral-y (read: really windy) in Provence (which was supposed to be sunny and gorgeous 24/7/365, wasn't it?), even when the majority of music on the radio is bad French 80's, or cheesy English/American 80's (seriously, when it comes to some things, the French seem to be culturally 20 years behind), even when restlessness and worrying about the future threatens to overtake your present contentment, even when your accent's laughed at and your kids are making you feel guilty for sleeping through class the week before!
I also think I've actively resisted "loving" France, just like I used to resist improving my French accent...I spoke horrible French because I'm American, why deny the fact? But just as Jay and a fabulous Phonetics class convinced me to at least try (even though I still have an accent tres fort), I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I love France...even if that superficially lumps me in with all the aforementioned yahoos at whom I look down my nose. But now the question becomes: do I love it so much I feel the need to stay? Do I love it just enough to return and retire here someday? Or will it just be a favorite vacation spot throughout the years? In that vein, is the way I feel about France the same or similar to how I feel about the US, and my family and friends there? I love it and them, but that doesn't mean I feel the urge to settle down there, or see my family everyday, or even every month, yet. I've got many more international adventures in me yet...
- the art/history student - Western Europe is where it all happened, so of course they would flock here, but sometimes they're too obsessed with the Middle Ages, Gothic architecture, the Impressionists, or 16th century this-that-or-the-other-thing to realize that France is also a modern, 21st century power player on the world stage. They are enchanted by the chateaus, cathedrals, art and little villages from literature and Disney movies they came here to see, but are shocked and disenchanted by factories, blue-collar-people, autoroutes, immigrants, inefficient bureaucracy and sometimes-uncomfortable-politics (if and when they ever bother to pay attention). Also consumer culture (McDo, familiar brand names in the supermarket for sometimes double or triple the price) they find too imitative of America and somehow diluting of the 'Frenchness' of France.
- the language student - These people are the ones who, when given a 'choice' between French or Spanish back in middle school, (where was the Japanese, German, Latin, or hell, nowadays, Mandarin?) picked the prettier, higher-cultured option, such as they perceived at the time. French is the language of love, great literature (Hugo, Dumas, Flaubert, Balzac, Zola), and intellectuals (Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, Proust?), while Spanish is (or was, by a stupid pre-pubescent me) stereotyped as a language for the working class, maids in hotels and produce-pickers in fields and orchards. How could Spanish ever come in handy on the West Coast of the United States? (HA!) These people were stubborn, and now find themselves working towards or having earned a college degree in French, which, unless they have their sights set on teaching French (and some of them do), they are at a complete loss as to what to do with it. They're hoping to figure this out in a French-speaking country, where they use their mad language skills to get directions, buy groceries, and every once in awhile, discourse with an actual Frenchy on life, the universe, and everything, or just the best music out there.
- the backpacker - Armed with a best friend or two, a backpack, their 'Europe on a shoestring' Lonely Planet, a Eurail pass, and an overly-ambitious itinerary, these people come through 'Europe!' usually in the spring or summer for anywhere from 2 weeks to a few months. These people sometimes have conversational French under their belt, but most of the time rely on their mastery of English (the new lingua franca!) to get them by. These people are annoying to those of us lucky enough (or proactive enough, or brave enough, what have you) to be staying in one place for more than 3 nights. They spend their time getting drunk with the new international friends they've made in their hostel, and hardly ever get the chance (or make the effort) to connect with 'locals' as they're rushing about checking off sites, sights, and whole countries from their To-Do Lists. If they're female, they usually do their part perpetuating the commonly-held belief that 'American girls are easy,' and if they're male, they usually do their best to get as much 'exotic' European tail as possible.
- the Hollywood starlet, hotel heiress, or chart-topping diva (Natalie Portman, Paris Hilton, Beyonce, do I really have to spell it out people?) - swinging through Paris or the Cotes d'Azur for a film festival or just a fab weekend, on their yacht and with their entourage and paparazzi in tow, and really, who am I kidding? Like I'm rubbing elbows with them, or believe they're experiencing any more than the 'amusement park' version of La France (I can talk about it like this, because I'm a resident). Anyways, they're kind of off my (and any) radar, really.
Of course these categories are fluid, and not exclusive. An individual can identify with multiple caricatures simultaneously or at different points in their life/Europe experience. In fact, I hope it's become clear that I have been at one point or 'tother a little bit of each of the aforementioned caricatures. So what do I think sets me apart from these 2-dimensional stereotypes? I've usually gone with the idea that I'm only in France because French just happens to be the language I studied, through high school and college, par hazard, and that if I had studied something else and stuck with it, I'd be in that (those) countries (and when I studied Spanish, which I'm planning on picking up again someday, I did go live in Chile for 3 months). But what if there's more to it: what if (gasp!) I actually do feel some sort of connection/affinity to this country? Not that that would be the end of the world, it's just not how I have understood my relationship to this place to date.
It is easy, natural, nay, perhaps even impossible not to fall in love with France (bias, bias!): for all the reasons above, plus the wine, the cheese, the bread, the joie de vivre, the fashion!, the seemingly never-ending parade of (often Catholic) holidays from work, even the social welfare state (depending on whether you're paying tons of taxes or benefiting from said taxes...I'm hoping to be on the receiving end...come on CAF and the aide a logement!). It is a deeper and purer, realer affection I and some close American friends (Whitney, Steve, Zandra, Jennifer) have for France. We love it for the obvious reasons, and the not-so-obvious ones, and in spite of the hassles that arise: even when French lovers are faaaaaaaar less than fantastic (or too persistent when their attentions are unwelcome), even when incompetent whores keep you running around for months for your carte de sejour (green card), even when old ladies on the bus refuse to even try to understand what you're asking them, even when it's raining and mistral-y (read: really windy) in Provence (which was supposed to be sunny and gorgeous 24/7/365, wasn't it?), even when the majority of music on the radio is bad French 80's, or cheesy English/American 80's (seriously, when it comes to some things, the French seem to be culturally 20 years behind), even when restlessness and worrying about the future threatens to overtake your present contentment, even when your accent's laughed at and your kids are making you feel guilty for sleeping through class the week before!
I also think I've actively resisted "loving" France, just like I used to resist improving my French accent...I spoke horrible French because I'm American, why deny the fact? But just as Jay and a fabulous Phonetics class convinced me to at least try (even though I still have an accent tres fort), I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I love France...even if that superficially lumps me in with all the aforementioned yahoos at whom I look down my nose. But now the question becomes: do I love it so much I feel the need to stay? Do I love it just enough to return and retire here someday? Or will it just be a favorite vacation spot throughout the years? In that vein, is the way I feel about France the same or similar to how I feel about the US, and my family and friends there? I love it and them, but that doesn't mean I feel the urge to settle down there, or see my family everyday, or even every month, yet. I've got many more international adventures in me yet...
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Written on a bench on one of the islands in Paris proper
Paris is the city of lovers. I think for this reason I will pointedly never bring or have (take?) a lover here. Casual sex, maybe (if I haven't already decided that I'm already over that, that is).
I am awesome and capable. Of getting myself to Paris. Of taking care of myself while Daniel's at class.
Before I came today I was thinking I was over Paris. I guess I thought living in a tiny town in Provence (population: approximately one city block in Paris) had gotten me over those old romantic ideas of Paris. But now I'm here again and it's...Paris! And I'm jealous of Daniel's casual use of the Jardins du Luxembourg as the place where he runs, of his Paris metro commute, of his nonchalant discoveries of places to eat in his everyday walks through the city. Neither of us would want to live here, in the big, permanent, install yourself sense of the word, but for a time, (6 months for him, now; a year or so; a post (!) in the Foreign Service) it would be positively delicious. I found myself completely annoyed with a girl, upon her emergence from Shakespeare and Co., gushing that she'd checked off "buy an old book in Europe" from her bucket list. Annoyed that she called this 'Europe;' annoyed that she feels the need to have a 'bucket list' at her age (probably about 17); annoyed that she used the term 'bucket list' (damn facebook notes); annoyed that she probably didn't do the buying, as she was with two older ladies, one presumably her mother. But then I thought about my first time to Paris, with Miles and madre, and I shouldn't be mad at stupid tourists for being...stupid tourists. They should be allowed to be completely bowled over by this place (Paris, in this specific sense; anywhere, in general), without assholes like me walking around feeling superior to that. We're all tourists at some points. And I'm not saying that I'm not loving this (Paris); I was just revelating (musing) that Paris still has this magical hold and power over me, 'still' I use so flippantly, like a handful of times and days here makes me an expert, a one 'in-the-know.' What I am saying is that I want more: more than just a week-end here and there, but less than a lifetime. I want Daniel's experience: Paris, (and France, and anywhere popularly revered that's not your home) doesn't become less magical the longer you're here, but it does become different, deeper. Memories get layered on top of each other as you walk by famous buildings and monuments not just once, on a week's vacation, but everyday, or often. Experiences in the place are less singular, more habitual, but no less fantastic. There's the key: to keep the awesomeness always at the forefront of the experience, letting things become everyday but still being awed by the whole thing. I guess we shouldn't just do this when living in ridiculously fabulous places like Paris or Provence, but when we are living everywhere, becuase we are living, and that is fantastic. Live everyday, but don't become a robot. I soulnd like some sort of poet (lyric? that guy who wasn't married to Simone de Beauvoire? Daniel informed me: Jean-Paul Sartre? beatniks?) but whatever. Maybe it takes living somewhere other than your home, being alien, to realize this and other things.
Some books (think beatniks, Kerouac, Burroughs, Alan Ginsberg, Hunter S. Thompson) shouldn't be bought new, in some new, un-original, packaged-for-the-masses, publisher's paycheck bullshit copy. It just doesn't seem right: it doesn't fit their spirit. Am I right here? (I'm not sure). And unrelated, I'm really glad my budget prevented me from being (going) weak and buying the current New Yorker at Shakespeare and Co. for 7,90€. I would have enjoyed the shit out of it, and at the least it would have made a good story, but now I'll just have to settle for the good story of what could have been, and read what I can (for free) online. The newspaper/magazine industry is on it's last legs anyways. I'll use the money to buy a drink and toast the industry. (I spent 10,90€ later for one pint of beer later that night...who won there? The cafe? The beer distributor? Definitely not. The print industry? No, not that either. Me? Hell no. I got had, in all every tourist sense of the word. But I liked it. Sort of).
I'm not well-read. I could be better-. Working on it. Sort of. Always. Unfinished. Work in progress. We're complete when we're dead.
I am awesome and capable. Of getting myself to Paris. Of taking care of myself while Daniel's at class.
Before I came today I was thinking I was over Paris. I guess I thought living in a tiny town in Provence (population: approximately one city block in Paris) had gotten me over those old romantic ideas of Paris. But now I'm here again and it's...Paris! And I'm jealous of Daniel's casual use of the Jardins du Luxembourg as the place where he runs, of his Paris metro commute, of his nonchalant discoveries of places to eat in his everyday walks through the city. Neither of us would want to live here, in the big, permanent, install yourself sense of the word, but for a time, (6 months for him, now; a year or so; a post (!) in the Foreign Service) it would be positively delicious. I found myself completely annoyed with a girl, upon her emergence from Shakespeare and Co., gushing that she'd checked off "buy an old book in Europe" from her bucket list. Annoyed that she called this 'Europe;' annoyed that she feels the need to have a 'bucket list' at her age (probably about 17); annoyed that she used the term 'bucket list' (damn facebook notes); annoyed that she probably didn't do the buying, as she was with two older ladies, one presumably her mother. But then I thought about my first time to Paris, with Miles and madre, and I shouldn't be mad at stupid tourists for being...stupid tourists. They should be allowed to be completely bowled over by this place (Paris, in this specific sense; anywhere, in general), without assholes like me walking around feeling superior to that. We're all tourists at some points. And I'm not saying that I'm not loving this (Paris); I was just revelating (musing) that Paris still has this magical hold and power over me, 'still' I use so flippantly, like a handful of times and days here makes me an expert, a one 'in-the-know.' What I am saying is that I want more: more than just a week-end here and there, but less than a lifetime. I want Daniel's experience: Paris, (and France, and anywhere popularly revered that's not your home) doesn't become less magical the longer you're here, but it does become different, deeper. Memories get layered on top of each other as you walk by famous buildings and monuments not just once, on a week's vacation, but everyday, or often. Experiences in the place are less singular, more habitual, but no less fantastic. There's the key: to keep the awesomeness always at the forefront of the experience, letting things become everyday but still being awed by the whole thing. I guess we shouldn't just do this when living in ridiculously fabulous places like Paris or Provence, but when we are living everywhere, becuase we are living, and that is fantastic. Live everyday, but don't become a robot. I soulnd like some sort of poet (lyric? that guy who wasn't married to Simone de Beauvoire? Daniel informed me: Jean-Paul Sartre? beatniks?) but whatever. Maybe it takes living somewhere other than your home, being alien, to realize this and other things.
Some books (think beatniks, Kerouac, Burroughs, Alan Ginsberg, Hunter S. Thompson) shouldn't be bought new, in some new, un-original, packaged-for-the-masses, publisher's paycheck bullshit copy. It just doesn't seem right: it doesn't fit their spirit. Am I right here? (I'm not sure). And unrelated, I'm really glad my budget prevented me from being (going) weak and buying the current New Yorker at Shakespeare and Co. for 7,90€. I would have enjoyed the shit out of it, and at the least it would have made a good story, but now I'll just have to settle for the good story of what could have been, and read what I can (for free) online. The newspaper/magazine industry is on it's last legs anyways. I'll use the money to buy a drink and toast the industry. (I spent 10,90€ later for one pint of beer later that night...who won there? The cafe? The beer distributor? Definitely not. The print industry? No, not that either. Me? Hell no. I got had, in all every tourist sense of the word. But I liked it. Sort of).
I'm not well-read. I could be better-. Working on it. Sort of. Always. Unfinished. Work in progress. We're complete when we're dead.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Tuesdays with Madeleine
Heckled by the French
Today I drove up beautiful highway 1 to San Francisco, where I had a quite fabulous day with my little cousin Madeleine. First we waited around in the French consulate for a couple hours where I got my (free!) visa for France, but only after getting heckled by a French woman. Apparently the last time I went to France I stayed 2 months longer than I was supposed to, and SHOULD have applied for residency, but didn't...hence I had been illegal! I better not be pulling that shit again. ...She said to me dryly. As she handed my passport over. We've all got to get our jollies somehow, I guess.
An Object Lesson: Wine Glass Half-Full, or Half-Empty?
Then Madeleine and I bumbled our way through the city to Fisherman's Wharf, where we had a delectable lunch on the 3rd floor of some building, where we paid twice as much for the same food that was being served down on the street. BUT, we had a view of the Golden Gate bridge, and a tablecloth! When my glass of house Pinot Noir came, Madeleine was shocked that it was half empty. Upon which I had to explain that the way Aunt Robin and I do things at the house (i.e. fill wine glasses to the brim) is not exactly "the norm" or "proper etiquette" everywhere. Later, Aunt Robin pointed out that the a full wine glass is A. perfectly normal for home-drinking and B. completely depends on which restaurant you go to (Upper Crust, the local pizza joint, fills the glass)! Touche, Aunt Robin, touche.
The End is the Beginning
After buying a loaf of sourdough bread in the shape of a turtle, Madeleine and I headed to the next item on our list: shopping! Of course this meant that we set out in the general direction of Union Square, which consisted of me navigating up and down ridiculous hills, Madeleine attempting to read the map, and one near-death experience (only one?!? I'd say we did pretty damn good). In our frazzled search for parking, we ended up parking a block and a half away from Union Square in...the very same parking structure we had parked in this morning, directly across from the French consulate. Wow. All in all, we spent $28 on parking today. Whatevs, I got a free visa, and 3 Mormons going to France had to pay $465 for theirs all told, so HA!
God-damned Christians!
A very frazzled and upset me headed to Union Square, hoping to find H&M and DSW (shoes!). Instead, I heard some live music. 'Oh that's nice!' I thought. But no, some youth group from Southern California on their mission trip performing some High School Musical-esque song-and-dance numbers talking about how great Jesus is. I'm sure the only people who were enjoying it were already Christians, hence already saved, and I'm also betting they were shopping and ignoring homeless people just like me when they weren't deluding themselves into thinking that their little performances were doing God's will. Some people build houses on their missions, some people sing and dance. Work it out. They didn't make my day better, so HA!
Thanks, Cheesecake Factory Lady!
Macy's was overpriced, and the kindly concierge of the Cheesecake Factory pointed us in the direction we needed to go. On the way, I found a FABULOUS jewelry store, 10 times more fabulous, in fact, than the silver store where I'm currently employed (and, consequently, 10 times more expensive). There's this one necklace I may decide is necessary for my life to go on...we'll see... H&M was everything I remember it to be (I bought a maroon vest and a black jacket, woot!) and DSW was a pretty great shoe store (Madeleine bought some sweet little Rocketdogs). Then we fueled up at Starbucks and hit the road, which consisted of a couple rainbows and a rad sunset. So all in all, a win-win-win-win-win kind of day.
Today I drove up beautiful highway 1 to San Francisco, where I had a quite fabulous day with my little cousin Madeleine. First we waited around in the French consulate for a couple hours where I got my (free!) visa for France, but only after getting heckled by a French woman. Apparently the last time I went to France I stayed 2 months longer than I was supposed to, and SHOULD have applied for residency, but didn't...hence I had been illegal! I better not be pulling that shit again. ...She said to me dryly. As she handed my passport over. We've all got to get our jollies somehow, I guess.
An Object Lesson: Wine Glass Half-Full, or Half-Empty?
Then Madeleine and I bumbled our way through the city to Fisherman's Wharf, where we had a delectable lunch on the 3rd floor of some building, where we paid twice as much for the same food that was being served down on the street. BUT, we had a view of the Golden Gate bridge, and a tablecloth! When my glass of house Pinot Noir came, Madeleine was shocked that it was half empty. Upon which I had to explain that the way Aunt Robin and I do things at the house (i.e. fill wine glasses to the brim) is not exactly "the norm" or "proper etiquette" everywhere. Later, Aunt Robin pointed out that the a full wine glass is A. perfectly normal for home-drinking and B. completely depends on which restaurant you go to (Upper Crust, the local pizza joint, fills the glass)! Touche, Aunt Robin, touche.
The End is the Beginning
After buying a loaf of sourdough bread in the shape of a turtle, Madeleine and I headed to the next item on our list: shopping! Of course this meant that we set out in the general direction of Union Square, which consisted of me navigating up and down ridiculous hills, Madeleine attempting to read the map, and one near-death experience (only one?!? I'd say we did pretty damn good). In our frazzled search for parking, we ended up parking a block and a half away from Union Square in...the very same parking structure we had parked in this morning, directly across from the French consulate. Wow. All in all, we spent $28 on parking today. Whatevs, I got a free visa, and 3 Mormons going to France had to pay $465 for theirs all told, so HA!
God-damned Christians!
A very frazzled and upset me headed to Union Square, hoping to find H&M and DSW (shoes!). Instead, I heard some live music. 'Oh that's nice!' I thought. But no, some youth group from Southern California on their mission trip performing some High School Musical-esque song-and-dance numbers talking about how great Jesus is. I'm sure the only people who were enjoying it were already Christians, hence already saved, and I'm also betting they were shopping and ignoring homeless people just like me when they weren't deluding themselves into thinking that their little performances were doing God's will. Some people build houses on their missions, some people sing and dance. Work it out. They didn't make my day better, so HA!
Thanks, Cheesecake Factory Lady!
Macy's was overpriced, and the kindly concierge of the Cheesecake Factory pointed us in the direction we needed to go. On the way, I found a FABULOUS jewelry store, 10 times more fabulous, in fact, than the silver store where I'm currently employed (and, consequently, 10 times more expensive). There's this one necklace I may decide is necessary for my life to go on...we'll see... H&M was everything I remember it to be (I bought a maroon vest and a black jacket, woot!) and DSW was a pretty great shoe store (Madeleine bought some sweet little Rocketdogs). Then we fueled up at Starbucks and hit the road, which consisted of a couple rainbows and a rad sunset. So all in all, a win-win-win-win-win kind of day.
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