On France and Suffering

There are times when living here feels like a romantic montage, accordion and piano, in the fifties. Those are days unlike today. I tried booking an appointment for the presumably cancerous mole I need checked out, I wrote out a script and everything, and what did the receptionist do? She hung up on me. And when I went to send a letter the man working there told me for the forth time that my envelopes are all wrong. Then I found out from the women downstairs my microwave isn't coming for another five days because I read the e-mail all wrong. So I went to buy guitar strings so I could cut myself off until I calm down from all these blows to the belly and the store was closed for a two hour lunch. All wrong. This is all happening under a sheet of seven day ceaseless rain. I am desperate for a revival.

Running in France

I did it. I went for a run in France. Taboo, but doesn't that make it all the more alluring?

B.B.

And now, as promised, I will redeem Beauvais. The assistants of Beauvais are strangely fortunate to live just a short distance away from the last stop on the Picardie regional rail line to Paris. This means that usually once every week or so we live a charmed life, strolling down the boulevards of Paris without a care in the world, la di da. Today just so happened to be one of those very required days. I packed a ham sammy, grabbed my D.D. to-go mug, and split for Paris by 10:00. I had been there Wednesday to visit with a friend from Pittsburgh, so this week I was essentially a spoiled babe in the arms of civilization. Wednesday’s highlights were cemetery striding from dead French politician to singer to writer at the Bastille’s the Père Lachaise Cemetery, as well as traking out to La Defense where Paris keeps all of its city buildings (and even a mall). Today we museum hopped from the Musée d’Orsay (which was free) to the Brigitte Bardot exhibit (exposition) at the Musée Des Années 30. The Musée d'Orsay might be my favorite museum (except for the Barbie museum in Prague, or any museum in the United States). It contains most of the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings I struggled to write ineloquent essays on during the second half of my world art course. It also contains the Courbet painting "L'Origine du Monde" which after all this time still make me blush and stutter. Right now there's a temporary exhibit on Art Nouveau, curvy line sexy art for the non-believer. It was pretty interesting and incredibly arousing, even though these exhibits always make me dizzy (at the Salvidor Dali museum in Barcelona I fainted). As for B.B.-- the French are shameless! So much nakedness, I need to lie down. Just loved it, even though the B.B. photobooth was hors service.