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The last three weeks have been a seemingly endless series of welcome parties, get-togethers, receptions, meet-and-greets and cocktail parties - every kind of cheesy or ostentatious soirée my Grandmère can throw together, she’s dragged me to. It’s hard to match her energy.

“You have to meet people,” she insists, “and they have to meet YOU.”
“And why?” I asked, eloquently, but there’s no use resisting - she’s tireless.

The Prime Minister of France - met him. The mayor of Paris, met him, the CEOs of Paribas, L’Oréal, TotalEnergies, AXA, met them, the ministers of the economy, interior and foreign affairs - met ‘em. The US ambassador to France, met him.

In the play “My Fair Lady,” Eliza, meeting people frantically at the races, repeats “How do you do,” over and over and over to great comedic effect. That’s how I feel at these parties, “Enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté.” I say, turning in circles. I’ve met Emmanuel Macron before, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing him again soon. I haven’t met his wife though - I’d love to ask her about that slap.. hhmm.

At these events she’s made sure that I’ve met anyone who’s anyone at Université Paris Cité. Is that surprising? No, because that’s how crazy-lady operates. “You meet everyone, eye-to-eye,” she lectures, “you have to get out of your bubble, and experience the world as interesting,”

That’s her favorite saying these days. “I don’t HAVE a bubble,” I replied, defensively, but she’s left the room - she’s never still. She seems to know we’re on the clock, that once med-school starts, (in September) I’m going to be all about that.

It’s Monday morning. I’ve been at the Shangri-La hotel pool, where we have full privileges, and I’m coated, like a potato, head to foot, with SPF 50 sunscreen - when who shows up?
Peter (my bf). “You’re early!” I say, not at all displeased, but I’m SO conscious of my tacky skin and chemical smell that I face-palm him as he comes in for a snog.
EEuuww. I can’t make-out with a guy when I’m all greased up.
“5 minutes,” I assured him, heading for the shower.
“I’ll join you,” he offered.
“Well, ok,” I chuckle.
.
.
Songs for this:
Better Days by NEIKED, Mae Muller & Polo G
This Girl by Kungs & Cookin' On 3 Burners
Cake By The Ocean by DNCE  [E]
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/18/25:
Ostentatious = displaying wealth, knowledge, power, etc.,
Anais Vionet Aug 16
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks in Paris settling in. My every appliance, gadget and charger have been bricked by the weird, French electricity, which bobs when it should weave or something - but you still can’t stick a fork in the sockets.

I’ve also been meandering the right bank* arrondissements for fashions. Students at Université Paris Cité, in the everyday, dress more chicly and elegantly than Yalies or nerdy Harvard ‘barneys.’

I’ve noticed a lot of Asian, selfie-taking tourists in Paris. They come in like waves of invaders as the river-cruises dock. Now, anyone that’s known me for some time, will tell you that my friends and I’ve been taking selfies for decades.

Just not in the middle of the street or with total strangers trying to relax on crisp, cool, early summer morning, while sipping an espresso hangover cure. Was COVID deadly? Well, it certainly killed off the last etiquettes that separated us from the animals.

I’m not anti-tourist - nope -  I just moved back here myself - but these smiling, terribly polite, middle-aged people, think nothing of stopping someone abruptly in the street to ask directions, in a foreign language - as if they’re at Tokyo-Disneyland where the locals are cast members simulating real life.

Would you expect anyone on a busy, work-a-day Manhattan street to happily stop and converse? Not a chance. Women would recoil like snakes and the men would dodge like O.J Simpson or shoulder you to the ground. Still, they call Parisians rude.

I am becoming more serpentine and evasive as I shop, as-if I were a spy in occupied territory. Charles and I form a one-man phalanx, with me following in his wake, like a dolphin trailing along a great ship.

They may need to put up signage, like, “Look (at the locals) but don’t touch,” but in what language?

Let’s wax free-versely… freever-ishly?

It’s a pleasure to walk the banks
of the dark, reflective Saine again.
and watch the warm, evenings for
the first cool stirrings of fall.

Once you’ve visited Paris, it stays with you.
Nothing’s simple here, not the moonlight,
the serene european atmosphere or
the better-than-you sense of right and wrong.

I’m young in a very old city.
I like dessert crawls, and “rock’n’roll clubs.”
Hemingway wrote, that
‘‘You receive in return what you bring to Paris.’


That’s probably not an exact quote.
but I think that’s where they got “What happens in Vegas.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Come to Me by Koop
Leena by Caravan Palace
Right Now by The Creatures
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/15/25:
Meander = to follow a winding or intricate course.

*The right-bank is the north side of the river Saine - if the river’s flowing away from you - north’s on your right.
Anais Vionet Aug 11
How distant do you feel from our ideal life,
and how hard are you willing to go, to get there?
You’ve got to pull a big swing sometimes, to get there, you know?
You’ll flourish in the aftermath.
What I’m carrying is joy.

Notes for an American student in Paris..

Be less intense
tone it down
pullback.

Enough scrappiness, hustle,
and intensity on repeat.

Sure, honesty is sanity,
but give them a better version
some ‘church girl’ energy, maybe.
win ‘em with winsome


Don’t welcome them, immediately, into your tense, inner world.
.
.
Songs for this:
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Nothing Breaks Like a Heart (feat. Miley Cyrus) by Mark Ronson
Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution) by The Bangles
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/08/25:
Winsome : cheerful, pleasant, and appealing.
Она рыдала в туалете
Гостиницы «Континенталь» —
Её ебали те и эти,
И вдруг себя ей стало жаль.
И вдруг однажды на рассвете
Она решила полюбить,
Но, как листали те и эти,
Никак уже ей не забыть.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem captures an inner turning point — the moment when the past no longer defines you but becomes a stepping stone. The heroine is not a victim, but someone capable of rewriting her story. It's a poetic statement: I remember, but now I choose to love.
TonyNoon Jun 30
It isn’t Paris but it is.

As the light washes
over late afternoon
walls full of us and
other people’s lives.

As the music charms
our old bones we can
add context to our list
of rolodex happenings.

As the shadows hint at
mystery beneath every
shining moment we can
justifiably glint and smile.

It isn’t Paris…but it is.



Tony Noon
In my mind,
I am in the deep south,
Dancing with Cowboys,
Singing folk songs.
Herding cattle,
Chasing outlaws.

In my mind,
I am in Paris, France,
Waking up with you beside me,
Strolling in the lazy streets.
Chatting with the News-Man,
Drinking coffee at the Cafe.

In my mind,
I'm where I want to be,
I'm with all my buddies.
Time never seems to pass,
How can I get all of that?
Sometimes it feels as if I'm writing to her
A Fool In Love In Paris, In April
For crying out loud
I am awesomely proud
To be a Fool in love
With Mother Nature.
I thank the Almighty above
For everything he has done
Hoping that I have a secured future
Earth is now my haven, my Heaven.

I am a Fool who loves my wife
The beautiful trees and flowers
The hummingbirds on the top towers
And the daunting intricacies of life.
Today is the first day of April
I am thrilled like a new drill
I am excited to be the only Fool
Swimming naked in the icy pool.

For God's sake, I am a Fool in love
The eagles are hovering above
The green mountains, this is awesome
That's wonderful, that's very handsome.
This is spring, a new season with a lot of potential
Sure, I am lackadaisically controversial
That's why I love the mad and irate women
And the jerks who refused to say Amen.

Copyright © April, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
I had a dream,
20 years had passed,
You and I had grown older.
Fate had taken a cruel twist on me,
I had to sail away,
Move to the city of Paris.
I wrote you letters,
You wrote them back,
But the ink was laced with tears.
I found a job selling newspapers,
My dream of writing crushed.
You went to work in hairdressing,
For not nearly enough pay.
I saved up each paycheck,
Worked to the bone each day.
I purchased you a plane ticket,
Flew you out to France.
We were happy once again,
Love knows no bounds.
Paris pronounced the French way. (pare-ie)
Maria Mar 18
It’s night, freezing much outside.
You’re talking about Paris…
Let me, please, sit closer to you
And I’ll move nearer to Paris.

You’re talking about Montmartre
And lo I am there by now.
I hear from all sides: “Oh, belle mademoiselle!”
I’m blushing as under the crown.

“Je suis fasciné par vous!” “Oh, merci!”
“Quelle beauté!” My feet are going numb.
“Asseyer-vous, s'il vous plait. Je veux peindre de vous!”
I can’t say no, and I sit down.

'Je marche sur Montmartre…'
And though I only dream it,
Beautiful Paris, that I see in your eyes,
Is enough for me to fall in love with it.
A few days ago, I met an old friend who had just returned from Paris. We talked all night. He was speaking, and I was listening with my eyes wide open! I decided to capture this moment of my life in this poem.
Thank you very much for reading! 💖
Here comes the camera girl,
Clumsy American beauty!
With a French hat placed upon her head lazily,
And her camera hanging from her neck.
Looking around the streets,
Photographing Paris, a way to live through scenes.

But she'll never be happy,
Just watching the people,
Who dance by the Eiffel Tower.
No, she must dance!
But alas, she has no man with which to dance,
How sad.
Adventures in Paris are the best.
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