Day 26: Voulez-Vous

Listening to: "September Song" from [title of show]

I picked this song specifically because at one point the characters say, "Pulse it, pulse it," in that uhn-tsss, uhn-tsss way the bass goes at frat parties. Well, I am not near a frat, but for some inexplicable reason, our neighbors have been partying for the past three nights. Now, mind you, yesterday evening was Monday evening: why the hell were they partying then? What could there have been to celebrate, I ask you? I seriously doubt they were celebrating James Joyce's birthday and the anniversary of Ulysses' publication, as my professor reminded us yesterday was.

Maddening.

Anyway, today was the first day I made it out the door by 8:00 am for my 9:00 am class. Now that it's the third day of the month, the lines at the Metro aren't long with people clamoring for their monthly passes. Problem is, you leave by 8:00 am, you end up at the school at 8:30 am. I still haven't worked out a magical time to leave to make for the shortest wait-before-class-starts time without ah-I'm-so-close-to-being-late stress. 8:15 am? But I don't want to cut it too close. It's hard to gamble at such an early hour.

I was discussing this with my dear sister Madge Owens yesterday, but Paris is really into energy-saving. I mean, that's good. But these energy-saving bulbs have resulted in me jollily walking down the stairs, only to come to an abrupt halt when the light goes out. Even waving your arms frantically doesn't seem to get the light going again, and now you can't move from your in-between step because you might trip and die going up or down. My iPhone stepped in to rescue me with the handy flashlight, but I think building designers need to think about whether it's worth saving some energy if students are going to break their necks every other week.

Similarly, for a place so into recycling, why don't people pick up after their dogs? Now, I know Americans are guilty of this too, but with my new perspective of walking through Paris in the early morning, I know a lot more people are doing it in New York/Washington, DC/Boston--anywhere but here, basically. Maybe it's an alertness test: one false step and you've got the unfortunate task of ditching that awful smell and your feeling of cleanliness. It's much harder to reconcile when you see these messages that are like "TAKE OUT YOUR TRASH." Come to think of it, they're like the messages, "PARISIANS HATE IT WHEN YOU'RE LOUD AND WILL NOT HESITATE TO REPORT YOU." This terrified me, thinking any brief burst into song would be recorded and my neighbors would dial 17 (or 18, probably, is what a true Parisian would dial). But the bass line above me has me wondering if people care... Wait, why shouldn't they care? Ah, but if no one's reported these bass thumpers, then no one can complain about my shrill rendition of "You're the Top," in which I sing both Reno's and Billy's part, a perfect way to show my roommates that I might have multiple personality disorder.

So, being a kind and generous and loving (if you didn't laugh at those descriptions, well, I did) friend, when my dear friend Rosie kindly asked me for a mini statue of the Eiffel Tower, I was perfectly happy to oblige. There's a little stall outside the Musée d'Orsay that had exactly what she wanted. So on my every-other-daily journey from the Musée d'Orsay RER B train stop to the Solférino Metro 12 line stop, I stopped to buy such a souvenir. Now, they were in bright colors, which I suppose is the way to go: no one wants a brown Eiffel Tower (unless it is made of chocolate). So I picked a red one because we are Chinese (haha, but actually...), and I brought my choice to the guy standing in his little shop stall.

With my earbuds in, I intended to do that point-grunt-pay thing that involves little speech, but I could see this guy's lips moving rapidly. I pulled out my earbuds. "Quoi?"

"Do you speak French?"

"Very little."

"You speak English?" (Once again, the incredulity on people's faces baffles me. Though maybe less so this time since I wasn't surrounded by a swarm of stereotypical American students.)

"Yes."

"I could teach you French." 

Now, I thought he was serious. Okay, I thought. Kind of strange but that's nice.

"Oh."

"Are you free tonight?"

Whoa! Not again. (And I can't believe I had to say "not again," either, don't worry.) Why does this always happen in public places that I always have to return to eventually? Maybe these guys know this, and they plan to guilt me into giving them my phone number. But no one at school is like this (at least with me), and all these suitors (ha!) appear to be at least 10 years older than me.

Some of you are rolling on the floor laughing, but I ask, Do these guys know how old I am? Oh, man... Do I look 30? I can't even drink legally in the United States, for Pete's sake. (Less than a month, though. Wh-hooooo.) Also, how can I be so off-putting to people in class (I have been told that I have a rather intimidating demeanor) but adults don't seem to notice? I really don't understand. 'Tis a great mystery.

But then again, these French men (and European men, I can generalize, thinking back to my time in Italy) are very forward. I mean, the first one at the Louvre was just like, "You're beautiful," and I just laughed in response because it was a very random observation. I can see my mother clucking at me when she reads about my poor manners, but it's just not something that's so easy to say "Thank you, you too" to, like the more generic "You look nice." 

Back to the Musée d'Orsary guy. Still not completing sure about this guy's MO (as it was a very sudden shift, when all I expected was to hand over €3,50 and be done), I honestly answered, "I am going home because I am extremely tired." Then, he tried asking for my phone number.

Oh. I panicked. 

"My phone doesn't work here." That's technically true.

He then proceeded to quiz me about what kind of phone I had and almost gave me a Samsung SIM card. I was like, "But I don't have a Samsung phone." And then we were back at Square One.

Well, then he got the bright idea to give me his number, which he did on a souvenir post card. Okay. I mostly wanted to get home so I could tell this story. According to this guy, I am supposed to find a phone--any phone, mind you--and text him. French guys. They just don't give up. There's a lot more stuttering among American dudes, if my keen observational skills have taught me anything. Maybe all European men embrace this carpe diem philosophy present in the Andrew Marvell "To His Coy Mistress" we read in class: we should totally get together because, you know, we could die at any moment. What a comforting thought to consider while also having to consider whether to accept or reject someone on a date. Ahhhhhhh.

Sigh. I'm out of clementines. And with my personal boycott against Monoprix, I guess--wait, this isn't even an issue. There are fruit vendors EVERYWHERE. Never mind. 

Tomorrow, I return to the Louvre, and now we're going to look at Greek art! Yay! This is really going to put me in the mood for grape leaves. And I have to remember to high-tail it to the restaurant because they totally had risotto and mushroom ravioli on the menu, and I had only missed out on the deliciousness because it closed at 5 pm. (Seriously? Does anything stay open late?) I just read the required chapters on Greek art so I can act like a pseudo-intellectual, pausing at every sculpture with a finger over my lips and saying, "Hm," like Angelina Jolie does in that movie Maleficent.

Speaking of movies, I am so confused here. Big Hero 6 came out in November, right? Near Thanksgiving, if I'm correct. I just saw a French commercial for the movie, and it's release date here is February 11th. That's definitely more than the standard one-month gap between American and European movie release dates that I've seen so far. I mean, Jupiter Ascending posters are adorning every Metro, and I'm pretty sure that movie is only just coming out in the United States as well. This is so weird. Can they just agree on something? And, most importantly, why aren't they showing Eddie Redmayne in these posters? I know he's the villain, but... He's so pretty. :)