Creative Writing/French and Starvation/Poverty

My father had a pet name for my college major of Creative Writing/French; he called it Starvation/Poverty. So, here's a video of yours truly -- a two-part author interview for the Pure Euro Tour in Paris this summer -- doing the interview in French. (Bill Baggott? How you like me now?)

I want to shout to Sister Joan (if you hear a little Bronx in my accent that's from her); Monsieur Lachance, Monsieur Columbat, the nuns at Mt. Aviat who spoke in French among each other as a secret code that I was motivated to break. 

Now, since this is the first time I've seen myself speaking French, I notice 

A. I repeat hand gestures (I think that the damn bonnet gesture is because I thought the tape would be edited to sound bytes, which, um, didn't happen) 

B. I understand French interviewers better when biting my bottom lip nervously. 

And C. at 4:26, I start talking about the Freudian interpretations of the Dome and my childhood -- relating to my wonderfully hyper-protective mother, Glenda -- a move that's so French, I can barely stand it. 

The second video link on this page -- click here --  here is better -- you know, wild gesture and strange faces-wise. Seriously, in the screen shot for video #2, I look like I'm trapped in the body of Celine Dion.