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.

Secret socialist wins election!

Meanwhile, over in Paris, A PS (Socialist Party) poster notes, "Obama did it.."


Somewhere in Paris, a sad lonely Republican ex-pat is thinking to himself, 'If only we could have fed this to the assclowns running the McCain campaign BEFORE the election?' 

Ah, the desperate attempts to color Obama as a socialist (as if that's a bad thing?) and a Muslim (again, patently offensive to suggest that's a bad thing) didn't work. And he's our president. I'm so happy about this, people, I almost put an smileyface emoticon there. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Congratulations, America; this snobby ex-pat has god a bad case of hope and it feels good. 

The chicks are TOTALLY going to dig this.

It's become unbearable.

The only thing worse than waiting these 5 days until the election is being in a country where, surprisingly, people are allowed think about other things.

I've become a social pariah at dinner parties; if anyone dare utters 'America' I climb onto my soapbox, start gesticulating wildly and throw out overarching truths about the election. 

"La base américaine est un MYTHE crée par Karl Rove en 2004...!!"

I never realized how much I enjoyed pontificating until approximately August 2008. I mean, how DARE they have an opinion, they CAN'T UNDERSTAND MY PAIN. No non-American (save for maybe, Iraqis and Afghans, and a smattering of other nationalities..) understands the trauma of 2004! 

I don't care if you read the NYTimes MORE often than I do, WERE YOU IN PALM BEACH COUNTY IN 2000? I DIDN'T THINK SO.

I have become a woman obsessed. I compulsively reading every online media source that even vaguely provides information on the outcome.

Blogging about this any more would just feed the cycle of insanity. To distract myself, and you, kind reader, a potpourri of life these days...

1. Oh angst, thy name is some dude named 'Aaron'



Waiting in line for my flight to America the other week, I became aware of this gentleman in front of me. Fat, plumply, large, loud, American and about my age. He's wearing a backpack with HUGE tags from various ski resorts in North America. Now, we all know how I feel about self-glorifying skiiers. This guy already was already creeping up the douchebag scale.

Then, seeing a way to skip the line, picks up his backpack and says to the patiently waiting queue:

"AU VWA, SUCKERS!"

...it was precisely at this moment, when I was silently willing his head to explode that I noticed his HAT. Fresh off some Oktoberfest (totally AwEsOme wOoOo) drinking tour, he felt the need to BUY and WEAR a hat with a Little Plush Beer Stein glued to the side.

Not only that, the Little Plush Beer Stein had a plume attached, representing, of course, beer. On a hat. I never thought one sartorial object could say something so clearly, but apparently this hat CAN say ' I enjoy the fact that I have a beer gut at 21, don't shower, and have the intelligence of a raccoon. Also, I really enjoy Phish and Guster."


2. Where have all the Good Men Gone...?



...they've been processed, canned and sold for 2 euros at a market in Belleville.


3. For Your Moment of Zen, a great moment in the history of American song, brought to you by A.W. and M.K-S, at the Morikami Gardens in Delray Beach...

"French public said to support Obama's exit strategy"

...toward a lasting paix in Iraq.