Jeanne has friends from lycee, Vincent and Francois, in town, so we all saw the play Clinic last night--a hospital comedy that relies heavily on pop culture references and gross-out gags.
Afterwards, in a cafe near Place de Clichy, across from the Moulin Rouge, Francois asked if I had understood all of the references. I had. ER? Check. Silence of the Lambs? Check. Plastic surgery reality TV? (For better or worse) Check.
In the end, there was only one joke I hadn't understood, which got me thinking, thank God I come from America, because if I’d had to move my ass all the way over here, learn how to conjugate the subjunctive, AND been forced to accumulate anything on par with the breadth of American pop culture, I never could have dealt.
P.S. France is about the size of Texas, and there is practically no Juicy Couture or smoothies here, so they just forcibly have fewer celebrities. It takes about two seconds to learn their pop-culture, really, if you ever want to try.
Coquette's Pop Culture Prescription:
Three months Paris Match, consumed once weekly, mixed with On Ne Peut Pas Plaire A Tout Le Monde every Sunday night. By then, you will have learned the names and faces of every French celebrity there is. Promise.
Repeat cycle when out-of-loop symptoms recur.