Fashion Week

 The semi-annual event of Fashion Week has hit Paris. Notice the hat that doubles as a Seder plate:

It means that beautiful women are even more evident than usual in Paris, all with stoic expressions and tottering on high heels even when crossing the chalky limestone paths of the Tuilleries.

My fear for them is that they'll step in the dog poop--but at such a height, would they even know? 

Just up the street from our apartment is the Rodin museum, which hosted the Dior exhibition, otherwise known as Why the Hell Did Galliano Self-Destruct as a Nazi Lover? But the show must go on, and lots of others showed up, including one man in drag with laurel wreath lamenting that The King is Gone. Not sure if he meant Galliano or Elvis or Henry IV.

I'm making progress on my food markets research. Michael is an excellent apprentice. We went to the market at Bastille today, and we saw an organ grinder hamming it up to the crowd, a fishmonger gutting sea bass, and a drunk piccolo player.  All that plus really good fruits & vegetables.

M&M