Friday, September 03, 2004
Dirty Frenchman
I had a friend from France once. Jacque was his name. He was your typical average Frenchman. You would never catch him without his trademark beret. I guess Jacque just liked how well it matched the horizontal black stripes of his shirt. He rode his bicycle everyday to the croissant factory where he worked.
Jacque could speak English, one just had to adapt to his thick French accent. Once you grew accustomed to it, you were in for some deep thoughts.
He once said, with that witty snide French voice, "Life mah friend...she iz...a bee-ch." Then he spat on the floor.
I remember being deeply touched by those words. I just marveled at the complexity of that metaphor. I kept saying to myself, "Wow...Life....is a BEACH!" Jacque was saying how we should just enjoy life like a vacation to the beach. The grains of sand could represent the seconds of time. The vastness of the ocean could represent the eternity of the after-life and the bright sun in the sky could be the love of God. It was at that moment I felt at peace.
Jacque continued, with some more French vigor, "A dur-tee, dur-tee beech, mah friend." He then took time to adjust his ratty moustache and then spat on the floor again.
My friend Jacque had thrown me a curveball. Just when I thought he was talking about the how life should be comforting like a day at the beach, he took his metaphor to a new level.
Now he was saying life is a 'dirty beach'. Something so pure and innocent such as life is often sullied by the evils of this world. The obvious reference of 'a polluted paradise' was there, but so was the more subtle nod to his overwhelming sadness. This man, I thought, is a genius.
I applauded him on his enlightening statement and showered him with compliments over this amazingly simple, yet striking metaphor. I then asked him how else was 'life like a beach'.
For a moment he grew silent. His unwashed face twisted with rage and Jacque then proceeded to 'enlighten me':
"Fuck you, you stoo-pid Amer-ican! I said 'BEECH!' 'BEE-CH!', B-I-T-C-H! BEE-CH! Life, she iz a dur-tee BEECH! Fuck you! I spit in your gener-al direction!"
So there you have it.
Life....she is a bitch.
Jacque could speak English, one just had to adapt to his thick French accent. Once you grew accustomed to it, you were in for some deep thoughts.
He once said, with that witty snide French voice, "Life mah friend...she iz...a bee-ch." Then he spat on the floor.
I remember being deeply touched by those words. I just marveled at the complexity of that metaphor. I kept saying to myself, "Wow...Life....is a BEACH!" Jacque was saying how we should just enjoy life like a vacation to the beach. The grains of sand could represent the seconds of time. The vastness of the ocean could represent the eternity of the after-life and the bright sun in the sky could be the love of God. It was at that moment I felt at peace.
Jacque continued, with some more French vigor, "A dur-tee, dur-tee beech, mah friend." He then took time to adjust his ratty moustache and then spat on the floor again.
My friend Jacque had thrown me a curveball. Just when I thought he was talking about the how life should be comforting like a day at the beach, he took his metaphor to a new level.
Now he was saying life is a 'dirty beach'. Something so pure and innocent such as life is often sullied by the evils of this world. The obvious reference of 'a polluted paradise' was there, but so was the more subtle nod to his overwhelming sadness. This man, I thought, is a genius.
I applauded him on his enlightening statement and showered him with compliments over this amazingly simple, yet striking metaphor. I then asked him how else was 'life like a beach'.
For a moment he grew silent. His unwashed face twisted with rage and Jacque then proceeded to 'enlighten me':
"Fuck you, you stoo-pid Amer-ican! I said 'BEECH!' 'BEE-CH!', B-I-T-C-H! BEE-CH! Life, she iz a dur-tee BEECH! Fuck you! I spit in your gener-al direction!"
So there you have it.
Life....she is a bitch.
