Oh La Lauren

Today was pretty fabulous, I would say.

History of Paris class came first…where I couldn’t really distinguish what was Louis XIV and what was Louis XV, but learned interesting things none the less. That’s how it always is with this class—our teacher is not good but I’m just so interested in the topic that I could care less.

For our afternoon field trip, we started off at St. Sulpice. The weather was cold, rainy, and windy. Wonderful for being outside…ugh. St. Sulpice was pretty cool, though I’m sad it’s under construction. It has a wonderful fountain outside. We walked inside, and soon the organ music started. It filled the church, and it sounded so wonderful. It was one of those moments where I was just like, hot damn, I love my life. I had this funny little smirk on my face because I couldn’t control my happiness. I was very impressed virgin Mary by Pigalle inside. And right as we stop in front of the Delacroix paintings, the organ blared louder than ever. Prof’s face was alarmed. It was hilarious, considering he can talk through nearly anything. I turned around and Christina was laughing incessantly.

After that, we went briefly to the Luxembourg gardens, which seemed like a different place now that autumn is here. It was comforting to walk through brown leaves that had accumulated on the path…because the city is really barren of trees, except in planned locations. Nothing is left au hasard. And I have to admit that I’m not sure I can picture myself living in a city where every square inch of grass is so meticulously coiffed. But we learned about the beautiful fountain pictured about, la Fontaine Médicis. Why does this city have so many hidden gems?

Next we went to the Panthéon, which is spectacular on the inside. As our teacher explained, it is truly an homage to the religious and revolutionnary history of this city. Burried in the basement are Voltaire and Rousseau, among Zola and Hugo. Seeing their graves and the incredible impact that they had on the lives of the French people inspired me to read their works. In fact, just seeing the ubiquitous reverance towards philosophers in this country has kind of inspired me to learn more. Some friends recommended reading Sartre’s Nausea, and I might just take their advice.

Then in the afternoon I went over to Julien’s house to help him with his presentation on McDonalds. Taking line 10 over there, the train crossed a bridge right beside the eiffel tower, and I had another one of those paris-makes-me-jizz-my-pants moments. It was breathtaking. And it was on public transportation.

So I get to Julien’s house and, as I should have expected, it’s a fucking museum. Marble floors, a mirrored wall, a huge flat-screen TV, and a small kitchen decked in turquoise, silver, the same granite that I have in my kitchen, and Bosch appliances. It’s freaking beautiful. He gave me a little “tour” of his apartment, which was super cute because the French tend to be very private about their homes.

Interjection: Hi Mom! I know you’re reading this. I don’t know if Julien is gay or straight. I don’t care.

Ok, continuing…

We chatted a TON and I finally figured out what his last name is. He said I have too many friends on facebook—“you facebooke everyone!” Oh, and his mother makes prints of Picasso paintings, so those are everywhere. I explained to Julien how only elementary school kids use pencil pouches in America, and how ridiculous the French are when they take notes. He was shocked that we hand in homework assignments on dirty paper, and don’t use rulers to underline, or colored pens. Then he showed me, with great pride and a smile on his face, his favorite instruments in his pencil pouch. First, there is the fountain pen with the refillable cartouche. Then, there is the eraser stick for it. Then, if you want to write over the erased pen, you have the special pen on the other side of the eraser. And then, if you make a mistake with that pen, there is the white out pen. I couldn’t stop laughing. He explained that the French begin learning how to format their notes from a very young age. This must be just another meticulous tendency of the French.

Julien also mentioned how he had remembered a word I taught him: OCD. He asked if OCD and CEO are the same. He got a kick out of the French accent that I do in English.

I met his mom, and his dad, who so kindly asked me to join them for lunch on Saturday. I’m very very excited. He walked me to the métro stop and all was good.