In connection with CACís endless search for mediocre basketball talent and cheap uniform distributors, the Commish once again decided to send me overseas to none other than the city of light – Paris, France. Being a kid from the streets of Saugus who’s only real exposure to the French before this trip had been National Lampoonís European Vacation and a night at the Paris hotel in Las Vegas (and they were really rude to me there, too!), I was really looking forward to developing that certain je ne sais quoi that I thought I had been missing my whole life. Do the French really where berets at all times? Are the French really that rude to Americans? Are the French women really that much prettier than the femmes fatales that faithfully attend every CAC League Night Out? Well, here is a quick re-cap of my voyage:
Shuffle Up And Deal
This has nothing to do with Paris, but can someone tell me why I can’t use my iPod on takeoffs and landings? Does this really interfere with air traffic control? At what point does the captain say “Good evening ladies and gentleman, this is the captain speaking. Could whoever is listening to “Living on a Prayer” for the 15th time please turn it off so I can land this &%$*in plane!”
Mopeds are apparently the transportation du jour in Paris as they weaved in and out of Renaults like JRod through a AK-47 designed zone defense. As I sat in terrible traffic en route from the airport, I wondered how there were not at least 10 moped related deaths a day over here. Just then we finally passed the cause of all the traffic – a Peugot had apparently collided with, yep, a moped.
Like you see in the movies, people do really have secret rendez-vous all over the city – under bridges, on park benches, in front of museums. And its not the kind of make-out sessions you can see on any given Saturday night in Faneuil Hall at 2AM by the sausage stand – it actually is a very romantic form of kissing! I think we Americans made a major faux pas when interpreting what a French kiss meant, or maybe we just took it to a new level, like we do everything else.
The Kind You Buy In A Second Hand Store…
Contrary to popular belief (or maybe just mine), not many people in Paris were wearing berets. I did see a few people wearing berets, but they were tourists at the Eiffel Tower. Rusty!!!
Parlais vou, Wolverine?
While I certainly didn’t understand most of what was being said in French, everything they say is so emphatic. No is NO! Pardon’ is PARDON! It’s such a demonstrative and effusive tone – you know, just like the tone we CAC referees use when bon vivants like Whitney and Bermont show up for some good old fashioned repartee.
Je tíaime, cherieí
While the women in Paris are very attractive, I’d have to say that London still remains the #1 city on the attractiveness scale for femme fatale’s. So for those of you scoring at home, my ranking of cities with the most attractive women remains unchanged: London #1, Vegas #2, and Saugus #3.
The most common question I have gotten since I got back is “Are the French as rude and unfriendly as they say?” Well, it was hard to tell considering I don’t speak the language and it’s hard to make friends if you can’t communicate (unless you are in at the basement of the Kell’s on any given Saturday night, then communication doesn’t seem to matter much). And I am not that friendly anyway, and neither is Boston. But I will say that I was certainly treated better by random Parisians than I am on most Tuesday nights at CAC.
For lunch, you pretty much have your choice of a ham and cheese, turkey, or veggie on French bread in a bag. Period. Not a wrap, salad, sub, pizza, or soup du jour to be found.
Unrelated to my voyage, but during my recent ankle rehab I had the pleasure of sharing the CAC hot tub with none other than the Macho Man. I thought the conversation was going ok until I saw his trunks floating away in my direction. Macho, going sans trunks in a community hot tub is so gauche!
C’est la vie
A few days before my trip, I had decided to search the internet at work for things to do at night in Paris. When I got back to work, I was informed that I was now unemployed. Apparently, constantly Googling “One Night in Paris” was not apropos according the company’s internet usage policy.
Adieu. Vous voir ‡ LNO! Aperitifs pour chacun sur Monsieur Tibbs!!!!!!