French Flaming Lips fans waiting for Coldplay. (Photo by Jenny Hart)
My second rentrée has been a little sketchier than the first. We couch-hopped for five days before we finally found a temporary rental near Porte de Clingancourt. The neighborhood is surprisingly Hausmannian and offers a range of culinary delights. We’ll be here until the end of the month.
My last moment of import in Paris last May also happened to be my first-ever functional French conversation. Upon rentrée, I have picked up where I left off, talking the crazy talk of an expat with a learning disability.
(Photo by Jenny Hart)
The day we moved into our temporary flat, The Flaming Lips came through town opening for Coldplay at the Parc des Princes, a soccer stadium that holds 60,000. It was a far cry from the first time I saw them at the Oklahoma University Student Union in 1986. We scored some VIP passes from our pal Steven and got to stand stage right during the show. Steven dedicated “Pompeii AM Gotterdammerung” to me, and I took a bow in front of 40,000 confused French people. Later, Dr. Ellenor Shoemaker and Ms. Jenny Hart breathed on Chris Martin. Everyone left happy.The world’s oldest person died again.
I luuurrrvvv the Flaming Lips. Paris? With Coldplay? Score.
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