Paree, you darling whore, you.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I have a life-altering announcement to make.
I succumbed to the siren's call that is the Miramax marketing machine.
I watched Le Fabeleux Destin d'Amelie Poulain yesterday.
AGAIN.
The 10th times.
Yes. It's a beauty of a movie.
Audrey Tatou is the epitome of gamine charm.
I crave Paris.

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I want to browse amongst the book stalls along the Seine and caress the weathered spines of books whose titles still remain a delightful mystery.

I want to stand in front of Manet's Le Dejeuner Sur l'Herbe in Musee d'Orsay and return the come-hither stare of the lone naked woman.

I want to catch a glimpse of pigeons making love on the head of Rodin's Thinker from a bus.

I want to look down at the Ecole Millitaire from the Eiffel Tower and dare my fwen to jump into the pond.

I want to tip-toe up the rickety stairs of the Shakespeare Book Company in the Latin Quarter and discover the tiny room with the old typewriter and the moth-eaten bed.

I want to fight my way through the gaggle of Japanese tourists au cameras thronging the Mona Lisa and wonder what the fuss was all about.

I want a cup of caffe au lait and crack the top of a perfect creme brulee without having to say that the caffe must be French.

I want to walk along the Champs Elysee and look at the chic Parisiennes with their chic dogs while thinking "I am walking along the Champs Elysee!".

I want to pay too much for postcards in a Tabac.

I want Gare du Nord and Austerlitz.

I want to buy that bottle of au minerale from the nice Cambodian boy.

Ah, Amelie, petit jolie jeune fille, you made me forget what a bitch Paris can be.

Paris, that Grand Dame of courtesans whose beauty mark is Montmartre.

She has known enough to turn her charms on for the cameras.

And turn it off for poor dreamers like me.

I really dream of going to France *Sob sob sob*

Tu pense que je peut?