Day 52
Location 13: Paris
Dec. 22, 2022
From 3rd grade to 8th grade, I owned Halloween. Let me clarify: my mom and I owned Halloween. Every year, I'd spend the better part of August thinking of a classic character and then my mom would spend the better part of September designing and creating the costume.
Not Spirit Halloween, not Amazon.com pre-made costumes. I mean buying professional clown makeup and practicing the week before. I mean purchasing sewing design patters and spending hours finding the right fabrics and colors and then even more hours of my mom painstakingly measuring and sewing the get-up together.
Left: Betelgeuse (suit sewn by my mom to win me a middle school costume contest) | Right: Ronald McDonald
One costume was–right at the height of the Pirates of the Caribbean series–Jack Sparrow. Sorry, Captain Jack Sparrow. My mom bought a wig and added custom beads and coins to match Depp's famous character. Here's an anecdote that serves as a testament to how realistic the costume was: Mrs. Van Hoff, was my elementary school's mostly kind, 65 years old librarian. On Halloween, she approached me and started touching my bare chest with her hand. After a few seconds of me staring at her confusedly, she realized that it wasn't one of those fake chests that sometimes a part of costumes, but rather my real, actual, 7-year-old chest. She jumped and said "oh my goodness, I'm sorry I thought that was the costume." I thought it was funny and was proud of my mom's good work. Although now I'm wondering why, even if it was the costume, she needed to touch my chest?
Anyway, all of that is to say I passed a candy store with a pirate statue that looked familiar:
Long ago, on a first date at a Mexican restaurant, there was a painting of an old woman behind our table. Unprompted, my date claimed "that's the Mona Lisa". I genuinely didn't understand what that meant, so I asked if she was suggesting it's the person depicted in the Mona Lisa? "No" she said for some reason, "that's just the Mona Lisa". Bewilderment washed over me.
You need to understand: the painting was an old woman standing in a field with trees around her. No one could possibly mistake this for the Mona Lisa. "Are you joking?" I offered up as one last chance for her to save face. She declined my help, "no, that's the Mona Lisa". So I consulted the waitress, who of course told us "it's the owner of the restaurant". It was in this moment–looking at the waitress and starting to turn my head back to my date–I realized I made a dick move. Reeling from my faux pas, I whispered "I bet she's lying, they don't want us to know that's the real Mona Lisa" which I thought was actually a pretty good save. But I had the ick and never saw her again.
Anyway, all that is to say today I visited the Louvre. Everyone says the Mona Lisa (the real one) is smaller in person than you'd expect, and I'd have to say that's true. And way more crumpled:
Overall it was a full day and felt almost like a dream. Wait, maybe I was dreaming (like that movie Inception)? Speaking of which, today I visited the spot where Leonardo DiCaprio and Elliot Page's characters eat at an exploding restaurant in Inception. (Coincidentally, at the Louvre I saw a large display showcasing a similar explosion aesthetic).
Left: My photo of the Inception cafe | Center: The Inception scene | Right: The Inception-like video shown at the Louvre
My friend Brent Heimlich, who is one of the nicest, most interesting, happy-go-lucky people I've ever met, lived in Paris for a few years. Before my trip he made a dinner recommendation for me: grab a baguette, buy a bottle of red wine, go to a park, and enjoy!
Over 12 years ago, Brent worked at Le Sous Bock, a Parisian bar. Today I went to Sous Bock to ask Fred, the owner, if he remembered an old American employee named Brent. He said "No". But after seeing a photo of Brent, Fred freaked out with joy. Oh, and afterwards I took Brent's dinner advice.
During my private dinner, the streets of Paris even offered me up some homemade, street escargot:
