Where Else Can You Do This?
Yet another fond memory of Paris--touring Rodin's beautiful museum, set in a hotel he used to frequent.
It was filled to the brim with so many of his exquisite sculptures, making it almost impossible not to want to reach out and caress the marble or bronze he used as a medium.
The grounds were manicured to perfection and the weather was glorious, and there we discovered a lovely little cafe where we stopped for lunch. Somehow the idea of eating a sandwich in the shadows of The Thinker, whose ass faces the street for all to see, is particularly alluring.
Paris is a panorama of sights to behold. I thought Tokyo was a shrine to aesthetics but compared to Paris, Tokyo may as well be Beaumont, Texas.
Paris is like a tattoo you didn't realize you were getting until you got home. Almost once an hour Paris enters my mind like a great love affair that lasted way too brief a time.
If anyone doubts that George W. Bush and the right-wing are imbeciles, look no further than their aversion to all things French.
And even though they substitute butter for mayo on their sandwiches, they are forgiven.
On this Friday night, I'd love to be drinking a great bottle of wine at some Parisian outdoor cafe with people I love.