...another Thing About Paris
At the time I was there I missed knowing what was going on in America. We had a little TV in our flat, but the only thing we could get was a non-stop Paris show about fashion models and Jay Leno, only without commercials.
Now that I'm back I'm reminded how we are circling the drain financially, culturally and intellectually in America, and there's not much of a god-damned thing any of us can do about it.
It was fun to walk around in Paris not knowing the historic significance of much beyond the big stuff like the Arc de Triomph, the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa being at the Louvre. For instance, I have no idea anymore what this photo represents, but I'm sure it must have had something to do with a battle, a victory or something the French said or did better than their competitors.
It was nice going to a nearby newsstand and asking in my horrible French if they had any magazines or newspapers written in English, only to have the arrogant clerk proclaim proudly,"Non!"
See, I think the French may like us individually, as long as we don't invade their country or cities with our fanny packs filled with tour guides and acting like rude, demanding assholes who demand everything be Americanized for our convenience.
If I knew at age 14 I'd end up liking Paris as much as I did, I would have started learning French back then, so I could actually earn enough money to live there as a writer, painter or even as a chef. I could see myself living in a tiny, free rent closet atop the Shakespeare bookshop and trying to write something publishable.
The trouble with discovering a new place to love is when you're there you long for home and when you get home you always remember more things about the other place you didn't have time to see.
There are some things I do not miss about Paris.
For one, those omnipresent skinny baguettes would rip up my palate and damn near scare the porcelain crowns right off my teeth. They reminded me of eating artichokes: too much work for too little reward.
For another, they have these heavy, annoying 1 and 2 Euro coins they just love to fob off on customers. But if you try to pay for, say, a 20 Euro dinner with 20 Euros worth of coins, they look at you like you're some broke-ass chump who had to raid her cookie jar just to scrape together enough pennies to eat.
And while I liked the antiquity of cobblestone streets and sidewalks, those little bitches are hard to walk on after about 20 minutes.
I realize that in not knowing enough French to understand what was going on around me in Paris, I was freed from the excess political and celebrity curiosity I have in America. Though I missed not knowing what was going on in the States, at least my brain had time to rest, my feathers had time to unruffle, and so did my typing fingers.Labels: I was a free man in Paris
Egads!
Tonight on Dancing With the Stars I watched Britney ooops Bristol Palin dance the rumba.
She was trying to dance sexy, but she's like that woman we've all slept with (well, many of us) who's a dead fish in bed.
Even though her parents, the Panderin' Palins were in the audience, the judges yelled at her and basically told her she was talentless, which she is. She scored a 32 out of a possible 60, if that tells you anything.
I wish we could pay to vote people out instead of call to vote people to stay.
I'd spend a C note to send that ditz back to Wasilla.Labels: Hog Bristle Palin Dancing the Rumba
Who Says Lawyers are Sleazy?
I had a great laugh at this ad. I already think a lot of defense attorneys are shady, but this broad takes the cake.
Oh wait, I may have been mistaken.
I think perhaps THIS lawyer takes the cake:
Labels: Bad self-promotion
Fancy Pants Paris Chips
When we spotted this bag of chips in a nearby bodega, we had to try them out.
Bolognaise flavor, really?
Turns out they were pretty good, sort of like BBQ chips without the smoke flavorings.
Which brings me to my point.
Bolognaise is an Italian sauce, not a French sauce.
But in Paris, almost every restaurant offered some kind of pasta dish because pasta is cheap and people like it. Parisian restaurateurs are wising up.
Poor Paris, for centuries they've had one style of cooking. You cook some kind of protein in a pan, deglaze the pan with butter, cream or wine, then pour that sauce over the cooked protein.
But with so many immigrants opening ethnic restaurants to rave reviews, it's no wonder products like Lays Bolognaise chips have invaded.
For example, I had this at a Japanese restaurant in the 4th district. Skewers of beef, chicken, chicken meatballs, cheese and mushrooms. Deeelicious, and it wasn't French at all.
Times are changing for culinary France.
Nouvelle French cuisine grills and roasts more proteins, creates sauces from fruits or vegetables instead of just pan scrapings, and they go a lot lighter on the cream and butter.
But they still think salad comes after the appetizer and entree, just before dessert.Labels: French Invaded by Lays
Dancing With the Scars
Oh, no.
I've been a little late to the party in terms of viewing the new season of Dancing With the Stars, but I made it a point to watch it tonight because my lurid curiosity about Bristol Palin could no longer be quelled.
Yeah, yeah, we all know she's a shy teen/unwed mother from Wasilla, Alaska who should not be judged too harshly because she's not a professional entertainer and...aww, bullshit!
It's called "Dancing With the Stars," not "Boot Scootin' With the Trailer Trash."
There's no reason why the American TV audience should have to be subjected to this hog on ice whose only claims to fame are a greedy mother with borderline personality disorder and a slacker baby-daddy who was and is way too hot for the likes of this sister wife-lookin' chick.
In a sense, Bristol Palin is even more obnoxious than former contestants like Tom DeLay, Kate Gosslein or Wayne Newton because at least those hams tried to put on a show.
Bristol Palin just sort of stands there and forces her dance partner Mark Ballas to drag her from point A to point B. And it's not a light haul for him, either.
While I'm the first to admit my body is hardly that of a dancer's, I'm not on stage anywhere subjecting anyone to my total absence of dancing ability and my zaftigity.
Her baby is a one-year-old.
The baby weight should be gone by now. God knows her mama can afford to hire a personal trainer for her so she could work off some of that mucktuck she's got around her belly, ass and thighs before she hit the stage of DWtS.
To me, her lack of talent and apparent lack of interest in the show (other than financial) is insulting. For her to show up so out of shape and so lackluster proves to me she's a lot like her mother--she'll do anything for money.
Fortunately, the judges don't seem to give a damn about teabaggers calling in death threats, because they are calling her dancing as they see it and blasting her for it.
If the first two contestants voted off were those creeps David Hasslehoff and Michael Bolton, it makes me think the judges are boldly thinning out the herd early.
If that's the case, Bristol won't last long.
I mean come on, The Situation also is a contestant, but at least he showed up in great shape.
Labels: Bristol Piglet
