There are many quintessentially Parisian experiences-- like warm baguettes, strolling along the Seine, velibing along the canal, seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle, attending wine tastings, having people in cafes tell you they just love your terrible anglophone accent, drinking 3 espressos a day and reading Great French Novels that are all set in Paris and mention streets in your neighborhood.
However, the Quintessentially Parisian Experience that I have reserved for myself today is one of the less glamorous variety. I will be cleaning spots of black mould off the bathroom wall with bleach in a futile attempt to avoid being infected by abspetos and dying alone in my cold, humid apartment built in 1850.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Welcome to the Real World
The Matrix has me. And I love it. It's about time.
After a record 5 month wait, I finally have internet in my house, so this has its useless time wasting advantages like facebook quizzes about which popsicle flavor/dog breed/celebrity midget are you (and then, of course, emailing your results to every single person you know) and more vital life-affirming ones, like actually being able to talk to the family without worrying about my expensive French cell phone minutes, and finding a job and an apartment for next year.
My internet/TV connection has transformed my miniture frumpy ancient rabbit-eared TV with bad reception and 3 channels on a good day into a towering and sleek digital panther who confidently roams the communications jungle and remorselessly hunts and kills the less technologically-advanced fuzzy jungle creatures struggling to make their way only with their wireless networkless antennae. In my now vast galaxy of home entertainment, I have access to every radio station known to man, Arte, the BBC and for a limited time only, Canal +, and about 15,000 other channels.
My TV now does everything short of my taxes and I feel like we're beginning a very intimate relationship, as it can serve as an alarm clock, voice mailbox, TiVo-like recorder, pay-per-view provider, fax machine, travel agent, domestic slave, and ATM machine. No, I exagerate. The TiVo probably doesn't even work.
I'm suddenly slightly afraid of all my formerly innocuous appliances and what they might now be capable of-- like what if the oven plugs in and starts operating by satelite or hooks itself up to iTunes or, even worse, to that souped-up monster truck extreme makeover television of mine and I'll have to operate it from a safe distance with an instruction manual, 2 remote controls and its own power strip.
After a record 5 month wait, I finally have internet in my house, so this has its useless time wasting advantages like facebook quizzes about which popsicle flavor/dog breed/celebrity midget are you (and then, of course, emailing your results to every single person you know) and more vital life-affirming ones, like actually being able to talk to the family without worrying about my expensive French cell phone minutes, and finding a job and an apartment for next year.
My internet/TV connection has transformed my miniture frumpy ancient rabbit-eared TV with bad reception and 3 channels on a good day into a towering and sleek digital panther who confidently roams the communications jungle and remorselessly hunts and kills the less technologically-advanced fuzzy jungle creatures struggling to make their way only with their wireless networkless antennae. In my now vast galaxy of home entertainment, I have access to every radio station known to man, Arte, the BBC and for a limited time only, Canal +, and about 15,000 other channels.
My TV now does everything short of my taxes and I feel like we're beginning a very intimate relationship, as it can serve as an alarm clock, voice mailbox, TiVo-like recorder, pay-per-view provider, fax machine, travel agent, domestic slave, and ATM machine. No, I exagerate. The TiVo probably doesn't even work.
I'm suddenly slightly afraid of all my formerly innocuous appliances and what they might now be capable of-- like what if the oven plugs in and starts operating by satelite or hooks itself up to iTunes or, even worse, to that souped-up monster truck extreme makeover television of mine and I'll have to operate it from a safe distance with an instruction manual, 2 remote controls and its own power strip.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Autumn Sonata
In an extremely monumental city what I find most breathtaking at the moment in Paris is not the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur or the Pont d'Alexandre III, but the leaves that are changing color at Parc Monceau. Mainly because all those other monuments are always there, and generally look the same rather than suddenly being orange, yellow and red for a limited time only.
Despite all the natural beauty of Northern California, where I used to live, I always missed the blazing color of autumn and the changing of the seasons.
As the Parisian catacombs will remind you, the changing of seasons and passage of time leads inevitably to your death when eventually someone will bury you under Paris, stack your bones into attractive patterns and charge tourists to visit them. However, going to the park to see the temporary abstract expressionist arboreal art exhibit is free-- and has no macabre quotes to force you to confront your own mortality and to refrain from flash photography.
Despite all the natural beauty of Northern California, where I used to live, I always missed the blazing color of autumn and the changing of the seasons.
As the Parisian catacombs will remind you, the changing of seasons and passage of time leads inevitably to your death when eventually someone will bury you under Paris, stack your bones into attractive patterns and charge tourists to visit them. However, going to the park to see the temporary abstract expressionist arboreal art exhibit is free-- and has no macabre quotes to force you to confront your own mortality and to refrain from flash photography.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
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