So, Sunday we made the Day of Death and headed out to Montparnasse to see the catacombs. They were fucking amazing. Beforehand, we got nutella crepes and ate them in this little park, which was quite lovely. We then headed into the catacombs, which, at 3.50 euro, are definitely the best deal in town. To get into them, we had to descend a long, narrow spiral staircase, which was definitely atmospheric and quite creepy. I took a video of our descent, but it's kind of dark, so I just filed it away in my archives. Same with the several videos I took of us walking down corridors to get to the catacombs proper. Anyway, to make a long story short, they were fucking awesome. The design is utterly gorgeous, with the bones stacked in high rows that are decorated along the front with waves of skulls. Various sections are labeled to show the origin of the bones, and there are placards everywhere that say bizarre, ridiculous, poetic, etc., etc., things. I would post some of these sign photos, but blogger is being a bitch at the moment and won't let me upload photos, so I'll give that a shot in the near future. Anyway, it's really quite difficult to put into words how amazing, eerie, and perversely beautiful the whole thing is, so go over to facebook and look at the pictures I put up instead (I have decided to make standard practice to put photos up on facebook and videos up here, through youtube).
The catacombs. And, for what it's worth, the one youtube video that is actually semi-visible in the low light, a pan around a super-cool cavernous room:
Following that, we climbed the stairs and exited. There was a sad little skull sitting on this table right by the top of the inglorious exit, and I couldn't help but wonder what twist of fate left him to sit lonelyly up there. Outside, we walked around a bit, then stopped at a little cafe and had chocolate. C'etait genial.
Afterward, the group fractured, and a couple girls and I went to the Montparnasse cemetery, which was also fucking brilliant. I love French cemeteries so much--they're all eerily beautiful and exceedingly calm. It's nice to just stroll their walkways looking at all the elaborate graves, or, if one's feeling particularly industrious, to go celebrity hunting. The girls and I found both the Sartre-Beauvoir grave and that of Durkheim, both of which were nice to see, as I like all of those people. Mostly, though, we just strolled about, looking at things, and again, as usual, I took lots and lots of pictures. (Did I mention I took lots of them?)
Following that, Vivian and I headed back, though we stopped on the Rue Rivoli right across from the Louvre to buy some postcards, since she knew a place that sold 13 for one euro, as opposed to the usual euro-a-piece pricing structure that seems so prevalent in this country. Anyway, now I'm stocked up on postcards, though I still haven't written any out yet. Send me your college addresses nonetheless, and spread the word on that.
***
Tuesday night pretty much everyone headed out to this little bar called Motel in the area of the Bastille to see our dorm liaison (or whatever), DJ, and our ridiculously amazing program coordinator, Arnaud Hedin, play in their band, 1972 (photos in that same album as the end of the cemetery pictures). The place was a little hole-in-the-wall, but I liked it a lot. There was a small front room for mingling and performance, which led into a back room that would have been more sizable but for the large oval bar in its middle. I got a beer and settled into a seat in the front room, waiting for the band.
I was delighted to find they were actually quite good once they'd gotten onstage, since I really wasn't sure what to expect. (Arnaud said he'd only been singing with them for three weeks.) Someone described it as "kinda emo," which seemed fairly accurate, but generally it was quite nice, and I enjoyed myself. After their seven-or-so song set, though, one of the members stayed up there noodling around and trying out other things, which kind of led to a prolonged death rather than an end on a high note. Nevertheless, it was a nice experience and something fun to do on a weekday night. Returning home, I decided I would not do my reading, and instead finished my novella (though it requires a few thematic edits and rewrites, still). All in all, a nice evening, though I did become kinda paranoid toward the end that everyone hated me. I wonder if someone had been smoking up in the club and I got a contact high or something. It was very odd...
***
Anyway, this week has been the start of our next "quarter," so we have new teachers and new content. This quarter's professors are Andre Pessel and Francine Markovitz. So far, we've only had Andre, as the two are splitting the quarter evenly (6 days each, which certainly does not seem like a lot). Anyway, he's really nice - this adorable old French guy who kind of slowly and cutely waddles everywhere he goes. He also has "old French guy voice," which originally was a little hard to understand, though I've gotten used to it by now. The remaining problem with "old French guy voice," though, is that it's soft and steady and very soothing and, coupled with the either intense heat or intense cold of the room (which varies day-to-day, but only 'twixt extremes), constantly lulls me into a somnambulant state. I feel terrible, sitting there, struggling to keep my eyes open, since the stuff he's talking about is genuinely interesting and I do want to hear it and I like him and respect him and want to illustrate that by actually remaining cognizant throughout his course, but so far, it's been no use. I'm kind of embarrassed to show my face, though he doesn't seem to notice - or at least be bothered - at all.
Something that will surely delight the masses is this related anecdote of last Thursday's class. Again I was nodding off, though I was still half-listening to and -understanding what he was saying. Anyway, he asked something about the reading which amounted to "were there any questions?," but which I heard as "did you understand?" or something like that. There was one of those long, awkward silences, and so, to make him think that I was a good student and cared about his course and was doing the reading, I sleepily yelped "Oui." "Oh, you have a question?" he asked, and with a jolt I was wide awake, every sense blazing as my fuckup hit me like a ton of bricks. Everyone's eyes were on me, and I felt like a total doofus for yelping. Anyway, I then launched into one of those awkward rambles that one gives when one has said something in class in front of everyone that one then wishes to retract, and so I blathered incoherently for a little bit about having misunderstood his question and that I was instead reponding that I had understood. After what seemed like forever, he smiled gently and nodded, and things went on as usual, and within ten minutes I was nodding off again. Typical. I guess it couldn't have been as bad as it seemed to me, though, as no one commented on it during break and they seemed, indeed, to have just forgotten it. Maybe it seemed smoother than it felt. But whatever the case, I at least felt like an asshole. Yay.
On the subject of reading, however, I should also note that that mistaken "oui" was also an unrepentant lie, as I had neither done the reading nor would I have understood it if I had. Nevertheless, I was pretty sure that if I had been awake during the class I would have understood what he had been saying, which was the intention behind the "oui," so I did at least consider it ideologically, if not truthfully, valid. Anyway, this quarter, while ostensibly still a Civ. class, is utterly and inextricably rooted in philosophy - we have yet to speak of history once. Anyway, this is working much better for me, as it's not agonizing, rote history nor grating, aristotelian philosophy where people try to make rules for what makes a good drama and shit. Instead, it's very Soc.-like (Hobbes and whatnot), and that suits me just fine, as I could debate the origin and purpose of "society" all day.
Anyway, as to why I haven't done the reading, the thing is that Pessel is utterly and completely a French professor, so he just lectures for two hours. Which is fine by me, because it means several things: 1) I don't have to attempt to understand, or, more accurately, fake and understanding of, the reading, like I had to last quarter, in order to feel safe in class (not that I ever did), and, 2) I don't have to give a presentation or anything. Basically, we just sit there and get the shit explained to us in the context of Pessel's fascinating rambles about philosophy and various ephemera. So yeah, he's fascinating to listen to (when he hasn't entranced me) and patiently explains what in the reading is important anyway, so that, coupled with the return of the ridiculously-long-assignment format, has led me to the conclusion that doing the reading is quite unnecessary. The way I've justified that is also this: I can either stay up till 2 every night doing his reading, then fall asleep in class the next day trying to listen to him actually make it clear, or I could just not read it, start with a fresh slate, and then be wide awake for the explanation, which would have to increase comprehension, no? Never have slacking-off seemed like such a no-brainer.
Anyway, I've devoted an utterly inordinate amount of time to this rather insubstantial, circumstantial topic, so I shall cut things off here. One final note:
***
So I called Jean Rollin on Monday, and, after it taking about a half-minute for him to remember me, things went swimmingly. He said he was too tired to really be up to meeting this week (I assume that means he was just in for dialysis), but we arranged to meet Saturday evening of next week, which is almost the exact halfway point of my trip. Not that that matters. What is far more interesting is this: So, after some discussion, we set the date for Sat., Nov. 3rd, which seemed all well and good to me. Bored later, I googled his name, and one of the things to come up was a Wikipedia article on November 3rd, which, in listing him, served to remind me that Nov. 3rd is actually his birthday. So apparently he is devoting his birthday to me, which I'm not sure how to feel about. On one hand, it would be sad if no one were visiting him or throwing him a party or anything, though of course it is flattering that I rank so highly as to merit a birthday visit. Of course, I suppose after a certain age you would rather forget about your birthday more than anything else, so that could account for it. Or, in one of my typical flights of fancy, I decided that perhaps he was turning his party into a reverse surprise party, thinking I wouldn't know this detail, and that when I would get there to meet him I would find a room full of all his acquaintances. I think I would pretty much crap my pants if I got to meet Brigitte Lahaie, which I suppose would go rather fittingly with the urine that will already be soaking them from my encounter with Rollin. Despite the fact that, apparently (according to drunk John), everyone hates me, clearly my life is also the greatest to have ever been lived in the universe ever.
***
Anyway, let's take notes. Next time I need to discuss the play I went to see, and I also need to talk about our visit to Versailles. I would have done this now, but it involves the putting up of a lot more pictures and videos, which I need to transfer from my camera, and, since it's around 3:30 right now, I feel it's getting kind of late, so I will do that in the near future.
As for my weekend's projects, since this weekend is fairly open, I am not specifically sure. I have come to the realization that most of the other people on this trip, while I love them all, are either 1) far too independent or 2) far too blase (or both) for me to every goad them into doing touristy shit with me, since they all either want to do it alone or, having been here "many, many times," have grown contemptuous of it. So yes, I have decided that from now on I shall forge out on my own and conduct my own little adventures and expeditions. Tomorrow, I'm thinking I will either head out along the Seine to shop the little booksellers and enjoy myself in the heart of the city, or I could travel out to Montmartre and see the cafe from Amelie, the Moulin Rouge, and all the sex shops. We'll see where the day takes me, though know this: there will be pictures.
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