It's Dave! Again! 

Dave visits! 

At the Zoo...err, menagerie

I went to the menagerie at the Jardin des Plantes the other day and learned that while French folk love their gardens to be in perfect shape and order, they like to throw all sorts of different animals together in fairly unkept cages, perhaps for sadistic fun, perhaps because they know something that I do not (they likely know many things I do not, like French for instance, and how to turn a full sized tree into a rectangular Chia pet).

I digress … so I am at the menagerie, expecting to see mainly birds, and suddenly I’m in the company of llamas with facial problems, monkeys with a combination of anxiety disorder and perhaps depression, and the nicest camels I have met in my life. All at the same zoo, err…menagerie. By far and away, this was the moment on my trip where I most wanted to have a camera and did not…it's tough being a loafer.

Llamas with facial problems: you know how Napoleon Dynamite has that stare, partially because of an oversized overbite and partially because he’s Napoleon Dynamite? So I met Napoleon Dyamite’s cousin, in llama form I guess. For those unfamiliar with ND, I walked past a llama with the kind of facial expression that either said, “I smell something odd, was that you?” or “I apologize, I have a nerve disorder and I don’t mean to suggest that you smell like the most potent composite of foot odor I have ever encountered in my llama life.”

Monkeys with Issues: It’s true, sad and true. Amalea and I met a monkey who was having a very bad day. This monkey had his head buried in his legs, his legs propped up against the plexi-glass window, and a face that could bring tears to any sentient being within a 30m radius. Tough stuff…poor monkey.

Camels with moxie: Without exception, these were the nicest camels I have met in my life. They were living it up, getting close to the visitors by the cages, looking for people to pet them, handling social calls from other camels. These camels had the menagerie system down, they were in their groove, and I was happy to see some emotionally settled animals at the venue.

The menagerie liked to combine animals that I had never seen together, like monkeys and birds; and pigeons, ducks, geese, and hamsters. While there were pigeons throughout the entire park, eating other birds' food, giving guff to the flamingos (they were generally oblivious of everything though, and likely deserved the treatment, flamingos), and making the venue a generally stinky place, the barnyard animal section (the one with the ducks and hamsters) had the audacity to act as if these pigeons were placed in the park on purpose! There was a sign that described the pigeon's historic residence in Paris, the nerve!

If that weren’t enough, there were chickens and roosters on the loose, getting rowdy with the more docile animals and visitors (one came right up to me when I was sitting on a bench and looked at me as if I was in the wrong seat at the wrong time) and there was smelliness throughout the park; the place was in dire need of a good cleaning. The only employee I saw was the pleasant lady who took my money at the gate.

Yay, Paris menagerie.

Another peak... 

A look at the Paris Opera House's reception room...  

Scott's a dork, a music dork at the very least

My typical approach to “getting” Paris (as much as an American New Yorker, primarily English-speaking, 22 year-old can “get” most anything) has been to find something I think is funny or absurd about the place and project it outward.

Last night, however, Amalea and I were lucky enough to score last minute (7Euro, partial visibility mind you) tickets to see Cossi fan Tutte at the Paris Garnier Opera house (the big one, supposed to be the house in which the “Phantom of the Opera” legend took place). Now, I can certainly be a music critic, but my weaknesses were exposed and my ability to find the funny or the absurd were melted into a puddle of goo last night at the opera. From the house's architectural styling and gesture; the brilliant, golden glow chandeliers; the ornate, gold-leafed detail of the walls and balconies; and the Chagall painting that spanned the entire ceiling, the Paris Opera house was extraordinary; a sight worthy of adoration.

And the performances, the performances were phenomenal. I’m going to stop myself now because I realize that most people aren’t exactly looking to read the writing of a music geek gushing over something they themselves cannot see nor hear. But I assure you, this music geek was oh so happy last night.

Abridged: Scott’s a bit of a sucker for great music of most if not all kinds. Scott had a good time, strike that, a real good time last night at the Paris Opera. You should all visit it sometime soon and make Scott listen to how much you liked it because you might have read this piece of writing in full.

Steady...steady...wait for it...Jazz!!! 

"I am a fairly large man with a very small umbrella...on my head."

"Ehhh, quoi?" 

I see you! Overzealous Asian tourists are the best.  

"I am a very, very French man." 

I think loafing is making me a bit kooky…

Loafing is a phenomenal pursuit; one that many do not get to experience in their lifetimes, and I am more than grateful to be granted this temporary privilege.

But in the past week or so, I feel my mind is drifting into some bizarre paths; the kind of roadways we know exist in our brain, but most occasions we’d just rather take the nearest service road to the expressway. You see, I'd take the expressway if I had to, but seeing that I am in loafing mode, why not take the scenic route? This is precisely what's getting me into kooky territory.

You may be wondering at this point, “what in God’s name is he talking about?”

Well, these days, four British girls talking amongst themselves remind me very much of pigeons cooing (last night at dinner, etc.), I have been personifying pigeons on a regular basis (as seen in the blog), and just earlier today I was convinced that Hannibal crossed the Alps into Russia (not even remotely possible, being that the Alps are part of France, Italy, and Switzerland, all nations nowhere even close to Russia).

No, I’m not destined for madness. I just think that I have a mild propensity toward the absurd and my first weeks of loafing are likely akin to the first bites into a swath of cotton candy; everything tastes oh so sugary and sweet, naturally leading to sugar high. But, I can only assume (or hope) that my loafing will mature.

But honestly, don’t you think that when British people talk to each other they sound like pigeons?

I’m going to go take a peak at the nearby synagogue in my ‘hood and perhaps de-kookify in the process.

Oh, it has come to my attention that I owe the blog a story about Magda, the foul-mouthed Pole (I thought I was going to get away without telling it, but there have been requests that could get ugly if I don’t oblige.) I'll likely get to it sometime soon (could I be any more vague?).

Best!

A Pretty Parisian Flower to cleanse the palatte from one post to the next... 

Say Nazi Five Times Fast!

It’s easy, ain’t it? Maybe even a little too easy? I think it may have been a bit too easy for me last night over dinner with four of my favorite British folks and a newfound Swiss friend of mine named Stefan.

Amalea and I had dinner with our new friends at the Couscouserie (yes, they specialize in couscous and go by the name of “Le Couscouserie”) across the street from our apartment. We were all enjoying pleasant conversation, indulging in our couscous and such, and I happened to mention Nazis in passing (like you do) and noticed a change in face from my Swiss friend.

I was curious. So I let it slide for a minute or two and then thought that I’d throw a line out again, just to see if the first was a fluke. So somehow, I mentioned the IBM-Nazi connection and that related book that is in every store I enter (there was a reason why I mentioned it, I promise), and I got the same reaction. So instead of avoiding it, I was curious and thought I’d mention Nazis a couple more times (you know, just in passing and all, it’s easier than you think). I know, I’m a bit of a jackass, but I was too curious to let it go.

In the end, I knew the mentioning indeed made my friend uncomfortable (and I stopped) and I realized that these specific ties to the past are not broken, not even sixty years beyond the fact, and perhaps will not be broken for a much longer time to come. I think Jewish folk speak freely of these sensitive events in jest or humor because of the overwhelming emotional ties that are still being transmitted through the generations. The emotions, I think, are so intense that humor is used as a method of signification, reflecting upon something through means other than direct confrontation.

As victim or relative of victim, it is possible to signify. But is the same possible for the perpetrator or relative of perpetrator? I don’t know. How many children or grand children of white supremacists do you hear telling jokes about their Grandmaster grand daddy? Not too many.

So I learned a few things, thankfully without any unfortunate consequences: the past resonates with us for much longer than I had considered at the time, and that different folks have individual methods of coping and understanding themselves and their families through the lens of the past, perhaps depending on one’s understood relationship to the past (perhaps not). Though this is a bit heavy, I think this too is a central part of my loafing project.

The Abridged Version of My Post: Hooray for pluralism! Boo to totalitarianism! Nazi Nazi Nazi Nazi Nazi (very very fast)!

While New York preferred to tear down the architectural masterpiece that once was Penn Station to erect a towering mass of commercial office space (hooray for Penn Plaza! helping NY commuters feel like rats since 196x), Francois Mitterand and the French decided it'd be best to hang on to their Gare d'Orsay and better turn it into an art museum. Darn... How many years 'til Penn moves to the post office? Hope I'll have the eyesight to see it. 

oh, btw

Oh, by the way, that pic is from inside the Notre Dame Cathedral. Sorry for assuming...

I guess that when a Jew from New York walks into the central institution of French Catholicism of the past 900 years or so, he sees funny things. All in all, though, it was groovy hanging out with the Christ-lovers for the hour. 

The manicured shrubbery madness continues! Apparently, the French love their shrubs contained and conical. What can you do? 

The Fire Show. Crazy, right? 

Fire is cooler than we are

Last night, Amalea and I decided to go out to the equivalent of the Bronx of Paris and watch a fireworks show by the same group that lit up the Eiffel tower at the coming of the millennium. The metro we rode to the show was so tightly packed that a Japanese and a Czech man were convinced that I was French, and thus decided to converse in English with each other yet in French with me. It must have been the heat. Most of my answers were “ehh, oui!” when most of what I was thinking was “ehh, qoui?.” (sp?)

A sea of people descended onto the grounds of the closest thing to Central Park that I have seen in Paris as of yet. Naturally, it being Paris, the lawn of this “park” was trimmed down to the point that you questioned its consistency (was this grass or perhaps a French-developed synthetic substance that removed the scratchy qualities of Astroturf but could still be controlled at all times? But then, I don't know, French development as a concept sounded funny. Oh France, just let your gardens/grass grow, give it a shot).

I digress. Anyway, there must have been tens of thousands of people to see this event. It was essentially an outdoor pyrotechnic opera; a combination of fire, fireworks, acrobatics, and live music. The theme of the event was, quite simply, destruction and rebirth, but mainly destruction.

Artists on stage would be playing instruments (much like someone would play drums or the cello) upon which bursting flames of fire would emit from a series of pipes spread out as far as hundreds of feet away, spanning across the enormous stage. A staged building was destroyed, bursting into fireworks and flames, and the artists even reenacted the likes of a failed American Apollo mission, which somehow led to what I think was the destruction of the world.

The final act of the performance was a rhythmically (impeccably) timed fireworks show that would put Grucci to shame. It was extraordinary; the sky was filled with streams of light and expertly chosen, understated color.

So, by now, you may be thinking, as I thought on the metro, “ehh…quoi?” I understand, it sounds loopy, which it was. But, for those of you who know me well, there is a side of me that thrives on the destructive. So I had a great time. It really made me feel, which is what I think good art should do (as Amalea aptly pointed out on the ride home).

So my conclusion(s): fire is cool. Really cool, in fact. And the French gardening community needs to take a deep breath and put the lawn mower and shrub cutters away for a few.

I tried to inform the lady of the building that there was an oversized daisy growing on top of (and, frankly, taking over) her best window, but she would have none of it. It seems that she and the daisy had their own special future to plow.  

WANTED: Last seen at Place du Contrescarpe and Rue Mouffetard. Could likely be armed (with gusto, at the very least) and dangerous. Beware of unwanted buggery and watch your step late at night; she could be on your tail.  

I can cook! (Kind of...) This is photographic proof that Scott Olster is indeed capable of transforming food stuffs into lunch. Oh blessed cheese sandwich, my stepping stone to gastronomic domination. Or perhaps not... 

Amalea thought that I should include a picture of myself actually in Paris on the blog. So here it is: though I do look slightly dead, don't fear, I'm alive and well. Best. 

The square from which we write... Notice the pigeon: that pigeon is one of many; part of a clan or a posse if you will. Parisian pigeons are among the pushiest, most shameless, raggedy rat-birds I have met thus far. New York pigeons pale in comparison to the Parisian pigeon. Indeed, Parisian pigeons are the true winged hustlers of the world. Beware...

An Upcoming Attraction, so to speak...

So I have a story to tell, but it's almost 10pm here and I think I'll save it for tomorrow. But it's about Magda, the foul-mouthed Pole, a new friend we met at one of Paris's more famous bakeries.

Best!

As the weather by the Louvre turned frightful, Amalea's newfound sense of spirituality proved quite useful (I stole her umbrello too...) 

A First Performance in Paris

So my first performance in Paris was not exactly as I expected it to be. The other night, Amalea and I were making dinner and realized that we could use a baguette for the meal. I decided I'd walk to our usual square to get the goods and promptly return (I was quite the hungry Scott that evening.).

I walk past the square right by our apartment and I notice a fellow dressed up in a 19th century style explorer's outfit (the white suit, hat, and all). Naturally, he has a parrot puppet in his right hand and is dancing to a goofy tune trying to capture the attention of the surrounding cafe goers, at this point to no avail.

I try to avoid the quack and get to my bread as quickly as possible. As I am leaving the boulangerie, bread in hand, something must have captured my attention (it surely wasn't the explorer, maybe it was the creperie next door, or just the enormous mass of folks that gather into this area on a sunday night, so odd). I walk past the explorer with my bread and his parrot starts chomping at my food! The crowd erupts in laughter (he finally got some laughs, good for him) and I, somewhat embarassed, get to the apartment somewhat confused.

So that's the first perf of the journey. Not as I expected, but alright in the end. Ehh, atleast I got some laughs (technically, I was the laugh, eh well)...

An Explosion of Diversity: 1st Day at School

Yesterday was my first day of language classes. Class was, as expected, an overwhelming first day of french language immersion. I'm assuming it'll become less intense for me as the days go by (as immersion programs usually go).

What was extraordinary about yesterday was the people I spent time with over the course of the day. Yesterday consisted of sightseeing and bookshopping with a Bulgarian girl, an Israeli boy, and a German boy, class with a Japanese girl, a Palestinian man, and an English girl, and later that night Amalea and I went for a drink with a German boy and his Serbian (but now lives in Italy) friend.

I don't think I've been exposed to so many people from different backgrounds in such a short span of time as I was yesterday. It was both phenomenal and exhausting. I had to go from being consistently social with one person (namely, Amalea) to being social with many more than one, in addition to having the newfound worry about the language barrier. (It seems, however, that English is the linguistic meeting place these days, so Amalea and I had it quite easy. I'm assuming that most of us aren't necessarily surprised by that.)

By the close of the evening, I collapsed on my bed and went to sleep.

I think that loafing is not what I thought it would be at all. It's actually damn tiring, though enjoyable nonetheless...

A look towards the lily pond... 

Monet Gardens 

A Rainy but Fruitful Day in the City

Amalea and I have discovered that of all colors of the rainbow, red is the definitive color of this city. All of the surrounding areas (mainly building faces and bridges) lack the singular vibrancy of the color red yet could benefit greatly from its contribution. So the question is how to get the red into the scene? Silly question, ehh? Naturally, with people! We (Amalea and I) have committed to put more red in the city. I hope to have a slide show in the near future on the blog to detail this infiltration.

Today we visited the Louvre as it was a rainy day. The Louvre is quite large and, being formally a royal palace, quite gorgeous. I have a problem with taking pictures in museums, so I have no photos to share, but I guess if you picture a very pretty museum and go to anywhere on the web, you'll be sure to see images of both the buildings and the art works contained therein (the Louvre is fairly universal on the web I'd imagine).

I do, however, have some shots to share of the Monet Gardens that we visited yesterday. It was a beautiful day, both yesterday and today. As classes start, I'll have more story stories to tell.

Toodles...

A look through our apartment window... 

As we walk and feel the city out... 

Another Solid Day in France

I have successfully found free wireless internet in a public square a step or two from my apartment, so I'll be able to communicate much more easily by internet than I anticipated, which is great. Today was another beautiful day. While the past two days, Amalea and I have mainly been on foot in Paris, today we decided to train to Giverny and see the Maison du Claude Monet and his famous gardens (sight of the lily pond he made so very famous in his work). The day was perfect for such an excursion and the sights were exquisite. I'll post photos shortly.

Our experience in Paris has been phenomenal thus far and I intend to elaborate more on the concept of loafing and what I intend to do with it as soon as I truly start to loaf. I feel that these past few days have been far too intense to be considered loafing. Perhaps I have been engaging in extreme loafing in that we have been walking many miles every day seeing the city and feeling its pulse. To commit to loafing artfully is difficult, I know, but I'll try to examine further what I'll take for me to make the grade in that respect. Wish me luck!

Amalea asleep on our couch! She's so cute...