American Politics at a distance

I have not even thought about opening my AP application on my iPhone here. But I have had some rather good conversations with the people at my hostel. It is so amazing to actually talk to a person, disagree, still be civil and even walk away appreciating the person more. Maybe because foreigners are more removed from are drama and make no mistake, one of my hostel roommate, a Canadian named Garrett said it best, " American politics is like a soap opera." I never thought of it that way, but it is.

Another girl, Leann from the UK asked me if contraception was not free in the states. An interesting question given the recent debates. In reality, there is a plethora of places that one can get free contraception in America. Planned Parenthood give out free condoms, and even birth control to women of all ages. And even if it is not free, the cost of it is so low, around $20 a month that it is not hard to get it if needed.

I read a few places before I left that the cost of birth control is cheaper than having a kid, therefore the government should pay for the birth control and give it to women for free. However, say you do get pregnant, because birth control was not free does that mean the government should pay for that child too?

I think that it is the responsibility of the parties involved (both the MAN and the women) to make the choice to either pay for the cheaper birth control now or the child later.

I also don't think I am alone in this. I am not particularly religious, but I choose not to use birth control. I actually choose not to have sex with some one I am not in a serious relationship with and being single it makes my choice easy. But when I do meet a man I feel I trust and am close enough with to be intimate, then I will probably get back on birth control, because I would rather pay for it now then a baby later.

Now if you are screwing Congress, like the actual government institution, and not simply just having sex with a congressman, than by all means Congress should share in the responsibility of paying for 1/2 of the contraception. And a man who is having sex with a women should also pay for 1/2 of the birth control used. So if the pill costs, $20 for 30 of them, that makes each pill roughly .66 cents each, so each man you have sex with should pay roughly .33 cents for the day he used the protection. Or he can bring his own, at which point he has contributed. However the former would be considered prostitution, I think.

Most women realize this, but for those who do not, you are activity taking part in the sex, and therefore are responsible for 1/2 of the protection as well. If you don't want to ask each partner to pay for his half, then I suggest either limiting your partners to someone you can ask to tow his part of the line, or reevaluate who you are having sex with. But to expect the rest of the country to foot the bill, is frankly spoiled, selfish and demeaning to the rest of us who don't really care who or what you are doing in your bed.

On a final note... For clarity sake, just because someone says "They chose not to use contraception," or "It is against their moral beliefs," (Like Rick Santorm has stated, DOES NOT mean they do not want anyone to use it or they believe it should be illegal, (for the record, Santorm has stated many times and in many ways, he believes that it should be LEGAL, but chooses not to participate in it.) I for one am not saying it should be illegal, I just CHOOSE not to participate in sex without being COMMITED to another person. It's my personal choice, and I would appreciate it if others would respect it as I respect their choices.

It's a premier!

I asked a women on the street "Ou êt la American express office?"

Alright I can't spell it in French, and she actually didn't know where it was, but she understood my question! Which is so thrilling! It gave me the courage when I found the Amex office to ask "parlez-vous l'onglais?" to which they answered "oui"

I know this is an un exciting post, my adventures in learning French, but I needed the confidence boost! I'm totally confident in my ability to speak it now!!

Now it is off to the flea market to do some window shopping:)

Tres Bon!

Arc de Triompe/ Champs-Élysées

My adventure in flea markets was a bust for the day. I hit 2 early and they weren't spectacular. Also it is a Thursday so I will reserve judgement till I can hit up a few more. I hope to hit a jackpot in cheap silk scarfs and knock off bags, but today was a bust for that.

So since the last one I hit was in the 8th district, off of Champ Élysées, I decided today was the perfect day to come down to the arch. The walk was beautiful, and I got a few chances to practice my french like asking the waiter at an out door cafe if they had wifi (pronounced wee-fee, just in case you were wondering). I also did some shopping (I can see you rolling your eyes, Dad) but i wasn't satisfied with what I was seeing. Champs is gorgeous, busy, and sitting underneath the arch is an observers dream. The pouty French smoking their cigarettes, the tourist taking silly photo and the traffic! Lord watching the cars swirl around it with ease, and many blasts of the born is like watching a dance.

But the shopping was so corporatized! I knew I wasn't going to do a lot of shopping here because it is so touristy and therefore pricey, but I don't get why it is so touristy and filled with American brands like Gap, Banana Republic, Quicksilver... I did go into Zara, which they do have in the states, but I would have much rather found a local french equivalent to say, Target, where I could get a cheap purse. I didn't
move to France to shop at places I have in the states, so why do people assume tourists do?

The Attention of an Artist

After securing my apartment for the next two months I took the metro to Montmartre for lunch and then a hike up too the Sacre-Coeur. When I say hike, I actually mean hike, because it sits atop a hill with a view of Paris like no other.

Close to the top there is a open square where artists congregate, selling their paintings and portraits. I had an artist draw me my first trip to Paris in 2006, and knew I was really excited to have another done on this trip.

The artist who drew me was one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. Which made the twenty or so minutes it took him to finish his masterpiece some type of combination between heaven and hell. Heaven because he directed me to look at him, something I could not deny was enjoyable. He was tall and slender, with a mop of wavy light brownish-red hair that lent to his appeal. His fair skin was red on his cheeks and nose from his days in the sun. His greenish-blue eyes flickered back and forth from his work to me under a ginger tinged unibrow. Yes I did just say that. His unshaven bearded completed his endorphin rushing look.

Calling him eye candy would be the understatement of the year. He was perfect. I wanted to know all about him. What is his name? How old he is? How long he has been an artist? Was the round guy, who when he squeezed passed me had the odor of stale beer, and who the artist kept looking over his shoulder at his boss? Did he love what he did or was it just a job, much like making espresso or fixing a car? Does he draw when he is not working? Is he from Paris? Does he have a girlfriend or wife? Does he want to get a drink? Would he marry me?

Watching him work was beautiful. He would put one of the pencils in his mouth, and would periodically fling his arm out as he extended the lines beyond the page.

Then I realized he was looking at me. Because I asked him to draw my portrait. And I suddenly became aware of my body, my hands and head tilted just so. I actually stopped breathing for moments at a time. Would this picture be a reflection of how he saw me? He would measure the distance or my face and body from where he was perched by holding up two fingers and comparing the distance from my hairline to my eyes to the tip of my nose to my chin. Does he see the extra layer under my chin that has creeped up on me? Does he think it's weird I am looking at him?

I would move my eyes away because it was so intense to be looking into his eyes knowing he was drawing mine. People passed, a couple even took pictures. Some would look at me then look at the picture. Some mumbled praise to which my artist would reply "merci." without even taking his eyes off of me or his work. Was this what it felt like to be someones muse?

When he finished and showed it to me it took my breath away. It was so beautiful I couldn't believe it was me. I told him how amazing it was, and he responded, "it is you,"

Yes it is.

He signed my portrait and let me take a picture of him with his work. Stéphane, (pronounced, Stef-awe-n) even gave his business card and asked me to email him the picture I took. When I dropped my hair clip he quickly scooped it up for me.

www.portraitstef.over-blog.com

Funny thing happened on the way to the Metro

I think she might be smaller than my father's miata, a car that is pretty much the bain of my existence. She is white, which is another thing I cannot stand. I have always hated white cars, let's face it, why get white when there are so many other pretty colors out there, like red! She is Italian, so I assume she has a very good horn. She is older than me, by 11 years, Paris and I have already named her.

I am in love with this car. I never even knew she existed, but when I saw her, i was lost to her.

I have a set idea of how much I will allow myself to go into hawk for her. If I can get her back to CA for that price, then great! If not, maybe the owner will let me borrow her for a drive outside of Paris.

Meet Fleur, the 1971 fiat 500 parked for sale about a block away from my flat.