As I promised you quite a while ago, I thought I would take this entry as an opportunity to explore socialized medicine a little bit, seeing as how this fascinating concept seems to be making its way to the States. Granted, my visit to the OFII (they're the immigration people) doctors' office today represents a slightly more bureaucratic breed than the U.S. will likely see.
Even so.
I went to the office at the south end of the Metro 13 line*, where I sat in a waiting room for all of five minutes before getting called upstairs with my papers. They took those, stamped some, gave them back, and sent me into the room. This is not, I should note, one room where a doctor does everything. No. This room is bordered by doors leading into adjacent smaller rooms with different specialties. The first one: "Weight... height... you're studying cinema? That's wonderful!" and done. On to the next little room. Same nurse, oddly enough, sits me down for the eye test. That's fine. "You like writing screenplays? That's wonderful!" On to the next little room. Chest X-Ray. No small-talk.
Then, I go see the doctor, who takes my word for it that I've had all the right vaccinations (which I had, but didn't necessarily have the papers to prove) and lectures me about how American cinema is totally unoriginal and movies never do justice to the source material because they play to the lowest common denominator.** He signs papers and I have to go see one last person to file them all away. I do this, and I go home. So, that's basically it... go around the room completing different little sections and paying them in paper at the end.
To those upset or otherwise worried about healthcare reform, I offer you this word of comfort. Once the new system takes over, you may look forward to having all your checkups at Build-A-Bear Workshop.
So, I got home, worked more on a midterm paper for Music in Cinema (Paris VII), and, at 8 o' clock, I went to the metro to meet my parents. I should note that I did not need to get on the train. They came to my station. They came to eat dinner with me and my host family.
Oh, boy.
Actually, it worked out great. My host-mother speaks English pretty well, and my host-father picked up words here and there. My translation work that evening was for his benefit (and, if I may say, I did pretty well with it). They all got along great and with ease, and my host-mother's dinner was--as usual-- very good (foie gras, lamb, and potatoes with sorbet from Berthillon for dessert). It was just a very warm, pleasant evening with surprisingly few embarrassing stories about me.
I walked my folks back to the Metro and I then went home to crank out the rest of what turned out to be a 10-page paper about music from Pierrot le Fou, The Story of Adele H., and Once Upon a Time in America. Turned out pretty well, actually (and I had no idea it would end up being 10 pages).
I highly recommend the soundtrack for Once Upon a Time in America.
-Andy
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Everybody Loves the Footnotes... I hope. You would tell me if you didn't, right?
* The 13, by the way, is about as useful as losing an umbrella amid the current Parisian tsunami.
** The funny thing is, I mostly agree with him, but after the fashion of my French professors who are actually French, he feels the need-- despite my verbal concurrence-- to restate his point another three times.
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