Cou cou

Unfortunately, the last week or so has been a progression of me getting sicker and sicker. So, I haven't done as much exploring as I would have liked, especially in light of this week's readings on the Flâneur (which I found pretty adventure inspiring, all presupposing "bobo"-ness aside). Speaking of bobo, I returned to Pompidou last week and hung out on the fifth floor for a couple of hours. Soaking up all this early modern French art has been amazing, but I have to say that it was Dada, Surrealism, and Neue Sachlichkeit that sparked my desire to study art history.




Friday night, I went to a bar with Lena near the Place de Bastille. We had a good time chatting with some French fellow originally from Morocco. I spent most of the evening talking to this guy, Youness. He was nice enough, but call me a tease, I was really just in it for the dry-run in French flirtation. After suggesting some places that I might like to visit, he asked for my phone number and I didn't see the harm in giving it to him. It seemed like an opportunity to make some French friends in a seemingly harmless way. Stupid, stupid, stupid. According to Suzie, although she just told me this yesterday, in France they don't have that "X" amount of time before you call, between calls, etc. that so characterizes "typical" American dating practices. I don't know how true that is, but I wish I would have known that before. The calls started immediately after I left the bar and persisted the following two days. Lesson learned.

So, I did laundry last weekend for the first time. I was kind of hoping I could strike a deal with my host parents or that Marie-Pierre might offer to let me use their washer, but I decided that I would ask them where the closest laundromat was and see their response. No dice. Marie-Pierre kindly directed me to two laundromats in our neighborhood, citing the one on Rue de Seine as better because there's more to explore while you're waiting for your laundry. However, the one on Grande Auguste-Comte is closer, so that's the one I headed for. I packed my dirty laundry into my smaller suitcase and started down Rue St-Andres-des-Arts. I wandered around this part a little my first day, so after I got my stuff in the wash (and left...and then returned abruptly when I realized that when I set the temperature, I was thinking in Fahrenheit), I went in search of some good coffee. I've had some serious anxiety over finding a good espresso. If all my coffee geek friends back home hadn't already warned me, I would be really surprised about the quality of coffee in arguably the gourmand capital of the world. I returned my when my clothes were done washing, to discover that the coin operator was no longer working, so nobody could dry their clothes. The owners didn't seem to think this was a problem, but I decided that I really didn't want to wait 24 hours for my jeans and socks to dry, so I went looking for Rue de Seine. I wish I had had my camera on me, but suffice to say that my neighborhood is incredible. I hadn't been back by this little area before. I got manic. After dropping off my dry clothes and talking with my mom on Skype for a few minutes (back home, my car's dead, again), I returned to explore a little with Lena and have a glass of wine in one of the cafés.
That night (Saturday), I went home and had dinner with my host parents, Jacques' brother, and his girlfriend. Turns out Jacques' brother put on the first Parisienne rave. I love that. Then we looked at some of the pictures from Nick Cave's recent photo-shoot, the one featured in the Le Monde. Jacques's best friend just happened to be the photographer. So great. Not only is my location amazing, but my host parents are incredibly cool. They're constantly telling me about things they think I might like as they find out more about my interests. I love the way that Marie-Pierre introduced me to Jacques's brother:
"This is Erin. She's the student that's staying with us right now. She's from Michigan and she likes rock music".
"Oh, Michigan. Of course. Iggy Pop!"
The funny thing is that I've been telling people that I'm from Chicago, since the first few times I said Michigan, people looked at me quizzically. Since this introduction, I've been telling more people that I'm Michigan and I've gotten that a few more times. Iggy Pop!

Sunday, I wasn't feeling so great and the feeling has persisted. However, the classes with Suzanne this week have been really interesting as we have been discussing prominent female negotiation of power and legitimacy via art. Wednesday during break, she started telling us a little bit about her academic career and I got a few questions answered about graduate school. She's had the opportunity to do some pretty envy-inspiring things and I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with myself once I graduate in August.