When I woke up this morning, for some reason Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et la Bête was playing on my computer. I have no idea why, but it was interesting so I watched it for awhile. It was much more intriguing than the Disney version, which is the only version I know. I will have to watch the full film sometime, it looked beautiful and the Beast was terrifying! I suppose that this is a werewolf type story–I wonder if that is going to be a trend like vampires? I hope not. I used to love vampires, I still do, but I don’t publicly acknowledge it because people immediately consider you a Twilight fan if you so much mention the word vampire–and I’m not. Though, I am glad for the existence of these ridiculously badly written novels, the cinematic adaptations (of an equal lousiness) provided Alison, Kylie, and me the opportunity to make a parody. Over 37,000 people have seen me prance around a meadow and lip-synch. I know! 37,000. Just imagine if I were an actual celebrity–it’d be in the millions.
Today, I decided that Jessica and I should see Karl’s bookstore because it was Karl’s bookstore. I couldn’t care less what was inside, just knowing that Karl Lagerfeld owned the building and that he had rummaged about inside of it and had breathed the air was enough to convince me, in fact it was more than enough. I would have gone if all he had done was walk by the window. I am Karl’s biggest superfan. I hope that doesn’t bother him, but I think we are pretty similar, and it wouldn’t bother me, so I don’t think it would him either, it might surprise him, but surely he’d be flattered.
While Jessica was getting ready, I read a lengthy interview with him that was fairly recent. I was flabbergasted by how witty, eloquent, and smart he is. And the more I read, the more similar I find I am to him. I love his opinions on politics, or rather his lack of opinions, his thoughts on finances, and his utter lack of connection to anything physical. I’m like that, I could throw almost anything away without caring. Owning things weighs one down. Here are some of the quotes that I liked best:
“I never make serious conversation. It bores me to death. I hate that. I love knowledge for myself, but I don’t care what other people think.”
“Just about everything bores me–except for me.”
“They’re my burka.” [On his sunglasses.]
“When I speak English I am one person, when I speak German I’m another, when I speak French I’m another.”
He also said, “My only ambition in life is to wear size 28 jeans.” This one shocked me because it is one of my life goals as well. We share wavelengths. In another portion of the interview, he revealed that Camilla was the bawdy-humored life of the party. I have always assumed this to be true and that Camilla and I would be besties if I ever make it into the Royal Family, so I was delighted at this revelation and confirmation. I just adore Karl. So, I was very excited to go and see the bookstore because I discovered that he LIVES on the same road. HE LIVES THERE! I hoped that I wouldn’t poop myself when I turned onto Rue de Lille.
Jessica and I were feeling peckish, and therefore decided to make a stop at the Louvre for nibbles. I had chocolate flan from the McCafé and it was quite good. Not earth-shattering, but that is not to be expected, but it was good for a chocolate fix, which I often need.
Once we were comfortably nibbled, we headed outside because we could walk to 7L from the Louvre. Across the river we went and soon were on the beautiful Rue de Lille, literally littered with antiques. They were everywhere and fabulously expensive and I wanted everything. There was the most delicious bed made out of prehistoric wood–it was insane. I don’t even like beds!
As we approached number seven, I began to get nervous, I mean honestly, what if Karl was there? What kind of a fool would I make of myself? A meeting like that might actually kill me. I need to be prepped fully for meeting Karl. I want to be completely focused on being myself, not being starstruck. Plus, I was not wearing sunglasses and I didn’t think it would do well to be introduced wearing prescription lenses that cost $17.95 [www.zennioptical.com Go. Now. Buy yourself everything.]
He wasn’t there. I was a bit disappointed, but relieved. I know that I will meet him one day soon and I want to be ready for it. The bookstore was very Karl. Minimalist, expensive, yet always elegant. All of the books were interesting. I of course was drawn to the books about Chanel and the photography books that Karl had published. I wanted desperately to buy one of them, but I could not justify spending seventeen euros on a book three inches square and twenty pages long. I was particularly drawn towards his photographic essay based on The Picture of Dorian Gray, which I always think is The Portrait of Dorian Grey. I think my version is more elegant, and I have the authority to say that, being the reincarnated Oscar Wilde.
There was a book called the Beauty of Violence featuring Karl’s muse [picture me fuming with jealousy] Baptiste Giabiconi in various states of undress and very, very angry. I don’t know why Baptiste was so upset. I think maybe he should have changed his pants and went outside someplace sunny. That always cheers me up.
I didn’t buy anything, I could not bring myself to do it. If I have cash at the end, I will, just to say I have a book by Karl from a shop owned by Karl.
Jessica and I walked to the Place Vendôme so that I could see it in the daytime. I prefer it at night. We looked at Chanel and Dior and went into the fanciest Swatch shop I have ever seen. I was deeply tempted by their new line of watches, but there were a few aesthetic details that I could not abide by, so I passed them by. Who puts navy blue and lime green together? Nonsense.
I was throwing down Funny Face references left and right, singing out, “I wanna wander through the Saint-Honoré, do some window shopping on the Rue de la Paix. That’s for me! Bonjour, Paris!” Jessica was not picking them up at all and I was left looking a fool. I will not feel ashamed, though.
We also walked by the Olympia, and of course, I posed in front of it. I mean, I have few doubts that I will be the opening act or main act there in a few weeks time. Edith Piaf had her great comeback at this hall. I wish that I could have seen that. She is one of the many celebrities I would have liked to see living along with Joan Crawford, Eartha Kitt, Julia Child, and Michael Jackson. What a thrill it would be to see any of them.
On the Rue de Rivoli, Jessica and I decided to be deeply touristy and bought ourselves scarves made out of some kind of synthetic fabric. Mine is black and tremendously sexy. I’m still not completely sure how you wrap it around your neck, but with practice and time I’m sure I will look natural. We also popped into another bookstore where I bought myself a much more reasonably priced book on Chanel.
Now we decided to go to a bakery I wanted to try called Blé Sucre, which is supposed to have wonderful madeleines. Of course, they were sold out when we got there. Oh well, I bought myself a pain au chocolat and we headed back towards the Bastille. There was an African music festival taking place and it was very, very busy. There were police officers with riot outfits on. I’m not sure what it is about tribal drums that makes one want to start a revolution. As we walked along, I looked at my watch and noticed it was past seven. We hadn’t been raptured nor left behind. Jesus had stood us up. Such disappointment.
Neither of us felt like cooking much, so we went to Iolanda’s again. We have always loved it and were not in the mood to experiment, so off we went. If we had only known. We knew that we were in for a different kind of experience when the waiter threw us down in the first chairs he saw with disdain. We ordered and she pretended she couldn’t understand my order, though, I said it perfectly well. I have never had such a rude person at this establishment. I got the wrong pasta, but it was only pasta, so I wasn’t about to throw a fit. I would have though, because it wasn’t very good. There was almost no sauce with the pasta and the pasta was evidently overcooked. Jessica’s dish fared little better. When we asked for more water, they again pretended they couldn’t understand what we were asking even though I asked in two different languages. Once they acknowledged my request, they ignored it completely. They also refused to give us our check for the longest time even after we had requested it. I was disgusted and disappointed. I have always loved this place and defended it on TripAdvisor against all the negative comments, but now I understand. I must have simply been lucky for a long time. I will not go back.
Jessica, lost her shit on the walk to the Eiffel Tower. She would not tolerate being treated like an American, though I don’t know why she unloaded on me and not the waitress. I agreed with her, but what can you do? I will be changing my online reviews soon as much as it saddens me to do so. No patron of any establishment should ever be looked down upon. It is a vile thing to do.
We wandered around the Eiffel Tower area for a while, but neither of us were in the mood and the area is far too touristy to be amusing. I wonder if it has been like this since 1889?
Jessica wanted, but didn’t, say to the waitress, “Do you wanna come back to my apartment and open a can of whoop-ass, bitch?