Je dis merci à Paris.

More Paris awesomeness via photos:

Here are some roses blooming up the courtyard in the building where I’m staying:

Another sampling of Metro-specific Paris awesomeness: poetry in the Metro. I thought this one was very sweet:Awww...

I was doing my laundry the other day at the lavomatique, and noticed this sign on the wall:

This is without a doubt the only place in France, I’m certain, where drinking wine is not permitted. Beware the perils of drinking and laundering! Certainly increases the chances of mixing whites and colors, no question.

Back on the home front, perhaps you may have heard that our car died? Alas, we now must do without our (not so) trusty Sally Sue the Civic, with us for a brief but fruitful 7 months. I may have found a replacement car here in Paris – perhaps this one?

Or perhaps this one?

Paris: the city that never stops being cute.

For your visual and conceptual pleasure, I bring you more tidbits of Parisness.
Anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes in the Paris Métro will likely recognize this sign, posted on each and every door on every car on every line. Though certainly good and sound advice, this sign has perplexed me greatly for a couple of reasons, to follow:
1. Why a bunny? I have yet to see a 6-foot pink bunny riding the Paris metro, much less one which has pinched its fingers in the doors. Much less one in a yellow jumpsuit. I’m not sure what’s up with the Bugs Bunny ripoff, but I can't help but notice he’s been pinching his fingers for years now. Make it stop.
2. While I appreciate the wisdom and practicality of this sage warning, I can’t help but notice that it’s the one sign among many here in this city which they took the trouble to translate into approximately 15 other foreign languages. I exaggerate, but seriously... how often do you see things translated into German or Italian in Paris? Probably not often enough, if you ask a German, or an Italian.

Anyway, I think there is only one conclusion we can draw from this signage: at some point in the history of the Paris Metro, there was a rash of incidents involving the pinching of fingers in the doors of large rose-tinted, yellow-clad German-Italian bunnies, to the detriment of the manual integrity of said bunnies. And the folks at the Paris transit system, bless their hearts, have gone all out to put an end to this menace.
Phew!

If you are Parisian or something, perhaps this is mundane... however, in the U.S., it is relatively uncommon to come across beef hanging around in the street. Unless we’re speaking figuratively.

Saw this movie recently:Despite the fact that I understood only an approximate 3% of the dialogue spoken in this movie, I can still say with great confidence that it was one of the stupidest movies I have ever seen. There were hijinks, hijinks aplenty. Its one redeeming feature was that the female lead had a giant-sized gap between her two front teeth (à la Vanessa Paradis) yet still manages to be considered an attractive woman. God bless France and its ability to embrace difference in its standards of beauty. Ahh. If I'm lucky, maybe they like big noses too.

I finally had the opportunity the other day to explore this itty bitty, hard-to-find, mostly hidden but entirely pleasant little mini-park right near where my apartment is located, off the Rue de Sevres. It’s at the end of the Rue Recamier, a little pedestrian-only inlet.

It was a delightful little place, I'll try to post more photos later. This sign was posted at the entrance to the park, on a wall which separated the Rue Recamier from the park:I think this sign means “No gymnasts allowed.”

Back in the 9th arrondissement, near our class, there were some Parisian dogs, trained to be très mignon every second of the day:

And now for a fair and balanced represenation of the animal kingdom, behold: the cutest cat in the world, to be found at Studio Escalier.I am in love.

Storming the Bastille.

Tonight after class I was kindly invited to dinner at the home of the couple who own the apartment I've rented during my last two visits to Paris. They're over by the Bastille, a great location, neighborhood, building, etc. Laurence is a painter as well, and is actually teaching a workshop this summer in Italy. Ah, so lucky. Anyway, here are Laurence and Florence chez eux:

These guys are great. Even their cat, Zen, is great:

La nuit à Paris.

I forgot to mention that last Friday night I walked home to my apartment from the Louvre after it closed, around 10pm. It was a remarkably tranquil, beautiful walk – certain parts of the city are just lovely, quiet and glowing at night, making it most delightful to take long walks. Here’s some evidence, taken from the Pont du Carrousel:

The Hotel Lutetia, very close to my apartment:

Le dessin, c'est difficile.

We were back in class today, oddly enough – for our last week we are working Sunday through Thursday. I can’t believe it's our third week already... that's kind of crazy. Where does the time go? Anyway. Here's another drawing of mine from class... again, avert your eyes if you are disinclined to view the female nude:

La famille française.

Spent some time with extended family today, including some of the newest members of the family. Behold:

fils, père, grand-père:

Marina et Raphaël:

Lucas sez: giddyap.

Guillaume et sa mère avec les petits:

Diane dans le Métro.

Have I mentioned that I love the Paris Métro? With a wild, unfettered passion? Love it. Of course, I realize fully that my enchantment with its efficiency and scope would diminish considerably if I had to, say, ride it every day to work, or - God forbid - be at the mercy of RATP worker strikes in the middle of winter or some such. But for now, the Métro and I are still in a honeymoon phase.

Look, someone even left me a snack here on the train platform:

Apartments are pricey in Paris, but perhaps they could let me stay in this little room off the Metro platform? It appears to be empty, unused - completely unclaimed real estate, I say. Would make for convenient commuting:

On my way to the 20th, at Pelleport station:

Sèvres-Babylone station at night:

Hanging out with Kung Fu panda at Pigalle: