January is the month of waiting

It's five in the morning and I've been up for an hour and a half. I think this might be my new schedule for a little while: up at 1 and 4 am.
It seems like everything is going to happen at once. After an entire month on the edge of our seats, waiting for things to start moving and get decided, it's all going to get done this weekend. I'll still keep my fingers crossed:
The baby's about a week late and the doctor will induce labor Friday night.
David finally has an interview with the State tomorrow, I mean this morning.
The in-laws' house next door is almost done with renovations and it looks like they can move back this weekend.
My parents arrive on Sunday.
The Australian Open Finals are this weekend.
As is the Super Bowl.
Obama passed a stimulus package.

The Mystery of James Gray

One thing I learned during my stay in France is that there is an American film director of some renown named James Gray. He came out with a film a couple of years ago starring Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg called "We Own the Night." It looked like a generic New York gangster movie, with the generic grit and violence so I didn't pay much attention. But "Two Lovers", starring Gwyenth Paltrow and Joaquin again, opened here a couple of weeks ago -- in fact its only opening is in France, it is not scheduled to open in the US.
Apparently the French are gaga for James Gray. One theater was having a James Gray film festival (he's only directed four movies).
I talked to the film prof I'm TA-ing for and he was simply gushing over this guy. The stories he tells (mostly about the Russian Mafia in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn), the mise en scène, which is apparently more French (long takes) than American (fancy editing). I asked the prof why I'd never heard of him, why America is not interested in James Gray, and he said -- "Typical American. They don't care about the auteur. Only the actor."
That may be true -- but it's also kind of weird. Dave and I saw "Two Lovers" a couple of nights ago. It's a solid movie, based on a Dostoyevsky story ("White Nights"). Phoenix plays an odd-ball -- depressive, weird -- but who has a Brooklyn-boy, neighborhood charm that catches the ladies. Gwenyth Paltrow is bad-news, in love with a married man (Elias Koteas who I LOOOOVE), and the perfect blond shiksa for the shy Jewish boy's fantasies. Anyway, I'm not going to go over the entire movie -- but it's good, I was taken. There was nothing odd or artsy about it.
So I don't understand why this movie, with fairly big Hollywood names, is not opening in the US. Will it open only after the Oscar season so it won't get in the way of the films that are really "in contention"? In any case, I'm now suspicious about this "American way" that only appreciates actors and never auteurs. I think perhaps this does not indicate an inherent American trait, but rather we are being led -- by industry scheduling priorities? -- to ignore the "auteur" to the benefit of the genre (complete with generic actors) that fits the season.

Last 10 Days

Goodness, the sky is actually clear right now. A rare moment.
I must say, I am half looking forward to going back to California. The warmer weather and sunnier skies will be a nice change of scenery. Of course, going back to the States also means going back to the real world -- a real world of health insurance, pay checks, joblessness, and newborn babies. Not so uplifting.
But, while I'm here . . . I haven't really bought anything Frenchy French since I've been here, souvenir-style. Most of my clothes have been purchased at H&M (I figured, why spend real money on maternity clothes that I'd only wear for a couple of months . . . although there was a really cute maternity-ish dress at APC, but for 180euro? eech). True, I've bought some books, and some good ones too. But I want something decadent and "Parisian."
What should I waste my money on?
* Boots (I need them, but shoe shopping is an arduous task for me)
* Perfume (I might get some at the airport duty-free)
* Sunglasses (They are way over-priced, you know for the marc jacobs label or whatever, but they look really, really cool -- and I've never had designer sunglasses before)

6h du matin

I can't go back to sleep.
We've been going to as many museums as we can stand since Dave got here. This November is apparently the month of photography, so we saw a Walker Evans exhibit and a couple of days ago went to a really, really great show of 70s American Photography at the BNF. Yesterday afternoon we hit the Pompidou Center. I had forgotten how huge that place is. We saw a special exhibit on Futurism, but after that we were too exhausted to really take in anything else. I dragged Dave through the rest of the rooms anyway to make our 12euros last.
Tonight we're going to try to see if Wes Anderson and Peter Bogdonovich are actually having a public conversation after the showing of "Royal Tennenbaums."

People often ask me if I have weird food cravings. And my answer is no. I love eating, so I crave food -- but not in any unheard of combinations, or at strange moments of the day. In fact, my eating habits are so normal (perhaps with slightly larger portions) that I was getting worried that my pregnancy was not "as pregnant" as it's supposed to be. Until I realized that maybe I do have cravings. Yesterday I sat thinking about donuts for a while. And just now I had a yearning for pumpkin pie -- or maybe just for Thanksgiving dishes in general. Of course, this could have nothing to do with being pregnant and everything to do with missing American food. But what's strange is -- I mean, like Twilight Zone weird -- is that I, as you may know, love nachos (esp. from La Cabana in Santa Cruz). And I miss them, theoretically, but I haven't craved them like I craved that donut yesterday. So maybe everything really is okay.

Oops, I think I just induced a nachos craving.

Reunited

We're back together again. I picked Dave up from the airport on Wednesday. I exited the elevator the exact moment he exited the gate. And from that strangely synchronous moment, everything's been back to normal. I thought it might be a little weird, being a couple again, having someone around all the time. But it's not. I'm a little more giddy than I was before -- Dave got himself trapped between the sofa bed and the wall yesterday which had me laughing to the point where I thought I may be doing harm to myself and the unborn.
Speaking of, I finally went back to the OB who didn't seem to mind at all that it had been over two months since my last visit. Dave came with, smiling politely while sitting across from the briskly efficient -- and still tan -- docteur who was muttering to himself in French about glucose tests and echograms. But after weeks of anxiety and embarrassing phone calls to receptionists, over bad reception, in broken French, as soon as I entered the waiting room I already felt better. I knew nothing was wrong. I felt healthy. I just needed the surroundings there to verify it.
And also, it doesn't hurt to have Dave back again. To reassure me that I don't have gestational diabetes, or high blood pressure, or a fat ass, or a dumb dissertation. Phew.

Macarons

Today I had lunch at a friend's place. She makes the best Japanese chicken curry. I ate way too, way too much, but still had enough room for some macarons from Pierre Hermé. I've had other Parisian macarons. More than really relishing their taste, I enjoy them as a curiosity -- a French treat that can't be found elsewhere. Even though I love the different flavors you can choose (pistachio, green tea, orange blossom), I usually find them sweeter than I like my sweets to be. Like little colorful sugar bombs. But these Pierre Hermé macarons . . . they have some substance behind them. They're sugary, but meaty too (yes, a meaty macaron). We waited in line for at least 20 minutes for our ten macarons (costing 15 euros), but I'd say it was worth it.

While I wait . . .

. . .for D. to get his ass over here, I've using my time to make some progress on the dissertation. I am both impatient wanting D. to be here NOW and worried that I won't have enough time to actually get anything substantial done.
So, I've been going to libraries. Not to read their books, because I've decided to forget the goal of working on my French chapter. But to get out of the house and work somewhere "studious." I go to the Bibliotheque Ste. Genvieve, which is gorgeous inside but doesn't have free wi-fi (or at least not that I can tell). I also visit the Bibliotheque Forney, which seriously looks like a castle (and very well may be) and has free wi-fi (that doesn't work that well).
Yeah, it's been good jumping from library to library. I get there early and stay for three to four hours -- which I think is a good chunk of time for my brain to be thinking and my hands to be typing. Then I make my way home. Today I left the Bib. Forney and strolled along the Seine toward the Metro at Hôtel de Ville. There's some Jacques Prévert exhibition going on there that is apparently very popular. Which reminds me of all the things I want to do when D. gets here. I think the first thing we'll do is go to the Walker Evans Expo at the Henri Cartier Bresson museum. It's free on Wednesday nights starting at 6:30pm.