couple places to hang

Sciences Po's winter vacay starts tomorrow.  I decided to keep the week quite chill --- just going to a couple places to hang:

Friday to Sunday :: London-town

{with a touch of Gaga saturday nuit !! ! !!!!)

Monday to Wednesday :: Prague-a-licious

Thursday to Friday :: ay ay Vienna

Saturday to Monday :: Buda Buda Buda Buda Pest-in' errywhere

I plan to spend the rest of my evening rummaging through mes habilles, fashion-showing a bit, getting all the ensembles ready, and laying in bed - cause I will be too excited to snooze.

à bientôt

see you soon

brzy se uvidíme

bis bald

viszontlátásra hamarosan

 

!!

a wave of grandeur and beauty in the French ocean of literature

I feel extra French right now.  I’m drinking my 50 cent café that I bought out of one of the many coffee vending machines of Sciences Po and reading about the life and works of Victor Hugo.  Today he was the subject of my ‘Political History: ideas, cultures, and behaviors’ class.  We mainly discussed how his intellectual life leaned on his political life and vice versa.  The man was quite legit.  He published his first poem at 17.  seventeen.  At seventeen I was chasing Moxie through the back yard and spilling nail polish.  Way to outdo me Victor.

Although Hugo is seen as a heroic figure in the support of the republican ideal, his political leanings actually started off as quite conservative, placing him as more of a monarchist.  However by the time the 1848 revolution rolled around, Hugo had witnessed and experienced so much oppression, both in his artistic and political life, that he became a strong supporter of the Republic.  So much so that when Napoleon III undertook a coup d’état in 1851, restoring a second monarchy in France, Victor peaced out to Guernsey, an island in the English channel, for 19 years in protest.  While he was living the island-life, he wrote several pamphlets insulting Napoleon the third.  He only went back to the motherland when Napoleon was ousted with the birth of the Third Republic.

Author of Les Misérables, Notre Dame de Paris, and a bajillion of other works, Victor Hugo’s eloquent words were a wave of grandeur and beauty in the French ocean of literature.  A quote I love from Hernani, a drama he wrote in 1830:

Tout marche, et le hasard corrige le hasard.

De là vient l'équilibre, et toujours l'ordre éclate.

"everything goes on and chance corrects chance.

Thence - balance, and order always bursts from it."

He was also mega into not-the-death-penalty, universal suffrage, and women’s rights.   However, Mister Hugo apparently had a mistress, or lots of mistresses.  What a shame.  He died in 1885 and his body in now at the Panthéon, a former church transformed in to a burial place for the grands hommes of France.  It is about a 6 minute walk from my apartment, so I’m going to go give him a talking-to.

do cool people trip?

Tripping sucks, I often look back at the object that caused the stumble (often just my other foot shh) and give it a big 'eff yu'.  Is there such a thing as a classy trip?  Can your trip have swagger?  I took this investigation as no joke.  First I elicited the help of Yahoo! Answers and got the following responses:

"No, cool people have impeccable balance. And once they do fall down, they are deemed no longer cool."

"yup, but most of the time they are too confident to be embarrassed so less people would notice"

"Yes, but they pick themselves up quickly, hoping not to be seen, in most cases."

"Well it happened to me yesterday, so yes."

and my personal fave:

"Yea man, they show do - but
only the hot ones have sense enough to get up."

...because ugly people just chill on the ground

I also have a connection to this super rapide cool cellphone-text answering enterprise (thanks Patrikko !! ) and their exclamation was:

"homer simpson might say: No! No-no-no-no-no-no!  Well, ok, YES!"

I do not really feel like I have gotten to any conclusions.  If a revelation comes, updates will follow.

a better story

I have fallen in love.  with a hilarious blog- The Blake Wright.  It's this graphic designer guy from Dallas, TX, working for "The Brand Hatchery," an advertising company.  He makes comics.  and they're so out there that they make perfect sense.  I can't get enough of 'em.

 

Ah!  ..and the "about" of the advertising company he works for:

"We tell stories and that’s about as technical as we’re going to get with it. You want to tell the masses of the world what it is that you do. That’s a story. You tell us. We tell them. All of them. It’s that simple. We tell those stories with pictures, paragraphs, pixels and whatever else we deem necessary to make people stand up and listen or sit down and talk. At the end of the day, we simply help you tell a better story"

{fabuleux}

uprooted from the South and thrown in the middle of Paris' Latin Quarter

I went café hopping today.  Okay, well, I only went to two, but that just sounds cool.  I wish I could give you the names of these fantastics... but France doesn't name their cafés, unless I'm a tard (which is mega possible) and just haven't spotted the letters... on the 53 of them that I pass daily.  Anyways.. the first one I have been to before, really quaint.  It's a continuously crowded hole in the wall with dark wooden furniture and delicious patisseries.  You see all sorts of people there - young couples, old couples, lone old people, dads and daughters...  and the staff are appropriately Parisian-stressed workers.  After reading a first chapter in the book I have to lire for my music and politics class -  "L'âme de Hegel et les vaches du Wisconsin" by the italian writer Alessandro Baricco - which is actually proving to be rather interesting, I started feeling the pressure of other customers wanting to sit down, and so I paid for my delish café au lait and made my way out of the cozy establishment.

On the way back to my apartment I decided I hadn't satisfied my café fix and so I stopped at another.  This one I had always been intrigued by, but had never been in before.  It is much more well-lit, less crowded, and not as cutesy as the first, but I fell in love with it nonetheless.  As I savored my pain au chocolat, I realized this place had been uprooted from the South and thrown in the middle of Paris' Latin Quarter.  The staff were humbly dressed, super smiley, and there was a little band of older merry hommes chattering at the bar.  I miss the warmth of the South, it was nice to find it again, in my Parisian backyard.   

{side note: I really love cereal}

     

refreshing

I love rearranging my room, but I can't really do that here - the blog was a perfect substitute.  So super duper refreshing is the feeling I get when I look at a newly organized web page.  hallelujah

Today has been rather refreshing all together - even on the academic front.  My second prof for my "Cultural Triangulations between Africa, Eruope, and North America" course finally arrived today, Mike Ladd.  He was absent the first two weeks of class because he was on tour in New York.  That's right, my prof is famous... and not in the i-am-an-important-uppity-diplomat way that most professors are at Sciences Po, but in the cool-spoken-word-performer kind of way.

He is a lefty(! - not sure why i like this, but i do) and today he taught us about "Negrophilia," the term used to describe the interesting fascination European's had with black culture in the 1920s.  After class, I ran to a computer to listen to his stuff, I'm impressed.  He's collaborated with lots of other artists - pianist and composer Vijay Iyer, the german electronica group Terranova, english rapper Juice Aleem - and has a genre that's hard to pin down.  Apparently he was a drummer in a punk band in the 80s.

I can't believe he's my teacher.  queered (cool + weird)

full full full

Books have trapped me...and not as in the good happy books that inspire you and bring you joy, but the bad ones filled with political theories and long histories of German nationalism.  Granted, sometimes these bad books can bring you de la joie, but right now all they're bringing me is stress vestibules and lack of sleep-dee-zeep.

I am not the only known victim of these trappings.  Let me introduce you to the Collyer brothers, Homer and Langley.  They moved to Harlem in 1909 with their doctor pops and former-opera singer mama.  After their parents passed, the brothers stayed in their family home.  When their fam moved into the neighborhood, it was quite fashionable, but as time went on the fashion faded and the brothers turned into hermits. These crazies would set booby traps around their place and board up their windows, spending their time collecting a plethora of newspapers, instruments, furniture, fabrics, cats...their dwelling was full full full.


In 1947, Homer was found dead, and after a couple of weeks, including a manhunt leading the police to nine different states, and the removal of lots n lots of garbage/treasures, Langley's decomposed body was finally discovered only ten feet away from where his brother died.    


Now "Collyer mansion" is a term used by firefighters to describe an overpacked home.  I wonder what word creation I'll leave behind.
    

and love wins again

A Valentine's Day well spent:

Wake up to a knock on the door from your stylish horse-farm-owning aunt, in Paris for three hours before she boards a plane to Havana for a salsa sejours, slash, to see off one of your cousins soon to be married to a 21 year old Cuban, followed by croissants, clementines, and coffee.

Step Two: Wander through the Muséum national d'Histoire naturelle as you snap photographs of you chilling next to giraffe re-constitutions and giant crocodile skeletons, and giggle at your peeps who are faux-ice-skating on the smooth wooden floors.   

Take the Metro 5/then 2 to Montmartre, search for food, settle with a Mickey D's, and then continue to Pigalle where you mimic a paparazzi-er as your fourteen-year-old (but looks like he's eleven) cousin walks by the not-as-cute-as-the-movie Moulin Rouge and the red-neon-lit Sexodrome. 

Stop by the Tour Saint-Jacques to pick up a fellow Franco-American and search for the Carnaval/ Chinese New Year défilé, fail, and end up in a crowded café with a crème chatting about past loves.

Quick trip to Notre Dame to enjoy its majestic-ness, filled with soothing organ rhythms. 

Round off the night with a telephonic version of hot potato.  Sprinkle in a jam: Rilo Kiley's Silver Lining - to remember that you're better off.

That's what I call a winner.  and the skies were blue.

swirling particles

I woke up 31 hours ago.  Had to pull an all-night-start-and-finish-an-exposé-inlessthan10hoursbeforeit'sdue for my politics class at 8 this morn.  Afterward, in my cultural triangulations (!) class I saw itsy-bitsy swirling particles above Monsieur Pierrepont's spectacular touffe of hair.  I think it might have been his aura.

Other swirling particles of happiness to look forward to: the film Dear John.  Ever since Step Up gave me the spark I needed to pursue my life-long dream of street dancing, Channing Tatum has held a most special place in my coeur.  Dear John's "dethroning" of Avatar is quite impressive, but even more so is Chan's jawline.  Ya, I am in slight-mourning of his fading boyish looks as he continues to... age, but there's something about the mister that will forever keep me holding on.

Gahhh! Please watch this interview.  He's just precious... in that manly way that makes you want to be protected/faiped by him.

Too bad the film doesn't come out in Paris until years from now... to illegally download, or not to illegally download?

only in France...

The Parisian metros change their wall-sized ads every week-or-so. This week, they're incredible.

The mattress company Dunlopillo's ads read: "difficile de s'aimer ailleurs que sur un dunlopillo" ["difficult to make love other than on a dunlopillo"] accompanied by photos of stereotypical sexual lieus in the home - the couch, the sink, the washing machine... - topped with comfy-looking mattresses. Ha, only in France.

Here is an older ad from the same company:

Translation: "Making love on a 100% Naturalia Dunlopillo mattress significantly preserves the environment" and in smaller font "because during this time man is not using his car, he is not genetically modifying corn, he is not watering his lawn, he is not letting the water run as he brushes his teeth, he is not building a nuclear power plant, he is not heating up his mashed potatoes in the microwave, and he is not hurting the penguins."

Ah, utterly divine...Vive la France.

paris des rêves

Yesterday, after standing in an über-ridiculously long line, I walked through the most enchanted free (!!) exposition. Housed at Hôtel de Ville, or Paris' city hall, Izis: Paris des Rêves, displays the photography of the Lithuanian artist, born Israëlis Bidermanas, spanning from his beginnings with portraits, to his Paris Match days, past Chagall, and into his wondrous world of the circus.

The man was in love with this capital; and through his often b&w photos, his amour is easily seen. I soaked it up.

« Pourquoi Paris ? Parce que Paris excitait mon imagination. C’était la Ville lumière. Pour moi, tout se passait à Paris… Nous étions attirés par la France comme pays de l’Esprit. La Liberté, l’Égalité de l’homme et la Culture, c’est ça qui nous faisait rêver »

The expo runs until the end of May, so there is time, but if I were you, I'd be on my way, running, right about now.

sunshinedom

Today was an epic sunshine day in Paris. I forgot how friggin' happy it was to walk down a street lined with bright-faced people - pausing in the outdoors out of pleasure, instead of duty. Although I was sporting a scarf, "winter" jacket, and boots, it felt like summertime. The idea of keeping my giganto window open had almost faded --- glad it's back.


Sunshine is not only a good source of Vitamin D, strengthening our bones, muscles, and immune system - oh my! - but it is also a good source of musical delightfulness. Check out "Sunshine" from Atmosphere's album Sad Clown Bad Summer Number 9.

"whoa let it shine" ...

corny quirky suburban white kid

So I was web-world browsing and came across Asher Roth's name, which reminded me that he had an album out there that I hadn't yet explored. I jammed to "I Love College" a while back [side note::check the legit remix to this song by an up-and-comer from Boston, Sam Adams], but was just now able to thoroughly follow up on Asleep in the Bread Aisle. And boi, am I glad that I did.


I really love all twelve tracks -- I wouldn't even feel right stating favorites, they're all all-that. Oh, fine - "As I Em," "She Don't Wanna Man," and "Fallin" - yummy. His smooth voice and chill rhythms provide a completely satisfying musical moment. Plus, touches of Cee-lo and Busta Rhymes render the album indestructible.

The self-proclaimed "corny quirky suburban white kid" released two mixtapes previous to this album - Believe the Hype in 2006 and The Greenhouse Effect in 2008 - both of which got him attention. Until hearing Jay Z's "Hard Knock Life" Annie sample (!!!) and falling in love with hip hop, Asher was jamming to Oasis and Dave Matthews. His unique chemin to the music is understood through his simple but highly-politicized lyrics.

When it comes to his industry, he says he is "a fan first." Well Mr. Roth, same here, glad you're there with us.

one notch higher on the maturity scale

Today at Sciences Po the smaller conférence style courses began their semester -- yayyyy learning! - but in between "Musique et Politique" and "Dessin" (an art class I was able to get into! !!) , I swung over to Pigalle to visit Musée de l'érotisme, the erotic museum of Paris.

In one word, "Whoa." First of all, the walk from the metro to the museum is bordered by sex shops and older women propositioning men to enter "Pussy's Lap Dance" -- semi-uncomfortable. When I entered the museum I was greeted by the familiar tracks of Madonna's 2000 album Music, which made me feel safe again. The 7-floor tour that followed was well, interesting. The museum offers much erotica - from ancient figurines to contemporary figurines, to odd painful-looking furniture, to photographs, to decorated dishes, to old porn, to art expos: if you can imagine it, it's probably there.

I realized that I am a bit of an immature little child when it comes to these things, and although it was educational and quite captivating [except for Antoine Bernhart's mega nasty expo that coupled too much blood with too much privates], I think this musée is one that I'll just reserve one visit for.

I do feel a little older though - I'm now one notch higher on the maturity scale --- just 17,342 more notches to go.