Since my high school graduation in 2005 I have yet to return to europe- sustaining a jab to the heart each time I’m left behind on one of my mother’s trips to Italy or France. Mother and I made up for the lost time of her latest respite in Italy by going on a movie date. We saw Midnight In Paris which was (duh) marvelous, furthering my enthrallment with the unassuming literary giants and expats living in Paris during the 1920’s. I’ve had a crush on Hemingway since my first encounter with A Moveable Feast many a years ago (the book is more-less a prerequisite for this film)…(unless youre one of those people who…actually reads…) And the pain of a fractured soul stemming from my nostalgia for yesteryears spent in Europe has rudely and abruptly returned. So tonight I plan on dreaming of Paris.
I’ve set the ultimate stage for such dreaming with the help of Jean-Pierre Jeunet, a down feather bed and a generous glass of white wine. Perhaps by time-passing of such an inexpensive measure, residual funds will be sent to a bank account due to yield a one way ticket to PARIS.