Highs around 32 degrees celsius

My face has been rendered permanently shiney, and I'm not talking about that lovely dewy look either.  Then there's the do-it-myself-haircut which is growing out and I'm not sure what to do with it, but I bet that paints a pretty picture for all of you who are imagining me and my glamourous self in Paris.  The thing I love about this city is that it's so damn snobby.  I'm not talking about the people, but city itself, like it knows how amazing it is and never lets anyone forget it.  For the most part, I wander around wide-eyed and humble, always a little self-conscious of my hack-job haircut and pseudo-tourist status.  Despite its aloofness, there are times that Paris lives up to all its dreamy hype.  It sneaks up on you when you're out for a walk at night and you can't help but think to yourself, "I'm here.  In Paris.", and what makes it so magical is that for a moment you feel like Paris finally noticed you and thinks that you're kind of cute.

tombstones and a little tranquility from facebook...

Went to the Père Lachaise cemetery last week and wandered around just taking it all in.  It was really beautiful and still there, aside from the handful of tourists in search for Jim Morrison's grave (anticlimactic by the way).  BUT, check out this beaut - Oscar Wilde's grave.  It was recently re-done by a benefactress that was a fan of his work.  If you zoom in, you can see lipstick kisses all over it!!!  Love love love.  Shades of pink, reds and browns - lips on stone.  

There was a little bit written about him on the back, but also a lovely little epitaph:

And alien tears will fill for him

 Pity's long broken urn.

For his mourners will be outcasts

And outcasts always mourn.

More of what the rest of the cemetery looked like.

  

View from our living room. 

I joined facebook the other day.  It was a little overwhelming at first and I'm retreating to this blog as a security blanket of sorts.  It's so quiet here!  Facebook is like a highschool science fair, everyone's lives on display on a 3-panel bristol board.  Or maybe a highschool cafeteria, where there are so many people you can go and talk to in 5-minute intervals before moving on and getting in line to order your fries.  I'm more used to wordy blogs and lengthy emails of late - but that's because I've had time and lots of it.  I wonder if I am in actuality a homebody or if it is just being with P, ironically he happens to be the most socially well-received person I know.  But P loves being at home.  "Hate" is a strong word, but I'll say he was "glad to escape" Vancouver and all its (our) social obligations.    As I flip through photos on facebook and see myself and my friends I really question if I'm as homebody on the inside as I've come to be with P.  

My best friend comes to visit

A and I used to always say that we were destined to be best friends based solely on our proximity to each other.  We met each other on the first day of highschool, and since then have gone through many of the best and worst times (thankfully) together.  We'd brave the treacherous walk up-hill after school (and even though it was completely unnecessary for me to walk up the hill, I'd do it just so that we could complain about it together), our dad's would take turns shuttling us to school and home from highschool dances and when we graduated they continued to do that for our little sisters.  There was also a rumored chance first-time meeting between our mothers at the mall, where they clasped hands as if they were long-lost somethings.

We'd went on to university together, partied together, moaned and groaned about boys together, moved out together, went to concerts, were jerks together, even went to thailand in matching outfits and backpacks together.  It was a trip that we'd talked about taking together ever since we saw "Brokedown Palace"...the last piece in solidifying our best-friendedness, and we were going to test it all with a Thai prison as a backdrop.

A moved away to NYC a few years ago and most of what we share fall more and more into the past.  I can't really describe how it felt to see her and J step off that bus in Toulouse.  It was bizarrely emotional.  A is like a living time capsule for me. Looking at her is like a collapsed view of so many things that made up my life...and it really underscores where I am (and where she is) and how far we've come since before we were 25.  It's difficult to stay close with the distance and the wonky time difference and I chalk it up to taking our "proximity" for granted - I never thought about what it would mean to not live 5 minutes away from her, let alone on a different continent.  So I'd have to say it's always a little bittersweet when we see each other in new environments, because she's her and I love her - but it's a strange reminder that we're not together in the same places like we used to be.   

After having said all that - here are some pictures of us in same places TOGETHER! I was ecstatic to meet J (he's wonderful and that's a relief) and to share a little bit of what my life has been like here in France with her.

We'd concluded that between our 4 entrees and mains, we had consumed an entire duck that meal.

Before we knew how much duck we were getting into.

My blog has come to haunt me

When I created this blog I had all the best intentions in the world to post often and to post things of quality, but over the last few months it's become somewhat annoying.  Annoying because it's become a bit of an obligation.  The resulting entries are, watered-down, rushed and uninspired.   I just read a couple of my recent entries and can't believe the amount of clipped sentences and sentiments.  I mean why go through the motions of posting something if it comes from nowhere intended for nowhere.

What's the point of emitting or broadcasting something if it doesn't stick, and if it doesn't provoke feeling, thought or discussion?  I don't mean to launch complex debates or forums about what I write about, but I consider an entry a "success" if I can make someone think or feel something that's outside of their immediate experience.  Maybe in particular about food, maybe an entry about chocolate made you think about first time you tasted REAL chocolate - did your world change? From that point on would you continue to classify "smarties" as chocolate?  Or that first time you tasted something that was so perfect that it made you think all the way back to where it came from, how it was tended and what creativity and mastery was required to render it to the state of perfection in the form of a bite in your mouth.  

What I love about food, aside from the obvious sensory satisfaction, is that there's a sense of place, history, love and ceremony to making and eating food.  Maybe it's the food geek in me that wants to force a lot more meaning into food than what is sitting there in front of me on a plate.  And it's the same writing geek in me that wants words to be more than just what's on the screen/page.  There's a potential in making the experience of reading or eating as immediate or as transcendent as you want it, but the most interesting part of it all is where it meets - you.  The person, forming the relationship between the immediate sensory experience and everything else that matters or doesn't matter floating in time and space.

Maybe it's presumptuous of me, but I'd like to write for that end.  

Has anyone seen "the Watchmen"?  I'm starting to make myself out to be a real Dr. Manhattan.  I mean well though.