paris neige

[Jordain]



[Jardin du Luxemburg]

Noel

So I know the holidays are suppose to be a time to stuff your face silly but the French take the cake for this (pun intended). Here is what I consumed in the order in which I consumed them:

[Apero - Sorry no picture I was too busy eating but imagine snacks available for the duration of a superbowl. Include overtime.]



[Raw Oysters - I consumed 1/3 of this since 3/10 of people there ate this dish]



[Foie gras with kiwi and banana jam. Heavenly but heavy]



[Turkey]



[Sides]


[Salad]



[Assorted cheeses]



[Rasberry Tarimisu with Macaroons]



[Christmas Log - I actually ate this the next day because everyone veto-ed the 2 other desserts after the tarimisu - there was another cake as well that I never saw thank god]

Add to all this white wine, red wine, rose wine, fruit rum champagne cocktail, and regular champagne and you have the totality of it all.

When I commented this was a bit ridiculous I was told that it was nothing compared to last year's "traditional" french xmas dinner involving 13 small desserts. No that's not a typo. Thirteen.

On the plus side I'm pretty sure this meal put more junk in my trunk. Nice.

most unorginal movie, ever

So could somebody tell me when did James Cameron start take director tips from Mr. Burns?

I saw Avatar and it's a film made up of snips of other films (mainly this, this and this).

Not to mention the main characters were obviously ripped off.

It's even got Sigourney Weaver in it only last time I saw the movie she was either picking nits or was the one wearing this.

I haven't been this upset since I watched the end of The Mummy Returns and realized they stole the ending from Duck Tales (cntrl f: "ducktales").

noel a paris

Jourdain (where I live)

Levallois (where I work)

Champs Elysees (where I tried to go xmas shopping but was too crowded so I drank vin chaud instead)

paris by night

my soul mate

So I am a cold person. And no I do not mean I'm cold emotionally (in this case at least). I mean I get cold very very easily and I usually still shiver underneath a heavy coat on a cold winter's day.

Then about 2 years ago I happened upon a coat that changed all this. Unfortunately the very same coat elicited the initial reaction of "I bet it's really comfortable!" from people which is like the apparel equivalent of people saying of a single guy people want to set you up with as "he's really nice!". Doesn't speak much of the aesthetic appeal.

I remember when I bought this coat as well. I happened upon it at Banana Republic on the sale rack and noticed it had been marked down from 300 dollars to 40.

So what if it was a size medium and I was a was a size extra small? Who cared that it was a long puffy giant black coat that even fashion victims like myself know shouldn't be warn baggy?

As I eagerly tried it on, I felt like I had found a diamond in the rough. Unfortunately when I turned to gage the reaction of friend he looked at me like I resembled a giant piece of coal.

I bought it anyways (the Asian in me couldn't let the good deal go by). When I finally wore it to work a friend confided in me that I looked like I was wearing a sleeping bag.

She was right, but at this point I didn't care. For the first time in my life I could step outside in 5 degree wind chill factor and still feel toasty. It covered almost all of me had a giant hood which made it possible for me to walk long distances in the rain without an umbrella. Looking like the grim reaper late for an appointment when I did was just a bonus.

You know that feeling you have in a cold winter's day when you're under your thick comforter and you don't know why you have to get up from under that warm cozy goodness? Wearing the coat was like wearing a giant comforter. But with arms.

Alas after two years my shield against the elements started to literally break apart. Battered and warn I packed it away when I moved to Paris.

Recently during my walks from the metro to the office, I started to feel the cold crisp air of winter through my wool winter coat and started to think about my sleeping bag coat and considered the possibility of investing the money into get it repaired and dry cleaned. Then this past weekend I was browsing one of my favorite second hand stores in Paris when I saw it.

Almost the exact twin of my sleeping bag coat except it was from the Gap and had a duller fabric than the shiney synthetic of it's sister store BR. Otherwise it was the same. From the zipper to the buttons, same style, same color. Size medium. 30 euros.

Call me crazy but it's like my coat had died and reincarnated itself to find me again in that second hand store just when I started to really miss it. Second hand store, second chances. The message was clear.

It's a happy ending.

thanksgiving

So for Thanksgiving this year I offered to make a vietnamese soup (sup mang qua) thinking it would be easy. I emailed my sister for the receipe. She responded with everything except for the portions. Thinking perhaps she didn't know how many people I was cooking for I told her. To which she replied:

"Oh I don't know, I'm not good at portions. As much as you want I guess."

To make a long story short I was overzealous with the tapioca powder which lead to my soup having the consistency similar to that of tapioca pudding. I wish I was kidding but I am not.

Everyone ate it anyways exclaiming it was "super bon" (who says French people aren't nice?)

I didn't take any pictures of it as I am hoping with my bad memory I won't remember the incident when I look back at the pictures (it's no loss anyways a picture doesn't convey texture).

Main differences between an American Thanksgiving and an American Thanksgiving in France:



Apero (this lasted for almost as long as the meal did).



Fireplace (this is new to me and it took me ages to get an unfuzy pictures so I'm going to post it).



No turkey (the turkey farmer kind of thought we were nuts when we asked for a turkey so far in advance of Christmas) or cranberry sauce (that's cumberland sauce - tastes similar). No corn on the cob. Anywhere.



But we did have pumpkin pie.

(de)evolution of toilets

So I received an email from a friend of mine who is currently living in China. She found the toilet situation to be appalling.

I had to laugh at this. Why? Here below is the evolution of my reaction to abroad toilets over time.

Japan - Wow, a sit down! (after my introduction to swatter toilets)

Thailand - Wow, it flushes! (after peeing in holes that for all I know lead to an abyss [a very smelly gross abyss])

China - Wow, toilet paper! (actually I don't think I ever saw toilet paper but this would've been my reaction had I seen it)

Vietnam - Wow, soap! (My friend actually came out of the toilet and shoved his hand under my nose. After a couple of seconds I identified the smell as soap [We used hand sanatizer least you think us gross])

Cambodia - Wow, walls! (after peeing in an "outhouse" with the structural integrity of tin foil which I learned later drained into the river)

India - Wow, a toilet! (after I asked to go to the bathroom and the man lead me to an open field and expected, seriously, that I pee there. There were people in this field).

my gf

So when I first moved into my apartment my roommate seemed really nice and we got alone fine.

Then about a month in, she started to exhibit weird behavior like staying in her room with the door closed when I got home from work and not come out. What was she doing in there? When/where was she eating dinner? Did something bad happen? Was it something I did? I had no idea what was going on. This continued on for like a week.

Then one day I saw the floor was dirty so I swept it (this was not the first time I did this btw and to me a perfectly normal thing to do). The next day, to my surprise she was out and about and thanked me for sweeping the floor. Thinking her weird at this point I was cautious when dealing with her. I guess she didn't like my unresponsiveness and that's when it all came out.

Apparently I had not been putting in my fair share in the apartment (including the cooking) and she was angry with me. But instead of saying something like a normal adult she decided to stay in her room and wait to see if I would offer her dinner when I made my dinner. And when I didn't she got more and more angry.

I'm sorry. Call me insensitive or whatever but when someone goes into their room and closes the door I think to myself this person does not want to be disturbed; not "knock on my door and offer me dinner".

As all her grievances came out I slowly started to realize she expected me to read her mind and when I didn't she got more angry and more angry with me.

What finally saved me in the end was that I swept the floor of my own accord and she decided that I was willing to contribute and therefore decided to interact with me again.

Right. Basically she's like my oversensitive girlfriend that I can't break up with because of the sweet apartment situation she provides me. Breaking up with her would mean losing the apartment. I was determined to make it work.

So now, in order to keep her happy I have been super gung ho about things like keeping the floor clean. In fact this morning on my way out of the apartment to work I made sure to take out the trash.

Not only that I am actively trying to be sensitive to her needs. Before leaving London I made sure to get her the Gingerbread men she asked for. They remain uneaten on the kitchen counter and I stress about whether she likes them or not. (Are they the wrong brand? Is she upset they are actually Gingerbread snowmen and not Gingerbreadmen?)

Shit is stressful yo.

Otherwise things are going well. I'm happy to report she hasn't shut herself in her room latley. In fact this evening we were both together in the living room: me reading the Glamour magazine I nicked from my friend and London and her watching the France vs. Ireland football game and shouting French profanities.

...

Who's the girl now?

yorkshire (pronounced yorksher)

a picture is worth three words

So today I received an email from my sister. The gists of it is as follows:

Busy at work supporting go live.
Jasmine really likes pre-school.
I'm good (I enclosed a picture for you to show how good I'm feeling).
What's the status of H1N1 in France?
Can't wait for turkey.

If you're like me you will find the "picture of how I'm feeling" quite odd and immediately scroll down to check out the picture. And if you're like me you will be very surprised to see a sonogram.

Then, if you are like me, you would go back up and scan the 5 paragraph email for mention of a pregnancy and you will find nothing amist the talk of swine flu, preschool, and turkey.

But unlike me, who has had 29 years experience in dealing with the weirdness that is my sister, you won't realize that it's just like her to pull shit like this and what you have to do is calmly explain to her that normal people don't tell their sister that they are pregnant by attachment. Then you ask for confirmation.

So yeah, I'll be an aunt again. Ca c'est genial.

carte de sejour

So my residence card expired at the end of October which made me technically an illegal immigrant for the past 4 days. And least you think it was because I'm a slacker and didn't realize my card expired (come to think of it, this could easily have happened to me had CSC not asked about the expiration date of my card) I made an appointment with the prefecture as soon as I realized my situation. This was two months ago.

Having dealt with French beauracracies before I have amassed two rules of thumb:

1. They love official looking papers and copies of official looking papers.
2. Don't expect to get what you need on the first visit. By my estimation it takes you an average of three.

Since there is a two month waiting period to get an appointment at the prefecture, I couldn't let rule number 2 come to pass so I stocked up on number 1. Whatever official document I had I dug out and whatever I thought I might remotely need I went out and got or persuaded, bullied, or annoyed other people into getting for me. Then I made copies of everything.

Swimming in papers and wearing professional clothes as to not look like riff raft (nobody wants riff raft in their country) I headed to the prefecture.

The guy at the counter asked for official paper after official paper and with each request (bam!) I presented him with what he asked for. Then our rhythm was interuppted when he stated that he couldn't accept one of my papers because the date on it wasn't recent enough. I looked down at the paper he was referring to. It was my friend's electricity bill.

My mind flashed to the lunch I had with my friend when he handed it to me and I pointed out the date might be a problem. He reassured me that it was the only one he had because of the system he chose to pay his bill (they estimate what he would pay per month and he already pre-paid the estimated amount for the year - at the end of the year they would calculate the actually amount and either credit or debit his account the difference). Satisfied that since such a system exists in France the prefecture would be ok with the document I let it go.

And here I was, staring at the only problem preventing me from getting what I needed. I explained to the guy what my friend told me and he agreed that yes, such a system existed in France but unfortunately for me I had to get an attestation from the electric company instead. He told me where to go, and I thought for a brief moment perhaps it was close by? I pulled out my metro map and watched his fingers as he traced the line from where we were (southwest of paris) to where I needed to go (northeast of paris).

Him: Your friend can go with you?
Me: What today? No he works, like me.
Him: [doubious look] You can try.
Me: And if I can't get it today?
Him: You go on the internet and make another appointment and come back.
Me: But my card has already expired.
Him: Yes.
Me: It takes two months for an appointment.
Him: Yes.
Me:...
Him: [the "that's life" look]
Me: Merci. J'espere a toute.
Him: J'espere aussi.

40 minutes and 3 line changes later I found myself at the Electricity company feet cramping (damn those heels) and shoulders aching (damn those papers and copies of papers). I breathlessly begin telling the clerk what I had practice in french on the metro.

"J'ai essaye faire ma carte de sejour au jourd'hui et il n'accepte pas ca[shoves paper in his face]."

He immediately tells me he understands (I guess they must get alot of distraught foriengers coming into the office) and prints me what I need. I hop back on the metro and estimate I would arrive back at the prefecture at 3:30. One hour late for my appointment.

Ironically I actually had in my possession during this time an electrcity bill of the place I actually live (but can't use as my place of residence on my card for reasons I won't go into here) for the current month in my bag because I had to pay it.

But whatever I had what I needed but the question was, would they let me in? (I also wondered to myself if I could cry on command)

They did. I am illegal no more (No crying needed).

la toussaint

So today was All Saint's day in France and I thought it a good chance to visit the grave of Serge Gainsbourg the genuis behind this song.



Notice all the metro tickets which are a nodd to his earlier hit Le Poinçonneur des Lilas.

Despite the rain I also went to visit his house "tagged" by his adoring fans after his death.

kelly la violiniste

So the other day my co worker says to me "Kelly you play the violin!" I looked at him quizically. Smiling he shows me an email about the new intern with this accompanying picture:



My other talent? Practicing the violin? I hadn't touched the violin since the 7th grade. How did this happen?

My brain flashed back to almost 8 months ago in the office of the woman designated to help the foriegners find internships. There I was, having been in France for 3 months and tasked with creating a resume in French for the upcoming internship fair.

Her: Under hobbies you have under instruments 'Viola'. What's that?
Me: You know what Violin is?
Her: Yes
Me: Do you know what a Cello is?
Her: Yes.
Me: Well a Viola looks like a Violin but has the strings of a Cello.
Her: ...
Me: You've probably seen it but you didn't know you saw it because it looks like a Violin.
Her: ...
Me: It's not very popular.
Her: ...
Me: ...
Her: How about we put 'Violin'?
Me: [Just agree idiot don't you realize you have to write an entire resume in French?] D'accord.

Voila. Or should I say Viola.

i heart my new camera

nuit blanche

So this past Saturday was when Paris "does New York" and becomes the city that never sleeps. But of course they had to do it the French way and incorporate contemporary art into it.

Knowing full well that my relationship with contemporary art is at best tolerant, I decided to go anyways since I figured heck, I'm in Paris and should check it out, right? Plus the purpose of Nuit Blanche is to incorporate contemporary art into every day life and by extension to the masses (read: me).

We started by going to one exhibit where a large line was forming to get into an enigmatic boxlike structure. Filled with the desire to not miss out we immediately got in line. For what we had no idea, but it had to be good, right? Just look at the line!!

20 minutes later I found myself in a room listening to the voices of a couple arguing. No video just voices and other people sitting around listening to the voices which coming from each of the four walls randomly.

I was not impressed and neither were a lot of people if I judged the looks on people's faces correctly as they finally entered the room (first a look of "That's it?" Followed by hope that maybe there's more. And finally the disappointment that there wasn't).

Next we saw a video entitled "All the world's fighter planes" which consisted of newspaper clippings of fighter planes set to music.

Then we saw a video entitled "A Voyage in Dwelling" which the voyage consisted of a woman roaming the halls of what appeared to be a mental institution and decided to go down the stairs like the Grinch did in "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" only I'm pretty sure it wasn't meant to be humorous. At the end she cried on the deck of a cruise liner.

Other exhibits included flashing lights in a swimming pool to mimic lightning and a in a ice skating rink with a orange glowing picture thingy. Both were not worth the walk to get there.

We were very close to leaving at this point. However I was stubborn in my faith in Paris that it MUST have something cool to offer in this Nuit Blanche of theirs so I insisted we check out something called the "Light Machine" (I like light) at Parc des Buttes Chaumont.

And I was not disappointed.

macaroons

So after one hour wait at Laduree I left with 6 mini macaroons. The math doesn't seem quite to add up.



They are good little buggers though. Next time I'll avoid going on a weekend.

(h)appy (h)our

So I got roped into going to a BI meeting to discuss "lessons learned" from current projects. The meeting started at 6:30pm, lasted for 2 hours and a half, and was all in French.

And since I can barely carry a conversation about the weather in French I was pretty much useless to my "Bleu" team when trying to figure out things like this:



Then about half way through the meeting (which was held in a meeting room at CSC headquarters in La Defense) an assistent wheeled in "refreshments".



Indeed.

the office - paris

So my client site is a company that produces and distributes paper.

That's right I work in an environment reconstructed by a comedy to parody the ridiculous mundaneness of office life.

Oh and the name of the manager in my office?

Wait for it...

Mickael.

en face du client

So they sat me in front smack dab in front of the client which means I have to concentrate on doing things like sitting properly. I seek refuge in the building's rooftop terrance:

montmartre art attack

So this weekend I finally had the chance to do some exploring in Paris. Armed with my newly acquired and a way too expensive lonely planet's paris city guide, I headed to Montmarte for a walking tour L.P. dubbed the "Montmarte Art Attack". Below are the highlights in picture form.



Moulin Rouge (starting point)



Van Gogh's house



Detour for two hours at a cafe overlooking Rue Thoroze



Passe-muraille statue



Cabaret au lapin agile



Eric Satie's house



Basilique du sacre coeur



Guy doing crazy soccer moves



Enjoying live music and the view



Bateau lavoir (housed Kees Van Dongen, Max Jacob, Amedeo Modigliani, and Picasso)

iTime Capsule

So it takes me about 45 minutes to get to work every day and it was suggested by my co workers that I should import french learning tools into my ipod. I thought this a great idea.

Nevermind that I had long ago lost the ipod/laptop connector nor did I have itunes installed on my laptop. Fortunately these things could be remedied and after waiting a week I egarly plugged my ipod into my laptop only to find a message that said something like "Sorry, your ipod is formatted for macs and is not compatible with windows. Would you like to reformat your ipod?"

I would have clicked "Yes" had there not been in parathesis afterwords, a message casually stating that formatting would effectively wipe my ipod of all data (Which makes me wonder: had I switched from a pc to a mac would I have gotten an alternative message like "Thank you for switching to a Mac. Don't worry, all your music is safe and sound. And here is 100 dollars).

Torn, my mind flashed to my old mac that was sitting back in the States basically on life support. There was a very good chance that if I lost the music on my ipod it would be lost forever.

Not like that was a bad thing mind you. The last time I was able to put anything on this ipod was in 2005, the year I left Japan. Everything on it is old and outdated, and kind of random. And since the music was downloaded from limewire the ipod is terribly organized due to all shorts of weird mispellings of song titles and artist names. The only good way to listen to it is to put it on random but then songs like B.I.N.G.O (as in, there was a farmer who had a dog - I used it one day in one of my classes in Japan) come on after Jay Z's Big Pimpin'.

It's a bit of a hot mess. And perhaps this was an opportunity to change that. To start over. With a click of a button I could effectively erase my "OC" phase or my secret penchant for Britney Spear's music (What? It's catchy!).

And most importantly I could learn French on the metro. If I clicked no however, that would be it. I didn't have access to any Macs so that would mean I would not be able to manipulate it in anyway. It would stay the same indefinitely.

New beginning or hold on to the past? It was a tough choice.

I clicked "No". In the end I couldn't do it. Erasing the ipod felt like I was erasing my memories.

The next day, as if the music knew it had been on the brink of oblivion earlier, great song after great song came on along with the memories attached to them. A Bob Dylan song downloaded by the "around the world by bike" guy when he crashed at my place after coming through Syberia. Music from my Japanese Yosakoi team. The Red Hot Chili Peppers song that was playing all over Thailand the first time I was there.

I may change my mind later but for now I think I made the right decision.

i saw la seine

So on the second day of my internship they sent me (rather unexpectedly) to my client site Antalis. Antalis is an international company that produces and distributes...drum roll please...

Paper!!!

Yes very exciting. Fortunately this view from my office window gets me through the day:

agenda

So I was given a planner as part of some "welcome to the company" goodies. Inside are helpful information such as useful telephone numbers, country codes, french holidays, and this:



I'm all set.

paris et moi

So I offically moved to Paris yesterday just in time to start my internship. Having problems sleeping in new beds I had hoped to move Saturday to have an extra night to adjust but things being the way that they are (and my luck being the way that it is) it didn't happen that way. I managed to get my stuff into the new place at like 10pm Sunday night and my attempt at sleep after that all but failed.

When I finally was so exhausted that I could sleep my alarm went off and I couldn't ignore it because getting to work by 9am meant I had to leave the apartment at 7:30 (to be safe). I also had to look somewhat decent (add one hour) and there I was, hauling my tired ass out of bed and into the shower at 6:30am.

Fortunately my first day of work consisted entirely of orientation which meant I didn't actually have to do work, I just had to sit there and passively listen to presenters. Unfortunately all of the presenters are HR. And HR personnel in France don't speak English.

An entire day of French on like no sleep and I didn't manage to get fired. I consider that a victory.

spring/summer '09

brittany


paris


rome


vatican


berlin


frankfurt


new york


capri


positano


cadaques