Painting the town green

With a week left on the calendar before BACK TO THE REAL WORLD is written in red ink, I'm right in the midst of an incredible love affair with this city. Although I feel myself yearning for the home that I've made in NYC and a taste of the simplicity of life in my original old KY home, I have a feeling that my relationship with Paris will not cease with my departure.
Sunday I went to the Lee Miller exhibit at the Jeu de Paume; I find myself completely fascinated with the women of the early 20th century like Lee. I read the biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay right before coming here, and felt a similar affinity. I have to wonder whether or not their paths crossed in Paris having both been residents in the early 30's. Both women were extraordinarily independent, intelligent, unconventional, and uninhibited talents, and yet both share this haunted, beautiful delicateness bordering on fragility. I found myself staring at her hands in the photographs. They made me want to hum...or dance...or fall in love.
Before heading off for a truly awesome get away in Berlin the weekend before last, I went with a crew of friends to a crazy illegal party in the catacombs underneath this great city. We walked over 20 minutes through an abandoned train tunnel and after crawling underground through this rabbit hole of an entrance, we waded through knee-deep muddy water and walked another 20 minutes through winding cave-like, low-clearance tunnels to end up at a party where we drank and sang and danced our little hearts out. A new friend took the shot above (which I can't wait to print and frame) on the way out.
Berlin was a fantastic blur of great food, interesting history lessons, cool flea markets, and frozen toes. I definitely recommend going, and it was super cheap (although with Paris as a barometer, it's hard to tell). I got new glasses at the flea market, had the best Turkish wrap I've ever tasted, and felt as German as ever with delicious hearty soups, bratwurst and sauerkraut, schnitzel and strudel, goulash and potatoes, and beer and mulled wine. I think I gained 5 lbs.
Last week, I was lucky enough to have 2 very different, but equally awesome dinners to be especially thankful for. Monday, my girl Krystle invited me to join her in being the only 2 Americans for a delicious Thanksgiving meal at her friends place where I had to pry myself away from the singing and dancing after midnight to make the last metro. Thanksgiving night, Ludmilla hosted a beautiful gathering of students and friends for a bountiful meal/raucous party that I also found myself not at all wanting to leave.
This past weekend included acing my final at the Sorbonne (no big feat, really, as I was in the lowest level French courses), a wine fair, a party at an artists' squat, a lovely motorcycle ride around Paris at night (in all of it's Christmastime glory, the city of lights became an understatement), and an inspiring art exposition.
I don't know if in the last week I'll find the time to write again, but for all of those who have said, "Oh, I'm so jealous of you!" These past couple of weeks have been for you. If I were you, I'd be jealous, too:-)

On a fait les quatre cents coups ensemble

This past weekend was what one might call a doozy. Starting on Thursday with two amazing shows by my friend, the talented Ms. Krystle Warren...the first, a sold-out big deal at The Olympia complete with a backstage pass, whiskey, a smokey dressing room, and a pretty kick-ass catered dinner; the second, a low key "after show" at a club that I've been to a couple of times. I think it's called La Regine? It's kind of an after hours situation, so the times I've been there have been in the evening and well, after hours of drinking...so the name is admittedly hazy. I had such a great time, made some really cool new friends, and got to party like a rock star...or at least like a pretty damn successful singer/songwriter.
Friday night my dear friend from NYC came to town, and we had a blast hanging out with her brother and friends. Raniah's one of my favorites; born in Saudi Arabia, raised in London, and recent US citizen...we simply fell head over heals for each other riding the bus home from our rehearsals for Offending the Audience this time last year. She was lovely enough to bring me some supplies from home including the EmergenC I'm sippin on right now. Until she departed on Sat, we had tea and biscuits, and wine and salads, and beer and beer, and coffee and butter...interrupted briefly by a few hours of sleep. We went sexy stocking shopping and on a beautiful afternoon promenade around Le Cemetaire de Monmartre near her bro's place. After losing track of the time, we ran through the streets and the metro and Gare de Lyon, "pardon"ing ourselves all the way for trampling poor Parisians in our path. We got her safely on the TGV to Switzerland just as the whistle blew and the doors closed behind her. It was absolutely exhausting!
And yet! I mustered the energy after a nice long nap to meet my friends at a party last night. Well, I met Lauren on the train...and we finally made it to the party after an hour of searching because our friends Nicolas and Andrew were apparently too intoxicated to give us proper directions. Andrew's a lovely late addition to the program I'm in, and we get along like gangbusters. He's a sensitive soul, and a hopeless corner-cutting optimist, and he cracks me up. His boyfriend Nicolas is gracious and kind and patient with my French. They've got a cozy little place and play great hosts (such as brunch today...bloodymarys+grilled cheese+Tina Turner+ hot fudge sundaes=perfect Sunday).
Lauren is a complete doll. The moment I met her on Halloween, I asked her to be in my short film. She's beautiful and totally has that New Wave/Anna Karina-look going on...she's also a talented actress to boot. Although we were frustrated getting there and had to run screaming from a guy masterbating in the street (my first incident of this kind that I wish NEVER to have to experience again), the party was pretty fun.
Right after we arrived, Andrew was like, "let me introduce you to this hot guy."
Hot guy asked where I was from and when I said KY, he says, "Oh, my best friend married a girl from KY and lives in Cincinnati."
"Really? One of my best friends from KY married a French guy and lives in Cincinnati."
"Etienne?"
"Patricia?"
In unison, "Holy shit, this is CRAZY!" And so on and so forth. It was pretty hilarious. This tiny little planet. C'est comme ça. Later, Hot Guy introduced me to his girlfriend. This tiny little planet full of couples. C'est la vie.
I then took the night bus home for the first time, and saw some pretty interesting characters. It took forever, but is a safe, cheap alternative to cabs since the metro closes at a laughable 1:40am here. I'm sure it won't be the last time I use it.
My house mother's driving me crazy, but has redeemed herself this evening with a delicious soup for dinner. I feel like stuff keeps getting lost in the laundry she won't allow me to do, she asks me repeatedly to do things I'm already doing (nothing serious, just returning the phone to the cradle, cleaning out the coffee maker and such), and she continues to eat any desserts I have in my freezer. I seriously don't mind sharing food (I actually prefer it), but she's constantly commenting on her "problem" with food, and makes comments about how it's unfair how thin I am. I want to be like, "You're 60 and look great...give it a flippin rest already!"
This week is full of classes and film editing and such, but I can't wait for a party in the Catacombs and BERLIN this weekend! I'm gonna miss all these characters when I go, but I'm excited to go home soon, too. It's hard to believe I'll be back in NYC in less than a month. So much to see, so much to do...but first on the list: sleep. Goodnight small world.

Il fait mauvais

I'm curled up in bed on a Saturday night with a bottle of tasty wine (1€70 at my local grocer), a good French flick, and blankets piled high. Outside, it's cold and windy and rainy, and I don't think I could be dragged out of this house for anything ce soir. Over the easy jazz music my house mother seems to be blaring downstairs, there's the steady sound of rain on the skylight outside my bedroom door.
It wasn't so bad this afternoon. I sat near the lake in the park a block from my house and wrote a few pages of crap. I've been feeling kind of stuck. Or lazy, I suppose, for the last week or so. My head is swimming with French words and facts about writers and artists and philosophers whose names I will inevitably forget. I feel frozen in the shadow of these great thinkers. As it's been said, it's all been done.
Like millions of Americans, I felt inspired by the election of Barack Obama this week. I watched on a big screen at a bar in Paris with 2 young Tunisian friends (one of whom is convinced I am his future wife/mother of his 6 children...HA!) while a band sang ridiculously wrong lyrics to classic American rock. I woke up the next morning still buzzing. Perhaps from lack of sleep as I'm 6 hours ahead; perhaps from excitement. I watched his acceptance speech (this time with the sound on), and got goosebumps. If you didn't, I think it's time to throw in the towel on the whole being human thing, because there's obviously something wrong with your heart. It wasn't until I saw a friend's post on Facebook, that I learned the disgusting news about Proposition 8.
This situation makes me incredibly nauseous. The propaganda I saw for prop8 was so ridiculous, I had a hard time imagining anyone taking it seriously. They used kids in these ads, saying that allowing gay marriage is bad for children. It will confuse them because marriage is an institution for procreation. Public schools will be obligated to teach children about gay marriage, therefore undermining any religious beliefs of some parents. And the sanctity of marriage will be desecrated.
- Did I miss the day of school that we had the "marriage" lesson? And are we not giving children enough credit? Is it really so difficult to describe it as a legal bond between two people who want to share their lives together?
- If this choice of adults that allegedly affects children in a negative way is banned, we will now have to make divorce (you know the way over 60% of marriages end) illegal as well, right? That's not even alleged! We know how badly that affects children.
- Hmmm, 40% of births are out of wedlock in the US, and a lot of married couples don't ever have children. You don't think the definition of marriage as an "institution for procreation" will confuse children?
- Am I having deja vu? Didn't we already have this fight about teaching evolution?
- If you truly believe in the religious beliefs this country was "founded on," not only should divorce be illegal, but we should reinstate slavery, women should not vote (and should also be burned at the stake for reading or other witch-like behavior) and don't even get me started on the whole manifest destiny bullshit that pretty much wiped out the very first Americans.
What our country was founded on was life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Our basic, constitutional rights as Americans. If we look really close and are honest, we can determine this whole proposition is completely blind, intolerant bigotry. The same kind that would not have allowed Obama's parents to marry in some states at that time.
For those of you that support this ban, could you please tell me why so much time and energy (that could be used for so many great works of compassion) was spent to prevent happiness for others? Really. I know not everyone who reads this shares my views, and I want to know what you think.
Anyway, I don't want to sound preachy...I'm just confused, and sickened, and saddened. Ah well, nothing like French existentialism and red wine to turn it all around;-) Ha! Bonne nuit, mes amis.

My momma's for Obama

Monday morning I have a history class about communism in France, and Tuesday night I will be attending the Americans Abroad election coverage over-night party here in Paris. I'm growing tired of waiting, but I also feel excited and inspired and confident. My dad's still voting Republican, which is beyond me. It is to him and to others who share his opinions that I would like to sing a song:
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'
Come writers and critics
Who prophesies with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who that it's namin'
'Cause the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorways
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he that has stalled
The battle outside ragin'
Will soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'
Come mothers and fathers
All over the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
And the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin'
The first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'
For the times they are a-changin'
-Bob Dylan

Oui, oui, oui all the way home.

Last week, I brought Ariane some English nursery rhyme books and a couple of cattails to get me back in her good graces. I think she likes me and all, but it's hard to stay popular when each time you show up, mommy and daddy leave. She really enjoyed them, but now I'm suffering with various ones stuck in my head as I try to finish this screenplay and write a reaction to Une Femme est Une Femme.
Her favorite is: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old.
"Encore, encore," she says, like a little French teletubby. Or an opera audience.
Ludmilla (her mother, my teacher) believes it's because there's one similar to this that she already knows in Hungarian. She also then noted, that there aren't many French nursery rhymes because the language doesn't have that type of musicality to it. Which would explain why good French music, as I've noticed, is somewhat hard to come by.
Really frustrated with the language at this point. I can comprehend quite a bit reading, and I've even started thinking in French sometimes, but when people speak to me, I'm pretty lost. It's quite humbling. I'm really going to push myself this last month and a half to step up to the plate, and get my money's worth out of the program.
I had a long lunch with Tweedle Dee the other day, and he's really disappointed with the program we're in. He's pretty high maintenance and hard to please in any given situation. He asked me for advice, so I tried explaining to him some of the basic Buddhist philosophies that helped me through some rough patches this past year. It was great to try and teach what little I know about enlightenment and happiness, because it helps me remember things, too.
Before I left town, and told people in NYC that I would be staying with a host family, some people's reactions were really funny. "Oh no, what if they're crazy?" I would laugh, and think of how silly it was to worry about that. Situations are what you make them, right?
My house mother has turned out to be quite neurotic. She's been through 4 maids since I moved in, and I had the opportunity to speak with one on her way out. The maid said the lady of the house was absolutely crazy and would never be happy. She said she would deliberately make huge messes (I have noticed erratic messiness) and then would insist that the maid finish an impossible list of chores in less than 3 hours. She won't let me do my own laundry, and she insist on cleaning my shower almost daily (even if I haven't showered). They told me I could use a small refrigerator in the basement, and she rearranges my food in there.
And yet, she is very kind and generous. She leaves me soup, and chocolate bars, and cough syrup. She may be strange and it may be driving me absolutely bonkers, but she's obviously suffering in some way to act the way she does. She's a retired woman with a little too much time on her hands is all. Although, I'd rather live on my own, there's nothing I can do about it. Except have compassion and patience for my wayward hostess.
I also often wonder if I got ripped off with this program. Tweedle Dee was very focused on this subject. Where exactly is all of our money (or credit, in my case) going? Well, I guess we could sit around feeling cheated, but what in the hell is that going to do? It is in the past. Tuition is paid in full. All we can do is squeeze every little great experience there is to be had in the short time we have left. In Paris, I mean. But I guess that's true in the bigger picture as well.
Telling someone else these things did my spirit a lot of good. And I realized that I would like to teach yoga when I get home. It has given me a lot of perspective, and I think it would be a great gift to give to others. Not to mention the fact that teaching something is the best way to learn it.
I've also made some other decisions about my life through this experience. Unfortunately, I've created an equal amount of unanswered questions. If that makes any sense. All I know is that for the next 6 weeks, to each and every opportunity this city has to offer I will say, oui. Oui. Oui.

Au contraire, mon frère

Many will be happy to know that my brother's visit was extremely enjoyable. My cousin Jolene joined us for his week-long European vacation, and we had quite the time indeed. The highlight was definitely a laid back 3 days in the great city of Amsterdam where we had a ball strolling and rolling through the canopy of fall colors around the canals and shops of the Dutch wonderland.
Paris was actually more accessible than I originally thought...almost all the buses are accessible with ramps and with 2 of the most laid back, indifferent tourists ever, I had a blast just riding around checking out the sights at leisure. We had crepes and red wine and hot chocolate, my brother participated in a protest concerning the rights of French immigrants, and we spent enough time in the Louvre to become fully saturated with fine art.
This morning (my brother's birthday, no less) was a bit of a nightmare trying to get to the airport by public transportation. The ease of the week somehow made us forget the fact that shit happens. And the obstacles presented to those in wheelchairs can be quite time consuming. I guess the laid back indifference has its drawbacks.
I'm notorious for getting to the airport late. It's really only thanks to some twisted miraculous luck that I've never missed a flight. The time when I would have most definitely missed one, the plane was delayed 3 hours. Just a couple of months ago, I arrived at LaGuardia just in time to be scurried through international lines and escorted directly to the plane by a ticket agent for my flight here.
I will now note that Gary and Jolene (a.k.a. Rupert and Winkie) were aware of this reputation. I say this only because of my extreme guilt for what happened this morning. I was late meeting them (I was to help them with the luggage), and waiting for me probably cost them a precious 20 minutes. 20 minutes, however, was nothing compared to the hour and a half we spent looking for the elevator to the RER at Chatelet (the closest Parisian equivalent to Grand Central Station) and arguing with the extraordinarily rude bus drivers for the CDG bus-shuttle thingy. To top it off, the bus-driver told them to get off at the wrong terminal, so I don't know if the 20 minutes would have saved the day...but it certainly hasn't stopped the tears today.
Luckily, the great people at Delta were able to get them on another flight and waved the charge. It was, however, with a layover and just thinking of the miserable birthday he must be having has left me irreparably blue.
My brother is an enigma, and undoubtedly the most amazing individual I know. I've often said he has the epitome of confidence without an ounce of pride. For those of you who don't know him, he was in a car accident in 2002 that completely severed his spinal cord. He's a paraplegic. But he's more of an MBA student/full-time computer engineer, homeowner who drives and is completely self-reliant, who just happens to get around on wheels.
I discovered this week, he is also the least opinionated, most argumentative person I know. He is a Libra afterall, and although I don't put too much stock in Astrology (hey, it's probably more stable than most things on the market today), I can't help but note the fact. He argues every side to every issue, and although he certainly has opinions (I am the worst driver ever, for example), he is slow in deliberate in deciding what those opinions are. Always weighing the each side. I envy his endurance.
My brother also loves money. Always has. At a very young age, his penchant for making a buck was blatantly obvious. He's a steadfast saver, a wise investor and a hard worker. But for someone who's all about the Benjamins, he is extraordinarily generous (almost to a fault). A couple of Christmas's ago, this man gave me Monopoly and replaced the fake money with real dough. I mean, come on. He also doesn't have a materialistic bone in his skinny body. He'd wear the same clothes everyday, eat spaghetti for dinner every night, and really only seems to buy the necessities (keystone light and Wi games excluded).
We got into a conversation the other night about fate. He thinks it's bullshit. There is no rhyme or reason, and the world is left to chance. He hasn't ruled out the idea of a creator, but he/she's not an active God. There is no hand. There is no control. But he believes in luck, he says with a grin. And believes he has it.
Au contraire, mon frère. It is anyone who knows you that is lucky. Anyone you've smiled at or argued with or loved or hated. Anyone who's opened a door for you or helped you on a bus. Anyone who got your "pardon" song or gracious "merci." And me. Your fuck-up of a big sis that didn't get you to the airport on time. I'm sorry and I love you. Bon anniversaire.

Je suis très fatigué

I have to go to sleep since I'm getting on a train in less than 6 hours to go to the south of France for the weekend. After Marseille, I'm headed to Amsterdam with the bro and cousin for 4 days. It should be loads of fun, but you're not gonna get a worthwhile blog for some time. Yes, it's hard to be me.
In all seriousness, I have had a hard week looking for an accessible hotel that didn't cost an arm and paralyzed leg. Obviously things of that nature are a little bit more dated on this side of the pond. It just so happened that the one excursion my school organized and is paying for fell on the weekend that my brother arrives. This has been the cause for beaucoup anxiety this week.
My French still sucks. It's becoming more apparent that I will only have scraped the surface in 4 months, and I'll just have to come back some day to really perfect it ;-)
Last weekend I had an amazing time at Nuit Blanche, which is this all-night art festival in Paris. I'm spearheading the NYC branch when I get back. Seriously. Well, hopefully.
Anyway, starting production on my first film soon (don't get too excited...just a student project written and directed by moi), heading to Berlin and Florence next month, and lamenting my limits (financial and time-wise).
Bonne nuit, mes amis.