In the Summer When It Sizzles...

So I've been in the City of Light for a little more than a week, and I though it was time to rejuvenate this ancient blog with posts from a new country in the old world... I'll be living in Paris for the summer, and my goals are three-fold:

1) Become tres proficient at French. Ironically, this is important for getting a PhD in English Literature (my uber-goal) and for pretentiously reading Sartre in the original language. 

2) Avoid getting syphilis. (This won't be too difficult, I hope, as long as I avoid the Moulin Rouge and 19th-century prostitutes.) 

3) Not be completely broke by the end of the summer.

Apropos the third goal, living is Paris is not cheap, so I had to think about ways to put a few Euros in my pocket while I'm here. Although I'm certainly not a talented guitar player, I figured, hey! This is a free country, right? A land of wine-stained opportunity, yes? The convivial Parisians (and millions of tourists) would almost certainly help out a struggling young boheme with a bit of their pocket change in exchange for songs about l'amour et la guerre, non? Why not give it a shot, n'est pas?

Well, the bad news is that it's illegal, for one thing. There are only a certain number of busking (street-performing) licenses administered by the Paris government each year, and to get a license requires an audition (which only happens once a year) and a French working permit or residency card or something. But the good news is that, just like in the United States of Racist America, my skin color works to my advantage here when dealing with the gendarmes, even if my nationality does not. Apparently the French, who admittedly have a reputation for hating les Americains, hate the immigrants from North Africa even more. About the worst I can expect, apparently, is for the police to tell me to piss off. A ticket is extremely unlikely, and getting arrested entirely out of the question. So far, c'est bon. 

So after months of practicing and nervousness, I finally conquered my fears and hit the streets yesterday. Or, to be more precise, I hit the park--Trocadero (pictured above), which commands probably the best view of the Eiffel Tower to be found in the whole city. I tried not to be too optimistic about how much I would make, but I was pleasantly surprised when I netted about eleven euros (approximately fourteen dollars?) after two hours of playing. Of course, ten out of those eleven euros came from a single benevolent benefactress with whom I spoke for some time en francais, and apparently made a favorable impression--I think I heard her whispering to her companion that I was "tres charismatique." Quell surprise! 

More bons mots from the land of the surrendering baguette will follow shortly, so keep those eyes peeled for  more interweb updates, my loyal followers & fans!