Also at the concert, The Drums dedicated a song to the recent decision of Girl Scouts to allow boyz to join if they want to. Perhaps they were inspired by Parks & Recreation. One can only hope.
Enjoy. Even though this song is definitely one of their ones that kind of creeps me out.
Last Sunday I went to a concert with Negin from Wash U. It was for The Drums at the Black Cat. The opening band was two guys called True Womanhood, and the lead singer was wearing a Fila sweatshirt and glasses. It wasn't until he took those two articles off that he looked like a front man. They were good but nearly impossible to understand. I then got a ginger beer with actual pieces of ginger in it! (Have I already told you that in Britain, pulp is sometimes called juicy bits? Well, I guess these were beer-y bits.)
We were expecting the performance to be kind of hipster and apathetic, but it was basically the opposite! The front man for The Drums was swaying and almost like a Paul Anka for the "over it" set. Maybe he's be better likened to Vince Fontaine in Grease. You can see his retro TV host swag here. He opened the concert by saying, "Thank you for coming out tonight. We know Sunday nights can be very relaxing, so we'd like to make sure that doesn't happen here." It was a good concert, and they performed nearly all of their songs. But NOT their first single, which was a huge letdown. (Sidenote: their lack of interest in that music video explains why we thought they would be bored at their own concert.) But if you had a huge amount of success (I'm talking on the Indie scale here) with a certain song, would you get tired of performing it? Senior year of college, I went to a concert with some friends, and the lead singer of the band (fun.) had previously been in a different band called The Format. People started asking him to sing their "big hit." He responded by saying, "I'm in a band called fun. now." But then he sang it anyway. So, the lesson is, GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT.
Also, The Drums say: We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you're walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.
Last week, I went on a few walks. During one, had three lovely discoveries. One was a front garden art exhibit:
Whimsical whimsy.
Found art?
Takes a lot of balls to do something like this
Walkawalkawalka, I passed Ralph Lauren on the high street, where they were putting up Christmas decorations. Why do people have no respect for Thanksgiving as a legitimate holiday to be recognized and celebrated?
When I got into residential territory, I came upon this GIANT caterpillar.
The leaves are to give a size idea.
And also to make it look like a butterfly..
SO GIANT.
On Friday, I went to The Fashion Centre (they think they're British... Like me.) at Pentagon City. It was probably the most terrifying mall I've ever been to. Just too large. Like Del Amo in Torrance size. At Del Amo, they have multiples of the same stores. Is this true at Fashion Centre? Don't know because I was too scared to run around and check it out. Anyway, they're on the Christmas bandwagon as well.
TOO SOON.
Look at the size of that tree. But, more importantly, look at the size of that mall! And only with one toilet that was practically outside... But I digress.
I also went for a run and saw a thing to memorialize Harry Potter.
Too much.
I also went to a Meetup event on Friday because I need to know more people in this strange and wondrous people. It was fairly successful. We'll see who I still know in a few weeks, EH?
Also, in terms of employment, I started with a temp agency and have a phone interview tomorrow. But who cares about that?
Last Sunday I tried to go to a movie with my friend Matt at this supposedly amazing cinema called E Street Cinema. I was hoping to see Martha Marcy May Marlene because I wanted to see just how good this Elizabeth Olsen's acting was. A part of me wonders if people are so amazed at her acting chops because of her family's "special" talents. (Her sisters are Mary-Kate and Ashley.) Anyway, there was a communication error and I was in the movie while Matt was standing outside for an hour. Mortifying but it's a long story, and not entirely my selfish fault. Anyway, after the show, I was standing outside on the phone talking about my service issues, and a guy standing on the street said, "Service issues?"
I responded, "Yes. Service issues!" because I have this idea that if you talk to people who hail you on the street, if you speak back, they'll be stunned into silence. The rate of success on this project is about 75.8%. But feel free to record your own results. In any event, this was a less than successful exercise in response.
The man on the street said back, "What about booty issues?" And that, friends, is perhaps the ultimate, lifelong question, isn't it? He then pulled out his flute and began a sidewalk concert.
To sum up that interaction, I am reminded of Maryse's roommate Cécile. A group of us were sitting in their salon asking Cécile about appropriate French words to convey our meaning, and the word that none of us could communicate effectively was "awkward." That word that has come to perhaps define an age group in such a way that I am now proposing that my generation be called "Generation Awkward" as opposed to "Generation Why" and other bestowed monikers. My generation has used this word to describe situations both organically awkward and forced into being awkward. It has come to such a point that some of us have to be reminded that things aren't actually awkward unless you pronounce them to be so. People are awkward, situations are awkward, this liminal space between France and America is awkward, this age of reliance on the internet to communicate is awkward, this phase of unemployment that lasts indefinitely is awkward... But I digress. Let me return to my original scene. Cécile informed us Americans that her French friends who had studied English had started to adopt the word for their own so that when describing a situation, they might be heard to say, "C'était awkward quoi."
I've already lamented this situation to a few people (Mom, Dad, Lilly, Stephi). It's not really lamentable, I'm just dumb. Anyway, Nana and her friend Jan are fancy pants. So Jan does PR for the National Women's History Museum, and they are having a fundraiser on November 16. Here's the link: Click Me. I'll give you time to look it over. Done? Meryl Streep is going to be there. Meryl! Only the Prada Wearing Devil herself! Naturally, I was very excited. Until I realized I would actually have to be clothed at this event, and then I grew petrified. And so I went out shopping yesterday looking for something to wear to this shindig.
It took me five hours of going to Loehmann's, Nordstrom Rack, J. Crew, Anthropologie (also the first Anthropologie Accessories only store I've ever seen), Banana Republic (hoping some of the Mad Men line would still be available), Gap (not with actual belief in its ability to deliver), Talbots, White House Black Market, and Bloomingdales, but I found something. And now I can quit griping about it.
On Thursday night, I went to an event about women in media with Nana and Jan at the Sewall-Belmont House, which I had never heard of before. It's the headquarters of the National Woman's Party, so after the event, which was all about women in the media, I took a walk around the museum fo frizzle. It's full of artifacts from the women's movement including suffragette things. MOST IMPORTANTLY, though, it has a Joan of Arc statue. Best.
This morning I killed this bug that was chilling on the wall. It took me about 15 minutes to do so since it was so big and unlike any bug I'd ever seen before. Look at all of its legs! I tried to count them before I terminated it. After the death, I went online and looked up bug with 26 legs (apparently I missed 4 of them) and discovered that it is a house centipede and is actually a very helpful bug that kills heaps of household pests, including roaches. Too late.
Very interesting information to be found, though. Legs can detach. Legs administer venom. Where would I be without Wikipedia?
On Monday, I went to a jazz event with Nana and one of her "millionaire friends" (in quotations because that's how Nana described her and not because she's not a millionaire, because she definitely is) Judith Terra. Naturally I showed up late because I forgot to bring the address with me so I was driving around the general area for about 15 minutes before Nana graciously called me and told me where to get to. We were going to this event because Nana and Judith's friend, Lee Brian, is in charge of this UDC thing. Nana and Judith made it very clear to me that they had no interest in going but that they were doing it for Lee Brian. Judith basically reminds me of an aging 50s film star would be like today, with her giant rectangular emerald (? maybe not but they were green and large and definitely expensive) earrings and her diamond (again, most likely diamond) choker, smoothed back jet black hair, high cheekbones, and the way she talks as though she's been trained. Almost Judy Garland-like. Elizabeth Taylor maybe? Anyway, we showed up and Lee Brian strolled on up to the car and Judith said, "Where do you want me to park, boo?"
Lee Brian charmed them for a bit with both women laughing uproariously before he parked the car. We all went inside, and I pick up a cookie because why not? and so many people came up to Nana to say, "There's my favorite mother" and things of that ilk. I never really realized before that night just how beloved she is here. I mean, I love her, obviousry, but I didn't know that everyone else does too! Nana networked for me a bit and then we went into our reserved seats while Judith was at work on something in the lobby. We were just sitting down when Nana leaned over to me to say, "Lee Brian is always telling me he's in love with me, but that man is gay as a plate." Gay as a plate? Never heard of it. But maybe I misheard. Then some more people came to sit down and they were elated to see Nana, so Nana had me switch seats with her so that they could sit together.
When the program started, Judith gave the opening address since she's the Chair for the DC Arts Commission. She then came to sit down and the music got going. It was a bit strange to be at this University Jazz concert considering I couldn't conceive of any of the people onstage as being younger than I am. As the program continued, Nana and Judith grew restless. Nana said even though she used to go to jazz shows with Papa back in the day, she never liked it. That was until a song came on to which Nana knew the words--that's when she started singing along a bit. During the next song, though, I guess they'd had enough because Judith said it was time to go, so the three of us in the third row got up. And I don't know if you know this about 85 year old women, but their getting out of chairs times aren't that fast, so it felt as though we were leaving the row for ages and then crawling up the aisle to the exit. I don't mean that as a "speed up, granny!" thing. I mean it in a "we could have at least waited until the end of the song to leave" thing. Especially since that number ended up being their last one. Nana insisted that the only reason the performers ended the concert then was because we had gotten up and they were getting carried away as jazz performers are wont to do.
After shmoozing, we made it back to the car. Lee Brian hopped in and whispered to me that they wouldn't even notice he was there. And he was nearly right. We drove around the corner and then chatted with him for about 15 minutes in the street. They were all gossiping about some woman who has taken to wearing terrible hats to functions and how it's all caused by her stylist. Apparently, though, she's a beautiful woman, she just doesn't know how to dress herself. I guess she wore some dress last year that had this massive flower that she had to keep folding down so that she could speak.
On the ride back, it was funny to hear Judith and Nana kind of competing over their jazz in speakeasy stories. I think Nana won out because she's just a bit more forceful and will speak louder, but Judith's tales from Greenwich Village would probably have won over the sheer glamour of it all. But this is all speculative since we never heard the stories.
On Tuesday, I met up with some Wash U chums to see a friend perform his poetry at a place called Poets and Busboys, a restaurant/bookstore created in homage to Langston Hughes who used to live in DC and was discovered while serving some newspaper hotshot. When Hughes heard that the man was from a newspaper, he slipped some of his own poetry into the newspaper for the guy. The rest is what you call history.
So the last time I decided to drive somewhere, it took me twice as long as Google said it would. So when Google said that it would take me 20 minutes to get to Busboys and Poets, I thought I was super clever to leave at 6:15. I'd show the internet, and I'd get there perfectly on time. Well, except this time Googles was right, and I arrived around 6:30, but wasn't to meet with my friends for dinner until 7. So I just sat in the car until it was near the hour. Pathetic, I know, but I didn't realize there was a bookstore inside! Otherwise, I'd have loitered inside. So when the time came, I perused the bookstore until Kim and Shana showed up. Did you know that there is a children's book about Bob Marley? And there was also a book of conversations with Alice Walker. It was sad to look in the index and see no mention of her daughter, Rebecca, aka my favorite author. Not surprising considering she told Rebecca that being mother was "a role she had grown tired of," but still!
We were seated in the room where the poetry was to be happening, which usually would mean that we'd have to leave our seats to line up outside before the show happened, but our waiter was dabomb and let us stay in our seats. When the doors did open up to the poetry seekers, it was like a Wash U invasion. So many people that I didn't even know were in the city were there. A mini reunion that was unexpected but glorious quand-même.
The whole thing reminded me of this thing I used to go to at Fairfax High School called Da Poetry Lounge, but more organized and in a nicer space. Anyway, my friend (Aaron Samuels <-videos!) was the featured artist, so we had to wait until the middle to see him. The performers there were first timers, weekly appearances, and everything. Good overall, but Aaron was definitely the best. And that is possibly my opinion because I have been watching WUSlam perform since my sophomore year, so maybe I've been conditioned.
Yesterday I got off my toosh and went to The Phillips Collection to see a Degas exhibit. I accidentally got off at Adams Morgan on the metro at first and then, 1/4 of the way up the escalator, realized that I was supposed to get off at Dupont Circle. Lucky for me, this was one of those obscenely long escalators like at Angel Station in London (which I've never actually been too, but whenever there are public works in tube stations in London, you get to learn facts like that Angel station has the longest escalator in London). So I got a nice workout going up to come down.
Eventually, I arrived. The woman/girl at the desk said I could get a discount if I was a student. When I showed her my King's ID (expired since December 2008) she gave me the side eye, but said "okay" anyway. The Phillips Collection is kind of like the Barnes Museum in Philadelphia except not as great only because at the Barnes, they have furniture and stuff that echoes themes in the paintings. The Phillips Collection is just in a house. That is the only real similarity. But The Phillips Collection does have an app that you can download on your phone, which is kind of awesome because you don't have to pay for an audio guide or anything. So I downloaded it and was then disappointed to discover that there were only 5 stops on the special exhibit tour. And the stops didn't really offer any analysis of the paintings. Could have done better on that end, but I still thought it was an innovative use of technology. It was a lovely exhibit, even though it was about 5 rooms. It really drew the connection between Degas's methodology and that of a dancer's in terms of repetition and study.
After, I wandered about the rest of the museum. Lucky for me there was a Rothko room. So, apparently Rothko wanted his paintings to be shown in a normal sized room so that you'd really be taken away by what was happening in the images. Duncan Phillips loved the guy's work, so he was the first person to dedicate a public space to Rothko's works--one on each of the four walls. (Not surprisingly, Rothko claimed The Phillips Collection was his favorite museum.) So I sat in the room for a while trying to figure it out, and I think I might have made some headway. Also, this room was kind of intense considering walkthroughs are prohibited. Legitimately. There's a sign.
My favorite part, though, was in the original home in the music room where Vincent Tack took over. He made a bunch of panels for the room, and the setting is gorgeous as well. I couldn't tell what the photography policy was, so I didn't take any. (And, when I got back to Madeleine's and saw my camera sitting by the door, I was glad I hadn't decided to take any.) But here's a photo from this website that kind of walks you through the space.
After the music room, I really enjoyed The Migration Series and response photography. The Migration Series is a series of paintings by Jacob Lawrence about the migration of Blacks north in the 1930s with short text bits acting as narration. He painted all 60 panels at once, using the same paint mixture at each point so that the colors would be the same. Does that make sense? Like, say he was going to use indigo in 27 of the paintings; he'd paint the indigo parts at the same moment in time so that it would be the exact same color in all 27. The response photographs are from recent times and taken all over the world by Allen DeSouza called The World Series. The photos could be read as a single journey, since it starts at an airport and ends at a train station. It was definitely a series that has to be read all at once to get the full meaning. Come visit me and see!
Last Saturday I went to dinner with Nana, her friend Pat Elwood (whom I've known since I came to DC so many moons ago), her friend Ellie, her brother Mike, her two sons (Doug and _______), their wives (Carrie and Stacy), and her three grandsons (Sean, Darrin, and Ryan). It was her birthday! She and Ellie kept talking about this girl named Victoria who's having her wedding in a "bahn." That was the first time I realized that Pat is from Boston. The wedding's in a barn.
Here are some photos from runs.
Eight legged Freak!
Surprisingly, the first time I have seen Scooby Dooby Doo decorations. (I also just realized the implications of that part of the theme song. Shaggy and Scooby Dooby Doo. I'm ashamed it's taken this long.)
Yesterday I went out for the day. I started off with brunch at Thunder Burger and bar in Georgetown. Since I took the bus there, though, I arrived a bit early. So I took the opportunity to wander around Old Stone House, which is just across the street from Barnes and Noble. And, oh yeah, it's the only pre-Revolutionary house in the whole city. Built in 1766.
Normal thing to be across from a major chain
It was the perfect start to the day. There was a crispness in the air that reminded you that it was fall. The sun was out and the sky was blue. Walking down Georgetown early-ish on a Sunday, with its old buildings and its semi-empty sidewalks, I was happy to be in D.C. And so I wandered through the garden, which seems like it is miles away from a city. Maybe it's because most of the plebeians hadn't yet stumbled out of bed and into their hangovers, but there wasn't any sound save my feet patting the ground. See this loveliness for yourself:
I love a good weeping willow. Sold.
A bench. Let me live here. (In the garden, not the house.)
So charming!
A power line runs through it.
There were some roses still in bloom, but I can't even begin to imagine how lush this place must be in spring. The very thought of it makes me giddy! I'll be sure to go back and check on it for you. And in case, for some reason, you care about the house itself, which was started in 1764 by a carpenter and then finished in 1766 by his widow, here are some photos. (Keep in mind that rear and second story additions were made later.)
I still can't believe how this is nestled onto one of the major shopping roads in the capital.
So then I went back across the road to Thunder Burger & Bar to meet Kim and Amir. Kim and Amir both went to Wash U and were both Ervins (my scholarship program). Amir also was my RA second semester of freshman year, and Kim and I took a course together. (They've also been together for 5? 6? years.) We are also just plain old friends. So it was really good to see them. They were 15 minutes late but I couldn't decide what I wanted anyway, so I didn't mind studying the menu intensely.
I was in Georgetown last week and almost stopped there for meal, but I thought that the inside was going to be all just a bar but with friend things to eat so I moved on to go to Bistro Français (because you can take the girl out of France..). I was totally misled! I'm glad that Amir's godbrother suggested that they go there for brunch because it was decent. It might be my fault that I'm calling it decent since I didn't get a burger burger but I got a falafel burger (because I'm Moroccan). But it wasn't crispy. So what are you gonna do? Kim and Amir seemed pleased with their meal choices, so that was good. Both got things with beef burgers. Lesson learned! They also have an extensive champagne cocktail selection and Bloody Mary menu, so maybe I'll be back to make better food choices.
After we finished three hours later, I shoved off to get to the National Gallery of Art for an Andy Warhol and journalism exhibit. As soon as I got off the bus, I was prompted to take the first really touristy photo. For you, dear readers!
Just call me a mallrat!
So I was a bit confused because there are actually two Warhol exhibits on across the street from each other. There's the one at the National Gallery of Art and the one at the Hirshhorn/Sculpture Garden. So I checked my phone (forgot the map I bought) to see which direction to go. Naturally, I started walking through the Sculpture Garden. Wrong! So, remember how I said it was such a lovely day? It was. Would I have gone out in a tank top and flip flops? Never. Sometimes I think there needs to be an acceptable/weather appropriate dress code for people. But since there's not, I sometimes see one person in a summer dress and another in jeans, Uggs, and a North Face all in the same walk. Luckily, it was in the mid-60s yesterday, so I guess the variation was ookay.
Anyway! Before I made an about face in the garden to get to my intended destination, I snapped some photos of the sculptures.
Look at these people trying to be in Paris. Poseurs.
So then I crossed the road to the National Gallery of Art. When the security guard asked me what was in my bag, I said, "Normal things." He said I looked normal and asked where I was from. I told him Los Angeles, where all the normal people are from. Clearly. So I wandered through the building looking for signs to Warhol. Oh, naturally it's in the East Building. So back out I went.
Finally! I reached the right place! Up I went to the exhibit. It was really good. But far too small. Since it was an exhibit of journalism, it only looked at how Warhol reappropriated headlines for his pieces. Which meant it was way too small for my taste! But it really makes you think about how much work goes into putting together a tabloid and how people who work for them likely consider it a work of art, and not some rag. It also points out the sensationalism of it all and the importance of a personal connection. AKA it focused you on the "Stars Just Like Us!" part of everything. No photos allowed so you'll have to forgive me.
Then I walked through some tapestries because my sister loves them, but I just don't really get them. They were all about the Portuguese taking over Morocco. It was funny to see since the Flemish weavers who made them had never been to Africa, so they didn't know how different the architecture is. So the Moroccan cities had roofs that looked more red and Spanish than anything else. Also, they put monkeys in the tapestries to signify that the scenes took place in Africa. Really?
Went through the rest of the upper floor and stopped at some that stood out to me. And now you don't have to go to a museum today!
Gauguin's Flasher?
Part of the Alphabet exhibit
In for the close up!
Persian Nightingales by Paul Klee (Swiss!)
This is a painting that is similar to the cover of my Microfiction book. That's the only reason I took a photo.
Lichtenstein made this. WITH SAND.
As I was finishing the top floor, I ran into my friend Matt. It wasn't coincidence since we had talked about meeting up, but the timing was perfect. We sat and chatted for a bit before going down to the gift store, which I always enjoy seeing. I was tempted to get a spray can martini shaker (brilliant, right?), but since I don't have a home and I don't often have martinis, I restrained myself.
We went through the lower floor, which had a room of amazing mobiles by Alexander Calder. They kind of reminded me of the art in Shel Silverstein's books. To be totally honest, I actually preferred to watch the shadows that the mobiles created to looking at the actual works of art themselves. But maybe that's the point of it all..
There were some pieces I enjoyed, but a lot of the times, I just feel lost when I'm looking at modern art. I don't get really get Rothko, but I want to. There was a Stations of the Cross with 14 canvases that looked nearly identical. I need someone to explain these things to me. But I definitely understood the paining of cakes and the pie sculpture. Miam miam! (French for yum yum.) As we were about to go to the West building, I took a closer look at this piece by Chuck Close:
It's at least 10 feet tall. It seems pretty normal, right? Well, think about the fact that it's entitled Fanny/Fingerpainting. BAM. Is your mind blown? Mine was. You can actually see the fingerprints. There will be no forging this one.
The one I saw at MdO
We got on the moving walkway, which is apparently one of Matt's favorite parts of the museum. It might be called "Multiverse." It's actually really cool and unlike any other connecting tunnel I've been through. We went almost immediately into a collection of French Impressionist paintings. As when I was at the Musée d'Orsay and came upon one of Degas's paintings, I teared up. Anyway, Impressionist art is definitely one that I can get behind, so I enjoyed that part of the collection. Went through to see some sculptures, some fountains (one with a woman wringing out her hair so that there was a drip. And I actually had a dream about it but it was dispensing anesthesia instead of water?), and artifacts from them olden dayz. There was a plate with a rape scene on it, which is something I cannot imagine thinking would ever be necessary. They also had Marie Antoinette's writing table! And a portrait of Madame DuBarry! Good thing that everything I ever learned about Marie Antoinette came from the Sofia Coppola movie! Shortly thereafter, the museum closed. Back home for some grubz.
Moments from the week:
1. Sitting on a bus and having a sound like the most annoying sound in the world pulsing for about 10 minutes. The bus driver started to hit the machine, and then apologized to it. Eventually it stopped.
2. Sitting on a bus and a woman got on and greeted the bus driver saying that last time she had a Snickers and some tea for him but he wasn't there so she ate the Snickers and gave away the tea. When she walked down the aisle, I noticed she was missing about 4 of her front teeth. So how did she do it?
3. Same bus. Another woman got on and said, "Hello, how are you?" to the bus driver. No response. She repeated, "Hello, how are you?" No response. So she said to herself, "Alright, fine," and sat down.
4. At dinner with Nana, Uncle Tony, Aunt Diane, Asantewa, Mustafa/Demetrius, and Naiah (sp?) for Asantewa's birthday, Uncle Tony told a story about when he was in Ghana hanging out with the king. He kept saying, "Your Majesty this" and "Your Majesty that." The king then said, "You don't have to be so formal with me. You can just call me Majesty."
Apparently sidewalks are optional around these parts. Sometimes I'll be walking along, and suddenly, this house decides that there's no need to have a sidewalk here. Let's let nature take its course up to the road. There might be some merit to this idea, but I'd imagine that grass isn't what would grow naturally here. So I don't know what to make of it.
I knew that this no sidewalk craze was possible in France, but that's France. Their roads are so small, sometimes it would be frightening to have a person and a car on the path at the same time. (Please reference forthcoming post on Marseille.)
I don't know if it's because I'm living next to a park that is WAY more giant than the park I lived next to at home (even though the park--Rock Creek Park--was put into place so that black folk wouldn't be able to live so close to the white folk back in the day. True Story.), but it's super green here. It's easy to forget how green the rest of the country is compared to California/Los Angeles. And for those of you who think it's the pollution thing, it's not! We can't grow so much green in a desert climate. Think about it.
I went on a walk for the favorite Halloween decoration:
Running in Washington, D.C. is waaay harder than running around my beloved L.A.
a. HILLS. Every time I map a run online, I try to figure out how to best avoid hills. Maybe I'm a pathetic runner who only likes flat surfaces. Maybe I'm lazy. Maybe I really care about my body and don't want to hurt my knees and things--actual effects of running up and down hills! Maybe it's all three.
b. HUMIDITY. It basically rained every single day last week. And when it wasn't raining, the air was oozing with moisture that made me so sweaty that when I laid down to do some sit ups, my eyes stung from the amount of sweat that was rolling into them. This blog has become much more graphic than the one in France. A reflection of American vs. French culture? Discuss.
I had this lovely idea of taking and posting a picture every day that I went for a run. But then I updated my iPhone and the picture from the first one was lost. Aaand I made a dog friend on my first run, but when I got back to photograph him (a golden!), his owner came and brought him inside. As flattered as I would have been if someone had asked for a picture of my dogs, I would have been equally creeped out. So I decided to just surreptitiously sneak a photo some other time. Not creepy? On verras. (We'll see.)
People around here really seem to love Halloween. Or, at the very least, autumn. There are decorations up all over the place. It's so different from home, especially since there are actual leaves and ambiance that make the place feel all Hocus Pocus-y. I'll have to try to get a photo of my favorite spooky decorations so far. I think everyone will enjoy it.
Also, guess who got an offer on only her second interview (Friday) and is meant to start Monday. That girl also accepted it, but is having second thoughts, so she'll be making some decisions soon?
Madrid post is in the works!
Zaaaaaachary! Zachary Binx!
Jess
So I decided to plug some life back into this blog. It may remain breathing, or it may die when I get a job. Which will likely never happen, so we don't have to worry about that. Since I know you're all pining for me to finish my European diary here, I will. But it will also be intermingled with new tales of my DC life! You should be able to tell the difference between the two...
So here's another awesome video of my digz. Sadly, I'm less awkward in this video. I think so, anyway.
For those of you who don't know, Lew and I left LA on Saturday at 5 am for the cross country trek. He's a peach and did most of the driving. On the first day, here are things that happened:
Relieved ourselves on the side of the road near a sketchy Texas motel because everything else was closed. (This is a FULL DISCLOSURE blog. Love it or leave it.)
Around midnight, I started driving in Oklahoma, which is also when it started pouring. When passing trucks, they'd splash up the road water, and the cars coming in the other direction would shine their headlights so it was like I was driving into a white void with flecks of black where the rain continued to fall.
Got a speeding ticket in Oklahoma just after the rain stopped. Miguel Cruz claims I was going 92 mph. That seems unlikely since I was pretty sure I was staying around 80-85 the whole time. But around 2am, you lose your ability to fight back. I did say that I was on my way to a memorial and I was so physically shaken up that I couldn't give him the right paperwork. First moving violation, y'all! By the way, he asked for license and insurance NOT license and registration. I feel cheated by the media. In the end, he gave me a ticket that won't show up on my insurance. So I got off for the low low cost of $188.50. I wish I had cried... 1) because I felt like I needed to and 2) because maybe he would have taken pity on me.
Got into St. Louis at 9am. A full 5 hours after we had anticipated arriving.
We made it into DC around 6pm on Monday. Pops and I sat around listening to the end of a very old This American Life until everyone (Nana, Madeleine, Tony, Diane, and Demetrius/Madeleine's boyf) arrived. We had Chinese food and hit the hay.
Next morning, Daddy left at 5:30 for his flight back to LA. After he left, I went back to bed for a bit before getting up for my 8:30 interview. I scrounged up a breakfast of whole milk and shredded wheat. I felt very guilty about opening Madeleine's milk. Also, I didn't know anyone drank whole milk. (The last time I had it was in eighth grade when the literature teacher (Mrs. Berry) was shocked no one in the class had ever had fruit cake as it's a Christmas staple. So she brought in 36 tiny fruit cakes and gave us each a cup of whole milk, since she said that that's how it was meant to be had.) Later, Nana called as I was in the toilet to tell me that she was coming to fetch me. It was an unexpected act of kindness. Not that Nana's not kind. She's the kindest! But I was expecting to hop up out the bed and put my metro swag on. Interview was whatevs. I got a homework assignment. I just think those are the worst. It's an unpaid internship! How much free labor do you want from me!? Oh well. I'll obviously do it. It's just the principle of the thing. After the meeting, I hopped on the red line to Friendship Heights. I then walked about a mile back to Madeleine's. (For the unaware, Madeleine is my dad's mentor's wife who has graciously and generously offered me her attic free of charge! I'm staying here until I have what you call "income.") Big mistake to wear brand new heels and walk a mile mostly uphill in them. Oh well. Rocked it. Grown up style.
Passed out when I got home. Woke up and grazed until I realized that I needed to get some real food for myself and went to the market for supplies. I was behind a woman in line who was chatting with the checker, Tenea (ten-ay-uh). When the woman asked what her name was, the clerk responded. The old woman responded, "That's a bad name." But it was kind of under her breath, so it was okay. Then she told Tenea to stay in school and that she was going to forget her name. People are so lovely in America!
Came back to talk policies with Madeleine before moving all my junk to the upstairs room, reorganizing as minimally as possible, and then lounging for about 3 hours until it was too late to go for a run and unpacking 1/2 a bag.
Then there was this other time that I wanted to bake banana chocolate chip muffins for my class but when I asked Michèle if I could borrow the kitchen on Wednesday night she said it wasn’t available because she goes home on Wednesdays. I had already thought this was the case, but I just wanted to be sure that I was being foiled. So I went down to the Carrefour to see how much a small oven would cost. It was like 180€ so I just went over to the Macdo to use the internet for a bit. Then the next Monday I went back hoping that something magical had happened, and something had! Basically the magic was that I hadn’t seen an even smaller oven that cost 69€! Well, as you know, I have a special love for this number (the joke that just does not quit), and I took it as a sign from Julia Child or something that I should get it. So get it I did. And I carried it back up the hill in my weakling arms. That’s about a mile walk, y’all. I’m no slouch.
And I’ve baked something every week since I’ve bought it. So it’s been great. And today, after I offered some strawberry muffins to the salle des profs, I heard Chantal from the office say that the assistants who come next time will have some serious competition. And it doesn’t matter if they speak English—it’s all about their baking abilities. Suckers. On a related note, it really bothers me that in French, there’s no word (as far as I’ve been told) that means baking as opposed to cooking. As I’ve heard it, everyone just says cuisiner. In the past, I’ve tried to make up the verb boulanger to take from boulangerie. No dice, though.
I’ve actually tried to make up other words. One that I keep trying to use is obvieusement to mean “obviously,” obviously. But Sabine always chuckles and reminds me that it’s évidement. Which is weird to me because “evidently” means something different from “obviously.” Maybe I think about language too much.
On the second weekend in February, I was stranded at the drive-in. (“Drive-in” means “internat.”) So the day before, I had asked Sylvie if she wanted me to come to her class. Because erryone’s like obsessed with me, she said yes. But then Thursday night I was looking into doing a day trip to Annecy or Évian-les-Bains and realized that it would be basically impossible to take public transportation and have a reasonable amount of time in either of those destinations if I went to Sylvie’s class at 8am. So I had to bail on it. Triste!
On Friday morning, I got up and got on the bus to Virieu to get the train to Évian-les-Bains. I was excited for it as Livia had told me that the water was fo frizzle therre. And if you know anything about me, you’ll know that that’s my drink of choice. Not to be confused with my drank of choice: rum. I slept the whole way to Évian and then got off to make the rounds.
First thing I saw:
Bienvenue dans notre usine. (Welcome to our factory.)
As soon as I got off, I was hungry (maybe that’s why the doctor said I was obese. That’s another joke—definitely NOT a joke—that just does not quit). So I stopped for a pain aux raisins.
Delicious! Raisins are good for you. Nutritious!
Since I had no clue where I was going, I was overjoyed when I stumbled upon signs pointing towards the tourist information office. So I went. There was a woman walking her toy dogs with poop stains. Sorry about the image. But this blog is not just for your entertainment; it’s also for me to, years from now, remember (fondly?) some of the images from Fronce. So I went in and got a map, which awesomely had a walking tour on it. So I set out on it.
Lucky for me, the first stop was the Church of Notre-Dame de l’Assomption, built from the 13th-15th centuries. There was a market happening in front just like a Disney movie or something. Here’s the front.
Shake it to the front
The rump/clock tower.
Back back back it up.
Inside with the stations of the cross.
Stationary stations.
Then I tried to go to the Rue de l’Eglise, but I couldn’t find it based on the map or the description, which was about some windows. But I found this old archway, which must be historic in some way. Maybe it’s where little Maid Marion first met Jester John.
I'll bet it looks just the same as it did in the olden daze.
I went past the Place du Marché/Place Charles de Gaulle, which didn’t seem to be anything super special now, but was major in the Middle Ages.
Place du marché (Marketplace)
And there was a nice placard from CdG himself! (If he sent them a fancy metal plaque.)
Love letter from de Gaulle to "tous les Français."
Then I tried to go to the Château des comtes de Savoie, but I couldn’t find it. I’m not kidding. There’s like 5 streets on that Evian historical walking tour map and I managed to boff the whole shebang up.
So I spent some more time studying the map and trying to figure out where exactly I was supposed to be walking to get to stop 5: Hopital médiéval. Points if you sorted out that meaning without my help. (Medieval Hospital if you didn’t…) Thinking I got it right-ish, when I found this inviting street I decided to walk down it.
Reason #349804598409583094 I'm going to be abducted.
Walk-a walk-a walk-a. Surprise! I was right. No. I wasn’t. I think that questionable street is like Évian’s dirty little secret. And I actually never managed to find that hospital. Failure numero dos. So I went back up (after I got fearful that someone would catch me and say, “Hey, kid! What are you doing down here?” and then I’d have to run away in an exciting chase scene.) and kept going until I found yet another questionable small road down some stairs, but this one was the right one. (The right one to get to stop 6: Buvette Cachat) How’d I know?
Gotta love accurate street names à la Disneyland Way. (Guess where that is.)
Not dodgy. Not at all.
I made it to the Buvette Cachat, which is at the bottom of a hill.
Natural. (Wood and glass.)
This “hidden drinking area” was built on the source of Saint Catherine’s fountain starting in 1826 and was finished in 1903. It’s built entirely of wood and glass, and is really quite lovely. It’s meant to be viewed as a “temple of water.” Of course, though, it was closed, so I just “got to” look at it from outside. Harrrr she be from her starboard side.
These trees are all over France.
Naturally, after the tour has you go to the bottom of the hill, it then has you go back up to the very top. That’s the real reason French women don’t get fat. So up I went to Griffon de la source Cachat.
Tourist ruining my photo. Or making it real?
“A long time ago, the baron of Rochette had a rich and beautiful daughter, Beatrix. Asked for in marriage by the lords of Allinges and of Coudrée, she preferred Arnold, her father’s riding instructor, a poor, young, courageous man. The baron, who suffered from a mysterious illness, announced that he would give his daughter to whoever could cure him. Arnold went to consult the hermit in the big chestnut of Neuvecelle. He counseled Arnold to have the baron drink the water from the fountain of Saint Catherine every day. The baron was healed very quickly and gave his daughter’s hand to the young riding instructor. We celebrate the anniversary of Beatrix and Arnold at the château de Ripaille.” BOOM. Translation from tourist information. Love me love me love me.
The statue in front. Is it Beatrix!? (Probably not.)
When Livia told me that the water was free, she meant that I should have brought a massive jug to fetch the water ‘til the day that I am grown. Because as I was standing there, two people came up to fill up their own bottles.
Chug a lug. (At first, I thought he was stealing. No joke.)
Skip-a-dee-doo-dah. (He was not skipping. He is French.)
Green people bike to fetch their water.
Then I watched some Eastern European tourists take swigs. (Judgment based on language overheard.) So when I was left alone, I scuttle over to help myself to take off my glove and bring some o’ dat to my mouf. It was good water. COLD, though. I wish I had brought along a sippy cup, because then I was just wiping my wet hand against my coat and trying to get my hand dry enough to go back inside my child’s glove because my hands are too small for adult gloves made out of not cotton. PITY ME. Eventually I managed and continued with my handy dandy map.
Stop 8 on the self-guided historical tour is Le funiculaire, which started running in 1907. Don’t worry, though. It only runs from mid-May to mid-September, so I got to look at the empty tracks. And you do too!
Movin' on up!
I continued up the street along the tracks looking for the turnoff to go through Number 9: Parc de l’ex-hôtel Splendide. Welp, missed it! Even though I checked the map a few dozen times before starting up to the top. And even though I looked at the sign for my turnoff a few times only to assure myself that that wasn’t the right one. But I didn’t pull out the map again. So it’s my fault.
Anywho, the park was opened in July 10, 1898. At the time, the Splendide was the biggest palace on the French side of Lac Léman (often called Lake Geneva. WRONG.) I spent a significant portion of the day wandering around this park. Voilà! Mes photos.
Spooky scary skeletons. Or enchanting.
Hotel. Reminds me of Clue.
Let's graffiti everything!
Little town. It's a quiet village!
I don't know what happened, but someone had the stuffing knocked out of 'em!
Doesn't it remind of the Materhorn?
I wandered around looking at the hotel that they said didn’t exist anymore. But it was definitely there. So I was pretty confused. It sounded like some Frenchies (or foolish tourists?) were up there goofing around. Loud music. Crazies. So I just wandered around the park enjoying the graffiti on this century old park. Because nothing is safe from being marked, y’all. Fact. It’s all about getting there first. Even if that maybe means that you only got there first after the newest coat of paint.
And then on I walked because there were a few more stops on the walking tour. But I first stopped and clandestinely took some more free water from a fountain. Anyone who’s traveled with me knows that I hate to seem like a tourist. But I also hate to be yelled at for doing something I’m not meant to do. So I made sure to wait until no one else was around to take a handful of water. I also waited until I saw two kids do it. If they can, I can. We’re equally adorable and, thus, equally able to get away with things. Right?
Some fountain all about the Count of Savoie
As I made my way down, I passed this plaque.
I think that just about every French city/place larger than a village has a monument or something dedicated to those killed during WWII. And sometimes the monument does double duty and also represents WWI.
World War I
Down the hill I continued to Le Château de Fontbonne. Fontbonne! Anyone who has gone to Wash U knows the significance of this name. Fontbonne is located just across Wydown Blvd from Wash U, and for some reason it’s a huge joke to Wash U-ers. Probably because every time you go by the campus, there aren’t any students there. It’s such a mysterious school to us that I’ve seen people go to parties dressed up as Fontbonne students. So I was very excited to see Fontbonne in a place near a font. And also in France!
The original Fontbonne!
Why was Fontbonne on the Historic walk, though? Good question. Sadly, though, there's not really a good answer. Apparently it's because it still looks like a Renaissance hotel from the outside. Then for a brief walk along the French banks of Lac Léman/Lake Geneva.
Looks different here than in Geneva, eeehhhh?
It looks so clean!
And then for a viewing of these Viking-like pieces of art? I’ve mentioned the random pieces of art in France’s public spaces before, but this was just strange.
The original AVATAR?
Naturally, though, the wooden dragon has a wooden child on a swing.
These wooden structures that were on the other side of the road. I have no idea what was going on. I’ve just looked and they were put there for La Légende des Flottins, which is an alternative to normal Christmas markets. How? At this one, nothing is for sale, and everything is imagined. Speak French? There’s more information here.
Then I turned around and saw this. Beautiful! Look at how the light comes through the Buvette Cachat.
Then it was on to Le Palais Lumière.
According to the tourist website, which I checked for 3 minutes the night before deciding to go said it was open year round. So, of course, it was closed when I got there. So I looked at the time and thought it was because it was just after 12. So they might be on the 2-hour lunch break. Off I went to find some grub.
Whenever I’d talk to my students about food, their favorite would come up. It was generally potatoes or tartiflette, which is cheese and potatoes. Tartiflette is a specialty of Savoie, which is where I was living. And, luckily, Évian is also in Savoie. (Or, I think, it’s in Haute Savoie, which is the same thing only higher..) Anyway, I was pleased to see that the random restaurant at which I had chosen to it had it! It was so good. And perfect winter food. Runny reblouchon cheese, sautéed onions, crisp bits of bacon, and perfectly cooked potatoes that would have melted in my mouth if I had a higher heat tolerance in there!
After my delightful meal, with which I had some water that I thought would be free because I was in Evian (it wasn’t), I decided to wander back to Le Palais.
Hooray! When I arrived back at the Palais, the doors were open! So in I went. I was immediately stopped and asked where I was going. I said I was there to see the building. Guy said that the exhibit didn’t start until the next day. But couldn’t I just see the building? Nope. Good thing the tourist information said that the Palais was open every day of the year, right? So that was a bust, and out I walked. With my head held high? Unlikely.
Model home. Just like The O.C!
Onto the next stop on the tour, which was La villa Lumière. It’s been the Hôtel de Ville in Evian since 1927, but before that, it was the summer residence of the Lumière Bros. Only the inventors of film! (At least on the French end of things.) So, I was elated to have been a Film & Media studies major and to have that name mean something to me! Because, you know, sometimes things you study at uni never have real life application. You can enjoy some of their delightful cinematic feats thanks to the magic of YouTube, which is maybe like the Lumière brothers of our time?
It was crazy difficult to figure out how to get inside that place! I went in several different doors, went up to some locked ones, and asked a handful of people. Eventually I found what I thought was the right one, and I asked, in French, where the entrance was. He responded in French, and then, I guess, recognized my accent from before and ended in English. No respect. Whatever, though. I eventually managed to find the place.
So if this is their summer home, it's frightening to know exactly what their "rest-of-the-year" home must have looked like. Basically, I'm just a pauper.
It looks like Aunt Alicia's!
Close up for that handmade craftsmanship.
Rawr! Go up the stairs....if you dare!
And that was just the downstairs. When I was in the fancy room, I thought that we weren't allowed to take photos. And by "we," I mean just me since I was the only person in there. So I thought it was better to just not ask and get away with photo murder than to ask and be told "no." I guess the French way of life has rubbed off on me after all...
I did, however, have to ask if I could go up the stairs since the information desk was right at the stairs. She said that it was okay, so I trotted up and stopped to take a photo of what the rest of the house was (or might have been, since you could only go up to the landing without an appointment).
As you can see, there's just so much work that has gone into this house. The paintings on the wall, the inlaid sculptures cut off at the bottom, the wall engravings, the light fixture... It's just so much. I yearn for the days before dem factoriez. (In french the word for "factory" is usine.)
Sadly, though, once I got upstairs, I could see that they hadn't preserved much of the old house for the offices. France does this thing where they just gut a building so that they can have it be gorgeous from the outside and kind of hideous on the inside. The library in Belley is a perfect example. The beautiful 17th century home is really just an eyesore once you're through the doors--everything is plastic and metal and not even nice quality. Such a waste.
Outside, though, they had the beautiful motto of France above the door. So that was quaint. And I overheard a tourguide saying something about the two statues on the side, but that was eons ago. I think they're replicas of a statue by Puget. (AKA that's all I could come up with when I just Googled..)
Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité.
Then I peaced out and continued my walkabout. I went to the Casino and tried to get in to take some photos.
Don't worry, though. Since I didn't have my passport with me (and since my wallet was pilfered in Paris), I wasn't allowed in. So, that was cool. I even tried to show my SNCF 12-25 card, but no dice. Jerk.
So I went back up the hill towards the park to just kill time until I went back to Belley on the last train out of dodge. I stumbled upon this frightening painting in the window of a Middle Eastern restuarant:
They look like they're scared of falling off that magic carpet and into "A Whole New World."
Would you want to eat here? Me neither. So I continued my last tour of the city.
I basically just went up to sit on a park bench for a while. Enjoying the view.
Graffiti of course.
Notice the E in the gate. Swag.
Then, way too far in advance, I decided to peace out and make my way to the train station. How excited was I, though, to see this!:
Ahhhh!!!
It's a golden retreiver! They're ubiquitous in the US, but nearly nonexistent in France. They're such an American dog in terms of size and nonstop loving. I was so happy to see one on this typically grey French day.
As I passed by a place I had visited earlier in the day (the rear of the Buvette Cachat), I noticed a statue inside. The different time of day made the building look quite different. So I stopped for a photo:
Can you see the statue?
As I walked up to the train station, I stopped by the same boulangerie from the morning to get a baguette for my weekend since the Belley market bread never looked as appetizing as it should have, in my opinion. On the road to the train station, someone left his car running to go inside a house for a quick drop off, and I couldn't help thinking to myself how nice it must be to live somewhere where behavior like this is just no big deal. Then I couldn't help thinking how easy it would have been to just hop in and take the car since I had been thinking how much easier my life would have been with one. Except I can't drive shift. Alas. So back I went to Belley in a train, and not a car.
The next day, I went to the market to get some lettuce, blue cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes for a delightful salad. I also got some delicious Corsican clementines because it was 1 kilo for a euro! I also enjoyed Into the Wild from the library, since I realized I couldn't be checking out books from there anymore--I'd just have to deal with DVDs and use the school library for my reading needs.
Refreshed because I finally got this post up and because that's what water makes you,
