The Decency of the Indecent French

22 septembre

I’ve long held the belief that weird shit happens to me, much more than other people.  I mean, who else do you know that has been chased across a lake by a moose, had to chase the goldfish out of his bed before getting in, and witnesses a girl pooping on a tree.  I’ve come across far more strange things in Paris, although I’m not sure that all Parisians would find them as odd as I do.  

Take, for example, a couple of weeks ago when I was walking to Trois Fois Vin for a dégoustation (wine and cheese tasting).  [Side note here for the Madre, go to troisfoisvin.com and see about getting some wine shipped back to the states.  This lady is very bilingual and definitely knows good wine.]  Anyway, I was walking toward rue Nazareth when I happened to come across a sushi restaurant.  In itself that wasn’t shocking, sushi is practically as popular as brie right now in Paris!  Chances are that if you throw a baguette, it’ll land within 10 metres of a sushi place.  As I trucked on by, I glanced in the window to see a young man with a toothbrush, brushing a bonsai tree.  No, I’m not kidding, he was scrubbing it all over with the Oral-B and looking all too content to be doing it.  I have to wonder if that’s what hillbillies do with their toothbrushes too; it’s clear that many of the brusher never touch any teeth.

As I think I’ve already mentioned, the French are more than comfortable with nudity.  In a book store I came across a very large book named Big Boobs.  Well since curiosity killed the cat, and I’m all about ridding the world of nuisance animals, I took a peek.  Yep, I could certainly judge that book by the cover.  Held within those two cardboard covers were 200+ pages of big boobs - what some might be inclined to call Tig ol’ Bitties.  That was only one of the many anatomically correct hardcovers (not to be confused with hardcores) in this one particular store.  

This week, at Paris’ famed Bon Marché, (put this on your list PVG- you’ll love it) Maggie and I came across a similar anomaly.  Now, before I discuss said anomaly, let’s first describe the Bon Marché:  Picture Macy’s in New York and Harrods of London having a baby.  It would be the Bon Marché.  The store has everything, including an enormous grocery store across the street.  Anyway, within its hallowed walls, and at least one floor underground, but maybe two, we came across the toy department.  Being any respectable college kids, we had to inspect many of the pieces to see what we would have enjoyed as children, or would even enjoy now. 
Lamenting over the fact that nobody ever bought me the badass farm set that was always set up at Mrs. Pervear’s shop in Northeast Harbor, I found the plastic animals and began oogling them with envy.  Not only were there farm animals, but also whales, lions, and cowboys.  (No cowgirls, political correctness doesn’t matter to the French.  Thank God!)  After looking, with envy, at the Toreador on the horse, I noticed the menacing bull.  Now, this was not your ordinary bull.  Nosireee.  With a ring in his snout, and crouched for the charge, he also had two other attributes I’d never seen on a toy, and they were both hanging between his back legs.  Not only were they hanging there, but they were large and in charge.  Having never been that close to a bull, I haven’t the foggiest idea if they were in scale or not, but if they are, I pity the bull for having two grapefruits bouncing around.  That must be painful!  Further inspection proved that the whales were anatomically correct, as well as the rams, and the people.  African dancers were in their full naked glory, some even having nipple rings à la Janet Jackson.  I love the French.

 Looks painful to me.

  BAHHH RAAAMMM YOOUUU

 No comment.

While not as amusing as my adventures at le Bon Marché, I have to say that I practically pooped my pants with sheer happiness this week when I came across a jar of Skippy at WH Smith, a British bookstore just next to the Louvre.  They may have snarly teeth and they may serve their beer warm, but God bless a limie who loves Skippy and wants it in Paris.  For about 5 euros, I got a jar about 2.5 inches tall and 3 inches around.  Don’t tell me how hard I got screwed, I know.  Remember, I was the one who already wrote about getting raped, screwed, and lucky in terms of drinking.  I feel as though a similar scale applies to peanut butter.  Nonetheless, I scored!

Last weekend, along with being the Paris TechnoParade, 12 hours of laser-filled drunken madness, it was also Journées de Patrimoine, two days when government buildings and museums open up free to the public.  On Saturday I took the opportunity to explore the Palais du Luxembourg, built for Marie de Medicis when she was the queen, and now the home of the Sénat.  It was stunning (that’s for you, Maggie), and I loved it.  It’s amazing to see the number of people who come out for these two days, and who take such pride the rich heritage of their country.  On Sunday, I invited my host mother to join me in going to the Hôtel de Lauzan, a building that, since being purchased by the State in 1928, has never been opened to the public.  It has been undergoing a multiyear renovation, which still isn’t done, but it’s damned impressive!

Pretty much everything is Paris is impressive, as far as I’m concerned.  Their complete lack of self-consciousness or thoughts of indecency, the absence of political correctness, their buildings, their food (and drinks), and my life here.  I’m pretty lucky to go to bed as the light on the top of the Eiffel Tower sweeps over my building all night long.  

On other matters: here’s the link to my still unfinished flickr account.  It has 45 pages of pictures so far, but there are lots more to come.  I don’t expect anyone to really go through it, it’s really more of a safety net for me in case my computer crashes and I lose my pictures.  At least there will be an online backup somewhere.  (http://www.flickr.com/photos/dwg3)