I saw Sandra Bullock in an Indian
restaurant in the 10th last evening. Her French is excellent. In a
conversational lull with the gentleman at her table I whispered Bonsoir Mme. Bullock. She stared right
through me and not wanting to blow her cover, I turned discretely away.
And several years ago when he was
reported to be dying in a Virginia hospice, I encountered Art Buchwald in the 3rd.
“Hi Artie,” as we passed and he doffed his casquette in my direction.
It pays to be observant.
##########
As I waited for the 61 bus to take me
in the proper direction (having hopped on one heading the wrong way) I was
confronted by several hundred middle schoolers noisily exiting a Lycee. Most
American schools are tucked away and those departing enter school busses to
drop them on corners where suburban mothers gather in clumps exchanging news of
the day and awaiting their progeny. But in Paris, and most large cities I
suppose, schools exist in the thick of it all and students ride public
transportation to and fro.
At this stage of life the routine is
similar the world over, the age of almost but not quite enlightenment. Girls
gather in a tight giggly nuclear knot, while boys (the electrons) flit about
the periphery looking nervous, talking loud, and punching each other on the
shoulder. Fission will soon occur!
But as there are always gradients in maturity
and behavior, I notice two of the more “advanced” jeune filles (scientists might call them “fast neutrons”) staring
with great intensity at a garcon of some development himself, hair combed over
eyes and trendy sweater as opposed to the rowdy rag-tag appearance of the
whirling electrons.
He is trying not to return the stares,
but he can’t help himself and his head keeps involuntarily snapping back each
time he turns away. This is a phenomenon known in pediatric circles as “the tic
of teen awakening.” I crossed the path separating them to board the bus and the
electricity crackled my hair.
##########
The friend whose apartment in which I
am squatting keeps a menacing aluminum rod next to her bed in the event of
unwanted intrusion. I have taken to keeping the remnants of a day old baguette,
less lethal but no less intimidating were its use required.
##########
Yes I know I am supposed
to attach those annoying accents on top of French words, but I’m afraid if I
modify my keyboard to French I’ll never
be able to change it back. Decades ago while spending some time in Dusseldorf,
I joined a radical movement to ban the umlaut, a German language accent that
causes foreigners to gurgle and suck air up their noses with occasional
unpleasant results.
I sense a change in the air. Bientot.
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