Bastille Day

I did not have to work today, but heavy showers made "enjoying the day" a little difficult. Sylvain and I live in Paris because we have a great friend who loaned us his apartment until August. We would not be able to afford life in Paris otherwise and we are extremely grateful... Nonetheless the apartment is 25 meters square and our windows open to a brick wall. We live around the corner from the famous flea markets selling crap and sneakers in the immigrant neighborhood of the 18eme. I cannot actually believe anyone would buy this apartment. Two weeks ago we heard the unfamiliar sound of a machine gun slaying someone at the corner of our street. I walk home from the metro passing pharmacies, hair salons for women who heavily process their hair, empty store fronts with strange figurines and tools from decades long past and cheap looking brasseries with expensive prices. I don't feel like we live in Paris, I feel like we live in purgatory, a neither here nor there space.

If moving to Paris, or anywhere, I'd make sure you can find and afford a living space that you feel good about going home to because I hate being in our apartment. So I was bound and determined not to spend my day off alone in our apartment, but the rain gave me few options and the fact that public holidays truly mean public holidays in France, and almost nothing is open. I figured, however, Starbucks would be. I was right and after ordering my tall chai tea latte I nestled in to an oversized chair and opened my e-reader to newly purchased on the metro ride over, Sloane Crosely's new book.

She starts out with a short story about turning 30 and an ill-fated trip to Lisbon. It's weird how she tries to make Lisbon sound like a 3rd world country since it's not but her out-of-sincness feels akin to my experience in Paris, except that I didn't spin a globe and buy a ticket to the place where my finger touched when the globe stopped spinning... I followed my boyfriend here.

I find it increasingly odd that in theory the French and French culture have so much going for them, nonetheless I'd rather live in New York. I have a hard time figuring this one out because I loved living in London, so it can't be the living abroad part, perhaps its the language bit, or the lack of purpose bit, but I guess it's actually a host of factors rather than just one easy villain. I just read a book I enjoyed as a fellow transplant by Debra Ollivier (today I can only remember author names and not book titles) I found her nestled between the pages of Parent magazine, one that my employers subscribe to, and I read. She writes basically about how women in Paris are sexy and Americans are high-strung, neurotic and overweight prudes who don't enjoy sex. If you ask me, she's hit it on the nail. It's easy to bash Americans to some extent, but what she writes also rings true... This morning before leaving I was listening to Teri Gross interview Tom Ford about his movie and fashion career, he said something about fashion now compared to the 90's seems pumped up and severe, like our boobs and our lips, all fake- but if you look at the 70's Farrah Fawcet was touchable, women didn't wear bras, and breast looked and felt natural. France may get picked on for it's au natural body scent, and hair growth, but they just don't see the point of being fake, it's okay to be yourself... is that why Americans are so overweight- because it's not okay to be ourselves and we eat through the pain of rejection? Because the French are not overweight, they are bird-like in their thinness, and they have small tiny blueberry boobs and no one is suggesting that they are unsexy because they can't fill out an A cup. This alone makes me love France, my boobs fit in perfectly- I remember being 12 and checking the mirror each morning for any apparent growth, but by 17 I had realized that the growth period had ended and I figured, why not embrace my humble hilltops, I threw out my padded bras and felt liberated, I figured it was better to be myself than try to be someone I'm not and the French agree.

No matter how much I relish the French, their blase I don't care if you don't like me attitude which is refreshing, the French just seem to understand and appreciate life in ways American's are not connected to- we equate everything with material success and our value is connected to how "hard" we work- our first priority, while the French are busy having love affairs working to live while eating and drinking real food, and not some processed food substitute. But something to me, seems stuck in the past, maybe its just the picture postcard architecture that makes a period piece impossible to transition to contemporary life with internet and Iphones- this goes for most of Europe I'd say. I miss New York, it seems so of this century, or at least close enough.

Sloane Crosely writes about how as an adolescent she couldn't just spin that globe and go wherever her finger landed but her about to be 30 self could... nonetheless our childhood fantasies sometimes remain fantasies for a good reason- they're better that way... I tell a lot of people I'm living the dream, I'm living in Paris! but after 6 months here and a year of living abroad, I'm confused by it all. I can't figure out at all what I want anymore. We want to build these perfect happy lives for ourselves, and we always seem to fall frustratingly short, I don't really have any friends who have it all, either divorce, or money problems or divorce and money problems, or lack of figuring it all out yet plague them all, my parents would describe themselves as happy but they also live on auto-pilot and at 30 you want to believe you'll live keyed into the experience of life...