Update: Mom's visit, Paris, Oscar Wilde's Grave
Ooooooooohhhhhhh… I haven't listened to any of my Marc records other than the "Children of Rarn" CD a friend sent me for the last month… and now I put "Electric Warrior" in again, and oh, it's good. So good actually, that I don't think I'll be able to play it while writing this, as I'd intended. (I've put Placebo in now… there, that's better.) I hadn't listened to Marc for personal reasons, but it looks like it turned out to be a good thing on other fronts as well: I'd gotten so familiar with some of his albums, that I couldn't really *listen* to them anymore, if you know what I mean. I was just hearing them, not listening. But now that I've taken a small break from them, I can listen to them like in the beginning again. :)
All right then, on to the actual topic of this entry: to update you all on what's been going on. I don't think I've posted anything significant in several weeks now. I've actually written entries that I was going to post, but didn't at last minute, because they were so whiny. So you should be happy you didn't have to read those.
Last week finished classes for me, so now I'm finally free (more or less). Yes, Georgetown people, envy me--my semester is over! Hah. Now if only I could be sure my professors actually received my papers… some of them never check their email, and went off on vacation even before I did...
Writing all my final papers for these classes was what kept me so busy, though. As you all know, I'm a horrible procrastinator, and I ended up so behind on them, that I had to cancel my spring vacation to finish (I think I mentioned this already?). Anyway, this was the week before last. I was hoping to have plenty of time to get everything done, but instead I got sick, and had to spend half the week in bed. Which was another reason I didn't update. The good thing that came from this was that my mother felt sorry for me, so to make up for my missing my vacation (really only my laziness) and being sick, she decided to come see me and take me to Paris.
*grins* I must say, that's one cool thing about my mom's job: when I was younger, I didn't like that she had to travel so often, but now I appreciate that it enables her to come see me just like that.
Thus last week, for the first few days I worked on finishing the last of my essays, and then my mom came on Wednesday, and we went to Paris on Friday. Thursday, May 1st, we spent just walking around Lyon. (Emphasis on walking: in the great country of France, absolutely no kind of public transportation works on May 1st.) But we had crêpes and coffee in a little café in the old part of the city, and bought sugared nuts and a bouquet of snowdrops, so I had a very nice day.
In Paris, well, we did all the tourist-y things. Except not that many, because we got there pretty late, so really only had a day and a half. My mother left very early Sunday morning, and I was supposed to spend Sunday in the Louvre by myself, but I was lucky enough to have that full Paris experience by getting food poisoning, so Sunday was spent throwing up instead. Yeah, it was lovely.
Paris really was though. I'll try to stop by there again in the next few weeks, so I can see the rest. Friday was rather cold and windy, but Saturday was very nice. At Notre Dame, there was this "come back to the Church!' thing going on, with all these bright-faced youths in white t-shirts proclaiming their faith in Jesus… it was fun. There was a Christian rock band, which was surprisingly good. Very high-energy poppy type rock. Maybe because I couldn't make out most of the lyrics (but you know, the usual "joy, joy glory to the Lord!" stuff), I really enjoyed them.
I was amazed by how many Russians there were, especially at the Eiffel tower: I swear that 70 percent of the tourists were Russian. And in the gift shops, there was no-one *but* Russians. Even the people outside hawking miniatures of the tower for sale were yelling, "Ne dorogo!"--ie, "Inexpensive!" That just… I don't even know, I found that so bizarre: we're in Paris, and the street vendors are speaking in Russian! The thing was, they didn't even bother trying any other languages. As far as I could see, they kept repeating "ne dorogo," because they knew the Russians outnumbered the other tourists by so much, it wasn't even worth it to target anyone else.
At Moulin Rouge too, the people calling you in to see "live sex" often repeated their invitation in Russian. And someone called out to me, asking whether I was Russian, and when I answered "Da," the next person on our way immediately asked if we wanted to come in see his establishment's sex show, in Russian. At this point, I just turned to him and asked him (in Russian of course) if *everybody* there was Russian? But he looked confused and answered that he actually didn't know any Russian: he only knew that bit about coming to see the show. And knew it well enough, no accent, that I thought he was Russian himself! (I'm pretty sure the first person that called to me really was Russian, though. I also think the reason she asked me was that she was having a bet with a coworker that either a) she could point out the Russians on sight, or b) that if you asked any random passing person, they were likely to turn out to be.)
Otherwise… yes… as I said before, I visited Oscar Wilde's grave. It really is covered in kisses. It also turns out that it was a gift from some anonymous lady "who admired the poet." What *is* it about him that inspires that kind of devotion? I mean, there are plenty of other famous writers who are much admired, but whose graves do not have to have plaques on them warning that they are national monuments, and that their desecration (ie, leaving lipstick marks) is illegal and will be punished by the force of law. Not to mention the genitalia of the statue, which was broken off/stolen (several times!) by some perhaps too-ardent admirers…
It makes me glad though to see him get so much attention, all these years after his death. It quite annoyed me at the time though, when I went there, to see this huge tour group gathered around the grave. There were no other tour groups that I could see at any of the other famous gravesites, but here was this crowd of people that just would not leave. I mean, yes, very cool that they're there, but they were there for so long! I was carrying the lilies for him, and my mother and I sat down several feet away for them, waiting for them to go.
Waited for five minutes, ten, fifteen… the tour guide continued talking, the group remained where they were. At one point they all moved over to the side, to stand by the next gravesite, and I thought they were leaving, but no, they stayed firmly rooted. Then I thought, "oh no, are they going through this cemetery *grave by grave*? That'll take forever!" But then I caught the words "Oscar Wilde… lilies…" and so knew they were still talking about him.
My mother actually told me later that they probably moved to the side because they noticed me, and wanted to let me get to the grave. I guess it was pretty clear what I was waiting for, carrying the lilies and all, and, as my mother said, "shooting them looks to indicate it was about time they were getting well on their way."
In any case, them moving to the side was not good enough, so in the end, we just got up and went to see Edith Piaf's and Modigliani's graves, which were close by, hoping they'd be gone when we returned. May I say that while both Piaf's and Modigliani's graves had lots of flowers, and several people standing by, they then left, so that it was possible to be alone at the grave at least for a little while. Not so with dear Oscar. When we came back, the tour group had indeed left, but individual groups of people still kept coming by. Now, this I didn't mind, but I just thought it interesting that there really was no moment when somebody wasn't at the grave. At one point, there was like a 45-second interval between when one group left and the next arrived, but that was all. *shakes head* Ah, Oscar. And he feared he'd be forgotten.
All right then, on to the actual topic of this entry: to update you all on what's been going on. I don't think I've posted anything significant in several weeks now. I've actually written entries that I was going to post, but didn't at last minute, because they were so whiny. So you should be happy you didn't have to read those.
Last week finished classes for me, so now I'm finally free (more or less). Yes, Georgetown people, envy me--my semester is over! Hah. Now if only I could be sure my professors actually received my papers… some of them never check their email, and went off on vacation even before I did...
Writing all my final papers for these classes was what kept me so busy, though. As you all know, I'm a horrible procrastinator, and I ended up so behind on them, that I had to cancel my spring vacation to finish (I think I mentioned this already?). Anyway, this was the week before last. I was hoping to have plenty of time to get everything done, but instead I got sick, and had to spend half the week in bed. Which was another reason I didn't update. The good thing that came from this was that my mother felt sorry for me, so to make up for my missing my vacation (really only my laziness) and being sick, she decided to come see me and take me to Paris.
*grins* I must say, that's one cool thing about my mom's job: when I was younger, I didn't like that she had to travel so often, but now I appreciate that it enables her to come see me just like that.
Thus last week, for the first few days I worked on finishing the last of my essays, and then my mom came on Wednesday, and we went to Paris on Friday. Thursday, May 1st, we spent just walking around Lyon. (Emphasis on walking: in the great country of France, absolutely no kind of public transportation works on May 1st.) But we had crêpes and coffee in a little café in the old part of the city, and bought sugared nuts and a bouquet of snowdrops, so I had a very nice day.
In Paris, well, we did all the tourist-y things. Except not that many, because we got there pretty late, so really only had a day and a half. My mother left very early Sunday morning, and I was supposed to spend Sunday in the Louvre by myself, but I was lucky enough to have that full Paris experience by getting food poisoning, so Sunday was spent throwing up instead. Yeah, it was lovely.
Paris really was though. I'll try to stop by there again in the next few weeks, so I can see the rest. Friday was rather cold and windy, but Saturday was very nice. At Notre Dame, there was this "come back to the Church!' thing going on, with all these bright-faced youths in white t-shirts proclaiming their faith in Jesus… it was fun. There was a Christian rock band, which was surprisingly good. Very high-energy poppy type rock. Maybe because I couldn't make out most of the lyrics (but you know, the usual "joy, joy glory to the Lord!" stuff), I really enjoyed them.
I was amazed by how many Russians there were, especially at the Eiffel tower: I swear that 70 percent of the tourists were Russian. And in the gift shops, there was no-one *but* Russians. Even the people outside hawking miniatures of the tower for sale were yelling, "Ne dorogo!"--ie, "Inexpensive!" That just… I don't even know, I found that so bizarre: we're in Paris, and the street vendors are speaking in Russian! The thing was, they didn't even bother trying any other languages. As far as I could see, they kept repeating "ne dorogo," because they knew the Russians outnumbered the other tourists by so much, it wasn't even worth it to target anyone else.
At Moulin Rouge too, the people calling you in to see "live sex" often repeated their invitation in Russian. And someone called out to me, asking whether I was Russian, and when I answered "Da," the next person on our way immediately asked if we wanted to come in see his establishment's sex show, in Russian. At this point, I just turned to him and asked him (in Russian of course) if *everybody* there was Russian? But he looked confused and answered that he actually didn't know any Russian: he only knew that bit about coming to see the show. And knew it well enough, no accent, that I thought he was Russian himself! (I'm pretty sure the first person that called to me really was Russian, though. I also think the reason she asked me was that she was having a bet with a coworker that either a) she could point out the Russians on sight, or b) that if you asked any random passing person, they were likely to turn out to be.)
Otherwise… yes… as I said before, I visited Oscar Wilde's grave. It really is covered in kisses. It also turns out that it was a gift from some anonymous lady "who admired the poet." What *is* it about him that inspires that kind of devotion? I mean, there are plenty of other famous writers who are much admired, but whose graves do not have to have plaques on them warning that they are national monuments, and that their desecration (ie, leaving lipstick marks) is illegal and will be punished by the force of law. Not to mention the genitalia of the statue, which was broken off/stolen (several times!) by some perhaps too-ardent admirers…
It makes me glad though to see him get so much attention, all these years after his death. It quite annoyed me at the time though, when I went there, to see this huge tour group gathered around the grave. There were no other tour groups that I could see at any of the other famous gravesites, but here was this crowd of people that just would not leave. I mean, yes, very cool that they're there, but they were there for so long! I was carrying the lilies for him, and my mother and I sat down several feet away for them, waiting for them to go.
Waited for five minutes, ten, fifteen… the tour guide continued talking, the group remained where they were. At one point they all moved over to the side, to stand by the next gravesite, and I thought they were leaving, but no, they stayed firmly rooted. Then I thought, "oh no, are they going through this cemetery *grave by grave*? That'll take forever!" But then I caught the words "Oscar Wilde… lilies…" and so knew they were still talking about him.
My mother actually told me later that they probably moved to the side because they noticed me, and wanted to let me get to the grave. I guess it was pretty clear what I was waiting for, carrying the lilies and all, and, as my mother said, "shooting them looks to indicate it was about time they were getting well on their way."
In any case, them moving to the side was not good enough, so in the end, we just got up and went to see Edith Piaf's and Modigliani's graves, which were close by, hoping they'd be gone when we returned. May I say that while both Piaf's and Modigliani's graves had lots of flowers, and several people standing by, they then left, so that it was possible to be alone at the grave at least for a little while. Not so with dear Oscar. When we came back, the tour group had indeed left, but individual groups of people still kept coming by. Now, this I didn't mind, but I just thought it interesting that there really was no moment when somebody wasn't at the grave. At one point, there was like a 45-second interval between when one group left and the next arrived, but that was all. *shakes head* Ah, Oscar. And he feared he'd be forgotten.