a walking fashion faux-pas

People in France are particularly fashionable, as is to be expected, I suppose.  They always wear really cute scarves, sassy boots, designer jeans, and gorgeous tops.  The click-clack of high heels is ever-present as I walk along the streets, admiring the natural grace and style of all the young, hip Frenchies...

Then, there's me... I walk around in tattered, ill-fitting jeans, plain tee-shirts, ugly beat up sneakers, not to mention the obnoxiously bright orange beanie that is practically a permanent fixture atop my head.  That's how I look almost every single day. 

One day, I decided to change it up a bit, so I traded in my ill-fitting jeans for an old, ill-fitting skirt, kept the sneakers and wore a camisole and cardigan.  But given my lack of style, it's no wonder I got dirty looks as I traipsed around in ratty sneakers and a dowdy skirt.  No joke, I looked like this little kid, but less cute.    

Oh well... I guess I'll never learn...

La quête continue...

I really don't understand why there are so many paperclips here, but I can tell you that finding them is actually really wonderful.  It seems strange, perhaps, but finding a 'trombone' on the street really lifts my spirits.  It's as if the universe has an unspoken agreement with me- when I'm feeling down, I find at least one without fail.  Once, I found four in a single day.  The current count is now 55.  

4 from Paris

1 from Namur, Belgium

1 from Amsterdam 

1 from Maastricht, Netherlands

The rest are from Nancy, Metz, and Toul

Now, let us never think of the various diseases I may have received from picking up random paperclips off the dirty streets of Europe. 

Droplets

It rained this morning, leaving delicates droplets of water on these beautiful flores.  

Connections

Why is it that most of us go through life connecting with so few people, acting like strangers are a different species?  The other day I was walking out of my room and down the hall to go down the steps.  This girl that lives on my floor walked out of her room behind me, so I held the door to the stairwell for her.  She looked at me, and instead of smiling she actually grimaced, didn't say hello even though I said hi to her, and walked as slowly as possible to catch the door.  What is the point of this?  Here in Philly a lot of people act this way.  And then there are some people who are inexplicably kind.  I won't even pretend to understand why this juxtaposition exists.  At home in Colorado I don't think people act this way, at least not to this extent.  Could it be the Colorado air?  Generally, when hiking in Colorado hikers say hello to other fellow hikers.  It's way cool.  Solidarity.

the early years

Generally, I have no problem not participating in the social norms of collegiate wasteland.  At this moment I can hear some drunk girls outside, celebrating the final day of classes by playing Marco Polo.  It's 12:38 am.  Bitch, please.  Count me out.  

But sometimes I have these thoughts when it comes to participating in these little activities.  Not partying, per se, but just ridiculous things that are usually accompanied by drinking and so end up becoming stupid- social gatherings in a sense.  And I think to myself "Why not go have fun?  It's just life."  And apart from the realization that nothing is that fun when you're the only sober person in a group of lushes at 11 am, I generally think "Oh my God.  It's life."  And life is finite.  And teetering on the cusp of an existential crisis, I usually just decide to watch tv.

frozen lies

Have you heard the latest episode of "This American Life"?  Part of the program was about a man, Bob, who rather accidentally became the president of a cryonics group in the 1960s.  The program looks particularly at a young french girl named Genevieve with a terminal illness, whose father asked that she be cryogenically frozen, which she was.  Cut to a few years later.  The capsule that Genevieve was in had malfunctioned when Bob was out of town, and the liquid nitrogen inside that was keeping her frozen had become hot.  It had been hot for at least a couple of days.

Now here's the crazy part.  Bob says he met with Genevieve's father at the Montreal airport to tell him what had happened.  And he says that her father told him to just put more liquid nitrogen in the capsule and start it up again.  Bob then flew to another airport to meet another man, whose parents had been in the same capsule with Genevieve.  This man also asked that the capsule be started up again.  So Bob put more liquid nitrogen in the capsule, and started it up again.  No big deal, except that the bodies had been sitting in hot liquid nitrogen for a few days.  

But when Genevieve's father and this other man, the son, were interviewed by "This American Life", they both said they never met with Bob in an airport-in fact, he never even contacted them about the failure of the capsule.  When asked about this by "This American Life", Bob is steadfast in his conviction that he met with both of them at different airports, and that both of them asked that the capsule be started again.  From his voice, you can tell that he absolutely believes it.

 I have this absolutely vivid memory that I went to Red Lobster with my dad when I was about six.  I remember the restaurant being somewhat empty, the lighting was dim.  I ate a whole lobster tail.  It was awesome.  But as it turns out, I've never been to Red Lobster in my whole life.  I have been told this over and over, but I just can't reconcile that that was a dream and never actually happened.  All I can say is, at least the outcome of my Red Lobster "memory" wasn't malpractice and a lawsuit.

image from here

trombones

Paper clips in France are actually called trombones. I find them on the street all the time, so I just decided to start a collection.

Current count: 22