Sunday, June 14, 2009

One Fine Day in Montmartre

DATELINE: 14.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

My bowl o' cafe au lait this afternoon... I could not have said it better myself. I'm not sure if the face was there before I added the sugar, but I didn't notice it until after. I prefer to think it happened accidentally when I put the two sugar packets in.



This was happening next to Metro Abesses, in Montmartre. Later on I saw a little girl who could not have been more than 2 or 3 years old strapped into this thing absolutely FLYING through the air. She looked both amused and terrified at the same time. It was hysterical.

What I am unable to upload for you just yet (until I find a way to shrink the file) is the "junkyard" style band that was performing next to the trampolines and the little munchkins that were getting their grooves on in front of them.

Ahhhh... Montmartre. I love my neighborhood!

Saturday, June 13, 2009

The Europeans Are in Heat (x-rated episode. Not for children or the easily offended)

13.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

How do we know that spring and now summer are finally here?  Suddenly, around every corner, in ever station, in every park, couples are going at it like it's the end of the world.  The Europeans are in heat.  There is simply no other way to describe it.  Everyone is doing their mating dance and, at least in Paris everything is abuzz with raging hormones. 

A few weeks ago, when Fern was visiting, one evening after I'd gotten out of work we met up in the Jardin des Tuileries.  At the beginning of the gardens there is an area filled with rows of hedges and wonderful grassy space in between each row.  Travelers and locals alike hang out here to eat lunch, play soccer, sunbathe, or as it turns out, to engage in public sex.

Fern and I planted ourselves in one of the less rowdy rows to take in the early evening sun before going home to make dinner. It was about 7:30pm. In our row we were just a bit left of center, there was a group of people (with an American guy who never stopped talking) behind us at the far right end of the row. Between us and them there were a few more people napping in the sun. To our left there are two couples, one is maybe 5 feet away and the other is maybe 10-15 feet away at the far end of the row. All of the rows are filled with people. One of the rows flanking ours has a group of shirtless men (late teens/early 20s maybe) playing soccer, who keep accidentally sending their ball soaring into our row and running over to retrieve it.

Fern is laying on the grass casually looking around. I am sketching her.  Suddenly she starts laughing and draws my attention to the couple at the far left end of our row, who are again less then 15 ft from us. They are wearing business attire and I would guess are in their early 30s. They were (for want of a better phrase for it) dry-humping with complete indiscretion. They don't seem to realize they are visible to the other people around them.  

After a while they proceed to test out a variety of positions, seemingly in search for the optimal position for... for what? Ah, now we see... for the dry-humping to become something much less innocent. At this point the man lays down on the grass on his back, expectant, arms by his side. The woman crouches at his side. He lays his jacket over the crotch of his pants. She fixes her hair. Fern and I watch, mouths agape.  Is she seriously about to do what it looks like she is about to do???

For a moment she seems to reconsider, and then resumes her former position on top of him. They return to their prior activities. But then she shifts, unzips his pants, reaches in and proceeds with a fully public hand-job (I could get clinical here and say instead "manual stimulation", but it seems wrong to get all clinical when discussing a couple going at it in the middle of a crowded public space).  While the coat over his crotch may have been a nice, if not slightly innocent, gesture, it does absolutely nothing to disguise the action. 

Fern and I are still watching, mouths agape as if staring at a traffic accident. We are just barely keeping ourselves from exploding into astonished laughter, our American sensibilities still unable to believe that these two are getting it on right in front of everybody.  But what we witness next is like something right out of a movie, and we collapse in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

As we are watching this couple, three armed guards in full military uniform and toting large automatic weapons, who I would assume are patrolling the gardens on security detail, enter our row from the other side of the hedges.  The are walking in a line, one behind the other. They are between where Fern and I sit and where this couple are laying. At first they are looking toward Fern and I.  Then guard #1 turns and spots the couple.  He nudges the guard behind him, who turns, looks, then nudges guard #3. As they pass into the next row of hedges they are all staring at the couple who have yet to realize that anyone around them is aware of what they are doing. The best part: as the third and last guard in this row passes into the row of hedges on the opposite side, he pauses and cranes himself backward, watching as long as he can before his view is cut off by the hedges. I just about died of laughter.

Then! To top it off, a pedestrian enters our row from the end on the other side of the couple. Where he enters is right near their heads. He takes notice of them and proceeds to walk around them, down to their feet, around and back up toward their heads, all the while staring with equal indiscretion. He stands there watching them for a few moments before moving on.  He is then followed by a series of other guards who suddenly appear in our row... inconspicuously checking out the action. It is only at *this* point, after all that and with Fern and I in hysterics not 15 ft away, that the couple realize they are being watched and make some effort to be more discreet.  They fail miserably and elect to finish in the same way they started.  

Two days later Fern and I are at Versailles.  We are having lunch with Katy in the beautiful overgrown grasses along the banks of the lake beyond the Chateau gardens. There are people paddling around the lake in little rowboats. One stops not to far from us. It in are a young couple - again, I would guess late 20s. The woman lays back in the boat, and her male companion proceeds to climb on top of her, bed down and hoist her dress over her head with his teeth! 

It's amazing. It's spring and the Europeans are in heat!  That or else someone is dumping aphrodisiacs into the water supply... 


Hmm... I'm feeling kind of thirsty. If you'll excuse me I think I'll go get myself a glass. A very very TALL glass.  ;-) 

I was eaten by a bear

13.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Ok, that is a flat out lie, but how else to explain the long silence?  I could tell you that I was busy with final exams, that I had a back to back string of guests and then travelled to visit Misa, that I am now working more than full time as a babysitter and it's frying my brain, or that between my Bermuda Triangle quality wifi connection and the flurry of visitors and munchkins zapping my brain I simply haven't been able to make it happen.

But I prefer to simply tell you that I was eaten by a bear.  That's much more exciting and has the added benefit of making me out to sound like I should have my own PBS adventure show. Can't you just see me fighting back snarling bears and irate wild boars?  I would of course wear tall leather boots, faded and patched jeans, a big belt and a t-shirt that is always stuck to my skin because when you are fearless, you always sweat a lot.  I would also have a signature pocket knife always with me and a cool jacket that was both practical and totally hot.

Hmmm... I think I just created a female Indiana Jones.

I've many stories to relay, all back-logged and on the To-Do list for tomorrow.  For tonight though, just one:

The Playing For Change band is headlining the Glastonbury music festival in Glastonbury, England at the end of June.  I thought I could go until I connected some dots and realized that my expired visa might get into the UK but would not likely then get me back into France.  Minor problem, no? I am heartbroken that I cannot go.  I feel like a puppy who can see the bit tasty treat just on the other side of the glass door, I keep running for it but then I smack into that glass door and can't get the treat.  So I am laying in front of the door wimpering, hoping someone will take pity on me - or at least, open the door.

So this evening I am leaving my house.  I'm exhausted. Taking care of other people's tiny munchkins takes more out of me then I had anticipated. So I am headed to the metro for shift #2 of babysitting for today, I am tired, my brain is on Auto Pilot.  I am crossing the street at the end of my block, Rue Rodier, and a car pulls up to the light and stops.  I get a few steps past this car before I realized that the music blaring from the open windows, the music to which the driver is totally jammin' out, is PFC's "Stand By Me"!!!  I nearly fell over when I realized it!!  

This very small moment both shot me to the moon and broke my heart at the same time.  It sincerely hurts me that I cannot go to Glastonbury.  I need a coyote to ferry me into the UK and then back into France.  I need a telletransportation device. I need a bear. A bear to eat me and then spit me back up on the other side of the border.  =(  I need a valid visa.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Life's Simple Pleasures

DATELINE: 06.05.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Coming home from interviewing for yet another babysitting job this evening I saw a scene that made me laugh out loud.  

It's a lovely evening.  Not too warm, not too cool.  The clouds have broken and the sun is shining through.  The late day sunlight is casting long shadows on the shoppers, strollers, and cafe patrons.  

I am walking up my hill feeling good, having landed yet another babysitting job, and enjoying the mild parisian evening.  I crossed the street near my favorite boulangerie, full of pastries I cannot afford. I looked up the hill, at the final two blocks to climb to my street, and saw a small boy no more than 4 years old.  He was standing at the outer edge of the sidewalk, not quite hidden behind a parked car.  He had his pants around his ankles and his shirt hiked up above his chest, and a HUGE grin on his face.  He stood proudly for all to see, peeing into the street, grinning from ear to ear as his mother and siblings hurried down from the next block up to hide our little naked friend from passers-by.  He however was clearly too thrilled with himself to worry about what the neighbors might think.  He too was enjoying the simple pleasures of life: the mild summer evening and the simple thrills of public nudity and urination.

Aahh, the simple pleasures in life. 

However borderline inappropriate this might be, I wish I'd gotten my camera out of my bag in time because the whole scene was hysterical.  

Cinco de Mayo!!!!!!!!!! (subtitle: HAPPY BIRTHDAY PATRICK!!)

DATELINE: 05.05.09 PARIS, FRANCE

By a show of hands, how many of you think Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day?

A week or two ago I decided that on May 5th, Cinco de Mayo, I would rally everyone I know to go out and have a little Mexican evening to celebrate what I thought was the holiday of Mexican Independence.  I told everyone that as an American I am culturally obligated to celebrate other culture's holidays without actually knowing what they are about.  (think about it. It's true). 

So as of this afternoon, I had 6 people on board.  Though, I still had to resolve the question of WHERE were we going to go.  I researched Mexican restaurants, thinking they would be holding some form of celebration and we could all go and have a drink. I learned that it is not permitted in restaurants in France to only have a drink.  Eating is required.  So the Mexican restaurants went out the window.  And the troops began dropping like flies.  

Alex, my new Mexican doctor friend whom I'd met at Naomi & Juan's party was by this point at my apartment.  (I can see all your little heads filling with ideas... sorry to burst your bubble but Alex is a lady, not a hunky man. Sorry, peeps)  We decided on just going to any bar (not necessarily Mexican).  One by one, we lost the rest of the party and Alex and I decided to just pick a bar near my apt rather than traipse out to Republique as planned. 

Here is the best part.  I thought, as I mentioned, that Cinco de Mayo is the holiday of Mexican Independence.  I asked Alex about this. I am wrong.  She couldn't tell me what the holiday actually was though.  While at my place her father happens to call. She asks him.  Alex's dad informed us that, in fact, Cinco de Mayo celebrates a battle between Mexico and France, in which France *lost*.  He told us that battle never existed.  At least not as far as the French are concerned.

Did I mention that her father is French and her mother Mexican? 

I am still cracking up that we, an American and a Franco-Mexican woman, were headed out to find a bar in Paris in which to toast specifically Mexican perseverance over France.  

All together just *way* too perfect. (If you understand French nationalism, you will see how funny that is)

Salud! To Mexico!!!!

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Poop Goes In the Potty

DATELINE: 21.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

"Poop goes in the potty.
Puh-poop goes in the potty.
yeah.

Poop goes in the potty.
It doesn't go on your friends.
It doesn't go under the table.
yeah.

Poop goes in the potty.
Puh-poop goes in the potty.

..."

Oh!  Well thank god we cleared that up! I was beginning to think the proper place for poop was in college lectures, newspapers, and congressional debates.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what is stuck in my head after tonight's session of babysitting. It's a hip-hop style song on a CD of contemporary children's songs.

So much for the songs of yore, that we all remember so fondly.  They have been replaced by such gems as, "Poop Goes in the Potty."

Is this something that parents these days are having difficulty teaching, so much that a producer of children's music felt it would be good to record a song about it?  I just can't shake the vision of, say, Jay-Z potty-training his kid, standing before him in the bathroom bustin' out with: "Poop goes in the Potty! Yeah, poop goes in the potty! Boy-eeeeee".  Or better yet, a 40+, balding accountant.  

SNL are you listening??  This skit just writes itself.

Back to my research paper....
Don't forget kids: It doesn't go on your friends. Puh-poop goes in the potty!  yeah!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

A little poem

DATELINE: 16.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

This is a little poem.
I will call it:

What I Will Be Eating for the Next Week

Beans & Rice
Beans & rice & corn
Beans & rice & corn, add more tomato

Beans & rice in a tortilla
Beans & rice with cheese

Beans & rice and salad
Rice & rice & beans

Let's get zesty
Beans & rice, add chili paste

Beans, beans, beans, and beans.
And rice.

Spam, spam, spam, and spam.
Hold the spam, please.