Seven Euros for last Sunday's New York Times? Oh absolutely.

I never realized how truly bizarre it apparently is that in Morro Bay, a town of 10,000 people, out in the middle of nowhere, you can go to the grocery store at midnight if you want to. Yet in Paris, the capital of Europe, home to 10 million people, if you are out of tomato paste at 10:15 pm on a Friday night--no tomato sauce for you my friend. ALL the stores are closed.
Ummm, I am starting to really be sick of the French. Or maybe just the Parisians. The stereotypes are really seeming true. The arrogance? Oh shit yes. Things not really working? Absolutely. All kinds of places are just randomly closed, nothing has a website, they close all the big parks at about 6pm even though it doesn't get dark until 7, and don't get me started on the coffee. I was actually overjoyed today to find out that Starbucks, yes that's right, Starbucks, actually makes real coffee. Yes, it is 2.40 Euros for a small, but it is at least 12 oz. of actual coffee. Why is everything closed on Sunday? This is the secular capital of the world. Nobody is going to church. It isn't like the 30 hour workweek is so crushing that everyone needs a day off. Here is why I am complaining. It isn't as if the chaos and unpredictability are in any way charming. People look really pissed off around here, and the locals I have met are so cynical that it makes me seem like a clear-eyed pragmatist, and anyone who knows me is aware of how terrifying that is. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving every second of living in Paris, but not in the ways I assumed I would.

Ahhh, the irony of being a left-wing wannabe bohemian living in Paris, complaining that it isn't America.