So I had been off facebook for a while for the sole reason that one day I signed on and everything had changed making me feel as though I had had some kind of stroke that left me discombobulated and confused in what should have been familiar surroundings.
It's no coincidence that the analogy makes me out to be old because that's how I felt when dragging my mouse around the screen to find [hidden] link options. What's wrong with trying to do things by reading? Is that so passé? Isn't it a social commentary when people no longer have to use reading skills to navigate? Yes I know clicking on your profile picture which will then give you the option to change it is intuitive and "easy" but scanning the screen looking for the words "Change profile" requires at most a 3rd grade reading level.
But alas using all the adaptability I could muster I did what I had to do and quickly logged out vowing never to return again leaving those more apt [read younger] at flourishing in this strange new world. I would stick with my all familiar email thank you very much [although I should note that gmail has since also incorporated this finding hidden options by hovering your mouse business].
But then I realized that some people actually only communicate nowadays via facebook. So I was sucked back in.
Resigned to the fact that I could not avoid facebook in the modern world I decided to try to understand how to use it.
Major fail. I tried to categorize my "friends" to limit access to "friends" who's name or face I didn't recognize. Seemed that facebook gave me the option of "Acquaintance" or "Close Friend". What about people in between I thought to myself? Unfortunately I didn't take the time to really consider this since I had 200+ people to go through and categorize.
Maybe there was an option to do mass categorization? Hoovering my mouse around the screen revealed no such option. I only got about 20 people in. Tired I went to bed.
I woke up the next day to find a dozen or so emails informing me that my "Close friends" either posted a link, changed their status, or liked something. I quickly went back to facebook to try and put everything back to the way it was.
Except, I couldn't put people back to just "Friends". I googled "how to change close friend back to friend on facebook" and got no results. Hovering my mouse all over my "manage your friends" page also had no result.
So apparently the only way someone can remain just a "Friend" is if you never ever ever touch this option, which is what I recommend.
My only option left was to make everyone an Acquaintance so if these people are somehow seeing a different profile of me in facebook I am very sorry.
I would "dislike" what facebook has done but, as it seems, there is only the option to "like".
I'll keep hovering my mouse though, just to be sure.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Cendrillon
So a friend of mine had an extra ticket to the ballet performance of Cendrillon
at the Opera National de Paris so I decided to tag along. Not that I know anything about ballet.
But honestly you don't have to. The dancers were memorizing especially the lead female dancer Marie-Agnès Gillot. She was amazing in the way she moved. I mean really breathtaking.
And Rudolf Nureyev who did the the adaptation, choreography and stage direction has an amazing history. Here he is dancing with Ms. Piggy.
His humor and grace show in this adaptation of Cendrillon. Bravo.
at the Opera National de Paris so I decided to tag along. Not that I know anything about ballet.
But honestly you don't have to. The dancers were memorizing especially the lead female dancer Marie-Agnès Gillot. She was amazing in the way she moved. I mean really breathtaking.
And Rudolf Nureyev who did the the adaptation, choreography and stage direction has an amazing history. Here he is dancing with Ms. Piggy.
His humor and grace show in this adaptation of Cendrillon. Bravo.
Friday, November 11, 2011
U.S. Embassy paper distributer
So to be legally married in France you have to have an official ceremony in the town hall and of course to do this you need to submit a dossier. As part of the dossier they have requested two documents "Attestation de celibat" and "Certificat de coutume". Do these things exists in the States? No. Does the town hall want them anyways? Yes.
The solution to this is that the U.S. embassy provides two forms that you fill out with information (passport number, date of birth, etc.) and attesting to the fact that you lived in the states, you attend to marry someone in France, and that you have never been married before(or pac-ed even though this doesn't exist outside of France).
Afterwards you pay (50 dollars a pop) and swear before the Consular officer that what you say is true and he/she motorizes it.
What's the difference between the two forms? From what I can tell nothing except one form has your home address in the States plus name of your fiance and the other has your parent's information on it. Why couldn't they combine these two forms and save me 50 bucks? I don't know.
Anywho my first attempt at the embassy was a fail because I needed to know the city the bf was born in and I couldn't call him because they took my cell phone before entering the embassy (I was also already 2 hours into my lunch break at this time).
So I took the papers and came back a second time despite my 3pm meeting that sprang up last minute that morning thinking, I have all the information all I have to do is pay and swear right?
Yes except on this day there were many people including one who was blind and cut in line which I understand but will say took a painfully long time getting things done.
Which of course I understand but I was late to my meeting anyways (I should note here that at some point in this process they took my passport so I couldn't leave the embassy even if I wanted to).
But it's fine. Two attempts totaling five hours and 100 bucks for two pieces of paper with information that I myself provided. As my co worker stated if Antalis had that kind of margin selling paper we'd be rich.
The solution to this is that the U.S. embassy provides two forms that you fill out with information (passport number, date of birth, etc.) and attesting to the fact that you lived in the states, you attend to marry someone in France, and that you have never been married before(or pac-ed even though this doesn't exist outside of France).
Afterwards you pay (50 dollars a pop) and swear before the Consular officer that what you say is true and he/she motorizes it.
What's the difference between the two forms? From what I can tell nothing except one form has your home address in the States plus name of your fiance and the other has your parent's information on it. Why couldn't they combine these two forms and save me 50 bucks? I don't know.
Anywho my first attempt at the embassy was a fail because I needed to know the city the bf was born in and I couldn't call him because they took my cell phone before entering the embassy (I was also already 2 hours into my lunch break at this time).
So I took the papers and came back a second time despite my 3pm meeting that sprang up last minute that morning thinking, I have all the information all I have to do is pay and swear right?
Yes except on this day there were many people including one who was blind and cut in line which I understand but will say took a painfully long time getting things done.
Which of course I understand but I was late to my meeting anyways (I should note here that at some point in this process they took my passport so I couldn't leave the embassy even if I wanted to).
But it's fine. Two attempts totaling five hours and 100 bucks for two pieces of paper with information that I myself provided. As my co worker stated if Antalis had that kind of margin selling paper we'd be rich.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
fiac 2011
So at work I won an invitation to the grand opening of FIAC (Foire Internationale d'Art Contemporain) for myself and a guest at the Grand Palais.
In my mind I was going to be nibbling on horderves while sipping champagne with cool artsy "in the know" Parisiens. I wore the perfect outfit for such an occasion, complete with red lipstick.
What I should have gone for instead was this. Why? When we arrived there were two long lines wrapped around the Palais. And yes everyone had an invitation.
Reluctantly we got in the line. The bf started questioning if it was really worth it. Unfortunately at this point escalation of commitment had kicked in and I was still holding on to the idea of horderves and champagne.
One hour and half way through the line later some friends arrived so I told the bf that he was free to go if he wanted. He fled. Five minutes after he leaves we move up to the front of the line so I called him to tell him that we were almost there if he wanted to come back. When he finally called me back (he's not good at answering his phone) we were still waiting and explained to him the situation. He decided to come back.
Making his way back up the line was in his words "hard". Apparently people weren't buying his "Where are you guys I can't see you!" routine when he was on the phone with me.
But he made it and was there and that's when they made the announcement that there were too many people in the exhibition so they weren't letting any more people in.
People were not happy. It was a scandal! We had invitations! They had to bring reinforcements for the barriers.
As the other American girl there with me said, if this had been in the States she would have just left after the announcement. But she's been in France long enough to know that everything is a negotiation.
So we stand there for a while 20 steps away from the entrance cold and hungry but the laws of escalation of commitment will not let me walk away because at this point I was 2 hours in. Some people left in a huff, some people bitched, some people tried to get a side deal. Me, I apologized to the bf for calling him back into this mess.
In the end we got in. Was it worth it? Let's just say I didn't stand out in the cold for 2 hours in heels and red lipstick for nothing.
Actual piece was 3 inches deep
Pretty
Black thread
Someone left their bag?
How I felt an hour earlier
Art or bathroom wall?
Not a person (I hope)
In my mind I was going to be nibbling on horderves while sipping champagne with cool artsy "in the know" Parisiens. I wore the perfect outfit for such an occasion, complete with red lipstick.
What I should have gone for instead was this. Why? When we arrived there were two long lines wrapped around the Palais. And yes everyone had an invitation.
Reluctantly we got in the line. The bf started questioning if it was really worth it. Unfortunately at this point escalation of commitment had kicked in and I was still holding on to the idea of horderves and champagne.
One hour and half way through the line later some friends arrived so I told the bf that he was free to go if he wanted. He fled. Five minutes after he leaves we move up to the front of the line so I called him to tell him that we were almost there if he wanted to come back. When he finally called me back (he's not good at answering his phone) we were still waiting and explained to him the situation. He decided to come back.
Making his way back up the line was in his words "hard". Apparently people weren't buying his "Where are you guys I can't see you!" routine when he was on the phone with me.
But he made it and was there and that's when they made the announcement that there were too many people in the exhibition so they weren't letting any more people in.
People were not happy. It was a scandal! We had invitations! They had to bring reinforcements for the barriers.
As the other American girl there with me said, if this had been in the States she would have just left after the announcement. But she's been in France long enough to know that everything is a negotiation.
So we stand there for a while 20 steps away from the entrance cold and hungry but the laws of escalation of commitment will not let me walk away because at this point I was 2 hours in. Some people left in a huff, some people bitched, some people tried to get a side deal. Me, I apologized to the bf for calling him back into this mess.
In the end we got in. Was it worth it? Let's just say I didn't stand out in the cold for 2 hours in heels and red lipstick for nothing.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
911
So the bf and I decided to check out what was going on for the 10th anniversary of 911 at the Eiffel tower. When we got there we saw , as advertised, the replication of the twin towers. Underneath was an orchestra that appeared to be in the process of rehearsing. There were chairs in front so we decided to have a seat and watch.
10 minutes into the rehearsal I started to noticed that everyone sitting in the chairs around us had badges. I looked around and the area around us was now blocked off from all the people crowding around behind the barrier. The scene was complete with security guards.
Realizing we were where we weren't suppose to be, the bf and I looked at each other and shrugged. If someone were to ask to leave we'd simply do it. What's the worse that could happen?
5 minutes later a one of the guys sitting next to us comes up to us... and hands us badges.
"You will be better off with these" he informs us.
Goes to show you, rules are for suckers.
10 minutes into the rehearsal I started to noticed that everyone sitting in the chairs around us had badges. I looked around and the area around us was now blocked off from all the people crowding around behind the barrier. The scene was complete with security guards.
Realizing we were where we weren't suppose to be, the bf and I looked at each other and shrugged. If someone were to ask to leave we'd simply do it. What's the worse that could happen?
5 minutes later a one of the guys sitting next to us comes up to us... and hands us badges.
"You will be better off with these" he informs us.
Goes to show you, rules are for suckers.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
retard(ed)
So when an SNCF train is late 30 minutes or longer you get a voucher that you send in for some kind of a refund. This happened to me about a month ago and today I received a letter from SNCF. But not with a refund.
Instead it was a letter informing me that they had the pleasure to have received my letter (it was a form I filled out in block letters) but treating such a request was not within their competences. The office I actually wanted to contact is "Horaire Garanti" as stated on in the fine print when I bought my ticket or on their website. Consequently they have forwarded my request to the proper office.
Then she begged to believe her that I had the assurance of her highest consideration.
It is by far the most polite letter I have ever received telling me I've made a boo boo. Scratch that, this is by far the most polite letter I have ever received.
Except I didn't make a mistake. Actually I couldn't have because it was SCNF that gave me the form along with the self addressed envelope when I got off the train. That's right a self addressed envelope. Didn't even need a stamp. All I had to do was drop it in the mailbox.
So SCNF made the mistake. What's that you say? Everyone makes mistakes. Yes but the same thing happened to me last year. Got a self addressed envelope from SNCF, mailed it in, got a letter back from SNCF saying I had the wrong address.
So really what this poor woman is saying is "Please stop sending us these requests we don't handle them but I'm going to say it in the most polite way possible because I know it's not your fault, it's our fault."
Not sure what to do next time. Do I disregard the pre-paid self addressed envelope if it does not match the address found in the fine print of my ticket/customer policy stated online and mail it into the right address saving this woman from yet another mail she had to forward and a letter informing me politely of her actions?
Better yet, maybe I should just write the following letter to her:
Dear Madam,
I had the pleasure of receiving your letter. However the party you would like to address is actually your own employer SNCF as it was SCNF that sent my request to your office. I would forward your letter to them but I would need the right address which may prove difficult since it seems as though even SNCF has difficulty getting their own address correct.
I beg you to believe me that you have the assurance of my highest consideration.
Kelly
Instead it was a letter informing me that they had the pleasure to have received my letter (it was a form I filled out in block letters) but treating such a request was not within their competences. The office I actually wanted to contact is "Horaire Garanti" as stated on in the fine print when I bought my ticket or on their website. Consequently they have forwarded my request to the proper office.
Then she begged to believe her that I had the assurance of her highest consideration.
It is by far the most polite letter I have ever received telling me I've made a boo boo. Scratch that, this is by far the most polite letter I have ever received.
Except I didn't make a mistake. Actually I couldn't have because it was SCNF that gave me the form along with the self addressed envelope when I got off the train. That's right a self addressed envelope. Didn't even need a stamp. All I had to do was drop it in the mailbox.
So SCNF made the mistake. What's that you say? Everyone makes mistakes. Yes but the same thing happened to me last year. Got a self addressed envelope from SNCF, mailed it in, got a letter back from SNCF saying I had the wrong address.
So really what this poor woman is saying is "Please stop sending us these requests we don't handle them but I'm going to say it in the most polite way possible because I know it's not your fault, it's our fault."
Not sure what to do next time. Do I disregard the pre-paid self addressed envelope if it does not match the address found in the fine print of my ticket/customer policy stated online and mail it into the right address saving this woman from yet another mail she had to forward and a letter informing me politely of her actions?
Better yet, maybe I should just write the following letter to her:
Dear Madam,
I had the pleasure of receiving your letter. However the party you would like to address is actually your own employer SNCF as it was SCNF that sent my request to your office. I would forward your letter to them but I would need the right address which may prove difficult since it seems as though even SNCF has difficulty getting their own address correct.
I beg you to believe me that you have the assurance of my highest consideration.
Kelly
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
jogging
So after a long weekend at the beach with the bf, I got home from work and immediately started to do the million of things one has to do after a long weekend involving sand and gluttony (laundry and jogging).
In between getting dressed for jogging and putting clothes in the wash I was also straightening up the apartment and taking things out of the fridge in preparation for dinner when the doorbell rings. Knowing it's the bf (we're both too lazy to fish out our keys) I grab a pair of his pants to ask him if he wants to wash it. As I open the door I have a pair of maybe dirty pants in my hand.
In his hands are roses, red.
"Why do you have that?" I said, pantless.
He pulls out a little box, wrapped.
The rest is blurry except for 3 things:
1. The thought "Am I really getting proposed to in my underwear? (in a non-sexy way)"
2. The 5 minutes it took to unwrap the box to see if it was in fact a proposal (in a "am I getting proposed to" scenario this feels a lot longer)
3. A proposal, in French
Along with 3 realizations:
1. Yes, you are getting proposed to your underwear!
2. Despite this when someone proposes to you, it's an actual question and you should answer it, outloud.
3. However saying "I have to think about it" in order to be funny or lighten the mood isn't and doesn't.
Afterwards the bf, now fiancé, puts his arms around a very shocked me and begins our first conversation as an engaged couple:
Him: So... do you want to go jogging?
Me: Um... maybe we should go celebrate? I'll go put on some pants.
In between getting dressed for jogging and putting clothes in the wash I was also straightening up the apartment and taking things out of the fridge in preparation for dinner when the doorbell rings. Knowing it's the bf (we're both too lazy to fish out our keys) I grab a pair of his pants to ask him if he wants to wash it. As I open the door I have a pair of maybe dirty pants in my hand.
In his hands are roses, red.
"Why do you have that?" I said, pantless.
He pulls out a little box, wrapped.
The rest is blurry except for 3 things:
1. The thought "Am I really getting proposed to in my underwear? (in a non-sexy way)"
2. The 5 minutes it took to unwrap the box to see if it was in fact a proposal (in a "am I getting proposed to" scenario this feels a lot longer)
3. A proposal, in French
Along with 3 realizations:
1. Yes, you are getting proposed to your underwear!
2. Despite this when someone proposes to you, it's an actual question and you should answer it, outloud.
3. However saying "I have to think about it" in order to be funny or lighten the mood isn't and doesn't.
Afterwards the bf, now fiancé, puts his arms around a very shocked me and begins our first conversation as an engaged couple:
Him: So... do you want to go jogging?
Me: Um... maybe we should go celebrate? I'll go put on some pants.
Friday, July 22, 2011
sucks on a plane
So I went back to the States for 3 weeks this past month (France does have its perks) which was great. Getting there however, was not.
Firstly, when you are of Asian decent and you cross boarders you instantly become a souvenir mule for your parents and all of their friends. Things found globally and are oddly shaped (new rule: not shaped like Tetris? Stays in Paris) filled up 90% of my suitcase requiring a supplemental bag just for my clothes.
But I managed to arrange things in such a way that, in theory, a 100 lbs girl can shelp through public transport to get to the airport. Then I stepped out of my apartment and onto the sidewalk and the standing part on the bottom of my suitcase brakes off.
Great, but on we go because there is no other option and at least I can still tilt and roll the thing. Unfortunately I still have to pick up it to go down the stairs in rush hour metro traffic. There are 3 tricks to this:
1. Exaggerate your movements [get attention]
2. Look extremely pathetic [get pity]
3. Go very very slowly and take a lot of breaks [be in someone’s way so that they have no choice but to help you]
So I finally managed to get to the RER and to the right platform downstairs and it’s suspiciously empty. Why? There’s a strike. The platform to the airport is upstairs.
So upstairs I go and when I get there everyone and their mother is there because the trains are running 1 out of 3. I stand and wait crammed up against god knows who with my broken suitcase (whom I’ve nicknamed “Tilty”) and push and shove my way on the train when it finally arrives. I even manage to get a seat.
We finally reach the terminal and the thought of being free of bags motivates me onward to the check in desk only for them to tell me that I have to pay 35 euros to check in the second bag. I don’t even argue, at this point 35 euros to be rid of them sounded like a steal.
Unforch my flight wasn’t direct so in Chicago I had to get my bags again, go through customs, border control, security, and all that lot. I sighed with relief when I reached the gate and saw my 1 hour 40 minute flight was on time. I was almost home free. Or so I thought.
I ended up sitting on the plane for 8 hours. 6 of them on the runway without friends or telephone because:
1. Technical problem and waiting for mechanic to come and fix it
2. Bumped back in the queue due to a “VIP” flight
3. Thunderstorms long and wide up and down the east coast suspending all eastbound flights
4. Storm passes through and heavy winds knock free baggage damaging some planes (not ours).
5. Waiting for runway to be cleared of debris
Scheduled arrival time in d.c.: 4pm
Actual arrival time in d.c.: midnight
The next morning I woke up and presented to my mom all the stuff I had lugged back with me from Paris sent to her by her friends. To which she said to me:
“All this stuff. Poor my friends!”
Firstly, when you are of Asian decent and you cross boarders you instantly become a souvenir mule for your parents and all of their friends. Things found globally and are oddly shaped (new rule: not shaped like Tetris? Stays in Paris) filled up 90% of my suitcase requiring a supplemental bag just for my clothes.
But I managed to arrange things in such a way that, in theory, a 100 lbs girl can shelp through public transport to get to the airport. Then I stepped out of my apartment and onto the sidewalk and the standing part on the bottom of my suitcase brakes off.
Great, but on we go because there is no other option and at least I can still tilt and roll the thing. Unfortunately I still have to pick up it to go down the stairs in rush hour metro traffic. There are 3 tricks to this:
1. Exaggerate your movements [get attention]
2. Look extremely pathetic [get pity]
3. Go very very slowly and take a lot of breaks [be in someone’s way so that they have no choice but to help you]
So I finally managed to get to the RER and to the right platform downstairs and it’s suspiciously empty. Why? There’s a strike. The platform to the airport is upstairs.
So upstairs I go and when I get there everyone and their mother is there because the trains are running 1 out of 3. I stand and wait crammed up against god knows who with my broken suitcase (whom I’ve nicknamed “Tilty”) and push and shove my way on the train when it finally arrives. I even manage to get a seat.
We finally reach the terminal and the thought of being free of bags motivates me onward to the check in desk only for them to tell me that I have to pay 35 euros to check in the second bag. I don’t even argue, at this point 35 euros to be rid of them sounded like a steal.
Unforch my flight wasn’t direct so in Chicago I had to get my bags again, go through customs, border control, security, and all that lot. I sighed with relief when I reached the gate and saw my 1 hour 40 minute flight was on time. I was almost home free. Or so I thought.
I ended up sitting on the plane for 8 hours. 6 of them on the runway without friends or telephone because:
1. Technical problem and waiting for mechanic to come and fix it
2. Bumped back in the queue due to a “VIP” flight
3. Thunderstorms long and wide up and down the east coast suspending all eastbound flights
4. Storm passes through and heavy winds knock free baggage damaging some planes (not ours).
5. Waiting for runway to be cleared of debris
Scheduled arrival time in d.c.: 4pm
Actual arrival time in d.c.: midnight
The next morning I woke up and presented to my mom all the stuff I had lugged back with me from Paris sent to her by her friends. To which she said to me:
“All this stuff. Poor my friends!”
Friday, June 10, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
key to happiness
So I remember one Christmas, GAP had a campaign of smiling happy people wearing colorful scarfs.
Being the marketing sheep that I am, I became convinced that the key to happiness was the ownership of such a scarf. So I went to GAP and soon came to the realization that happiness did indeed have a price. And that price was something along the lines of 40 dollars.
Although not an exorbitant amount to pay for happiness, it was after all, just a theory and already the thought of paying that amount for a scarf made me unhappy. I decided against it. Maybe happiness would go on sale in the spring.
That Christmas I received the very same scarf from a friend. And it made me happy.
Being the marketing sheep that I am, I became convinced that the key to happiness was the ownership of such a scarf. So I went to GAP and soon came to the realization that happiness did indeed have a price. And that price was something along the lines of 40 dollars.
Although not an exorbitant amount to pay for happiness, it was after all, just a theory and already the thought of paying that amount for a scarf made me unhappy. I decided against it. Maybe happiness would go on sale in the spring.
That Christmas I received the very same scarf from a friend. And it made me happy.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
good daughter bad daughter
So I had some friends come and visit, one of which lives close to my parents so I decided to score some brownie points by sending something home with her to them from Paris. Initially that something was to be Laduree macrons (since my friend was there buying them anyways) but she forgot so I requested the bf buy some madeleines from the local grocery store. He forgot and by the time I got home from work the shops were all closed.
All this is to pre-face why it was I requested my friend to pick up something from the airport to bring back to my family in the States. She did and soon after I received news from my sister that my nieces loved the cookies and my mom loved the... wait for it... box.
Yes, pleasing my mom is like pleasing a child. You spend time and energy to get them a nice present and what they end up loving and playing with is the box. But what did I expect from the woman who went to the Sistine Chapel, ignored it, and then proclaimed pictures of the Sistine Chapel found in a calendar in the giftshop "magnificent"?
But it didn't matter as she loved something she thought had come from me and I felt this secured my role as a good daughter/sister/aunt.
Yesterday I phoned my mother to wish her a happy birthday. I casually asked if she received the box of cookies I sent back (knowing full well she did) and if she liked it (knowing again full well she did). Lavishing in my role as a good daughter, I asked if she wanted me to bring her back anything from Paris when I come back to the States in June.
"How about more boxes of cookies?" she said continuing on about how the lid is attached to the box and it's just so practical!
No problem I said as I begin plotting how to get a hold of something my family thinks I picked out for them when in reality I have never laid eyes on. Hmmmm.
Today I gchatted the friend that picked out the box and probe her for information. Did she have the the receipt, anything that could help me? The best she could do was this:
"It's a tin box of butter cookies from the airport. It's vintage looking with the Eiffel tower in the background"
Right. Tin box with Eiffel tower on it at the Paris airport, that narrows it down. Feeling my despair she added:
"I think there was a little girl in front too."
Ok. So now all I have to do is find butter cookies in a tin box with a lid that is attached that definitely has the Eiffel tower in the background and may or may not have a girl in front all of which look "vintage".
No problem.
All this is to pre-face why it was I requested my friend to pick up something from the airport to bring back to my family in the States. She did and soon after I received news from my sister that my nieces loved the cookies and my mom loved the... wait for it... box.
Yes, pleasing my mom is like pleasing a child. You spend time and energy to get them a nice present and what they end up loving and playing with is the box. But what did I expect from the woman who went to the Sistine Chapel, ignored it, and then proclaimed pictures of the Sistine Chapel found in a calendar in the giftshop "magnificent"?
But it didn't matter as she loved something she thought had come from me and I felt this secured my role as a good daughter/sister/aunt.
Yesterday I phoned my mother to wish her a happy birthday. I casually asked if she received the box of cookies I sent back (knowing full well she did) and if she liked it (knowing again full well she did). Lavishing in my role as a good daughter, I asked if she wanted me to bring her back anything from Paris when I come back to the States in June.
"How about more boxes of cookies?" she said continuing on about how the lid is attached to the box and it's just so practical!
No problem I said as I begin plotting how to get a hold of something my family thinks I picked out for them when in reality I have never laid eyes on. Hmmmm.
Today I gchatted the friend that picked out the box and probe her for information. Did she have the the receipt, anything that could help me? The best she could do was this:
"It's a tin box of butter cookies from the airport. It's vintage looking with the Eiffel tower in the background"
Right. Tin box with Eiffel tower on it at the Paris airport, that narrows it down. Feeling my despair she added:
"I think there was a little girl in front too."
Ok. So now all I have to do is find butter cookies in a tin box with a lid that is attached that definitely has the Eiffel tower in the background and may or may not have a girl in front all of which look "vintage".
No problem.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
lights out
So I am a violent sleeper. I toss and turn constantly and by the state of my deranged covers in the morning I also do snow angels in my sleep. I once woke up with my head where my feet were when I want to bed.
Point is, I move, alot. And this wasn't quite so apparent until I spent a night in Burgundy in a 16th century property renovated to retain many of it's original features such as the old oak beams and exposed stone walls. And motion sensored lighting over the bathroom mirror?
Did they have motion sensored lighting in the 16th century? I doubt it but that's not what bothered me. What bothered me was that my bed happened to be within motion sensoring range of said lights. So basically every time I moved they would switch on.
Now in a conscious state of mind I knew the trick to this was to keep completely still until I fell asleep and didn't notice. Unfortunately every time I nodded off, I would be back to my body shifting, limb moving ways and *click* the light would shine brightly in my direction effectively waking me up.
Will myself still, nodd off, *click*. Rinse and repeat.
Exhausted from my day of a long luxurious lunch accompanied by wine + a long luxurious dinner accompanied by more wine, the best I could come up with to do was to turn 180 degrees so that my head was shelded by the partial wall.
Is there a facebook I hate motion sensor lighting page? Because I'd like to become a fan.
Point is, I move, alot. And this wasn't quite so apparent until I spent a night in Burgundy in a 16th century property renovated to retain many of it's original features such as the old oak beams and exposed stone walls. And motion sensored lighting over the bathroom mirror?
Did they have motion sensored lighting in the 16th century? I doubt it but that's not what bothered me. What bothered me was that my bed happened to be within motion sensoring range of said lights. So basically every time I moved they would switch on.
Now in a conscious state of mind I knew the trick to this was to keep completely still until I fell asleep and didn't notice. Unfortunately every time I nodded off, I would be back to my body shifting, limb moving ways and *click* the light would shine brightly in my direction effectively waking me up.
Will myself still, nodd off, *click*. Rinse and repeat.
Exhausted from my day of a long luxurious lunch accompanied by wine + a long luxurious dinner accompanied by more wine, the best I could come up with to do was to turn 180 degrees so that my head was shelded by the partial wall.
Is there a facebook I hate motion sensor lighting page? Because I'd like to become a fan.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
point and shoot
So a friend of mine is doing photography tours of Paris and did a practice tour the other night. Since the tour is made for amateurs I was the perfect subject.
Or so I thought. The other people there may have been amateurs as well but I was by far the worse. For starters my camera had the least number of letters in the name (which by my observation is directly related to quality).
To his credit my friend did try to help me get a good shot but unfortunately to do so required that I know (what he considers) normal things about my camera like how to modify the settings.
After random button pushing I managed to get this shot:
Filled with confidence I started playing with things like light, reflection, and "the rule of thirds":
Our next assignment was to do something original with the classic shot of the Eiffel tower from the bridge (full dis-closer: I had the small tripod):
The last assignment was to play with the shutter speed and take a picture of moving traffic. Unfortunately trying to get my camera to change settings all night and being unsuccessful, my friend came to the conclusion that my camera doesn't have a "real" manual setting and I had to make do with the pre-set options.
And that I did. I call the following shot "Fireworks - 15 second shutter speed":
Or so I thought. The other people there may have been amateurs as well but I was by far the worse. For starters my camera had the least number of letters in the name (which by my observation is directly related to quality).
To his credit my friend did try to help me get a good shot but unfortunately to do so required that I know (what he considers) normal things about my camera like how to modify the settings.
After random button pushing I managed to get this shot:
Filled with confidence I started playing with things like light, reflection, and "the rule of thirds":
Our next assignment was to do something original with the classic shot of the Eiffel tower from the bridge (full dis-closer: I had the small tripod):
The last assignment was to play with the shutter speed and take a picture of moving traffic. Unfortunately trying to get my camera to change settings all night and being unsuccessful, my friend came to the conclusion that my camera doesn't have a "real" manual setting and I had to make do with the pre-set options.
And that I did. I call the following shot "Fireworks - 15 second shutter speed":
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
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