So France lost.
I don't look forward to going to work tomorrow.
This past Wednesday, they gave a half day to anyone who wanted to go watch France in the World Cup. Of course, I had to go "watch France in the World Cup." Which may look like shopping for a new pair of pink espadrilles, but in spirit, I was definitely watching the World Cup.
I remember the last time the French won, in '98. As I recall, it also fell on Bastille Day. I was still working at the French Embassy at the time, so we all (once again) got a day off during the semi-finals. We all went over to Services Culturelles, where the little Michelangelo (okay, "attributed to" Michelangelo) cherub in the lobby was almost knocked over by the rowdy Frenchmen, excited about "le foot," which is what they affectionately call "football." Which we affectionately call "soccer." That is, when we call it. Which ain't so often, unless it comes before the word "mom" and it's in the context of some massively condescending political advertizement about Incecency in Video Games, which of course the root cause of the rize of construction costs in the housing index. Not to mention the whole war thing.
In the end, when France actually won against Brazil in '98, I've never seen such jubilation in my entire life. It was, I imagine, what it might have been like to be in Normandy the day after the Liberation was announced in 1945. Grown men were crying like little girls, jumping up and down, dancing down the street with the first woman they could find, regardless of her age, attractiveness level, or willingness to participate.
It was like a live-action version of some Gene Kelly musical, which, as it turns out, is even creepier than it looks.
Still, I was hoping to get another day off out of it. Hopefully, they won't make us work late tomorrow to make up for it. But I wouldn't be surprized.
I don't look forward to going to work tomorrow.
This past Wednesday, they gave a half day to anyone who wanted to go watch France in the World Cup. Of course, I had to go "watch France in the World Cup." Which may look like shopping for a new pair of pink espadrilles, but in spirit, I was definitely watching the World Cup.
I remember the last time the French won, in '98. As I recall, it also fell on Bastille Day. I was still working at the French Embassy at the time, so we all (once again) got a day off during the semi-finals. We all went over to Services Culturelles, where the little Michelangelo (okay, "attributed to" Michelangelo) cherub in the lobby was almost knocked over by the rowdy Frenchmen, excited about "le foot," which is what they affectionately call "football." Which we affectionately call "soccer." That is, when we call it. Which ain't so often, unless it comes before the word "mom" and it's in the context of some massively condescending political advertizement about Incecency in Video Games, which of course the root cause of the rize of construction costs in the housing index. Not to mention the whole war thing.
In the end, when France actually won against Brazil in '98, I've never seen such jubilation in my entire life. It was, I imagine, what it might have been like to be in Normandy the day after the Liberation was announced in 1945. Grown men were crying like little girls, jumping up and down, dancing down the street with the first woman they could find, regardless of her age, attractiveness level, or willingness to participate.
It was like a live-action version of some Gene Kelly musical, which, as it turns out, is even creepier than it looks.
Still, I was hoping to get another day off out of it. Hopefully, they won't make us work late tomorrow to make up for it. But I wouldn't be surprized.
posted by Marguerite at 8:00 PM
2 Comments:
The Italians in our office are being insufferable and the French are all out "sick". But at least everybody will stop talking about the sodding World Cup after today.
You know that famous painting of yer woman with no nipples standing on top of a load of dead Frenchmen waving the tricolour of the republic? Somebody's gone and replaced the French flag with the Italian one and circulated it round the office. Which is borderline obscene. Still, it's...you know...the French. So there's no sense being too upset for them.
Viva l'Italia!
Yes, the upswing is that everybody will (hopefully) stop talking about the sodding World Cup.
The atmosphere here at work, where most of the folks are French, is downright moribund.
Mais, c'est la vie, quoi ...
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