Early on in my relationship with Julien, I became quickly aware of the quirkiness of the Frenchies at mealtimes. We were at a romantic dinner in NYC and I was quietly eating my salad, with my fork turned upside down as to seem "really" French (ha) and always using my knife (OF COURSE) to cut the large leaves of lettuce. I was being very conscious of using my best manners when I was scolded by him for cutting my lettuce with a knife - WHAT?!?! How in the heck are you supposed to eat lettuce that is not chopped up if you don't cut it?! I was told that under no circumstances are you ever to cut lettuce with your knife! I tried to hide my shock, and kindly asked how he thought I was supposed to eat it without cutting it? He told me that his maman would be horrified at my cutting the lettuce....if you were to be really French, you must figure out how to somehow fold your lettuce with your fork and knife, but NEVER ever cut it. This all seemed to be way to hard for me.....I'm from the midwest, remember?? Where I'm from, we do what is necessary to get the food in your mouth :)
Well, I am happy to report that four years later I have successfully learned to fold my lettuce and can definitely hold my own in French salad eating :)
Bisou,
Rachel
Not only does Sebastien flip out when a knife is introduced to lettuce. Supposedly it “takes away the crispness. Lettuce is to be torn by the chef and never cut” but also eating with your hands is a big no no as well. However, there is a major contradiction to this rule. The baguette. I’m never to touch my food with my hideous little rat fingers but certain members of my hubby’s family always take the baguette that has been placed completely whole (unsliced) in the center of the beautiful table and viciously rip it apart as if they are shredding paper. How is this ok, I wonder? Years have passed and each family meal we share I stare in awe thinking to myself, how is this more civilized than using a shiny knife to slice lovely little pieces of lettuce.
Bisous,
Vivi
Eiffel
Monday, August 11, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Magical, Enchanting and Fabulous "bisou"
If you have not been on the receiving end of the fabled “bisou” or “gros bisous” your French family may not like you very much. (Sad but true) :) Bisou means kisses. Gros bisous means lots of kisses. This is one of my FAVORITE things about the French language and culture. All my life I wanted to be one of those girls that would nonchalantly say “kisses” to a friend with good-bye. Unfortunately, with my cynical and sarcastic personality I was never able to truly pull it off. Until the day I found bisou! Bisou has allowed me to be one of those bubbly happy girls to float the “kisses” salutation with ease. God bless the French for sharing bisou with me!
More on the “bisou” later…until then…
Bisou,
Vivi :)
From Rachel
I too, am a HUGE fan of the "bisou", and quite honestly didn't really know exactly what it meant at first, but liked the sound of it. Julien explained the meaning to me, which made me like it more....plus, it was ONE word I could actually pronounce, which was a definite plus! It was a way to be loving with his family, without being all cheesy and fake.
I have to admit the first time I talked to Julien's parents on the phone and as we were saying our goodbye's they said "I give you a big kiss"......WHOA...."bisou" is one thing, but "I give you a big kiss" really felt strange. I mean, these were my in-laws! In the spirit of the conversation (and the fact that they were being friendly towards me, the "American" girl who sole their son (more on that one later)), I found myself saying "I give you a big kiss too". It felt weird coming out of my mouth, but I felt that I should just go with it :)
As the years have gone by, I have developed an even deeper affection for "bisou" and "gros bisou", but still remain pretty weirded out with giving my in-laws a "big kiss".
Vive la France!
Rachel
More on the “bisou” later…until then…
Bisou,
Vivi :)
From Rachel
I too, am a HUGE fan of the "bisou", and quite honestly didn't really know exactly what it meant at first, but liked the sound of it. Julien explained the meaning to me, which made me like it more....plus, it was ONE word I could actually pronounce, which was a definite plus! It was a way to be loving with his family, without being all cheesy and fake.
I have to admit the first time I talked to Julien's parents on the phone and as we were saying our goodbye's they said "I give you a big kiss"......WHOA...."bisou" is one thing, but "I give you a big kiss" really felt strange. I mean, these were my in-laws! In the spirit of the conversation (and the fact that they were being friendly towards me, the "American" girl who sole their son (more on that one later)), I found myself saying "I give you a big kiss too". It felt weird coming out of my mouth, but I felt that I should just go with it :)
As the years have gone by, I have developed an even deeper affection for "bisou" and "gros bisou", but still remain pretty weirded out with giving my in-laws a "big kiss".
Vive la France!
Rachel
Friday, July 18, 2008
The French nudist
One thing that I was not prepared for when beginning to date my charming Frenchman was that he would much rather be naked than clothed - keep in mind, I grew up in the midwest and was very modest - oh yeah, and my dad is a preacher, which doesn't help in the modesty department either! He was so proud of his "Frenchness" and would parade around the apartment completely nude in all his French glory! He did not mind if the windows were open, the blinds pulled up, or the lights on in our apartment when it was pitch black outside....like he was on the big screen.
In the beginning, this was not much of a problem, in fact...I thought I had hit the jackpot! It wasn't until the fact that his desire to be naked was not just confined to the two of us in the privacy of our own place. After a few years, we moved to our own apartment, which is a one bedroom where the only way to reach the bathroom is to walk through our bedroom. I thought that he would tone down the nudist colony when we had guests come visit....WRONG! His stance on this was that is was HIS house, and he should be allowed to parade around naked if he wanted to. I tried to make him understand that it would make our guests feel very uncomfortable, and he responded with "well, I don't feel uncomfortable, so it's their problem if they are feeling that way".
This, ladies, is yet another reason these Frenchies are CRAZY, and endearing (most days) :)
Bisou,
Rachel
Note from Vivi:
Over the years I have become so accustomed to the Naked Frenchman that until I read Rach’s post, I kind of forgot it wasn’t normal having a half naked (and sometimes fully naked) frenchie walking around the house. However, early on witnessing a Frenchman in his natural habitat was EXTREMELY alarming. As previously discussed I too was a blissfully naïve Midwestern girl prior to my marriage to France, I mean, Sebastien.
My dad wasn’t a preacher but he did serve on the church Board of Directors for most of my childhood and teenage years. We were taught modesty was essential to maintaining our honor…lack of clothing was not an option. The people in my world growing up took the “keep your clothes on” mentality to a whole new level. For example, each summer I went to church camp. I remember the older we got, the more clothing we were required to wear in the swimming pool. By the time I hit high school we were forced to wear t-shirts over our ONE piece bathing suits. The only thing we were allowed to show were our wrists and ankles and even that was to be done with discretion. Thus, marrying a happy naked French person was shocking to say the least!
Without fail each day Sebastien comes home from work he walks in the door says hello, gives me a kiss, and then heads straight to his closet. Once inside the closet he promptly removes all of his clothes and proceeds with the rest of his evening...naked…always with the nakedness!
Further to the point, I have found this naked behavior is not learned. OH NO, it is genetic. Many mornings while visiting maman et papa I have arrived at the breakfast table to see all the male members of the family scantily clad—usually just a pair of shorts or pants on. Now, being that we have to sit at the table for at least an hour (on a good day) one might think a shirt would be of vital importance. You know, as to not to offend (or gross out) the other breakfast guests. Mais non, I do not think this has ever crossed the minds of the Frenchmen in our family. Now, I am not sure if any of you have seen a Frenchman in all their semi-naked breakfast glory but being an American, this is not something that is easy to handle prior to my morning Starbucks. On days like this, I usually sit at the table (once again “pretending to be a chair”) staring off into the distance, I go to the happy place in my head. I have wild thoughts such as, how is it possible for one man to have so much chest hair? Then I turn to my husband sitting innocently with his happy “my maman is making me warm toasty croissants and coffee with sugar cubes” grin on his face, and think, seriously, how does one body have so much hair on it? Then, in utter amazement it hits me once again “where are their clothes?”
In the five years we have been together rarely does a guest arrive when Sebastien has a shirt on. Whenever I say “So-and-so is on her way over, would you put on some clothes?” His response without fail is “no, I’m ok”. As if I am asking him to cover up so HE won’t be embarrassed! I sweetly remind him “baby, sometimes American women find it uncomfortable to see other women’s husband’s in their underwear.” To which he says, “I undastaaand, but deece is my ouse. Maybe you should go to eer ouse next time.” (Purposely leaving the “h” out of each word containing one because the French do not pronounce the “h”—the “missing H” is another topic for another day.) As I leave the room, I use the few words in French I know (the ones I am not allowed to say around maman et papa). I shut the door and laugh to myself at the craziness that is a part of each day of my life now that I am married to this (CRAZY) wonderful man!
bisou,
Vivi
In the beginning, this was not much of a problem, in fact...I thought I had hit the jackpot! It wasn't until the fact that his desire to be naked was not just confined to the two of us in the privacy of our own place. After a few years, we moved to our own apartment, which is a one bedroom where the only way to reach the bathroom is to walk through our bedroom. I thought that he would tone down the nudist colony when we had guests come visit....WRONG! His stance on this was that is was HIS house, and he should be allowed to parade around naked if he wanted to. I tried to make him understand that it would make our guests feel very uncomfortable, and he responded with "well, I don't feel uncomfortable, so it's their problem if they are feeling that way".
This, ladies, is yet another reason these Frenchies are CRAZY, and endearing (most days) :)
Bisou,
Rachel
Note from Vivi:
Over the years I have become so accustomed to the Naked Frenchman that until I read Rach’s post, I kind of forgot it wasn’t normal having a half naked (and sometimes fully naked) frenchie walking around the house. However, early on witnessing a Frenchman in his natural habitat was EXTREMELY alarming. As previously discussed I too was a blissfully naïve Midwestern girl prior to my marriage to France, I mean, Sebastien.
My dad wasn’t a preacher but he did serve on the church Board of Directors for most of my childhood and teenage years. We were taught modesty was essential to maintaining our honor…lack of clothing was not an option. The people in my world growing up took the “keep your clothes on” mentality to a whole new level. For example, each summer I went to church camp. I remember the older we got, the more clothing we were required to wear in the swimming pool. By the time I hit high school we were forced to wear t-shirts over our ONE piece bathing suits. The only thing we were allowed to show were our wrists and ankles and even that was to be done with discretion. Thus, marrying a happy naked French person was shocking to say the least!
Without fail each day Sebastien comes home from work he walks in the door says hello, gives me a kiss, and then heads straight to his closet. Once inside the closet he promptly removes all of his clothes and proceeds with the rest of his evening...naked…always with the nakedness!
Further to the point, I have found this naked behavior is not learned. OH NO, it is genetic. Many mornings while visiting maman et papa I have arrived at the breakfast table to see all the male members of the family scantily clad—usually just a pair of shorts or pants on. Now, being that we have to sit at the table for at least an hour (on a good day) one might think a shirt would be of vital importance. You know, as to not to offend (or gross out) the other breakfast guests. Mais non, I do not think this has ever crossed the minds of the Frenchmen in our family. Now, I am not sure if any of you have seen a Frenchman in all their semi-naked breakfast glory but being an American, this is not something that is easy to handle prior to my morning Starbucks. On days like this, I usually sit at the table (once again “pretending to be a chair”) staring off into the distance, I go to the happy place in my head. I have wild thoughts such as, how is it possible for one man to have so much chest hair? Then I turn to my husband sitting innocently with his happy “my maman is making me warm toasty croissants and coffee with sugar cubes” grin on his face, and think, seriously, how does one body have so much hair on it? Then, in utter amazement it hits me once again “where are their clothes?”
In the five years we have been together rarely does a guest arrive when Sebastien has a shirt on. Whenever I say “So-and-so is on her way over, would you put on some clothes?” His response without fail is “no, I’m ok”. As if I am asking him to cover up so HE won’t be embarrassed! I sweetly remind him “baby, sometimes American women find it uncomfortable to see other women’s husband’s in their underwear.” To which he says, “I undastaaand, but deece is my ouse. Maybe you should go to eer ouse next time.” (Purposely leaving the “h” out of each word containing one because the French do not pronounce the “h”—the “missing H” is another topic for another day.) As I leave the room, I use the few words in French I know (the ones I am not allowed to say around maman et papa). I shut the door and laugh to myself at the craziness that is a part of each day of my life now that I am married to this (CRAZY) wonderful man!
bisou,
Vivi
Thursday, July 17, 2008
World Cup and Bastille Day (Part Deux)
The day most people will recall Zinedine Zidane head butted the player from the Italian team with only a few minutes left in the game. I know I should remember the poor fool that was pounded by Zizou but I cannot recall without googling it. Anyway, in our house it is the day that will live in infamy! This was my first real World Cup experience and clearly I did not comprehend the importance of this game. I mean, I did see the TiVo was full of World Cup matches and Sebastien was adamant about not deleting them but I mean, seriously, it is just soccer. The mere fact that I would write such blasphemy could get me in some serious trouble but I need you to understand where I’m coming from.
The day started off beautifully. I had planned a wonderful three course meal which was a HUGE fete for me at the time and spent the entire day cooking. Sebastien was out most of the morning and came in as the game was starting. We had decided to have a picnic on the living room floor and watch the game. Visualize with me, my beautiful husband sitting in the middle of the living room wrapped in his French flag. Sort of like superman cloaked in frenchness.
I brought in the first course, brushetta. One of my favorites—unfortunately, this is an Italian dish which was met with a confused “Qu'est-ce que c'est”. My oblivious response “brushetta” then went in the kitchen to check on the caprese and lasagna. Now, you can see where this is going. The entire meal I had spent all day preparing was entirely Italian. The French hate the Italians on a good day and on this World Cup 2006 Final Match day I had done the unthinkable.
We did not eat. The crazy singing and chanting of “Allez les bleus” did not help the poor team and the Italians won. Then in order to understand the obsession with soccer in France I furthered my downward spiral of un-frenchness and said “it’s not that big of a deal”. As you can imagine Sebastien was not a fan of my commentary regarding the game, tossed a beer across the room which shattered all over the floor. Of course Sebastien’s recollection of this day is a bit more colorful. J And he will never let me forget how I ruined “our” chances of winning.
This brings me to Bastille Day 2008. I never forget this day because it is the day after Sebastien’s birthday. This year I hung the French flag outside of our house and even had Sebastien come outside for a commemorative photo to send to his family. I was redeeming myself and lack of frenchness. That is until we got to dinner. I was tired and preoccupied. I went to the kitchen and started the salad and vinaigrette. Sebastien came in and asked what we were having to celebrate Bastille Day. I pointed to a box of noodles on the counter. He laughed and said, “We cannot have Italian food today-it is Bastille Day”.
We had salad and fruit tarts and I have once again proven that I will never be French! :)
NOTE from Rachel - My crazy French football lunatic husband actually was in the ER the morning of the France vs. Italy World Cup Game writhing in pain from a migraine. When the doctor came in and said he could give him a shot to alleviate the pain (keep in mind, he could not see out of his eyes and had to be in a dark room), he told him to wait and asked him if he could still drink beer because he was going to be watching the game in a few hours. The doctor kindly told him that yes, it would "technically" be ok for him to drink a beer, but his recommendation would be to go home and get some rest. Julien responded...."oh no, I can't do that! France is playing in 2 hours!" They (the French) = CRAZY! Oh....and let's not forget the fact that he called his maman on the way to the hospital and told her about his migraine. She asked to speak to me, and told me that I needed to make sure he went the hospital and that I was supposed to call her immediately afterwards and report back to her. This strange relationship that exists between French boys and their "maman" will be covered extensively in future blogs!!
The day started off beautifully. I had planned a wonderful three course meal which was a HUGE fete for me at the time and spent the entire day cooking. Sebastien was out most of the morning and came in as the game was starting. We had decided to have a picnic on the living room floor and watch the game. Visualize with me, my beautiful husband sitting in the middle of the living room wrapped in his French flag. Sort of like superman cloaked in frenchness.
I brought in the first course, brushetta. One of my favorites—unfortunately, this is an Italian dish which was met with a confused “Qu'est-ce que c'est”. My oblivious response “brushetta” then went in the kitchen to check on the caprese and lasagna. Now, you can see where this is going. The entire meal I had spent all day preparing was entirely Italian. The French hate the Italians on a good day and on this World Cup 2006 Final Match day I had done the unthinkable.
We did not eat. The crazy singing and chanting of “Allez les bleus” did not help the poor team and the Italians won. Then in order to understand the obsession with soccer in France I furthered my downward spiral of un-frenchness and said “it’s not that big of a deal”. As you can imagine Sebastien was not a fan of my commentary regarding the game, tossed a beer across the room which shattered all over the floor. Of course Sebastien’s recollection of this day is a bit more colorful. J And he will never let me forget how I ruined “our” chances of winning.
This brings me to Bastille Day 2008. I never forget this day because it is the day after Sebastien’s birthday. This year I hung the French flag outside of our house and even had Sebastien come outside for a commemorative photo to send to his family. I was redeeming myself and lack of frenchness. That is until we got to dinner. I was tired and preoccupied. I went to the kitchen and started the salad and vinaigrette. Sebastien came in and asked what we were having to celebrate Bastille Day. I pointed to a box of noodles on the counter. He laughed and said, “We cannot have Italian food today-it is Bastille Day”.
We had salad and fruit tarts and I have once again proven that I will never be French! :)
NOTE from Rachel - My crazy French football lunatic husband actually was in the ER the morning of the France vs. Italy World Cup Game writhing in pain from a migraine. When the doctor came in and said he could give him a shot to alleviate the pain (keep in mind, he could not see out of his eyes and had to be in a dark room), he told him to wait and asked him if he could still drink beer because he was going to be watching the game in a few hours. The doctor kindly told him that yes, it would "technically" be ok for him to drink a beer, but his recommendation would be to go home and get some rest. Julien responded...."oh no, I can't do that! France is playing in 2 hours!" They (the French) = CRAZY! Oh....and let's not forget the fact that he called his maman on the way to the hospital and told her about his migraine. She asked to speak to me, and told me that I needed to make sure he went the hospital and that I was supposed to call her immediately afterwards and report back to her. This strange relationship that exists between French boys and their "maman" will be covered extensively in future blogs!!
Bastille Day
In order to be a REAL French wife....one must know and celebrate Bastille Day! Mark it down ladies....July 14th!!! Don't forget! I made that mistake the first year that Julien and I were dating, and will never make it again. He asked me "do you know what today is....", to which I responded...."tuesday???" - WRONG! He gave me an entire French history lesson right then and there. I ran to my Blackberry and made a recurring "appointment" to remind me of July 14th. Now, I have never forgotten Bastille Day since then but now it seems that I must wish my beautiful frenchman "Happy Bastille Day" within the first 10 minutes of waking up on July 14th. This year, we got up and went running in the park and were back at the house getting ready to shower and get going for the day when he told me "thanks for wishing me a happy bastille day"....since when did there exist a window of when it was expected for me to wish him happy Bastille Day? And....I am wondering where this double standard came from....and have decided that now he is going to have to wish me a happy 4th of July immediately upon rising from bed on the 4th! ha!
We went to dinner that night in celebration of this wonderful occasion, and had to find the perfect French restaurant, not some cheap immitation wanna be french. We finally found this cute little spot called Bar Tabac in our neighborhood, and ordered les moules mariniere (mussels) and frites (french fries). He had a glass of wine. I had myself a very happy and proud Frenchman!
bisou,
Rachel
We went to dinner that night in celebration of this wonderful occasion, and had to find the perfect French restaurant, not some cheap immitation wanna be french. We finally found this cute little spot called Bar Tabac in our neighborhood, and ordered les moules mariniere (mussels) and frites (french fries). He had a glass of wine. I had myself a very happy and proud Frenchman!
bisou,
Rachel
the mysterious "vinagrette"
So...every French woman knows the secret of the vinagrette dressing. In France, there is no dressing that exists other than this one. They worship it like it's the fountain of youth - who knows...maybe there's a secret ingredient in there that makes them all so PERFECT looking! Anyways, in order to be "French", you have to know how to make this liquid dijon amazingness....the only problem is that they will not give you any kind of recipe. It must be a kind of sport for them to sit there and watch you fiddle with different quantities of dijon, olive oil, red wine vinegar.......but, not too much....just the perfect amount for it to taste REALLY FRENCH :) Once you learn to make it, you'll find yourself using that on every single salad you make from now on. It's my favorite on endive salad - Julien's summertime favorite! I will blog about that sometime soon!
Bisou,
Rachel
From Vivi:
Damn Dijon Deliciousness!
I completely agree Rachel! This vinaigrette was almost my demise. For years I have tried to get the “recipe” from maman but all I could ever pry out of her was a vague description of the ingredients. I would try and try and it always tasted horrible. I firmly believe they think we (the crazy American) should just know how to make the stuff. As if making vinaigrette is an innate ability. The fact that I asked repeatedly for the “recipe” I imagine made maman wonder about my intellectual capacity. Only after reading one of the hundreds of books in my arsenal did I finally find the recipe. I can now make this liquid gold to Sebastian’s delight and I believe maman’s shock.
Bisou,
Rachel
From Vivi:
Damn Dijon Deliciousness!
I completely agree Rachel! This vinaigrette was almost my demise. For years I have tried to get the “recipe” from maman but all I could ever pry out of her was a vague description of the ingredients. I would try and try and it always tasted horrible. I firmly believe they think we (the crazy American) should just know how to make the stuff. As if making vinaigrette is an innate ability. The fact that I asked repeatedly for the “recipe” I imagine made maman wonder about my intellectual capacity. Only after reading one of the hundreds of books in my arsenal did I finally find the recipe. I can now make this liquid gold to Sebastian’s delight and I believe maman’s shock.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
LES GUIGNOLS
Just when I start to feel my husband and I are not so different, I have a little reminder each night as we get in bed...
Les Guignols de l’info.
Every night Sebastien brings his laptop to bed and watches the TF1 news online and ends the night with the latest episode of Les Guignols de l’info. Les Guignols de l'info translates to “news puppets”. Yes, I said puppets. This show is so beloved by the French some sources say polls have shown Les Guignols has influenced voters in France. Can you imagine this in the United States—a puppet show influencing votes? Of course, some French may think we allow puppets to vote for us. Even so, I am baffled by the impact and popularity of this show.
I have found this show is as addictive as foie gras. I cannot figure out why I love it so much but I find myself wanting more and more. Just hearing the theme music start and the little head of the clay puppet popping into place makes me happy!
Now, if you have never seen this crazy show you are in for a treat. You will feel right at home with American representation in the forefront of most of the vignettes. Familiar figures like George W. Bush, as a rambling idiot, with George H.W. Bush, as his sidekick, and my personal American favorite—Sylvester Stallone. Who knew Sylvester Stallone was still alive, let alone a featured character in French satirical news broadcasts. Somehow this show has been on the air in France for years. From what I can tell it came onto the scene around 1988. Les Guignols has been very insightful to me as an outsider with extremely limited exposure to France, French culture, and French politics; that is of course until I married a Frenchman.
Each night we lie in bed and watch this show. My husband laughs and laughs while I continually say “what did they say” (which is eerily similar to how I feel while visiting my in-laws but that is a story for another day). At any rate, the four to five sentences he does choose to translate for me have given me a wealth of knowledge regarding current politics in France. My latest insight according to Les Guignols is President Sarkozy is obsessed with money. Apparently, he raised the salary for the French Presidency and Former President Chirac is not happy about this at all. Most nights you will see the clay figure representing Chirac whining about not having any money because President Sarkozy has taken it all. Of course, this is my American interpretation and could be far from reality but it is hilarious.
My favorite vignette features President Sarkozy. Hilarious is the best description I can come up with. His ears are huge which nicely hold his sporty sunglasses as he arrogantly rambles on and on. He is always wearing sunglasses as if he is too cool to be interviewed. Most of what he says I do not understand. However, I caught a lucky break because he had a little “slip up” recently and apparently he was caught on video dropping the f-bomb or the French equivalent of. Therefore, Les Guignols bleep out almost every word he says. It is fabulous!
Watch it you will see. As I said, I do not understand 95% of what they are saying on Les Guignols but I laugh along anyway. You will love it-it is completely weird but absolutely brilliant!
For more information on this show go to http://www.canalplus.fr/index.php?pid=1784 or http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Les_Guignols_de_l
Les Guignols de l’info.
Every night Sebastien brings his laptop to bed and watches the TF1 news online and ends the night with the latest episode of Les Guignols de l’info. Les Guignols de l'info translates to “news puppets”. Yes, I said puppets. This show is so beloved by the French some sources say polls have shown Les Guignols has influenced voters in France. Can you imagine this in the United States—a puppet show influencing votes? Of course, some French may think we allow puppets to vote for us. Even so, I am baffled by the impact and popularity of this show.
I have found this show is as addictive as foie gras. I cannot figure out why I love it so much but I find myself wanting more and more. Just hearing the theme music start and the little head of the clay puppet popping into place makes me happy!
Now, if you have never seen this crazy show you are in for a treat. You will feel right at home with American representation in the forefront of most of the vignettes. Familiar figures like George W. Bush, as a rambling idiot, with George H.W. Bush, as his sidekick, and my personal American favorite—Sylvester Stallone. Who knew Sylvester Stallone was still alive, let alone a featured character in French satirical news broadcasts. Somehow this show has been on the air in France for years. From what I can tell it came onto the scene around 1988. Les Guignols has been very insightful to me as an outsider with extremely limited exposure to France, French culture, and French politics; that is of course until I married a Frenchman.
Each night we lie in bed and watch this show. My husband laughs and laughs while I continually say “what did they say” (which is eerily similar to how I feel while visiting my in-laws but that is a story for another day). At any rate, the four to five sentences he does choose to translate for me have given me a wealth of knowledge regarding current politics in France. My latest insight according to Les Guignols is President Sarkozy is obsessed with money. Apparently, he raised the salary for the French Presidency and Former President Chirac is not happy about this at all. Most nights you will see the clay figure representing Chirac whining about not having any money because President Sarkozy has taken it all. Of course, this is my American interpretation and could be far from reality but it is hilarious.
My favorite vignette features President Sarkozy. Hilarious is the best description I can come up with. His ears are huge which nicely hold his sporty sunglasses as he arrogantly rambles on and on. He is always wearing sunglasses as if he is too cool to be interviewed. Most of what he says I do not understand. However, I caught a lucky break because he had a little “slip up” recently and apparently he was caught on video dropping the f-bomb or the French equivalent of. Therefore, Les Guignols bleep out almost every word he says. It is fabulous!
Watch it you will see. As I said, I do not understand 95% of what they are saying on Les Guignols but I laugh along anyway. You will love it-it is completely weird but absolutely brilliant!
For more information on this show go to http://www.canalplus.fr/index.php?pid=1784 or http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Les_Guignols_de_l
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