Le Blagueur à Paris

The blogger formerly known as Le Blagueur?

2009-03-11T15:21:00.012+01:00

Friends, the time has come to tenderly kiss Le Blagueur goodnight.

This doesn't mean that I'm done scribbling. Quite the contrary - I'm doing more freelance writing than ever before, and posting the spillover at megzimbeck.com

Please stop by if you'd like to continue to read about my adventures in Paris and beyond. You can subscribe to those posts with the RSS feed here. And thanks sincerely for all of your visits and comments over the years - you've made this first blog experience very special.

At Dawn, in Paris

2008-11-05T18:04:00.002+01:00

In the Male Bag

2008-10-08T08:37:00.011+02:00

I always wondered how people get suckered into doing product reviews. And then I found this in my inbox:

Hello,

I'm the webmaster of http://www.peloop.com
I wanted to know if by any chance you would be interested in doing an unbiased review of our site http://www.peloop.com on your blog http://parisblagueur.blogspot.com/

If you agree you can choose between receiving a product sample or receiving a payment.

If you choose the product sample instead of the payment the sample is yours to keep and you don’t need to send it back.

The product sample that you can get is Peloop - a penis enhancer and you can see it there: http://www.peloop.com

Please let me know if you are interested.

Thank you
F. B

So let's hear it: should I accept this exciting offer? Take the cash or try the Peloop out on myself? I'm not exactly sure how it will work with my parts, but the device's "air vitamins" and "growth rays" sound like they could benefit just about anyone...

Cheap Paris: these buttes are made for walking

2008-10-05T19:14:00.018+02:00

Paris on the Hoof
More than any other activity, unbridled strolling brought magic to my first Paris visit. Four years and approximately 1200 km later, it's still one of my favorite things to do. I'm far from alone in my fanaticism. When I asked some of my favorite local bloggers about cheap fun in the City of Light, "walking" was their #1 response.

Clotilde Dusoulier is part of the choir. The author of the blog Chocolate & Zucchini and the guidebook Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris says that "Paris is a very walkable city and I think it's the best way to enjoy it, an optional camera in hand, trying to spot quirky details or hidden courtyards, and indulging in what's called lèche-vitrine in French -- window-shopping (literally, licking shop windows) -just admiring the displays of specialty food shops and getting inspired."

The author of Ask a Frenchman! has a similar perspective. "My favorite thing to do in Paris and it doesn't cost any money at all is to just walk the streets of the city and discover new neighborhoods, new areas. In my opinion, the best thing about Paris is that it's a very diverse city, and it's sad that some people (and even some Parisians) just stick to the few neighborhoods that they know and never venture elsewhere. So just go to a part of town you don't know and walk around. Don't be afraid because you can't get lost in Paris. If that happens, walk until you reach a bigger street or avenue, and a Métro or bus stop will be around the corner sooner or later." For those who don't want to throw all caution to the wind, here are a few general areas that I find to be great for walking:

Along the Seine between Hôtel de la Ville and the Louvre (1st & 4th)
From the Canal Saint-Martin to Parc de la Villette (10th & 19th)
From the Marché d'Aligre to the Promenade Plantée (12th)
From the Panthéon down to the rue Mouffetard (5th)
Just about anywhere in the Marais (3rd & 4th)
The backside of Montmartre (18th)
The Butte-aux-Cailles (13th)

It should go without saying that you'll need comfortable shoes for this. Ugly orthopedics aren't necessary, but a day of cobblestone strolling shouldn't be done in high heels. In addition to the right footwear, a walking guidebook makes an excellent accessory. I've used all three books in the Around and About Paris series to guide my own city strolling.

Walking and Licking
As Clotilde mentioned, walking around often entails some window shopping, or as the French say, lèche-vitrine. The author of the blog Une Nouvelle Vie de Boheme takes the idea one step futher by targeting the most exclusive shopping street in the city. "When I'm feeling particularly poor I like to walk down the Avenue Montaigne (8th) and go into all the glam shops... even if I were rich I wouldn't spend €800 on a tank top, so I can just laugh at the whole thing."

A more literary suggestion comes from the French musician who writes the blog David F. Keller. He recommends the marché aux livres anciens et d'occasions, which has incredible old books on sale every Saturday and Sunday in the Parc George Brassens (15th). They're beautiful to look at, even if you're not buying. The park itself, which sits on the site of a former slaughterhouse, is also worth a visit.

The markets I like to walk through have legumes in place of livres. This city wouldn't be the same without its outdoor food markets, and touring one is good fun even if you're not planning to cook. There are hundreds around the city, but here are some favorites:

Marché Raspail (6th) - organic and expensive. Sundays 9am-2pm. Métro: Rennes.
Marché Bastille (11th) - the city's largest with a huge range of produce and specialty products. Thursdays 7:00-2:30. Sundays 7am-3pm. Métro: Bastille.
Place d'Aligre (12th) - in addition to the indoor market, a sprawling outdoor market operates on Tuesday and Saturday morning. Métro: Ledru-Rollin.
Marché biologique Batignolles (17th) - plenty of unusual produce that you won't find elsewhere. Saturday 9am-2pm. Métro: Rome or Place Clichy.
Marché Place des Fêtes (19th) - brimming with immigrants and excellent produce at low prices. Tuesday, Friday and Sunday. Métro Place des Fêtes

Additional Reading
Blog Posts
Photowalking Paris
A Walk Through Paris with Joanna Walsh
Books
Around and About Paris (volumes 1-3)
Walking Paris: Thirty Original Walks In and Around Paris
Frommer's 24 Great Walks in Paris
Markets of Paris
Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris

About Cheap Paris
This series is being compiled with the help of a host of local bloggers. Be sure to check out their own websites for additional inspiration:

Ask a Frenchman!
A Brilliant Life
The Bold Soul
Chocolate & Zucchini
David F. Keller
Decoding Franglais
Eye Prefer Paris
Kung Fu Dana
Maîtresse
Mu Foo
Paris Parfait
Polly-Vous Français?
Une Nouvelle Vie de Boheme

Cheap Paris Calendar
Free and cheap events are marked on the scrolling calendar below. Email me if you have something to add to our list.

Cheap Paris Map
Places mentioned in this series are marked below:
View Larger Map

Friends don't let friends drive Segway

2008-10-02T17:18:00.013+02:00

I just received a newsletter from the city that's pimping a "great" way to see Paris..
.
Seriously folks: don't do it! Barelling down the sidewalk wearing a helmet and a reflective vest is not the way to make friends with the locals.

Parisians will not look upon your SUV version of walking as "innovative." They will be thinking "fatlazyamerican" or whatever that translates as in French.

"But the people in the brochure look so happy!" you say. Don't be fooled - these people are models. Real-life users of Segway have pies thrown at them. Dogs poop purposefully in their path. Batallions of baguette-waving and under-employed youth chase them wherever they go.

You've been warned.

Fun with Gmail

2008-09-30T17:34:00.015+02:00

I tend to use Gmail as a sort of notebook if I'm online and can't be bothered to look for paper. As a result, I currently have 154 draft emails that contain scribbles in various stages. I just took a moment to sift through a pile of these and came across this electronic scrap:

there is no way jenny is a guidance counselor

blowjob in the car

wichita kansas!! they don't play lacrosse in wichita.

half a million hits - ha!

tilly and the wall

I will be mightily impressed with anyone who can make sense of this and name the subject matter. Any guesses?

....................

Ding-ding-ding! The relatively anonymous "J" has hit the nail on the head. Those electronic half-rants were made while watching the first episode of the new 90210.

A few annotations to the original list:

there is no way jenny is a guidance counselor.

By "jenny" I of course meant Kelly (Jenni Garth), who in the original series was a bit of a hayride. I have a hard time accepting that she's now shaping minds in a public school. On the other hand, she was always very self-aware and had a way with words. Remember when she told Brandon that "I don't know if I should let myself feel the feelings that I'm starting to feel, think the things that I'm thinking..." ? Ok, I didn't either. But this Brandon + Kelly Appreciation Site totally reminded me.

blowjob in the car

Remember the old show, and how Donna's dyslexia was considered a hot plot line? One of the first scenes in the updated 90210 finds Annie, a new transplant from the midwest, spying her old summer fling in the school parking lot. Sounds a bit like Grease, no? Annie/Sandy squeals and runs over to the SUV just as a girl, who had previously been making out under Ethan's dock, raises up and wipes her chin. Whamma whamma whamma huh!

wichita kansas!! they don't play lacrosse in wichita.

Annie's brother Dixon (full name Dixon Wilson, aka the posh British accountancy firm who fired Petite Anglaise), is excited to bring his lacrosse skills - which he honed back in Wichita - to the new high school team. Now, maybe they roll a little differently down in Wichita, but anybody in Kansas City who admitted even knowing what lacrosse was (much less excelling at it) was likely to get his ass beat. Hollywood writers: don't be so sloppy! I'm happy to offer my services as a flyover culture consultant. Just the same as you do for cop shows, but with spit cups instead of guns.

half a million hits - ha!

This one is my favorite. The character Silver has a gossipgurlesque blog in which she trashes her fellow students at West Beverly. Annie is horrified to be the subject of one malicious post that generates "half a million hits in one day!" OMG. Not even Gizmodo or Mu Foo get that much traffic.

tilly and the wall

The suits weren't skimping when it came to music for 90210. Left and right these kids are dropping the names of bands that I love. Tilly and the Wall, Vampire Weekend, Sea Wolf - when will it end? Either I've become corporate and mainstream, or they've picked someone with my exact LastFM compatability rating to be their musical hack. Maybe I can undercut them by combining music and hick consultancy in one affordable package. I know - "mus-hick"!

Excuse me while I go and register that domain name...

90210 Trailor: "If you want to live in the zip, you gotta live by the code"

Paris on the Cheap?

2008-09-30T08:27:00.005+02:00

So the American economy seems to have blown up. Family and friends are writing to say that their Paris travel plans are on hold... indefinitely.

I'm not going to tell someone with a vanishing pension that a Paris visit is what they need. At the same time, I want to counter their impression that Paris is a total bank buster. I understand why Paris has a repution for being expensive:

First of all, it's true. Or rather, it's possible. For those who have it, Paris offers some of the most exciting ways to spend money in the world. And these outlets - palace hotels, three-star restaurants, exclusive shopping - get a lot of attention. The press flurry surrounding these places creates a false impression of their importance. But they are not the (only) face of Paris.

A second (and related) reason: information about cheap fun is harder to find. There are fewer publications willing to pay for such stories, and internet message boards are dominated by luxury animals on the prowl for "the best." Those in search of "inexpensive" are obliged to do a little independent research. And many people simply don't have the time.

One last reason: people often underestimate (in a way that would not be true in Shanghai) how very different Paris is. They arrive in the city and want to maintain the rhythm and routine of home while also taking in some new sights. But unwillingness to adapt comes with a price tag. Yes you can have a Diet Coke, but it will be €5 ("that's $7!") for four sips. Yes you can eat at 6pm in a restaurant that provides an English menu, but it will be over-priced and under-delicious.

So there are plenty of reasons why Paris has a reputation for being Super Expensive. But I'm making it a personal mission to correct that impression, or at least to offer an alternative picture. With the help of some local friends, I'm going to highlight in the coming weeks the cheap side of this city - free activities, inexpensive restaurants, handy tips, and a general philosophy for good visiting.

This is all about helping you to enjoy the city we love. Please leave your general topics and questions in the comments section, and our army of local smarty-pantses will empty its collective brain on your behalf.

Cheaply yours,
Meg

Paris gets its grillz

2008-09-26T17:19:00.008+02:00

It wasn't so very long ago the I.M. Pei was stirring up scandale with his relooking of the Louvre. But this new project from Swiss architects Herzog and de Meuron - the first skyscraper to be authorized within thirty years - is making Pei's glass pyramid look downright austere.

I've heard people call this design a 'witch's hat', but have you ever seen a sorcière with that much bling? I myself think it looks like a glittering bicuspid.

This is apparently the first of six skyscrapers that have been authorized by Mayor Bertrand Delanoë and the Paris City Council. I'm hoping that the other five are identical and spaced out along the southern périphérique so as to resemble a full set of Gangsta Grillz.

The world will be so jealous.

A funny thing I saw yesterday...

2008-09-21T21:00:00.003+02:00

So the Paris Techno Parade was fairly interesting this year:

More about it over on Mu Foo.

Home Sick Aloof

2008-09-18T08:47:00.010+02:00

One of my favorite bloggers has up and moved from Brighton to San Francisco and is just now beginning to unravel. She'll roll herself back up soon, of course, but in the meantime it makes for excellent reading.

Today's post finds her wailing about Squash, a particularly foul-sounding beverage that she can't find in the US. But it digressed into something I think expats anywhere can relate to:

I wept for not knowing how things worked, and not understanding a different culture and its different priorities - not worse, just different. I wept at the overwhelmingness of new sounds and smells and not knowing what brand of coffee bean I liked anymore, but having 500 to choose from. I wept because there is a deluge of wonderful new experiences and I am scared that I am too cautious and shy to enjoy or appreciate them. I wept because I didn’t know when the bin goes out and I don’t know where the bus stops or where it goes. >more

It's the last bit that really struck me this morning. After four years in Paris, I still don't know when the bins go out. There are a whole lot of things, in fact, that I have simply tuned out because the weight of not knowing so much was overwhelming.

Moving abroad does explode the head a little bit. I used to take pleasure in the mastery of small tasks, from checking boxes on a To-Do list. Routines were comforting and made me feel like I was the captain of my own little boat. The first years in France, while fun in so many ways, also completely kicked my ass. Faced with the sheer illogic and unfamiliarity of the place, I surrendered the sailor's cap and resigned myself to floating.

Homesickness, for me, was never acute in relation to products (although I did profess to miss, of all things, Kraft Mac & Cheese). The sickness came instead from feeling nearly-always confused, and from longing for a place where I was more in control.

Life in a foreign country brings hundreds of daily situations in which the answer is not at hand. I'm not sure how other people deal with this, but I seem to have adapted by becoming completely aloof.

Self: Can I recycle this?
Self: I dunno... yes... why not.

Self: What's my equivalent bra size?
Self: I dunno... just take that one.

Self: Is my green card still valid?
Self: I dunno... don't think about it.

Self: Glass of wine?
Self: I dunno... why you are even asking.

I know some expats who rise to the challenge and manage to organize themselves and even the natives around them. As for me, I've chosen to protect my sanity by not letting any new questions in. Sure, I may be evading the law and wearing an erroneous 42 DD bra, but at least my mind is clear.

Knowing When To Take Your Clothes Off

2008-09-10T07:14:00.016+02:00

The blogging ranks are regularly pressed by readers for advice. Those posting on the Paris Blog get emails asking for travel tips. Catherine Sanderson gets ten-page recaps ending with "so, do you think I should leave him?"

This is what I get:

Hi

In France do women having gyn exams have to take off all of their clothes at the start of the exam with no gown or drapes provided by the doctor?

Thanks

(name withheld to protect the vagina)

What an email! It's direct and to the point without any verbal foreplay. A lot, in fact, like a French gynecologist.

Here's what to expect when you go for ze Exam:

Doc - Mme Blagueur? [offers ungloved warm hand] Please follow me.

You - Bonjour! [sits in chair at office desk] I am here for my annual poke.

Doc - Congratulations. Now take your clothes off [indicates table and returns to typing].

You - What here? Yes? Erm... [stands, removes everything south of waist, drapes clothes hastily over office chair while hiding bits behind computer monitor].

Doc - The top, too.

You - Even the bra?!!

Doc - Your bra cannot save you, American.

You - I see...

Doc - Let's begin. Do you mind if I smoke?

So that's mostly how it happens. After parting your red sea, the doc will ask you to replace your pants behind the monitor while she types something into her records/blog. There will be a quick exchange of insurance cards or, if you're paying in cash, 28€.

As unnatural as that might sound to Americans, let's consider the reverse situation. I have a French friend who was living abroad and went in for her annual inspection at a Chicago teaching hospital. She was led by a nurse to the exam room, handed something that looked like a napkin, and told "the doctor will be with you shortly."

Now, an American knows that this napkin is actually a paper dress that opens at the front. It ties at the neck and protects her dignity.

Caroline, of course, knew nothing of this. And so the young American doctor, when he returned after a suitable interval, found a very hot French woman sitting buck naked on the table, a paper gown in her hand.

"Bonjour!"

The take home message: it is important, when traveling abroad, to know when to take your clothes off. Local bloggers are an excellent source of advice in these matters. Be advised, however, that we may use you as material.

To the terrified reader who sent in this question: an apéro before the exam always helps. Bon courage!

What's up, chicken butt?

2008-09-05T13:49:00.007+02:00

Not long ago, this conversation took place in my apartment:

French boy: I've ordered something online for us.
American girl: What's that?
FB: A cul de poule!
AG: ...Come again?
FB: Chicken butt!
AG: ... Is that, um, something you'd like to try?
FB: Absolutely! And it's silicone - so not hard to clean!

This went on for some time, with me becoming increasingly horrified until I realized we were talking about cooking. A cul de poule (big sigh of relief) is just a big bowl for whipping and melting.

AG: But why do they call it a cul?
FB: Because that's what it looks like!

Riiiight. Now, despite my Kansas origins, I've spent precious little time around poultry. Is there anyone out there who can 'splain to me how a bowl, whether silver or silicone, resembles a rooster's back door?

AG: Do you not find that even the slightest bit vulgar?
FB: I have no idea what you mean.

I am completely alone in this country, it seems, in finding cul de poule totally giggleworthy. How else to explain the straight-faced existence of restaurant named Chicken Butt? Caroline Mignot, in her review published online today, had nice things to say about the newly-opened (sorry) Cul de Poule. She even admitted that "le nom me plaît bien." And here I thought she looked so very innocent...

Cul de Poule, 53 rue des Martyrs, 75009
+33 (0)1 53 16 13 07

Update! I have finally tasted the butt for myself. You can read about it over at Mu Foo.

Like a bear in a cave, but with sun

2008-07-23T09:09:00.015+02:00

I moved to Paris in August, four summers ago, when everything in the city was closed.

Those impressionable weeks were spent shopping at Ed* and wondering what treasures lay behind the metal gates pulled over every window. I scanned the empty sidewalks and began to worry that Paris really was, as certain friends had warned me, a dead town.

And then a few weeks later, everything changed. The shops on my street reopened revealing cheese and baguette where before there were none. Paris wasn't dead, it had simply been sleeping.

I am currently bracing myself for the city's annual coma, and knowing the drill doesn't make it any easier. My butcher called it quits on Saturday, and today my favorite market vendor said goodbye.

I find the latter departure the most difficult to accept - there's something cruel about a farm stand closing during the most plentiful season. "But what will happen to all the basil?!" I cried to my usual vegetable lady. She stared at me blankly and backed slowly away.

Having cleaned them out of fresh herbs, I am now cooking and freezing as if for a war and padding my shelves for the enforced hibernation.

My only consolation is that, like a bear, I can anticipate burning through several layers of fat during this time of nothing-to-eat. September will find me slimmer and crankier - ever nearer to my goal of integration.
--
*Ed stands for Épicerie Discount and serves as the French version of ALDI. After three misspent years I learned the correct pronunciation (euh-day), but it will always be Eddie to me.

The Opposite of Nirvana

2008-07-15T12:29:00.002+02:00

Behold the world premiere video from the hottest band to come out of (Benoît's apartment in) Paris... we are Les Moquettes!

I believe the french term is pitoyable.

Why Paris?

2008-07-09T09:33:00.008+02:00

I've just returned from a holiday spent cycling through the Haut-Médoc - a peninsula that produces Pauillac wines, a surprising amount of pizza, and in this case, a sweet tan.

I will tell you about it shortly, but first have to get this out of my system:

Dear Dinaw,

I'm sure you're a lovely person. Being from Kansas, I'm obliged to offer that, and to apologize in advance for not being nice. That's how we tumbleweeds roll, especially when addressing anyone from New York.

An added drop of humility can be a good thing.

The question always in the back of my mind - "am I really qualified to say this?" - prevents me from doing things like, say, writing an article that pronounces Paris to be dead, creatively speaking, without appearing to have ever left the boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

Dinaw, and those who will follow you, I beg: no more Flore, pas des Deux Magots. There's nothing to see here, please move along.

The scene that you came looking for happened sixty years ago. That moment, and those people, are now dead. Their children - those who were inspired by and learned to make money off that moment - are now talking, as the elderly do, about how things just aren't the same. Saint-Germain-des-Prés is, in effect, a retirement community with very expensive coffee. It is not (did you really not know this?) what you were looking for.

I have a new friend who recently arrived from New York. A clever writer and musician type, she is, I suppose, the sort of person you were looking to find. I was sitting with her and another writer friend (does that make it a scene?) on a roof-top terrace in the 20th, when she admitted that her new apartment would be over there, in the 7th, at the border of Saint-Germain.

We smiled and tried to be supportive, suggested some good markets, assured her that it wouldn't be "so bad." The truth, however, is that ~~nobody~~ very few people doing anything interesting live over there. And what's more, the "anything interesting" taking place these days doesn't look exactly like it did sixty years ago.

But as I said, I'm sure you're a lovely person who, like Adam Gopnik before you, just didn't know where to go.

The root of all obesity

2008-07-07T10:13:00.008+02:00

This morning I'd like to break a seal of sorts and take a moment to mock my French boyfriend. He doesn't read the blog so this will be our little secret.

An entire series could spring from the unintentional smut that sometimes falls from his mouth - the happy accidents that arise from the difficulty of certain sounds.

The majority are related to the aspirated 'h' that many French add, unnecessarily, to English words that begin with 'a'.

To illustrate: Once, as we were stolling along the Bassin de la Villette, he offered to "rent us a rowboat, along with some hoars."

This happens all the time.

And it brings me so much amusement that I have adopted, in some cases, his particular pronunciations. I will ask him with a straight face to take me in his harms, or if my hass looks okay in certain pants.

But my all-time-favorite has nothing to do with the aspirated 'h'. It revolves instead around a preferred spread, and its French designation as Evil. Dorie Greenspan addressed this recently on her blog when she noted that,

"French children never get peanut-butter because their parents are convinced it's the root of all obesity."

The boyfriend looks bemused whenever I bring out my overpriced jar of peanut butter. He watches me uncomfortably as I spread the stuff on bread, as if I were wiping boogers on the sofa.

And then he asks me every time, inverting the word order and fatally omitting the last 't',

"Do you really like this butter peanus?"

I have never corrected him, and have in fact doubled my consumption just to hear him mispronounce it. I suppose this means, in a roundabout way, that the French parents are right.

Food porn indeed

2008-06-26T22:19:00.007+02:00

Seen just this moment on Nerve.com - a "lifestyle" site that has introduced a surprising number of my friends - it's Dating Advice from Food Writers!

Don't ask me what I was doing there, or if I have multiple fake profiles for my own amusement.

Instead, I'll ask you to guess in the comments which food writer said the following:

"A good rare beef liver is like being banged hard against a wall in a skeezy alley behind a nightclub."

Her Big Big Smile

2008-06-16T13:32:00.029+02:00

I have just returned from a weekend in the French countryside.

Doesn't that sound lovely?

There is no internet in the French countryside, and very little spoken English. One is therefore forced to "relax," away from the computer, usually through HOURS of conversation.

Have I mentioned that I don't love French Meg?

French Meg smiles and nods a lot. She also laughs on cue. There are times when French Meg understands what you say, but she won't ask a single question. You may have covered that point already, and she probably already laughed.

Nod, smile. Ha ha HA!!

Not only am I a bit slow, I am indiscretely so. At 5'10'', I'm only slightly taller than average when playing on the home court. In France, however, I am walking ~~talking~~ circus show.

The result is that, in addition to babbling and smiling, I am often dressed kinda funny. It's not always my fault.

This weekend, the countryside hostess offered to lend me her slippers. I pantomimed something like "I don't think they fit!" looking at first disappointed, then smiling enormously.

She suggested that I just wear them over my toes, and I was unable to respond with anything other than a smile. I spent the next two days mincing around in her elfinwear, falling down (two times), and smiling.

Outside the chalet, her XS parka hit me just below the bra line. Even the mountain sheep were rolling their eyes. "It's cropped," I gestured in return, grinning madly the whole time.

My finest performance of the weekend can't be blamed on size. It came one night when I was too tired to climb the stairs for toothpaste, and instead started fishing around in the hosts' bathroom drawers.

Do I even need to type this? It's really too predictable...

I used their Fixodent.

It was exactly as you imagine.

And yet I kept on smiling, even with globs of waxy red stuff stuck in my gums.

Upon leaving, my soft-spoken host raised himself up to faire les bises and to say his parting words.

"Merci pour venir et... pour ton sourire... ENORME."

At least I think that's what he said.

* * * * *

For a different take on The Language Problem, please click on the veryfunny following from Paris blogger Kung Fu Dana.

Afternoon Delight with 'Sex' and Dorie

2008-06-12T09:27:00.021+02:00

...not at the same time, mind you, although these photos may lead one to imagine that Pierre is showing off something other than his tattoos.

For someone who has too much work, I was a marvel of doing very little yesterday. There were good intentions and several hours of morning labor before the derailment of a boozy lunch at the wine bar Racines.

No matter. Time spent with cookbook authors David Lebovitz and Dorie Greenspan would sort of qualifiy as work if it weren't also so pleasurable. It's not often that I get to raise a glass with such slim-hipped foodie heavyweights and bask in the Rolland Garros-esque batting around of names. "When does Mark (Bittman) sleep?" and "Patricia (Wells) says so...," etc. In the moments when I wasn't exactly sure which Ruth (Reichl?) was being considered, I was more than happy to keep company with a towering tartare.

The food at Racines is lovely (more photos here), and almost as nice as the wine, which is nearly as compelling as the proprietor himself.

I caught myself staring too long at Pierre Jancou's plate-stacked arm and rhapsodizing about the way his tattoos were set off against a background of colorful floor tiles. Ahem...

The only consolation for such behavior is watching all the other customers - journalists from the nearby HQs, young girls, moustachioed middle agers - also trying to conceal their crush. I suppose that's what good food & wine does.

When we finally left it was 4pm, three hours before my next date. Not really enough time to go home and work, a bit too long for cafe squatting. I was pondering my options when I walked past the Rex and saw people lining up for Sex.

I'm not really the sort of girl who wants to watch in a group and then go out for Cosmos afterward. I frankly don't have the footwear to pull that off.

But I was curious and so plunged myself into the theater for some... "Jesus... is this in FRENCH?!"

It's true - I have now seen the dubbed! french! version of Sex in the City. And if the reviews are to be believed, I may have made the right choice.

A half-remembered snippet:

Smith: [looking down at his bulging groin] "J'ai un cadeau pour toi, ma chèrie."

Samantha: "J'ai quelque chose pour toi, aussi."

Believe it or not, this sort of dialogue actually feels profound when you have struggled to translate it.

After the movie, I made my way across town to say goodbye to two friends who are leaving Paris. I fear for their sanity, returning as they are to a land devoid of three hour lunches, where one is forced (!) to watch Sex in the stark original version.

Let's all wish them luck, shall we?

The 24-hour Wedding

2008-06-09T12:14:00.012+02:00

At 9am on Saturday I was delivering breakfast pastries for a bride too nervous to eat.

24 hours later, I was returning in a cab after sharing a post-party beer in broad daylight (8am) with two old friends and Inaki Aizpitarte.

This being my first French wedding, I can only assume that they are all like this.

The marriage of Petite Anglaise and her Boy, in between those two early morning bookends, was a completely joyful affair.

Friends from both sides of the English Channel gathered for a ceremony at the town hall, champagne, a sweet lunch at Vin Chai Moi, more champagne, more food, rowdy dancing, and still more champagne.

What I'll never forget:

The radiance and endless grinning of the bride and groom
Le Maire, after performing his duties, admitting that he recognized Cath and asking for a photo with the couple
Seeing the groom's mother shaking her booty to Blur's "Girls & Boys"
Watching French girls throwing up discretely in the garden before returning to the party looking elegant as ever

A few photos are here. Thanks for a great party!

Mucho Macho

2008-06-05T19:42:00.018+02:00

Paris is a cultural capital for many, many reasons. An abundance of karaoke parlors is not one of them. And so it is with great anxiety that I announce the following:

I may no longer be welcome at L'Echanteur.

The city's best (only?) karaoke is in the basement of a dive bar in the Marais. Its management and clientele are "hetero friendly," but it helps to be accompanied by one of the Stars of Gayraoke.

One such Star was supposed to meet us at the bar last Saturday night. I arrived just after midnight with two boys and my new travel editor at the Wall Street Journal.

(Was that vulgar?)

Anyway, this distinguished visiting editor needed little encouragement, putting her Snoop Dogg slip in straight away. My inspiration came more slowly, but when it did I scribbled my song choice and found myself on the stage only moments later.

And that's when things began to turn ugly.

A "normal" karaoke night would find me taking to a stage much later, after several watery beers and having already witnessed other people's shame. On this particular night there was no posse to shield me from the unknown members of the audience. There was no former session singer at my side to do the backup. I was nearly - gasp! - sober.

But none of that would have mattered had I chosen the right song -

...had I NOT chosen to sing Macho Man

...in a gay bar

...without really knowing the words.

Who knew there were words? Besides the chorus, I mean. They're actually (don't laugh), kind of hard. Which is why I found myself staring out at the horrified audience and mumbling "body... body... body? It's so hot my body? body... body.. check it out."

The editor, in an ill-considered moment of great compassion, rushed to the stage and began to gyrate in circles around me and, I think, to pantomime the macho man's chest hair.

"...check it out, my body."

That went on for far too long, the opening verse, but I was just SURE that when the chorus came we would all throw our heads back and our arms in the air and unite as macho men together.

It was dead quiet as Nikki and I, the two white girls in the gay bar, threw our heads back and began to scream the chorus.

.....

And then the song went on another three or four minutes.

.....

The DJ, who has seen me perform many challenging numbers in the past, actually said, "Goodbye Meg" instead of "thank you" at the end of the song.

And that's when I dropped and shattered my glass.

.....

Nikki never got a chance to perform that night, her name seemingly blacklisted by association.

A shame, really, because I would have killed to watch her Drop It Like It's Hot. I had a clear image in mind of my employer rapping "I'm a bad boy, with a lotta hos," as I booty danced behind her. "SnooooooooOOOOOOP!"

Because I have no video of my disasterous performance, I offer instead this treasure from Brazil - two 22 year-old boys dancing Macho in their living room. The long-hair is my new summer crush and the spiritual twin of this guy. Where was HE when I needed him at L'Echanteur?

Bridesmaid channeling

2008-06-02T16:48:00.019+02:00

A "temoine" is not really a bridesmaid.

She's just a witness who needs to bring her passport to City Hall to sign something in French that she doesn't understand. Working backward, she needs to for once be on time, pick up flowers, and wake up...preferably not hung over.

It's not a big role by most people's definition. But because I so adore this friend (and am by nature a leader of rings), I have expanded the role of "temoine" to include party catering, guest DJing, and Hen Night Bringer of Shame.

The latter role was executed several weekends ago in London. The Brits had amassed on that side of the Channel for what Cath had hoped would be a stately affair. She'd even arranged the thing in Notting Hill (the London equivalent of Saint-Germain?) to decrease the overall odds of lewd behavior.

Little did she know that I had crossed into her territory with a sack full of props and no love for her dignity. And so while Cath's university friend was distracting her with shots, the assembled hens (several men included) were donning feather boas and bribing some Dutch boys to strip.

That's about all I can reveal, except to say that once the squealing died down, she really seemed to enjoy it.

Whether she remembers any of it is another question...

* * * * * * * *

One task down, then, and two to go.

For my music playlist, I've been instructed to "lay off the obscure indie crap," which leaves...? (I'll get back to you)

For the food, she has advised me to "be reasonable," i.e. choose 2-3 items instead of 12 to avoid spending the entire party in the kitchen.

Because someone's gotta be out there keeping an eye on that bride. I only wonder who will watch over me?

(more Hen Night photo evidence can be found over here)

Learning the English

2008-05-16T13:38:00.004+02:00

In preparation for tomorrow's trip across the Channel, I've been learning a bit of vocabulary:

#1: Slag is a perjorative slang term, primarily used in the United Kingdom to describe women who engage in casual sex and promiscuous behavior. Its meaning is broadly similar to the terms "slut" and "skank". It originally derives from the same term for piles of impurities skimmed off during the smelting of metals, and has been backronymed to mean "She'll Lay Any Guy", referring to promiscuous behaviour.

#2: Hen's Night - A bachelorette party, hen party, or hen's night, is a party held for a woman who is about to be married as a rite of passage. Companies sell decorations and novelties for bachelorette parties including products like "piñatas", fur-lined handcuffs, "willy whistles," and adult toys. Other companies also sell bachelorette party packs with games and party tools. There are all different products sold for this event. Many bachelorette parties have the girls wear matching tops.

#3: Petite Anglaise - Translates literally as "little english (female)", and is commonly used by French people to refer to English people. See also: Catherine Sanderson, a British blogger living in Paris; See also, Slag.

Further discoveries and photo evidence (matching tops?) to be posted here soon...

Turn and Face the Strange

2008-05-01T16:23:00.041+02:00

Ch-Ch-Changes!

There are two broad categories of people in my life: those who have no interest in blogs whatsoever (much more fun to drink with), and those who have at least two blogs of their own.

In the latter group, there's a tiny sub-set called Freaks (or, more politely, 'blog watchers'). These are the people who've been emailing me this week to ask, "Did they fire your ass?"

The they in question is Gawker Media. Blog watchers know that the most powerful and profitable blog network in the world last week offloaded the travel site Gridskipper. They dumped two other titles in the process, Wonkette (politics) and the music blog Idolator. The three together accounted for less than 3% of the network's total traffic. On a good day, Gskipper brought 50,000 page views. Gizmodo, their most popular, brings 2 million per day.

In an internal memo that he encouraged his writers to leak, founder/slasher Nick Denton spoke about the sale of these three sites (for mere pennies, as rumors have it):

"I'm relieved we've found pretty decent homes for the three sites, and most of their writers, but we're gutted to lose them... Gridskipper is so far the most sophisticated travel blog: it entirely deserved its inclusion in Time's list of the 50 coolest websites."

Gridskipper's "new home" is Curbed Network, owner of Curbed, Eater, Racked and now (in the interest of consistency?) 'Skippered. We received an email ten days ago from Editorial Director Ben Leventhal, promising news about the changes and inviting us to tell him how we'd like to stay involved. We (or at least I) never heard from him again.

Rumors are circulating that the revamped site will focus on resorts in and around the United States. That didn't appeal to Editor John Rambow (that really is his name), so he and the rest of his editorial staff are on the sidewalk. As for Denton's claim about finding homes for most of the writers, I don't know a single person from Gridskipper who has been invited by Curbed to stay on.

That brings us back to the original question, "did they fire my ass?"

Not officially, no, not yet. So I'm still wearing the company-issued underwear and checking my email every five minutes. However, I'm pretty sure that they're not going to pay me ever again, and so I should probably get out of the habit of sifting everything I see onto a mental list of six places...

In closing, out of the 47 posts I've written since last June, these five were the most fun to work on:

#5: The Hidden Kitchen

#4: The Most Horrible Tourist Traps in Paris

#3: Paris Concerts à la Carte series

#2: Le Swap: Paris Swing Clubs

#1: Dancing French Electro-Mimes Battle in the Streets

I doubt I'll ever find another outlet that allows me to rank the city's best restaurants alongside its clubs échangistes. It was certainly good while it lasted.

My sincere thanks to former editorial superheroes Chris Mohney, Amanda Kludt and John Rambow, and to all the deranged Paris writers I've met along the way: Adrian, Anna, Lauren and Morgen.

Someone should hire the lot of us. Beginning, of course, with me.

The Top 10 Concerts of the Summer

2008-04-28T22:47:00.007+02:00

Between now and mid-July, there are more than 40 great indie pop/rock concerts coming to town. For music lovers living and traveling in Paris, this Gridskipper article features videos for my favorite 25 shows. The Top 10 are reprinted below for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!

♫♫ ¡Forward Russia! 5/17 @ la Maroquinnerie

♫♫ Vampire Weekend 5/19 @ le Trabendo

♫♫ Yelle 5/23 @ Bataclan

♫♫ The Fratellis 5/28 @ Point Éphémère

♫♫ Feist 6/3-6/4 @ le Grand Rex

♫♫ Sunset Rubdown, Deerhoof 6/3 @ Villette Sonique

♫♫ Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks 6/4 @ la Maroquinerie

♫♫ The Go! Team 6/5 @ Villette Sonique

♫♫ Beck 7/7 @ l'Olympia

♫♫ My Morning Jacket 7/9 @ le Trabendo