Rue Velupillaï Prabhakaran

I remember what it was like, living in a posh neighborhood. Two out-of-the-ordinary things happened in the entire 9 months I lived on Boulevard Emile Augier, in the 16th arrondissement.

I noticed that on the weekends, my decrepid (lazy?) neighbor would routinely to let her Bijon Frisé roam free around the block for hours at a time. I would frequently walk down my block to the sight of a dirty white puppy, trickling pee out of confusion and limping around the block in laps.

Then, walking to the bus one night, I noticed a pile of Lychee husks just shy of the trash can. I looked up and down the street, expecting to see a pile of Oyster shells littering the street and foie gras wrappers cluttering up the sewer drains. Ah yes, the dreaded Racaille du 16ème, I thought. I heard that once they threatened to throw a Taittinger bottle-Molotov cocktail, but then realized their parents were waiting for them at home, and they'd better not.

Things have changed a lot since I've moved to Rue du Faubourg St. Denis.

I now find myself defending my neighborhood like a protective mother of a serial killer:

"You just don't understand! But (he/it)'s always been such a nice (boy/neighborhood) !"

Our street, Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, is the epicenter of the French Tamil community (more on this later) and a stone's throw from Gare du Nord. Our apartment is one of my favorite addresses I've ever had. But, there may be a few drawbacks. Let's look at a pro/con list:

Pro: Very cheap rent.
Con: Our address is officially a Public health hazard. According to the decree from the city of Paris posted on our main door, there are exposed electrical wires in our main courtyard, and the third building of the complex is basically crumbling; (Pictures to come, but the group of Tamil youth who stand in front of the 3rd building have deterred me from taking photos). How crumbling? "Being entirely held up by a number of sturdy wooden beams" crumbling.

Con: One of the women from our building was involved in a stabbing that ended up in the courtyard. This would be more frightening were it not the woman that stabbed a man who had 'bothered' her on the street. (He was stabbed in the back and is apparently OK, and she got taken to police headquarters. Also, the 'randomness' of this event seems a little suspicious. Who carries around a switchblade in their purse at 6 p.m.? )

Pro: The fair and balanced commentary of our gardienne. Our gardienne is a drug-addled, mail-stealing creature of the Parisian underworld. She looks like an aged character from a sub-grade production of Les Misérables, with authentic 19th century hygiene. But I never had any actual proof that she was a horrible person until this happened.

Our delicate flower is seen here, hosing down blood after the incident:

When we asked what happened, she offered some delicately woven analysis:
"She's always been such a whore! She's always bringing men to her apartment!" When we asked who the guy was, she suggested that he was "Chinese" or "Arab" and then looked at us awkwardly like she wasn't pulling her least favorite ethnic minorities out of a hat...

Pro: A lively Tamil neighborhood and the best South Asian food I've ever had.

Con: Regularly-occuring violent protests. It's really sad what's happening in North Sri Lanka, and I support people's right to protest, so other than the one time that the tear gas started coming into our apartment, I have no real complaints here, actually. The same may not be said for the guy whose scooter was incinerated just down the block. Or the people who almost got involved in the Antillean/Tamil turf war that started also just outside our window after a recent protest:

(french po po, regulatin')

(We look on as Paris riot police bring the bleepin' ruckus)

But, really, it's a lovely place to live. Come visit?

Plastics: The bad trip.

This is a great example of the Disney cartoons that had a scarily deep impact on my conception of WWII industrial America. If you ask me how America won World War II, somewhere in my mind I'm imagining a small, pants-less cartoon duck welding planes.

Anyways, this is graphically and musically incredible. Also, I refuse to believe that the creators of this cartoon were not on any number of hallucinogens.

(With thanks to ECH for the link. I'll try to post more of these in the future.)

An Open Letter to Petit Bateau

Gentlemen,

I would like to start by thanking you for your contribution to the T-Shirt world. Your T-Shirts are sublime! They are worth clawing one's way through a Galeries Lafayettes sale. I once imported borderline illegal amounts for my friends in college.

But, see, we need to have a talk about your latest ad campaign:



Tell me, what EXACTLY are you going for here? OK, to be clear: it says 'Jazzmine 320 months" and "Paule 24 months"..oh yes may the scalloped edge T shirt reign forever!

...But to express the joy and longevity of your T shirts you use...possibly the two least desirable aspects of Parisian life: Cold women with bad haircuts and bratty children. Seriously?

Don't get me wrong, France, specifically Paris, has some damn adorable children. And they should; I can't think of any other country that has TWO competing children's fashion magazines. It's almost insulting to every legitimate American print media company that is on the verge of collapse. But in France? People are CLAMORING for fashion advice for their toddler. Spring's hottest accessory, your child!

Anyways, so most children run around with little red patent Mary Janes and Dior coats and are generally cute as a button. How did you get a 5 year old child to look so SURLY? I can just imagine the photo shoot:

"YES DARLING! YOU 'AVE JUST 'AD YOUR LOLLIPOP STOLEN! WORK IT! YOU are VVVVerrry CRANKY AND TIRED! YOU MISSED YOUR NAP! YES! YES!"

It makes me sad, guys. I have to pass this bilboard EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I repeat: it makes me sad on my way to work on a daily basis. Can we get a look at the SIZE of it?



I feel a strange compulsion to discuss Sciences Po grades while smoking a cigarette with the girl on the left. And I just want to give that kid a hug. Both are sort of depressing. The only company that succeeds in depressing people into buying their clothes is Calvin Klein. That's merely because being hot and cranky makes a certain amount of sense; you're not being fed! You're being paid to look pouty and emaciated.

Sad emaciated models= high fashion.
Sad emaciated children= Calling children's services.

Anyways, but you know what makes me saddest of all? I just don't get it. I don't think I'll ever get it.
I'm worried I'll never look at this poster and think "Mais, bien sûr! Elles font la gueule, je m'achèterai un T shirt!"

I'm trying here, Petit Bateau. I am REALLY trying to integrate into France. WHY do you have to make this so hard for me? I want answers. Please.

And give your goddamn model a hair cut.

Très Cordialement,
FCH

Your February Reader's Digest.

It's February. Everyone is really miserable about the financial crisis.

These two things are bad enough without posting polemic topics.
Je vous propose, alors, quelque chose de soft.

YOUR FEEL-GOOD FEBRUARY BREAKDOWN:
1. Paris is experiencing a somehow-charming little windstorm, a very sexy tempête.
In its honor, a favorite childhood memory...Scandified:




2. Earlier in the winter, looking at a completely frozen Versailles, my first thought was "I would like to walk 30 minutes into this." In tow were Cesi and James, who have yet to forgive me. In truth, I was trying to find Marie Antoinette's little village, but we did find this:





The sight of Swans landing on ice is something pretty gorgeous. Also, ducks look even cuter when confused and walking on ice.

3. For no particular reason other than that making fun of our dear Cedric is an international sport:

[Open call for a good caption]

4. My new love, a small 50 something Ukelele player I have yet to speak to:

This video, as is their myspace page, does not do them justice, but they are an incredible live experience; many thanks to F for introducing them to me.
(Having issues uploading the video, but check them out on: www.myspace.com/jicbenjjouentgainsbourg )

5. Finally, in response to my last post, I was searching for anything on Larry David and racism (of which there is a bounty of Davidian hilarity), and found this:



See, doesn't Larry David make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?

Someone get Nas on the phone.

I'm not sure what we were discussing, but I said to a friend the other day, "Wow, just when you thought France couldn't get any more racist" to which he replied, "No, I never doubted France could get more racist."

He was right:

So, I was on hold with the French secretariat of Overseas Territories the other day.

A quick global history recap: France still has its tentacles in a number of relatively sexy islands scattered across the Caribbean, Indian and Pacific Oceans, and has its linguistic imprint on half of Africa. Roughly.

So, the hold music is a pleasant classical symphony, and after 30 seconds, a voice tells me:

"You're listening to the Violin Concerto in G major of Chevalier de St. Georges... otherwise known as, "The Enlightened N----"*

I almost dropped the phone. Surely, I must have misunderstood. I mean, in a country with as many very obvious racial problems as France, they wouldn't consciously use this word on the hold service FOR THEIR (former) COLONIES. But, they did.

"So here's how it's gonna work: We'll keep you as a territory, give you the euro, and improve your economic conditions, but we get to use the name we did 300 years ago when we first enslaved and colonized you. Sorry!'

It gets better.
A trip to Wikipedia reveals that Joseph de Bologne, Chevalier de St. Georges, 1745-1799, was a hottie:


..And, "the first European composer of African origin." So, the son of a white plantation owner and a slave was freed and came to Europe and dominated in fencing and composing in the court at Versailles. Pretty sweet. But wait, you say, did he sign his works, "the Enlightened N----" ?

Nope. Quelle surprise!

The hold service simply needed to specify that he was otherwise known as "The Enlightened N----", for no determinable reason. There's a biography coming out with this title; a bunch of biographers seem to think it's appropriate. That's it.

I'm just saying I'm willing to guess he didn't go around calling himself that.


*the word, technically speaking, better translates to "Negro" and not the N word, but I think the point remains the same.

What a douche.

I received a forward the other day.

It was one of those, admittedly; fairly humorous “Men are so silly” forwards. And they are, girlfriend! It went along the lines of:

“Women showering: “Shampoo condition, exfoliate, scrub, blowdry, fluff, clean, exit bathroom”

Men showering: “Grunt; scratch balls, rince hair, leave shower, throw towel on bed. MEN ARE SO GROSS ISN’T THAT HILARIOUS.”

To begin with, I’m not as sure that there is a clean gender divide here. My wet towels seem to love to congregate on my bed, I shave my legs as little as possible, and I’m not a particularly fastidious conditioner-er.

Besides, without going into detail, I’ve had a fair few metrosexual boyfriends. Nosestrips and facial masks-type boyfriends. Anyways.

It occurred to me then that noone really has gone into Parisian showering habits:

IF YOU ARE LUCKY ENOUGH TO HAVE A SHOWER IN YOUR FLAT:

1. Turn on shower, stand outside shivering while water heats. Get spritzed by offshoots of faulty nozzle. Shiver.

2. Enter shower, hurt elbow closing plastic shower door. Hope said door doesn’t fall off.

3. Stand under trickling stream of nozzle. Try to imagine yourself getting clean. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.

4. Apply shampoo, lather, bang elbows on plastic door. Ignore rapidly-forming bruises. Beauty (and Cleanliness) is pain.

5. Note soap suds slowly trickling down body. Double task! Who needs shower gel?

6. Feel fuzzy legs, grab razor. Begin awkard samba to try and reach legs in the 2 sq foot box in which you are standing.

7. Fall over. Get up, attempt shaving legs again, bending leg in ‘crouching stork’ position.

8. Legs half-shaven, feel hot water running out. Leave shower immediately. One leg shaven is as good as two.

9. Repeat process every 3-5 days.

Curioser and Curioser

Ah, Noel.

It's fairly calm, and anything but tacky. Damn you, Paris, and your overbearing good taste. I can only compare it to the small town of Nyborg, Denmark where I spent late November; a town full of people I adore, but also a town that decorates by attaching plush, life-sized gnomes to every building.

It's borderline horrifying. Essentially, the town hall decided to deck the halls with festive suicidal midgets. Nothing says 'Christmas' like small people trying to fling themselves out windows!

Now, Paris does let itself go a little bit, when it comes to storefronts.

Behold, the Moschino Cheap & Chic window on Rue de Grenelle:


What isn't fabulous about this? Adorable Christmas figures plunged into a life of destitution and crime after seeing their portfolios disintegrate: "C'EST LA CRISE" ! And on some basic level, everyone passing by is forced to realise that this is the only way they could afford those frustratingly cute aubergine dresses on display.

Thank you, Moschino. For reminding us of JUST HOW POOR WE REALLY ARE. (Note the gnome playing look out in the corner...maybe he'll migrate North to Denmark to off himself once his life of crime fizzles).

And then. There's Galaries Lafayette.
They've never disappointed in the past. They've been consistently creative and yet, it seems they've passed the 'creative' mark and gone straight to..well...uhh...drugs..



Oh YES, those really are babies smoking opium pipes on top of that mushroom. Now THAT is the spirit of Christmas, my friends: Newborns smoking Class A drugs. It makes me feel all warm and cozy inside.

The biggest question here is what this is supposed to sell? Crack? Baby dolls? Crack babies? I'm willing to guess this window has the opposite effect its designers intended:
Instead of ushering their children to see this window, if I were a parent I would corral my kids away..."SHIELD YOUR EYES, JIMMY, NOTHING TO SEE HERE! REMEMBER WHAT WE LEARNED ABOUT NOT ACCEPTING 'CANDY' FROM STRANGERS?!"

...Merry Christmas from Paris.