Les Temps: Comment est-ce qu'il peut faire 15*C aujourd'hui?

Ok, France, let me in on your little secret. How the hell has it been so beautiful the past couple days?
Aside from the perpetual down pour yesterday, which limited me to my bed and watching the Simpsons dubbed in French (stay away, it's not entertaining), this weekend has been sunny and warm. And like 60 degrees fahrenheit. Oh and today I didn't need a winter coat or gloves. What is going on in this country? Everyone tells me that it's because of the different climate, which is obviously the most scientific answer, but it is indeed bizarre. What is most bizarre, however, is how the weather is different at different parts of the city. It's always at least 5-10 degrees warmer in my quartier than it is only 3 km away at the NYU center. My professor asked me if I lived in a "jolly quartier" (how I love this British man), and I supposed I'd have to say yes.

But this morning, I woke up to rain crashing on my window. Within two hours, it stopped and it was sunny. Then it was sunny for 3 hours in the Marais. Then the sun left me and oh wait, it actually gets dark here at 5PM. France, what the hell? You tease me with your spring like weather and then le soleil se couche.

I can't seriously complain, because I got to see so much and do so much that I had yet to do. I strolled on the Promenade Plantée, went to the Bastille, ate Churros, went out for delicious Sangria, went to the top of Sacre Coeur, and today I went to the Memorial de la Shoah - the Holocaust memorial museum in the Marais - and found bagels, but no cream cheese. France, you are trying to kill me.

I found my last name on the Wall of Names and I hope to find information about my family and see if these people are my distant relatives. It seems, through some online research, that my name has changed a few times (Sherbee, Sherba, etc.) so it's possible that they are not really my relatives, or that I am related to a lot more people than I thought I was.

To think, that in this Catholic country, I manage to find an intense passion for Judaic culture and a strong desire to find my family's origins. Take that, France!

My major in Fascism.

I was toying with the idea of staying all year. I applied and was accepted. It took me 10 days to realize that that was the end all be all fantasy of the year, even more unrealistic than my desires to marry my British Vichy France professor (who, btw, is apparently also a professor at Science-Politiques? Why aren't we in love?). Let us discuss Paris and the pros about going back to New York, but really only so I can major in fascism or Hitlerism. Because we all know, Hitler was a Jew and this therefore makes it somewhat acceptable for me to be obsessed with him and the development of Nazism and Totalitarianism. At this point, I should start considering Franco, because at least he didn't kill the Jews. Or maybe Mussolini, but I am not Italian and I'd prefer to learn how to speak Catalan...

Next semester may or may not be the semester of Fascism. I am still unsure of how I can manage this because surprise! I still have a MAP requirement to take. God save the Queen.

Really, though, none of that matters. Last night we had a cocktail party at NYU to celebrate our homestay families and generally get drunk on NYUs tab. I succeeded in both. First of all, my homestay family thinks I have a drinking problem. I think I have discussed this multiple times but last night they asked if the water I was downing was vodka. Always the butt of an alcohol joke, let me tell you. It can't go on like this forever, because as soon as I get back to New York it will be the same thing where I have an overwhelming fear of bars or going out in public, generally speaking. So we celebrated our homestay family and here are all the reasons I am thankful for them, even though they pick on me for liking wine more than usual:

1. They tell me I speak French really well, better than they had expected, and that they hope I continue to use the language in the future.
2. They share their life with me. The other day Madame showed me her scrapbook of all of her travels during her 20s, and it was so amazing.
3. I get a hello bisou when she returns from her vacations and she treats me like her granddaughter.
4. We have little chats every morning over coffee and cereal, and sometimes its the reason I am late but I don't mind.
5. They always tell me little tidbits about Paris, France, and various other places, that really end up being useful.

I have never felt so much love for a family who isn't mine. I would stay with them only so I could live with them again but I feel so silly for getting so attached. Any time I am having a hard time, or any time I feel like Paris is not where I should be, they remind me of how incredible this experience can be.

That's it for now. It's a beautiful day in Paris and I am still without internet.