L’aissez Les Bons Temps Rouler
Things have been quiet around these parts because I’m on vacation. That’s me with Ignatius J. Reilly. Can you guess where I am? I’d love to tell you more dear readers but pitfalls of blogging on this trip include spilling a daiquiri or getting sand on my laptop. I’m taking a break from everything but Ted, naps, frozen booze concoctions and shellfish.
Comments (1)Love You Long Time
It’s our anniversary! Ted & I have been married for four years. Which is as long as it takes most people to get through college, except for me because I’m slow. Cheers, to our diploma of love! Ahem. Surely you didn’t think I’d post clown pics and not make a bad joke.
Why the clown noses? Sillies. We were thanking our guests for coming to our big day when someone (Candace?) passed Ted a clown nose. No one knew I’d pinned a clown nose inside my gown in case someone got choked up during the ceremony. Happily we were all laughs that day — it was a funny wedding. Some people prefer this photo, taken when the wedding should have been underway.
L’amour!
Waffles! Art! Music! Sunday Afternoon!
Can I make you a waffle? What about a waffle topped with my special bacon-maple whip? I’ll wear an apron.
This Sunday I’ll be slinging batter at a benefit for a friend who didn’t deserve the year she’s been dealt. The gallery space is light and airy. You should come.
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Polly Harrold’s Sometime Gallery hosts an afternoon of musical performance art and waffles on April 20. Come hear Crank Ensemble and Cheryl Leonard in the glass-lined sun-shined aerie. Popping, plinking, clacking, clicking, Larnie Fox’s Crank Ensemble creates rhythmic and repetitive patterns using handmade crank-operated machines. Cheryl E. Leonard, with A.L. Dentel and Karen Stackpole, will perform new compositions and improvisations inspired by ocean tides. Instruments will include shells, kelp, salt, sand, water and stones.
1 p.m. Waffletime
2 p.m. Musical Performances
Tickets are $10 and are available at the door or through the performer’s webpages. Come early and enjoy conceptual waffle performance by the Proprietor and Assistants; donations to benefit a friend.
In the Big Green Building at the Dutch Boy: 4701 San Leandro Street, Oakland, 94601.
(510) 536-6970
The Sometime Gallery
Park on the street | stroll to the rear | step up three flights. Look for a sign.
Paris: The Last Bites
The club at the Ritz Hotel is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten. It has a top-layer of bacon outside the bread. I ate it with knife and fork while sipping a perfect Negroni and people-watching. At a table next to me was a fashion photographer and an agent who was trying to lure new talent. Seated at the other table was Sean Avery, the hockey player, who spoke with the management about being concerned with paparazzi. I had no idea who he was but he kept repeating his last name to the staff so I Googled him. After leaving the Ritz’s Restaurant Vendome I ventured down to Bar Hemmingway for two more perfect drinks. After four cocktails in four hours it was time to make my exit. The doormen got me a cab, an unmarked black Mercedes. I had a Princess Diana flash — Ritz Hotel, Mercedes, Saturday night — as the car headed through the Pont d’Alma tunnel where her fatal accident occurred. I held tight to my seat belt and closed my eyes.
At La Coupole I dined on fresh green salad, oysters and sole meunière. I’d read about the dish in Julia Child’s My Life In France, a book I finished my first week in Paris. The sole and the memoir were a joy to consume. The restaurant is a beautiful brasserie, rich in history.
My favorite meals were at La Potee des Halles (3 rue Etienne Marcel, 1er), a traditional Paris bistro. The first night in Paris I went looking for a restaurant but couldn’t find it and ducked in here out of frustration. What a find! They were so kind to me from the moment I walked in. The waiter brought around a chalk menu and I selected osso bucco. He refilled my wine glass repeatedly while I slowly ate and read my book and took it all in. My second trip to the restaurant I was delighted that he remembered me. I ordered coq au vin and it was the most succulent I’ve ever had. I noticed the small brass plates along the banquette with the names of regulars, some deceased. I loved sitting under the high-up stained glass tulips and listening to quiet French conversations. I decided to make my last dinner in Paris at La Potée des Halles. When I walked in the waiter called out “Bon soir, madame! Your regular table?” The day’s special was honey-braised pork belly. I cleaned my plate but was too blue to drink my glass of wine. When I left the waiter kissed me on both cheeks. I promised to return.
This is the only picture of me with the Eiffel Tower. That’s the tower sticking out of my head like an antenna. I set out on my final morning in Paris to take portraits; I got to this spot and realized I’d left my camera and tripod (and lipstick!) behind. I asked someone to snap a pic with my iPhone. So it goes.
Paris: Au Revoir
My bags are packed and a taxi’s been called. Paris, these are our last moments together. And so, a toast, to us!
If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.
- Ernest Hemingway
Paris: Last Day
Paris, it’s time for our last tango.
The Olympic torch came through Paris today and there was a large protest. Check out the sign on Hotel DeVille (Paris City Hall). I saw the end of the protest but I was a few blocks away buying shoes. There, I said it. I saw a unit of horse-mounted officers (is that how you say it? horse cops?) trot through stopped traffic.
Today I visited Montparnasse and ate at La Coupole. I visited a cemetery and came back to my little apartment to pack. I’ve finished my beer and now it’s time for one last cafe. It’s late afternoon and the weather is cold but clear. Later I’ll dine at my favorite restaurant. Tomorrow it’s up and at ‘em.
Paris: Why You Gotta Be So Cold?
Oh, Paris. I’m melancholy. Has it really been almost two weeks since I arrived and is my trip really coming to a close? A few days ago I was homesick something fierce, missing the fam and longing for conversation. The weather is inching toward spring but today it’s colder than it’s been during my trip and raining. It matches my mood, wistful and reflective. I walked around Montmartre listening to Terry Callier and Ray LaMontagne on my iPod. I retreated back to my apartment around 5 p.m. after deciding I’d drank all I wanted from a rainy Sunday.
Tomorrow is for odds and ends — shopping, sitting in a cafe or three and a final dinner at my favorite restaurant. I want to stay relaxed and enjoy my final day in Paris.
Awesome Text Messages I Received In Paris
Here is a sampling of the texts that came my way in France.
Tom: You’ve now faked out the pros which means you ain’t faking any more.
Monique: Are French bears actually fat?
Candace: Chanel dress??
Doug: Enjoy that Frenchy meat and cheese!
Ted: Moxie still waiting for you, sleeping on your side of the bed.
Jules: Objet Volant!
Paris: The View From Here
Paris: One Of Those Days
Do I look angry in this photo? I’m posting it to remember that travel isn’t always fun and easy, for as wonderful as this trip has been there have been times when I wanted to scream or cry or not be on my own. This morning was one of those times.
Yesterday I bought some clothes, including the jacket I’m wearing in the picture. It was a splurge but it’s fashion. Today I was walking to Musee Carnavelet when I had a premonition. And then it happened: a pigeon shit on me. First I heard it hit my sunglasses, then it ran down my new jacket, hitting all the fancy buttons on the way, ending in one big turd on my pants. Ugh. Also? It hit the inside of my sunglasses. Just how did that happen? I screamed, flung my glasses into the street, yelled obscenities, searched my bag for a tissue and then gagged trying to clean it off.
So. Yeah. I was close to the museum but realized I was in no state to look at beautiful things. I ducked into a cafe where I sat not reading my open book for an hour, attempting to re-group. I made it to the museum and my day sort of turned around. Looking at the picture I see a little smear of shit on my side of my face. I’m off to go dunk my head in antiseptic.
Kisses to you all, dear readers. Kisses to you all.