Stage

Yesterday was my first day at my stage, or internship. I'll be working Wednesday mornings at a little business in the 2nd arrondissement that collects old photos of life in paris. It's called Phototèque des Jeunes Parisiens (Young Parisians), a name I don't full understand as the owner is not very young. Yesterday I spent the morning filing old photos based on their subject matter as well as just looking through their collection. The business makes its money selling postcards and photo books. They have a book for each arrondissement and also for certain decades or periods of time (1960s, Occupation, etc.). Above are the covers of some books they've published.

My coworkers are super nice and I went out to lunch with them after work yesterday. It should be fun.

Booze

The fact that drinking alcohol under the age of 21 is not only legal here, but strongly encouraged as an important cultural and gastronomical habit, has taken all the fun out of drinking while simultaneously turning me into a raging alcoholic. The other night, feeling a bit under the weather, I turned down a glass of wine at dinner. My host father, Henri, poured me a glass anyway, arguing that wine is a necessary digestive aide.

Franklin & Marshall

So maybe this is common knowledge, but it stunned me. Franklin & Marshall, which I thought to just be a Pennsylvania liberal arts college, is also a popular Italian clothing line.

Here is a quote from their website, explaining the name choice: Franklin & Marshall is an Italian clothing company that creates and produces clothing and accessories inspired by the American Vintage College spirit, as exemplified by Franklin & Marshall College.

If America has one thing to be proud of, it's the American Vintage College spirit. I'm glad it has reached cool kids in France.

Chez Moi

Here are some pictures of the apartment where I live with Henri and Laure, my French host parents. I've also included a map of Paris; I live more or less where I've drawn the red smiley face.

(bathroom—which like the rest of the house is covered in books as Henri is quite the reader. Also, the floor mat reading "Spécial VIP" was not there when I got here, thus I can only assume it refers to me.)

(view from my room—you can see Sacré Coeur cathedral in the background on the left. Although Sacré Coeur is hideously kitschy and was built by the first French Republic as a way of covering up the massacre of French communards during the Paris Commune of 1871, it's a pretty cool thing to see from your window.)

(living room—not sure who the dude in the portrait is)

French Rap Names

The French must have different criteria for choosing rap names, as I'm not sure an American record label would accept "Mr. Pino Bill Clinton" as an acceptable pseudonym.

My Paris Neighborhood

I've come to the conclusion that the director of housing for my program thinks I'm a total perv, as I have once again been placed in an area resplendent with sex shops. As seen in the first picture, most Parisian sex shops offer a service called "Zapping." Its name is almost as enticing as its 1 Euro price tag.

Les Artistes

Earlier today, I was walking back to my apartment when I stopped at a café at the corner of my street to get an overpriced cup of coffee. Having been assigned a Proust novel for one of my classes, I took out my book and started to do a little reading. Two guys sitting at a nearby table yelled at me and asked me where I was in the novel. Embarrassingly, I was only on pg. 8 after an hour of laborious reading. Nonetheless, they were impressed that an American was trying to read Proust in French and invited me over to have a drink.

One of the guys, named Ronan, is a painter who is apparently pretty well known in France and informed me that his last painting sold for 200,000 Euro. I thought that this was probably untrue. But after googling his name, I think he might have been telling the truth. Here is a link to an article about him—and the painting above is his as well.

http://www.telerama.fr/scenes/quinze-toiles-de-ronan-barrot,42831.php

The other guy, Gils, was incredibly nice and spoke perfect English. Apparently, he and Ronan were celebrating because, after four years, he had just finished translating Emily Dickinson's entire body of work.

My Neighborhood

Although most of Bordeaux is extremely picturesque, my housemate Chris and I were put in the gritty part of town. That being said, the house were living in is old and beautiful. There's also a Crousti Kebab nearby, so I'm happy.

BDX

The two week orientation in Bordeaux is almost over and I figured I should dedicate at least one blog post to it. Bordeaux is quite beautiful, albeit a little boring. My host family parents are incredibly nice. The mom is a nurse and great cook, and the dad is retired and a judo black-belt. Apparently Bordeaux is doing a lot of repenting for its part in the triangular slave trade because we've been forced to sit through several several-hour tours/lectures dedicated to the subject.

Yesterday, mourning the loss of DJ AM, we went to the cute and scenic town of St. Emilion, where lots of wine and macarons (a delicious french cookie) are produced. We went on a tour of a Winery, thinking it would be as beautiful as the rest of the town. Unfortunately, it turned out to actually be a huge alien torture chamber. Here are some commemorative pics.