Questionnaire. Second part (The films).
Following the questionnaire.
Yesterday Lily called me at 21:30 when I had just put me to bed. This morning, on waking, my phone was placed near my pillow. Despite my efforts I can not remember the end of our conversation. It is likely that I fell asleep while listening. If this proves true, know that I am truly sorry my dear Lily.
As I am still pretty tired I just do not treat this evening again, that part of the questionnaire.
4 movies:
- Phantom of the Paradise. (Brian de Palma)
absolute masterpiece. Cult film par excellence.
While all this may seem a bit cheesy now and the lack of means is obvious but this movie is the biggest I have ever seen. The film
breaststroke themes very classic but so effective. Death, love, revenge, jealousy success and failure.
Directed inventive actor's memorable (the Phantom lets his emotions with only one eye ... Unbelievable.) Music and simply brilliant. What more could you want?
Today I just bought a new DVD edition that benefits from a new sound, very interesting bonus and a clean image.
The movie just ended and my forearm its still covered in goosebumps. Upsetting end to end.
The scene: When the Phantom, sitting at his keyboard, found his voice through the magic of technology and talent of Swan.
If you are 19 euros too much on your account is thus: Phantom of the Pradise.
- The Empire Strikes . (Irvin Kershner, and George Lucas)
I lost my father the age of 1 year. When I was a kid the only object that was bound was an old sword hanging on the living room wall. This is one of the only things I kept from him.
At 6 years old I discovered Star Wars and Empire Strikes including me literally returned. I realized in contact with the work of Lucas that cinema could take me further than I expected ... I then knew that the movies that the work of Belmondo.
I immediately identified with Luke who inherits his father's lightsaber and tracks her killer. When Luke discovers, in one memorable scene, the monster he wants to destroy the father he never knew I fell off my chair. And if one day I too could find it? As I was naive.
scene: "Luke, I am your father."
- The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
A movie that nobody would take the risk of producing today. A musical swath and immoral, parodying the classic movie fantasy in which a young couple is trapped by an alien transsexual debauched.
cult!
The scene: The first appearance Further to Franck'n played by the brilliant Tim Cury. The two lovebirds Brad and Janet seek a telephone in this disquieting mansion ... they then fall on the owner, a distant cousin of Count Dracula, outrageous makeup and simply dressed in fishnet stockings and corset launched into an irresistible number of music hall libertine.
Cult.
- Hana Bi (Takeshi Kitano) .
The rare film Phantom of the Pradise that can make me cry every vision. A cop
burnt out, feeling guilty about the death of his teammate and helpless about the illness of his wife, discovers the generosity and offers to those he loves a little love ... in its own way.
The scene: The last fact. Two shots on a beach, off the field. The viewer does not attend the scene and did not know who are the victims. He discovers a few seconds later and could only cry. The film ends and he understands what the word means a masterpiece.
More than a movie, a work of art.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Can You Diglett Pokemon Tshirt
Questionnaire bloggers. Part One. (Jobs)
Zia sent me a few days ago a questionnaire which I promised to respond. Unfortunately since last Tuesday I have not had much time to devote to this blog. Between councils class, filling ballot boxes and the correction of various prints and white (a nice scoring session held my Saturday from 11:30 to 22:00. Hard!) days marched without my noticing. As for my Sunday, it was devoted to the supervision of an exit on Disneyland kind invitation of some students in the fourth.
week has just begun and I am so exhausted that a Friday night ... it promises!
Let's start with the four jobs that marked me the most ... and let's be frank here cited the four jobs are my own experiences.
- Secretary. Little work
holiday. I attended for a month the Director of Communication of a large box which was working my financial stepfather while the secretary was taking regular vacations. Pretty cool job. Once the mail sorted most of taf was to answer the phone ... This one does not often confess myself ringing is royally sucks.
I do not remember much at all other screensavers on the PC with whom I spent the time to have observed every detail of the ceiling for hours, wandering the stage my desk, squatted room frequented assiduously copying and toilets tiled with marble. Upstairs in the same direction the toilet asserted the superiority of those working there ... point paper towel to wipe his hands, but small white towels for single use. I also remember a fascinating discussion with the director of the com. on Clouds he watched from the top of the tower. I think he liked me.
- Employee Prefecture. Again
holiday job. I held several positions over the years. When I found myself during one month window of undocumented I understand how men and women could suffer in our beautiful country. So I rubbed a real social deprivation (particularly financial and legal) who made me aware of my own luck. Jen went out mess with my.
I remember in particular two cases. One was Algeria. The day I told him through my little window of protection the rejection of his application for a residence permit, he stood up and told me, before turning on his heel, he would be murdered once they return the country. Bluff? Anyway it shakes when you have 19 years.
The second was a couple from Cambodia, which the man and the woman collapsed in tears in front of me. ... Not tears of distress, but tears of joy when I announced to them that they could finally claim a residence permit and therefore lawfully leave a few weeks in their home countries to review their son they don ' had not held in their arms for over 15 years. I held little of my own tears.
I also remember a young colleague, assistant were just like me, who had developed a passion for letters of denunciation that we receive every day. Every night he eagerly stripped and delectation. Y rethink makes me sick.
The experience lasted only a month but was especially distressing.
- Teacher.
During my years of replacements (which still endure), a headmaster satisfied with my services to college offered me a job as a teacher for a few weeks. Sick leave of the lady which I substituted lasted much longer than expected and I was kept in my office about three months.
The first weeks were a real treat. I liken the rest to hell. I finally poorly supported being locked whole day with the same children and I have quite conspicuous by my incompetence in the arts. Achieving a gift for Mother's Day was for me an insurmountable challenge.
- Professor of History and Geography.
I have both enjoyed in difficult schools and privileged. I get along with students and the profession gives me great personal satisfaction.
The price is a personal investment (time and energy) very heavy. Admittedly I'm being paid for 18.30 from ... what seems to many people totally ridiculous but working upstream and downstream is considerable. I'm not complaining but I sometimes suffer from lack of consideration of certain business that summarize the two-month summer vacation ...
Honestly I do not stay all my life teacher. The following
tomorrow ...
Zia sent me a few days ago a questionnaire which I promised to respond. Unfortunately since last Tuesday I have not had much time to devote to this blog. Between councils class, filling ballot boxes and the correction of various prints and white (a nice scoring session held my Saturday from 11:30 to 22:00. Hard!) days marched without my noticing. As for my Sunday, it was devoted to the supervision of an exit on Disneyland kind invitation of some students in the fourth.
week has just begun and I am so exhausted that a Friday night ... it promises!
Let's start with the four jobs that marked me the most ... and let's be frank here cited the four jobs are my own experiences.
- Secretary. Little work
holiday. I attended for a month the Director of Communication of a large box which was working my financial stepfather while the secretary was taking regular vacations. Pretty cool job. Once the mail sorted most of taf was to answer the phone ... This one does not often confess myself ringing is royally sucks.
I do not remember much at all other screensavers on the PC with whom I spent the time to have observed every detail of the ceiling for hours, wandering the stage my desk, squatted room frequented assiduously copying and toilets tiled with marble. Upstairs in the same direction the toilet asserted the superiority of those working there ... point paper towel to wipe his hands, but small white towels for single use. I also remember a fascinating discussion with the director of the com. on Clouds he watched from the top of the tower. I think he liked me.
- Employee Prefecture. Again
holiday job. I held several positions over the years. When I found myself during one month window of undocumented I understand how men and women could suffer in our beautiful country. So I rubbed a real social deprivation (particularly financial and legal) who made me aware of my own luck. Jen went out mess with my.
I remember in particular two cases. One was Algeria. The day I told him through my little window of protection the rejection of his application for a residence permit, he stood up and told me, before turning on his heel, he would be murdered once they return the country. Bluff? Anyway it shakes when you have 19 years.
The second was a couple from Cambodia, which the man and the woman collapsed in tears in front of me. ... Not tears of distress, but tears of joy when I announced to them that they could finally claim a residence permit and therefore lawfully leave a few weeks in their home countries to review their son they don ' had not held in their arms for over 15 years. I held little of my own tears.
I also remember a young colleague, assistant were just like me, who had developed a passion for letters of denunciation that we receive every day. Every night he eagerly stripped and delectation. Y rethink makes me sick.
The experience lasted only a month but was especially distressing.
- Teacher.
During my years of replacements (which still endure), a headmaster satisfied with my services to college offered me a job as a teacher for a few weeks. Sick leave of the lady which I substituted lasted much longer than expected and I was kept in my office about three months.
The first weeks were a real treat. I liken the rest to hell. I finally poorly supported being locked whole day with the same children and I have quite conspicuous by my incompetence in the arts. Achieving a gift for Mother's Day was for me an insurmountable challenge.
- Professor of History and Geography.
I have both enjoyed in difficult schools and privileged. I get along with students and the profession gives me great personal satisfaction.
The price is a personal investment (time and energy) very heavy. Admittedly I'm being paid for 18.30 from ... what seems to many people totally ridiculous but working upstream and downstream is considerable. I'm not complaining but I sometimes suffer from lack of consideration of certain business that summarize the two-month summer vacation ...
Honestly I do not stay all my life teacher. The following
tomorrow ...
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Batteries For Toy Hauler
a Saturday night. Vade Retro
Saturday.
19:00.
For the first time in three months time I'm at my parents for dinner. Less than ten minutes later, following the absorption of a cocktail made with the means at hand (rum, lemon, clementine pressed sugar cane ... something truly undrinkable) I am officially drunk. Slumped in the leather sofa listening to conversations and avoided as much as possible to participate. In my state I can not align three words without starting a spin that does not fail to amuse my brother. I do find my mind that when clearing the table.
Through the kitchen window I can make Paris and its lights. Calling the city is strong tonight.
23h30: Back to my home I see that asshole was parked in my parking space. I'm so out of the confines of my home to find a place in one of the adjacent streets.
While returning to my apartment, I rant, I smoke, I grumble, but eventually abandoned the idea of deflating the tires of the intruder. Writing a scathing letter to me a little quiet the nerves and allows me to think more calmly to my evening. I picked up the little cash lying around in my living room and anoint me slightly before resort.
Once outside, I slide the ticket under the wipers venomous of the aforementioned asshole. Needless act but I know that relieves ...
I put the contact, increase heat and turn up the sound of my car radio. Paname direction.
0:20: I go into the Emergency Room Bar, just steps from the Pantheon. I have to wait more than one half hour to find a seat at the bar. A place .... The word is a bit much; say a few square centimeters sufficient to raise my glass and an elbow. Around me restless youth. I must be the only person not accompanied by the establishment and I do not feel in my place. When I point to a group of guys where the table waiting for their companions, a young man turns to me and throws me this terrifying sentence:
"Thank you sir. "Am I
air that old? I am now seen as an anachronistic entity?
03:00 am: I walk alone in the streets of Paris to get some fresh air mind. I'm not drunk, but I need fresh air. Having toured the Pantheon I pass the gates of the Luxembourg Gardens while carefully examining the photographs are hung. While walking I try in vain to remind myself of some verses of the poem of Aragon "Is this how people live," whose title is the underlying theme of the exhibition. I loose my memory these days.
A light rain begins to fall. My thin leather jacket, under which I do not wear a T-shirt, does not protect me enough from the cold night.
It's time to go.
04:00: Lying in my bed I can not sleep. Reading, failing to guide me to sleep at night helps me wrong. I
dark at around 05:00.
Saturday.
19:00.
For the first time in three months time I'm at my parents for dinner. Less than ten minutes later, following the absorption of a cocktail made with the means at hand (rum, lemon, clementine pressed sugar cane ... something truly undrinkable) I am officially drunk. Slumped in the leather sofa listening to conversations and avoided as much as possible to participate. In my state I can not align three words without starting a spin that does not fail to amuse my brother. I do find my mind that when clearing the table.
Through the kitchen window I can make Paris and its lights. Calling the city is strong tonight.
23h30: Back to my home I see that asshole was parked in my parking space. I'm so out of the confines of my home to find a place in one of the adjacent streets.
While returning to my apartment, I rant, I smoke, I grumble, but eventually abandoned the idea of deflating the tires of the intruder. Writing a scathing letter to me a little quiet the nerves and allows me to think more calmly to my evening. I picked up the little cash lying around in my living room and anoint me slightly before resort.
Once outside, I slide the ticket under the wipers venomous of the aforementioned asshole. Needless act but I know that relieves ...
I put the contact, increase heat and turn up the sound of my car radio. Paname direction.
0:20: I go into the Emergency Room Bar, just steps from the Pantheon. I have to wait more than one half hour to find a seat at the bar. A place .... The word is a bit much; say a few square centimeters sufficient to raise my glass and an elbow. Around me restless youth. I must be the only person not accompanied by the establishment and I do not feel in my place. When I point to a group of guys where the table waiting for their companions, a young man turns to me and throws me this terrifying sentence:
"Thank you sir. "Am I
air that old? I am now seen as an anachronistic entity?
03:00 am: I walk alone in the streets of Paris to get some fresh air mind. I'm not drunk, but I need fresh air. Having toured the Pantheon I pass the gates of the Luxembourg Gardens while carefully examining the photographs are hung. While walking I try in vain to remind myself of some verses of the poem of Aragon "Is this how people live," whose title is the underlying theme of the exhibition. I loose my memory these days.
A light rain begins to fall. My thin leather jacket, under which I do not wear a T-shirt, does not protect me enough from the cold night.
It's time to go.
04:00: Lying in my bed I can not sleep. Reading, failing to guide me to sleep at night helps me wrong. I
dark at around 05:00.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Are Steam Washers Worth It 2010
Vitamins
I just learned that to burn the 530 kcal provided by the 100 grams of salted peanuts j'ingère that every night I have to choose between:
- Walk for 3 hours and 32 seconds (not 31 "You Do not Mess with kilocalories).
I own a car and I do not use it to decorate my car. My twingo take the bad.
- Swim for 66 minutes.
I live too far from the beach (unless you go there on foot or by bicycle ... stupid idea because once there the elimination of calories dip would be rendered useless by the preliminary efforts). I do not intend to swim in the Seine and I do not have the necessary swimsuit "mold dick" required to wade into the broth of my chlorinated swimming pool. (By the way I hate swimming pools. I feel like a tea bag in a cup infusing oversized. Drinking water from the pool always gives me the sensation of tasting a brew man. Simply disgusting).
- Read 8 hours 50 minutes. Already
more within my reach but 8 hours is 8 hours ... still very long ... I'd
curious to know other equivalences of this kind. ... Random Sample: How many parts of legs in the air must be carried out to remove 100 grams of peanuts (and retailer: How many calories for a reciprocating or cunnilingus implemented).
same time, let us be lucid, if I had a sexual partner I would not spend my evenings eating those crap while drowning myself in the pineapple juice.
It is time to slow down on salted peanuts. Damage.
PS: I take this post to shout my hatred for dietitians and dietetics in general.
PPS: For readers who have had a few calories to lose my mail is always available in my profile.
PPPS: Last minute: Leave a comment on the blog fantomeopera to burn lots of calories. Do not hesitate!
PPPPS: You are you still there?
I just learned that to burn the 530 kcal provided by the 100 grams of salted peanuts j'ingère that every night I have to choose between:
- Walk for 3 hours and 32 seconds (not 31 "You Do not Mess with kilocalories).
I own a car and I do not use it to decorate my car. My twingo take the bad.
- Swim for 66 minutes.
I live too far from the beach (unless you go there on foot or by bicycle ... stupid idea because once there the elimination of calories dip would be rendered useless by the preliminary efforts). I do not intend to swim in the Seine and I do not have the necessary swimsuit "mold dick" required to wade into the broth of my chlorinated swimming pool. (By the way I hate swimming pools. I feel like a tea bag in a cup infusing oversized. Drinking water from the pool always gives me the sensation of tasting a brew man. Simply disgusting).
- Read 8 hours 50 minutes. Already
more within my reach but 8 hours is 8 hours ... still very long ... I'd
curious to know other equivalences of this kind. ... Random Sample: How many parts of legs in the air must be carried out to remove 100 grams of peanuts (and retailer: How many calories for a reciprocating or cunnilingus implemented).
same time, let us be lucid, if I had a sexual partner I would not spend my evenings eating those crap while drowning myself in the pineapple juice.
It is time to slow down on salted peanuts. Damage.
PS: I take this post to shout my hatred for dietitians and dietetics in general.
PPS: For readers who have had a few calories to lose my mail is always available in my profile.
PPPS: Last minute: Leave a comment on the blog fantomeopera to burn lots of calories. Do not hesitate!
PPPPS: You are you still there?
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Best Curel Lotion For Tattoos
Peanut junkie.
Sadly. Last few days my fridge is as empty as the skull of a militant Le Pen (father-daughter) / Megret / villiéristes (delete as appropriate). Some yogurts are obsolete duel against a bottle of Perrier without gas and an old tube crushed concentrate tomato. Food gladiators of modern times. Height of forfeiture, I ran out of peanuts and pineapple juice that I was hooked since my move.
The idea to attack me with numerous copies (I already know all poorer as each other even before they have read) piled up in my library does not enchant me. Furthermore I'm running out of red pen, must-have accessory of the agent that I am correcting. The Jedi Knights have their light sabers, their batons cops, prostitutes, their tops ... me my red pen that I carry around everywhere. As student I hated them, now I detest.
Cornered, facing the inevitable event of the races monthly, I resolve to go on a commando mission in one of these modern temples of consumption that are Auchan stores. Velizy 2 me here!
Equipped with a caddy to hold a disproportionate unable trajectory (they are designed well? As far as I can remember I think I never met with a knowing roll of the right gear), I mixed with many other pilgrims ready Stripping their bank accounts in exchange for some food. I pile in bulk packs of water bottles fruit juice, meat, rice, fish, bread, household products, various spices, spray de-icer for my car (why am I dumb to realize this purchase as winter ends? I just spent the last months Scratch snow up to scratch my windows and I buy this product now rendered useless by the seasonal thaw. My own stupidity overwhelms me).
At a bend radius in the heart of the deli area, I came face to face with a charming blonde fingering big dry sausages over a glass counter. This scene provokes in me a furious, irrepressible but unsuccessful push lewd. It is possible that this night I dream of being a sausage hanging that would fiddle with all clients of the supermarket.
Once completed checkout and grade (saltwater) set, I load my car back and wander around the mall Velizy. All around me restless young or old women I wish for most knowing never be able to own them. It seems that fashion is the skinny jeans. Hallelujah! Bless fashion! I note with some chagrin that I send the number of looks for women that I meet that finds echoes among older women and all particularly bourgeois ass tightly. Should I consider a switch in the branch Gigolo? All the girls below 25 years seem to ignore me completely. (NB in my dream deli only women under 25 years will come to me fiddle).
For the umpteenth time since the beginning of the holidays I go through a shop Marionnaud to test some fragrances for men. As usual, I come away undecided, a different scent on each wrist and paper testers fill their pockets. After this visit I think I want one who could match me. It remains to find how well I could bottle it out ...
Back home I sit in my sofa futon with a good book. The dinner that accompanies this moment of relaxation that is more frugal. On the menu, salted peanuts, pineapple juice and four squares of chocolate milk. Living alone is sometimes painful ... especially for liver and stomach.
Sadly. Last few days my fridge is as empty as the skull of a militant Le Pen (father-daughter) / Megret / villiéristes (delete as appropriate). Some yogurts are obsolete duel against a bottle of Perrier without gas and an old tube crushed concentrate tomato. Food gladiators of modern times. Height of forfeiture, I ran out of peanuts and pineapple juice that I was hooked since my move.
The idea to attack me with numerous copies (I already know all poorer as each other even before they have read) piled up in my library does not enchant me. Furthermore I'm running out of red pen, must-have accessory of the agent that I am correcting. The Jedi Knights have their light sabers, their batons cops, prostitutes, their tops ... me my red pen that I carry around everywhere. As student I hated them, now I detest.
Cornered, facing the inevitable event of the races monthly, I resolve to go on a commando mission in one of these modern temples of consumption that are Auchan stores. Velizy 2 me here!
Equipped with a caddy to hold a disproportionate unable trajectory (they are designed well? As far as I can remember I think I never met with a knowing roll of the right gear), I mixed with many other pilgrims ready Stripping their bank accounts in exchange for some food. I pile in bulk packs of water bottles fruit juice, meat, rice, fish, bread, household products, various spices, spray de-icer for my car (why am I dumb to realize this purchase as winter ends? I just spent the last months Scratch snow up to scratch my windows and I buy this product now rendered useless by the seasonal thaw. My own stupidity overwhelms me).
At a bend radius in the heart of the deli area, I came face to face with a charming blonde fingering big dry sausages over a glass counter. This scene provokes in me a furious, irrepressible but unsuccessful push lewd. It is possible that this night I dream of being a sausage hanging that would fiddle with all clients of the supermarket.
Once completed checkout and grade (saltwater) set, I load my car back and wander around the mall Velizy. All around me restless young or old women I wish for most knowing never be able to own them. It seems that fashion is the skinny jeans. Hallelujah! Bless fashion! I note with some chagrin that I send the number of looks for women that I meet that finds echoes among older women and all particularly bourgeois ass tightly. Should I consider a switch in the branch Gigolo? All the girls below 25 years seem to ignore me completely. (NB in my dream deli only women under 25 years will come to me fiddle).
For the umpteenth time since the beginning of the holidays I go through a shop Marionnaud to test some fragrances for men. As usual, I come away undecided, a different scent on each wrist and paper testers fill their pockets. After this visit I think I want one who could match me. It remains to find how well I could bottle it out ...
Back home I sit in my sofa futon with a good book. The dinner that accompanies this moment of relaxation that is more frugal. On the menu, salted peanuts, pineapple juice and four squares of chocolate milk. Living alone is sometimes painful ... especially for liver and stomach.
Thursday, February 9, 2006
Where To Find Thick Paper
Epilogue.
The sun shining through the canopy and the yard floods me a gentle warmth and caring. Accompanied by Miss A and a handful of colleagues I have to pay a final tribute to JP whose coffin throne on the altar of the chapel.
JP, to be faced with exemplary courage, finally bent knees before His Majesty the King Crabs, winner of a battle won in advance.
fucking crustacean.
The sun shining through the canopy and the yard floods me a gentle warmth and caring. Accompanied by Miss A and a handful of colleagues I have to pay a final tribute to JP whose coffin throne on the altar of the chapel.
JP, to be faced with exemplary courage, finally bent knees before His Majesty the King Crabs, winner of a battle won in advance.
fucking crustacean.
Thursday, February 2, 2006
Where To Sell Silvertone Danelectro Guitars
Ground control to Major Tom.
The road that connects the home of my parents at my home through a dark wood and dense. Some evenings, like today, I crush the throttle more than it takes to climb the steep tree-lined blackened and twisted by the ink night in which they are embedded. Before me, a column of bitumen rises like a monstrous eel j'éblouis that by my lights dim light. I therefore raise the back of my skull on the warm velvet of my lies head sink into my seat and let my car go up the coast alone. Sometimes I dare close my eyes a few seconds to more fully savor this moment of drunkenness mechanics. Outstretched arm, I guide my car with one hand to the top of the hill where stands the great gate of the municipal cemetery. The slightest movement of the shoulder, however small, is reflected immediately in my arms then on the wheel, causing very slight yaw. Reaching the end of the road, finding the light of street lamps, I slowed down and adopt more responsible conduct. Fleeting sensation, exhilarating and illegal to take off straight toward the sky in a roar of engines, staring at this ocean black crush me, dreaming of hugging Nut and drown me in the folds of her skin sky.
The road that connects the home of my parents at my home through a dark wood and dense. Some evenings, like today, I crush the throttle more than it takes to climb the steep tree-lined blackened and twisted by the ink night in which they are embedded. Before me, a column of bitumen rises like a monstrous eel j'éblouis that by my lights dim light. I therefore raise the back of my skull on the warm velvet of my lies head sink into my seat and let my car go up the coast alone. Sometimes I dare close my eyes a few seconds to more fully savor this moment of drunkenness mechanics. Outstretched arm, I guide my car with one hand to the top of the hill where stands the great gate of the municipal cemetery. The slightest movement of the shoulder, however small, is reflected immediately in my arms then on the wheel, causing very slight yaw. Reaching the end of the road, finding the light of street lamps, I slowed down and adopt more responsible conduct. Fleeting sensation, exhilarating and illegal to take off straight toward the sky in a roar of engines, staring at this ocean black crush me, dreaming of hugging Nut and drown me in the folds of her skin sky.
Wednesday, February 1, 2006
Accident Diagram How Draw Light
Storm in brushing.
Yesterday one of my students has blown a lead early in my course. Unprecedented situation that has left the class silent stupor. For my part I confess that this event yet harmless really shook me.
few weeks ago, Jean-Charles joined Terminale S where j'officie as professor of History and Geography. For health reasons on which Parents do not want to linger when I met him (the young man is subject to severe anxiety attacks) JC has decided to change schools to prepare your tray at all serenity. JC
the specimen is typical, or even caricature, of high school come from a posh suburb. Brushing, jacket and matching pants, little gingham shirt, polished shoes. Only thing missing for the perfect mix of young neuilléen that the membership card of the fan club of Nicolas Sarkozy. JC speaks with elegance and openly displays the ambition to integrate Science-Po after graduation his high school diploma. In short, a boy certainly nice but whose personality has immediately attracted the indifference or even hostility from the rest of the class where the atmosphere is rather relaxed in even though most other kids are from the same environment .
Yesterday morning, while the students joined their place and I was leaving my satchel containing the red cardboard sleeve over my terminal, JC approached the desk and stood up facing me. While he was passing me rambling about an oral that would have been imposed the previous weekend, I watched an eye large drops of sweat beading on his forehead and followed with another unusual rolling his eyes in their sockets, physiological evidence of his obvious mental disorientation. From time to time JC stopped in the middle of a sentence and stared at me with his eyes suddenly motionless. While I tried to see clearly in his remarks and offered him a ride to the infirmary to lie down for a moment, the charming class representative passed him to join him. While continuing to stare me he raised his right arm and grabbed the girl by the shoulder to push violently away. This gesture gratuitous violence, coupled with his look haggard knotted my stomach. The class representative remained silent and watched with amazement concern our exchange surreal. Responding to the provocation she dared interrupt us to tell him of his thinking. While staring at me JC shouted against him:
- "You go to your place! "The class
froze. A heavy silence fell upon the classroom while BC, now silent, still staring at me. I then pointed to two students and came hard, using my sweetest voice, to convince the young man to reach the infirmary. He resisted a bit but ended up following my advice. Head down, under heavy escort, shirt soaked with sweat, he left the room. I saw in his eyes that he was lost.
Yesterday one of my students has blown a lead early in my course. Unprecedented situation that has left the class silent stupor. For my part I confess that this event yet harmless really shook me.
few weeks ago, Jean-Charles joined Terminale S where j'officie as professor of History and Geography. For health reasons on which Parents do not want to linger when I met him (the young man is subject to severe anxiety attacks) JC has decided to change schools to prepare your tray at all serenity. JC
the specimen is typical, or even caricature, of high school come from a posh suburb. Brushing, jacket and matching pants, little gingham shirt, polished shoes. Only thing missing for the perfect mix of young neuilléen that the membership card of the fan club of Nicolas Sarkozy. JC speaks with elegance and openly displays the ambition to integrate Science-Po after graduation his high school diploma. In short, a boy certainly nice but whose personality has immediately attracted the indifference or even hostility from the rest of the class where the atmosphere is rather relaxed in even though most other kids are from the same environment .
Yesterday morning, while the students joined their place and I was leaving my satchel containing the red cardboard sleeve over my terminal, JC approached the desk and stood up facing me. While he was passing me rambling about an oral that would have been imposed the previous weekend, I watched an eye large drops of sweat beading on his forehead and followed with another unusual rolling his eyes in their sockets, physiological evidence of his obvious mental disorientation. From time to time JC stopped in the middle of a sentence and stared at me with his eyes suddenly motionless. While I tried to see clearly in his remarks and offered him a ride to the infirmary to lie down for a moment, the charming class representative passed him to join him. While continuing to stare me he raised his right arm and grabbed the girl by the shoulder to push violently away. This gesture gratuitous violence, coupled with his look haggard knotted my stomach. The class representative remained silent and watched with amazement concern our exchange surreal. Responding to the provocation she dared interrupt us to tell him of his thinking. While staring at me JC shouted against him:
- "You go to your place! "The class
froze. A heavy silence fell upon the classroom while BC, now silent, still staring at me. I then pointed to two students and came hard, using my sweetest voice, to convince the young man to reach the infirmary. He resisted a bit but ended up following my advice. Head down, under heavy escort, shirt soaked with sweat, he left the room. I saw in his eyes that he was lost.
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