Life and death, wine and chocolate

We missed a couple of days of blogging due to complete mental and physical exhaustion. We slept thru the Gay parade on saturday, emerging around 7pm in time to see the dissapating crowds of jockey-short clad men and rainbow flag waving women wandering thru our neighborhood. (Hey, we're here, we're actually not queer, we got used to it.) We did buy a copy of Cabaret on DVD to add to the flat's odd ecletic library and that certainly should show our pride.

So all the "Sale" signs went up in all the shops this last week and I wish I could get more excited but I'm too busy investing in gelato and wine. We continue to go through museums, two days ago it was the Cluny which holds "one of the finest collections of Medeivil art in the world" and Sunday the Carnavalet which is actually on the corner of our street. At the Cluny I was overhwlemed by my commercial self, wondering why no one had developed salable 'gift' properties out of things other than the widely reproduced Lady and the Unicorn Tapestires. For instance, why had no one thought the 16th century carved and painted 'towel bar' depicting a maiden, couldn't be an exclellent toilet paper holder? I mean, I can see it at the Bed Bath and Beyond now, can't you?

The Carnavalet, holding a chronilogical history of France, was actually the home for Mme Sevigne, for whom our street was named, for the 20 years preceding her death. She was actually an author, a celebrated letter writer, and I found that more than re-assuring as one of my goals for this trip was to finish the novel I have been working on for over two years. I don't expect it will be ready for the editors just yet, but I just wanted to be able to write "The End" while in Paris. I brainstormed the plot and its potential with the girls the other day and they actually both gave me some excellent ideas for furthering the story I readily admit I came here not knowing the end of. In the museum I saw lots of inspriational items, a coat of arms I wanted to levrage for a graphic and the highlight for me, the Fouquet Jewllery Boutique, lovingly reproduced in its 1900 Art Nouveau splendor.

Today, Monday, when many shops and museums are closed, we went to the infamous Pere LaChaise cemetary and joined others making the pilgrimage to seeking Jim Morrison's final resting place. We didn't find it. However, we were successful in locating Fedora's destination of Oscar Wilde's grave. She came prepared with garish magenta lipstick to add her lip prints to the hundreds of others on the massive monolith and left a handful of stones in the Jewish tradition.

We also found Proust (we saw his bedroom reproduced at the Chatavalet) and the Columbarium where Isadora Duncan's ashes were, although we didn't find her specific box among the hundreds. I love cemetaries and always have. This one was extra fabulous with its Gothic crypts and black granite slabs. I appreciated the mix of old and new- 1808 next to 2008- and the Protestants, Catholics and Jews all laying eternally together in peace. Even without the famous, this place was an amazing diarama of history and culture.

Back in the hood we hit the super market and Plez whipped up some pasta and I enjoyed an amazing bottle of wine for 2 euros while we watch 'Chocolat' and ate, well, lots and lots of cheap and sumptious chocolate, happy to be alive and in Paris.

From the desk of Pleasant!

So I'm finally doing a blog!

Day 9 in Paris. Last bag of crack eaten. (It's crackers, really!)

I know this was in high demand, and finally my mom and wonderful beloved sister talked me into sitting down and doing it. They encouraged me to write about the food, being a 'chef-in-training' at home, but what could I say beyond, it's French, and therefore even the sidewalk cafe crap is superior in every way to anything we have at home.

Despite my grave irritation with events such as mom talking to me, my sister demanding cuddles, and being devoured by bugs, Paris is turning out to be a blast. I solved the bug problem by the way, turns out I was sleeping under an open window. Who could possibly have figured that out? Stupid bugs.

So far this week I have said every terrible thought that has stomped through my brain. I have also begun repeating the phrase "Sheath for Jew Harp" constantly because I saw it written on a card in a museum next to a Medieval artifact. This has been my favorite thing in all of Europe and therefore an excellent punch line to nothing in particular.

Next week: Stalking Karl Lagerfeld. Have potential lead on his whereabouts. Stay tuned.

The French has stolen my bucket, which contained cheese.

McD's was AWESOME! Taste just like the one on Sunset Boulevard. Chicken nuggets tasted oddly like chicken, could be French eccentricity or just a bad batch.

Fashion museum was odd. Full of dresses. P and I had fun picking out which ones we would wear to our first, second, and fifth weddings. Jewels were pretty, but we couldn't keep them.

I tried to pocket a white opal the size of a smallish egg, but the police apprehended me before I'd got farther then trying to pierce the glass with my lazer-vision. God these frenchies are greedy.

P is being snooty and refusing to blog, so tonight while she sleeps I will secretly turn on and unplug her laptop from the wall. When she wakes up and attempts to turn it on, there will be on power, and she will be convinced it has broken! This is a brilliant plan that cannot possibly fail.

Today as I attempted to do the Tidy Dance, she violently objected to my choice of soundtrack- Violent Pornography by System of a Down. This is a very peppy song that encourages me to pick things up off the floor! And also to use my TV to bring down democracy!

My demands to go to the Musee de Cluney have been largely ignored...except on the day it was closed. Attempted to take bites of the furniture, the 600 year old buildings, and my sister. Was hit many times.

The temperature is steadily rising as the dryer sings along with mom's ipod, and my chances of getting that war frigate before August decrease. Stupid internet economy. Tonight's activities will include food, more laundry, food, alcohol, yelling, food, my sister being a snootypants, and catching up on the Colbert Report.

I also have a sneaking suspicion that the flowers on this table are fake.

The End

GZ/Arts de la Mode

The line for the D'Orsay at noon was daunting. Seeing the tour buses lining the Seine as we approached from the Tulleries Gardens (where we had exited the metro- photo at right) was a tip off. There was no way we were going to brave that crowd outside- or inside- where I knew from experience it would be frustrating to see the art through the herding tourists. So being agile travelers, we popped open our guide book and decided to wander towards the Lourve and perhaps visit one of the smaller galleries where the 'Mona Lisa Mandatory' crowds would not be.

(And here I recall a passage from a Vonnegut book in which he speaks of his sister Edith's ability to absorb art and its emotional offering in a condensed way. He said she once opined that she could roller skate through the Lourve, zooming past each masterpiece saying "Got it, got it, got it.")

We all easily agreed to visiting the Musee des Arts de la Mode, fashion and decorative arts. Again cheap-the girls free and 8 euro for me-we entered the newly opened Valentino exhibit. On first glance of the pleated, ruffled, shaped and perfect gowns, we all swooned a little, Plez especially, who was a Valentino convert by the end. After a few cases, glass walls in front of life size silver manequins, I turned the corner and spotted the back of a gown I recognized immediately. It was the dress Julia Roberts wore to accept her Oscar in 2001. I am an unapologetic fan, (Pretty Woman is in my Top 10 Films!) and had in fact just watched the awful Runaway Bride on the plane in my insomnia coming across the Atlantic.

It was then that I realized that in addition to the designer's archives there would be dresses worn by women the girls knew of (Audrey Hepburn, Jackie Kennedy's wedding dress to Onassis), some I knew of (NYC socialite Nan Kemper) and others unknown to us, (European Royals.) Some of it was 'old lady-ish' because, of course, it had been commssioned by old ladies. But there were many timeless and wearable gowns, suitable for beauties of any age attending a black tie affair.

Even Fedora (less of a rabid fashion follower,) tolerated the tour and quick walk through the 'Joaillier' exhibit where my heart beat fast to see so many Art Nouveau creations by native son, Lalique. We emerged famished and were planning lunch when both girls looked across the street to spot the familiar Golden Arches and begged to go to see how it was in France. In spite of my better judgment, I agreed- it wasn't very good. (I hope that is the end of the 'fast food in France' experiments.) Afretwards we hoofed up to another church (St. Roche) where I explained that the funny low ladder back chairs were for kneeling and praying.

Another perfect day in Paris. And I smile now thinkng of the juxtaposition of quintessential American icons- Julia Roberts, MacDonalds- with the French icons of Haute Couture and the Lourve and how small the world has become.

GZ- Here's the Church, here's the steeple!

The idea in coming to Paris was to show the girls some culture and history beyond their familiar US experience. But today I got a glimpse of perspective when Fedora (who identifies herself, as does Pleasant, as Jewish) entered a cathedral with me and looked up. Waaaaayyy up. She has not visited many churches, let alone a 17th century early Renaissance style church, one of the 'most beautiful' in Paris, St-Eustace in the Les Halles area. The organist was playing the massive pipe organ and hearing the music we both looked at each other and smiled and found a seat. It turned out to be the requiem for a funeral taking place in one of the side chapels. After a bit she got up and explored the place and when I found her I pointed out some of the things I knew about that kind of architecture. The sun was pouring thru the stained glass rose windows, casting vibrant rainbows on the worn stone floor. Moliere was buried here and Louis XV's famous mistress Marquise de Pompadour was baptized here. Afterwards Fedora said that was the first Catholic church she had been in, (way to start at the top!) and we sat in the park and looked at it and remarked on all the symbolism integrated into its details. 'What do the flying buttresses DO?' she asked. 'They hold up the walls' I answered. 'Probably a good thing then' she quipped.

I spent most of my youthful trips to Europe as a 'History Major' visiting, studying and sitting in ancient churches throughout France and Italy and it was actually the 2nd cathedral for me today, having stepped into St-Paul-St-Louis this morning while I waited for the girls to go back to the flat to fetch something. St-Paul/Louis is at the end of our street, literally, and was built by the then powerful Jesuits beginning in 1627 when Louis the XIII laid the first stone. The remaining jewel was Delacroix's painting, Christ in the Garden of Olives, which dark and dust laden, still had "It". I put my 2 euros in the box and lit a votive under one of the statues of Mary and asked her to put in a good word for me, because I am an equal opportunity spiritualist.

We had walked around the outside of Notre-Dame yesterday (Sunday) knowing we would come back on a less crowded day to go thru it and were probably not going to brave the 422 steps up the tower, even if those awesome gargoyles were waiting up there for us. Pleasant will join us for that one but today she was wondering Les Halles, shopping, because everyone has their own place of worship in Paris.

Fedora

Oh God my legs, my legs.

Today we walked the entire Musee Picasso, and then decided it might be fun to take a look at Notre Dame. 150 miles later, we drag ourselves into a bistro for a plate of protein and a large glass of water. Somehow we got home, and are now attempting to rest through the pain.

I am expressly forbidden to sleep, but mom has passed out on my sister's bed, and Pleasant herself is taking what she calls a "computer nap"- sitting on her laptop, completely catatonic except for her fingers. So far she's the only one with reliable wifi. Stupid Apple slave bitch.

We didn't end up seeing much of the music festival last night, owing to the fact that none of us could stand up. We did see (and hear) the beginnings of an excelent rave going on right outside our building.

An interesting note on Paris traffic: It makes Los Angeles look like an amusement park ride. There are no lanes. Cars go wherever they want anyway they can. The crossing lights mean nothing. People cross the street according to some subconcious signal being broadcasted in French, so that I can do nothing but watch them and do what they do. We talked a bit about renting bikes, but I broke into a cold sweat at the though of trying to do anything in that rush of speeding metal other then avoid it.

The museum was interesting, Picasso reminds me a lot of Salvador Dali, just in terms of wackiness. Those 20th century opium addict nutjobs... I got a goat postcard to send to my dad, the family resemblance is shocking.

My attempts to discuss the philosophies of our various interests have been met with eye rolls, while the descriptions of my career in Puzzle Pirates resulted in outright hostility. Many people have pointed out to me that I'm majoring in a subject that, by definition, no one gives a damn about, but still I try. It does have practical upshots though, I could read the Picassos way better then the other two could.

My sister has been fashiongasming since we got here. I find it unfair that while her interests are uniligual (you can't translate a dress) my own are rather limited by the language barrier. I can't read french nearly at all, which slows down the book collecting sort of extremely. My shopping tolerance is low, very low. It's a form of torture for me. I not only don't care what I wear, but also don't fit into anything. My favorite outfit is a black tank top and a pair of jeans. I can imagine nothing more horrible then being made to try on things I don't like and then seeing how awful I look in them. Don't get me wrong, I like the clothes. But they were not made for people with eastern european genes. Slightly more tolerable, but only slightly, is standing around watching mom and Plez do the same thing. Adding to the fatigue and the boredem is the challenge of being asked what I think, and being forced to claw my way up into reality long enough to give some sort of opinion.

We actually haven't done too much of this so far, so this is mostly preemtive dread based on past experience. Lest I be accused of whining, I really enjoy window shopping, because it goes relativly quick, and you're usually progressing towards a goal of some kind.

Now mom and P are both asleep. Hypocritical bastards.

Anyway mom says not to make this too long, so I'll sign off for now.

TTFN,
Gossip Girl

We arrive with Solstice!

We arrived mid day Friday June 20th to our rented apartment after traveling for about 24 hours. Plez had found this flat for us thru the internet almost a year ago when this whole crazy idea started. Sometimes pictures can be way off, but in this case we were very pleased with what we found at the top of 4 flights of some seriously steep and winding stairs. Furnished in 'antiques' and super comfy beds, the apartment, in a 19th century building, could not be more 'French'!

Once checked in, we hit the showers and fought off the jet lag to head out for a bite at a local bistro where a cold beer and some amazing food welcomed us to Paris. The waiter was charming (required here, I think) and we all swooned for our first taste of the best ham, the best goat cheese, and the best smoked salmon we had all ever enjoyed. Barely able to keep out eyes open, we hiked up those stairs and all crashed- hard- by 6 or 7pm. Of course, that meant we all woke up again a few hours later, and by 2:00 am were sitting around the living room in jammies, wishing we had bought some goodies. Somehow we got back to sleep and began early Saturday, leaving the house by 9:00 am. It is the 21st! Summer Solstice!

Today we wandered- and ate- our way through the nieghborhood, spotting shops and cafes we want to go back to. Blocks from so much history, it was hard to not gasp at every corner, parc and church we passed. This area- the Marais in 4 eme. arr- includes the well known fountain filled park, Place des Vosges, Victor Hugo Museum, and one of my favs from trips here over 20 years ago, the Picasso Museum.

Tonight there is a Music Festival throughout the city, with free entertainment for all.