When I first studied French, way back in middle school, I was enchanted with the photos of Centre Pompidou in my text book. Such a fun word to say, Pompidou! Pomp-eee-dew! What would normally be the innards of a building were placed on the outside, spearheading contemporary architecture in Paris in 1977. The color-coded escalators (red), air ducts (blue), water pipes (green) and other bits run along the exterior. Located in one of Paris’ oldest neighborhoods, it’s wildly avant-garde. Like the Eiffel Tower before it, the center was controversial and maligned by Parisians. And like the Eiffel Tower, Centre Pompidou is one of Paris’ most beloved treasures.

Imagine the surprise on my first night in Paris when not three minutes outside my door I ran right into it! So incongruous, this city. Approaching my apartment I’m on a small alley from the middle ages. Turn the corner and wham! A giant museum complex. Paris, I want to put you in my pocket. Or climb inside yours.

The special exhibition at the Pompidou is a retrospective of Louise Bourgeois, a French artist (who has lived and worked in New York for much of her life) to whom my friend (the painter/absinthe maker/mad scientist) Jennifer first introduced me. This is her mixed-media piece of Bourgeois, you should buy it. How lucky I am to be here during this exhibit. I felt so calm surrounded by Bourgeois’ art. I can’t even go into it; read more here and here.

Today I’m sticking pretty close to home because I woke up at 2 p.m. Last night I had a hell of a time sleeping. I went to a rock show at La Mechanique. Upstairs it’s a crowded bar with “wild DJ’s” (according to the flyer). Downstairs, in some sort of ancient tunnel-cave, is the club. I saw a garage rock band called The Maggots. Their encore was “Louis, Louis.” Hearing the French people sing along was hilarious. I departed the bar while it was still crowded, telling new friends “Je suis fatigue” (I am tired). When I got home I was super-pooped. And awake until 7 a.m. Oy! If you’ve ever been unable to sleep after taking an Ambien, you will understand the state I was in. Le bull-sheet, as the French say.