Clowns!

Today after my classes, I went to talk to my French Revolution professor, who, if he had any less enthusiasm for life, would be six feet under. My French Conversation professor happened to be in the faculty room as well and heard me arguing with the professor about the format of the final paper (this paper he has assigned us to write within the next five days is utterly ridiculous--I have never written a historiographical essay and now is NOT the time to start). Anyway, the French professor didn't understand the argument (Mr. Unenthusiastic About Life and I were speaking in English as we're both American and she is Parisian and cannot speak English) and so she asked me, "Qu'est-il passé? Tu sembles ennuyé...veux-tu que le j'aie tué ? " (What happened? You look irritated...do you want me to kill him)? It was priceless.

Following my wasted hours of work on the paper, I moved on to the "cultural" part of my day.



I have a fear of clowns. I always have and I think that I always will. My mom likes to remind me of birthday parties I'd attend (and have to leave) when I was young because of the clown. Keep that idea in mind when I tell you that tonight, I went to a theater near my apartment to see "Ha, Ha, Ha" (a series of wordless sketches and physical routines inspired by Russian clowning--basically 75 minutes of yawning) with my...roommate (who as a theater major thought that it majorly blew). Clowns plus this girl makes for a BAD evening. I asked her to go with me because I figured that I wanted to leave Paris with good sentiments towards everything.