This morning I woke up to Lady Gaga singing Bloody Mary. It’s my favorite song off of her new album and I think it might have even taken the spot of my favorite song of all time, uprooting the cover of Valerie by Amy Winehouse to number two. I’m sorry Amy, I still love it, but this song is just gorgeous. I don’t remember Jesus telling me to dance with my hands above my head, nor do I recall ever seeing a mountain in Paris, but that is really just an unimportant detail. If you haven’t listened to it, yet, shame on you! Get yourself onto iTunes and download it–special edition, please.
So, after I danced, danced, danced for awhile with my hands above my head, head, head, it was time to film my next segment for my America’s Next Top Model audition tape. This isn’t going to be me sitting in a chair giggling excitedly about how much I love fashion and walking poorly down a hallway–this is an important short film that will introduce me to society and pop culture, much like Gaga did way back in 2008. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Stop reading my blog. I’m kidding, well, a little bit, anyway educate yourself.
The video is a bit naughty, a bit fun, self deprecating, serious and at all times artistic. At least, it will be–it’s hardly finished, yet, but I can see every detail of it in my mind. Tyra will be silly if she does not put me on the show. Look forward to this–I shot a shower scene today. I know!
Jessica didn’t want to go anywhere today, and I didn’t want to just stay inside all day, so I gathered up my notebook and made my way back to Place de la Concorde. That place is a magnet for me, if you are ever in Paris with me and I wander off, you can almost be assured I will be there–or stalking Karl, David, and Olivia. You have options.
Tourist season is in full flux right now–I’m kind of ashamed to be a tourist during tourist season, it seems so common. I like to do my best to blend and my flaws are magnified when there are others of my kind embarrassing me left and right. I try so hard to establish good relations with everybody and almost always refuse to speak English, so it slays me when my efforts are stamped upon by a woman in a fanny pack. A fanny pack!
As I was walking through the gardens, I realized that I see everything cinematically now. I saw a dust devil sweeping up the road and I thought how lovely it would be in an undersaturated short film about a beautiful youth falling into the world of prostitution to break out of high society and learn the truths of the common people. I even saw the credits in front of my eyes. It would be a great film, I should write it.
There was a garden show going on and I would have paid to go in, but it was really rather chilly and windy and the flowers did not look amused, so I snapped this photo of a lavender patch and continued on my way.
I started daydreaming of converting my yard back home into a natural grasses prairie with walking paths carved through. It would be gorgeous and definitely cut down on the weekly yardwork that distracts me from my other obligations. The paths could probably even be cut with one of those wonderful rotary mowers–I’ve always wanted one.
In my seat at Place de la Concorde, it was cold and windy, the dirt whipped up and lodged itself in my eye, I’m pretty sure my tear ducts were churning concrete. I wrote and wrote and then I couldn’t stand it anymore and headed back to the Metro. My European allergies were kicking in and I couldn’t stand watery eyes and a dripping nose so I headed home.
As I passed Miss Manon, my bakery of choice, I decided to treat myself to a chocolate pastry I had been eyeing for the past few days. I ordered that and another delicious poppy seed baguette. There is always the same old woman behind the counter and I think she finally recognizes me, she is absolutely delightful and mildly grumpy. I think we would be best friends if I were here longer–I always read about Parisians getting very friendly with their bakers and cheese makers, but it has never happened to me, the woman at the bakery I used to frequent was deeply unpleasant. Pleased with my transaction I headed up the street and to the apartment.
It seems that we have neighbors suddenly. The apartment in our little entryway has long been silent so I assumed it was vacant or the owners were foreign. Both could be true, but one way or the other, there are people in there now. They left their door open for some reason, so I took a long unabashed stare inside. Their walls are an awkward purple–I’m not a fan of purple, one of my least favorite colors–and their furniture was just a jumbled mismatch. They also had a runner rug. I wanted to help them. First of all, either paint those walls cream, beige, grey, dark grey, or pale lemongrass. Get rid of the rugs and show off the patina of the wood. Oh, I could go on and on, but you didn’t see the apartment so I can’t properly share my vision.
I sat on the couch and ate my chocolatey treat called a Feuille d’Automne–an autumn leaf. A circular meringue base was wrapped in tempered chocolate and then filled with chocolate mousse. Then a lovely chocolate flower/leaf thing–looked more like a rose to me–was stuck on top. It was fantastic. One of the greatest things I’ve purchased, yet, aside from that baguette.
I will be eating probably seventeen more of these before I head home. It shouldn’t really be all that difficult to recreate, though, so that gives me an excuse to experiment in the kitchen.
Jessica had managed to eat all of the pasta in the apartment so I threw on my jacket and headed to the corner. Halfway between the shop and the apartment I realized I was wearing a denim jacket with jeans. Absolutely disgusted with myself, I quickened my pace and put my head down. I grabbed the pasta and some fruity drink and hurried to the cash register where I refused to make eye contact with the checker lest I should see the judgement in their eyes.
Back home, Jessica was asleep, very tired today, so I had a peaceful evening. I made great progress on my blogs, which I have been very behind on–sorry about that–and made myself an interesting dinner of caramelized onions, crispy mushrooms, pappardelle pasta and an assortment of cheeses. It was good, but not remarkable.
As I ate my meal I began watching the newest cinematic adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray. So far, I like it, Benjamin Barnes shows an amazing range of acting talent here–he’s perfectly cast. I have only watched the first half, but it has not deviated from Oscar’s novel too far, so I’m pleased. It is one of my favorite books.
I don’t know what it is about Paris that brings out my inner Oscar Wilde–every time I’m here I have the curious urge to read his works. I assume that it is because I am him reincarnated and that I am sensing the presence of my older body. Logical.