Paris, France

[original post: Aug.06.2006]

Oh.. Paris. And I'm not talking about the Hilton.

It feels great to be back in the United States, but oh... Paris, a gay man's dream. For those who don't know, I went to Paris for two weeks and disguised myself as a euro-twink (yeah they saw right through it).

So I could sit here and write forever about vacation stories that no one else wants to hear about, or I could share my observations. I choose to do the latter.

Basically, Europeans just don't give a fuck. Going through customs to return to the U.S. felt like a scene out of Men in Black. There were guns and flashing lights and signs every which-way and uniforms and oh the lines! Entry into Paris was a single customs agent who resembled a librarian, stamping my passport with a cheerful 'Merci!' Ah, Paris. The streets of Paris also resembled a culture that just isn't obsessed with the latest diet craze or cable news or the price of gas or Madonna (okay, I take back that last one). People were just lounging around drinking, laughing, relaxing, smoking, not being American.

European gay men also seemed to not give a fuck. From their attire to their playful attitude, I didn't sense much cattiness, just... well, everything else. Here are the pre-requisites for being a euro-gay. You must:

-own at least five tank tops
-own an mp3 player that is not an iPod
-possibly have a "euro-mullet"
-own at least two pairs of crazy patchwork jeans slightly too big for you
-own a full wardrobe of three-quarter pants that stop at the shin
-be thin
-own a few pairs of button-down shirts that are nearly transparent
-end up in a café at least once a day

Pretty much every male in France seems gay, which you can imagine is a little confusing. One true way to tell, the international sign of the gays, still holds true... the limp wrist. Any time you feel that slight wind start up, you know.

So, moving on.. one of my best memories was at the Louvre (pronounced loove). The Louvre is quite possibly the most famous museum in the world, which houses Da Vinci's Mona Lisa or La Jaconde as the locals call it, along with works by famed artists such as Delacroix, Rembrandt, and De la Tour. The greatest masterpieces of fine art in the world live here at the Louvre, influential pieces like Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People which embodies the concept of liberty as a partially clothed woman holding the French flag, rising from the depths to deliver the French people after the French Revolution. And how do the tourist masses commemorate this monument to art, democracy, and history? They take a flash-photo of it, deteriorating the fragile paint base.

Here is my plea to humanity: DO NOT TAKE FLASH PHOTOGRAPHS OF WORKS OF PAINTED ART.
IT IS TASTELESS AND POINTLESS.

So you've got a bajillion terrawads of space on that memory card in your brand new 8 megapixel camera that's the size of a postage stamp. You take a photo of every single art piece in the museum. Good for you. Are you actually going to go home, look at each photo one-by-one, and reminisce about the artist's message, the cultural impact, and the piece's place in history? Are you going to marvel at the artist's talent for sfumato style brushwork through your crappy, pixelated photo? You're not. You're taking a photo because you can, with no deference to the art. The U.S. Declaration of Independence, the blueprint of American democracy, is barely visible today because of exposure to light. Museums are for eyes, not lenses.

The French have created so many beautiful things; I was awestruck for the entire trip. To the creators belongs the world.