Another Emo Day

It's cold and wet. Feeling lonely. Bored at work and found this Emo name generator. The result is more than appropriate at the moment.

My emo band's name is Loveless Helicopter Heart.
Take The Emo Band Name Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Jane Birkin

Bon.

As today is a new day and I'm brimmming over with creative energy, I thought I start a new rubric here on My Paris Apartment. I've decided to call it "elles ont du chien" and it will be dedicated to those French (or almost French) women who I so desperately wish to be.

Perhaps I should start by attempting to describe the expression "avoir du chien." There is, of course, no direct equivalent in English. I first heard the expression while talking to a friend about Carla Bruni, who was at the time still just the girlfriend of Nicolas Sarkozy. We both agreed that she was pretty, but in a very plastic sort of way. "C'est vrai," said mon amie, "qu'elle n'a pas du chien." I couldn't have put it better and will have some difficulty here trying to translate it. It basically means that she lacks a certain raw, honest power or sensuality. Now, I'm sure that for plenty of people, Carla Bruni a du chien, but not for me. That got me thinking abour women that do have "du chien."

Let's start with Jane Birkin, she of the famously-long-wait-listed bag by Hermes. She was just on a television program this morning, talking about her love-life with Serge Gainsbourg, her impossibly chic daughters, her adorable skate-boarding bull dog, et al. She still has her unmistakeable accent and those great, self-effacing and totally endearing mannerisms that have made her a star in France - i.e. messing her hair as she talks (not in a self-conscious way, but almost as if it helps her articulate her thoughts), cradling her neck in one hand while lowering her head, sucking her lower lip under her gap teeth. Looking at her, I asked myself what it was about her that made her so charming. It's not the fact that she is very stylish, which she is, albeit in a very androgynous way, it's more her honesty and joie de vivre. This is someone who loves life, loves to talk about life, loves to observe life. The television program followed her to the zoo at the Bois de Vincennes where she watched hippos mating and was amazed at the male's endurance (more than 30 minutes of motionless lovemaking). She then revealed that she would like to stick her fingers up the hippo's nostrils beacause they reminded her of raspberries, covered as they are by rough little whiskers. Suddenly, I wanted to do the same thing. Only a real trend-setter can make you want to stick your fingers up a hippo's nostrils.

Jane then went for tea at the Mosque de Paris for a tea and a sit down (how British!) and where the normally too-cool-for-autographs Parisians took her photo and she declared that it was such an honor for a young, handsome man to want her photograph. Again, totally delightful and self-effacing. We could be friends, Jane and I. In fact, I once dreamed that I was her. It was a strange dream inspired by a Frenchman's (spurious) claim that he wanted to record my voice reading a poem and compose a song around it. And so there I was in the dream, breathlessly chanting into a microphone, in front of an adoring crowd. I woke up still mumbling and surprised. I never knew I had a secret wish to be the whispering muse of French musician, but there you have it. Perhaps one day. Until then I'll just listen to Jane.

Here we go again...

Ok. I admit it. I am the laziest blogger alive.

I had such dreams of sharing my Paris with friends and family (and, if I'm being honest, the world - hah! quel reve!) when I uploaded my first post. But, as always, even my best intentions fizzled and died as my inescapable and all-encompassing paresse, lassitude, whatever you want to call, reared its ugly head, like Vladimir Putin in aquiet Georgian town (to borrow imagery from Sarah Palin).

Well, no more I tell you! Today is a new day and I shall post again!

Of course, I cannot guarantee that what I have to say will be any more interesting that the merde I posted last year, but that's fine too. You're not obliged to read it.

And so, on recommence...

Philosopher's Corner

As everyone knows there is a place in France where the women wear no pants.

But you might not know that there is lightpost in Paris where the philosophically minded and the spiritually curious residents of the city offer up their most profound insights on life or their questions about God and the universe. Here is my favorite example of such an offering. If only we knew the answer...

"Why does a star die? How does anti-cellulite cream work?" - Anonymous

Parle à ma main

The music video that has been on the top of the charts for weeks. Can't get it out of my head and even told someone the other day to "parle à ma main." (French equivalent of "talk to the hand").

A Serendipitous Discovery

Just found the perfect receptacle for my soft-boiled eggs. Perfect because it has the same name as my dog, Mr. Chin, who happens to love eggs. He has them everyday for breakfast, accompanied by cheese toast. Now we can both enjoy our eggs together:

Pour moi:
2 soft boiled eggs (in Mr. Chin egg cups)
a hint of sea salt
a dash of pepper
at least six steamed asparagus spears to dip, prickly head first into the warm and gelationous yoke
one super-spicy bloody mary

Pour mon chien:
Hard boiled egg
a sliver of salty breton butter
a half slice of whole wheat bread toasted with cheddar cheese on top
a bowl of fresh water (an maybe a slice of cucumber or two)

Mr. Chin, egg cup with salt castor and spoon - A di Alessi Tea and coffee accessories / Breakfast

Beaubourg et Hôtel de Ville: Centre de danse du Marais

I finally did it. Signed up for a salsa class as a belated birthday present to myself. I probably would have found a way to talk myself out of it, had the dance center not been right around the corner from my apartment.

The Centre de danse du Marais, though a bit more expensive than other dance centers in the city, has such charm that it's hard to not want to hang out there everyday. The building's grounds date back to the 1600s, and according to the center's website, the cobblestoned courtyard is original to the building. The classrooms, however, a bit more contemporary and were created in the 70S when the place was converted into a dance center. Now there is even a little café right next to the studio where, on sunny days, people come to have a drink and listen to the sounds of little ballet slippers hitting the hardwood floors above. The first time I came to the center, it was an exceptionally beautiful fall day and in the studio on the ground floor, a flamenco class was taking place with the help of live guitar players. I was immediately seduced. So far I have gone to two classes, Thursday evenings, and am learning Puerto Rican salsa, which according to my instructor, Wilson Sither, is a much richer and more elegant form of salsa than Cuban salsa. Don't know that I am particularly elegant looking at the moment, but I am stubbornly practicing and hope to eventually venture out to one of the many salsa clubs in Paris to put my lessons to work.

I can see myself becoming a dance addict her at the center. Everything looks like so much fun - from the flamenco classes to the African dance lessons (with live percussionists no less). For right now, though, salsa will have to do.

Maybe you'll see me on the live webcam: http://www.parisdanse.com/webcam.asp

Centre de danse du Marais
41, rue du Temple