Les Rêves Parisiens

Name:
Location: Paris, France

realistic idealism.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

i think

i certainly hope i think.

Regina and I studied at Centre Pompidou on Wednesday, and it is now my favorite place to be anti-social. Well not really. I saw a guy wearing the most laughably hideous, ridiculous brilliant pink and green striped polo shirts that screamed (to me) "watermelon!" Regina however said, "He looks like a Barney." I started laughing so hard, I had to excuse myself from the reading room (where many students were giving me curious/dirty looks) and laugh off my silly overcharged sense self by the escalators.

So no class this week at all either. What a surprise. The Sorbonne is blocked by a long metal fence, so that we cannot even enter into the square. Apparently, there was another manif today at Montparnasse...I will discuss the strike more later, I am SO sleepy.

I picked up my friend Harr today from Gare du Nord...he's avidly reading the Lonely Planet guide next to me on the couch...Mirla's coming tomorrow!




And I would just like to say that I am truly beginning to think that most young men have their male organ mounted on their head instead of a real brain. Maybe this whole asexual thing might be a good option.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Never mind

I realized, after talking to Cecile, that M. Laugee isn't specifically mean towards me, that's just the traditional French teaching style. Plus I also realized he's probably stressed out. So he's not really that terrible, I was just freaking out. Lesson learned : )

Anyway, so Regina, Lauren, Joan (A Spanish student I met in class) and I watched "Fauteuils d'Orchestre" yesterday, a very good witty film but unfortunately due to my slow, lumbering, unwitty-in-French brain, I only caught a tiny part of the jokes. Oof, my French comprehension still has a ways to go so I can actually sound remotely funny + intelligent in response to witty comments.

Afterwards, I went into Gibert Joseph, the librairie (bookstore) and bought three French books to add to the pile intended for my poor mother to cart back to the States. I bought Voltaire's Candide, Ionesco's La Cantatrice Chauve (I read a part of it in high school, but didn't understand half of what I was reading, and thus missed out on most of the humor), and Flaubert's L'education sentimentale, I wish I had more time to read all of these books. I remember how Mathieu told Regina and I how he reads mainly French authors (or is that Arnaud who said that, I forget) because he believes that so much becomes lost during translation (word plays, meanings). I must agree, and this makes me somewhat sad, as my favorite novel of all time is Hong Lou Meng, which is the Chinese masterpiece of Cao Xueqin, acknowledged to be the greatest novel ever written in the Chinese language. And I know, that if I loved it through the awkwardness of translation, how much I would love it if I could read it in Chinese prose.

At least I know one of my lifetime goals: to read Hong Lou Meng in its original Chinese.

oh wait

i forgot to mention that last Friday, when Regina and I went to the pub with Arnaud and company, Regina and I asked them to "grind" (we taught the the word) for us...and it's on video. Regina just sent it to me, and I died. It was hilarious.

Also, courtesy of Regina, picture of us below:

This was after 1 shared drink (that was kind of diluted) so any red on my cheeks is due to either a) my makeup or b) natural flush unrelated to alcohol.















This sign is priceless. Even in France...

Sunday, March 19, 2006

nostalgia and sketchy men

i don't know why i've taken to pairing subject linings for my posts...and sensationalist ones too.

It being the "Printemps du Cinema" (every movie at every movie theatre 3,50E), Regina and I went to Montparnasse and watched "Wu-Ji", also known as "La Legende des Cavaliers du Vent" and "The Promise"...Regina attracted by the Korean actor Dong-Kun Jang and I by the director Chen Kaige, whose works I first experienced with "Farewell My Concubine".

The only thing this movie did for me was get me weepy-eyed about love and nostalgic about China. Hearing Chinese, albeit with Japanese and Korean accents (Japanese actor Hiroyuki Sanada played a role), stirred this immense longing in me to be back in China...

Apart from the icy beauty of Cecelia Cheung, the boyish good looks of Nicholase Tse (in a very one dimensional character) and yes, Regina, the handsome Dong-Kun Jang, and the vivid (although sometimes badly edited) cinematography...this is yet another large scale blockbuster attempt a la "Hero" and "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" that does not at all reflect Chinese or Hong Kong cinema and basically sells out to the Western audience. Although I'm not even sure Western audiences will like this...I had a difficult time following the plot, even though I heard the dialogue in Chinese and read it in French at the same time, the scenes were abrupt, sometimes random, without coherence and elegance of continuity and logical sense. Borrowing from the words of a critic, it's as though Chen Kaige created his own fantasy world, but neglected to make any rules for it, allowing it to evolve into a rather fluffy hazy mess. I remember seeing snippets of "The Promise" on the editing table of Centro, the HK special effects company that was polishing up the movie...and I was told that this is the most expensive film made in China...I don't know where the money went (oh wait, I know, the lavish, but artificial costumes that almost overshadowed the actors who wore them)...

Anyway, after the movie, on the metro, I was accosted by this random guy. Dialogue:

Random Indian guy: "Do you speak English?"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "Are you Japanese?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Are you Korean?"
Me: "No I am not. [exasperated tone]. I am Chinese."
Him:"So do you live here?"
Me: "Yes. I go to school here."
Him: "Oh that is nice. You speak English very well."
Me: [sarcastic tone] "Yes, well I hope I do, because I'm American."
Him: "Do you like Indian food?"
Me: [patience wearing short.] "Yes."
Him: "So my brother has an Indian restaurant. Would you like to come sometime? Why don't I give you my number so you can contact me later?"
Me: [ticked off and letting it show] "I don't have a cell phone, I'm sorry. Bye"

No joke, this is the second time I've been accosted by some random Southeast Asian man in the metro asking me if I was Japanese/Korean/any type of Asian but Chinese. Do I wear a sign that says, "Hello Southeast Asian men, please hit on me"? Also, I get very annoyed when strangers ask me what type of Asian I am...does it really matter unless you're fantasizing about Thai child prostitutes or Japanese geisha or any other type of "Asian stereotype", in which case that is even more disgusting? I don't even look Thai or Japanese. I still recoil thinking about that Nepalese guy the last time who thought I was Thai and then proceeded to enumerate all the other Asian ethnicities except Chinese.

Anyways, off to work I go....my expose research awaits me!

Saturday, March 18, 2006

riots and domesticity

Regina and I met up with Arnaud, Cedric and Arnaud's slightly "interesting" (all the nebulously negative connotations applicable) friend Samir yesterday to go to the bars around the Pantheon and rue Mouffetard (yes, that means skunk, but it's actually one of the hippest areas to live).

Unfortunately, being as it was, St. Patty's Day, all the pubs/bars were more crowded than a Chinese public bus, and I'm not sure whether I prefer the fog of smoke in the bars or the sweatiness of Chinese buses...I'm leaning towards the sweatiness. Regina and I were envelopped in tufts of ashy haze the entire night, and I went home smelling as bad as if a skunk had actually unloaded his nasty odor on me.

Again, I don't understand how one can kiss/be intimate with a someone who smells like smoke. If I were a man, I wouldn't have wanted to kiss the smoky-smelling Kate of last night--how revolting! I Febrezed the heck out of my clothes...I cannot afford to dry clean all of my clothes every time I encounter chain smoking French men (and women), which is about every day. But Regina and I did admit...yes, for some men, smoking cigarettes does look slightly sexy...and some French men do it oh-so-elegantly. The cigarette becomes an accessory, an integration into their terribly stylish and witty characters. Watch it, the next thing you know, I'll end up with some chain-smoking, metrosexual French man ;)

So apparently, I forgot to mention the other day that Arnaud told Regina and I that French men like buying lingerie and other "sexy undergarments" for their girlfriends, to which the puritanic American in both of us responded with "Omg, what?" To which Arnaud explained, "Well, it's mostly for the men, they buy the lingerie so they can see their girlfriends in them." That makes sense...and I applaud a man who is sure enough of his sexuality to set foot into a lingerie store to buy satin slips for his girlfriend/wife. Although, I think it still depends on the man, as we asked Mathieu this the other day, and he said, "Yes, it's done, but I myself find the idea a bit odd..." But nevertheless, he admits to having been shopping with his female friends, and offered to come along on the Grand Shopping Expedition to augment and stylize Regina's wardrobe. Think 2 Pygmalions and a Galatea.

Hm, I'm totally off my original subject. Ah yes, so I met up with Frederique and Monalisa at Denfert-Rochereau to watch the grandest of the "manifestations". We stood at the fringes, observing the students milling around a virile lion statue adorning the middle of the square (I can't figure out why the lion...?), the huge blow up plastic balloons emblazoned with various abbreviations of the numerous "syndicats" (unions) protesting the blasted CPE. We waited 1.5 hours, and nothing really happened, unless you count the students singing that Ricky Martin song (whichever one it was that was the World Cup anthem, I don't even remember). And saw young "Communists" again. Don't even get me started on "Communism". It makes me angry whenever I see youth proclaiming to be communists--do they even know what it is? That this is an idealistic theory that is, by human nature, impossible and doomed to repeat itself in a series of fatal episodes, as history has already shown with Cuba and China, among many? Look at where Communism brought China? I implicitly and automatically associate communism with the effects that it's had on my family and my mother country, and it angers me that there are people who have no fucking concept (I'm sorry) of what applied communism degenerates into.

Ooof, this is getting into another rant post (why have I been ranting so much lately?!?). On to lighter things. Maylen, Regina and I cooked dinner tonight and Arnaud came over, the only boy again, as always. I think I delight in doing this to him. We had a yummmmy chickpea stew (Maylen), spicy tofu (Regina) and a mushroom and bok choy dish (me), plus this random rice pudding that I made for dessert. I had meant it to be originally a coconut mango rice pudding. But there were no ripe mangoes to be bought and I didn't buy enough coconut milk, so it morphed into a coconut-banana-nutella pudding. Which tasted decent, but the rice was a bit too mushy, I think.

Afterwards, the girls and I watched "Como Agua Para Chocolate", and now I'm in a pensive, romantic mood (despite my rantings).

Thursday, March 16, 2006

French cocktails, French graffiti, French rioting

Dear Reader,

I have not had class for 1.5 weeks. Last Saturday, the riot police broke into the Sorbonne and chased 200 students out of the historic building, arresting 11. This entire week, the Sorbonne is closed for renovation of damages of up to 1million euros. There is graffiti everywhere, on the scaffolding of the Sorbonne (which is receiving a facelift), on the statues adorning the square. But it has gone too far. Slogans like "Vive le Communisme" in a rakish red that even dear Chairman Mao would approve of, slathered across shattered store windows.

Tuesday, there was a student march at the Place St. Michel, and tear gas was liberally dispersed. There will be a march on Saturday, a grand one, THE grand one. And yes, I am going to see it. Shhh, I'm not supposed to. But how can I miss such a historic event?

But I have to say, there is a line. I support everyone's right, especially in this case, to protest being wronged, but don't you dare, don't you DARE touch the historical and cultural artifacts of this city. Too many times in history, precious tomes, objets d'art and testaments to the greatness of mankind have been destroyed by ignorant conquerors and supposedly egalitarian-minded revolutionaries wanting to erase vestiges of bourgeois + intellectual + royal heritage. When I think of how much cultural heritage China has lost in its "revolutions", it makes me sick to the stomach. And it saddens me, sickens me, to see the French students willfully destroy the Sorbonne, willfully desecrate statues--do you not appreciate the great gift you have been given? To live, breathe, study one of the most marvelous cities in the world? There is NO excuse whatsoever, do not even try.

There was also another march today outside of CUPA, regarding sports education program. 5 high school boys stood on top of the cinema roof, baring their lovely round behinds with words painted on. Hundreds of students and teachers wearing tshirts sprayed with a profusion of protests proceeded to run down the rue de Rennes shouting and gesticulating.

I love France. I really do. And above all, Paris.

Last night, Regina Naomi and I went to a cafe-bar to meet up with Mathieu, whom I'd met at the first CUPA soiree, and his friends. Mathieu did an exchange at Harvard last school year and taught French and knows all my former TFs. Now I never think of my TFs as actually having a life, because I know them only contexualized in class. They don't have lives, they're TFs!

Well last night, among Mathieu's friends was another former Harvard TF, whom Naomi knows, and whose class, French 48b, I'd shopped, named Charles. Naomi and I agreed later that it was slightly bizarre to know these "TFs" outside the context of Harvard--we never realized how young they actually are (22-24)...and there we were, joking, drinking (yes, actually drinking) with them!?! Did I say..surreal?

Speaking of drinks, all the cocktails listed were in English, and Naomi decided to get a Sex on the Beach, whereupon I followed with an order of "Screaming Orgasm". Charles remarked that it was a very logical order, as one must have sex first in order to have an orgasm. Well made remark. The waiter looked at me and demanded, "Young lady, do you know what a Screaming Orgasm is?" I responded (laughing and lubricated by 1 glass of wine I gulped at the CUPA soiree beforehand), "Of course I know, I'm an American!" And then I realized how that could be interpreted. Oh my. Well.

It was incredibly enjoyable, however, just to sip a cocktail and talk with Mathieu's friends, who were very witty and easygoing and fun to talk to.

I love Paris so much...blindly so!

Friday, March 10, 2006

gripe

i woke up at 6:30 today for my 8am class, not daring to skip it because the manifestations are highly irregularly in continuity--the students decide very last minute whether or not to continue.

So I arrived at the Sorbonne at 8:05, puffing from the metro...only to find a cavalcade of riot police blocking the street on both ends. Since my classroom is opposite the Sorbonne historique (what they call the main building), I asked the police if I could go in. They dismissed my request, saying, "No one can enter." Then, Regina sends me a message saying "Where are you??? There's class right now!" So I wave the cell phone with the text message in front of the police, saying "S'il vous plait monsieur, est-ce que je peux entrer, j'ai un cours maintenant!!!" (Please sir, can I enter, I have a class right now!!!). No, no and no. Actually, they didn't even listen to me. They waved me off like a little fly. So Deborah, a student from Fordham who is in my TD, and I shivered for an hour in the biting cold alternately talking about French men and trying to convince the police to let us enter. I was so frustrated at one point, I said (in French) to this little old man next to me, "I'm a foreign student, I PAID a lot to be here!!" To which he said, "That's really too bad, but there's nothing you can do..." At 9, our TD professor, who is really nice and accessible, for a French professor, came out and tried talking to the police. Same answer. He told us, over the metal gates, that he'd give us the lecture notes next week.

I don't know how long this will go on!!! But I actually would really like to attend one of the student rallies, just to see what they are doing. Poor Maylen, she hasn't had class for 2 weeks because of the strikes! I suppose I am lucky...but I really want to go to class, I find the topics more interesting than any I've taken at Harvard, and it makes me slightly annoyed that my parents are spending good money for me to study here, and I can't do it. But then again, students have the right and indeed the logical and reasonable right to protest for their personal rights.

Maylen and I went to a Chinese supermarche in the 13th, the dregs of the 13th, the very bottom of the neighborhood, in our weekly grocery shopping expedition. I am SO happy--I found grass jelly and that green jelly (Chinese people will totally know what I am talking about). I am making eggrolls tomorrow for dinner and a tofu and seaweed soup. I loooove cooking SO much--it's both an art and a pleasure. I really should have been a chef. Why am I at Harvard and not the CIA (Cooking Institute of America)?

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Manifestations

"manifestations" is the French word for "protests", of which there have been plenty these past couple of weeks in Paris. Simplified situation:

Dominique Villepin, prime minister, created the Contrat Premier Embauche (CPE), which basically allows employers to fire young employees under the age of 26 within a two year "test period" without any explanation. This, as you might imagine, has caused a very controversial and fiery reaction among the youth of France, who are very much maligned in the workplace (Monalisa told me that French employers prefer to hire older more experienced employees...).

So, what do the jeunesse of France do? Why they rise up against the bullying government by holding numerous "manifestations" and "grèves" (strikes) at universities, and cancel classes by barring professors from accessing their classrooms. I've had two classes canceled this week due to student protests at the Sorbonne. At the Université de Paris III-Sorbonne Nouvelle, classes have been canceled for 2 weeks. According to CUPA, strikes such as this in the past have lasted as long as 1 month.

As Regina remarked, there is probably no other developed country in the world where people rise up and protest and march against grievances so often.

On one hand, I admire the French students for taking action against the CPE, for “standing up for what they believe”, to be trite.

On the other hand, I ask myself, what will become of this? One, from an extremely coldly capitalist point of view, my parents paid a large amount of money to study here—I am not receiving what my parents have invested capital into. But that’s not the point. For the French students, I wonder how much impact their protests will have. I am sure, and the French in general will agree with me, that neither Villepin or the French government will change or revoke the CPE due to these manifestations. The French government doesn’t bend easily for anyone, much less a bunch of jeunes. Like many institutions in France, things don’t change…they rest deeply rooted.

But does this mean that they shouldn’t protest at all? What’s the point of putting on this brouhaha if nothing is going to happen? Don’t the students realize that the government isn’t going to change colors?

I think the students know, at least unconsciously, that the government won’t change. But in the liberal spirit, this doesn’t mean we can’t protest. We meaning humans in general. Even when we know that the government, the man (as Jen puts it), or whatever the superior institution is, won’t change, or there is very little probability of it bending, it doesn’t mean we cannot protest or express our opinions. Change doesn’t come easily, but it won’t even begin to germinate if you do nothing, if you give up before you even say anything. It’s the principle of freedom of expression, of being able to stand up for what you believe in, that counts. Yes, it’s trite. But it’s what (warning, rampant American patriotism coming up) our forefathers (yes, I say our forefathers, even though my blood forefathers were actually Mongolian horsemen galloping around conquering China) fought for and died for, and what generations of American statesmen and patriots fought for, and what the French have equally fought for (in their way).

The thing is, that disgusts and makes me so angry, is this: I read in the New York Times about how the Republicans put forth some random female candidate to challenge Hillary Clinton in the NY senate race. I admit, I admire Hillary, but this doesn’t blind my judgment—that it is utterly against my democratic principles and purity of what this country was founded on, to propose a candidate just because the Republicans want to make Hillary stumble before the 2008 elections. This is catty, this is pure poison politics, an act of political calculation that puts forth party interests before the interests of the country (although I’m sure Republicans think they’re doing a good for the country by making Hillary stumble). How can the Republicans be so desperately catty to put forth any random woman to have the pleasure of tripping Hillary? The candidate they offered is really sadly unqualified…it’s sad, very very sad. See, this is what makes me so bitter and disillusioned about politics—politics have become a selfish, narcissistic, power-hungry struggle between Democrats and Republicans for control of this country…in which many of our politicians have lost the vision of what this country is supposed to be. Whatever happened to the principles upon which this country was founded? It seems that our modern politicians have for the most part lost the purity of conviction that our Founding Fathers held. The pessimistic Kate in me feels that the farther spatially that a group, an organization, a country, moves from its founding origins, the more difficult it is to keep the original convictions on which the organization/group/country is founded. Perhaps I’m being too pessimistic.

Wow, this has really turned out to be a long, random post.

So in other words today, I had my first rather unpleasant French academic experience. A couple of weeks ago, I showed up at the first TD of my art history class (19th century painting from Jacques-Louis David to Gustave Courbet) with Professor Laugée. I explained to him that I would have to switch to another TD on Thursday because I had to make an atelier de phonetique for CUPA Fridays. He said, ok, that’s fine, better, because there are other foreign students there, and here you go, do this oral expose with this other American student who is switching into that section. Ok, fine. First, I don’t even get to choose my expose topic. Second, thanks a lot for lumping me with other “foreign students” and assuming that I’m just a member of a general entity and not really an individual. Great so far.

So at CM on Tuesday, I run into that other American girl, who informs me that actually, she’s not switching TDs, and so that means I’ll have to do the oral expose by myself. Ok, so the expose is in three weeks. I’ve never taken an art history class, I’m not an art history major, French is my third language and I can’t speak very fast. But that’s all manageable, I won’t complain. However, I thought, maybe at least I can change my expose topic (A synthetic study of a series of paintings by Theodore Gericault of horse races), which doesn’t really interest me (I mean, I didn’t even choose it!), to a later date, so I can prepare for it better. Before I can even finish my sentence, the professor cuts me short and says impatiently, “All the expose topics are filled, you can’t change.” So then I ask, is it possible to do a written expose? He looks at me, exasperated and says, “I only grade oral exposes.” Fine.

Do you know what he did during the two oral exposes today? He interrupted each girl about 10 times during their expose to criticize them or to point out areas he said they didn’t mention. In fact, the girls were just on the point of discussing the areas, before the overeager *insert three word expletive* interrupted them. Way to interrupt the composure and flow of the presentation. AND on top of it, thanks to his numerous interruptions, one girl’s expose went over the 25 minutes allotted, and he said, “I’m going to have to take points off for that mademoiselle.” Please, *insert expletive of your choice here* if you hadn’t interrupted the poor girl so many times, she would have been within the time limit.

I already know he won’t have any leniency for me during my oral expose. He won’t care that I’m not fluent in French—he’ll tear me to pieces, he’ll be happy making pointed barbs at my ignorance of art history. Go do that, Monsieur Laugée, because you won’t make me feel like a piece of *insert not so nice word for poo*. I’ll show you that I won’t be intimidated by you. And you know what, I probably weigh more than you anyway, so if we ever had a fight, you would be down *like that* (this is so true, he could wear Sarah Jessica Parker’s clothes on her skinniest days AND have room to spare).

I hate it when people refuse to acknowledge that I am an individual and not some random irritating thing, which apparently I am to my TD professor.

Ok ok, done venting! Off to early bed, 8am class tomorrow!

Sunday, March 05, 2006

satiation

i think i gained 10 pounds overnight.

last night, we had a casual dinner in the apartment. Regina came over and we cooked together. I made wonton soup, and she cooked this spicy Korean dish that I cannot for the life of me remember the name of (something long and Korean? I sound so ignorant). Arnaud came over, and I realized again that I always have poor Arnaud with a group of American girls. This time, he was the only male, with four ladies. He's such a good sport though.

Dinner conversation topic was very interesting and rather nosy...we talked about how there are so many sketchy men in clubs, and debated whether French men are sketchier (the word in French is "louche") than American men. Regina, Alex and Jen thought so, because they've been hit on by a multitude of creepy, undesirable, often old and/or desperate men. I'm not so sure, because in every large city, there are louche men out for a piece of ass. I was approached by more random men in Hong Kong last summer than I have been in Paris. Besides, the very context of being in a club or a bar already sets the scene for expected behavior--it's rather difficult to meet upstanding fine gentlemen (i'm being somewhat ironic here) in those places.

I'm not disillusioned by French men, nor am I frightened or intimidated. You could say I regard them with a rather scientific eye--I observe them in their native habitat. Perhaps I should write a treatise on French men as perceived through the eyes of a Chinese-American girl.

Anyhow, so we girls and Arnaud talked about everything from louche-ness, to beirut + flip cup, and Jen, Regina and I even had a spice-eating contest to see who could stomach the most spiciness. Yours truly won, but my tongue was in peril of vanishing in a pile of ashes. I dearly thank my mother's Sichuan heritage--without it, I would have probably died of overspiciness. It's my dad's fault, for being of non-Sichuan extraction. Otherwise I could have eaten 3-4 dried chilis instead of 1.

And here I must make a plug for Sichuan province and notably Chengdu, the capital and my beloved hometown. Everything you need is there. The most delicious food in China (don't try arguing with me on this, it's futile), the most beautiful girls (you can try arguing, I might give way to to Hangzhou or Qingdao, probably Chongqing), the most leisurely, relaxed lifestyle (although I have to admit that the local mahjong addiction is bad--there is a saying that if you fly over Sichuan, you can hear the clicking of mahjong tiles!). *Sigh*. I miss Chengdu. If you ever go to China, don't miss out on it. We're also a very distinguished province. Deng Xiaoping was from Sichuan, as was Wu Zetian (the only female Emperor in China's history), the poet Du Fu, various statesmen and intellectuals of antiquity......

All right, back on track. After dinner, we had the most delicious, sugary North African pastries that Arnaud brought. I can't really remember the names, they are all in Arabic, but they're the reason why I probably gained 10 pounds overnight : ) It was so worth it though...I'm salivating just remembering them. I am going back to St. Michel and buying my own batch later this week. Oh pastries, you will be the cause of my clogged arteries.

Can I just confess that I have the craziest, deepest, sensual craving for....hip-hop clubbing? Every time I hear a 50 cent song from Jen's computer, I just want to dance so badly. I need to find a non-louche hip hop club next weekend so I can exercise my phantoms out and be at peace. Not to mention apparently Regina likes the lap dances I give her, so *wink* *wink*.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

chanson du jour

I keep playing this song over and over again...it claws at my heartstrings with the feeble tenderness of a newborn kitten....


我喜欢

歌手:梁静茹


看蓝蓝的天空下绵绵的白雪停在你脸上
爱在巴黎的赛纳河畔上面眺望赶不上的玻璃船
却不觉得(找不到)遗憾
早已沉醉在你暖暖的手掌
紧握住我不放偷偷的闻着你
带孩子气的男人香
呼...我喜欢就这样靠在你胸膛
呼...我喜欢没有时间没有方向
呼...我喜欢像这样爱的好自然
不用管别人投什么眼光
随你带着我四处的(去)游荡
呼...我喜欢一醒来有你在身旁
呼...我喜欢赖在床上看你喝汤
呼...我喜欢你的手放在我肩膀
像是担心我会消失一样
为我每一吋消瘦(瘦弱)而感伤
好想就这样有你在身旁一直到天长
在日记里圈上每一页都有你好幸福的时光
对照第一次见面到此刻的温柔是不是都一样


I think I would like to experience this

saturday

*feeling just a teensy bit lonely

wish i could hug my f and l

paris, stop being so clouuuuuudy!!!!!!!!!

Friday, March 03, 2006

louvre

Close your eyes to avoid this profanity...

The first of what I predict will be a series of Maylen-isms from dear Maylen, poet extraordinaire (that toilet poem in French, oh goodness)...after I forced us to get off the wrong metro stop:

"Où the fuck sommes-nous??"


Ah yes...Franglais...methinks I shall write a book on all the Maylen-isms my friend spouts.


Yesterday, Naomi and I ventured into the Louvre...it was incredibly...LARGE. Or rather, splendiforously overwhelmingly gigantic. Silly me wore my "come hither" boots, which pinch dreadfully when worn for intervals of more than 20 minutes...we walked almost 3 hours in the marbled galleries, the ornamented salons and balastruded corridors....

We also viewed "La Joconde" known to touristy Americans everywhere as "The Mona Lisa." For fear of blaspheming this sacred object of tourist devotion...I shall say that it was not very impressive. Encaged in a plastic contraption and endowed with 3 of its own private guards, "La Joconde" was smaller than I'd imagined, though her look was just as secretive, almost taunting. As for me, I preferred the French paintings of the 18-19th centuries, which I am conveniently studying. I went to the gallery with all the large scale works of Jacques-Louis David, and I told myself, I could spend hours and hours just looking at each tableau...

We also went to see Napoleon III's apartments, which were stunning in the typically over-luxurious, matching-velvet-drapery-lots-of-funny-shaped-fauteuils-gold leafed mirrors-crystal chandeliers-faded-carpet way. Voila some pictures.

You will also note that the last picture is of me preening before a statue. What you do not see/hear are the ill-behaved middle school children above and behind me who were pointing to me and saying "Look at that Chinese person." Please, I am not a novelty that you can make fun of. Go find one of the 5 million other Chinese tourists to poke fun at, ok?




















Gorgeous, ridiculous, ceiling.
















Grand salon.





















entrance to grand salon

















Grand dining hall (although the carpet is this nasty orange-rusty-pretending to be geometric pattern...which does not match the furniture at all, like it was a very bad afterthought)






















Isn't she gorgeous? I meant the statue, silly!

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

pile

i'm looking dolefully at the ever-growing pile of books stacked on my nightside table which is not really a table but a woven trunk masquerading as a nightstand.

it seems my 1.5 years of preschool boarding school, .5 years of kindergarten, 5 years of elementary school, 3 years of middle school, 4 years of high school and 2.5 years at Harvard have really instilled no knowledge in me that will be useful in my history + art history classes at the Sorbonne. How do I know that Philip II of Spain, son of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor (and holy terror to poor King Francois Ier of France), married Mary Tudor (who ironically was promised to Charles Quint, who reneged on his promise and married some Portuguese princess instead)? It's really thanks to my assiduous obsession with European royalty, nourished outside of traditional educational institutions.

Sometimes I think I ought to have been a genealogist--I can spend hours, literally hours, perusing the intertwined, spider-webby family trees of the Habsburgs, the Capetians, the Tudors...wading through the intricacies of the house of Valois, Bourbon (Bourbon-Vendome, Bourbon-Montpensier, oh that poor Connetable Charles Bourbon, so cheated out of his potential claim to the throne of France), Conde...so on and so forth. C'est vachement interessant, as the French would say.

I'm a dork and I know it.