Brotpourri/Brolture wars

Hey bro-natics, Uncle Sauce here again. Apologies for another week without posting; the host parents confiscated my laptop after I messed up saying Grace. This here's another catch-up post, and boy have I got some crazy shit for y'all to suce on. Well actually, there aren't any events in particular I'm going to talk about, this one's sort of dedicated to the bizarre cultural differences I've seen thus far, with some brominiscing mixed in. First of all, razor scooters. Yeah. What the fuck, France. Sixth-grade Sauce just called from 2002, and he wants his ride to school back (every day, bitches). This is the only place where I've seen full grown adults pushing around on two wheels like some sort of Never-Never Land scenario brought to life. They're everywhere- sidewalks, buses, metro- and they even fold them up to carry when they're not using them. It's seriously hilarious. I saw a woman on the metro who looked every inch the businesswoman on her way home from work, and then I saw the scooter under her arm. If it had been the U.S., I would have said to myself "oh, it's her kid's and he's over there sitting down and she's carrying his scooter for him because he's tired". No kid here though. She scootered off as soon as the doors opened, because here it's normal to scooter on the metro platform. So strange. The scooters here even have bigger wheels, because they're made for adults. As if Americans needed another reason to believe that French people are massive pussies. Although I've been told that this is becoming a trend in NYC as well, in which case I may have to dust off the ol' Laser for one last spin (the parents were too cheap to get me the real thing). Another vestige of my early adolescence which has come back and smacked me in the mouth like a Jean-Claude van Damme roundhouse kick is- wait for it- orange slices. As in, what Billy's mom used to bring to soccer games when you were 6 so the whole team could chow down during halftime and wish it would've been Kyle's mom's turn so they could have Chewy bars. For reasons I have yet to divine, our replenishment during our grueling, dirty, super-manly rugby matches is orange slices. The coach just pops them out during the huddle like it's nothing. I literally burst out laughing when I first saw it. I feel as if French society is slowly regressing back into childhood, like a mass Benjamin Button outbreak. Not that they're not delicious, but in the states you're more likely to get a Natty Light on the sidelines- none of that fruit bullshit. Enough apt cultural observations for now, though. Actually, one more. Halloween! C'mon, France! How can you not love this holiday? 1) You love candy. 2) You love literally everything else from America, including but not limited to Razor scooters, CSI, Lady Gaga, and McDonalds. 3) It's not like you don't enjoy dressing bizarrely- I see plenty of bright yellow pants and purple hair on a daily basis. So basically, what I'm saying is I was absolutely shocked on Halloween night when me and Christian "Odysseus" Lalonde left my apartment building only to realize that this country could not care less. So there was the sadness and disappointment, but also the acute embarrassment of riding on the metro for 20 minutes while dressed up as the Albanian kidnappers from Taken (we are sick people), surrounded by mostly normally-dressed Parisians. Fortunately, when I ("Nico") and Christian ("Marko") arrived at Kalei ("Jackson Pollock Painting") Talwar's apartment, we were in luck. We had somehow scrounged up enough of the ol' Halloween spirit to create the most understated, subdued Halloween party ever held. Knocking back vodka-orange-cavas with Tintin, a Real Housewife from New Jersey, a cat, Baby Spice, Salvador Dali, and a witch, while speaking in hushed tones and not daring to put on music, has to be the saddest memory I have of this semester. Despite the rape-y vibe of me and Christian's costumes, which we evidently had not considered when deciding to go to a Halloween party that was 95% girls, some people actually thought it was funny. Ok, like one person. It might have been a little over the line when we started "taking" other party guests (ransom: 1 shot). All I can say is, good thing Liam Neeson wasn't there!

Nico and Marko

Actually, to continue the bizarre U.S. vs. France motif that I've set here, we went to a literal U.S. vs. France soccer match a couple weeks back. AI even made the trip up, swelling our numbers to a whopping 12 people, which was easily 1/3rd of the entire U.S. fan population there. Nevertheless, we were at our ugly finest, chanting U-S-A at every opportunity and yelling witty barbs like "You're welcome for D-Day!" and "Your country fucking sucks!". Despite our best efforts, the good guys lost, 1-nil, which was especially painful because of the jeering 4-year-old in front of me with the French flag painted on his face. I'm serious- that little asshole got to me. No doubt he'll grow up thinking that wave he was doing all game was invented in la France. Not so, petit ecolier- not fucking so. You'd better think next time you hop on that little scooter, too. That, and when you chant the tune from "Seven Nation Army" after you score, like that's French too. Get your own song! Gahhhhhh. Alright, that's enough for now. Time for Sauce to get his beauty rest. A bientot. More bropdates later.

P.S. Meanwhile, it's almost fucking December here- the semester's coming to a close. How time flies. Hope y'all that are still reading have enjoyed keeping abreast of your favorite freres' adventures so far. A.I.'s gonna tell y'all about his malade weekend in Paris. Also, just learned how to say "dick-slap" in French- bifler (bee-flay). It's a combination of the verb gifler, "to slap", and bite, "dick". I knew I liked it here.