Sunday at the Louvre - No End of Year Lists!

LIZSAYS: There is nothing weirder than watching Breaking Bads interspersed with whatever is on the BBC in France say, Keeping Up Appearances.
My husband bought the exorbitantly expensive cord that make his downloads from the US playable on our French TV. However, in between we are left with regular English comedies. So sad, and so bizarre.
Add two glasses of St. Emillion and it all is too much.
Americans almost revel in the bad that they are and the British pretend like it all never happened, whatever it is was, Say wah?
It, at least explains the brief success of Madonna husband 3, Mr. Ritchie. He at least ‘fessed up to the English proclivity for ugly. Obviously, America has been there too, but at least the Brits admit how sad they are. Hitchcock took an exquisite long bath in the milk of British ugly and made us feel the chill of it all.
A tad more American is the look in the mirror, saying, “ya talkin’ to me?”
Breaking Bad, a US TV series about a guy who is forced by medical bills into making meth, at least admits that the US has its ugly  problems. Hyacinth, on Keeping Up Appearances, the British TV series, pretends that the worst problem in the UK is sad pretense.
I can see America happening down to Britain, but there is nothing to be done. At least at this point, America can still see itself, Britain is so far gone all they can see is what they used to think they were. After all, every other show during the Christmas to New Years gap is filled with love songs to royalty. I won’t even go there.
Now, maybe what makes it so suckass is that all this comes during the worst part of the year for me. The gloomy winter. In Madison, Wisconsin, winters could be brutally cold but they were filled with glaring light, glaring bright light bouncing off the snow back towards the sun. I did always love that light, now I know how much I need it.
Oh, yeah, yeah, rain in Paris is supposed to be so beautiful. I am saying it out loud, its rain, cold, damp rain. It is no more handsome or romantic here than in Cleveland or London. Granted it is not as cold as Cleveland or London, but it still gets you soaked and in need of shelter.
Where Paris does have the one up is the Louvre. It is open every day of the year except Christmas day. I can pick the gloomiest day of winter, when the rain refuses to stop and the sky is virtually pitch black in the morning and go to what is arguably, the best museum in the world. I can exhaust myself trying to find the way to the Mona Lisa for the millionth time and go home feeling like beauty, the touch of marble on marble and the cold kisses of heroes long dead just washed my world clean of the foul stupidity of the little hells of current culture, where beauty is expressed as the latest computer generated monster sickness or explosion in the background as the hero walks towards the camera.