Centre Pompidou: Modern Art Collections

Les Promesses du Passe:

I don't think people give Modern Art enough credit, myself included. I think it's probably because the art itself requires a tremendous amount of understanding and reflection. The same holds true for other forms of art. The relationship between the artist and the movement at the time are completely intertwined. Because Modern Art can have so many topics or faces, it is much easier to ignore the artists' thought processes, than to take a minute and recognize the artist has an opinion, and a strong one at that.

Every movement of art has at least one thing in common...they were dictated by present day events, or maybe events that just recently took place. If an entire country faces new political structures, or harsh economic conditions, of course the ideas of teh people will change. The politically active will strike or speak out, the writers will whip out a pen or open their MacBooks...and the artuists will-- create, whatever they want. They all sit back & reflect, decide their opinions and choose a side, yay-or-nay. Then, they get to work.

Some choose to capture the moment and let the viewer decide for themselves, while others take the more active role and put their entire sources of energy into a piece that a view might not even like. But the point is not for everyone to like a novel, an article or a black and white photograph, the point is to express and to express true to one's own thoughts.

And while I think speaking to one another is pertinent to understanding another human being, languages will never be Universal", but artwork certainly can be.

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Tous Ensemble, 1995

"Painting is not a metaphor for internal life. That is something I don't want from painting. In a way, it is rather a commentary on the world that I see. I would like that my paintings offer someone outside of myself the feeling of life's possibilities, that it awakens the energy to face, to confront things. There are all these roads, all these possibilities available. Except that each painting is nevertheless closed, isolated." --Shirley Jaffe

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#172- Gallieni, Marie-Noelle Decoret, 2000

Black & White Photography.

Simplistic in nature. But it calls for a deeper thought process, one that makes you fill in the blanks to see the whole image. It may lack in color detail, but it calls more attention to the story beneath the image.

***


My Flower Bed, 1962

"Le seul moyen d'echapper a ces choses-la, etait tout m'interrogent sur ce qu'elles pouvaient etre, de les representer visuellement" --Yayoi Kusama

Those Familiar Baby Blues

There are few things in life more comforting than a big pair baby eyes staring up at you from inside of a stroller. And when those happy, sparkling eyes are paired with a toothless grin and a sometimes stuck out tongue, the combination is impossible to resist.

Today when I stepped on the Metro at Chatelet to go to Centre Pompidou, I noticed a younger woman struggling to get situated with her normal sized red stroller. The baby inside was fussing a little, but nothing alarming. So she bounced the stroller a little bit to get him to calm down, and she tried to hang a jacket over the edge of the stroller to maybe block whatever was in his visual perameters-- just typical Mom things to do to make your baby calm down. I hadn't seen her little boy yet as the stroller was facing away from me, but I could tell by his soft whimpers and almost playfully toned cries, he wasn't a pain in the butt baby I've seen a lot of lately.

But soon a few more passengers stepped on, politely moving past the woman and her baby, never looking into the stroller to note the precious cargo eyeing every one who passed by. A few bumped the stroller and quickly said, "Pardon" or "Je m'excuse" but after that, their days continued. The paper still had to be read, a metro-appropriate novel was flipped open, and iPhones were pulled out for entertainment. Since this was the first stop on the Line 11 Metro at Chatelet, I assumed a lot of the passengers had a long way to go.

When the doors shut, the Mom had the opportunity to resituate herself once everyone else had either taken a seat, or who, like me, grabbed onto a pole and just eased into the ride. As she moved the stroller around, I subtly changed my position on the train so I could peer inside to get a look at what was making such cute sounds.

I peeked around the corner of the stroller cover and was greeted by these large blue baby eyes. But these weren't just any blue eyes. Most of the time, when someone says "baby blue" you think of a very light, but brightly toned, blue. Almost like sky blue but with more color variation because it's an eye. These were not baby blue. Well, they were baby blue, but not baby blue. Instead, they had this richer quality to them, with subtle hints of grey and darker blue. But the grey helped maintain their lightness quality, rather than being a darker blue like most adults have. They were simply gorgeous.

After already being thrown off by him having such mature looking eyes, I realized the metro had suddenly become much quieter when we locked glances. His mouth closed, and he just breathed softly. Of course I smiled a little, wondering how this baby could stare at me for so long with such amazement. I couldn't tell if he was a subtly flirting baby, or if he was intrigued by me, but I could tell he was deep in thought. So I stuck my tongue out and watched as he opened his mouth a little bit as if to mimick my motion. Not quite to that age though. So then I expected a little giggle, or something along the lines of flirting. Instead he just closed his mouth again and recommenced the stare.

Almost afraid his mother would think I was staring at her child for too long, I looked away every few seconds, all the while the little one maintained his stare. I couldn't help but think it was a sign, and a great one at that. You can't ever go wrong with a pair of baby blues, so it must be a great sign. And I know in my heart it's a great sign I can carry with me.

And like I said, there are few things more comforting than a pair of baby eyes, and while that's true-- there are few things more inspirational than a sign of fate on the metro. The metro stop I got off at approached far too soon, because all I wanted to do was figure out what he was trying to tell me. But I decided I had figured out enough, waved to him goodbye and wished his mother good health as I stepped off the train and into the Parisian wind. I knew it would be a great start to an even greater afternoon.

Good ol' baby blues.

Les Langages

Since I've arrived in France, I've made every effort to communicate with the French. The language barrier was very hard for me in Austria, and I felt very much like an outsider. I could tell when a restaurant owner grew frustrated with me and I didn't even know how to apologize for not understanding him. But in Paris, I've been able to introduce myself, strike up a conversation and even dive into a rather intricate discussion. I've talked about my tattoos, discussed President Obama, and even asked people what they think of America. Sometimes it gets me into trouble, but we can usually come to some sort of agreement that not all Americans agree with the war and the world-wide destruction our country is causing on a daily basis.

But because I can communicate here, I can make it known I'm not just a loud tourist, drinking at the cafes with my friends. The French are able to see I am a student, diligent in my studies, and willing to learn about the culture. And while the men here are much more forward with females than in the US I've been able to handle myself. And in Austria, if the men had been the same way, it would have been much harder to do. I love being able to understand other people and hear their thoughts on the world and the latest news.

On the buses, the metro, and in the streets I pick up little tidbits of conversations, and while I don't always understand the idiomatic and slang phrases, I can get the jist of the conversation and be able to form my own conclusions. Yesterday I heard a bunch of Italian women speaking at the bus stop, and all I wanted to do was enter the conversation and see what they were talking about. I'm sure some of it was about me, because I saw four or five of them looking at me and then talking. Whatever. Let them talk. Either way, I was inspired to further my knowledge of languages.

The past few months, after working at Ponce Middle, I wanted to learn Spanish so I could communicate with my Hispanic students in the future, but now moreso than ever I want to study Spanish, and Italian so I can travel to these countries and understand the people. German isn't as beautiful, but I'm confident that if I study hard enough the language itself won't be that hard to learn.

I try to live my life through understanding other people, and if I can't communicate with them or don't follow what they say, then I miss a large amount of their being. Something else to add to my life's goals.

French Denny's = 24 Cafe with A Better Menu + Wine

The past few days have been filled with activity after activity. I think I'm finally catching up on sleep though. Thursday evening I went out with Joseph, Caitlin, Corrinne, Martin & Adrienne. We met up at the Saint Michel fontain and hung out at a cafe for a little while, people watching. The girls ordered a bottle of Rose Wine and as we were all talking, crossing conversations over the table, a man approached us on the street and just asked where we were from and how we were enjoying ourselves. We found out he was a Moroccan immigrant who had just received his Visa saying he could stay in France and was very very excited. He was also very very drunk. He was dressed pretty sharply though. A grey beanie on his head, I was lovin' it, with a light brown blazer, dark brown sweater underneath with a colored tie. He was probably about 60 years old.

I told him I was very happy he got to stay in Paris because life was beautiful here and his eyes brightened up and he reached out to clasp my hands in his and kissed them, saying God Bless you. And then when we finally released them after about 15 seconds of awkwardness, I jokingly said so I guess that means we're married now, right?? And he said oh yes of course, my second wife how wonderful! And he went in to kiss both my cheeks. Naturally the cameras come flying out and we all start taking pictures of the scene, and it is very clear he is trying to kiss my lips in the photos, while I am terrified trying to politely back away from him. So that is the story of my Moroccan husband.

Needless, to say, but I will say it anyway, we left the Moroccan man to find a new place to hang out. The cafe/bar we arrived at had a piano playing American music and a woman probably about our age, singing Whitney Houston songs, very monotone and off pitch, which was hilarious to us. We grabbed a few menus and started to look at what was available at 12:30 am. All of the drinks had something to do with sexuality, or living a sexy lifestyle. So we quickly looked for the dirtiest drink names and made sure it was something we would actually enjoy drinking. Most of them were very fruity drinks, not so strong, but we just got a kick out of ordering them from the very serious waiter. And when they came to our table they had sparklers sitting inside, illuminating the entire outdoor bar. The servers were cheering and soon all the tables around us were clapping too, I guess that's something they do here for sparkler filled sexual drinks.

After our slightly embarassing sit at the outdoor bar, the four remaining amigos decided to head somewhere we could dance. We saw this brown bar down the street, with lights pouring out onto the pavement from inside and decided to check it out. Inside Joseph and I immediately recognized the Hispanic House Techno music from Miami so we knew it was a Salsa Bar. Stepping inside they motioned us directly to the bar, I guess that's your cover charge for entering a place where they have music. The bartender was happy we spoke French to him and made us all mojitos. So we talked to him for a little while then decided to wander around and check the place out. The dance floor was a scene I had never experienced. Couples were dancing, facing each other, moving as one. They weren't always touching hands or hips but somehow they flowed perfectly, feeling every beat the song produced. So we joined in! Joseph taught us the basic salsa moves and away we went. Just dancing together, changing dance partners, moving around the dance floor. It was strange, I felt at one with the music, moreso than I've ever felt at a party in Miami and it was so much better this way.

Because the bartender was so nice to us before, we decided to ask him if there was somewhere we could go get food and come back, because by this point none of us had eaten in about 8 hours. He said the bar was closing soon but if we waited he would take us to a smaller bar we could sit in a booth at to listen to music and then we would go to a cafe for some omelettes or sandwiches. So we got to know him a little bit and he asked us about the program we were involved in. He is one of the darkest black men I have ever seen, and he was covered head to toe in black. A black bandana, with a black teeshirt and eventually a black leather riding jacket, black jeans and black boots. Plus he shaved his side burns and eyebrows so they appeared to have been scratched by some kind of wild cat. And his nose was pierced. But he was as gentle as can be. And when we walked by this gang of street dancers who had been harassing me all night, he handled the situation perfectly, told us when to start running and he stayed back a little to keep them away from the girls.

So at this 24 hour cafe, which we later named the classy Denny's we ordered omelettes, croque monsieurs and bread. I think Martin ordered a beer. Mind you, this is around 5 am, and we see specks of sunlight rising over the Seine river. The bartender had to go, and it just so happened to be his birthday, so after we paid the check we decided to walk along the river and see Notre Dame when the sun rised. So we jumped down the stairs to walk right up next to the river, and started marching to the French National Anthem. Around 6 am people start to pass by and join in on our singing, and then in the Seine Martin and I noticed a small bank that housed a few shiny coins. SO we slipped off our rain-soaked shoes and hopped in. Why not, right? When in Paris. I'm pretty sure it's illegal to wade in the Seine River, but there wasn't really anyone around and anyone who was up on the bridge was just watching us for giggles. Then we hiked up the stairs again, continuing our marching brigade and walked over the cobblestones of Notre Dame.

The sky had turned this beautiful blue color and the sun was high in the sky. Earlier in the week I had been terrified of what I learned about the architecture of the church, learning about how it was supposed to educate the illiterate and scare them into being moral. But this morning we had the church to ourselves. No teacher, no lecture, just bright skies and a tune to dance to. So we danced around the cobblestones, reliving the salsa club and dreaming of going to a Parisian ball while we're here. And then I decided to watch the clouds go by for a few minutes. Deciding what each cloud looked like we all discussed heading our seperate ways soon so we could sleep for a few hours before class. There weren't many classes to attend but since it was Friday that meant we were going to see an Absurd play at the theatre after class. So we parted ways, vowing our wolfpack would see each other soon enough. Joseph walked me home and we rested a few hours before art history class at the Louvre.

I'll save everyone a tremendously lengthy post and write about Friday & Saturday tomorrow morning. A bientot, my homework is calling my name.

The Rain in France

The rain here isn't like it is at home. Sure there are grey clouds covering the sky that cast shadows on murky puddles, and people bustle down the street with their rain jackets and umbrellas just the same. But I've noticed in Paris the rain just doesn't drip down on top of umbrellas and rooftops, it falls on the heads of a countless number of homeless people. We can all spot a homeless man on the street. They have the "typical look", long hair, a couple of missing or damaged teeth, and tattered layered clothing. There's usually a bottle in a paper bag sitting next to him on one side and either a cup for donations or a dog on his other. It's not a hard scene to find.

What I think a lot of people don't notice while they hurry along the street to their corner office buildings is that the rain only affects their life for a moment. Maybe ten minutes at the most. Between taking public transportation and wearing some kind of rain gear, they only get wet for a very short amount of time. I personally like walking in the rain, there's something refreshing about such a pure element falling on top of me I can't help but smile. I generally don't walk into a building after choosing to walk bare-headed in the rain complaining about the weather and how my hair is ruined. Hair never falls the same way twice so why would I expect it to stay the way I place it before leaving my room? It's not a feasible request.

But for someone who doesn't have a brush, access to a haircut, or maybe not even a secure cover from the rain, the homeless have a much bigger say in how the rain affects their lives. So, while people run down the street, newspaper in hand, racing to catch the bus that's about to leave, even though the next one will inevitably arrive in three minutes time, they cease to notice the suddenly greater number of homeless people wandering the street. They wander without shoes, sometimes with soaking wet socks, looking for a vendor who will allow them to rest on the stoop for a few minutes. Most of the restaurant and grocery store owners look them up and down and tell them to move on. The parks aren't dry enough to sit under a tree and all of the benches are exposed to the crying skies.

At the end of La Rue du Val de Grace, there is a homeless man I have seen every day since the day I arrived who sits on the bench all day long. Sometimes he stands up to stretch his legs, or is laying down taking a nap. But when he begins to greet someone, or lay his head down, something strange takes over his body. I'm not sure if it was from an accident, a disease, or what-- but his head cocks to the side and almost rotates his chin clear up to the sky. The first time I saw it, I was a little scared but then I took a closer look and realized he is smiling the whole time. I'm sure it's so he doesn't scare people walking by, but I see something more genuine about his smile. It could just be how I see the world in general, but the past few days I've felt bad because I know the cafe owner doesn't necessarily want him sitting on the bench next to his establishment, but it's clear this man isn't an insane drinker and has nowhere else to go. So this morning I saw him walking around while I ran by, his socks were soaked, and it was evident his coat had been rained on all night long. But he just paced the street, wearing a dry smile.

Walking back up the road to school I stopped in a Boulangerie and ordered a Croissant au beurre and a Croissant au chocolat. I paid the man 1.80 Euros and grabbed the paper bag. Stepping back out into the rain, I opened my umbrella to protect my iPod and felt the warmth of the bag in my hands. I started to smile a little as a Brett Dennen song started, "Aint No Reason". It's a very, very powerful song, and usually has the ability to bring tears to my eyes with just one line. But it's inspiring nonetheless. So I told myself it had to be a good sign the song came on shuffle as I was about to give this man some breakfast.

I turned the corner and touched his shoulder and said, "Bonjour Monsieur, c'est un croissant au beurre et un croissant au chocolat que j'ai achete pour vous." He started to grab the bag and asked me to repeat myself. So I did and he replied, "Ah, merci mademoiselle c'est gentil mais non je ne peux pas les accepter." My heart sank and I replied with "Non, ce sont les croissants pour vous. S'il vous plait, il pleut maintenant, je voudrais vous aider un peu." And it went on for a few more seconds until he placed the bag back in my hands and held them for a second as he thanked me again.

There aint no reason things are this way, it's how they always been and they intend to stay. So I held the bag of croissants and walked away from the man. My heart continued to drop and I felt tears well up. I understand he probably felt like a charity case, but it's those times when I feel the most helpless. Not that I'm helpless, but that I don't know what to do to make a difference. Maybe it's silly to think that I can change a person's life by buying them one meal for one day.

The wind blows wild and I may move, the politicians lie and I am not fooled. You don't need no reason or a three piece suit to argue the truth. It seems overwhelming at times to think that just one person can make a difference, can reach out and change something. Today feels like one of those days. The rain rolls down the window of my classroom, my apartment room-- my shelter. But what about those who aren't as fortunate as I am? The rain rolls down their damp clothing, their faces, and when it reaches the roots on their scalp it sends chills down their spine.

Two croissants don't change much in the eyes of a homeless man and maybe that was his reasoning for not accepting them. I'm a firm believer in Aesop's quote, "No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted." And maybe it's easier for someone who has belongings, a shelter to run to from the cold, and the ability to perform such small acts of kindness, to see how successful they can be. But in the eyes of someone who has nothing, and who wouldn't be able to return the favor, the croissants might taste bitter. It's like when Charlie opened the chocolate bar present and didn't find a golden ticket. It wasn't an answer to his problems, it was just a bar of chocolate. Bitter, and almost useless.

So the rain continues to fall, and the number in my head grows as I count more and more homeless people walking down the street, holding themselves closer to keep warm each time a cold drop hits their body. Hopefully the sun will come out, even if just for a few minutes to warm the heart and soul of those who need it the most.

I can't explain why we live this way, we do it every day.

Les Restaurants du Coeur

Setting: Rue Montparnasse around 9:15 pm. The sun still sits high in the sky, but a cool breeze runs through the streets as vendors leave their boutiques and grocery stores. The cafes are just starting to light up, while people chat quietly over wine and cheese plates. I cross the street diagonally when I see the ATM I desperately need to visit after four days of being without a single Euro. I see a few people standing in line, patiently clutching their debit cards like they would clutch a new born, casting sideways glances every few seconds at the homeless man sitting on the windowsill nearly five feet from the ATM.

He must be about 45 years old with long wirey hair that stands on end, mostly a dark grey color with some shades of salt and pepper. His beard is basically the same, long and wirey with a blend of darker grey shades. He's wearing old nikes that are starting to tear at the toes, a pair of ripped light blue jeans and a navy blue jacket you would most likely wear at the end of winter or early spring. Normally I would probably behave just as the others in front of me were behaving-- a little fearful that he would beg for money or approach me while at the machine, with no where to run. But tonight I notice something else. A group of people hopping out of a small mini-van and approaching the man. A tiny bumpersticker on the back of the van's window reads: Les Restaurants du Coeur.

I'm a little confused, so I take my time walking up to the ATM so I can try to watch the scene unfold. Were they intervening psychologists helping the homeless? Were they escorting people to a soup kitchen? Or were they just counselors? No, none of the above. They were just four or five people standing around the homeless man carrying on a conversation. They asked him about his life, if he had any family, and what he liked to do with his time. But then I noticed a plastic bag sitting next the man on the windowsill. The bag had a label identical to the bumpersticker on the van. My answer had arrived: the group was delivering food to the needy.

I should have realized when I saw the van park abruptly, turn on its hazards and the group hop out to greet him. But by this point I am so amazed that a group of people have stopped what they were doing to give this man a meal. All I can think about is driving around Miami with two extra pizzas from the SAAC Meeting, looking for a needy-person to give them to. And then I think about how touched the woman we found on US-1 was to receive such a big meal from a passing car. And even though we didn't even stop to chat, I remember seeing her eyes lit up and a smile beginning to form as she thanked us and yelled "God Bless You!".

I was moved to see that an organization exists in France doing just what I've always wanted to do, change the world one heart at a time. Maybe the man receiving the food was used to such a service by now, or maybe it really did touch him that someone was reaching out to a man who was just down on his luck.

When I returned to the apartment, still wearing a grin the size of Texas, I plopped down on my bed and opened up my two best online friends, Google & Wikipedia. I found out the organization began in 1985 by a comedian by the name of Coluche and it now consists of one national organization and over 100 other specialized departments. Everyone is a volunteer and the organization accepts donations for buying food and delivering it to the needy. The volunteers are not only trained for interactions with the people, but they are trained to welcome people who may or may not be ready for help, performing culturally productive activties to reintroduce people into the community, and even managing one of the travelling restaurants. The donors, both big and small, are also given a tax break. Currently the service project has spread to Belgium and Germany where it has been growing for a few years.

Two hours later I am still amazed at how giving some people can be. For me, I would rather give someone a sandwich or a cup of hot soup, than to just drop my cold pennies into their cup. I know money rules the world, but you don't invite friends over to give them money to go to McDonalds for a snack wrap. You invite them over to give them something more, some kind of nourishment. And its not just a physical nourishment, it's an act of consciously giving to someone and in my eyes that is much more meaningful.

So no, I don't drop pennies into beggars' hats. I cross the street, buy a few croissants for the same amount of change I would've dropped in a cup, and dodge traffic once again. Then I squat down or do whatever I need to do to be at their eye level, and let them know I'm there for human interaction. To let them know they don't need to bow their heads in shame because they live on a street while I live in a house, and drive a car. For that one moment in time I set aside from my own personal agenda, when I'm giving them something they truly need, I want them to know it comes from a human being who empathizes with their situation. My wish is that they see they're not alone on this planet. There is such thing as a human being who truly cares.

And that's why I was so inspired by the company's purpose and how the volunteers interacted so generously with the man. Whether or not he realizes their compassion, I do. And I only hope to be as inspiring for someone else one day.

La vie est belle, non?

Premier jour des cours! I was brutally awakened by a Charlie horse in the middle of the night so my plans to go for a nice morning run were temporarily put on hold and I opted to sleep a little longer. So I woke up around 9, jumped in the shower and joined Elisa for some breakfast. I wasn't very hungry after last night's late night excursion with the group to the Louvre where 9 people shared 3 bottles of wine, always a good choice. So instead I had some hot black and orange tea and a little apple juice and got to know Madame Dru's 26 year old actress of a daughter. She has very dark hair and usually pins it back in very intricate ways. Today it was almost french braided but twisted into these loops and bobby pinned down. She had on a V-Neck polka dot shirt and some southern style pants that had a nice crocheted material on the hips and flowed down to her ankles where they tied into a bow. She speaks a little English with a heavy accent but her French is beautfiul and she knew to speak a little more slowly for me as she explained her weekend adventure. She was in the premier of this ironic play that acted out over the top advertisements with a dark twist, and between each of these advertisements there was almost an intermission where the actors shared a story and you found out their relations. It sounded interesting enough and she seemed pleased with how the audience reacted. After breakfast I bid Elisa and Madame Dru "Tchao!" and found my way to the Sweet Briar Office.

For me, it is easiest to walk to class because the metro is a little to the side and won't take me any closer, so I walked along a main road called Rue de Saint Michel and took in the morning sounds of Paris. There were people strolling along the street with a mug of caffe in their hands, people resting on benches reading the newspaper. And of course a few librairies and boutiques were just opening their doors. Kind of ressembled Miami with how few people seemed to be at work, but there is much less traffic and a slower pace of walking. I cut through the Parc de Luxembourg and walked down La Rue Fleurus to find building 34 and got there around 10:50 for orientation at 11. We sat down in one of the classrooms and were handed a new itinerary, a European cell phone, so petit and adorable. All the girls were given a shiny purple phone and the boys a much sleeker black one. Then they handed out a short book, and told us this Friday we would be seeing an Absurb Play in the Latin Quarter and should read the play before attending so we can follow along. It's only one act and should be a quick read, plus I find the Absurb rather amusing so I'll dive in a little bit this evening and continue throughout the week. The directors are all very nice, speak wonderful French of course and are only strict about us speaking French while in the Sweet Briar school and on their excursions.

After orientation the group left for a pique-nique dans le parc de Luxembourg. I pulled out Evan's camera and took a few pictures of the park-goers, sans shoes, pieds aux chaises, just living a relaxed life over a baguette and a good novel. The sky was bright and blue, with a few white clouds but it was lovely in the shade. A nice breeze flows through the park along the paths. So we ate lunch for a little while, joked about a few things that happened last night and along the way to Paris, and a few people mentioned their plans for after Sweet Briar. Since we had our first Expression Francaise class at 2, everyone dispersed around 1 to explore a little bit and then head back to Sweet Briar. Joseph and I went to a little cafe so he could get something else to eat and we had a glass of wine.

Alors, Aventure avec Joseph #2:
--Never walk inside of a cafe (the restaurant part of the cafe) during lunchtime and try to only order a glass of wine.
We didn't realize the waiter would be upset if I just sipped a little wine so I quickly ordered a slice of peach tart and apologized for the confusion. We talked about classes and cafes we had noticed along the way and our desperate need to go to a good Pharmacie for shampoo and facial products.
--Do not wear your sunglasses indoors in Paris. It draws attention to you and the French hate extra attention
I had to explain to Joseph that he stuck out like a sore thumb when he wore his sunglasses inside so he quickly removed them and we continued our meal. But hey, at least we're figuring these unwritten/unspoken rules out sooner than later, no?

After our adventure at the cafe, we had a few extra minutes to step inside some pharamacies to browse around and collect ideas for the kinds of things we wanted. For example, I conditioned my hair with a jasmine and eucalyptus oil mixture, which I would never see in the US for less than 40 dollars a bottle, if at all.

Then we made our way back to the 7th floor of the building for class. Madame Mellado arrived at exactly 2 pm and when she walked in we were greeted by a woman with deep reddish hair, a little wirey but wavy to her shoulders, wearing bright red liptick accompanied by a green jacket and rose colored shirt underneath. Her pointed toed shoes matched her shirt and her accessories dangled from her neck, ears and wrists. Probably around 50 years old she came in excited as can be, asking us our names and how our picnic went earlier in the day. Wasting no time we started talking about how the class would go for the next four weeks. She wants to cover idiomatic phrases in French with us because that is really how we will improve our writing and sound convincing. Secondly she wanted to fix small grammatical problems along the way without taking the conventional grammar route. And thirdly she wants to rid us all of our horrific anglaicismes! So hopefully by the end of these four weeks I will have mastered a few useful French idioms and abolished a few bad habits.

The first thing we learned was how to properly say at the same time in French. Bon, easy enough right? She gave us all a sentence to write first in English, and then we would translate into the French. Par exemple, We arrived at the same time --> Nous sommes arrives en meme temps. And we went around and read our sentences and then discussed what was right and what was wrong and why. She kept saying she would throw us out the window and when we were all wrong she slammed her fist on the desk and yelled, "Niecht!" of course she was joking and said it was normal for us to not know the idioms right away. We talked about how to say "The more I....the more I..." in French, saying "As a..." and how there is no neutral pronoun in French so you have to resort to the masculine form when you are referring to an unidentified object. Example, when you say nobody, or something, or someone, etc. And finally we talked about how to figuratively say "I can't wait!" because in English you don't say it in a proper way, it's figuratively. So naturally we just translate into French and say "Je ne peux pas attendre." but that's too physical of a phrase. So now we say "J'ai hate que..." which is in a sense, I made haste to... So that was our first class. She is wonderful, eclectic and free spirited. Plus her French accent when she speaks English is just incredible. So enunciated and flows smoothly.

Apres class we met up with the other students and took a small tour with one of the directors. We walked around la 6eme arrondissement and then turned and found ourselves in the midst of la 5eme arrondissement. We walked around the boutiques, learned about different Cathedrals and saw how afternoon city life functions. We stopped at a fountain and I found myself once again, turned away from the pretty monument all the tourists were taking photos of, snapping away at a street performing musical group. A saxophone violin and I believe guitar were all playing wonderfully together. And that's not always a combination you would expect to work. So I took a few photos and realized I was centered in more than just a few tourists' photos of the Saint Michel fountain, probably appearing to be taking a picture of them. But ah non, ce n'est pas vrai because I was taking pictures of three beautiful lives in motion. La vie est belle, non?

Joseph, Martin, Nico, Alex, Caitlin, Joyce, Sarah and I stopped at Cafe Saint Serverin for a 5 o'clock drink because all day long while we were in class and the few who weren't decided that it was five o'clock somewhere and had divulged in a bottle of wine for 2 Euros. So we split a bottle of Moet Chandon Imperial Rose Champagne and had a very nice bottle service at 5 pm at this little cafe while ancient Cathedrals towered over us, blanketing us with their great history.

"Les fautes sonts toutes anonymes dans ma classe...commes des alcooliques." --Madame Mellado

After we paid our 91 Euro tab we parted our separate ways around 6 pm and Joseph and I decided to try out the 27 line bus to get home. The metro is about 15 minutes from my house, which I don't mind walking but I had already walked so much and the heat was starting to make the champagne bubbles in my stomach settle harshly. So we hopped on the bus, swiped our cards and talked about coming back to this fabulous street to go shopping for shoes and jackets.

When I got home I made myself a little cheese sandwich and laid down until about 8:45 to greet Madame Dru when she came home from work. Adrien was preparing dinner and I went into the living room to meet his friend Gabriel, who is taller than Adrien but has the same scruffy beard and struggling artist look. I'm really starting to enjoy it, and loving this family more everyday. He wore grey pants, covered in paint just as Adrien's and was very pleased to meet me. So we waited for Madame Dru to arrive and then settled into the living room for a green salad, some bread and wine. The conversation was great, we talked about where we were on September 11th and how it affected our lives and the world. And then I got to talk about old President Bushy for a while and knew they share the exact same opinions with me. They really seem to like President Obama over here, which is surprising as times because I know how bourgeoise it can be around here and that tends to be a little more conservative. So it's nice to hear that the American stigma is slowly changing because of our President.

The second course came out, with another glass of wine and Elisa joined us after her nap. We had rice with cooked ground beef and some green beans. Everyone was free to add their own sauce so I added a little soy, Adrien some lemon and curry, Madame Dru un peu de salt and Gabriel and Elisa, nothing. So we continued to talk about latest news, politics, and the topic of fake IDs came up and Adrien thought it was so silly that they ask for ID in the United States for drinking, even when you are with your parents at a restaurant. Ah, la vie est belle, non?

Next came the Camembert cheese with bread. So much food, so many courses! But so much good food. A very, very, very....very smelly cheese. But spread on bread and followed by a little sip of red wine, the cheese is sweet and light. It blends into the bread and the top layer just soaks in the flavor, giving you a longer taste as you chew. I just had a little bit since I ate around 6:45 and this had already been such a big meal. A great meal though, lots of laughs and Adrien as very kind to translate for me when Gabriel and Elisa went off on tangents, though I only needed a few words every once in a while to stay on track. He was very kind to cook dinner, serve to everyone and help me with conversation. And of course Madame Dru was so polite when she corrected my grammar, and I made little notes in my head to write down when I came back into my room.

For dessert we had chocolate and vanilla ice cream, with a few nectarine slices and a shot of Russian vodka poured on top. I was a little hesitant to have pure vodka on my ice cream without much flavor but very quickly I realized the nectarine flavors kind of spilled out over the ice cream and made a Nectarine Vodka syrup. It was wonderful. Such a nice meal, and I didn't even realize we were sitting there for nearly two hours until Gabriel said it was quite late and he should return home to rest for tomorrow's day of work.

So now I retire to my room to read an Absurd play we are seeing Friday night and to write a paragraph with all of our new phrases. Tomorrow I'm hoping to run before class at noon and then go to Expression class and after my first Art History class with Monsieur Pralong-Gourvennec.

Bon soir et bonnes reves!