It was a matter of taking a liking to things. Things that were in accordance with your taste. I think that was it. And we didn't care how unhomogeneous they might seem. Didn't Aristotle say that it is the mark of a poet to see resemblances between apparently incongruous things? There was any amount of attraction about it.

Marianne Moore, on editing the literary magazine The Dial, The Paris Review Interviews: Women Writers at Work

Even hipsters cry sometimes.



Yesterday was my last night in Paris, this morning was the last morning. Ma petite sauterelle me manque déjà. I write this final entry from the my mom's rolling computer chair in the United States. The flight was fine -- long, dark and incredibly boring (if not a little lonesome). The airline lost my luggage. Things could be worse.

But I would really prefer to be in Paris.


Yes, this is likely to be my last post in my blog (or at least until I return to Europe, hopefully next fall). I would like to start another one for my time in the States and keep it updated for my European friends -- check back here in the future for a link.

Au revoir, mes copains.

I just found this French proverb: "Il ne faut pas discuter des goûts."
(One should not discuss taste.)
Oops.

My nerves are wrecked. I don´t want to leave. It´s not that I have fallen for Paris, but I am afraid of what is waiting for me (or what isn't) back in Michigan.

Last night I visited the Steven Parrino exposition at Palais du Tokyo. There were only four other people in the exhibit -- how nice! I almost touched some of the paintings before remembering that you´re not supposed to. The nature of these paintings just beg for them to be touched and it wouldn´t hurt them much, and without any security guards or other people to stop me, why shouldn´t I?


Palais du Tokyo is a very interesting space. It has an aesthetic that fits between that of an unfinished or deconstructued gallery space and a decorative warehouse. The scale of rooms, in addition to the wooden rafters and cement floor reminded me of some amateur art space found in Middle America, like something found in Omaha or even the MoCAD in Detroit (and not too different from the beloved Hotel Basico). Of course, most of Parrino´s work added to this ambiance. His rock ´n´ roll working-class subject matter (or what amounts to a lot of black, sex, and noise) complemented a colorful series of Warhol´s electric chairs.



For about twenty minutes I thought I was back at home.



For the next week Rodrigo is in Spain and in the meantime he (generously) has lent me control of his apartment. Now I have a temporary office space sheltered from the elements (spontaneous rainstorms, dissatisfied waitstaff, finicky internet) to work on my final presentations. It has a fridge, a shower, a toilet with a seat -- quelle chance! The only downside is the computer I must use for my research (not only is it a PC, but it has a Spanish keyboard). My own computer has for the most part become useless. It won´t take CDs, it loads very slowly, shuts down on a whim and, worst of all, it won´t hold a charge. Why couldn´t it hold out for another couple of weeks?

Though I may not talk about it, I´m panicking about returning to the States. Is it out of denial, resistance, or excitement? I can´t tell. I just know I´m very, very worried about the next year of my life.

Music:
New Order - Temptation
Jens Lekman - Black Cab

Oh la la. I have been very busy and can only take a couple of minutes to update on my recent events. I know May has produced lousy entries -- my apologies.

Last night Rodrigo and I went to la cinématheque to see Joaquim Pedro de Andrade's "Macunaíma". It was amazing! I was surprised that it is so funny - the novel has a pretty serious tone. Really, how great.

Yesterday afternoon our class climbed the Eiffel Tour (I believe it's 700 steps). It wasn't as bad as I feared it would be, but now lactic acid has found a cozy home on the inside of my calves.


Tuesday was my French final. It went well -- I didn't get the grade I was expecting, but it was an improvement on my last two tests. To celebrate, we tried to picnic at the cemetery in Montmartre. After walking nearly halfway there, we found out it was closed. We had a beer instead and walked all the way back to Bastille.


Sunday (a hot, hot day) we went to see the last performance of "Da Gelo a Gelo" at the Opéra Garnier. It was an Italian theatrical adaptation of 11th-century Japanese love poetry by Izumi Shikibu. I liked the performance (and the venue) a lot, but it dragged in parts and the end was disappointing: there were no suicides. How can it be Japanese without the deaths of the two lovers?

Afterward we dined at a Japanese restaurant not too far from the opera house. I had my first bowl of (real) ramen! Yum yum yum.

Friday (or was it Saturday?) evening, Rodrigo and I tried Showcase, the club underneath Pont Alexandre III. It is a beautiful, large space with windows that face the street and the Seine. The cover and drinks were too expensive, the crowd was boring, but the music was great -- a real mix of electro, rock, Serge and Greek wedding marches.

Attempted to watch Godard's "Une femme est une femme" the other day, but I didn't have the energy to follow (it was in French with no subtitles). I'll have to try again another day.

Steve Jobs is not going to be a happy camper if I can't find a café whose power-plug will accept my adapter within the next twenty minutes. Unheard of.

First my host mom kept postponing calling her internet guy.
Then he never showed up.
She says we'll get him to come out Monday (when I have two weeks left?) and in the meantime I can keep using the wi-fi at neighboring cafés.

Well, they don't have internet after 8.
In fact, today they don't have internet at all.

When I find a place whose internet is working, the plugs don't fit my adapter.


What gives, Paris? I have so much love to give.

"Log in" in Swedish is "Logga in." I find this hilarious.





Yesterday I hit up the modern art museum, Palais du Tokyo, and the Pompidou Center. The contemporary floor at the Pompidou made me indescribably giddy. I have to return to watch some videos in their multimedia room.



At what point (and how) was nail polish normalised?



For future reference: I want a baby. (Not right now, of course.)