The bored gargoyle at Notre Dame and I have been doing a lot of thinking this week. Here is a sampling of those thoughts.
The show at the Moulin Rouge (no pics allowed during performance) is a combination of a Vegas revue and Eurovision, and a dash of Cirque du Soleil. Despite the women mostly performing topless, there is nothing sexual about the show. But lots of corn and cheese.
Even the useful, maybe especially the useful, is beautiful in Paris. This is the inside of the Musee d’Orsay, formerly a train station.
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage. Or a hamster on a wheel. This is a model of how Notre Dame was built.
How can you tell someone is not Parisian?
2. No scarf wound artfully about the neck and shoulders.
3. North Face jacket instead of fuzzy sweater.
4. Fuzzy hair unaccustomed to perpetual dampness.
5. Dorky grin over a caffe americano, which is still not the size desired but bigger than the typical shot of espresso.
Art always reveals more the more you look at it. In Manet’s Olympia, the prostitute takes up most of the space and the light.
What’s the fuss about macarons? I mean, they’re good but not earth-shattering. Did I do it wrong?