Fun with Gmail

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?

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

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...

So the Paris Techno Parade was fairly interesting this year:

More about it over on Mu Foo.

Home Sick Aloof

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

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?

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.