June 19, 2007

Forms of Religious Life

We decided to visit the cemetery of Montparnasse when we were in Paris, since it was near the Catacombs. We wandered around, looking at the grave of Jean-Paul Sartre, the famous in-bed sculpture of Charles Pigeon, a tiny mausoleum to Camille Saint-Saens and his family, Samuel Beckett, and even Ricardo. But I was really excited to see the grave of Emile Durkheim, considering how damned much we have to read about him in anthropology courses. We traipsed through the section he was supposed to be in, wending our way through packed mausolea and flat tombs, and I finally got annoyed and stopped. I proclaimed, "Fucking Durkheim. I can't find his stupid grave." Patrick came over and pointed out, "Uhm, you're standing right in front of it. Look down." I started laughing hysterically, which seemed to annoy the poor woman putting flowers on a nearby grave. Well-played, Durkheim.

1 comments:

American Nationalist said...

I hope you spit on his grave for all the crap he wrote. Because of him and those like him, someone's already done the whole "make a career out of spouting illogical gibberish" and I can't do it!

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