Paris, France (03/03)

Whew…things have been rather hectic since I returned to Paris. But thank goodness for broken French and maps or else I would be as good as screwed.

I arrived in the city of French LOVE early in the morning after taking the far more luxurious train from Barcelona to Paris. I spent the day wandering aimlessly avoiding some nasty weather…I found the best places to this were Notre Dame and the Institut de Monde Arab. After the day ran out, I was to meet my lovely lovely LA companion from this summer past…Jon Frosch. He was slated to be my partner in Parisian crime this time around. We had arranged to meet in at his studio apartment in the Marais we successfully met up for what has been almost week of hijinx and hysterics not to mention quite a bit of Parisian sightseeing.

A note: French keyboards are not QWERTY…they are highly belligerent towards typists of the English language such as myself, as punctuation and necessary letters like ‘a’ and ‘m’ find themselves in very inconvenient locations.

Also, its fashion week, and really, Parisian fashions are a little off the wall right now. I am the first and loudest supporter of the wild pret-à-porter styles but I think the fashionistas may have lost their pretty little minds. As I noted previously, women, mothers, daughters, aunts, sisters, and granmeres alike are running around town looking like mockeries of hybrid characters from Aladdin, a Jane Fonda workout video, and the yellow submarine cartoon. I chalk it up to the fact that the designers are honing in on particular pieces and not designing ‘lifestyle’ outfits…the uptown woman or the Palm Beach
bitch…hence the peaceful cohabitation of gaucho pants and kimono tops on a single rack in any given Parisian schlock store.

I also can’t help but make one of those extremely obvious observations. The French wander the streets mumbling Anti-Amerianisms but are donned in styles that borrow from both middle-eastern and western soldiers attire. It makes for quite a funny scene: imagine hoards of seventeen year-old boys and girls running through the streets donned in army green, a ton of cargo pockets and “monde arabe” inspired tunics, scarves and jewelry. I say they’re all confused.

Sightseeing notes: I have worn myself out running around town seeing the ctre Pompidou, the Louvre, Orsay, Champs Elysees, the Tour, all of the ponts, the Arch, etc. I literally could not walk as of Friday because my ankles gave way… it was quite a pitiful moment as I was attempting to drag myself to an exhibit of the spring designs for two German designers and I realized that I had to stop because people had begun to stare as I was limping past them and holding up pedestrian traffic.

Art note: Obviously, the Louvre and the Orsay blew me away but I do not adore them for the art, but for the buildings, the art was amazing given the quantity and quality-one cannot help but be impressed. But not unlike my feelings toward post-modern modern art, I feel like seeing a lot of the art in the Parisian museums is like taking a daily vitamin. It makes you a better stronger, more attractive person. This is not to say that I was not moved.

Really, who has not been struck by one of those eerily real Flemish paintings of a dead chicken and the filet of a salmon (joke).

I admit the Pompidou was a jewel, albeit a weirdly shaped one. It looks like a factory that produces smurf torsos or something strange like that. I found that I was drawn to a lot of the industrial design in the Pompidou, the plans for French buildings and the designs living spaces produced in the late 60s. Also there were some really interesting typographers and bookmakers featured in the museum. And one piece, a portrait of some female journalist by Otto Dix aught my eye because the entire painting was executed in various shades of reds except for the skin and eyes, and the woman’s martini on the side table. It made for a very dramatic presentation.

Now for the gossip. I have been staying with Jon in Paris in a wee little studio on rue des Rosiers amidst the falafelteers. The apartment is adorable, a bit dark but great all the same. It seems that I brought with me the curse/blessing of adventures as Jon and I have not stopped having them. My visit started off rather harmlessly as did the adventures. We bumped into various old flames and were kept sufficiently entertained by Mary Alice (a slightly Christian Britney looking blond Vassar grad from laurel, Md) and her troupe of weenie study abroad tagalongs…quickly these three pranksters were fodder for many insults produced by Jon and yours truly as they have, after living here for 2 months, declared themselves bored with Paris. Furthermore they have decided that NYC should be everyone’s city of preference. To this, I said, “Are you kidding?” I have no patience for jaded fashion victim brats who cannot appreciate a cultural center…I am no Francophile…but really.

Things got truly weird when Mary Alice, Jon and I hopped to a bar, narrowly escaping the lifeless mindless banter of the Vassar u.g.’s. Where our hunger and determination lead Jon and marry alike to ask for the peanuts off a table belonging to two English speakers. Little did we know that we would get our peanuts and much much more as we had encountered two members of the Parisian Real World cast…sans cameras of course. Simon and Mallory were their names and the wide-eyed young ones were obviously their types. Simon is a strikingly handsome Irish model he is quite a catch. Mallory is the Middle American sweetheart soccer player whose beauty struck both Jon and M.A. —I however was left rather unimpressed. We were all a little drunk off aperitifs, giddy and confused from the experience. But getting the dirt on this next cast was quite fun I have to admit.

The next adventure is still developing so I can’t give any details. Because of my grueling touring habits I have been forced to take it down a notch…not walking through four arrondissements a day and at least two cultural sights. I am limiting myself to one and one and movement in the metro.