It isn’t hard to imagine how American television infiltrated France, just as much of American culture has been thrust upon the rest of the free world. But those Frenchies have made our TV shows their own.
You will be completely delighted by the French Dallas theme song:
Pour l’amour du risque (that would be Hart to Hart to us English speakers):
Starsky et Hutch:
Then there are several which have fabulously adorable names. See if you can guess what they are, then click on the links to see if you got it right:
Interestingly, France wasn’t blessed with one of my personal favorites, Family Ties:
And we didn’t get to watch such Frenchie classics as Hélène et les garçons:
What other American shows were popular in France? I hope you’ll write in and add to the list!
Woooooooah! Hold yer horses! I haven’t even finished mourning the end of Cecilia yet!
There’s real speculation that Sarko proposed to Italian-born model Carla Bruni on Christmas day during their vacation in Egypt, when she was photographed wearing a gigantic, pink diamond on her wedding-ring finger.
I can’t believe this. Like one month of dating and they’re getting married? Do you know what news like this does for my self-esteem?!
It’s not bad enough that Carla Bruni is a supermodel. A rich supermodel. Then on top of that she gets a big giant rock after dating the president de la République for a month?
This is retarded. I can’t even believe I’m reporting on this. I should see what my cat is up to and report on that instead.
Oh, he’s passed out next to the Christmas tree.
Anyway, here is a link to the article in Le Parisien, featuring commentary from Bruni’s mother about their relationship. Wouldn’t you just be SO pissed at your mom if she did that to you?
You can also read the watered-down American translation in People [CARLA BRUNI: FRANCE’S NEXT FIRST LADY?….gag, (gag is mine)] by clicking here.
Excuse me, but I need to go cry now.
PARIS (AP) — Miss France 2008 will keep her crown, despite racy photos that appeared recently in a gossip magazine, but will not compete in the Miss World or Miss Universe pageants.
Valerie Begue, 22, will not be stripped of the title she won Dec. 8, but will not be allowed to take part in upcoming international competitions, Miss France organizers said Friday.
Begue described the outcome as “a compromise which satisfies all parties.”
The pageant’s criteria stipulates that candidates must “never have posed or exhibited (themselves) in dubious outfits or poses, partially or totally nude.”
Photos published in Entrevue magazine last week included one of a bikini-clad Begue lying on a cross in a swimming pool and another of her licking what appeared to be yogurt or evaporated milk.
Begue is a native of France’s Indian Ocean island of Reunion. She is to be replaced in international pageants by the first runner-up, Vahinerii Requillart, Miss New Caledonia.
(Note from the French Fried American: don’t you totally love the Peau d’ane outfits they’re wearing? I feel like baking the cake d’amour right now… )
I love when he calls Sarko the alter-eg0 of George Bush and tells him he hates him. Later, he ponders the sanity of Carla Bruni.
Fifi has gone off to France and I am here in Ratville. Life is not fair. But the ambiance in our apartment is pretty sweet. Sort of.
This holiday season we’ve been visited by the Souris de Noel, or the Christmas mice. I got chocolates and a toothbrush (in that order) and Fifi got some chapstick and a travel-size garden gnome.
Unfortunately, Pablo has been catching the Christmas mice and then batting them around in the wee hours as they die slow and tortured deaths. Also, one died in the wall and the smell of death is emanating from the wall socket.
As an aside, I worry that now that I’ve been making a concerted effort to write less about Sarko, I’m now writing too much about my cat. And that’s probably way lamer.
I made kumquat jam. Isn’t that adorable?
A member of the citrus family, kumquats appear in our stores in early winter and are known for having sweet skin but sour fruit. And lots of seeds. It took me over an hour to cut them, and I think it will last for one breakfast, maybe too. But the apartment smells really good.
The other day I got an email from a Frenchie friend of mine who asked how the concubinage was going. That’s apparently a normal thing to ask in France. People ask it all the time.
As in concubine?
As in, I’m a concubine??????
Okay, so this French Fried American is really soooo American. I suddenly had a vision of myself wearing a cheap polyester bathrobe, having doused myself with Jean Naté, lying in bed waiting for Fifi to get home for my life as his concubine begins and ends with the moments I can rub his feet, do his laundry and give him oral sex.
Because that’s just what concubines do.
Just to be sure, I looked it up in the dictionary. According to Merriam-Webster a concubinage is: [noun]
1 : cohabitation of persons not legally married
Okay, I accept that.
2 : the state of being a concubine.
Aha! Number two.
So I looked up concubine:
[noun] a woman with whom a man cohabits without being married: as a: one having a recognized social status in a household below that of a wife b: mistress 4a
And voilà…it kind of made sense for me. Two people who aren’t married just don’t have the same clout here in the U.S. Meanwhile, hardly anyone gets married in France anymore. So of course the word has evolved more in that culture.
This story’s moral: Hey guys! I’m living in a concubinage!