after the rain...

mercredi 28 mai 2008

roland garros

mardi 27 mai 2008

Game, set, match - the rain.

Yes, it was the rain who won today, my only day at the French Open.  Despite having reserved three tickets for the main courts, I was only given a ticket for the outside courts today.  But what can you do?  Like my teacher said, it's a mafia.  I suppose she's right - all the major sporting events are mafias, the biggest one of which being the Olympics.  With nothing but money in sight and in pocket, they can do whatever they want.

But I digress.  The matches were scheduled to begin at 11 am; I dragged my lazy butt into the rain and arrived at 11:30 am.  What welcomed me was not a welcoming receptionist saying 'bonjour,' but a huge crowd of people, a sea of umbrellas, and busloads of smoking teens.  I don't know what was worse, kids blowing smoke into my eyes, or 80-year-old women nearly poking my eyes out with their umbrellas.

For a tournament this reputable and this rich, they sure were unorganized.  Now, if I were in charge...

I digress again.  Since I only had a ticket for the outside courts, I couldn't watch Amélie Mauresmo fighting her nerves nor Rafael Nadal constantly tugging at his shorts as if someone had given him a wedgie.  I chose court #5, featuring Feliciano Lopez, for obvious reasons if you know me.

I sat in the rain from noon to 1:30 pm, at which time the rain lightened up and attendants began to prepare the court with acceptable efficiency.  I think Feliciano was not happy to play under these conditions; he showed up ten minutes after his opponent did and looked grumpy the entire first set.  

After over an hour of play, the rain returned, and so did I, at 4 pm, figuring it would be at least another hour or two of delay even the the rain stopped soon.

So, overall, even though it was a short and wet experience, it wasn't bad.  I'm happy to say I've waited through the rain at the French Open, even happier to say I wasn't stupid enough to buy any of the exorbitantly priced items there.  And after seeing some players live, I do believe that TV idolizes people.  In person, they're just that - people; they're not all that.

The best way to attend these events though, is as a VIP.  How, you ask?  Stay tuned, give me about ten years...

the world in paris

dimanche 25 mai 2008

Yes, it's true, the world is in Paris.

Since the beginning of May, I hear more people speaking English than French in the streets and restaurants.  A reminder that I'm still in Paris?  The banner of a boulangerie as a sponsor in a dance club.

Since I have but ten days left in Paris, I decided to take a stroll along the Seine toward the east side of the city which I haven't explored much.

Walking on the South Bank, I came across four separate areas (semi-circles) along the river, one after another, where random pedestrians stopped to enjoy some music and dance.  At the first semi-circle, there was a small group of musicians in traditional French costume playing folk music.  As I walked further, the music changed to Salsa, then hip hop.  This international festival of spontaneous Sunday afternoon merry-making concluded with the waltz at the fourth semi-circle.  

In case you're wondering, I didn't join them. 

A bit further along the river, there as a small group of picnickers enjoying the sun.  They called out to me and invited me to join them for some wine and pastries.  Having all the time in the world, I gladly obliged.  I spent about half an hour chatting with them and discovered that they were from France, New York, the Philippines, Hong Kong, and Russia.

I can't think of anything more appropriate to conclude my journey in Paris.

fantasie #2

jeudi 22 mai 2008

One of my projects in Paris is to work on the second draft of my script.  To be honest, during the first six weeks, I worked on it twice - by scribbling down random ideas that popped into my head every now and then.

Luckily, I got sick two Sundays ago.  Luckily?  Yes, since it forced me to stay home, very close to the restroom, if you know what I mean.  And since didn't go to class the following day, I made good use of my time by (finally) starting work on the second draft.

As the ideas came and the juices flowed, my fingers typed, in between bathroom breaks of course.  Sorry for the image, I hope you're not eating while reading this.  The next day, I thought of skipping class just to continue writing; I didn' skip class, but I did keep writing.  Now, in just ten days, I've finished the second draft.

Much work remains, but for now, I'll put it aside for a few months, until when a little voice reminds me again that it's time to return to my Parisian Phantasie.

je t'aime

mardi 20 mai 2008

Last week, to learn the structure of cause and consequence in French, we read mini-letters of love and break-up in class.  The homework of the day was to write our own.

So here is a sample of what we read, including my homework.  Warning, this is cheese beyond cheese, so read at your own risk.  Guess which one I wrote.

"Je te vois dormir

Je te vois lire.

Je te vois sourire

Je te vois reflechir.

Et puis, j'ouvre les yeux, mais tu n'es pas là.

Ne te voyant pas, je ne te vois qu'avec les yeux fermés."

"Tu me rends fou !

Tu me fais perdre la tête !

Je perds la raison à cause de toi !

Ne me demande pas pourquoi,

car je ne le sais pas."

"Ce n'est pas parce que je ne t'aime plus que je te quitte,

C'est parce que j'en aime un autre plus que toi."

a rainy impromptu

samedi 17 mai 2008

It's a rainy Saturday afternoon in Paris.

Perhaps rainy isn't the most accurate word here.  It's a thunderous Saturday afternoon in Paris, and once again her instrument sings to me through the open windows, mixed with the constant splattering of rain.

As usual, it's "Rêve d'amour," The Dream of Love by Franz Liszt.  She repeats this four minute piece over and over again, but I don't find it repetitive, for me it is one of the most magical four minutes in music.

As I revel in each note, each crescendo, and each sigh of her mind, the blacks and whites send her image to me.

On a cool Saturday afternoon in Paris, she is alone in her apartment on the fourth floor.  She sits by the window, cuddled against a comforting pillow with a book in hand.  But she is distracted and can hardly understand a single word she read.  She watches the threatening clouds and smells the incoming storm.

Her eyebrows reflexively arch into a slight furrow, as she is French and prefers a Saturday afternoon in Paris sunny, but the countenance quickly relaxes as she is a young woman and enjoys an occasional interruption from Nature.

Her slender fingers caress each blue petal of the roses in her window box.  She sighs; she is bored by the blue, reminiscent of her grandmother's summer dress, maybe the storm would transform them and wash away the blue.  That would leave them white, also not a great color, since white is white; there is nothing, and she dreads nothing.

There she is again, that old dame downstairs across from her.  And the cat too, one of the most annoying creatures she has ever laid eyes on, why does it always have to look so arrogant like it's the smartest thing in the world?  Maybe it would be frightened by the thunder and jump off the window.  What is the lady doing?  Probably just rearranging her figurines like she does every Sunday afternoon.  But it's not yet Sunday, has she mistaken the days?

The old dame disappears from view again, leaving the cat at the window by itself. 

And there it is once more, someone making brioche.  It must be the monsieur from upstairs.  His voice is low and comforting, whereas that of his boyfriend is high and arousing.  They do complement each other well, at least as far as their voices are concerned, never actually met them face to face.  They probably have no idea that their conversations descend through the old creaking floors as easily as the aroma of his pastries permeate the entire courtyard.  He's alone today, the other one must be at dance class.  Good, there will be a few hours without words.

That's good.  It's better for a rainy Saturday afternoon in Paris.

make it work

jeudi 15 mai 2008

Do certain characteristics dominate our entire lives?

I wish I could say no, for the one I'm thinking of right now isn't a very likable one, and it is one that keeps resurfacing in my life.

Remember my sneakers formerly known as white Diesel leather?  Yes, the ones that were covered in mud in Haute-Savoie where I fell twice in the mountains.  They haven't been themselves lately; not because they've been blue, but because they've been brown.

My initial instinct when I returned from the trip was to throw them away.  Sure, they've only served me a few times and they're pretty to look at, but how could I learn to love them again with the unremovable stains that scream out their impurity?

As I began to think about a replacement, I realized that this has been my pattern.  When something doesn't go quite the way I want it to, or when it is marred by a slight imperfection, my first thought is to abandon or replace it.  But certainly imperfect things still retain good qualities, and stained shoes can still be worn, n'est-ce pas?

Surely and hopefully, I can use stained shoes, I can read a used book, and I can accept my imperfect self.  It's time to learn to love imperfection and to embrace all that isn't idea.  Like Tim Gunn from Project Runway says, "Make it work."

Next time I go out on a date, I won't think "But his shirt is wrinkled."  I'm going to keep my shoes after all, even with the stains.