this is the street I live on in Paris. It's really cute and very conveniently located. I walk just about everywhere in Paris, at just about any time of day. There are five different metro stops within a five to ten minute radius of where I live. Shops and restaurants and bars abound. And Nicholas Flamel lived across the street back in the fifteenth century. These are all great reasons to stay in an apartment, right?
Wrong.
I'm going insane from living in such a tiny studio. I think I need to move within the next couple of months. The prospect of bringing my dog to live here with my in january has me breaking out in the sweats. And besides that-- everything keeps breaking! The plumbing, the heater, the armoire-- I just can't take it anymore.
Sorry to be a grouch on this Sunday afternoon.
10/31/2004
IMG_0086.JPG
10/28/2004
news
watching the morning news on "the" european channel ("euronews"). It's a relatively slow news day thus far... Yassir Arafat appears to be ill, it's the anniversary of the Oslo accords, peace still looks very far away, there was an explosion in siberia, some italian fellows played football. oh, and the boston red sox won the world series.
sorry, what?
sorry, what?
10/25/2004
Rufus, part II
The concert last night was superlative. I don't know of any other musician who even comes close to Rufus: in terms of the beauty and scope of his compositions; or his consummate mastery of the piano; or his inimitable style, his ability to make a song his own, from Debussy to Leonard Cohen.
It is imperative that you listen to something of his if you aren't already familiar with his music. A french friend asked me yesterday what kind of music he writes--jazz? pop? classical? I don't know; all three. It defies genre.
I do hope this posting doesn't read like a fan site. I'm really not one of those people. and I'm not, like, following Rufus around the country or stalking him after concerts. I just think he's one of the greatest voices out there, in a musical moment that's glutted with talentless pretty faces and derivative neo-punk/New Wave bands, and I think you should think this, too.
It is imperative that you listen to something of his if you aren't already familiar with his music. A french friend asked me yesterday what kind of music he writes--jazz? pop? classical? I don't know; all three. It defies genre.
I do hope this posting doesn't read like a fan site. I'm really not one of those people. and I'm not, like, following Rufus around the country or stalking him after concerts. I just think he's one of the greatest voices out there, in a musical moment that's glutted with talentless pretty faces and derivative neo-punk/New Wave bands, and I think you should think this, too.
10/24/2004
how not to make friends 101
the window in my apartment faces onto a courtyard, where the building next door is only about 15 feet away. Consequently, my neighbor and I have been scoping each other out since I moved here three weeks ago. He is american; this I know from hearing him speak. He is gay; this I also know from hearing him speak, but this is borne out by the "girlie man" (to borrow a phrase from ah-nold) photos adorning his wall. today, this is presently being re-confirmed by the fact that he is playing the soundtrack to "phantom of the opera." I want to strike up a conversation with my compatriot and fellow musical theatre fan (even if "phantom" does represent one of the low moments in sir andrew's career, tho some might disagree with this assessment). but I'm too shy! so I'm hiding behind my laptop and pretending not to see him.
He also has a Kerry/Edwards poster up on his window. This is a particularly interesting thing to put on your window when 1. it looks out on a courtyard and 2. your immediate neighbor (me) is american. is this for my benefit? who else does he imagine is seeing this poster? or is it just for his own satisfaction?
curious. it is nice, however, to hear "phantom" being played... I don't think I've listened to it since the last millennium. But I can't deny that I'm irrationally excited for the film adaptation to come out this christmas!
sing, my psychotic angel of music!
He also has a Kerry/Edwards poster up on his window. This is a particularly interesting thing to put on your window when 1. it looks out on a courtyard and 2. your immediate neighbor (me) is american. is this for my benefit? who else does he imagine is seeing this poster? or is it just for his own satisfaction?
curious. it is nice, however, to hear "phantom" being played... I don't think I've listened to it since the last millennium. But I can't deny that I'm irrationally excited for the film adaptation to come out this christmas!
sing, my psychotic angel of music!
10/23/2004
When I get back I will dream in Barnes and Noble
tomorrow night I'm seeing Rufus Wainwright play at Cafe de la Danse. this is the man who works such memorable lyrics as "life is the longest death in california" into a catchy pop song. I love him dearly. A huge thank you to my cousin Neil and his colleagues at Interscope for getting us into the show!
Rufus will probably be doing songs from his new album, "Want Two," but I'm hoping he'll include "The Tower of Learning," from "Poses," in his set:
All the sights of Paris
fell inside your iris
tip the eiffel tower with one glance
stained glass cathedrals with one glace
you smashed them with your eyes
it would be a shame for him to leave that one out...
Rufus will probably be doing songs from his new album, "Want Two," but I'm hoping he'll include "The Tower of Learning," from "Poses," in his set:
All the sights of Paris
fell inside your iris
tip the eiffel tower with one glance
stained glass cathedrals with one glace
you smashed them with your eyes
it would be a shame for him to leave that one out...
10/22/2004
a yankee moment
am in mourning.
am a little behind on the news as well, but as you may or may not have heard, the evil team from boston with the colored footwear has edged past my yankees to win a spot in the world series.
someone remarked to me recently that rooting for the yankees is like betting on the house. (this person has clearly spent too much time in boston)
my yankees habit has waned on and off over the years.... I've never been really interested in sports, although I can occasionally muster the energy to pay attention to a football [soccer] match or a basketball game. But I've always liked baseball. I like watching the ball get thrown around the field-- there's something balletic about the way the players reach out to catch it, or lunge while they throw it. I like when they slide into a plate and whoever's on that plate has to touch them with the ball. I like that they have to touch.
My maternal grandfather, despite being from the Deep South, became a Yankee fan the minute he moved up north. This did not strike me as odd until a few years ago, after his death. In any context other than baseball, the word "Yankee" was an epithet. My mother, having grown up with the Yankees, every baseball season, would have them on in the house somewhere, whenever there was a game on. She gets very into the games and has been known to shout, cheer, and crow at the television when she feels particularly moved.
My sister inherited the Yankee blood. My father, on the other hand, was, in his boyhood, a diehard Brooklyn Dodgers fan. When they moved to LA, he felt abandoned, and took up the Mets as a consolation team. He can therefore never be a Yankee fan, and he's not authentically a Mets fan.
For a few years, following a series of relationships with boys from Long Island (read: Mets fans) I thought I was perhaps a Mets fan. this I think was equally an attempt to commiserate with the boy and an act of rebellion against my yankee background. But back in 2000, my family took me to a Yanks game, where I lost all will to resistance when I saw the way Bernie Williams could catch a ball way in the outfield. That was it.
And so maybe being a Yankee fan is like betting on the house-- but at the risk of sounding terribly like a weekly columnist, it's my house I'm betting on, gosh darn it! it's all about family! I haven't spoken to my mom since the defeat-- I'm giving her time to mourn.
am a little behind on the news as well, but as you may or may not have heard, the evil team from boston with the colored footwear has edged past my yankees to win a spot in the world series.
someone remarked to me recently that rooting for the yankees is like betting on the house. (this person has clearly spent too much time in boston)
my yankees habit has waned on and off over the years.... I've never been really interested in sports, although I can occasionally muster the energy to pay attention to a football [soccer] match or a basketball game. But I've always liked baseball. I like watching the ball get thrown around the field-- there's something balletic about the way the players reach out to catch it, or lunge while they throw it. I like when they slide into a plate and whoever's on that plate has to touch them with the ball. I like that they have to touch.
My maternal grandfather, despite being from the Deep South, became a Yankee fan the minute he moved up north. This did not strike me as odd until a few years ago, after his death. In any context other than baseball, the word "Yankee" was an epithet. My mother, having grown up with the Yankees, every baseball season, would have them on in the house somewhere, whenever there was a game on. She gets very into the games and has been known to shout, cheer, and crow at the television when she feels particularly moved.
My sister inherited the Yankee blood. My father, on the other hand, was, in his boyhood, a diehard Brooklyn Dodgers fan. When they moved to LA, he felt abandoned, and took up the Mets as a consolation team. He can therefore never be a Yankee fan, and he's not authentically a Mets fan.
For a few years, following a series of relationships with boys from Long Island (read: Mets fans) I thought I was perhaps a Mets fan. this I think was equally an attempt to commiserate with the boy and an act of rebellion against my yankee background. But back in 2000, my family took me to a Yanks game, where I lost all will to resistance when I saw the way Bernie Williams could catch a ball way in the outfield. That was it.
And so maybe being a Yankee fan is like betting on the house-- but at the risk of sounding terribly like a weekly columnist, it's my house I'm betting on, gosh darn it! it's all about family! I haven't spoken to my mom since the defeat-- I'm giving her time to mourn.
10/21/2004
bits of string and eggshells
By far the funniest judgment of Dan Brown's writing I've yet to read, courtesy of petite anglaise, a charming Brit who found her way here not long ago.
Most to-the-point opening of a review article: Tony Judt in NYRB: "Talk of "empire" makes Americans distinctly uneasy. This is odd."
Review of the day: James Wood on David Lodge on Henry James
(the string and eggshells, you'll recall, is a reference to H.G. Wells on James.)
am I lazy or what? all I did was round-up other people's fits of literary genius and put them on display! What a hack!
Most to-the-point opening of a review article: Tony Judt in NYRB: "Talk of "empire" makes Americans distinctly uneasy. This is odd."
Review of the day: James Wood on David Lodge on Henry James
(the string and eggshells, you'll recall, is a reference to H.G. Wells on James.)
am I lazy or what? all I did was round-up other people's fits of literary genius and put them on display! What a hack!
10/18/2004
department of deconstruction
From the Letters to the Editor page of The Guardian, 12 October 2004:
Your obituary of Jacques Derrida (October 11) includes his statement: "I cannot use a sign - a word or a sentence, say - without implying that it pre-exists and will outlive me." It appears on the same page as the solution to a crossword set before his death, and containing the answer "DERRIDA". Did DERRIDA pre-exist and outlive Derrida? Discuss and, if necessary, deconstruct.
Phil Myerscough
Exeter
Good for a chuckle, no?
and then, there's this...just before I left for France I reviewed this book for Publisher's Weekly. My review is about halfway down the page... the buggers don't give bylines, but it's mine!
Your obituary of Jacques Derrida (October 11) includes his statement: "I cannot use a sign - a word or a sentence, say - without implying that it pre-exists and will outlive me." It appears on the same page as the solution to a crossword set before his death, and containing the answer "DERRIDA". Did DERRIDA pre-exist and outlive Derrida? Discuss and, if necessary, deconstruct.
Phil Myerscough
Exeter
Good for a chuckle, no?
and then, there's this...just before I left for France I reviewed this book for Publisher's Weekly. My review is about halfway down the page... the buggers don't give bylines, but it's mine!
10/15/2004
"the LIE, the BQE"
ummmmmmm...... I'm listening to the Beastie Boys' new album TO THE FIVE BOROUGHS while getting ready to go out....and oh it's making me so homesick! It's all about context: at home, if you said the letters LIE and BQE to me, memories of traffic jams and long car rides back and forth over the length of long island would come flooding in and I'd probably start twitching. But here-- in my studio in Paris with its seventeenth century exposed beams-- it just makes me awful nostalgic for good old NYC.
"brooklyn bronx queens and staten/from the battery to the top of manhattan/asian middle eastern and latin/black white/new york, you make it happen"
Word.
"brooklyn bronx queens and staten/from the battery to the top of manhattan/asian middle eastern and latin/black white/new york, you make it happen"
Word.
10/14/2004
going places
check out the link above-- an old friend (and flame, somewhat, but that's a long time ago and a bit of an inside joke) from the theatre days. Back then he had more letters in his name. maybe I should drop a letter from my name. That "i" never did much for me. what if I change my name to Elkn?
then, of course, there's Michael Musto's column. Apparently he's gotten over the heartbreak of it not working out between us all those years ago...
Anyway. thoughts on a lovely autumn afternoon in paris. (how nice does that sound? I'm almost jealous of myself)
then, of course, there's Michael Musto's column. Apparently he's gotten over the heartbreak of it not working out between us all those years ago...
Anyway. thoughts on a lovely autumn afternoon in paris. (how nice does that sound? I'm almost jealous of myself)
yay for the french
hooray, hooray! I taught my first two solo classes today and it was a beautiful sight to behold: 24 lovely, charming, polite, and well-spoken french students. All women, ranging in age from 20 to 40. They have renewed my faith in the french and made me so much more excited to be here. They were utterly sweet and a pleasure to teach. Not a bad attitude in the whole lot. I concluded each class today by teaching them an idiomatic american expression: "you rock." "so do you!" they answered. La vie est belle!
and for the record-- this is my one-hundredth post. Where's my cake?
and for the record-- this is my one-hundredth post. Where's my cake?
10/12/2004
addiction
ahhhhh. I'm finally hooked up to the internet in my apartment. I swear to god, not having it available 24/7 was producing symptoms of withdrawal in me.... I've been irritable, depressed, anxious, and feeling completely cut off from the world. Those feelings could simply be a function of moving to a foreign country, of course. I prefer to think those problems will go away now that the internet fairy has come to bestow her magical powers on my laptop.
with my new internet access, I've been able to catch up on the news a bit. I'm deeply saddened by the deaths, within days of each other, of Jacques Derrida and Christopher Reeve. I found myself within their orbits on a couple of occasions, in the English department at NYU, where Derrida taught on and off, and at the Williamstown Theatre Festival, where I spent the summer of 1998 working as an apprentice, and where Reeve's wife, Dana, was acting (Reeve himself was once an apprentice at WTF). They were both so shiny and potent, and it was so exciting to run into them in an elevator or at the theatre. To have those two abstractions--philosopher and movie star--so close at hand renders them more real, and painfully mortal. And so their departure means something more than if they had remained, vaguely, well-known names and bodies of work.
but let that go. I was also astounded to read in the travel section of the Times, of all places, that the mayor of Paris, Betrand Delanoe, has proposed lifting the ban that prevents buildings over twelve stories high from being constructed in Paris. Perish the thought! is it me or is that a tragically, horrifically bad idea? What does he think this is, New York? Next thing you know he'll be banning smoking in bars!
with my new internet access, I've been able to catch up on the news a bit. I'm deeply saddened by the deaths, within days of each other, of Jacques Derrida and Christopher Reeve. I found myself within their orbits on a couple of occasions, in the English department at NYU, where Derrida taught on and off, and at the Williamstown Theatre Festival, where I spent the summer of 1998 working as an apprentice, and where Reeve's wife, Dana, was acting (Reeve himself was once an apprentice at WTF). They were both so shiny and potent, and it was so exciting to run into them in an elevator or at the theatre. To have those two abstractions--philosopher and movie star--so close at hand renders them more real, and painfully mortal. And so their departure means something more than if they had remained, vaguely, well-known names and bodies of work.
but let that go. I was also astounded to read in the travel section of the Times, of all places, that the mayor of Paris, Betrand Delanoe, has proposed lifting the ban that prevents buildings over twelve stories high from being constructed in Paris. Perish the thought! is it me or is that a tragically, horrifically bad idea? What does he think this is, New York? Next thing you know he'll be banning smoking in bars!
10/10/2004
twenty-six revolutions
...of the sun, that is. That's how many trips around it I've made, as of tomorrow. Man. Big birthday. Over the hill, totally. I'm in the second half of my twenties. Well-- actually it's not that bad if I can look at it as starting the second half of my twenties. There's still a lot of time before (gulp) I hit thirty. And I may actually finish my doctorate by then. Ok. I'm succeeding in calming myself down.
So other than the getting old part, 26 is actually a bit of a milestone. I can rent a car now! how endlessly exciting!
If you're in Paris and you want to know where we're celebrating, shoot me an email.
A plus!
So other than the getting old part, 26 is actually a bit of a milestone. I can rent a car now! how endlessly exciting!
If you're in Paris and you want to know where we're celebrating, shoot me an email.
A plus!
10/09/2004
absentee friends and other undesirables
if you are my friend and you are not in regular email contact with me while I'm over here, I'm mad at you, just so you know. You know who you are. I'm homesick, goddamnit! Keep the emails coming and the asphidistra flying.
I just met my first french cockroach. He waddled on along beside the computer I'm working on and said hello. I ran to get the guy behind the desk to come kill it. Mission accomplished, but now I'm paranoid that a friend of his is going to find his way into my bag and come home with me. EW.
I just met my first french cockroach. He waddled on along beside the computer I'm working on and said hello. I ran to get the guy behind the desk to come kill it. Mission accomplished, but now I'm paranoid that a friend of his is going to find his way into my bag and come home with me. EW.
10/08/2004
irony and you can't say bomb on an airplane
like alanis morisette, I have difficulty distinguishing the truly ironic from the coincidental or merely annoying. But last night I learned that the term "secondhand smoke" does not exist in French. And who would have thought-- it figures?
and in case you heard about the bomb in paris this morning-- don't be alarmed. I was nowhere near it. I was passed out in the third arrondissement after a night of heavy drinking and speaking (french, that is). the bomb was in the sixteenth.
and in case you heard about the bomb in paris this morning-- don't be alarmed. I was nowhere near it. I was passed out in the third arrondissement after a night of heavy drinking and speaking (french, that is). the bomb was in the sixteenth.
10/06/2004
totally stoked, plumbing vocabulary, and still missing home
First things first: I am going to a kickass event at the London Review Bookshop (in London) on November 19th. Here is the description:
WHAT IS LITERARY CRITICISM FOR? * 19 November 6:45 pm
Terry Eagleton, Frank Kermode, Andrew O'Hagan, Zadie Smith, James Wood
How much does that rock?
Secondly: you would be amazed by my advances in French vocabulary as of late. I can now talk plumbing lingo like nobody's business. First the toilet in the first apartment wouldn't stop running. "Il ne cesse pas de faire de l'eau! [It won't stop making water!]" I tried to explain to the man who was renting me the apt over the phone. "Oh, le toilette coule, appuyez sur le bouton en dedans." I looked, and I couldn't find a button. "Je ne trouve aucun bouton!" "Ok-- coupez l'eau." In other words-- simply turn the water on and off. ça marche.
Then, two nights ago, I found the bathroom floor flooded. I called my landlady. "Madame, il y a un trou dans le truc qui apporte l'eau et le sol est tout mouillé! Venez vite!" translation: there's a hole in the thing that carries the water and the floor is all wet. Come help. She came. "Oh, il y a une fuite dans le tuyaux!" yes, that's what I wanted to say. So now hopefully I know all the necessary vocabulary words for dealing with leaks and running toilet water. Am I fluent yet?
I might add that I neglected to bring a french-english dictionary with me-- only a french-french dictionary. donc je trouve les definitions des mots en français mais pas leurs traductions en anglais...
The French are still keeping me down. Today I was reduced to tears trying to sign some papers that will "install" me in my job. It was the third time I had returned to this office and they still weren't ready for me to sign. I can't do anything else until these papers are signed-- no carte de séjour, no bank account because no carte de séjour, no internet because no bank account.
The good news is, the Sorbonne registration is progressing. Now if I can only figure out where the French department is...
That's all the griping I can stand for now. It's 2:30 and everyone's basically done working for the day, so I can't do too much else until tomorrow. tant pis. remind me why I came here again??
WHAT IS LITERARY CRITICISM FOR? * 19 November 6:45 pm
Terry Eagleton, Frank Kermode, Andrew O'Hagan, Zadie Smith, James Wood
How much does that rock?
Secondly: you would be amazed by my advances in French vocabulary as of late. I can now talk plumbing lingo like nobody's business. First the toilet in the first apartment wouldn't stop running. "Il ne cesse pas de faire de l'eau! [It won't stop making water!]" I tried to explain to the man who was renting me the apt over the phone. "Oh, le toilette coule, appuyez sur le bouton en dedans." I looked, and I couldn't find a button. "Je ne trouve aucun bouton!" "Ok-- coupez l'eau." In other words-- simply turn the water on and off. ça marche.
Then, two nights ago, I found the bathroom floor flooded. I called my landlady. "Madame, il y a un trou dans le truc qui apporte l'eau et le sol est tout mouillé! Venez vite!" translation: there's a hole in the thing that carries the water and the floor is all wet. Come help. She came. "Oh, il y a une fuite dans le tuyaux!" yes, that's what I wanted to say. So now hopefully I know all the necessary vocabulary words for dealing with leaks and running toilet water. Am I fluent yet?
I might add that I neglected to bring a french-english dictionary with me-- only a french-french dictionary. donc je trouve les definitions des mots en français mais pas leurs traductions en anglais...
The French are still keeping me down. Today I was reduced to tears trying to sign some papers that will "install" me in my job. It was the third time I had returned to this office and they still weren't ready for me to sign. I can't do anything else until these papers are signed-- no carte de séjour, no bank account because no carte de séjour, no internet because no bank account.
The good news is, the Sorbonne registration is progressing. Now if I can only figure out where the French department is...
That's all the griping I can stand for now. It's 2:30 and everyone's basically done working for the day, so I can't do too much else until tomorrow. tant pis. remind me why I came here again??
10/02/2004
a little homesick
well-- just today, for the first time, I started to get a little homesick. Not deperately so, but a little bit. By way of illustration-- I'm presently typing on an american keyboard (qwerty). However, I've become so accustomed to a french keyboard over the last week and a half that I keep making typos-- mixing up the a and the q, thinking I'll find the apostrophe on the number 4 key, thinking I have to use the shift to type a period.
Why does this make me homesick, you might well ask? Because it means I've already started to cross over-- I've arrived at the point where I've let go of some of my most deeply ingrained american habits and reassumed my french habits. So I feel like the distance from Paris to New York just got a little wider.
Why does this make me homesick, you might well ask? Because it means I've already started to cross over-- I've arrived at the point where I've let go of some of my most deeply ingrained american habits and reassumed my french habits. So I feel like the distance from Paris to New York just got a little wider.
10/01/2004
getting settled
ok I'm in an internet café across the street from the lycée that is taking care of my paperwork for my teaching job at the IUFM (graduate school of education where I'm teaching english). To my right: rue de la pompe. to my left: 14 year olds shouting "putain! putain!" not at me, I hope. no-- they're hitting their keyboards. a bit of trivia about this street, rue de la pompe: apparently it's nicknamed rue de la pipe (blow job street)-- because both "pompe" and "pipe" are slang for, um, fellatio. so, yeah.... put that in your fodor's and smoke it.
I met a bunch of other kids on my teaching program... I'll be teaching at IUFM with a brit, a german, a canadian, and a venezuelan. lots of americans as well but they're teaching at the high school and primary level. Tomorrow night is les nuits blanches-- a citywide party where everything is open all night. someone was explaining the concept to me and they were, like, incredulous that things like the metro would stay open all night and I looked at them blankly. "Is that what all the fuss is about??" It's just that, to a New Yorker, it's not that special that the subway runs all night. I wouldn't take it past a certain hour anyway!
but there will be free outdoor concerts and things like that and apparently the stores and museums will be open all night as well. Do I really need to shop at Monoprix and go to the Louvre at midnight? no. Will I? maybe, just for the hell of it.
Last night I went to a Julia Kristeva reading at an Anglo bookshop with a guy who's in my progam at CUNY-- quite by coincidence we're both in Paris for the year. Kristeva was amazing to see in person-- it's like being the presence of God or something. But she didn't have a whole lot to say. She was reading from her new book on Colette, which has just been brought out in English, and is the third book in a trilogy about female genius. Apparently, according to Kristeva, the thing about genius is that it is singular. Go know.
"mais regard le connard!" the french adolescents are pissing me off. Il faut que j'aille. A tout à l'heure, kids.
I met a bunch of other kids on my teaching program... I'll be teaching at IUFM with a brit, a german, a canadian, and a venezuelan. lots of americans as well but they're teaching at the high school and primary level. Tomorrow night is les nuits blanches-- a citywide party where everything is open all night. someone was explaining the concept to me and they were, like, incredulous that things like the metro would stay open all night and I looked at them blankly. "Is that what all the fuss is about??" It's just that, to a New Yorker, it's not that special that the subway runs all night. I wouldn't take it past a certain hour anyway!
but there will be free outdoor concerts and things like that and apparently the stores and museums will be open all night as well. Do I really need to shop at Monoprix and go to the Louvre at midnight? no. Will I? maybe, just for the hell of it.
Last night I went to a Julia Kristeva reading at an Anglo bookshop with a guy who's in my progam at CUNY-- quite by coincidence we're both in Paris for the year. Kristeva was amazing to see in person-- it's like being the presence of God or something. But she didn't have a whole lot to say. She was reading from her new book on Colette, which has just been brought out in English, and is the third book in a trilogy about female genius. Apparently, according to Kristeva, the thing about genius is that it is singular. Go know.
"mais regard le connard!" the french adolescents are pissing me off. Il faut que j'aille. A tout à l'heure, kids.
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