Home Sweet Home

What? Airplaine photos are boring and clichéd, you say? Oh, you're just being picky. These images depict an aerial view of New-York near the tale end of my 13 hour journey home for the holidays. Of course, these 13 hours became 15 once I'd gone through customs for the 2nd time in one day and after I'd lugged my bag into a YUL back room where I watched a little mustachioed man run his hands through all my clothes and school books and underwear while he asked me why the hell I left the country so often. Fun! I had bought a canned tulip bulb in Amsterdam I was hoping to give as a Christmas gift, which he seized. I think it made his day, actually. Oh so glad I could help, mister mustache!

That being said, it's good to be home.

Friend Opportunity

Let us look back on South X Southwest, 2001, shall we? I was 19 and wanted to see Unwound more than anything. They were playing the Kill Rock Stars showcase at Emo's along with XBXRX, Bonfire Madigan, and a then unknown band called Deerhoof. Greg Saunier sat on a milkcrate on one end of the stage and Satomi stood on the opposite side controlling some sort of midi instrument or keyboard. They only played for about 10 minutes because J.Mascis and the Fog featuring Mike Watt on vocals and the original guitarist of The Stooges played for more than a bit too long before them. While 110 minutes of Mr. Mascis and co. versus ten minutes of Deerhoof might have seemed unfair at the time, I have always been a fan of leaving the crowd wanting more, so it would be hypocritical of me to complain now. Besides, I've had the good fortune of seeing Deerhoof four more times since then... And to think I almost missed their December 11, 2008 Paris performance because the world was too dark and cold and busy and expensive that day!

p.s. marry me, Deerhoof, any one of you!

A Walk in the Park

Think About Life in Paris, 12-09-08. Kudos to Martin for giving a fantastic performance despite physical sickness and European tour exhaustion.

A day and a half later, I gave Matt a rapid tour of central Paris. Had you ever seen clementines so candied? Not I, no sir, no way.

Shakespeare and company, anyone? While the outside of the store, its floor detail, and mountainous stacks are commonly photographed by visitors of the world famous Anglo bookstore in the city of lights, I thought I should give a shout out to some of the store's less obvious imagery. Besides, anyone who knows me knows that any half decent upright piano or vintage typewriter can make my heart melt more than the most brightly coloured candied fruit ever could.

Finally, I give you a piece Saint Denis graffiti, visible from the RER station where I sent Matt off to the Airport. I love this cartoon pencil holding magic man.

How are you feeling today?

From the junk shop window on Rue St-Paul, or the inside of my brain? Both, I say!

Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet

I don't have a social life in France, so it took reading EJ's post about Saint-Nicolas to remind me that today is the day that European children get to open their Christmas gifts, or at least it is for some parts of the continent (no time for further research at this time since I have barely enough time to comb my hair!). In any case, it's definitely true for Holland, where Santa has a black slave named Saint Peter. While this seems like no big deal to Netherlanders, it was absolutely flabbergasting for me and my North-American friends who visited Amsterdam last week. Are you not flabbergasted by it too?



Just to give you an idea, these photos represent standard Holland candy store displays this time of year... Yikes!

December in the thirteenth

December was a month filled with visa trials and tribulations. And by visa I mean, a valid visa in France need be supported by a French carte de séjour. And where might these carte de séjour getting headquarters be? Why, Cité Universitaire, of course. What might be around Cité Universitaire, you ask? Not a whole helluva lot, I must admit. But, and there is always a but, the thirteenth does boast this charming autumnal view, to which I say: Oooh! Ahhh!

First class seating

When in Amsterdam, I like to sit by the canal in Jordaan and watch the boats drift by. FYI, this photo was taken not far from where Anne Franks' diary was scribed.

You can't take photos in the house, which is reasonable, I think. If you ever find yourself in the 'Dam, I strongly recommend rising early to beat the crowds that tend to flock to this sobering tourist attraction lest you get impatient and miss it. Kitty, do you think she knows?

Finally, to end this low country capital city post on a lighter note, I just wanted to mention that I managed to spot not just one but two Invader mosaics in Europe's Venice of the North. Much better than my previous Berlin Invader art quest, which I quite miserably flubbed... Unless you count this lil' poseur:

Yeah no, I didn't think so either. Sigh!

A quaint November outing

Montparnasse, 1782. Deep down a narrow winding staircase leading halfway to hell, lie the bones of 6 million French people once buried in cemeteries that became too overcrowded to host them.



the well pictured above is not really accessible, but once upon a time, this is where tunnel workers bathed their feet.




Where is death? It is always in the past or the future. No sooner is it present than it is already gone.

Breakfast in Sweden

What is the best part about living in Paris? Why, its proximity to other European countries, of course! A week ago today, I went to Stockholm, and these photos still make my mouth water. There’s nothing like this in France! I guess I’ll just have to save my Euro pennies so that I may take more trips to more utopic lands that know how to serve comfort food and soy lattés in anarchist cafés…

The Berlin Ball

The Berlin Wall was erected in August of 1961 and destroyed in November of 1989, its total border once spanning 155 kilometres. Today, about 2 km of the wall remain, most of which is completely covered with the outdoor art gallery pictured above. Unfortunately, I was not able to part with any of my hard-earned euros for an east Berlin passport stamp. Bah, photos are better anyway!

All Hallows Eve, Paris Style

In honour of October 31st, I made my way to the Montparnasse cemetery in order to greet the dead. Père Lachaise? Schmère LaSchmaise! At Montparnasse, the underdog of Parisian dead people parks, I got to wink at Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, who each blew me a kiss. Serge Gainsbourg was a little bit tipsy, but Baudelaire wanted me to give you a message... Happy Halloween!

Panda Express

It took me a while to seek it out, but I finally made my way to the Chinatown of Paris. It has a really cool grocery store that is bountifully stocked with great ginger beer, inexpensive coconut milk, and fake meat in a can. And while none of the restaurants in the area seem to have any tofu on the menu, food market tofu is varied and abundant, and only a tiny bit too chewy. Chinatown yes, but clearly still France! But I digress, this post is not about tofu, but about the "exotic products" variety store next to the Chinese themed McDonald's of the neighbourhood! Behold, peanut butter in a can! Alcohol free Guiness! Christian-themed candles? You heard it here folks. Christian candles are almost as weird as peanut butter in a can... whatever meaning you'd like to attach to that!

Birthday 27

Although there were no candles and red wine isn't always the best chaser for chocolate mousse cake, 27 was celebrated in style, with EJ in the daytime and Katherine in the eve. Thanks to everyone who helped make this birthday celebrated so far from home, not so forlorn after all!

Paris, you don't even know how snooty you are

The other day, I had to drop a French literature class, so I went to the French UFR (i.e. ze Frrench department) to see if this was possible. “What? You want to drop a class?” They joked. “Mais pourquoi?”
“Il y a un conflit,” I responded. They laughed.
“A conflict of interest!” mocked the lady.
“Um, no, a scheduling conflict,” I replied.
“Conflict is English,” said the lady. “Here, we say chevauchement.” At this point I got angry. Why are the French so adamant about correcting everyone all the time? Admittedly, the conflict might have been caused by an overlap, but it remained a conflict. Must I change every single thing I would normally say just because the French like it better that way?
“Listen,” I said. “I come from a place where when we speak French we don’t use words like email and weekend, so don’t you tell me that my French sounds English. There are other countries in the world that speak French besides France, and not everyone talks like you!”
The skinny lady and the leprechaun-like man were stunned. Yes French UFR faculty, it is bad form to criticise the francophone exchange students about the words they use you might not otherwise employ.

misadventures in the third

Once upon a time, a 20 something québécoise student walked into the bistro next to her Parisian studio.

student: est-ce que je peux avoir un café our emporter?
waiter: oui. mais pour emporter où? où voulez vous l'emporter ce café?
student: euh... dans ma maison!
waiter (with a crooked smile): dans ta maison! mais elle est ou cette maison? elle n'est pas loin j'espère?
student: euh... non.
waiter: alors! un café pour emporter dans ta maison!
student: oui...
exit waiter. enter waiter number two.
waiter 2: alors, on fait quoi?
waiter 1 (from stage left): un café pour emporter, dans sa maison!

Good grief, thought the student. Might there be a moral to this story? Aye. Mock not the French waiter who is trying to mock you lest ye be forced to endure the flatness of French unhumour.


P.S. Rue des Francs Bourgeois (pictured above) is not a pedestrian street.

Laundry Day

When I asked my landlady if there were any “buanderies” nearby, she laughed and said: “On dit une laverie, ma chère!” If having to leave the house to do laundry last weekend wasn’t bad enough, I also had to go and lock myself out of my home with no phone, no ipod, no watch, no friendly neighbours to open the door for me… Damn you, Paris and your self-locking doors! Though it wasn’t funny at the time, I knew I’d eventually see the humour of it all, so I decided to take some photos of the Laundromat in commemoration of my conundrum. The bulk of our lives are made up of mundane moments, after all!