It's so nice to have an X-acto knife again

The Pope was here this weekend. And I missed him. I missed the Pope in his glass-encased Popemobile. I missed him saying papal things. I missed him carrying the Pope-stick. And wearing his Pope-hat. I missed his creepy sunken eyes. My life is officially over.

I've been in class for about a week now. Yesterday I was issued a "temporary" student ID card, which was basically just a laminated piece of paper. It took them about three weeks to get these to us. I'm dying to see how long it takes for them to get around to our "normal" student IDs; most likely they will consist of our pictures taped to a piece of cardboard that will be ready as the semester closes. School is a small, weird place. What should come across as an intimate, close-knit community that emphasizes cross-disciplinary collaboration instead just seems creepy and tiny. Everyone knows everyone. There's nowhere to hide. I've probably already established myself as that weird chick with the purple bag. They all wear ankle boots here. I hate ankle boots.

I don't have any classes on Tuesdays or Fridays. This means that today I had a day off, which I used to go art supply shopping. The store is located over near Nation, which is quite a hike from where I reside in Montparnasse. I'm not sure what arrondisement its in (20th?). I'd never been to that part of Paris before. Even though my time there was extremely limited, it seems like a nice area. I would like go back to explore at another point in time. The art store experience was comforting, sort of like being at Pearl Paint. I had a brief conversation with the man at the door that took my handbag. Apparently, they don't let you carry a purse around just in case the urge to swipe a tube of alizarin crimson is too strong to resist. After a minute or two, he asked me if I was French, thus forcing me to admit that no, I'm an American. This wouldn't have been all that strange if an almost identical incident did not occur about a half an hour later. This time, a guy that I had held a door for coming out of the Metro asked me for directions to a street I hadn't heard of. When I answered that I was new to the area, he asked me what my nationality was. When I said American, he said that I spoke French nicely. I guess I'm not totally incompetent? At least that was two actual (albeit short) conversations in one day where no one switched over to English.

I love being in this city. Despite the fact that my school is full of people that don't seem to know how to do their jobs, living in this city is marvelous. I'll put up some more pictures soon, I swear.