One day I googled Paris fanatic, completely prepared to see my name in lights. It's true, I'm a bit deranged when it comes to my favorite city -- but then again, I suppose it's not much different from being an over-the-top sports fan or an obsessed shoe fanatic.
Cole Porter understood. When he penned the iconic "I Love Paris", every singer wanted to record it. Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Andy Williams, Maurice Chevalier, Jack Jones and even a recent cut by Lana Del Ray, "I Love Paris" never goes out of style. Kind of like the city.
"Every time I look down on this timeless town
Whether blue or gray be her skies
Whether loud be her cheers or whether soft be her tears
More and more do I realize That I love Paris in the spring time
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles
I love Paris every moment
Every moment of the year
I love Paris, why oh, why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near"
I don't care how corny I sound. When it comes to Paris, I just want to inhale it and preserve it.
See, eat, drink, do. Listen, taste, feel, breathe.
What is it about Paris that makes some of us daffy?
Is it the grand boulevards? The resplendent architecture? The soaring Eiffel Tower?
Maybe, but I think it's the small things, those little pleasures we find unexpectedly.
The delicious sprig of parsley that startles your taste buds. Parsley? Really? Yes, parsley.
Or little old men in Luxembourg Gardens slowly strolling down the garden path.
It could be the concierge sweeping the front hall of your apartment building
as she pretends not to stare at you.
Or perhaps it's the waiter who pauses a moment to notice that you're enjoying the house paté.
It's the whiff of the boulangerie every morning and
the stench of the cheese shop in the evening.
Then again, I think it may be the lace curtains in the crèperie that bring back
memories of Grandma.
Paris. It just works.
Go ahead, call me a Paris nut.
I gladly accept the title -- in blazing neon lights.