Malade

More than a week back in Paris, and I'm still not sleeping well. First it was because of jetlag, which I usually don't even get, and now I'm kept up and woken up by the mother of all colds that blocks up not only my nose, but my ears as well. I'm going on day four or five of feeling like I'm underwater and having to ask people repeatedly, "quoi?" or "comment?"I really hoped I'd get to do some exploring this past week, and this week too, because you can never explore Paris too much, but I obviously haven't been able to do everything I wanted. We did make it out to the Buttes Chaumont today, though, for a wintry picnic. I didn't realize how frigid it was going to be, or how cloudy, since the météo lied - again - about the weather, so it turned out to be just about the worst idea I've ever had, not counting that time I took a ride home from the hospital with Ally from that creepy security guard or when I thought a 1-inch cigar box would fit over my brother's head, although I was, like, seven when that happened, so my idea-developing skills weren't exactly what you'd call honed when I came up with that gem. Digression aside, it actually was rather pleasant, especially since I got to take a new metro line. It's always fun taking a metro line I've never taken before. Sarah and I were talking about it, and we both said we were so excited to finally take the 7bis. On a new line, there's so much you don't know, so much to anticipate! First, you don't really know where you've going, since you obviously have never been there, you have no idea what the train is going to look like or what kind of people are going to be on it. It's kind of like Christmas, if Christmas smelled like pee and sounded like a jackhammer and nails on a chalkboard.

I also did a little museum-ing, and finally got to the Courbet exhibit at the Grand Palais right before it closed and the comic book exhibit at the museum of Jewish art and history, which were both pretty cool. Courbet was such a bad ass, you know? He painted everything, including still lifes, landscapes, his friends, paysans, whores, and, of course, the famous vajayjay, not to mention he convinced everyone to pull down the colonne de Vendôme during the Commune in 1871. The coolest part, to me, at least, was seeing a couple of paintings from the Smith collection on display, both with audioguide entries. As far as the Jewish museum goes, I'd never been there before, so I had to see the whole thing. It's weird - I kind of have a problem with them calling it a museum, because museums are usually dedicated to the past, to things and cultures that no longer exist, at least when they're not simple receptacles of art and natural history, although, there it is again - history. We're still alive, we're still continuing on, and especially in a place like Paris, with such a rich Jewish culture that's still visibly present (though some may argue that it's in the process of dying out, which is kind of, sadly, true), I wouldn't expect to find a museum of Judaism. I'd rather call it a cultural center, because that's exactly what it is. It's like any of the other countries' embassies here, or their maisons de culture, like the Cervantes institute or even the Swedish cultural center. It's a meeting place for members of the community, where they have exhibits and colloquium. It's a place that is very much alive. But anyways, it's also a bit bizarre because it's not only a sort of pilgrimage spot for Jews visiting Paris, but it's also a kind of crash course in Judaism. Along the walls of the main exhibition halls are plaques explaining all the different holidays and customs, above various documents and objects that illustrate them. When I was walking around, there was actually a guy taking notes down - important names and dates and such - for all of the major holidays. When I finally made it down to the comic book exhibit, I found a much younger crowd there. There was a bunch of twenty-somethings, mostly guys, gathered around display cases of original Superman comic books from the forties, trying to follow the English. The last room was dedicated to more contemporary comics and European comics; I had no idea comics were still so popular and culturally relevant! I found one called Le Chat du rabbin (The Rabbi's Cat), which was absolutely adorable. The story is basically about this rabbi's cat, who wants to have a bar mitzvah. It's not only really cute and funny if you get Jewish humor, but it's actually quite philosophical. If a cat can talk and was raised Jewish, is he Jewish? Can he have a bar mitzvah? Can he study kabbalah? I found the first volume at the Virgin Megastore, and I've yet to sit down and read it, but I'm definitely looking forward to it.

Other than that, I've been doing a lot of sleeping. And cross-stitching. I bought a kit on impulse and am finding it very relaxing, or at least would if I had a comfortable chair to sit in. I've also been watching a lot of movies. Of note, there's No Country for Old Men, which scared the crap out of me but is amazing; Atonement, which is beautiful but will make you feel like crap - thanks, Ian McEwan, you suck once again; and Imagine Me & You, which I've seen I have no idea how many times, but love more and more each time I watch it (not for you conservatives - because I know so many - but it is a wonderful love story).

On the academic front, I'm looking forward to this, my final semester of academia, or so it seems for the moment, unless something happens in the next few months and I decide to write a thesis. I got permission, from the professor himself, to take a Masters seminar at the Université de Paris X about theatrical translation, even though I'm technically supposed to be taking classes two years below that level. I'm extremely excited because it's with Jean-Michel Deprats, the foremost Shakespeare translator, otherwise known as The Man. I mean, if there's one person to talk to about my memoire, it's him. Ok, and maybe Judith Miller, the head of the French department at NYU, who'll be in Paris later this month. But still, for translators, this is like taking a film class taught by Scorsese. And I'm taking TWO classes with him. Ah, after all that bitching about the system, it's finally worked to my advantage. Score!

Sorry this has been so boring. I really haven't been up to much and don't have very many observations to make, except this one: why can I not find ANY good ethnic food in Paris? Like, at all? There's the Vietnamese place down the street that's pretty good, but it's subsidized by the embassy, so that doesn't really count. I know there's the Ethiopian place by the Pantheon that's good, but other than that, every place I've been to has, for lack of a better word, sucked. I had sushi on Sunday at a place in the 7th (and lived to tell the tale, yes), which was pretty tasteless, and pastitsio yesterday that really resembled more of a lasagna than a traditional Greek dish (though the dolmades were good, albeit too oily). And don't even get me started on Indian. So far, I can only count three or four good ethnic restaurants that I've been to, and in a city as diverse as Paris, that is a major problem.

I'm sure I have plenty of other things to say, and actually, I could go on and write them now, but I'll just save them for a later time. Because my blog entries are like good chocolate: sweet but bitter, and best savored slowly, in small doses.

Oh, if only my creative writing professors were here!