Socialsm, It's More Communism Than You Think

Socialism is like the generalization I am going to use to describe French people. I don’t really know anything, so keep that in mind while reading my opinions. Ha, just a joke, I know stuff- Americans are really funny. I am learning stuff. I am living in Paris, learning and pretending to know stuff. I say “I understand,” not because I do, but because I am a firm believer in affirmations. I am not a “The Secret” kind-of-person, but a “positive mindset feels better” kind-of-person. When living in a new country and learning a new culture, it’s hard for me not to see how America is superior, as an American. Funny how all the parts of it I lamented are actually what makes it pretty awesome. Things, that if tempered, could serve everyone quite auspiciously, but now seem to just piss people off by pissing all over the majority (poor people)(eew). Capitalism is one of those things that isn’t really in practice here. It is really a Socialist country, France, and that tends to breed laziness, but more importantly doesn’t promote a true Joie de vie (I said that wrong, but spelled it perfectly). I am an expert on joie de vie because I grew up poor, but still laugh a lot.

Capitalism gives incentive to create something that will not only set you apart, but reward you greatly. Unfortunately, the spirit of ingenuity in American business seems to have turned in on itself and manifested in ways to fuck over people to take what isn’t earned. This is sanctioned by the government to keep them in power. The issue has become the reward for trickery instead of innovation. However, there is more of a freedom to recognize it and speak against it in America, than there is likelihood for protests against Socialism here. That isn’t out of gratitude to a benevolent government, it’s out of indifference, which is the latent undertone to everyone working their mandated jobs, with their standards 6 weeks off and free health care. Quality of life is as relative as what's considered funny by anyone.

At an early age, kids in France are encouraged to not use critical thinking skills. They are given the answers and expected to memorize them, because over half of everyone that works in France, works for the government. Artists are paid by the government and therefor must create something along the lines of everything else, even if they don’t know it (of course they don’t). They learn that being different is not a quality that is impressive. Take Lady Gaga, for example, she could finger bang a goat all day and call it a skirt (only in America).

If you have ever seen “Exit Through The Gift Shop” you would know a bit about street art and a lot about a French “artist” named “Mr. Brainwash” (ou “Monsieur Tête de Propre”). The French man, was trying to do what he saw independent-thinking-creative-types doing, but ended up creating something that fell so incredibly short of inspired, it drove the thousands of people who saw the documentary to despise him. However, he is a product of a socialist upbringing, just as Americans tend to be chubby. Do you hate fat people for operating on a level they have been raised to? Me too- yucky!

So, the thing about not wanting to be different, to the point that you fear it, makes you a little closed off to things like “spontaneity” and “friendliness”. The French (yes, another round of generalizations) can barely stand having their English corrected, where as an American is kind of raised to laugh at themselves, unless they were raised religious (then it’s rare, but still celebrated). I was having a nice exchange with a clerk here (oh, I am in Paris), who wanted to speak some English with me. He seemed friendly and fun, so when I told him that I live in Paris now, and he said “you’re welcome,” I thought that he would see how funny that was. I explained to him that it would just be “welcome” and translated to him what it would be in French. I expected (always a mistake) him to see it as ridiculously funny, because it sounds so patriotically self-important. Instead of chuckling, he immediately emanated a shameful contempt for his error and, through gritted teeth, thanked me for “learning him something.” I didn’t stretch the limits of how hard one could slap a knee, by telling him about grammar, mainly cause I don’t give a fuck if people mess up English. I mess it up on purpose, on a regular basist. However, most French people will go out of their way to point out that you are saying something wrong, even if you are saying it the same way they are (“oui” “no, OUI!”). I am not sure if that makes them hypocrites or absolutely hateful (either way, it doesn't look good, French people). Are they trying to inflict the same amount of shame that they would feel if the tables were turned? If that’s the case, the only reason the French are thinner than Americans, is because they don’t really eat and French Cuisine is designed to fuck everyone up. No wonder they are grumpy- low blood sugar!

I really relish (hot dog joke) making an ass of myself and hope that it is contagious so that I can have some more fun here. I actually like Paris, despite my criticisms, but that is only because I work hard on those “affirmations” I was telling you about. I wish I could affirm a tighter stomach, but there is too much fucking bread here! C’est la vie! “Non, C’est la VIE,” “shut the fuck up, sheep!”

New Coffee Shop, New Ways To Alienate Myself

I have found a new coffee shop. I have been here before, but now I am really here. It’s the only place in Paris to get a decent latte and that makes me happy to return. Also, there are a lot of attractive, english baristas. I am about 4 lattes away from meeting my soul mate and his name is going to be easy to pronounce (on my list).

After being stalked by some old French guy at my regular cafe, I decided it was time to switch it up. So, I didn’t write very much last week- what a shift! It wasn’t just that guy, the service started getting real slow with me, taking me for granted. I yelled that they were acting just like my LAST boyfriend. So, here I am, a new cafe that takes an hour to walk to, but has a patronage I wouldn’t mind stalking me and... good coffee/ comfy chairs. I met a young man today, from America. The barista mixed up our lattes and accidentally gave me his soy latte, but that started dialogue because I recognized him from yesterday, when another latte mishap occurred. It seemed he forgot all about it, but I didn’t and I reminded him of every detail, making me look like a very lonely woman. I don’t think he was mad at the service, but he is a young 23, so he probably doesn’t know when to get pissed off, like I do. Anyway, a new Facebook friend later, I am writing about knowing how to talk too much to strangers. The biggest part of growing up, is learning how to talk to strangers. I have to remind that little girl inside of me that it’s safe now, so lift up your shirt when you eat too much sugar- we’re in this together.

Before I could write a pivotal story, like the one I am writing now, I had to write a French comedian and apologize. I was referred to him by an American comedian, so I sent a friend request with a brief introduction. His profile picture was a thumbnail of a poster with him on the front, wearing a jester hat and a confident posture “yeah, I am comfy in this hat and maybe even a little tough, come see my show”. Comedians often times use show posters as profile pics, in America it’s like saying “I’m not here for validation- I’m an artist”. The French comedian wrote back with a sentence asking how I was. I was happy to hear back because I am eager to get on stage and thought he might be able to direct me to some open mics or something. I asked him about stage time here, assuming that there has to be something, but I don’t even know if they call it “stage time”, they might call it “a shower” or “muffin tray”. The next day (that’s today for all you history buffs), I am taking the metro to my new favorite coffee shop to cut out the hour long walk and hope that the new found 45 minutes will prove useful to the creative process. That’s when I see a large billboard in the metro station with this guy’s profile picture on it. So, the one connection I had, I may have completely alienated by asking about open mics. I should have asked him if he knew any solid street corners I could pan-handle at, I mean, we’re both artists, right?

At least I am going to a party tonight. The Facebook invite said 193 people are attending and 136 people are maybe attending. I am definitely in for a meaningful time. However 311 are not attending and the event is waiting for a reply from 2,046 people, so it’s possible that the music will be stupid and only lonely people will be there. What if I am spotted at the lamest party of the season, will people recognize me and refuse to be my friend in the future. It could be one of those parties where everybody looks at one another like the other is stupid for being there. What if that comedian is there and recognizes me and doesn’t like what I am wearing, but he’s wearing that fucking hat. I hope I pack a cool enough lunch and meet my soul mate or a chair. I love sitting down sometimes, especially with a good lunch.