why I love the French

And it's not just their incredible style, their love of scarves and tiny dogs or their habit of sweetly switching to English whenever I try to converse with them in their native tongue. It's also about things like this (from the local paper):

In a parody of a national proclivity for protest, hundreds of marchers in France spent New Year's Eve demonstrating against 2007. During a lighthearted protest, participants waved banners reading: No to 2007 ! and Now is Better!!"

See, that just tickles me. Who says the French have no sense of humor? Or too much time on their hands?

And just now on NPR, commentator Terry Gross was talking to a woman about the so-called French paradox, which refers to the fact that, despite a steady diet of coq au vin, boeuf bourguignon, butter and baguettes, red wine and cigarettes (there's an Edith Piaf song in there somewhere) the French remain a relatively svelte people. It's all about balance and proportion, apparently. Quelle surprise! They eat less, take longer to do it and enjoy it more.

Of course I've known about this, this 'balance' thing, for a long time now and try to practice it but tend to forget, indulge more, moderate less and just plain get lazy. The past month it's been all butter and baguettes, followed by the occasional penitential trip to the gym for six sweaty hours of self-flagellation on the treadmill. It isn't pretty. It isn't effective. And it isn't an approach Catherine Deneuve would approve (there's a limerick in there somewhere.)

Evidemment, what I need to do is to start thinking in French. Like the French. With an accent perhaps, and an air of world-weary sophistication. God knows I can't spell in it. As long as I don't try to speak it.

I'm off. To the gym. Moderately.