The French Hangover
Do you know what the worst thing is for a French hangover? A courtyard of screaming French children... which is what you hear when you open the beautiful windows in this apartment.
I was a nervous basket case yesterday, made better by walking for 3 hours during the first days of spring. It was absolutely beautiful, and much as in New York the first moments of Spring are a lively affair for street harassment, I'm not sure if gorgeous men on motorcycles smiling at you when they pass constitutes "harassment" when they are just "appreciative".
So that said, all of that mutual appreciation did not crack through my nerves enough and I was in not the best state for my dinner with Celine. Also there is no real word (or appreciation) for the Neurotic State in France. There is a word, I'll find it, that sort of describes it, but it doesn't fly off the tongue the way it does in New York. So I was explaining (partially as a rebuffal) to a very kind Jew that I was a neurotic basketcase over a beer, and it seemed to mute his interests a bit.
Celine took me to a sweet restaurant -- she hates her job, her husband is in Toulouse, she's not in the best place right now -- so the two of us were probably not the most exciting table to overhear.
Then I had to meet Tv personality/DJ/Seducteur at this party launching a new Lancome product. Yes, I know, what could be worse? But actually it was great. This academic/novelist/journalist girl was there and quite fun, and this lovely Turkish woman who is "Lancome Turque" and drank tons of Champagne and danced. The Seducteur had a slamming suit on with a striped shirt underneath, purple tie and black feather in his pocket. Nice.
Picked up a Venezualan named Angel (aww, like my cat) along the way and crossed the Seine (made out in front of the Louvre) on foot with a posse of Champagne swigging people to the next party. We were scuttled to the front of the line because of said Tv personality -- and ushered inside a very Berlinish place "Paris Paris." This means its a dank room, full of smoke and sweaty people. But in Berlin your champagne would be 2 Euro, and here it was 10 Euro. Another difference (Tv personality, by the way, is an excellent dancer) between France and the States, is if you do find yourself making out against a wall at a club -- the French are happy for you -- perhaps they poke you and make jokes, but they interact and all in all its a good night. Unlike when I made out with a certain German at a comedy club (out of pain and boredom and the fact that they wouldn't sell us a beer and we didn't have seats) someone yelled "Get a room" because god forbid you enjoy yourself.
Thomas is mounting a show tonight for his photos, they are so beautiful. I hope its a quiet night would love to catch up with Nico and T. The poor Venezualan had nowhere to sleep, I left him on the corner, came in and passed out. Le pauvre.
Its not all fun and games, I have a meeting at the Champs Elysees in like half an hour, and now the song is stuck in my head.
I was a nervous basket case yesterday, made better by walking for 3 hours during the first days of spring. It was absolutely beautiful, and much as in New York the first moments of Spring are a lively affair for street harassment, I'm not sure if gorgeous men on motorcycles smiling at you when they pass constitutes "harassment" when they are just "appreciative".
So that said, all of that mutual appreciation did not crack through my nerves enough and I was in not the best state for my dinner with Celine. Also there is no real word (or appreciation) for the Neurotic State in France. There is a word, I'll find it, that sort of describes it, but it doesn't fly off the tongue the way it does in New York. So I was explaining (partially as a rebuffal) to a very kind Jew that I was a neurotic basketcase over a beer, and it seemed to mute his interests a bit.
Celine took me to a sweet restaurant -- she hates her job, her husband is in Toulouse, she's not in the best place right now -- so the two of us were probably not the most exciting table to overhear.
Then I had to meet Tv personality/DJ/Seducteur at this party launching a new Lancome product. Yes, I know, what could be worse? But actually it was great. This academic/novelist/journalist girl was there and quite fun, and this lovely Turkish woman who is "Lancome Turque" and drank tons of Champagne and danced. The Seducteur had a slamming suit on with a striped shirt underneath, purple tie and black feather in his pocket. Nice.
Picked up a Venezualan named Angel (aww, like my cat) along the way and crossed the Seine (made out in front of the Louvre) on foot with a posse of Champagne swigging people to the next party. We were scuttled to the front of the line because of said Tv personality -- and ushered inside a very Berlinish place "Paris Paris." This means its a dank room, full of smoke and sweaty people. But in Berlin your champagne would be 2 Euro, and here it was 10 Euro. Another difference (Tv personality, by the way, is an excellent dancer) between France and the States, is if you do find yourself making out against a wall at a club -- the French are happy for you -- perhaps they poke you and make jokes, but they interact and all in all its a good night. Unlike when I made out with a certain German at a comedy club (out of pain and boredom and the fact that they wouldn't sell us a beer and we didn't have seats) someone yelled "Get a room" because god forbid you enjoy yourself.
Thomas is mounting a show tonight for his photos, they are so beautiful. I hope its a quiet night would love to catch up with Nico and T. The poor Venezualan had nowhere to sleep, I left him on the corner, came in and passed out. Le pauvre.
Its not all fun and games, I have a meeting at the Champs Elysees in like half an hour, and now the song is stuck in my head.
posted by No Longer Active at 3:18 AM
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