Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The big question: What will I do?

Yup, degree attained. Check.

So, what's next?

Well, my dad's health kind of hit me in a way that I wasn't anticipating. I'd spent a large portion of 34 years (probably between ages 12 - 26) disliking my family entirely, then a smaller portion (26-32) spent loving them but not really being so interested in hanging out with them. This past year I sort of started missing them until I realized I was truly very homesick - not for a place but for these people.

Around the same time, my grandmother moved into an assisted living residence and the farm was sold. I lived 6 years in Madison, Wisconsin - the longest I've lived anywhere. Right behind this milestone, is the farm, where I spent several summers and many holidays. Neither of these places hold very much sentimentality for me now. I didn't drive by my old apartment on Gilman Street. I didn't drive out to see the farm land. But I did make a point of seeing the people. And I've missed them. My ex-boyfriend and great friend, Josh, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles (just missing many of my favorites too - yup, talking to you, Kim!), cousins, new 2nd cousins, past co-workers, etc... I guess there isn't a specific location that provides me community, but it's found with each of these folks.

What about Paris? Well, I had a community for two years while attending Sciences Po. Didn't give myself much of a chance to make a huge one outside of the school though.

Now, almost all of those student-friends have flown off to other parts of the world. I do adore and love Paris, and it is a moveable feast as I've felt her when outside the borders. Interestingly though, while I was in the States those past 3 weeks, I didn't miss her quite as badly as I thought would. Although, I complained about the horrible food in the US, the bad TV (why on earth is Mad Men a good show?!), the largeness of the people, and the lack of public garbage cans in neighborhoods (who wants to carry dog poop in a bag for blocks and blocks?). Meanwhile, I hailed the Parisian transportation system, the veggies and fruits that taste like themselves, the warm pain au chocolat in the morning, the warm baguette in the evening, the fresh cheese shops, the fresh seafood shops, the fresh meat shops (even as a vegetarian I have an appreciation), the beauty of the city, the wine, the ... the... the...

Nonetheless, I also noticed that the two cities have commonalities. Both have different types of convenience and friendliness. There's, also, a different sort of beauty in the US: a sweetness in the sunset, unlike Paris' burning fires or quiet disappearing act. Where I've photographed Paris sidewalks marked with shoeprints of dog poo and stained with the star-like splatter from drunk puking, I found strange beauty in the States' soulless, boxy megalomania that serves up vomitus overwhelming and over-colored selections of product.

At one point, just before returning to Paris, my Facebook status was "would like an apartment on the fence - where the grass is green on both sides." I guess, really it is. Every place has positive qualities and horrors. It's just happens that, right now, the US place also has my friends and family.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


So, for now, I'm checking one-way dates. Looking for jobs. AND! Making a list of things/places/people I should see in/around Paris before leaving. Any suggestions welcome!

-Musee de l'Erotisme
-Museum National d'Histoire Naturelle in Jardins des Plantes
-Parc Belleville
-Rue St Vincent (18eme)
-Parc des Buttes Chaumont
-Jardin du Luxembourg
-Montparnasse: Cimitere de Montparnasse; Le Dôme, Dingo Bar, La Closerie des Lilas, La Rotonde, Le Select, La Coupole; rue de la Gaité; Musée du Montparnasse
-Higuma restaurant
-Jeu de Paume
-Versailles

**Seen this weekend: The Galeries de Paléontologie et d'Anatomie Comparée, Le Marche aux Puces de Saint-Ouen, the Catacombs, Musee Gustave Moreau

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Le Drugstore

On Skype the other day with my parents, my mum mentioned she'd found a matchbook from back in the day. My mum - along with many (?) of her generation - traveled quite a bit back in the day. I remember her telling me and my sister how she had a book detailing how to live on 5$ a day in Europe. She left Australia sometime in her early twenties (I'm taking liberties here, mum, if you have adjustments to these facts, please do tell) and went on a wild adventure around the world. [Not to make my dad jealous of this tale, he, too, was in his own adventure after graduating from the US Air Force Academy. They met in Taiwan when he was stationed there for the Vietnam war.] One night when I was about 15 years old, we were living in Oklahoma and I couldn't sleep. So, I took to down-right inappropriate spying and went through my mum's memory chest that was sitting out in the living room. I found all these amazing black and white and early color photos from places all over the world with all different kinds of people - I remember a photo of some white-bleached-dyed-hair woman, sitting on a bed (in a hotel?), with her hair all up in ratty spazness, her eyes bugged out with a silly grin. The light in the photo tells me it was daytime and I imagine they were waking up, getting dressed, fixing their hair to go out on the town for another long day of tourism and .... dare I say, boys? I think she was one of the many traveling friends of my mum's. So, if my mum said she found a matchbook - it meant she found a cool piece of history.

She told me it was from a drugstore in Paris on Boulevard Saint Germain, and that using Google Maps (which is totally awesome now that they have the on-ground photos) she'd found that the drugstore was now replaced by some high fashion store. Well, Blvd St Germain has definitely turned high end fashion, in fact it's rather depressing to be a poor grad student walking around in this neighborhood with all the cool art galleries, amazing clothes stores, and Bobo cafés.

So, the other day I set out to find this place, asked her to send photos of the matchbook and asked if she'd mind if I posted it all here.

In the meantime, I had brunch the other day with a school colleague and his friends, an older gentleman and his wife. The older gentleman had worked for the NYT distribution sales or somesuch, wherein they sell the NYT news to other editors and other news outlets. His lovely wife had a very accomplished career, as well, and had know-who and know-how coming out of her beautiful ears. They've lived in Paris for over 20 years and every Sunday they have brunch at Le Deux Magots, directly across the street from where said "drugstore" was located. Poor grad student that I am, I was thoroughly grateful for the company and the meal. Well, I shared the story of the matchbook with them and she told me a bit about the "drugstore," aka "Le Drugstore."

Mum told me she'd been in Paris in 1968, not around the time of the May 1968 riots though. I wrote her back joking that she'd picked up the matches to have a super cool smoke over at Le Deux Magots while people-watching in an arty neighborhood. Lo and behold, as I was envisioning a small pharmacy drugstore, the woman at brunch was telling me all kinds of stories about how it was NOT at all that. In fact, Le Drugstore was a high-end drugstore of sorts where young women could buy classy perfume or more expensive hair brushes. Young people gathered there late into the night for food and conversation, as it was one of the only places in Paris open late into the night. It sounded more like London's Harrods, which mum had told me about, hanging out there around the same time in the late '60s, and where she'd bought the famous brown leather skirt and matching jacket that I've worn almost to death over the years.

This woman also mentioned that Le Drugstore was the site where so-and-so was shot and killed. The conversational din in the background prevented me from hearing his name and I felt like an idiot for not knowing, as it sounded like some political history with which I should be familiar. She also said that the neighborhood was up in arms when Armani's moved in, as it suggested the formal transition of the neighborhood to something more commercial. So, we wrapped up brunch and I took some snaps of where Le Drugstore used to be, now replaced by Armani's. Next to the La Brasserie Lipp (beware embedded music on website) and down the block from La Taverne Saint-Germain.



Where Le Drugstore used to be - replaced by Armani's.



La Taverne Saint-Germain



Brasserie Lipp



Brasserie Lipp and Armani's



Armani's and 149 Blvd Saint Germain


149 Saint Germain



Armani's to the corner



Matchbook of Le Drugstore



Inside matchbook of Le Drugstore, 1968


"Boulevard St-Germain

Ce boulevard fut percé à travers un dédale de petites rue moyenageuses entre les années 1855 et 1866.

On lui donna le nom de la plus vieille église de PARIS, St-Germain-des-Prés, église romane à choeur gothique dont la présence a longtemps rythmé la vie de ce quartier. Aujourd'hui encore artistes et intellectuels se retrouvent sur la place a Café de Flore, aux Deux Magots, chez Lipp, ou au Drugstore St-Germain, tandis que libraires et antiquaires abondent tout au long du boulevard.

Régie Française

_____Refermer la pochette
avant d'enflammer l'allumette

publistar"


Thanks, mum. It's so very cool to be in the same place you were once -- before I was born or even a thought, and perhaps with different landscape.




Some news and mentions of Le Drugstore:





Chelsea Drugstore in the 1970s


The modern glass and aluminium frontage of the Chelsea Drug store shocked Royal Avenue residents when it opened in July 1968. They were even more appalled by the clientele. The residents demanded that access to the King's Road was closed, which was done in 1971. Chelsea Drugstore was modelled on Le Drugstore on Boulevard St Germain in Paris. Arranged over three floors the complex included bars, food outlets, a chemist, newsstand, record store and boutiques. It was open 16 hours a day, seven days a week. A major attraction was the ‘flying squad’ delivery service. This was made up young ladies in purple catsuits using motorcycles to make home deliveries.






"Paris became a focal point for Palestinians who were prepared to use French sanctuary to plan and carry out operations against Israeli targets or against rival Arab factions....The most infamous of these was a grenade attack on the Jewish-owned Le Drugstore café complex in Paris in September 1974. Two people died, and thirty four were wounded in the explosion, which was launched in support of another operation: a hostage siege at the French embassy in The Hague, where Japanese Red Army terrorists were trying to force the French government to release one of their members. This operation succeeded; the jailed terrorist was released, and he and his colleagues were flown to the Middle East with hostages and a large cash ransom." The Deadly Sin of Terrorism: Its Effect on Democracy and Civil Liberty in Six Countries, 1994






Le Publicis Drugstore (one in the chain of Le Drugstore):





Drugstore with a French accent
Feb 2004

A startling new building - or, at least, a new façade - was unveiled last week on one of the most visible sites in Paris, at the top of the Avenue des Champs- Elysées. Depending on your level of architectural sophistication, the building looks like an exciting swirl of reflecting glass shards, or a standard 1960s glass shoe-box that has just had an accident with an aircraft.

The building, designed by a computer and the Californian architect Michele Saee, is an attempt to recreate a part of modern French history - Le Drugstore. In the early 1960s, an all-night shop and café of that name, on this site, became the favoured haunt of young and wealthy Parisians, in the days when American culture was regarded as chouette (cool).

After a fire in 1972, it was rebuilt, only to decline in recent years into a seedy labyrinth of late-night shops and cafés. The new drugstore has a brasserie with glass walls and extraordinary views of the avenue, an exclusive restaurant, two bookshops, a wine-shop, a grocery and a pharmacy.

It may not resemble any drugstore that I remember in the US, but it's a fitting symbol for Franco-American understanding: a shattered mirror.






NYT - March 2004
For visitors who define themselves as more lowbrow than high, there is another recent iconic restoration: Le Publicis Drugstore at the head of the Champs-Élysées.

After a two-year renovation by the California architect Michele Saee, the new Drugstore, once a Paris hot spot after opening as a minimall in 1958, is now wrapped in a patchwork of glass. Inside, a brasserie (glass walls offer a view of the avenue), a members-only restaurant, a bookshop, two cinemas, a wine shop, an international newsstand, a luxury grocery store, a Cuban cigar shop and, bien sûr, a pharmacy fill more than 32,000 square feet. Alain Ducasse has been hired as consultant to both restaurants and planned the menus.

The original Drugstore opened on the same spot in what was once the Astoria Hotel, the home of Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower when he was supreme commander of Western forces in Europe. With its all-night shop and café, it became a fixture of hip Paris in the early 1960's.

It was rebuilt badly after a fire destroyed the original structure in 1972. Two years later, a terrorist bombing killed two people in Le Drugstore St.-Germain, one of its satellites, and it declined into the sad and seedy.

Noisy, crowded, expensive and with heating that leaves something to be desired, the new Drugstore has the feel of an airport lounge. But according to Mayor Bertrand Delanoe, it is nothing less than ''a symbol of the city.'' And where else in Paris can one buy a Jean-Charles de Castelbajac teddy bear for $203 or a hamburger deluxe with foie gras for $20 after midnight?






Les meilleurs hamburger de Paris : Le Drugstore Publicis






Frommer's Review in NYT

In 1958 the founder of this company, Marcel Bleustein-Blanchet, following a visit to the United States, created a new concept for Paris that became a legend. Years later, a fire in one drugstore and a bombing in a Left Bank branch ended its glory. But Le Drugstore has made a spectacular comeback. Truman Capote once defined a city as a place where you can purchase a canary at 3 o'clock in the morning. In Paris, the Drugstore is a place where you can purchase a 200€ ($290) teddy bear or order a deluxe hamburger with foie gras in the wee hours. The Drugstore stands on the site of the old Astoria Hotel, the home of General Eisenhower when he was supreme commander of the Allied Forces in Europe. Today it houses a brasserie and a restaurant, a bookshop, a wine shop, two cinemas, a newsstand, and a high-end grocery store. The famed chef, Alain Ducasse, planned the menu offered in both dining places. Every food item from grilled scallops to ham with truffles Ducasse-style is served here. Naturally, the Brasserie has the cheaper prices; a more refined service and better cuisine is at Le Marcel.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

What a great 2008

A good paper
Innovation party
Lunds visit
New Delhi, Agra, Mumbai, Bangalore
Anders & Cory visit
Wilfried & Sarah dinners
Tapes & Tapes
Papers
Edinburgh
Compassionate Care for Rape Victims becomes law
March for Sex Workers' Rights
Meghan & Mike visit
Papers
Cizor's haircuts
Laurent and the server
Sarnowskis visit
Madeleine the MPA baby
Accepted to the UN
Papers
Matt G visit
Bridget visit
Paul, Melissa, Jennie visit
Brittany & Normandy trip
Italy with Erin
Moving to Geneve
Meeting friends for life
Dasha bike trips
Deirdre dinners
Italy with Dasha
Bicycle accident
Goth night with Gerrit & Agathe & Caroline
Carte de sejour
Boulangerie sandwiches
March for Transsexual Rights
New fridge
Daylight savings time
Obama!
Papers
Global Public Policy Network Student Conference
London with Caroline, Anne, Patricia
Bahrain
Amanda & Leo visit
Capstone awesomeness
Thanksgiving expat style
Dasha visit
Drinks with Anand
Gotan Project
Christmas dinner expat style
Phone calls with Josh
Friends getting married
Friends having babies
Friends' birthdays
New friends, old friends

...All of this because of my wonderfully supportive family.

Wishing you a New Year that exceeds what you deserve and is better than you imagined!!!

A bientôt 2009!

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Oh those Latin Americans..

they can really drink you under the table.

I am so thrilled to be back in school you can't even imagine. I am ecstatic to have a schedule - boulangerie for the best bread at 6pm, groceries at the market on Saturday, class orientation at 9am until 9pm. I'm too happy for anyone to be this happy. I walked home tonight - and not intoxicated but filled with a few beers with friends from last year - with a wide grin to send to the ladies on the corner, the men in the arab grocery stores, the couple holding hands on the metro, the people on the street. I am too happy for this world!

Yes, I loved my summer in Geneve, and yes, I felt free, but more than that, I feel ... like fireworks, like a birthday ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, like Christmas right before you open the presents... I feel this about every day of life. I am so thankful thank you thank you thank you to whomever is owed these thanks for me being alive and free and fortunate and lucky to live.. LIVE. Even in the struggle of fear of the financial collapse, the fear of no job next year, the fear of deciding classes, the fear of what Presidential candidates are deciding each day, the fear of poverty ever-lasting, the sadness of corruption, the depression of losing all holds on reality.. despite these, and WITH them, I am still blessed to feel such utter contentment with life.

"Death is the Easy Way" by My Morning Jacket played on my headphones as I walked home. Replayed over and over again. It's a horribly depressing song, but it inspired in me a sense of freedom and remembrance that death is the easy way and life is hard and messed up and difficult and messy and not easy and my god I'm so lucky to have it. And I'm not at all naive enough to think that this moment will last. I know that in 4 weeks I'll be stressed out and complaining and freaking out and wishing for simpler times. But I will still, even then, remember how lucky I am to feel the feelings of those emotions and experiences.

It will be 11 years this October when Mike killed himself. I can see him standing here right now. I even almost forgot his name but I could still see his face, his fresh-faced youth snicker and blonde hair and glasses. His punk look and detached coolness. He was dating Liberty, my roommate in Minneapolis. She was one of eight roommates at the time in our 3-story house. I had just meet her in the kitchen one day, after I had re-enlisted into college after a two year absence. I moved in with my old friends and she was new and blonde and black clothes. We all were then. And she came with Mike later, who became a funny, comical character around the house. He was in a band, as were so many of our friends then. He lived with like five other guys over at Dead End Alley - named that for the street sign just outside their house. Minneapolis was and is a cold place with generously warm hearts and a ton of community. But he was suffering. And Liberty helped in so many ways. She'd made an appointment with him with a psychologist or some such. The day before the appointment, he climbed into a car in the carport of Dead End Alley and hitched a tube between the exhaust pipe and the window.

He is my inspiration. Every autumn. It used to be every day, then every week, then month, then he just kind of melted into my own thoughts and personality. He has become a talisman in a way. Live now. Life is short. Live well. Live with all the emotions of life. Life is bigger than just happiness. Life is broader than just joy. Life is all the pain and sadness and hatred and depression and happiness and success. Life just fucking is. And this is his gift to me.

I can still see him standing there.

Slightly goofy and too smart for his own good.

And I'm smiling now. Laughing even!

God, he's given me a good thing.

Life is short. It should be lived to the fullest in any way possible.



Yah.

Yeah.

Well, here's to Mike. And to my friends Eduardo and Juan Pablo and Kimberley. For tonight. We hadn't seen each other since last year and they invited me for beers. We were close in varying degrees last year. Degrees that came and went like waves. Disgust, anger, rejection, friendship, confidence, love, hatred, jealousy, indifference. But we had such good talks tonight. There are some people in life that are just that. Friends in unique degrees, who are deeper friends than we know, revealed to us only in special moments. These people are ... well, I hope never to lose them. Like Dasha. She is far from me but we are friends. I know this without having to read her words. But it's icing on the cake to see a sentence from her. I'm not afraid of being far from my friends because I know I can find them again. Petty, but Facebook has helped this triple-fold. Regardless of it, I am so fortunate to know that my friends, family, loved ones are out there - in the world. Rooting for me. Working on just causes. Loving each other. Loving life. This sustains me. And, my god, I'm so fortunate for this knowledge and feeling.

Thank you thank you thank you.

Thank YOU.
yes, YOU.

Life is short. Be it. Live it. Be here now.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Stop, summer, stop

I just want this heat and sun and summer to last.

All of a sudden I feel homesick for my family.

I am editing and uploading photos from my sister trip to Italy and realize that I miss my family and, also, think my soul somehow connected with Cinque Terre very deeply. It is not only one of the most beautiful places on earth but really resonated inside me. Sure, the Taj Mahal is amazing, sure Antartica is incredible, and yes I'm sure the pyramids are a sight to behold, but something in the Cinque Terre area made me feel free, content, liberated, strong, at peace, and like I could chuck it all and go open a tarot card reader shop and be happy for the rest of my life. Or, maybe I could help the old guy at Due Gemelli run his hotel.

One of many dreams that inspired me to apply to grad school: It was me, retired to a flat on the 14th floor of an apartment building overlooking a park in Buenos Aires. I have a library, an ottoman, my crippled body shuffling to the window, my own books on the shelves behind me. Now, I wonder if I could put that overlooking the sea in Corniglia.

On our third day in Cinque, we hiked from Vernazza (which seemed like heaven on water the day before when we arrived after hiking for hours) to Corniglia. It was not the most beautiful town, and we followed the signs to the "beach" which was hundreds of stairs down from the hill (we thought of the return upwards and groaned). Almost to the end of the stairs at the rocky cliff "beach," we passed a two-story building. A man came out to his two dogs. I thought of Miller, Hemingway, every lighthouse man, every writer or painter by the sea. He, along with the memory of the man the day before, who stepped out onto his porch when we were mid-hike, mid-olive grove, mid-vineyard, he stepped out to tinker with a machine part in the sun. Was there a cigarette in the corner of his mouth? And when I tried in French-Spanish-Italian-English to tell him he was lucky to live here, he commented back in broken English that he was old, I was young. This form of solitude at the slowing down days. I want this.

....

Two years ago, I wrote somewhere that I wanted to be an intern at the UN.

Be careful what you wish for.

....

I wish to be in the hills of Cinque Terre. Before my hands are disabled by arthritis. Before I can no longer hike the hills. And after I know I can afford to mold myself into the hills and seas, rocks and cobblestones. My soul has so many houses on this planet. I have not returned to the most important yet. Some day I will.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Why I Love My Family

Mom wrote:

While plundering about on e-bay today, found a truly remarkable recipe book - "Rabbit on a Shovel" BBQ book - from yes, indeed, the Land DownUnder. Should we order a family book which could be passed around and recipes copied as we saw fit for whatever tools or small game we have available at the time?

Thought you all should be aware of our fine techniques and the possibility that you too could own this book.

Love Mum, ABJ




Lauren's Sister wrote:

a family book would be tons of fun. then maybe [boy cousin in town] and I can host a family gathering out here. We could rig some sort of odd contraption in a backyard and cook some of the bunnies from my neighborhood.




Lauren had to pipe in:

Ok, I haven't been out of the country THAT long.. I'm still vegetarian, mum. ;) Bunny on a stick? What was that?! What about shrubs on the simmer? ... I swear.. I'm neither Aussie nor Norweigi-Welsh. Are you sure I wasn't adopted after all?

.... I would LOVE to see this remarkable book. Might come in handy on this student's (non)salary and all the rats running around Paris.






>lauren wrote (to her dad):
>I don't have to request a ballot right? not for [the april elections] b/c i already put in a request for all of them thisyear?
>
> thx!



On Monday, A Couple Hours Later, Dad wrote:

Just spoke with a deputy clerk at city hall who said that the ballot went out Thurs or Fri. Since they only just got them from the printers on Wed. that is about as quickly as they could. She remembered sending the one to Paris, and wished they had asked for a courier. I would expect that you will have very little time to turn it around. It must arrive here by Tues Apr 1 to be counted. Me, I just drive over to the Armory and stand in line for half an hour. But then, I don't get to have French wine, cheese, and bread for my next meal after that. Always a trade off.

Dad




Lauren replied immediately:

Always a trade off, indeed. Then again, I need the wine to get the anxiety down about having no real money to pay for the cheese and bread. So, which is better? Hmmm.. ;) (I am trying to remember to enjoy it.) ... so, then, prepare me for the ballot? Who am I voting for? Really. I'm not kidding. Which race is this b/c right now I'm overwhelmed studying the National Lottery Commission of UK to learn about independent regulatory agencies, looking at possible political scenarios related to Cuba, learning Passé Composé and Imparfait (thank god for Spanish!), trying to understand monetary versus fiscal policy (exchange rates, subprime crisis, all things macro), the utility of food stamps versus cash transfers, and studying the technique of bargaining in conflict management -- while trying to find an apartment in Geneva.

... right. ...

who am I again? ;)

Thanks for checking on the ballot, dad!!! xoxoxoxoxoxo




And, earlier my lovely cousin on the east coast sent photos of their new family with the new baby girl. Ahhh, I'm excited to meet the new kids and see my cousins again.





Always there in times of need - even if they don't know it. Gotta love 'em.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Happy Birthday January!

There are a ton of my favorite people celebrating birthdays in January. I haven't made the post office deadline of 2 weeks ago to mail you all fun French cards, so I take this moment to wish you all a wonderful new year in your life. I hope you can look back on this past year with a feeling of accomplishment, joy, strength, and love. May the next year be all that and more for each of you.

Happy birthday to Jennie P, Emily C, Bridget H, Karla S, Jennifer O, Sara F, Bill D, Josh L, Mom, Will C, Simone H, and Dad!!

I wanted to give you a birthday cake, but




it's been hard to find a French birthday cake.



When you search for "birthday cake" on Google images you get a ton of options.

Have yourself a harvest cake!













For the sportslover:












You can even eat your own face!













So I thought I might be able to find a cake shop in Paris, but got this instead -- and I refuse to wish you this kind of cake.













Without spending too much time procrastinating or digging for real French cakes, I found this "French wedding cake" which reminds me of our Norwegian Kranzkuchen:





Which even came with its own Norwegian couple in the Google images section:






Now, I know I'm poking fun. There are amazing bakeries in France and incredible chefs/bakers and the best designers in the world so I _know_ that there are good birthday cakes out there. I just don't have the time to look hard right now, and kind of want to joke around. So, don't take offense, but this came up under "birthday cake french" and looks like it really means "I don't wish you well on your birthday, instead, maybe you should consider choking to death."














So, in the end I guess I'll wish you with a galette des rois, which is still being sold in the boulangeries but I think it's like blue-light special now since the day of celebration was January 6th. The US Embassy explains and offers a recipe which basically boils down to eat a stick of butter with an egg on top. (Although this English-translated French recipe is the real truth of the baking.) At our gallete des rois school party, determined to be the 'queen' of the party, I got a huge slice and almost passed out from an overdose of sugar. No, honest. My eyes started kind of spinning and I got such a head rush. If I'd had a bat and piñata I would have gone to town. Instead, I tempered it with a bit of white wine, remained calm, got crowned and gave our director my fève (strange collection).




Or, please choose from any of these lovely traditional French pasteries like the élair (which means lightning, too).





Just please try to have a better time celebrating your birthdays than this woman, listed as "Yummy parisian cake"


um, yeah....







If I missed your birthday, I sincerely apologize. Please send me your date and I promise to toast you with equally as much sugar and love as I did the other folks.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Shorts

started 1/12/08

I found out that a 2nd year student did a similar paper on prostitution last year, comparing policies in France and Netherlands using the framework of the actors involved, mainly feminists. My ego was deflated to know this. I won't read her paper very closely until I'm done with mine. Too much pressure.

Speaking of, I heard from 2 different 2nd year students that I seem too stressed out. They tell me to focus on my introduction and conclusion and kind of support it in the main body. They act as if paper writing is second-nature when I haven't written anything formal in about 12 years. At the time they said this my eyes started to slightly well with tears (chalked up to PMS and conviction), and I defended the idea of writing a paper for the sake of making a difference instead of getting a decent grade or getting something out of the way. Regardless, I want to take their noticing my stress as a lesson. I should relax a bit my Scandinavian worth ethic. Life will go on and I won't actually be able to write some brilliant Einstein paper introducing a terribly new idea. At least not in the first four months of school.

The 2nd year student who wrote on prostitution described it well - it's a seductive theme. I have started to eat and breathe the concept. What is right, what is wrong, what works, what doesn't. In Madrid, Rod and I were walking up a street near Metro Sol, the street known for sex workers. It was our second or third time walking up this street because it's a thoroughfare. A man started to yell at a woman in a doorway (she was clearly a sex worker). His language was mixed Spanish and another. This is not representative of the industry, mind you. I stopped in my tracks and turned to stare at him. If he would become physically abusive I would not stand for it. Only, I should have done more. I should have challenged his verbal abuse. I speak almost perfect Spanish. I should have called him on it. As we all do in hindsight, I should have pulled the ultimate card out, "What?! Your mother taught you to treat ladies this way??!" Instead. He stopped yelling and walked away. So did we.

Back in Paris: I came out of the Chinese restaurant with my take-out. The same panhandler was there that I'd encountered before. Last time, when he stuck his hand out - the first time I've seen this guy/kid - he asked, mumbling in French, for money for food. I shook my head and kind of said 'désolé' sorry. Under his breath, as I walked on, he called me a "fucking bitch." I was shocked. In English he said this. I didn't know what to do so I walked on. This time, coming out of the restaurant, he was there, mumbling something about money for food and I shook my head and split second realized it was him and hollared back over my shoulder, "And don't call me a fucking bitch!" He mumbled back after me, "Ok, sorry."

I wore girl shoes to school today. I really don't like girly things like make-up (too much time in the morning for it when I could be sleeping), high heels (my high arches ache), etc. But I had a presentation and wanted to add a bit of professional flair which for men includes shaving and a nice shirt and tie. For women it's (shaving) a nice shirt and heels - either kitten or high. Every girl shoe I've ever worn has caused me blisters and pain. My Converse never have. My gym shoes never have. My Steve Madden boots haven't. So I wore girl shoes from 9am-midnight. They drain you if they hurt. They make every step feel sharp and slow you down from striding across the street. They made me come up from the metro, after 2 lines and a lot of standing and getting distractedly lost on the way, and upon seeing the hookers standing on the stairs at the top, I sighed, "Home. Finally." This is the first time I recognized my metro and my neighborhood as home. It felt good to see their un-stockinged legs and see the neon of Monoprix. I even, slowly tip-toeing almost down the street, nodded to the 'arabe' grocer. I guess I'm settling in here.

I made a HUGE bowl of pasta shells mixed with tuna, peas, mascarpone, eggs, celery, and spices. It was inspired by a meal I had at Rod's on Christmas Eve. I think I cooked for a good 1-1/2 hours. It was a good break and now I have like a week of food. Now, I have to think of creative ways to eat it. Sandwiches. I wonder what it'd be like warm. I haven't eaten so many eggs-by-themselves in years, but the French make only a handful of sandwiches in their boulangeries: meat and crudité (which means raw vegetable to mean lettuce, tomato), crudité and cheese (Camembert or Gruyère), or crudité with egg and thon (tuna). Not that I miss hot dogs or hamburgers (heh, says the vegetarian). I am definitely getting my vitamins and minerals. Also, hence, why I've been making PB&Js on lovely French bread to take to school - mix it up a bit (lovely jam here, too - recently had some rhubarb yummy chunks of fruit in there!).

Both the stats paper and state restructuring papers are due tomorrow. Stats so far is a 7-page regression analysis on how education, feelings about the status of a home country's economy, and your partner's education influence your feelings about immigration. It sounds sexy. It's not. A bunch of writing words about numbers. I've got about 35% left on the paper on prostitution policy. (Well, that percentage has dropped over the past 14 hours despite the fact that I haven't done much on it.) With all the words in the paper - some will be chopped for sure in the editing process - I've got almost twice the recommended amount. Whew. Plenty to say. Good. Now, let's make it worthy of being said!

I think it's sad that our extended family is dividing up my grandmother's art work. Sure, on the one hand it's really wonderful that we're able to do this and that my aunts and uncle and dad are helping the process and that my grandma is facilitating (or so I imagine, with no basis for that). It's still sad, and too bad that the farm house can't just be converted into a really cool museum that will always smell special like warm Norwegian wood and Welsh air. I can see that house from entry way to basement nook, from measuring our giggling cousins up against the bathroom door to seeing knee-high while scooting around on a wooden toy tractor. I wonder how it looks now, covered in layers of snow and small lights glowing from its windows. I wonder how we'll all keep the tradition of seeing our faces change.

Friday, December 21, 2007

The season

Well, Sarkozy is off kissing the Pope's hand. I didn't think twice-divorced people could do that. I guess even the Pope can be flexible.

Bush is denying denying denying.

The Middle East is exploding.

Former Guantanamo 'prisoners' are freed after 4 years (oh, the stories they'll tell to the world, I hope I hope I hope).

Elizabeth II outlasts the other ones and Victoria. (Cheers to health care!)

New Orleans is coming down, but not without protest.

Candidates are jabbing and smearing.


.....

I hope to pull some time tonight to post a bunch of photos I've taken over the past month. You'll be able to see Paris - the real city of lights - at the holiday season. While some neighbors have coma-inducing lights blinking up and down the street and major shopping thoroughfares have tightropes of Santa faces or miniature trees, there's no snow to make me really think it's winter or Christmas. I am not complaining - PERIOD. But I don't feel any nostalgia or wistfulness or emptiness like I would have thought. Christmas is such a family-focused holiday for me. Snow rolls in around late Oct / early Nov, the temperature drops, the TV turns up its bombardment of commercialism, lights lights up everywhere, the capitol showcases the tallest tree in the world, I feel the pressure of time to come up with the most perfect gift for friends and family and Secret Non-Secular Santa at the office, mom sends a chocolate advent calendar, I pick my days off from work, I rent the car, I agonize about the drive up to the parents because I know blizzards and ice, I drive white-knuckled up the highway with all the distracted laissez-faire drivers, mom jokes about dragging the Christmas tree out (but I know she secretly likes challenging her Martha Stewart sensibilities), dad tells us the schedule for visiting grandma and the other relatives out at the farm, my sister and I have wine and tell stories about our lives lately to catch everyone up, we still get 1 present on Christmas Eve, mom still pretends Santa drops off our stocking gifts on our section of the couches, she also still pretends we can't see them for the bed sheets she lays over them (surprise is key!), someone wakes me up in the morning because I'm lazy now, they make fun of me being grumpy before my coffee, they make me crawl to the tree and hand out the first round of gifts because I'm still the youngest, we each take turns opening and "ooooh" and "aaaah"ing over things we had on our list, we use dad's Swiss Army knife for opening the tightly taped, we toss the gift wrap into recycling, dad asks if we'd like another cup of coffee, mom asks if we want some kind of toasted fruit bread with jam, we finally finish the glutonous high of indulgence, take naps or play with our new toys, dress, head out to the farm, hugs and kisses for all the family there, wistful thoughts for those who couldn't make it, grandma gets smaller and more frail every year and her hugs are tiny and bony but man is she still alive and twinkling, we mingle in the various rooms with the various extended family, the ladies keep the food cooking (it's a matriarchy, trust me), we serve ourselves, we sit at our randomly assigned seats at the long family table (although secretly this is planned out very well by one of the younger cousins in accordance with who they want sitting next to them and then down the line), we give the Norweigen blessing, we toast with the German white wine my dad brings or someone else's wine, we eat and laugh and laugh and debate and discuss and get seconds and hug and feel full in our bellies and full in our hearts and stronger in our minds, and then we dissapate slowly with some going home or some staying (or some cousins bucking all trends and finding a downtown bar to have coctails - or maybe that's Xmas Eve only), hugs and kisses and remembering schedules as to when we'll come back out to the farm for lunch or sledding down the hill or board games or future rendezvous in other cities for those who have to leave right away.

It's sunny outside my apartment. Sunny and 39F. Not a trace of snow to inspire me to feel seasonal, although I do - now - feel a bit wistful.

Well. I've got a paper to send off to the professor today. Once we've turned it in, I'll send out the link to it on google docs. It's a group project for our Managing Innovation in the Globalising Learning Economy: "Investment in Social Capital and Cultural Industry - An Argument for Advancing Policy to Enhance Economies of Metropoles." Sounds big, feels big, but really is just a 3-part paper to look at how better petri dishes attract better bacteria to make better colonies. IE, better cities -> creative people -> stronger economy. I'm in charge of theory - UGH! - the two boys did case studies on their respective cities (Berlin, Seoul) and we 3 sent out a survey to MPA students (and you all, thank you, although you won't be taken into consideration until next semester - we're continuing with the project beyond the class even!). We were hoping to run a regression on the data we had from the survey but frankly we're just not advanced in stats enough yet to be able to set up our own data set to run it. Maybe next semester. Yeah, so I have to finish my section and do the editing on the whole thing. Hm, English as a First Language = disadvantage here.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Madrid through the 26th to hang out with a friend there. I haven't been in 10 years so I'm psyched to see how the city has changed. I don't think there will be time to sneak down to Toledo (where I studied in undergraduate) but that's okay for now. I have no idea what to expect with this trip or this holiday. It's an adventure. Fun! Of course this means I will be nose to the grind when I get back - and NOW.

So, off I go.

A very happy merry few days to you and yours. I love my friends and family. I hope you all got your gifts - my small contribution to capitalism and my very small token to show you how much you are loved and thought about abroad. To new friends, cheers and fond thoughts in your direction!

See you when I get back - before the New Year no doubt.