Tom and I went to the Eglise St. Etienne DuMont church today. In Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, Owen Wilson sat on these same steps before getting whisked away by F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and Cole Porter for some 1920s drunken revelry.Tom and I sat on these steps, too, but we didn't see anybody from the 1920s, famous or not. Of course, we didn't do this at midnight because we can't stay up that late. It's just as well: I'm a teetotaler and Tom gets silly on one bottle of beer. Those crazy 1920s alcoholics would have found us a total buzz kill.
But surely Woody Allen could have provided some alternate version for the senior set. Maybe he could have had 80-year-old Claude Monet, from 1920, totter past. We could have enjoyed the early-bird special together and then knocked back a few rounds of prune juice. -- Boy! Did those impressionists know how to party!
Besides not time-traveling today, Tom and I walked around the Luxembourg Gardens. Even though it's been cool and overcast, the place was fairly crowded. (It's Tuesday! Doesn't anybody in Paris have a job?) One boy, after using a stick to push his rented toy sailboat toward the middle of the fountain, raised his stick to hit one of the ducks. I said, "Don't do that!" He may not have understood my English, but he should have understood my good old American stink-eye.
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