We are all worms in the graveyard of life

Or such is the theme suggested by this new and frightening addition to the Louvre:

He even has little hairs on his head. Terrifying.

Did you know you're allowed to take your art supplies into the Louvre and make copies of famous paintings?

This was taken a few weeks ago at La Duree, a chic "tea salon" near the Louvre. I went there with Lena and as you can see she purchased an $8 macaroon, but I contented myself with the overpriced hot chocolate. It blew my lunch budget for like two days but it was worth it to have my own little jug of what was essentially molten chocolate.

I had another awkward moment with my host family tonight, not that that will come as a surprise to anyone. You may recall, many posts in the past, when I told my host family about my love of Boursin cheese, and how they laughed at me because it is apparently a low-quality product in France. Well today I went to Monoprix with some friends, and I decided to buy some Boursin in a little tub. No one was at the apartment when I got home, so I wrote my name on it, put it in the fridge, and promptly fell asleep for an hour-long nap on my bed.

When I awoke dinner was ready, and upon entering the kitchen I spied my tub of Boursin sitting forlornly on the counter with my host parents in a confused debate as to its ownership.

"Did you buy it?"

"No, it's not mine. Maybe Louise bought it."

"Louise wouldn't buy that."

Then I had to explain, awkwardly, that it was mine ("I wrote my name on it... right there..") and my host mom looked at me with a pitying look reserved only for the most uncultured of Philistines.

"Well I guess we can put it in the drawer here, with the other... cheese."

Then as penance they made me try a bizarre jelly-like meat during dinner ("It's delicious, no? Eat it! It's good for the health!") that looked like a slice of brain tissue but luckily did not taste like it.

Other culinary adventures include last night when we had raw oysters for dinner, which was strange but surprisingly tasty. The shells were bigger than a fist and looked like weirdly deformed rocks, which you pry apart to expose the wiggly oyster innards. All I can say is that it's pretty fortunate that I'm not a picky eater, because we've had at least fifteen different meals that would have been decidedly unappetizing to a more conservative epicurean. But, as my host mom always says, "Il faut gouter!"