The Miss List

 

Things I miss that I didn't expect to:

• Cheap, delicious Asian restaurants (wasn't Vietnam a French colony? Aren't there loads of Asians living in Paris? Why is this so difficult?)
• Good sandwiches, including -- but not limited to -- banh mi (which is a cheap, delicious Vietnamese sandwhich, see above)
• Non-sugary, whole-grain, crunchy breakfast cereals: specifically Joe's Os/Cheerios and Barbara's Shredded Oats
• Trader Joe's nuts, candied nuts, steel-cut oats, orange-muscat chamgagne vinegar. Trader Joe's in general
• Large tubs of European-style plain yogurt (and I'm in Europe. Go figure.)
• Stonyfield organic yogurt tubes, which the girls love frozen
• The occasional summery day in the middle of winter
• Colorful houses and clothes. Bright crazy colors in general
• My Kitchen-Aid stand mixer. Different electrical outlets, so didn't bring and not worth buying here
• Good girls' soccer programs
• Being able to compost garbage through the municipality
• Dryer. Actually, Anthony's the one who misses this. Who knew he had this strong a preference for non-crunchy clothes?

  

photos 1 nd 3: http://forum.bodybuilding.com/showthread.php?t=141897461&page=1, and  http://www.foodpeoplewant.com/banh-mi-sandwich/

 

Things I miss that I knew I'd miss:

• Ton Kiang dim sum, Burma Super Star restaurants, and King of Thai Noodle, all on Clement Street. Clement Street in general -- one of San Francisco's greatest, most eclectic shopping streets
• Friends and family
• Elaborate week-long school field trips from the girls private school in SF
• Having a car, but just occasionally, for massive shopping trips
• Mangoes (cheap and good, as opposed to expensive and not great) and other tropical fruits
• Golden Gate Park -- being allowed to play on large expanses of grass
• Having more than one toilet in the house

  

left photo from: http://chineseppl.blogspot.fr/2011/08/dim-sum-etiquette-tapping-to-say-thanks.html

Things I thought I'd miss that I don't:

• My big, beautiful house in San Francisco. Still love it, but it's not going anywhere...
• Inexpensive, super-stocked second-hand clothing stores (well, I still kind of miss Goodwill, but it's also a relief not to have anything like that here, because I have no extra closet space)
• Dryer. Turns out, I don't so much mind hanging laundry or having crunchy clothes
• Gymnastics. Truth is, the gym where the girls work out here is a much, much better facility and program than the one they had in San Francisco

  

 photo from: http://newyork.citysearch.com/profile/7087814/new_york_ny/tokio_7.html

Things I first missed, but it turns out I was wrong:

• Lock lid leftover storage containers (finally found at Monoprix)
• Salsa and soft corn tortillas (finally found at Monoprix, though not much choice here)
• Ground turkey and chicken. Can get it here from butcher. But at $7 per pound

photos from: http://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/product.asp?SKU=112870 and

http://www.mysupermarket.co.uk/tesco-price-comparison/Speciality_Breads/Old_El_Paso_Soft_Flour_Tortillas_8.html

Things I do not miss at all, and knew I wouldn't:

• Driving, parking, maintaining a car
• Paying private school tuition in San Francisco (20 times higher than what we pay in Paris)
• Foggy summers

photo from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/araswami/5071149157/

Things I already know I will miss when I leave here:

• Four distinct seasons, fall leaves on the ground
• Using and hearing French all the time
• Some of what's available at the fresh produce markets, certain types of fruits and vegetables
• Cheap, great boulangeries and patisseries almost everywhere
• Our French friends
• Not having to pack a school lunch every day for the girls. Hooray for cafeterias! (But I think this is uniquely a problem of San Francisco private schools)
• Walking by Notre Dame, medieval streets, the bridges over the Seine, and Paris architecture as part of daily life
• Walking (instead of driving) the girls to school
• Quick access to limitless different countries, languages, cultures, and travel destinations
• The cheese. The cheese. And the cheese

 

But by far the thing I miss most of all...

 

...and the one thing that actually makes my heart ache is that I have missed my cousin's entire pregnancy and the birth of my niece. Well, technically she will be my second-cousin-once-removed, but I will consider her a niece nonetheless, and she is going to be born any day, any minute, in the hospital right where my own girls were born, just a few blocks away from our house in San Francisco. If we were there, we would have raced for the privilege of being the first ones to meet that little baby girl (probably having to emerge victorious in a real smackdown wrestle in the hospital corridors with the baby's grandparents who live locally). Thank goodness for Skype, but it's just not the same.

Here's Pippa (with Elmo) as a newborn, at that same hospital.

 

And here's Gigi as a newborn: same hospital, same hat, different blanket. What will the hospital-issued blankets look like now? Here's my cousin, holding Gigi as a newborn, but any second now, he'll be holding his own little miss! (And yes, I realize if you're trying to make sense of this blog that the one who is actually pregnant and just about to give birth would technically be, therefore, my cousin-in-law -- and actually my second-cousin-in-law -- but I think you'll agree that just "cousin" reads better.)

 

 In this case, it's not so much "Wish you were here" as a big fat "Wish I were there!"

 

 

 

Dining Doggies

I may not be able to get a French carte de séjour to save my life, but dogs are practically granted full citizenship here, without hesitation.

They are not just allowed but even warmly welcomed all sorts of places that would be taboo in the US, including high-end stores and restaurants, too. Big dogs, little dogs, outdoors, indoors.

 

And why not? They make excellent company...

...and love to eat a little baguette with foie gras, washed down with a lovely carbonated beverage. It's every pooch's dream menu.


I think this sign, found at a castle in La Dordogne sums up the national attitude towards dogs:

Translation: "Don't leave your dogs in your cars. They are allowed in the castle property." And just about everywhere else, too.

Coke, Redux

A letter from my father. He could have put it in a comment on my posting on Coca Cola, but I wanted to be able to show you the photo:

"When Coke first came out as a drink it contained some cocaine. So naturally everyone felt better when they drank it. I don't know how long that lasted, but the US Govt outlawed cocaine and they came up with their secret formula.

In any case for 70 or more years, coke syrup was considered a good medicine for a really bad stomach ache.

I used this bottle that I bought 15 years ago up until a year ago and the darn stuff still worked.

I went to my local CVS and no one there ever heard of using Coke Syrup for a stomach ache.

Here is the actual bottle I used, and saved, since I figured that no one would ever believe me if I told them that coke was used as a medicine."

Well, Dad, the French would believe you!

 

We Protest

When I was younger, I aspired to become the first woman President of the United States. Or a very important Senator, at least. Then, as I grew older and discovered that foreign languages, cultures, and traveling were pretty much my favorite things in the world, I hoped to become an Ambassador, or perhaps Secretary of State. Basically, I wanted to be Hillary Clinton, before Hillary Clinton was Hillary Clinton.

Then in my senior year of high school, my Spanish teacher marked me incorrect for writing the equivalent of "I went to the store and bought a shirt" on my exam instead of "I went to the store and found a shirt." The instructions on the test were to fill in the blank with a word that fit, correctly conjugated, from the chapter, which I had done. But Señora Vickman argued that the sentence that had been given to us in our lesson itself said "found" and, therefore, that was the only correct answer. When I pointed out that, if anything, I should be given extra credit for following directions exactly, being a teensy bit creative, demonstrating a clear understanding of the vocabulary, and proving a mastery of the conjugation (instead of just regurgitation), she shrugged and refused to budge. (A string of teachers like this is the reason my Spanish is not nearly as good as my French.) That was when I first realized that facing pigheadedness and people whose perspectives are opposed to my own strongly-held beliefs makes me so frustrated I get a huge lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, and basically become unable to speak from the injustice of it all. And, I swear, it wasn't about the exam grade.

We recently learned that near the gym, just after the girls gymnastics class today, there would be an anti-gay marriage protest. One of the ways we know is because a girl in Gigi's class will participate in the rally. Well, I get a bee in my bonnet, and the girls and I create placards and decide we will let our own opinions be known. There's no point just preaching to the choir, after all.

Pippa comes with us but it seems that, at seven years old, she has very little idea what the heck it's all about. Nine-year old Gigi, who is becoming very interested in history and politics, is a bit embarrassed to hold up a sign and gets uncomfortable when I am told several different times by security to put down my non-approved signs (even French rebellion has its bureaucracy). But I get a few thumbs ups from bystanders and one loud "Nous sommes bien d'accord, Madame!" ("We heartily agree, Madame!"). And embarrassed though she is, Gigi stands up for her beliefs.

One woman starts talking to us, and Gigi is as baffled by her argument as I am. Gigi describes how her best friend has two mothers, and we explain what a great family they are. The woman says, "But when the child grows up, what if she wants to marry a man and have her own family? She won't have any idea how to do that, because she won't have that example!" The fact that there are widows or divorcees raising children in single-parent/single-sex households, and that they grow up to marry and have kids, does not sway her. The fact that it would be impossible not to be able to imagine a heterosexual life in the Disney-princess, Hollywood-romance, celebrity-crush-magazine world we live in does not sway her. The fact that the parents themselves grew up in heterosexual households and yet were able to imagine a different kind of family does not sway her. The fact that, like her mothers, if the daughter grows up to fall in love with a woman, she can still start her own family does not sway her. Of course, I do not really expect to sway the woman with this one conversation, but I am so proud of Gigi for chiming in and helping me explain our perspective. France is a historically Catholic country after all, and the conversation has to start somewhere.

Demonstration sign: Tous nes d'un homme et d'une femme! = All born from a man and a woman!

Gigi originally had plenty of perfectly understandable reasons for not wanting to participate, mostly that it would be embarrassing to be out there holding a sign with people staring at us, in a largely disapproving manner. Plus, I tend to scream out "Woo-hoo! Mariage pour tous!" at the top of my lungs, in a very American style, every once in a while. Given that we realize, belatedly, that we have some grammar/vocabulary issues, I'm sure we are those people -- the immigrants in the protest with oddly misspelled and unnaturally worded Chinglish or Spanglish signs. It's not like pro-gay, anti-discrimination protest sloganeering French has been at the top of my studies. Though I realize it makes me look a bit less edu-ma-cated (I mean, the people at the demonstration don't realize it's a foreign language for me), I don't care; they get the point across.

 

Translation. And correction:

Jamais encore la bigotisme = Bigotry: never again
      ("Bigotisme" being a fine noun meaning bigotry, according to my [admittedly 1973 edition] Cassell's French-English Dictionary, that it appears none of the actual French people know is a real word. Perhaps I should have gone with "bigoterie" or simply "discrimination"?)

Mariage pour tout! = Marriage for all!
      (But here's that pesky tout/tous/toute dilemma. All of these words mean "all" in different contexts, and of course I choose the wrong one. It should have been "tous".)

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité = Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood
       (Pretty self explanatory French motto, and at least I got this one right.)

Besides the grammar/vocab errors, it appears I may have taken the bull by the wrong horns, so to speak, and slightly missed the mark on my marketing. It's really less a rally against gay marriage and more a rally against gay people having children. But it's not like I know about the protest other than by word of mouth, so I only get the generalities. I'm not exactly on their mailing list. And I may have missed the theme of the protest by a few degrees, but it's relevant. And at least I get the day, place and time right.

But now that I know the demonstration's true purpose, I'm even more confused, frankly. I mean, through legislation you can stop gay marriage, though I can't figure out how to see this is anything but discrimination, pure and simple. But regardless of your beliefs, there's not a thing you can do about gay people having children. Unless you're going to force abortions on them all (including the surrogates). Somehow, that doesn't seem to fit with this group's (or any group's, I hope?) beliefs. 

I might have skipped the demonstration, given the embarrassment and seeming futility, until Gigi tells me that one of the reasons she doesn't want to go is that she is afraid her classmate will see her, and might spread it around school (and remember, though it's a very open/liberal/inclusive school, it's still a Catholic one...). Living in France of all places, that to me is the one reason we absolutely have to do it. Something like the Holocaust or the deportation of the Jews under the Vichy government was possible because too many people were -- and still are -- afraid to speak up for what they know, in their hearts, to be right. World War II buff that she is, Gigi grasps that concept immediately and so, side-by-side (with Pippa in tow), we protest.

I recognize that my friend and her daughter feel they are doing the same -- speaking out, as they see it, on behalf of children. And I have a begrudging respect for that. Pippa, meanwhile, seems to have a greater grasp of the issue at hand than we originally thought. When Anthony asks her opinion of the protest, she thinks about it and says to him, "Well, since I know you, I would be sad if you died and I didn't have you as my daddy. But if I didn't know you, and I had two mommies, I wouldn't miss you at all."

Now, hours afterwards, I am still choked up, frustrated, and weepy. And I think being surrounded by that much bigotry and hatred has given me a new physical response: I have a raging headache and feel like I'm going to pass out. So, perhaps not the best temperament for being Secretary of State or President ("Prime Minister, the American people simply cannot accept your country's human rights violation. Waaaah!!!!"). But at least there's one more nine year old in the world who knows that discrimination is never acceptable, and that silence is complicity.


 

What the Hay?

This morning, we notice that the café downstairs has put out a barrel with fall foliage and a bale of hay. I figure it's some new aspect of their Christmas decorations, which went up a few days ago.

Walking the girls to hip hop class tonight, I pass by another café with hay strewn around the ground, and the penny drops.

 

 

It must mean something. But what? For absolutely no reason I can muster, I immediately think that it must announce the arrival of the Beaujoulais Nouveau. It fascinates me that this is what I think of first, mostly because it turns out to be correct, but also because I am not a wine connoisseur. And if you had asked me yesterday for even a general season for the arrival of the Beaujoulais, I couldn't have told you. But sure enough, around town, they are proudly heralding the new bottles. Upon further research, it happens each year on the third Thursday of the November (so, I guess, always exactly one week before Thanksgiving).

 

Further along our walk, we come across a store that has also chosen to use hay for its window displays. Coincidence? Or is the new Beaujoulais spirit infecting retailers? Or is hay simply the new black? My knowledge of Beaujoulais, and of hay, is just not deep enough to say.

 

Prescription Coke

This is not just an isolated thing: We have now heard from virtually every French person we know -- including doctors -- that "Coca Cola is good for you." At first we think it's a joke. It's a Coke joke. Then we realize they are being serious. Our friends say, "But our grandfather was a doctor, and he always recommended Coca Cola as medicine for stomach aches!"

photo: http://www.cocacolaweb.fr/medias/livres/

This is almost more than my poor organic/fair-trade/slow-food-movement/health-food-crazed San Francisco brain can take. I wonder if I will short-circuit and smoke will come out of my nostrils as my synapses fry.

Just to clarify where I stand, I would like to point out this tidbit, taken from the Coca Cola company's own pages (UK site):

"Any food or drink that contains fermentable carbohydrates (sugars and starches), including calorific sparkling drinks, can play a role in the development of tooth decay. Also, any food or drink that is acidic has the potential to play a role in enamel erosion."

Sure, if you read the fine print, it may not be worse for your teeth than drinking five orange juices a day, but how many people drink five orange juices a day? In any event, it also contributes to obesity and type 2 diabetes. Yeah!

One thing I love about writing is that I never know where research will take me. At the bottom of an askipedia commentary on the general unhealthfulness of Coca Cola, it shows two links for opposing views of the debate. The "pro" cola link takes you directly to the home page of the Coca Cola site. And the "anti" link takes you to "killercoke.org" which is, in fact, talking about the Coca Cola company, despite sounding much more like a reference to South American cocaine wars.

"The Campaign to Stop Killer Coke originated to stop the gruesome cycle of violence against union leaders and organizers in Colombia in efforts to crush their union, SINALTRAINAL. Since then, violence, abuse and exploitation leveled against Coke workers and communities have been uncovered in other countries as well, notably China, El Salvador, Guatemala, India, Mexico and Turkey."

By the way, the short version of Coca Cola in French is "cola", The French word "coke" is very specifically a reference to cocaine.

Here in France, doctors recommend coca cola, pharmacists recommend coca cola, and teachers and parents seem to feed it to their children with rather fewer qualms than I have when I feed my children non-organic spinach. The general population therefore not only consumes large quanitities of it, they consume it with a clear conscience; it is, after all, just what the doctor ordered.

 

Your French Doppelgänger

Today, while walking along Parisian streets, I see my friend Kevin from San Francisco. Mysteriously, his wife Michelle and three children have been replaced by a different wife and children. Upon closer look, it is clear that Kevin is not living a double life but, rather, that I have encountered his doppelgänger, his evil twin, roaming the Latin Quarter eating street crêpes with his children (how dastardly!).

So I think of you frequently, my friends and family, but how can I miss you when I feel like I am still seeing your lovely faces? Check out my cousin Neal, and you can see why I do a double take when I walk by the portrait of Henri de Lorraine, duc de Guise (1549-1588), dit Le Balafré (a.k.a. "Scarface") painted by François Quesnel, hanging at the Musée Carnavalet. If, in a former life, Neal lived as a nobleman in 16th century France, then my poor cousin; the Duke was at one time considered likely to ascend the throne of France, until he was assassinated by King Henry III (who was, in turn, assassinated a year later). My God, how I would love to photoshop in a big ruffled collar over Neal's T-shirt.

 

 

Wait, wait a second. Quick lesson from my dad on how to (ab)use photoshop. Here it is...

 

 

In the metro, I am regularly greeted by a larger-than-life sized poster of singer Ben Mazué and feel like I've got my dear friend Rey right there with me.

 

  

Ben Mazue photo from:http://blogs.paris.fr/pousseleson/2011/09/14/ben-mazue-je-parlerai-quand-meme-un-peu-de-toi-ici/

 

One day while dining with my new very good friend Béatrice (whose country home I visited in Bretagne), it suddenly occurs to me that one of the reasons I must be so drawn to her is that she reminds so much of my old very good friend Trina, back in the Bay Area. In this case, it's not just how they look, but also so many other things about them: their family backgrounds, warmth, humor,  attitudes, professional interests and experiences, parenting styles (they've got 9 kids between them!). Really, it's uncanny, and once it hits me, I feel like I've known Béatrice for a decade. I expect that they'll meet someday. Will they see the similarities? 

 

 

 

My real mom (below left in red) and my French "mom" (that is, the mom of my friend Christine, who hosts us when we go to Normandy) are both retired teacher/school directors, and they remind me so much of each other in terms of demeanor and interests. I believe they will have a chance to meet this spring here in France, and that means I have half a year to improve and correct my grammar in both English and French.

 

 

 

And if you know my daughters, and know that they occasionally model, you can understand why I do a double take in Picard, when I see this face peering out at me from a cookbook.

 

 

In this case, her doppelgänger (left) got the modeling fee and the glory that should have been Gigi's (right). Bummer.

 

 

 

So when will I next see your smiling face, and where? Only your doppelgänger knows...

 

 

 

Suffrin' Suffragette! Ode to Election Day

When living overseas and discussing social issues, I commonly hear, "Well, we're about 20 years behind the US." And in truth, you can look at the state of girls' soccer here as current proof of that phenomenon. Sure enough, the US gave women the right to vote in 1920, and French women were accorded that same right in 1944, though they didn't get the chance to exercise it until April 1945, when World War II, the Nazi occupation, and the Vichy government had all finally ended.

It's interesting to note there are very few Western European or developed countries that gave women the vote after France -- the exceptions being Italy in 1945, and, quite frighteningly, Switzerland in 1971 and Portugal in 1976 (!). My mind boggles.  Don't even get me started on those countries in Africa (e.g. South Africa, 1994) and the Middle East (e.g. Saudi Arabia, 2011).

photo from:http://archeologue.over-blog.com/article-non-tout-n-etait-pas-mieux-avant-segregation-et-vote-des-femmes-les-affiches-du-mouv-106039712.html

Perhaps it's no wonder that France was one of the last developed countries to fall (or really, I should say rise to the occasion), given how patriarchal it is; all titles, land, and inheritence historically went to male heirs. I have a friend who is not a Countess because her mother, even as an only child, could not inherit her own father's title of Count. Not that I think it's ruined my friend's life or anything.

The world seems to hold French women in about the same regard. In Thea Stilton and the Mystery in Paris, a book for children, the five heroine mice are the usual politically correct rainbow, with a variety of skin colors, hair colors, accents, interests and skills. We only have the French-language version of the book in our apartment, so let me translate:

• Nicky from Australia. Passionate about the environment, can't sit still, hates confined spaces
• Violet from China, wants to be a great violinist, loves to study, calms herself with tea and classical music
• Paulina from Peru, wants to be a scientist, is altruistic and great with computers
• Pam from Tanzenia, wants to be a sports journalist or car mechanic, hates conflict, loves pizza
• Coco from France, pays careful attention to her appearance. But her big dream is to become a fashion journalist! She has a real passion for the color pink! She is very entrepreneurial and likes to help others! She is always late! To unwind, all she needs is to get a shampoo and a hair-brushing, or to pass some time getting a manicure!

And as horribly stereotypical as Violet is, I personally would still rather live with her stereotype than Coco's.

As of September 2012, France was #37 on a list compiled by the Inter-Parliamentary Union for percentage of women in the parliamentary lower and upper houses, with 26.9% and 22.2% respectively. Not only are they behind the countries you  might expect, like all the Scandinavian nations, the Netherlands, Germany, and New Zealand, they are also behind Spain, Mexico, and, more shockingly, Rwanda (#1 on the list with 56.3%!), and even Afghanistan.

But, my fellow Americans, don't get too smug yet. On the same list, the US is tied for #80 with 17% in the House and 17% in the Senate. Not only is the US soundly beaten out by France, and all the above mentioned countries, in terms of female representation, we are also below the United Arab Emirates, the Dominican Republic, the Philippines, and Pakistan.

So who's twenty years behind whom?

And if this posting seems remarkably neutral, for election day, with no hint of gloating or despair, that's because I'm actually writing it weeks in advance, because I will be traveling in Ireland over the first part of November (sign up to receive postings, which I'll start in mid-November).

I voted weeks ago in order for my vote to arrive on time -- signed, sealed, and sent via international mail, thanks not only to the battles fought by great women before me, but also to the great efforts of the Union of Overseas Voters. The real bonus is that I did not have to vote for 1,297 California propositions, the bulk of which I couldn't follow (if you vote negative to reject a repeal of something that is forbidden, what the hell have you just voted?!). I got to write in the props I care about, the Pres and VP, Senator, Representative, and I'm done. On the other hand, my vote probably doesn't count unless it's a Gore-Bush style cliffhanger (or, should I say, chad-hanger). Still, I voted, and that means I have the right to either a) breathe a sigh of relief or b) complain for the next four/eight years. I hope it's a).

I leave you with this piece of art, drawn by Gigi at age 8, which has been hanging up in our apartment for a while now. Get your mind out of the gutter. That's President Obama and the White House.


 

Forget Edith Piaf

You trust me, right? Have I steered you wrong yet? So forget Edith Piaf, Cole Porter, and Maurice Chevalier. They're great, sure. Classics. But perhaps you want to add something a bit more modern to your French-themed soundtrack.

I have so many songs I want to include, I'm going to have to split them up. You'll notice that in today's batch of French-themed songs, none of these singers are, actually, from France.

If you're only going to listen to/watch one, and you like funny, make it the Flight of the Conchords (whose accents are horrible, by the way, but all in the name of good comedy). Here they woo some ladies with the most romantic of the Romance languages in "Foux da Fa Fa":

Forget Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga, by the way. In our house, the god of pop is Mika. He's multi-passported and bilingual, but basically British and normally sings in English. One of his only French songs is "Elle Me Dit," but it's a great one. So catchy!:

My parents will hate this next one, but we love it. If you're watching this with kids, be warned that there's a little booty-shakin' by scantily-clad showgirls in excellent lingerie. We show it to our girls (who think it's a crack up) under the guise of "dance", but you may have different costuming standards. Though it's an American song, in English, by a Vermont-based artist, it's got a great French theme. Grace Potter and the Nocturnals with "If I Was in Paris":

Pink Martini, a band originally from Oregon, has won awards in France with this song of theirs, Sympathique, in the style of Edith Piaf. This video is basically shot in our 'hood in Paris. This song is particularly near and dear to our hearts because when Gigi and Pippa first heard this song at ages 5 and 7, they would walk around singing the chorus. I'm sure it makes me a horrible parent -- even worse than letting them watch sexy booty-shaking dancers in lingerie, but I always thought it was very funny to hear their little baby voices plaintively singing, "I don't want to work. I don't want to eat. I just want to forget. And so, I smoke...."

The lead singer of Coeur de Pirate has one of those cute baby voices that seems like it should annoy me, but I love it, and it's a good thing, as I frequently hear her in Paris. "Adieu" is a very American video, and there's an explanation for this: because it's a Canadian band. So, it's a very North American video.

Other contenders you might want to put in your rotation, though no videos to write home about:

"Summer Paradise" by Simple Plan. If you listen to pop radio, you'll recognize the song, which has a more popular English-language version (and actual video, too!), but since the band is French-Canadian, they've recorded a mixed English-French version.

Isabelle Boulay, another French-Canadian, but one who only sings in French. "Parle-Moi" is one of her many songs, her specialty being melodious and melodramatic music.