Rural France, as far from the 20 biggest cities as geographically possible, a hard-left hotspot for the last few centuries. Tbh we have like 10 local leftist third places (a co-op bar/live shows place, a freecycle place, two boardgame/rpg bars, a pay-what-you-can (good) restaurant with ultra-local food, a community hall for crafts, homework, WFH, and random meetings,two community theaters.)

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Und ich spreche Deutsch! Been to Bavaria (I know) a few times as a kid / teen, my grandmother taught highschool German for decades, and my dad reads Goethe for fun. German was the language I actually loved. Never use it nowadays though, and it’s so rusty I can’t do anything with it anymore. And my traitor kid just picked Italian as her 2nd foreign language. She sucks.

So, in a week or so?

Oh so now I’m committed I need luck all of a sudden?

Thanks !

Not a native speaker, so don’t put too much faith in my answer, but: for me, it means actual left, faaaar left, not the milquetoast leftf-wing parties that sometimes win elections in Western Europe.

There’s a good measure of gift economy, for example. We share many resources, grow food for each other (I do squash, a neighbor does leek, and so on–but we don’t trade, we just take what we need.) When we need musclepower we just pass the word around and strangers or friends come build a wall / clean out an old barn / stack firewood. There’s a buy-nothing warehouse were we drop everything from clothes to building materials, toys, kitchenware, and art supplies.
I volunteer to manage a pay-what-you-want hostel for hikers. There’s a lot of grassroot community politics / activism. It’s nice.

Central France. You coming?

I need one though.

Oh yeah baby

Sometimes I look at my life and I feel jealous of myself. Tbh I deliberately moved here (the boonies, and a leftist / alt-culture hotspot of grassroot community living), and it has its cons, but… Next week a wool felter is taking me foraging wild plants to teach me basket weaving, then I’m teaching her the basics of fermenting food (for booze, taste, or preservation), while my 10yo kid is 500km away for her country-wide robotics competition. I’m happily trapped in a caricature.

Most definitely Big Fish. Every time I swear I won’t cry; every time I end up sobbing. With snot.
It just hits too close to home. I even had to trigger-warn my 55-year-old dad, to whose home it hits even closer.

I don’t shave my armpits anymore. After a year or so, I even started liking my armpit hairs.

In the rural are I’m in, my year old neighbor recently spanked her 2 year old grandson in front of me, on the street, because… he was walking into my yard while the adults were chatting. Which was a total non-issue. The kid’s mom, her daughter, wasn’t there. I’m cordial with the neighbor, but we’re not friends, and she had zero reason to think I’d condone it. It was so matter-of-fact. My own 9 year old was aghast. It’s awful.

I used to proofread boons on Project Gutenberg in 2004 or so. 2006 at the latest. It’s internet-old.

Edit As a proofreader with 20+ years of experience, I’ll leave the typo.

I wouldn’t know: never tried it. Not even sure what’s in it. Now I’m curious.