The fish swims and the fish catches salami and the fish is pulled out of the ocean and the fish breathes air and the fish has the hook caught in its mouth and the fish nearly dies. Might have died. Swam away, but with a hook in its mouth. We do not know. Our morality is questioned. We wonder if we are good–the results are inconclusive. The only thing we know is that we are flawed. We wanted to fish and we did it, but we don’t know enough about it to do it, so we shouldn’t be doing it and we won’t. Here, take this Oxford English Dictionary; I’ll swear by it. I won’t fish anymore.
This happened two minutes ago. You can trust me. I am quite possibly the most honest person you know. I am more honest than your third grade teacher. I am more honest because of my third grade teacher who caught me cheating on a test and I only cheated one other time again, in high school, Latin and that wasn’t really intentional. That was a great course, but as you can see, I’ve taken up French. If I had become swept away by an ancient Roman fellow named Stercus or Marcus, then I’m sure I would have been learning Latin. Ecce Romani!
So, my French now fiance–yep, he said yes when I asked him on the plane to Chicago–he has no idea what he’s getting himself into: a lifetime of strange humor and jokes that don’t quite make sense. Anyway, we went fishing tonight.
The better part of my day and the less morally confusing was talking to Vincent’s lovely French family. We spoke over skype and it was so wonderful. I understood such words as “voiture” and “cherche” and “travail.” I’ve been doing a lot of Duolingo and I’m at 42% reading proficiency, which really doesn’t show in my accent or in my ability to speak to Vincent’s lovely French family. I kind of freeze up—as if the picture is frozen on the computer–but really that’s just me looking out into space, wondering how I can possibly talk or contribute to the conversation. I mainly just nod and say “Oui.” Sometimes I just say “Oui” in my head. It still counts. If one is speaking French in their head, it still counts. Don’t tell me otherwise or I’ll punch your lights out.
Anyway, I don’t have much to say tonight other than this somewhat traumatic experience with the fish and wondering if that petit poisson will be okay. J’espere. I hope it will be. I do eat fish though, so it’s not like I don’t understand because I do. It’s just that I don’t kill things very often. It’s very painful. It’s very hard to watch. I am grateful that there are people who fish who are knowledgeable about it. Sustainability is a whole other issue. Oh Zeus! I’m pouring myself some more Chardonnay right now. Moral issues just lead me to drink more glasses of wine.
Speaking of wine and how much you like my outfit–oh you didn’t just comment on my outfit?–I’ve started saying this hilarious joke where I call Vincent “Vin Rouge.” By the dawn’s early light is it funny. It is absolutely hilarious. He really enjoys it–especially when we are walking home from the beach and talking to each other in Russian accents. Other people seem to totally “get” us.
Okay. This wine is getting warm. I must ingest.
Bonsoir mon ami. May you eat all the fish you catch. May you drink the finest wine. May the hook in that fish fall out and may it swim away into the great big sea.