lanes of culinary delight

Although I have been lucky enough to be acquainted with French markets since I was a wee lil babie, today I fell in love with le marché all over again.

Every Sunday morning, while nearby supermarkets close their doors, Place Monge opens up with an abundance of fruits, meats, veggies, seafoodies, cheese, leafy plants, discount clothing, and make-you-want-to-keel-over-and-die-of-happiness specialty ethnic dishes.

As you turn the corner, the smells of this place climb into your body and take over. Walking up and down the lanes of culinary delight takes you to a temporary place of ecstasy. Actually going up to the vendors is slightly intimidating, especially when you fumble with your veggie vocab -- today I went up and asked for "zucchini" in a french accent, instead of courgette, fail -- but, happy to share their treasure with the people, they greet you with des grands sourires.

Now I'm off to bite into my shiny grapefruit, bake my Brussels sprouts, and chop my basil... ha, or watch my chef-extraordinaire Isa do it.

crisis at the distributeur

So I love Paris, but there are some freaky people who call this place home --- old men with wigs spritzing themselves with lots n lots of perfume, Sarkozy, my roommates, homeless people with bunnies, et cetera. Then there are the freakers who try to steal your shizz. Last week my roommate was pick pocketed in the metro, and this week... was my turn.

I was on my way to Sciences Po to sign up for my Ultimate Frisbee course (woot woot), and I had to get some argent out of the ATM to be able to pay for the class. As I approached the distributeurs I saw a group of kids - girls and boys from about 9 to 13 - kind of messing around, pressing buttons, some of them smoking. I really hate stereotyping, but for lack of better more-informed words, they looked like gypsy children. [complete side note - check out this legit gypsy jazz guitarist from back in the day, Django Reinhardt] And although I was naive enough to go up to the ATMs, I still kept my messenger bag safely snug under one arm.


I put my card in and discretely - just as the machine tells me I should - typed in my pin. When I got to the screen where you pick out what amount you'd like to deplete from your account, one of the older girls reached over and tried to push one of the higher amounts. Had I thought up this story in my head, I would imagine myself standing there like a wuss, scared out of my mind, frozen, letting this child intimidate 300 euros out of me. Fortunately, I don't know myself that well.

I proceeded to forcefully grab her hand and tell her "Non" and "Arrête" -- after-wards I wondered if arrêtez, the formal way of saying stop, would have been more appropriate (?) -- but she continued to reach over and try and get some money money money. All the while Yelle's dance-tastic pop hit "A cause des garçons" is playing in my right ear, as the left side of me frantically tries to find the CANCEL button. Finally, after about 4 or 5 of these exchanges, her posse started to retreat and she followed suit.

I got my card out and proceeded to shakily walk the streets of Paris with a "don't mess with me right now or I will drop kick you" look on my face. And well - so far, so good.

$

Don't you just hate it when you find out about something uber special after it happened, and thus you are unable to be a part of its specialness? Exhibit A:

This past Sunday, Ke$ha was live at Queen, a club on the Champs Elysee in Paris. Although a tad shamed by my love for Ke$ha --- pronounced like the beginning of ketchup but then with a 'shaa' at the end instead of a 'tchup,' ya dig? --- I can't deny that she intrigues me. I've listened to the tracks of her debut album Animal, and honestly I'm not supper impressed - although I love jamming to "TiK ToK" and "Dinosaur" makes me giggle. But I just dig her style.


The dollar sign did throw me off at first, but it turns out she put it there out of irony in that she's the female voice of Flo Rida's "Right Round" and got zero cash for it. From her family's appearance on The Simple Life in 2005, to her dumpster-diving episodes, to her tours with Calvin Harris(!) and Mickey Avalon (!!!), I just think she's cool.

Some have premonitioned that Ke$ha is going to be the new Lady Gaga, after she topped Gaga's 10, 859 weekly radio airplay record by a few hundred plays, but I don't think they flow in the same stream. While Lady Gaga aims to be revolutionary and break barriers (which she is doing quite fabulously with), Ke$ha's chillin and just not giving a fuck.

I look forward to see what she gets into next.

nouvelles passions

So with the new year came the development of a few new passions...

Men's Fragrance

Having a male roommate brings a lot of new things to life... one of which is man-smells. I have become semi-obsessed with Chris' cologne "Brit" by Burberry. Before heading out on the town, I have to sneek into his bedroom and spritz on its deliciousness. And yes, it gets the job done.



Buses

I used to be a metro gal. And well, it still holds a place in my heart... but a tiny bit smaller place than the bus. The Parisian bus system is just as developed as its metro, a tad bit more complicated to navigate, but its effing wonderful. When you stare out of the window, instead of seeing concrete walls covered in dust and sketch-tastic lights, you see boulangeries, fluffy dogs, and the Eiffel Tower --- no real comparison. And, when it's bloody cold outside and the idea of a walking tour of Paris makes you want to cry, the ceiling-to-waist windows of the buses are a perfect alternative. I suggest the route 63 - it hits all the big beauties of Paree.



Bridges 

There is something super magical about them bridges. This is a photo I took in Toulouse this past weekend of Le Pont Neuf, which borders the wondrous Prairie des Filtres. The entire weekend there was wonderful, but this bridge was definitely a highlight. I just get really happy when I am on a bridge, there is a certain mysteriosity about it. In Paris, all of the bridges going to and from Île de la Cité are splendid: Petit Pont, Pont Neuf, Pont Notre Dame, et autres.

love love love

transformation

Strike two. Another two months went by: so I am a failure, but at least I am consistent! No, but for reals, my blogular issues are now coming to an end. Why? Because one of my resolutions is to prendre soin de mon blog --- along with working my French, being health-responsible, and others --- and unlike your regular misses lazy, instead of it taking a month for my new years resolutions to fizz out, it takes a month to get them started! wahoo

I have realized that my problem is that I have been addressing blogging as I would address painting a wall-sized canvas --- similar to the rideau de scene "La Tricorne" of Salvador Dali, currently exposed at the Musee des Abattoirs in Toulouse --- which is super scary and seems like a mega task; so instead of starting on my work of art, I would rather drop the brush and go eat a sandwich. I have now replaced this way of thought with une nouvelle in which I will address blogging as a once-a-dayish happy moment of pause and expression, just as it has always been meant to be. Now doesn't that sound nice?

So, to begin: a little praise.

A Nous Paris is a paper publication distributed in the metro every Monday morning, and it is the best read in town. Its pages are filled with the most exciting information on what's going down in the city. Every one of its sections is edited with style and enthusiasm --- I don't know how I would tackle this capital without it. My personal fave is its "Save the Date" section in which A Nous suggests one interesting activity: festival to go see, shop to browse through, literature to buy... for each day of the week.

This week, in their "Affaires Culturelles" section, I learned of the video expo of Keren Cytter in the 19th at Le Plateau. For her first solo exposition in France, the Israeli artiste is showing her short narratives, a melange de genres revolving around "the often tragic fate of different people mired in the violence of their relationships." Sounds a bit troubling, but unmistakably intriguing.

The cover of this week's A Nous Paris. Not my favorite, not going to lie --- but it's truly impossible for me to hate on this glorious publication.



See you tomorrow (ah!!!)