My five-second psychic sense acted up again when I watched Monkeybone, a movie I will neither recommend nor criticize. It was bizarre, yet I enjoyed it, but I have no desire to ever see it again. Anyway, there was a dog on the screen and I thought, “Oh look…there’s Buster.” The actress on the screen then smiled and said, “Here’s Buster.” After the movie, I went to bed.

I didn’t have school today, so, I slept in until 11, which was nice, because I like to sleep.

The day we had taken our exam, the assistant told us that the results would be posted on Monday in the Winter Garden, so, I decided I may as well get the dreaded realization over with, and headed out for the train. The whole way there, I was trying to decide what to buy myself to deal with the pain of getting a bad score — no matter how much I told myself that it didn’t matter what I got. Julia Child did poorly too.

So, with a depressed demeanor, I walked around the various lumps of dog poo that litter the sidewalk to the school and was immediately accosted by my peers all wondering why I was there. Each conversation was the same:

“Benjamin? What are you doing here?”

“Oh…I came to see the grades. Aren’t they up.”

“Oh…I didn’t look. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.’

Obviously, this was an act of mercy on their part. They had probably seen my pitiable grade and instead of saying they had done brilliantly they just lied. I was shocked to see that they were telling the truth, and that the grades weren’t posted. Disappointed that I didn’t have an excuse to buy myself something, I decided to leave. I asked at the front office when they would be displayed, but they all looked at me as if I were crazy. Grades are always distributed with the certificates they said.

I told them that we were told that they would be on display today, a fact corroborated by several of my comrades, but they still looked at me as if I had recently escaped from the loony bin. I gave up and left for the train, feeling quite pleased that I didn’t have to worry about my grade. I then realized that it could be potentially awkward to be at the certificate ceremony in our finest uniforms and not graduate, but, c’est la vie.

I then tried to get to the Louvre, but that proved more difficult than it should have. When I transferred at Concorde, I somehow managed to put myself on the wrong train. Wondering why I was at the Champs-Élysées, I realized my mistake, so I had to get off, walk around a bunch and get on the other train. On the first stop we picked up a lunatic, a true crazy. He was yelling and screaming with a deranged look in his eyes. I was fairly certain that we were all going to die, and this wouldn’t be a particularly nice way to go, I realized. Thankfully the next stop was Concorde, and every single person on my train got off, we weren’t going to be around that weirdo. As the train took off, I saw him jumping and slapping the windows like a caged animal, and for the first time in Paris, I was rather scared.

I stopped at the post office on my way into the Louvre and grabbed some envelopes and then made my way into the museum, flashing my member card like a reporter at a murder scene. Feeling rather special, I walked into my favorite room. I don’t know what it is called, but it is the most peaceful spot in the whole museum with big statues that have nothing to do with each other, all mixed together under a giant ceiling of glass. It must have been an outer area of the palace when the king was still there.

From this room I managed to wind up in the Babylonian stuff, and I hope I never go through it again. Babylonians bore me to tears, and I really don’t know why. I made my way to a very interesting area which was designed to look like a tomb — there were sarcophagi everywhere. Nobody was around and it was spooky, and I really wanted to climb into one of the giant stone coffins, but didn’t want to be caught so I chickened out.

Next stop, somehow, I really don’t know how I got anywhere, was the Grand Gallery. You can go to the Louvre a hundred times and see a hundred different things on a hundred different routes, I’m surprised people haven’t gotten lost and died in there, maybe they have.

Anyway, the Grand Gallery houses all of the Leondardo da Vinci paintings, aside from the Mona Lisa, which is in a separate room, and it is absolutely the most popular place to go, and that is because it is the only way to get to Mona. Nobody stops to appreciate the humor of the picture of Jesus and Mary looking like they are on Dancing With The Stars, the poor young men who smile serenely with arrows piercing their lungs, amongst many other ridiculous paintings. Few stop to look at Da Vinci’s other paintings like his portrait of John the Baptist, which is my favorite picture of his. Going to the Louvre makes me sad.

My new favorite painting is of David with Goliath’s head. I don’t know why I like it so much, I just do, and I suppose, that’s art.

I went and saw Mona, because I always try to see why she is so special, but failed once again. The room wasn’t busy for once, so, I was able to stand right in front of her and try to see the magic, but, nothing. It was just a picture, a rather average one, I might add. As I was watching the people look at her, I noticed a group of people stream in all wearing matching shirts. Each shirt showed Mona Lisa saying, “The Mysteries of Da Vinci Tour!” Intrigued, I subtly drew myself closer so that I could listen in on their fanny-packed infused conversation. It turns out they were on a Da Vinci Code tour, and took every word out of that delightfully ridiculous book to be true. I was both amused and saddened, that book has destroyed so much good biblical research.

It was closing time so I rode home and soon after went to bed, school is early tomorrow.