Chistophe!

Ok, ok just one more ridiculous Paris metro add. You can imagine how compromising it was to take this picture - but I just had to do it.
Ok, ok, here is what it says:

Christophe is beautiful, soft yet firm, something like the comfort you get in a Sensoft matress from Simmons.

Teehee.

Is this what sells mattresses in Paris? Apparently, but look his chones are saggy! Are they just coming on or about to come off? It's a mystery. I just don't know, he's giving us Blue Steele but I really need to see Magnum. Merci, mais, non.

Pseudo Psychotic Episode on the Paris Metro

Sometimes... when I'm on the metro, alone, unfortunately or fortunately, alone- I look up and see this:

It is an advertisement for language classes.

It starts with a giggle, god, I can't help it. Then I notice his indignant little index finger. How cute, how totally English! Then I always laugh out loud. Poor thing, he's wounded, he needs a nurse! Then I remember finding an entire Greek temple in the British Museum, the whole thing! all of it. There is only a plaque left in Kushadshi! As a Chicana, it's my only heartfelt issue with the English- at the moment. So then I don't feel so bad for laughing. Maybe the French are still pissed off about Agincourt. No wait, they are for sure still pissed about Agincourt.

The slogan is Arretez de Massacre l'Anglais! Stop massacring the English! But how can the French help it!??! They've been wanting to open up that can of whoop ass for centuries. It's just too much and soon I am laughing out loud like a mad woman. I simply can't help myself- it happens every time. I just really thought I should share.

Here is his little friend. I like him too.

Ha!

The Absolute Best Thing Ever!

Ok, I know I already called something the best thing ever. It is true the nougat was wonderful but I have discovered a French delicacy that deserves the superlative even more.

Voilà! Le Macaron de Herme!

These were truly amazing- no exageration, just the lightest simultaneously crispy and creamy thing ever. This is the rose petal crème macaron!!! Another favorite was the wasabi and pamplemousse. Pamplemousse (quite possibly my favorite French word) means grapefruit. I know it sounds improbable but really- it was delicious. By the time I post this I will have come and gone to Scotland and tried to carry these babies through the airport. They don't travel well at all even in their decorative clear plastic carrying case. They will have arrived, each a little dented, their smooth exterior crust speckled with crumbs, but every bit as yummy. I hope to bring some back for sampling stateside.

In the House of God

I finally made it to the Louvre today.

It was amazing.

It was embarrassing. It was gorgeous and it was humbling. I was astounded at the architecture of course, the sheer size of it, the intricacy of the carvings on surfaces high and low,

the magestic arched halls,

the painted ceilings, the gleaming floors- everything. I kept having brief moments of eye contact with strangers that would make me realize that I was walking around with my jaw hanging open. Embarrassed, I would cut my gaze to the floor, snap my lips shut and go on again until the next stranger reminded me to close my mouth and check for drool.

Someone used to live here.

I started at the Denon wing and just walked. I didn't make it far. There were enormous marble sculptures everywhere of classic figures, burly men and buxom women but something wasn't right. I don't know why I noticed- but the female figures all had uncleft vaginas! What? How could someone miss that?

Artists please!

Do these guys look a little concerned to you?

I was unable to process anything at all, I had a map in my hand and still I was completely lost. It didn't occur to me to ask anyone about anything. There were, however, these unsightly little signs everywhere directing visitors to La Gioconda.

And so like everyone else I was led like a schoolgirl to the Mona Lisa.

The scene reminded me of communion.

I fumbled through the crowds until I found her.

wow.

I was not expecting her to be so marvelous. She is so incredibly SEXY. Every written thing mentions her smile but you don't feel it until you stand in front of it and just look. I've read "enigmatic," "ambiguous," "inscrutable," LO QUE SEA, it reads clearly, unmistakeably,
like a really hot
$@)%#
-period-

Seriously, from whence cometh all the doubt? The need for a scandal? A marketing ploy? What?

I was surprised really because it doesn't come through on even the best photographs. Historians allegedly wonder why the picture was never delivered, why Leonardo kept it with him until his dying day. Standing in front of the small frame, struggling to see it over the giggling hordes of tourists it didn't seem like so much of a mystery to me. 

I would have kept it too- commission be damned!

Directly accross from the lacivious Mona Lisa there is Paolo Caliari's gigantic

Les Noces de Cana.

The painting is nice but what is up with Jesus!?!?

He looks so akward- he is definitely not having a good time. Really, you can kind of tell in this closeup shot but it is entirely obvious in the real thing. It was so sad to consider uncomfortable little Jesus eternally watching the licentious Mona Lisa getting all the attention while he's busting ASS turning water into wine.

Hours later, I was still wandering around, slack jawed and dumb, marveling at all the buttery nude skin on the walls, the taught tendons of so many Greek and Roman warriors, avoiding the Venus de Milo and hoping I would stumble back onto the door soon.

When someone talked to me.

At that very moment I was actaully standing in front of Celine's favorite painting, Le Radeau de la Méduse and feeling some neurotic pressure to be astute even if only in thought to myself. It is transfixing, the horror on the men's faces, the pale deathly tone of their skin. The emotional intensity is hypnotizing. The voice, a whisper actually, right in my ear, "Isn't it beautiful," broke me out of the spell.

Damn it.

I turned around, hopefully with my mouth closed but honestly I can't remember, and saw a very daper gentelman in fedora and scarf, smiling and standing altogether too close to me. He was so cool and handsome and felt a million years older than me- but in a really good way. When I responded, who knows what I said, he knew I wasn't French and so continued in such a suave English that it occurred to me to just run away. Clearly, I was in danger. Then it happened, "What do you do," he asked. "I'm an artist, I responded." I choked on the words -just a little bit- but I choked on the words?!? In the house of God, I lost my nerve and for a moment questioned my faith.

Almost instantly I said, "I'm sorry, I'm married, I really shouldn't talk to you." He smiled and then bowed and responded, "I see, thank you for telling me, have a beautiful day."

In retrospect I wonder if he might not have been Satan, he fits my mother's description precisely.

I finally made it outside, nervous and grateful and craving a Hollywood love scene cigarette.

Near Death Experience at Likafo

Fictional recipe developed in a desperate effort to explain the horror of #351 at Likafo Chinese Restaurant, 39 Avenue Choisy Paris, France:

Take 1/2 cup sweetened Lipton ice tea powder and add enough water to make a paste, set aside at room temperature.

Take 1/4 cup full sodium soy sauce and

and combine with

1/4 cup white vinegar.

Set aside at room temperature. Add the soy and vinegar solution to the tea paste and mix thoroughly.




Pour over lightly fried dark meat chicken bits.

DEAR FRIENDS AVOID EATING HERE AT ALL COSTS!

Notice how I have cleverly relocated the bits of meat around the plate to look as if I ate something!

There was only one other diner at the restaurant at the time but the place is well recommended on the blogs and so we thought we would try it. He was a large man, serious and elegant. He reminded me, actually he looked exactly like Ving Rhames, as Marcellus Wallace in Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction. Initially he seemed to be enjoying his meal but after a few short minutes I picked up on his tell. He would take up his paper napkin wipe his mouth then drag it veritcally across his forehead, then all around his shiny bald scalp. He did this approximately every 3 minutes throughout his meal (I was keeping track.) I didn't mean to stare but I thought I should be prepared to leap into action should he need help. I was compelled to keep a watchful eye. I decided to stop eating. Kevin carried on valiantly and several hours later seems well and unaffected by what I am sure was a meal slathered in MSG not mention coated in enough salt to cure a side of beef.

Diner beware!

Le Marche aux Puces

Zara and John are going to be married under a chuppah.

I love this idea, a canopy of love in the form of cloth, held up by a community of friends and family - what could be more perfect- I just don't know. 

from a message to Zara...

The moment I read this I thought, were will I go to find antique French fabric? There is a market on what used to be the outskirts of town (in the 1880s). It was started by men who would comb the city at night looking for discarded items that might still have some worth. They would go just outside the city gate at the Porte de Clignancourt to resell their tattered wares. They became known as the pêcheurs de lune (fishermen of the moon) because they searched the streets only at night. I just think this concept is so romantic, so French, to turn the anxiety and hunger of scavengers into poetry. The market has since grown to be the largest of its type in the world and it is marvelous. I am sure that all the dusty treasures on the tables could tell a thousand secrets. I am going to go there to find a piece of cloth with a love story to tell. I can't wait to see what  find for you.

I found everything-nothing. I was lost for hours in the dingy alley ways and the impossibly charming cobbled streets- for hours!  There were amazing chandeliers hanging over chaise lounges embroidered with red and gold thread, sets that looked as if they had been pillaged from Versailles itself.


There were moldy leather telescopes...

and rickety wooden chairs and torn leather capes all so beautiful -awesome in their own yearning ways.

But I was looking for a piece of cloth, something that looked like a noble lady out one night with her gallant suitor, you know something really sweet like that.  

Everywhere, I kept finding these lovely little bits of delicate white lace, torn and sometimes yellowed, piled in wicker baskets, stacked messily on an old table or warming under a vendor's snooty lap dog. But god, they all looked so sad and forgotten. There was nothing cherished about them. It was electric to take off my glove and fondle something so fragile and so charged with other people's troubles. I had to say never mind none of this would do. But I kept walking. I met a suspicious older man who offered to walk with me. He insisted I would need help looking for love in the form of antique lace. Uhm, thanks but no. He wouldn't let me take his picture because I wouldn't let him take mine-fair is fair. There was nothing striking about his look anyway, the look of a Gaul.

He was helpful in defending me from the wrath of the proprietor of this shop of plastic jewelry.
I snapped a single photo and she went mad! Yelling and screaming from behind what must have been an entire tube of lipstick and at least a tub of mascara. "It's so private what you have invaded!" I wanted to say "Well then why is it on a table at a market?!?" The Gaul said it for me. "Madam if you don't want me to see your panties then why do you lift up your skirt?" Uhmmm... thanks? I don't just don't know about that guy.

There was however this terribly sweet crêpe maker, a  young man who should be swept away to Hollywood to play the role of the nerdy hero in some amorous techno-drama.

He helped me when I was lost and couldn't find my way out of the market and he makes a mean Nutella crêpe

And then on the outside of the market, still totally lost, while looking for the metro I found the past.  It was what the market might have been like when the rag and bone men, the fishermen of the moon, would bring their tattered wares to the outskirts of the city to sell.

It was entirely different than the antique markets and the trendy one off hip-hop boutiques. I was a little bit frightened.  There was something there. If I had an entire year to spend on this corner I might not ever learn what. 

Studio Blues

It's really difficult to work in Paris, no space, beautiful people everywhere and the architecture! So I'm a little bit mushed all the time. The weather is making things worse and Paris isn't really enough to make up for it. Yes, I know I can't believe I just said that either. Paris is supposed to be everything wonderful and it is -sort of. I found this video on Rachelle's blog and it made me feel a little better. I just love her face. It is Elizabeth Gilbert speaking about creativity and making. She looks so nervous yet hopeful that it will all work out somehow and it seems honest and real. Thanks Rachelle!

We Hit the Mother Load!

So there has been a dark serpent choking our lives since we got to Paris. (rationale provided by Anjali.) Many things have gone wrong, the flu, visa mix up, universities on strike (more on this later),  and now Kevin's computer is:

 dead again.

A computer had to be purchased- CRISIS!

US Amazon won't ship to France. You must buy from Amazon.fr which means you pay more and in eruos.

No deal GIANT CORPORATE EVILDOER! 

Someone recommended Darty, a French store which bills itself as the Best Buy of France–too expensive and with staff that appear to be deaf, dumb and possibly blind. IT must have been the hand of God keeping us from making a terrible mistake. (things are looking up!) The scene at Darty kind of reminded me of Oh Brother Where Art Thou when the Christians in the forest ignore the protagonists. Lucky for us Kevin didn't jump in the river. 

We decided to rest from diving into every storefront anywhere. Hungry, grumpy and hopeless we sought sanctuary in the park in front of 

 St. Eustache. We walked up to it entirely by accident- WOW.

Thanks to French common sense or mercy or whatever, there is free wifi in public parks. We were able to find out about Surcouf  just before our finger tips began to turn blue from the cold.  The iphone was developing a slight frost. This place is large and has a wide range of stock with somewhat better prices. But they were still much above the prices we found online. Then it dawned on us. What have we always done when in doubt, what tactic has never failed us? 

Call Sébastien!

He recommended Ave Damesnil around the Surcouf. There we found a concentration of small, somewhat dubious, electronics stores offering the same selection of electronics for sometimes hundreds of euros less! It felt like we hit the mother load. The stock was usually piled high against walls in unmarked cardboard boxes. The shop clerks all spoke French with thick Chinese accents- completely unintelligle and totally awesome! - no really.




We ended up purchasing an Acer netbook with Linux operating system from MicroWorld at 88 Ave Damesnil for 100 euros less than the Darty price.

It is a PC with an AZRTY keyboard but that is easily fixed by changing the language and adding a few stickers from BHV.  It will work very well as a spare tire for now. 

Everyone meet Baby!

This district was a real find and helped us feel like we are finally beginning to learn to navigate the needs of daily life in Paris. I pass the story on to you in case you are ever in Paris and in dire need of electronics equipment.  You can't do better than this in this town.

Chennevierès-Sur-Marne

Kevin and I are moving to the burbs (of Paris) aka Le Banlieue!  Sébastien's grandparent's home in the 12th century village of, Chenevierès-Sur-Marne, is vacant.  We can live there for less than 1/2 of our Paris rent and it has everything we need wifi, unlimited calls to the US, Mexico and 77 other countries (nobody knows which). Chenevierès is a town about 25 minutes by train and a 15 minute walk across the River Marne from Paris. Above is a modern street corner on the way to the house in the "new town center." The original town center dates from the 12th century and includes a church that now lies in ruin. I am so there! We had tea and sliced apples over conversation about what should be brought to the house to make us more comfortable. I couldn't  think of anything other than maybe a good humored chemist with some equipment but unfortunately none was available. Ok, I will have to do without.

This is the view crossing the River Marne.

It wasn't so difficult to get there but we kept barely making it to the trains. The "the doors are about to shut on your neck" siren was going off each time and we ran and jumped and squeezed in without a second to spare. I was nervous because early last  month I got caught and Kevin and two other guys had to pry the doors open for me to squeeze in just in time for the train to whisk off. It would have been a brutal and meaningless end to me otherwise.  Reckless, I know but I was so excited and curious to see what Sébastien called his "ancestral home". The home belonged to his great grandfather and then grandfather then father and now to him and his twin sisters. I was told it had wild culinary herbs growing in the giant unkempt garden overlooking the village towards Paris and that on a clear day you can see the Eiffel Tower. Perfect! 

Well, the years have not been kind to La Simplette (the home's name.) 

These are the steps that led to the original building's entryway. 

It was once grand I am sure.

Here is what is left of that original building now covered in tangled dried brush.

Sébastien mentioned in passing that his father had destroyed the original building to forget his childhood. We didn't pry. He later added as an aside that the neighbor had continued to take down the house to keep it from obstructing his view of Paris. The new house is considerably more humble but comfortable and I think we will like living there. 

Voilà l'homme

from a letter to Anjali...

I can see directly into the coiffure that faces the street. This evening I watched an almost completely bald man having what little hair he has left being washed. He seemed to be having such a sensual experience. I wonder if one of the ingredients of a truly great city isn't the possibility of sharing a stranger's innocent pleasure.

He comes to the coiffure regularly. He was the star of my day that day. 

I couldn't help but take his picture today. 

Radio France

After a day of fretting about hydrogen - despite the golden glow of my lovely yellow flowers. I went out to a concert of electroacoustic music with Kevin at Radio France.  This particular concert hall is significant because it is the location of some of the earliest experiments in sound spatialization and the use of speaker orchestras. The concert was interesting not so much because of the music but because it was packed on Valentine's Day evening. There were children, couples of every age and of course a lot of unescorted men.  We met a gaggle of Argentinian composers and one Québécois, Martin, who said, "In school we were all forced to learn English and so my pleasure was to learn Spanish with the immigrant workers from Mexico." *love* 

The conversation at drinks had one of those rare arcs of diversity that makes me more glad than usual to be a nerd.

Jungian archetypes

The possibility of discovering archetypes in musical instruments

The Police (band)

Bad 80's haircuts that make you feel so cool

Hélène Cixous

Writing with breast milk

Reading music which is impossible to write

An unnamed transsexual philosopher performer that collaborated with The Art of Noise

The fun of holding office hours in a leather bar

The french film Irreversible

The difference between a gay bar, a leather bar, an S&M leather bar, and a sex club.

The need to create a typology of such bars to allow for clear communication about where to hold office hours

The difficulty of composers collaborating with visual artists (especially video artists)

The possibility that in order for the collaboration to succeed each of the collaborators must fail just a little bit- thus making room for a third entity to develop

Fun.

St. Valentine's Day

These are the flowers I got on Valentine's Day. I love them! In our neighborhood the flowers are sold in bouquets of 11. Apparently the number of flowers you get has as much significance as the color of the flower. OK then. So my 11 yellow roses mean: 

A. I am the treasured one

 and 

B. Kevin has a good eye for color the yellow and the pink really work for me.

*Excellent*

They are sitting on my favorite chair. I found it in the street walking home from the metro a few days ago. It was just there, a perfectly good chair, one that had obviously served someone very well. I love the paint stains and the scratches on the surface of it, the width of the seat. Now this is a seat for an American butt. I am considering bringing it back with me since I am afraid the next tenant might put it back out on the street- poor thing.

Vernissage!

Ozone Showroom

I was at the opening for Ozone's new collection last night. It was all style and finesse, champagne and low rhythmic drones from the hidden surround sound system and– a fog machine. This scene was something out of  Zoolander. But seriously folks, the lights were minimal and elegant. According to Gilles, one of the designers, the swank studio is founded on a collective model where all partners ("invested to various degrees") participate in all aspects of the production. In general, however the physical forms are fabricated by others. The income is typically from private contracts. Everyone seemed to be doing quite well. We ended up here thanks to an invitation from new friends we met at the Obama inauguration viewing party at Harry's New York Bar. I was watching the black helicopter take Shrub away and I was overwhelmed by the pain of knowing he was going to Texas, my home state, where my mother is! Why there, why not Oklahoma!?!!?  I turned around to the nearest stranger and said in all my exasperated English - "Too bad he's going to Texas" and he answered  "Yeah too bad he isn't going straight to jail." So of course we were instant friends.  

Lighting by Ozone

Afterwards, we went to dinner at Maria Lousia for delicious pizza with our Obama friends, Colin (artist) and Celine (philosopher of aesthetics).  Collin and Celine are wonderful, intelligent, funny and warm people. Celine is understated but has an encyclopedic knowledge of art from a philosophical point of view.  So as a kind of party trick I asked her for the single artwork I should see at the Louvre. She said without hesitation see the Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault. 

 Then she said " I have to give you two."  She added Raphael's portrait of Baldassare Castiglione.

I imagine she was allowing for a breadth of experience but I have no real idea why these two. I am sure it will be very, very interesting to stand before them each and consider why.  She has published a paper about the horizon that I hope to link to soon.  Also, and I am so sad I can't take the course but she will be teaching a course on the aesthetics of walking next year! Maybe there will be a reading list or algorithm or even just a whisper about the course that I can find out about. I will share of course.

The Bordeaux of Death

Kevin and I are trying to learn something about wine. As some of you may know we prefer the independent study model and that of course ends up in a lot of disasterously naïve experimentation. Here is our horrific tale- well it's not so bad actually.

Kevin and I were out around early Sunday evening looking for wine to have with dinner. It's France and it's the 17eme and it's Sunday so the streets are nearly deserted. Only the Chinese eateries and a few tiny convenience stores, also run by Asian immigrants, are open. Every 10 minutes or so we would see others, usually 30 somethings (no god abiding elderly people) also combing the store fronts. They'd have our same crazed anxiety about them, that "I forgot to get wine for dinner look" in their eyes. We finally found a Russian grocery store that seemed popular because it was full of a healthy mix of shiny happy people.  We crossed the street and went inside. The shop was surprisingly not smelly even though there were several buckets of whole fish on the shelves in the back. One bucket looked like giant sardines marinated in kim chi and another looked like giant sardines marinated in muddy water- no really. I would have taken pictures but the clerks didn't seem friendly. They had some wine, they had some white Bordeaux in fact– and it was 3 €. The price was right and why not? In the name of research we go forth! This is what I learned:

DO NOT DRINK THIS

Another clue perhaps?

Apparently, this alleged Bordeaux has done a lot of traveling.  We suspect it might have been shipped from France to somewhere in Russia for labeling and then shipped back to France or something like that. I didn't think of it then – uhmm not so good. You see I have become a great fan of the Kir, my preferred version is the Kir Royale made with champagne but on a budget the Kir is a lovely alternative. A little white wine is all you need. So I thought this might be an interesting experiement. WRONG. The wine reminded me of what the combination of lime juice and Windex might taste like. Nevertheless, in the spirit of research, I added a little more crème de cassis.

Nope– that didn't work either. Yuk, it went into the sink. Beware all ye friends of mine!

Our French authority, Paris native (for many generations), Sébastien, taught us that quality wine should be produced and packaged in the same region so that, for example, a bottle of Bordeaux should be marked with the zip code of the Bordeaux region (a number beginning with 33).

Also, now I have to say that this wasn't actually such a good wine. It was very, very dry and had no flavor envelope even after breathing. Well maybe it just wasn't stored well or it was a bad year (2006). I would maybe try it again from another vendor if there was nothing else.

Furthermore, the top of the bottle (over the cork) should also be marked with the phrase récoltant meaning that the wine was bottled in the same place that it is grown. Aha! Hmmm... very sneaky you Russian faux Bordeaux peddlers! 

By the way for all you that might have been wondering if that was Diego and Frieda with their little heads stuck together and pinned to the wall in the first picture of the Richelieu Bordeaux. Yes. That is the famous couple. The things you (I mean crazy me of course) bring to Paris!