I wish I was French…or do I?

Nobody ever dares to confront the idea that evil hotly pulses through the veins of their hero; and any such matter is typically an uncommon occurrence. Actors, athletes, what have you – Marie Antoinette can do no wrong, I’m sure of it. Cake, what cake?

It’s indisputable that American culture has its special place in history’s book; the supersized sodas, universally rude Wal-Mart cashiers, and of course, our undying affection for reality TV (Thank God Ali is the next Bachelorette). Yet even with all of our rarities – thanks, Speidi, – we are still somehow able to cold shoulder other, less “normal” cultures. Yes, I know, the French are notoriously arrogant and remarkably stinky from practically bathing in cheese, but we could undoubtedly take a few hints from their wealth of knowledge – Existentialism, anyone?

So anyways, with insane anticipation I finally saw the new Robin Hood. Oscar, c’est toi? As legend would have it, the French crept along England’s coast while it was more or less a wounded puppy, heartbroken teenager, etc. Oh Philip, will you ever step foot off that boat? To see the French in such a dim and daunting light was like learning that Milli Vanilli was a scam – not exactly the hero you were hoping for. It was almost painful to see my beloved French so calculating and heartless. Yet, the Medieval era was that way for a reason – the incessant struggle for power, the uniquely unfashionable and obnoxiously heavy chain mail…

But as we’ve learned from the movies, and inarguably from life, there always has to be a hero and a villain. What we choose to make of this perspective is purely up to us.

Play on,

Marla ❤