If Paris came to you in a dream, would you recognize it? The boulevards, the milling people (a true termitary), the anomie? How about the grandeur, the temples of glory, the ever-present dog shit? The odors will certainly wake you up: fromageries, boucheries mixing with motor-cycle exhaust.

Linda and I went to Saint Sulpice for seven a.m. mass on Sunday. The choeur was being renovated, so we attended in a small but heroic chapel with enormous paintings from the 18th century. Maybe next week, we will attend the mass with gregorian chanting at Notre Dame.

Then we went to Giverny and became impressionists. The flowers there are as multifarious as the people here, clustering, intersecting, crossbreading, something that can only be expressed in person or in painting, in very different ways.

The other truth is that I go to McDo for its internet. I don't even always buy something. Here they play Michael Jackson, Bach, Tupac, and contemporary Christian music.