Paris in 36 hours

The last thing I expected to encounter in Paris, the most romantic city in the world, was mud. But mud did we find--rather, it found my jeans. OK, so maybe it was our fault for walking through the gravelish park during the rain, instead of sticking to the sidewalks, but nevertheless, Paris was muddy. And cold. And rainy. But you can't really complain about Paris.

Paid 8 Euros to see Mona Lisa, and thanks to some rubbish advice, only had an hour and a half to spend in the world's most famous art museum, the Louvre. We were outta there in 45 minutes...I mean, I've seen so much religious art in the last 2 months-from the Tate Britain, the National Gallery and the Wallace Collection here in London, to museums and churches all over Italy, I'm a little burnt out. It's gotten to the point where I'll walk by a painting and say "Looks like JC's doin his thing to JB again." That's right, I now feel comfortable calling John the Baptist 'JB.' And if I see his beheaded dome one more time...

One thing I loved about Paris was the music selection in restaurants. You'll get your overdramatic French man sensually whispering instead of singing, yes, but you'll also get some forgotten American classics that just seem to be hitting their stride overseas. For example, we were sitting down in a lovely restaurant late at night, eating onion soup and goat cheese salad, when all of a sudden, R. Kelly's "If I Could Turn Back the Hands of Time" came over the speakers. How could I not stand up and serenede the entire restaurant, impressing the patrons with my amazing English?

I was terrified of communicating in Paris because I literally didn't know a word of French. I subcounsiously could recall "oui," (but it usually came out "si") but didn't even know how to say hello or thank you. It was a disaster. Thankfully, everybody speaks English. Except, interestingly enough, for the employees at McDonalds. Yeah, so nobody told me that the 'e' was silent at the end of "grande," but I would think they could infer what I was trying to say. That was the second-worst communication mishap of my semester, only to another McDonalds, this one in Rome, where instead of a filet o fish they gave us a bag of fruit. And I even speak Italian a little--pesce, I say, pesce. Non la frutta.

Anyway, this will more than likely be my last post before I return to the states. My family will be here tomorrow, and we'll spend a few days in London before heading to Seville, Spain for 5 days. After that, we're coming back to London for New Years. I fly home January 3, and will need a ride from the airport. If anyone will be in the cities, please let me know and I'll buy you a souvenir if you can come get me. I'm not sure when my flight gets in but I think it's in the mid afternoon sometime.

Hope you've enjoyed reading these, I've enjoyed writing them. I'll continue the blog upon my return to the states, so please keep reading and tell your friends. This could be my career break! I look forward to telling stories and showing pictures (I will have over 1000 of them most likely), so please don't hesitate to call or email me. Cheers!

jottings

Go ahead and end the search. We've found the worst song of all time, and for all times. And it is: "My Humps," by the Black Eyed Peas. The list now goes as follows:
1. "My Humps"
2. "Lullabye," Shawn Mullins
3. "Barely Breathing," Duncan Sheik
4. "Believe," Cher
5. Any Sean Paul song


I was thinking about cool superpowers the other day, and I thought of one that I quite liked. What if you had the ability to conjure the perfect shower water temperature. I think I've gained a bigger appreciation of that nicety since I've been here, having to adjust the shower temp five or six times a shower. Kristie didn't like it, she called it "selfish." Details. I want that power. "I'm just poking holes in your argument," she said. Well I'm poking holes in flying.

"My humps, my humps my humps my humps, my lovely lady lumps"

Update on the chip flavor selection. I made a quick pass through my local grocery store and picked out my 11 favorite varieties. Let me know if you'd like to try some and I'll do my best to smuggle some home. Here we go.

TOP 11 FLAVOURS OF CRISPS IN THE LOCAL SAINSBURYS:

11. Thai Sweet Chilli (Chilli with two 'l's)
10. Mozzarella and Oregano
9. Sea Salt and Cider Vinegar
8. Oven Roasted Chicken and Thyme
7. Sweet Red Pepper and Sun Dried Tomato
6. Roast Pork and Creamy Mustard
5. Stilton and Cranberry (Stilton is a very potent bleu chees)
4. Pan Fried Sausage and Sage
3. Cool Yoghurt and Mint
2. Lincolnshire Sausage and Leek
1. Crispy Duck with Hoi Sin Sauce

They can't just have "nacho cheese" or "ranch," everything has to have a meat and a spice. Just bizzare.

"Whatcha gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?"

I have finals this week, so in case anyone is really dying to discuss whether jealousy is curable in Shakespeare's "Othello" and "Much Ado About Nothing," I'm probably your man at the moment.

"I drive these brothers crazy, I do it on the daily, they treat me really nicely, they buy me all these ice-ys"

It's quite amazing the conversations you can immerse yourself in after a couple rounds of shisha and a dozen beers. I was recently in an hourlong argument in that state about the definition of "truth." Transcript please.

"I'm a make make make make you scream, make U scream, make you scream"

In case you were wondering, there are 101 McDonalds in London. There are 110 Burger Kings and 64 Subways. How do I know this? Because I've eaten at every one, that's why.

"Cause of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps, check it out!"

I've heard that Apple has stopped selling iPod minis in favor of the iPod nano. This reminds me of when Burger King discontinued chicken tenders and decided to go with tacos instead. I could go for a frozen coke though.

"Milky, milky cocoa. Mix your milk with my cocoa pops, milky, milky riiiiiiide"

I still get thrown off every time I see a French Connection United Kingdom (FCUK) shirt.

"They say I’m really sexy, the boys they wanna sex me. They always standing next to me, always dancing next to me"

They're not big on spiral bound notebooks here. Well I'm not big on that.

"Tryin’ a feel my hump, hump. Lookin’ at my lump, lump. U can look but you can’t touch it, f u touch it I’ma start some drama"

Here's to hoping I don't continue watching "Without A Trace," "Medium," "Numb3rs," and "Dark Angel" when I get home. I think it might be too late for "Numb3rs" though.

"You don’t want no drama, no no drama, no no no no drama"

Grass is still green here, leaves are still on trees, I'm not wearing a hat or gloves. Just thought you'd like to know.

"So don’t pull on my hand boy, you ain’t my man, boy, I’m just tryn’a dance boy, and move my hump"

There's major 2012 Olympics buzz already in London (It's being held here). The bid came down to Madrid, New York, Paris and London. Heavyweights. So...how did Salt Lake City and Atlanta get them again?

"I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk off THIS hump"

As soon as I get back I am...

what's happening to me

Aside from being first in line at the Thanksgiving buffet (you can bet your bottom dollar I was), the life I've been leading lately is hardly recognizable. But first, let's talk about said buffet. The best thing about the evening? Knowing that I've gotten the worst Thanksgiving of my life out of the way--it was that good. Let's start with the food, and I'll start with the most forgiveable omissions. No cranberries. Not my favorite anyway, but it's a staple, I'm sure it was missed by many. Bad turkey, limited number of helpings. It's a good thing I was first, because I have a feeling somebody went without--which probably would have been a wise decision anyway. No green bean casserole--this one hits me especially hard, but I know it isn't the most crowd-pleasing dish. No corn. In fact, the veggie selection was awful, consisting of zucchini and zucchini. Now the hard hitters. No mashed potatoes. No stuffing. No pumpkin pie. It's been a week, and the scars still burn.

That's ok, I'll just watch another professional Russian men's volleyball game to make myself feel better. Did I mention our TV isn't working? We only get satellite, which means I've been watching a lot of Russian indoor roller hockey and Italian water polo lately.

Really, I had developed a nice groove with the afternoon and late night movies, squeezing in "The Wraith" and a bit of "Kidnapped In Paradise" before the signal died. If this had happened last year, I probably would have had nowhere to turn. But I've found a new hobby here, and it scares me a little: Science fiction books. When I told Kristie I thought I had found "my kind of books," she was excited. (I've been searching for "my kind of book" for years). When I told her it was SciFi, she nearly left me on the spot. "Don't become one of those people," she urged me. She'll learn to love me again. Don't get your undies in a bunch, I'll never turn into a Trekkie or someone whose wardrobe is made up entirely of graphic t-shirts saying things such as "assimilate this," "my other car is a Japanese robot" or "I am the hive queen of the hegemon." And my hair isn't nearly greasy enough anyway.

But I have been reading quite a bit, which is saying something for me. True, I still spend about 2-6 hours a day reading up on my essential websites, but I've also found time to read about a book a week or more. Very peculiar. I'm working my way through Orson Scott Card's "Ender Series." I'm hoping to tackle the Chronicles of Narnia before the movies comes out this weekend. By the way, if you're in London and you have a desire to relieve your favorite books from your elementary/middle school days, you'll have a hard time finding "The Giver" or "When the Tripods Came" anywhere. So pack 'em.

My internship has taken a slightly more interesting turn as well. As a memory refresher, I've been helping my boss research for her biography of Grace Kelly. Until the past few weeks, I had been locating books and making copies, doing obscure internet research and learning how to make a proper cup of English Tea. But lately, I've been doing things I never even knew were done by anyone, let alone me. Here's a brief summary:

I now know that the archives of the Palm Beach Daily News only go back until 1988, so if you're looking for any info older than that, you'll have to find it on microfilm at one of two local libraries.
I know that the dream mansion of the late Enrico Di Portafino, located in Acapulco, recently went on sale for $29 million.
I know that since 1994, 74 members of "The Order of the Solar Temple" have 'transitioned,' by committing suicide or being killed by fellow members after refusing to commit suicide.
I know that Grace Kelly ordered a meal at a restaurant in Swahili, while shooting the film "Mogambo" with Cary Grant and Ava Gardner
I've been in close conversation with Ismael Archbold and Evan Hocker of the University of Texas' New York Newsmedia Mourges, which house defunct New York periodicals.
I know that they couldn't help me find a column by Cholly Knickerbocker.
I know that Cholly Knickerbocker is actually Igor Cassini, brother of Oleg Cassini
I know that the Library of Congress is no help over the phone, or through e-mails.
I have developed a close relationship with Alex, Megan and Brian from the marketing department of the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills.
I know that the people at the Intercontinental Hotel in Budapest, Hungary speak decent English, but none of them know anything about Elizabeth Taylor's 40th birthday party that was held there in 1972.

This is what I do. Seriously, yesterday I talked over the phone with:
The British Film Institute
Josefina's Restaurant in New York
The Library of Congress
The University of Texas New York Newsmedia Morgue
The Beverly Hilton Hotel
The Palm Beach Daily News
Information in Philadelphia and New York

It's a crazy crazy job. I never know what I'll get to do next. But, I get a credit in the book, which I just found out yesterday. I think a room in the Hilton might be a little much to ask.