Yes, I know.
I haven't posted in months. Two and a half, to be precise.
This post is not a post. I would like to tell you everything that's happened and more, every moment that has passed, every stunning second.
But I can't. There are no words that can describe them, and to try and force them inside the box of language would be a disservice to you, me, and the memories. I will tell you, if you want, when you see me again, and hope that you can see what I truly mean in my eyes.
I could tell you the sketch, the outline -- this party, that party, this job, that trip, this meeting. But you would miss the underneath, the way it's shaping me and the way I'm learning from each moment.
No, this is eyes only.
Oh hell, this is impossible. I can't tell you, even if I wanted to, because I don't know how. I wouldn't know where to start, where to end, and where to go in the middle. So let me tell you that I am lost, and I found absolutely everything.
Cheers.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
A new style, just for Paris
I am going to spend too much money on clothes. I have absolutely NO idea how I'm getting everything home (answer: I probably won't).
However, all I have in my wardrobe is winter clothes, and seeing as the weather is getting nice, that had to change. And while I was at it, I decided to go ahead and continue a style transformation that I've been working on and am just crazy about.
So here are my yeses for the season -- and a new, Parisian, rock and roll Gillian:
yes to natural hair color , no to blonde
yes to eyeliner
yes to bijoux (jewelry), especially clunky -- rings, bracelets,necklaces
yes to jeans and jean shorts
yes to light scarves
yes to plaid
yes to easy breezy tops
yes to edgy, yes to rock and roll, yes to chunky watches and the top few buttons undone
yes to androgyny and blazers and fedoras
yes to the look at me if you dare, swagger when you walk attitude!!!!
However, all I have in my wardrobe is winter clothes, and seeing as the weather is getting nice, that had to change. And while I was at it, I decided to go ahead and continue a style transformation that I've been working on and am just crazy about.
So here are my yeses for the season -- and a new, Parisian, rock and roll Gillian:
yes to natural hair color , no to blonde
yes to eyeliner
yes to bijoux (jewelry), especially clunky -- rings, bracelets,necklaces
yes to jeans and jean shorts
yes to light scarves
yes to plaid
yes to easy breezy tops
yes to edgy, yes to rock and roll, yes to chunky watches and the top few buttons undone
yes to androgyny and blazers and fedoras
yes to the look at me if you dare, swagger when you walk attitude!!!!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Some time to breathe (and work on that paper)
I haven't updated in forever. I didn't bother to check how long but I know we're looking at three or four weeks. I apologize for my laziness but I have a good excuse: I very honestly have not had the time.
I performed with my choreography workshop at Paris 7 last week -- the 5 and 6 april -- as well as my solo on the 6th. The weeks before that were packed with rehearsals and a lot of various errands. I was trying to see people before the vacation and also get some work done on my research paper. It is going very slowly, though I do have an outline now. I also have three books just to start with and really, really need to get writing. That's what these next couple days are for, at least that's the plan. I was going to start today and then decided that I could take one day to just chill -- so I slept in, cleaned my room, did some groceries, got my haircut -- you know, the essentials.
The show, by the way, went really well. I had about ten friends who came to see me. The piece with Paris 7 was 30 minutes long and was an exploration of light -- we had all sorts of awesome special effects with the infrared camera -- like the traces of heat on the floor, echoes of dancers behind them...hard to explain, but it turned out really cool. The only problem was that we only rehearsed with all the special effects the afternoon of opening night and so naturally during the show, for whatever reason, the music completely cut out for about two minutes. We got it figured out eventually -- at least the techies did -- and the second night was just perfect. We took two curtain calls as planned and then were forced to come back for a third one because everyone was still clapping. It was really cool.
My solo was also much better received than the first time I danced it, though I did crash down on a few joints a little harder than I might have liked-- ah well, nobody noticed and they'll heal.
The theatre was a little strange -- we were the last show to perform there before they tear it down and there was a general sense that the techies had stopped caring. The first day of rehearsal the stage was absolutely disgustingly dirty and there were various cigarette butts thrown on the floor in the audience. I was not at all impressed but they did clean it up before the show, thank god. Otherwise it was kind of falling apart, but what hey.
A buffet was provided both nights for the dancers and it was actually really extraordinary. My dad was super impressed, and me too! It was like an extravaganza of bite size amazing little things.
Oh yes, the other major thing that happened was that my Dad came to Paris for a visit -- wednesday to wednesday. I put him on the train back to Charles de Gaulle at 9:15 this morning before going back to bed, rather reluctantly. A week is far too short to catch up seven months worth of talking and hanging out. The first couple days he was here, I had to get used to having someone else in my life, but once that got straightened out, it was wonderful and I didn't want him to leave.
We didn't do the tourist thing -- well, not really. We walked by the Louvre, the Tuileries, Avenue de Champs-Elysée, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower...but just to see them. We also went to the musée Rodin and musée de quai branly...and for the rest of the time? We ate. And drank. And ate some more. A bistrot for lunch, coffee and/or a beer in the afternoon, and then in a restaurant at night. We ate a lot and well and talked and talked and talked...it was really wonderful.
In any case, I leave for Italy on Monday evening and will be staying for a full week. I am not taking my computer and will not be updating. However, when I get back I do promise to post pictures and tell you all about it.
until next time.
I performed with my choreography workshop at Paris 7 last week -- the 5 and 6 april -- as well as my solo on the 6th. The weeks before that were packed with rehearsals and a lot of various errands. I was trying to see people before the vacation and also get some work done on my research paper. It is going very slowly, though I do have an outline now. I also have three books just to start with and really, really need to get writing. That's what these next couple days are for, at least that's the plan. I was going to start today and then decided that I could take one day to just chill -- so I slept in, cleaned my room, did some groceries, got my haircut -- you know, the essentials.
The show, by the way, went really well. I had about ten friends who came to see me. The piece with Paris 7 was 30 minutes long and was an exploration of light -- we had all sorts of awesome special effects with the infrared camera -- like the traces of heat on the floor, echoes of dancers behind them...hard to explain, but it turned out really cool. The only problem was that we only rehearsed with all the special effects the afternoon of opening night and so naturally during the show, for whatever reason, the music completely cut out for about two minutes. We got it figured out eventually -- at least the techies did -- and the second night was just perfect. We took two curtain calls as planned and then were forced to come back for a third one because everyone was still clapping. It was really cool.
My solo was also much better received than the first time I danced it, though I did crash down on a few joints a little harder than I might have liked-- ah well, nobody noticed and they'll heal.
The theatre was a little strange -- we were the last show to perform there before they tear it down and there was a general sense that the techies had stopped caring. The first day of rehearsal the stage was absolutely disgustingly dirty and there were various cigarette butts thrown on the floor in the audience. I was not at all impressed but they did clean it up before the show, thank god. Otherwise it was kind of falling apart, but what hey.
A buffet was provided both nights for the dancers and it was actually really extraordinary. My dad was super impressed, and me too! It was like an extravaganza of bite size amazing little things.
Oh yes, the other major thing that happened was that my Dad came to Paris for a visit -- wednesday to wednesday. I put him on the train back to Charles de Gaulle at 9:15 this morning before going back to bed, rather reluctantly. A week is far too short to catch up seven months worth of talking and hanging out. The first couple days he was here, I had to get used to having someone else in my life, but once that got straightened out, it was wonderful and I didn't want him to leave.
We didn't do the tourist thing -- well, not really. We walked by the Louvre, the Tuileries, Avenue de Champs-Elysée, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower...but just to see them. We also went to the musée Rodin and musée de quai branly...and for the rest of the time? We ate. And drank. And ate some more. A bistrot for lunch, coffee and/or a beer in the afternoon, and then in a restaurant at night. We ate a lot and well and talked and talked and talked...it was really wonderful.
In any case, I leave for Italy on Monday evening and will be staying for a full week. I am not taking my computer and will not be updating. However, when I get back I do promise to post pictures and tell you all about it.
until next time.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
A Day in the Life, I think
Friday, 25 March
I didn't go to class this morning -- well, that is the classes I'm supposed to be teaching. I didn't go because I had a hunch that my students wouldn't show up. I was right, by the way.
But either way I had been planning to sleep in, but was wide awake by nine thirty -- an aftereffect, I suppose, of being up at that time pretty much every day of the week. Yes, I know, it's not early, but I was hoping to sleep in more. Ah well; when it became clear that I wasn't going back to sleep, I got up.
Another sunny day -- they are becoming more and more common and I couldn't be happier. Someone told me that Paris is a different city in the spring and I don't doubt it. Already now, with the buds coming out and the sun, the world just seems to be breathing a giant sigh of relief, finally having gotten out of the prison of the imposing grey. Warm, too -- 17 degrees Celsius. While I have no idea what that translates to in farenheit, it means warm, it means I don't have to put on a jacket.
I took my time getting ready -- bringing my computer into the bathroom while I showered so I could listen to music, as I like to do whenever I have time to take my time. A nice breakfast, with a little extra coffee - I made it a bit too strong this morning, but drank it anyway, I don't really care that much.
In all I dawdled so much that I was ready to go about 11h30, which was when I wanted to leave anyway. I didn't have class until 14h10 (at the high school), but wanted to eat lunch. While it isn't always the greatest, it's free and I get to hang out with my friends. After lunch, I had an hour to prepare for my class -- "prepare" -- and used it to work on my research project, slogging through a book about the origins of dance in hopes of finding something useful for my work on duets.
NOTE:
In the time between when the above was written and now, on the following Tuesday, I became incredibly distracted by life, and was barely at home during the weekend -- and when I was, it was in a dehydrated mess on saturday night. I slept for the afternoon/evening, excepting a brief stint awake to watch the Bourne Identity and munch on cereal.
With that said I no longer have any clue what I was talking about or where I was planning to go with the post above. I believe it was going to be another day in the life, which works better when you remember everything about the day. But I will attempt to reconstruct it, just for kicks and giggles.
==
When I got to class, the students having rather surprisingly decided to show up today, we first went into the little room that I usually use and started in the normal fashion, having them introduce themselves to me and I to them, seeing as I rarely have the same group twice.
I was going to have them do this little language game that I usually do, where they create little creative scenarios based on prompts -- but right away I just felt this wall of negative energy and resistance. They didn't like the scenarios, they didn't like the idea, they were bored, and I was generally wasting their time.
Screw this, I thought. I don't want to be miserable for an hour. "Am I allowed to take you guys outside?" Immediately, I had their attention. Yes, they said. "Seriously?" Yep, seriously. "Then let's go."
With that, we left. We went to a little park nearby and settled down on the grass. Screw the scenarios, I thought, even I'm bored with them. So I started asking questions; what series did they watch, what kind of music did they like, what did they think was the stereotypical american. We sat in the sun and chatted for awhile. Simple. I don't know if they were convinced but it was a hell of a lot better than it could have been.
After that I stayed at the high school and worked for a couple hours -- I would have gone home normally, but one of the teachers had invited me to a little apéro at his apartment and we took the bus together at the end of the day. The apartment was tiny, 30 square meters-- not sure how that translates but very small in other words. There was 6 of us for the apéro, though for the first few hours it was only 4.
Oh yes, did I mention? Un apéro is technically a before dinner drink. This one started at 6pm. I left around 11h30. Oh we certainly ate enough -- cherry tomatoes with homemade mayo, toasts with some sort of spread that was really good but I never figured out what it was, open faced sandwiches with salmon or some kind of charcuterie, more sandwiches, and finally a tarte framboise -- raspberry tart. And in between -- kirs (cherry alcohol and white wine), a homemade cocktail with special Chilean alcohol, and plain old red wine. And cigarettes.
I swear my days are not always this exciting. Take saturday -- I stumbled out of bed, took the metro in the wrong direction on my transfer, and got to rehearsal late (it started,in theory, at 10, though when I got there everyone was having breakfast and coffee. Apparently I wasn't the only one exhausted). 5 hours of dance, an absolutely disgusting salad I bought from the supermarket -- never again -- and then I was home, nauseous, exhausted, etc. Dehydrated. A 5 hour nap, a movie break, and back to bed.
Well anyway. Columbia housing sent me an e-mail and my first thought was that they wrote the date backward. Oh dear.
I have my show in a week and am therefore in rehearsal a LOT, plus various other projects, including my research, which needs to have an outline by thursday. Eep. Busy and busy and it's the end of March already and what?!
I didn't go to class this morning -- well, that is the classes I'm supposed to be teaching. I didn't go because I had a hunch that my students wouldn't show up. I was right, by the way.
But either way I had been planning to sleep in, but was wide awake by nine thirty -- an aftereffect, I suppose, of being up at that time pretty much every day of the week. Yes, I know, it's not early, but I was hoping to sleep in more. Ah well; when it became clear that I wasn't going back to sleep, I got up.
Another sunny day -- they are becoming more and more common and I couldn't be happier. Someone told me that Paris is a different city in the spring and I don't doubt it. Already now, with the buds coming out and the sun, the world just seems to be breathing a giant sigh of relief, finally having gotten out of the prison of the imposing grey. Warm, too -- 17 degrees Celsius. While I have no idea what that translates to in farenheit, it means warm, it means I don't have to put on a jacket.
I took my time getting ready -- bringing my computer into the bathroom while I showered so I could listen to music, as I like to do whenever I have time to take my time. A nice breakfast, with a little extra coffee - I made it a bit too strong this morning, but drank it anyway, I don't really care that much.
In all I dawdled so much that I was ready to go about 11h30, which was when I wanted to leave anyway. I didn't have class until 14h10 (at the high school), but wanted to eat lunch. While it isn't always the greatest, it's free and I get to hang out with my friends. After lunch, I had an hour to prepare for my class -- "prepare" -- and used it to work on my research project, slogging through a book about the origins of dance in hopes of finding something useful for my work on duets.
NOTE:
In the time between when the above was written and now, on the following Tuesday, I became incredibly distracted by life, and was barely at home during the weekend -- and when I was, it was in a dehydrated mess on saturday night. I slept for the afternoon/evening, excepting a brief stint awake to watch the Bourne Identity and munch on cereal.
With that said I no longer have any clue what I was talking about or where I was planning to go with the post above. I believe it was going to be another day in the life, which works better when you remember everything about the day. But I will attempt to reconstruct it, just for kicks and giggles.
==
When I got to class, the students having rather surprisingly decided to show up today, we first went into the little room that I usually use and started in the normal fashion, having them introduce themselves to me and I to them, seeing as I rarely have the same group twice.
I was going to have them do this little language game that I usually do, where they create little creative scenarios based on prompts -- but right away I just felt this wall of negative energy and resistance. They didn't like the scenarios, they didn't like the idea, they were bored, and I was generally wasting their time.
Screw this, I thought. I don't want to be miserable for an hour. "Am I allowed to take you guys outside?" Immediately, I had their attention. Yes, they said. "Seriously?" Yep, seriously. "Then let's go."
With that, we left. We went to a little park nearby and settled down on the grass. Screw the scenarios, I thought, even I'm bored with them. So I started asking questions; what series did they watch, what kind of music did they like, what did they think was the stereotypical american. We sat in the sun and chatted for awhile. Simple. I don't know if they were convinced but it was a hell of a lot better than it could have been.
After that I stayed at the high school and worked for a couple hours -- I would have gone home normally, but one of the teachers had invited me to a little apéro at his apartment and we took the bus together at the end of the day. The apartment was tiny, 30 square meters-- not sure how that translates but very small in other words. There was 6 of us for the apéro, though for the first few hours it was only 4.
Oh yes, did I mention? Un apéro is technically a before dinner drink. This one started at 6pm. I left around 11h30. Oh we certainly ate enough -- cherry tomatoes with homemade mayo, toasts with some sort of spread that was really good but I never figured out what it was, open faced sandwiches with salmon or some kind of charcuterie, more sandwiches, and finally a tarte framboise -- raspberry tart. And in between -- kirs (cherry alcohol and white wine), a homemade cocktail with special Chilean alcohol, and plain old red wine. And cigarettes.
I swear my days are not always this exciting. Take saturday -- I stumbled out of bed, took the metro in the wrong direction on my transfer, and got to rehearsal late (it started,in theory, at 10, though when I got there everyone was having breakfast and coffee. Apparently I wasn't the only one exhausted). 5 hours of dance, an absolutely disgusting salad I bought from the supermarket -- never again -- and then I was home, nauseous, exhausted, etc. Dehydrated. A 5 hour nap, a movie break, and back to bed.
Well anyway. Columbia housing sent me an e-mail and my first thought was that they wrote the date backward. Oh dear.
I have my show in a week and am therefore in rehearsal a LOT, plus various other projects, including my research, which needs to have an outline by thursday. Eep. Busy and busy and it's the end of March already and what?!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Six months and ?? days: Looking back and looking forward
This post is going to be somewhat introspective -- I apologize in advance if that bores you.
As the title suggests, I've now been in Paris over six months. If I actually stop to think and calculate -- it's been six months and twelve days, or in other words, exactly 195 days. That's not forever, nor is it a short time. In a lifetime, it's nothing, of course, but I consider it a good lifetime anyway.
While I don't do it very often, I have adopted the Parisian habit of having a cigarette and contemplating life -- sometimes just stepping out on the balcony just before the sun goes down and watching the sky change while the cigarette burns away -- it's a very zen moment, shall we say. Well, today I was taking a smoke break; I should have been working, but was instead waiting for my computer to load the latest Glee episode, and was out on the balcony --- and had a moment.
It struck me suddenly how far away Paris used to be to me. I remembered this summer, thinking about how far and exotic Paris was and would be. How stressful the visa process was, and how I used to freak out -- quietly or otherwise -- whenever I thought about how soon I was leaving, and for how long. It just seemed strange to me, in that moment, now so deeply entrenched in the Parisian life -- how far away it used to be.
Sometimes I remember conversations I had before I left and I have to remind myself that they were in English. Yes, it's strange, and I notice it -- I think, no wait, that was in English. That was before I spoke French daily and the vast majority of my conversations were in my natural tongue -- and somehow, that seems really strange to me now. Sometimes even here I have to remind myself that the people talking French to each other are actually talking in their natural language. Invariably, I think about when I'll have to do that, and it always seems strange.
Yesterday I called the toll free number on student universe to officially change my plane ticket from May 31st to August 1st. I got a recording saying that due to the tsunami in Japan their phone services are limited. What Japan has to do with student universe is beyond me, and makes me quite apprehensive for when I actually DO get on the phone with a representative -- somebody, no doubt, in Japan -- but it's no big deal, I can wait. It just seemed like a big step -- official. By the time I leave, it will be eleven full months.
And now? Is Paris far away?
It's far in the sense that I have to calculate somewhere between 6-8 hours of time change if I want to talk to my family or friends. It's far in that it's now been a REALLY long time since I've seen these people, and while with Skype it's like they're just on the other side of the screen, hiding behind your computer -- it's not the same. I had a friend from Columbia in town this weekend and there is nothing like having them there, real and breathing and just taking up space, moving the air. In that way, yes, I suppose it's far.
But these days I can't imagine being anywhere else. It's like sometimes I think about where Paris is on the map and how I'm practically on the other side of the world from where I grew up -- but it doesn't matter anymore. The people I'm surrounded by have been here, for the most part, their whole lives, and so have I. It's like I can't conceptualize the distance between me and where home used to be, but all I know is I'm here and living here is as easy as breathing.
Thank god I wasn't ever tempted to go just for the semester.
One thing about having a time limit -- something I know far, far, far too well -- is that no matter what you're doing, it stays with you. Or at least, it tries to. It's like the more fun you have, you know the harder it will be to leave. And so I suppose I have the choice -- but for me it's not a choice. If I leave my soul behind in Paris, well, then so be it. But it's true that sometimes I have trouble not thinking about it -- about the fact that February absolutely vanished on me and now we're halfway through March and I'm now over half done with my time here. Booking my flight for August 1st means that on August 1st I'll be boarding a giant ass jet with two giant ass suitcases that can't possibly hold my life here. It means that life goes on.
Before I left, I sometimes had the strange thought that the people I know won't recognize me when I come back. Of course that's not true, but recently I've been thinking that, in some ways, it's true. The girl who I was when I left will never come back, because she doesn't exist anymore. The one who's coming back -- well, you'll see. She'll the same person you always knew, but she's nothing like her. It's hard to explain.
I think I've said this before, but sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to build a life somewhere and then finish it --- instead of leaving when the bloom is just on the rose, so to speak. But I guess that's not really fair -- because maybe on August 1st, I will have finished. I will have lived an entire life, and finished it. Or maybe I'll just leave it for a time and come back. How should I know?
In any case, spring is coming and my nose is thanking all the pollen. Construction has begun -- directly over my head -- and the sun is out a noticeable percentage of the time more than it used to be. The wind is doux, and you can feel the world starting to pick up it's winter-weary head and sniff the air. I was here for fall, for winter. Now for spring, and soon -- summer.
A nice full circle. A complete life.
I do seem to go through them.
As the title suggests, I've now been in Paris over six months. If I actually stop to think and calculate -- it's been six months and twelve days, or in other words, exactly 195 days. That's not forever, nor is it a short time. In a lifetime, it's nothing, of course, but I consider it a good lifetime anyway.
While I don't do it very often, I have adopted the Parisian habit of having a cigarette and contemplating life -- sometimes just stepping out on the balcony just before the sun goes down and watching the sky change while the cigarette burns away -- it's a very zen moment, shall we say. Well, today I was taking a smoke break; I should have been working, but was instead waiting for my computer to load the latest Glee episode, and was out on the balcony --- and had a moment.
It struck me suddenly how far away Paris used to be to me. I remembered this summer, thinking about how far and exotic Paris was and would be. How stressful the visa process was, and how I used to freak out -- quietly or otherwise -- whenever I thought about how soon I was leaving, and for how long. It just seemed strange to me, in that moment, now so deeply entrenched in the Parisian life -- how far away it used to be.
Sometimes I remember conversations I had before I left and I have to remind myself that they were in English. Yes, it's strange, and I notice it -- I think, no wait, that was in English. That was before I spoke French daily and the vast majority of my conversations were in my natural tongue -- and somehow, that seems really strange to me now. Sometimes even here I have to remind myself that the people talking French to each other are actually talking in their natural language. Invariably, I think about when I'll have to do that, and it always seems strange.
Yesterday I called the toll free number on student universe to officially change my plane ticket from May 31st to August 1st. I got a recording saying that due to the tsunami in Japan their phone services are limited. What Japan has to do with student universe is beyond me, and makes me quite apprehensive for when I actually DO get on the phone with a representative -- somebody, no doubt, in Japan -- but it's no big deal, I can wait. It just seemed like a big step -- official. By the time I leave, it will be eleven full months.
And now? Is Paris far away?
It's far in the sense that I have to calculate somewhere between 6-8 hours of time change if I want to talk to my family or friends. It's far in that it's now been a REALLY long time since I've seen these people, and while with Skype it's like they're just on the other side of the screen, hiding behind your computer -- it's not the same. I had a friend from Columbia in town this weekend and there is nothing like having them there, real and breathing and just taking up space, moving the air. In that way, yes, I suppose it's far.
But these days I can't imagine being anywhere else. It's like sometimes I think about where Paris is on the map and how I'm practically on the other side of the world from where I grew up -- but it doesn't matter anymore. The people I'm surrounded by have been here, for the most part, their whole lives, and so have I. It's like I can't conceptualize the distance between me and where home used to be, but all I know is I'm here and living here is as easy as breathing.
Thank god I wasn't ever tempted to go just for the semester.
One thing about having a time limit -- something I know far, far, far too well -- is that no matter what you're doing, it stays with you. Or at least, it tries to. It's like the more fun you have, you know the harder it will be to leave. And so I suppose I have the choice -- but for me it's not a choice. If I leave my soul behind in Paris, well, then so be it. But it's true that sometimes I have trouble not thinking about it -- about the fact that February absolutely vanished on me and now we're halfway through March and I'm now over half done with my time here. Booking my flight for August 1st means that on August 1st I'll be boarding a giant ass jet with two giant ass suitcases that can't possibly hold my life here. It means that life goes on.
Before I left, I sometimes had the strange thought that the people I know won't recognize me when I come back. Of course that's not true, but recently I've been thinking that, in some ways, it's true. The girl who I was when I left will never come back, because she doesn't exist anymore. The one who's coming back -- well, you'll see. She'll the same person you always knew, but she's nothing like her. It's hard to explain.
I think I've said this before, but sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to build a life somewhere and then finish it --- instead of leaving when the bloom is just on the rose, so to speak. But I guess that's not really fair -- because maybe on August 1st, I will have finished. I will have lived an entire life, and finished it. Or maybe I'll just leave it for a time and come back. How should I know?
In any case, spring is coming and my nose is thanking all the pollen. Construction has begun -- directly over my head -- and the sun is out a noticeable percentage of the time more than it used to be. The wind is doux, and you can feel the world starting to pick up it's winter-weary head and sniff the air. I was here for fall, for winter. Now for spring, and soon -- summer.
A nice full circle. A complete life.
I do seem to go through them.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
A Week in Avignon, just for variety's sake
The pictures are up on my photobucket if you care to check them out. The sun was out and it looks warm in the pictures, but it wasn't, because the Mistral blows in from the North and cuts into your bones. It funnels through the ancient, one-car streets with tiny sidewalks if at all, and the old walls. Everything feels like it's been preserved since the Middle Ages, the Palais des papes still as majestic as it might have been, the churches, even the houses, especially the streets. The sun bleaches everything white and colors, the blue sky contrasting sharply with the lines of the buildings. It's beautiful -- I shouldn't have to say that.
What can I tell you about what I was doing there?
In theory: dancing. Well, not just in theory -- I had a class every day for 3 hours. In the evenings, I saw a show and went out for drinks or ate with friends. In the mornings I went exploring, slept in, or had meetings about my research project.
That's the simple version, at least. I found my demons there and had a bit of an incident involving them, then spent the rest of the time finding my way away from them. I went down, then up. I met people, and talked. I went looking for my center, and for dance that means something. The time went so quickly and yet I felt like I was gone for ages. I shared a two bedroom apartment with seven others. I didn't see a lot of dance in the shows I liked. I wondered what the hell I was doing there, and I figured it out. I went out dancing with my friends and my teachers and spent the night listening to swing music in a bar run, from what I gathered, by the Russian mafia, or at least had some connection to Russians and the mafia. I went to a bar where they bring you fries and hot dogs all night. I sat and ate lunch in the Jardin des doms and watched pigeons chase each other around. I was sick all week, though I'm now convinced it was allergies.
My god, it's already the ninth of March. We just started March, right? Or February? Time has entered warp speed. It's almost spring, right? I can't say I'll be sorry to say goodbye to winter. Gray skies-- I've had enough. Bring on the sun, the warmth, the gold bathing the streets. In five weeks it'll be spring break. I've been here six months and a couple weeks.
One of these days I'll learn how to build lives and then stay in them, instead of leaving them while they're still pulsing and creating.
Or maybe I'll just keep on creating new ones, passing from one to another, keeping what I can from the old -- but that's the tricky part, of course.
I'm sorry for the randomness of this post -- my head is a little everywhere right now. The sky outside my window is looking dangerously like rain and it's not been the best of days. I'm not en forme, as they'd say in French. Hey, it happens. I've been exhausted ever since I got home from Avignon -- I didn't sleep a ton when I was there, and neither over the weekend. Since the high school was on academic holiday for two weeks before I left, it was essentially three weeks of vacation --- and now it all restarts, with interest. Rehearsals on saturdays for my show in April, a research project, another project with my sister, various odds and ends. It looks like more than it is, I'm sure.
...Yeah that's all I have for now. I will attempt to update when I know where my own head is.
What can I tell you about what I was doing there?
In theory: dancing. Well, not just in theory -- I had a class every day for 3 hours. In the evenings, I saw a show and went out for drinks or ate with friends. In the mornings I went exploring, slept in, or had meetings about my research project.
That's the simple version, at least. I found my demons there and had a bit of an incident involving them, then spent the rest of the time finding my way away from them. I went down, then up. I met people, and talked. I went looking for my center, and for dance that means something. The time went so quickly and yet I felt like I was gone for ages. I shared a two bedroom apartment with seven others. I didn't see a lot of dance in the shows I liked. I wondered what the hell I was doing there, and I figured it out. I went out dancing with my friends and my teachers and spent the night listening to swing music in a bar run, from what I gathered, by the Russian mafia, or at least had some connection to Russians and the mafia. I went to a bar where they bring you fries and hot dogs all night. I sat and ate lunch in the Jardin des doms and watched pigeons chase each other around. I was sick all week, though I'm now convinced it was allergies.
My god, it's already the ninth of March. We just started March, right? Or February? Time has entered warp speed. It's almost spring, right? I can't say I'll be sorry to say goodbye to winter. Gray skies-- I've had enough. Bring on the sun, the warmth, the gold bathing the streets. In five weeks it'll be spring break. I've been here six months and a couple weeks.
One of these days I'll learn how to build lives and then stay in them, instead of leaving them while they're still pulsing and creating.
Or maybe I'll just keep on creating new ones, passing from one to another, keeping what I can from the old -- but that's the tricky part, of course.
I'm sorry for the randomness of this post -- my head is a little everywhere right now. The sky outside my window is looking dangerously like rain and it's not been the best of days. I'm not en forme, as they'd say in French. Hey, it happens. I've been exhausted ever since I got home from Avignon -- I didn't sleep a ton when I was there, and neither over the weekend. Since the high school was on academic holiday for two weeks before I left, it was essentially three weeks of vacation --- and now it all restarts, with interest. Rehearsals on saturdays for my show in April, a research project, another project with my sister, various odds and ends. It looks like more than it is, I'm sure.
...Yeah that's all I have for now. I will attempt to update when I know where my own head is.
Friday, February 25, 2011
A Day in the Life, Thursday 24 Fèvrier
Wednesday hadn't been a good day. It had started with a couple of gypsy girls ambushing me at the ATM, pressing buttons, changing the amount I was requesting, and generally trying to distract me long enough to get the cash and my card and run. I yowled and thankfully there was a guy nearby who came over to chase them away -- they had demanded 300 euros, which surprisingly enough I don't have in my account at the moment, so finally in peace I got my 30 euros and went on my way, somewhat upset and shocked. The rest of the day wasn't bad, so to speak, just not great, and a few personal demons decided to show up and grab me around the throat...
Put it this way, Thursday morning wasn't particularly welcome. My alarm went off at 9am, not very early, I know. But oh lovely, the nose is stuffed up and it's gray AGAIN, this is going to be good...
But no matter what my state of mind, there is one thing that will always get me out of bed and on the metro, which is a dance class. So I dragged myself up and headed out to have some breakfast. Colette was eating at the same time and we chatted for awhile over coffee, until I realized I needed to go and put the car in gear.
I was just feeling scattered -- my mind and body tend to be really connected and the mini-breakdown of the night before was scattering my energy all over the place. Gray again, I was tired, slightly sick, and muttered various French curses on my way down the stairs.
On the metro, there was a cheerful guy with an accordion, speaking french with a heavy Arab accent and smiling. He played several bouncy tunes. I gave him a euro. It seemed a small price to pay for making me smile.
I wish I could say that I had an amazing ballet class and everything was better afterward, because that would make a good story. Only it's not true: I was off my balance the whole class, still outside of my body, and it was only the last combination of an hour and a half long class that I finally felt like I was centered. Better late than never, I guess. I felt slightly better but still frustrated as I headed back to the metro. The bums on the sidewalk all call out, "belle madamoiselle, une cigarette?" They all want cigarettes...no, I'm not interested. I ignored them all. Just easier that way, even though bumming cigarettes seems to be a national pastime.
I dropped by Reid Hall briefly to print a few things out, had a fight with the printer, and then walked home. I had lunch with Colette - the avocado I'd bought earlier in the week was absolutely perfect, the Maroccan strawberries that had been on sale were juicy and red and beautiful and really good with yogurt. Plus a "tradition", which is if possible better than a baguette, and life started to look up. Colette made some coffee and I had it with a chocolate eclair.
After all this activity, I was exhausted, and lay down for a little cat nap, which I have perfected. I slept 30/40 minutes, then kibitzed about the internet until 18h45 (6:45PM in other words)...then back on the metro.
Line 4 to Chatelet, line 1 to Franklin D Roosevelt, line 9 to Alma Marceau, where I met a friend and headed off to the Palais de Tokyo. Her idea -- apparently it has really nothing to do with Tokyo and is instead for contemporary art. Go figure.
When we got there, there were a bunch of people standing around in the lobby, as though waiting for something. Heartily confused, my friend and I bought tickets (1 euro each, not bad!), then asked the lady what was going on.
She pointed to a black box plopped in the middle of the lobby, roughly 6' X 6' X 6'. She said that there was a metal band inside, and in about five minutes they were going to open the door and reveal them.
Oh really?! We went over to the box and put our ears against it. Yep, you could hear vague pounding, but that was it. Right about then, the sound exploded as the guard swung open the front door, and sure enough! There was a metal band squashed inside. Four of them: drums, a bass, guitar, and a vocalist screaming into a microphone. Strange.
After that we actually went to the exhibit, which was even stranger. It was in the basement, in this enormous warehouse space, bare industrial walls and no lights -- the light came from the huge video projections on the wall. It was an exhibit about Amos Gitai and his father -- the films were all creations of Amos, often about his father's story. The projections really were enormous, and the sound from them was all mixed together and jumbled until you were right in front and then the one you were looking at took precedence. It was interesting -- though bizarre.
Back on the metro after that -- 9 to the 1 to the B, though I suggested the 4. I would have been right because the B was delayed, but there you go. We got off at St Michel and met another friend. Elena and I were hungry and grabbed a bucket of fries from nearby, then we headed off to a nearby bar, called The Gentleman, which is really nice. It was busy -- there was a soccer match on. However, we found a little table and crowded around it with a pint.
At the end of the first pint, Elena's boyfriend and a friend joined us and so the second pint came around, plus two more chairs around the tiny table. Five of us now, we spent another hour chattering. Although they could tell immediately that I wasn't French -- my accent gives it away, even though I speak really well -- the new additions didn't have any problem talking extremely quickly, and with the noise of the bar I really had to concentrate. However, I understood almost everything, which I was really happy about. I'd say I'm doing well if I can understand rapid fire French in a busy bar. (My accent, by the way, gets better with a little alcohol. Or at least, I talk quicker. They say you lose the editor...it's true).
We headed out a little past 11 and I went home and went to bed fairly soon after, but much happier and much more together. That is a fairly typical day at the end of the week, though usually I'm teaching. I move a lot -- I'm out about in Paris often, often with friends, always on the metro...and I love it.
However, I would be much happier if the sun would come out. Just for a little.
Put it this way, Thursday morning wasn't particularly welcome. My alarm went off at 9am, not very early, I know. But oh lovely, the nose is stuffed up and it's gray AGAIN, this is going to be good...
But no matter what my state of mind, there is one thing that will always get me out of bed and on the metro, which is a dance class. So I dragged myself up and headed out to have some breakfast. Colette was eating at the same time and we chatted for awhile over coffee, until I realized I needed to go and put the car in gear.
I was just feeling scattered -- my mind and body tend to be really connected and the mini-breakdown of the night before was scattering my energy all over the place. Gray again, I was tired, slightly sick, and muttered various French curses on my way down the stairs.
On the metro, there was a cheerful guy with an accordion, speaking french with a heavy Arab accent and smiling. He played several bouncy tunes. I gave him a euro. It seemed a small price to pay for making me smile.
I wish I could say that I had an amazing ballet class and everything was better afterward, because that would make a good story. Only it's not true: I was off my balance the whole class, still outside of my body, and it was only the last combination of an hour and a half long class that I finally felt like I was centered. Better late than never, I guess. I felt slightly better but still frustrated as I headed back to the metro. The bums on the sidewalk all call out, "belle madamoiselle, une cigarette?" They all want cigarettes...no, I'm not interested. I ignored them all. Just easier that way, even though bumming cigarettes seems to be a national pastime.
I dropped by Reid Hall briefly to print a few things out, had a fight with the printer, and then walked home. I had lunch with Colette - the avocado I'd bought earlier in the week was absolutely perfect, the Maroccan strawberries that had been on sale were juicy and red and beautiful and really good with yogurt. Plus a "tradition", which is if possible better than a baguette, and life started to look up. Colette made some coffee and I had it with a chocolate eclair.
After all this activity, I was exhausted, and lay down for a little cat nap, which I have perfected. I slept 30/40 minutes, then kibitzed about the internet until 18h45 (6:45PM in other words)...then back on the metro.
Line 4 to Chatelet, line 1 to Franklin D Roosevelt, line 9 to Alma Marceau, where I met a friend and headed off to the Palais de Tokyo. Her idea -- apparently it has really nothing to do with Tokyo and is instead for contemporary art. Go figure.
When we got there, there were a bunch of people standing around in the lobby, as though waiting for something. Heartily confused, my friend and I bought tickets (1 euro each, not bad!), then asked the lady what was going on.
She pointed to a black box plopped in the middle of the lobby, roughly 6' X 6' X 6'. She said that there was a metal band inside, and in about five minutes they were going to open the door and reveal them.
Oh really?! We went over to the box and put our ears against it. Yep, you could hear vague pounding, but that was it. Right about then, the sound exploded as the guard swung open the front door, and sure enough! There was a metal band squashed inside. Four of them: drums, a bass, guitar, and a vocalist screaming into a microphone. Strange.
After that we actually went to the exhibit, which was even stranger. It was in the basement, in this enormous warehouse space, bare industrial walls and no lights -- the light came from the huge video projections on the wall. It was an exhibit about Amos Gitai and his father -- the films were all creations of Amos, often about his father's story. The projections really were enormous, and the sound from them was all mixed together and jumbled until you were right in front and then the one you were looking at took precedence. It was interesting -- though bizarre.
Back on the metro after that -- 9 to the 1 to the B, though I suggested the 4. I would have been right because the B was delayed, but there you go. We got off at St Michel and met another friend. Elena and I were hungry and grabbed a bucket of fries from nearby, then we headed off to a nearby bar, called The Gentleman, which is really nice. It was busy -- there was a soccer match on. However, we found a little table and crowded around it with a pint.
At the end of the first pint, Elena's boyfriend and a friend joined us and so the second pint came around, plus two more chairs around the tiny table. Five of us now, we spent another hour chattering. Although they could tell immediately that I wasn't French -- my accent gives it away, even though I speak really well -- the new additions didn't have any problem talking extremely quickly, and with the noise of the bar I really had to concentrate. However, I understood almost everything, which I was really happy about. I'd say I'm doing well if I can understand rapid fire French in a busy bar. (My accent, by the way, gets better with a little alcohol. Or at least, I talk quicker. They say you lose the editor...it's true).
We headed out a little past 11 and I went home and went to bed fairly soon after, but much happier and much more together. That is a fairly typical day at the end of the week, though usually I'm teaching. I move a lot -- I'm out about in Paris often, often with friends, always on the metro...and I love it.
However, I would be much happier if the sun would come out. Just for a little.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Not Staying Inside: Free time in Paris
I would like to tell you what I've done for the past two weeks. That's kind of why I made the blog in the first place.
Here are my excuses for not updating:
1) The weather sucks. What exactly this has to do with my lack of writing, I'm not sure, but I'm sure it's related. It's gray and cold and occasionally, whenever I don't have my umbrella, it spits rain. When I don't, it's just kind of gray. Once in awhile the sun comes out for a morning, just to tease me. I disagree.
2) J'ai trop la flemme, and if I spelled that right I will be shocked. Either way, I've just had NO ambition to do anything that involves writing. Today, thanks to the weather, I had to force myself to go to ballet. But dance I can handle. But stuff like sending e-mails I keep forgetting to, you know that fun stuff, j'ai aucune envie, I just don't want to. I know, whine whine.
3) I keep going out. That is, I've been out almost too much if possible, especially this weekend. For various reasons I didn't sleep in my own bed very much this weekend, was either too far from home or out with girlfriends and it's often easier to just sleep over. I have a lot of free time right now because my students are all on vacation and off somewhere in the Alps skiing (screw them) for the February vaca that happens in French high/middle schools, so I've been taking care to keep myself occupied. Whether that's walking, drinking coffee with friends, meeting friends for lunch (sushi), taking extra dance classes, seeing movies (Les femmes au sixième étage, Black Swan), seeing exhibits (Paris: Avant Après 1860-2011, Louvre: Les appartements de Napoléon III, le code d'Hammurabi) during the day, and then at night having dinner with friends (une raclette, house warming party), out at a concert (Pont Ephémere), meeting someone for a drink, etc, it makes for a busy schedule and not a lot of sleep. It's way too much fun, actually.
Well, yeah, so the third reason is what I've been up to. In a nutshell. All over the place, now that I think about it.
Obvious piece of news: The Louvre is HUGE. They say you can walk around for two straight years and not see everything. This seems unbelievable to me, but it is still giant.
Cool thing that happened: On Tuesday, I was in a café with my friend Julia when the skies opened and then the sun came out,making an incredibly bright rainbow practically just outside the window.
I don't know why I'm telling you this piece of news: I met a French guy. Well, yes, I've met several, but I think you know what I mean. We've only seen each other twice, mais que j'ai craqué pour lui ("de craquer pour" somebody means that you get one of those giddy twirling kind of crushes on them. Voilà.)
La vie est belle, what else can I say? I'll try and update more.
Here are my excuses for not updating:
1) The weather sucks. What exactly this has to do with my lack of writing, I'm not sure, but I'm sure it's related. It's gray and cold and occasionally, whenever I don't have my umbrella, it spits rain. When I don't, it's just kind of gray. Once in awhile the sun comes out for a morning, just to tease me. I disagree.
2) J'ai trop la flemme, and if I spelled that right I will be shocked. Either way, I've just had NO ambition to do anything that involves writing. Today, thanks to the weather, I had to force myself to go to ballet. But dance I can handle. But stuff like sending e-mails I keep forgetting to, you know that fun stuff, j'ai aucune envie, I just don't want to. I know, whine whine.
3) I keep going out. That is, I've been out almost too much if possible, especially this weekend. For various reasons I didn't sleep in my own bed very much this weekend, was either too far from home or out with girlfriends and it's often easier to just sleep over. I have a lot of free time right now because my students are all on vacation and off somewhere in the Alps skiing (screw them) for the February vaca that happens in French high/middle schools, so I've been taking care to keep myself occupied. Whether that's walking, drinking coffee with friends, meeting friends for lunch (sushi), taking extra dance classes, seeing movies (Les femmes au sixième étage, Black Swan), seeing exhibits (Paris: Avant Après 1860-2011, Louvre: Les appartements de Napoléon III, le code d'Hammurabi) during the day, and then at night having dinner with friends (une raclette, house warming party), out at a concert (Pont Ephémere), meeting someone for a drink, etc, it makes for a busy schedule and not a lot of sleep. It's way too much fun, actually.
Well, yeah, so the third reason is what I've been up to. In a nutshell. All over the place, now that I think about it.
Obvious piece of news: The Louvre is HUGE. They say you can walk around for two straight years and not see everything. This seems unbelievable to me, but it is still giant.
Cool thing that happened: On Tuesday, I was in a café with my friend Julia when the skies opened and then the sun came out,making an incredibly bright rainbow practically just outside the window.
I don't know why I'm telling you this piece of news: I met a French guy. Well, yes, I've met several, but I think you know what I mean. We've only seen each other twice, mais que j'ai craqué pour lui ("de craquer pour" somebody means that you get one of those giddy twirling kind of crushes on them. Voilà.)
La vie est belle, what else can I say? I'll try and update more.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Complaining Suddenly Irrelevant: It's already February
So I spend all my time whining about how I don't like January and February, and then they do me the disservice of making me look like an idiot and whipping on by. At least the last couple weeks -- suddenly it's February 8th and the worst month of the year is 1/4 over.
I suppose it may be because I have been absolutely determined not to let the blues get me down -- I am in Paris, and thus do not consider it legitimate to mope about for two months. I've been pretty careful to keep my head in a good place and catch it whenever it gets off on one of its "I hate this time of year" rants.
It helps that the sun is coming out.
My host mom says that it's normal to have the first signs of Spring now, which, as a Colorado native growing up at 8200 feet above sea level and thus having spring sometime in late May, this is utterly bizarre to me. It seems far too early to even consider spring, but I sure hope she's right. Warmer weather and sunshine would be a-okay with me.
Of course, thanks to the temperature changes I have a lovely head cold and am somewhat in pain at the moment, but there you go. I'm still in Paris, and what's more....
I'm staying here until the end of July.
Yes you heard right. I asked a friend and got an offer to share an apartment for the summer, which means that my dream of celebrating my birthday in Paris and generally getting to see Paris in the summer is coming true. I'm going to work on finding a job, doing what I don't know yet, but we'll see. The point is, I'm here for the summer. I leave in August because there are people that I must see before I go back to New York in the fall, and I think I've gotten to the point where I know it will be the perfect time here and the perfect time to leave. Of course, I may always come back -- but that's too far away. As I've been learning to do this year -- sort of forced to learn -- I'm trying to live inside now.
One other big piece of news for the week is that this past saturday, thanks to Anne, I presented a solo - my own choreography - at a gala benefiting an association called 'Virades de l'espoir" and fights against a rare genetic respiratory disorder. It was a trip -- and I mean that in a couple different ways. The venue was in St Rèmy les Chevreuse, about an hour away on the RER train, so it's not really "à côté" as they say here, aka nearby. Also because my solo was about as different to the choreography of every other group there as Santa is to the Grinch BEFORE the Who's start singing. The other groups were all large in number, used music with a heavy dance electronic kind of beat, was just endless sharp movement, all performed facing the audience. There were a couple pieces that were the most formulaic pieces of dance I think I have ever seen.
To be fair, there was one piece that was really, really well done -- it was a mix of African and hip hop, and while I can't figure out what it was about it that made it so good, it had a emotional content, an intensity, and was just really well put together and staged.
However, I have to say that I felt pretty out of place -- my solo was really good, don't get me wrong, it's been worked on so much, but it's just a more subtle kind of dance that plays with energy and tension and suspension and release, and isn't the bang bang crowd pleasing kind of thing that was all over the place otherwise. I was pretty nervous -- it's been a LONG time since I danced a solo and it was my debut as a choreographer as well. It went well, I suppose, but there was just something kind of lacking...a kind of connection with the audience that is really important for me. It was just like, I danced, people clapped, and that was it -- but not the life-sparking, intoxicating connection that happened the other night at the Elysée Montmartre.
But there you have it, it was cool in any case.
So in general, what am I doing these days?
I'm teaching -- a lot. Three days a week I'm at the high school, one day I have private lessons. On the one day I'm not teaching English, I'm helping my dance prof at Paris 7 teach a class called "danse création". At the high school, I've ditched the idea of just bringing in a subject and talking about it -- that just doesn't work at all. Instead, we've been having debates, or, more popular, doing some roleplay. I write a scenario on a slip of paper and they imagine a conversation or sketch based on it. It's been remarkably popular, though some scenes work better than others.
As for my class at Paris 7, it's been remarkably helpful. It's sometimes incredibly overwhelming -- my teacher (also my mentor and coach) Anne often lets me lead exercises or parts of the class and will give me tips here and there. With the combination of watching the students closely, figuring out how to structure the class, and trying to give instructions and corrections in a language that still isn't perfectly familiar to me, it's exhausting!!
When I'm not teaching, I'm either on the metro or in dance class myself. I take three dance classes a week, two ballet and one contemporary. It's not enough, but it's what I can do right now. I'd have to pay for the next one myself and money's just a little tight at the moment, especially trying to plan ahead. I also still have my choreography workshop in addition. Soon I'll be adding on a directed research project, which rounds out the course list.
Yeah, I spend an incredible amount of time on the metro. While it's really cool -- it sure repeatedly ejects me from my bubble -- it does get tiring sometimes. Ah well -- can I really complain?
As the title of this post suggests, no. I can't.
In the time in between all that, I go out for drinks, for dinner. I meet friends, see films, have bitter espressos and amazing French food, eat bread. I go to soirées, I dance some more.
La vie est toujours belle.
I suppose it may be because I have been absolutely determined not to let the blues get me down -- I am in Paris, and thus do not consider it legitimate to mope about for two months. I've been pretty careful to keep my head in a good place and catch it whenever it gets off on one of its "I hate this time of year" rants.
It helps that the sun is coming out.
My host mom says that it's normal to have the first signs of Spring now, which, as a Colorado native growing up at 8200 feet above sea level and thus having spring sometime in late May, this is utterly bizarre to me. It seems far too early to even consider spring, but I sure hope she's right. Warmer weather and sunshine would be a-okay with me.
Of course, thanks to the temperature changes I have a lovely head cold and am somewhat in pain at the moment, but there you go. I'm still in Paris, and what's more....
I'm staying here until the end of July.
Yes you heard right. I asked a friend and got an offer to share an apartment for the summer, which means that my dream of celebrating my birthday in Paris and generally getting to see Paris in the summer is coming true. I'm going to work on finding a job, doing what I don't know yet, but we'll see. The point is, I'm here for the summer. I leave in August because there are people that I must see before I go back to New York in the fall, and I think I've gotten to the point where I know it will be the perfect time here and the perfect time to leave. Of course, I may always come back -- but that's too far away. As I've been learning to do this year -- sort of forced to learn -- I'm trying to live inside now.
One other big piece of news for the week is that this past saturday, thanks to Anne, I presented a solo - my own choreography - at a gala benefiting an association called 'Virades de l'espoir" and fights against a rare genetic respiratory disorder. It was a trip -- and I mean that in a couple different ways. The venue was in St Rèmy les Chevreuse, about an hour away on the RER train, so it's not really "à côté" as they say here, aka nearby. Also because my solo was about as different to the choreography of every other group there as Santa is to the Grinch BEFORE the Who's start singing. The other groups were all large in number, used music with a heavy dance electronic kind of beat, was just endless sharp movement, all performed facing the audience. There were a couple pieces that were the most formulaic pieces of dance I think I have ever seen.
To be fair, there was one piece that was really, really well done -- it was a mix of African and hip hop, and while I can't figure out what it was about it that made it so good, it had a emotional content, an intensity, and was just really well put together and staged.
However, I have to say that I felt pretty out of place -- my solo was really good, don't get me wrong, it's been worked on so much, but it's just a more subtle kind of dance that plays with energy and tension and suspension and release, and isn't the bang bang crowd pleasing kind of thing that was all over the place otherwise. I was pretty nervous -- it's been a LONG time since I danced a solo and it was my debut as a choreographer as well. It went well, I suppose, but there was just something kind of lacking...a kind of connection with the audience that is really important for me. It was just like, I danced, people clapped, and that was it -- but not the life-sparking, intoxicating connection that happened the other night at the Elysée Montmartre.
But there you have it, it was cool in any case.
So in general, what am I doing these days?
I'm teaching -- a lot. Three days a week I'm at the high school, one day I have private lessons. On the one day I'm not teaching English, I'm helping my dance prof at Paris 7 teach a class called "danse création". At the high school, I've ditched the idea of just bringing in a subject and talking about it -- that just doesn't work at all. Instead, we've been having debates, or, more popular, doing some roleplay. I write a scenario on a slip of paper and they imagine a conversation or sketch based on it. It's been remarkably popular, though some scenes work better than others.
As for my class at Paris 7, it's been remarkably helpful. It's sometimes incredibly overwhelming -- my teacher (also my mentor and coach) Anne often lets me lead exercises or parts of the class and will give me tips here and there. With the combination of watching the students closely, figuring out how to structure the class, and trying to give instructions and corrections in a language that still isn't perfectly familiar to me, it's exhausting!!
When I'm not teaching, I'm either on the metro or in dance class myself. I take three dance classes a week, two ballet and one contemporary. It's not enough, but it's what I can do right now. I'd have to pay for the next one myself and money's just a little tight at the moment, especially trying to plan ahead. I also still have my choreography workshop in addition. Soon I'll be adding on a directed research project, which rounds out the course list.
Yeah, I spend an incredible amount of time on the metro. While it's really cool -- it sure repeatedly ejects me from my bubble -- it does get tiring sometimes. Ah well -- can I really complain?
As the title of this post suggests, no. I can't.
In the time in between all that, I go out for drinks, for dinner. I meet friends, see films, have bitter espressos and amazing French food, eat bread. I go to soirées, I dance some more.
La vie est toujours belle.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wanted, Sunshine: Waiting for January to be over
To my knowledge, I have never liked January.
It is a little known fact that January is the longest month of the year. And once it is finally finished, the same day repeats 28 times. Of this I am firmly convinced and will not hear otherwise -- no matter what the days look like, February is the same day. Just repeated.
Also to my knowledge, these two particular months, especially February, are not kind to me. There is always some miniature disaster, but mostly just the little things bug the crap out of me.
And yes, I do believe these two phenomenon are related; clearly, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, I expect the first two months of the year to be shitty and thus pick out everything that is, leading myself further into the belief that they are shitty. A vicious cycle, you might say.
Well, hey, this year I am in Paris, and I can't afford to mope away two whole months, despite my inherent mistrust of them. It's just that the days
d
r
a
g
.
And it's gray, ugly, spitting rain and cold, and did I mention gray gray gray and uhhhggggglieee.*
*like the way I just wrote ugly.
What hey. I want the sunshine. I was born and bred in Colorado and the western sun good and soaked into my DNA and everywhere I go, I miss it. New York, now Paris. I don't know if I will end up living in Colorado but wherever I am I take the endless blue skies of the west with me and I firmly believe that I'm just more alive when the sun is shining.
That said, it doesn't do so very much in Paris.
Au contraire.
I've been missing it dearly this week, missing the sun. But I've been working hard not to get too complacent and whiny because my time in Paris is limited and I know it. I pay cher in euros but also in time.
(I've noticed these days that no matter how much I dance, it isn't enough. I always thought I should stop moving sometimes, but I realize that I'm just a restless person and I need to be moving, dancing walking, and so these days, especially these days, I try not to sit around too much. I need to do less of that, even still...)
This sunday was one of those patented January days. Not terribly cold at least, but spitting rain, windy. Turns your cheeks red and batters little drops of water against your face. But I couldn't stay inside, it would drive me crazy to sit and stare at the gray sky outside my window...
So I decided to take a walk. Not really knowing where I was going, I turned down a street I'd never been down before. Wandered along, looking at the shops, slowly. A pale, unhealthy sun was trying to poke through and in a few minutes of glory, succeeded, right about the time I found a random tiny little park, with tall green hedges and benches for one people, while a mother and her little girl kicked around a ball. I didn't stay long, but paused for a minute and smelled the green, this wonderful little oasis....
Then moved on. The street took me to another that I knew, the Avenue du Maine, wide and busy. I walked along, noticing my shadow walking alone on the sidewalk, the still pale, quickly vanishing sun. I was heading towards the Tour Montparnasse, I thought, and I knew where I was going.
Le Chien Qui Fume, a well known café run by the friends of my host mom, a place I now frequent. Cute, small, the regulars at the bar. People come in one and twos, meeting friends or reading books. They know me, say hello and a kiss on both cheeks.
I ordered a café express, and then was asked if I wanted a croissant or a pain au chocolat. I hadn't thought of it, but the waitress told me it was the best croissant in Paris, so I agreed finally.
She didn't lie. It was the best croissant I've ever had. With a half package of sugar the express is just bitter enough to make you awake, and I drank it slowly, reading some old bits of writing from the past year, things I keep in my "book of souls", which is not really a journal but acts like one sometimes. The colors of the café, though not garish, were bright enough to contrast sharply against the gray world outside, and the people outside bustled along with their heads down. I watched them, and ate my croissant.
I decided to walk home -- I could have easily taken the bus, but wanted to do something with my life and my energy.
But I didn't want to leave the café -- somehow it seemed like the only thing real. In my mind, I remember it being the only thing that wasn't black and white that day.
I think the moral of the story is that I need to spend my time in Oz these months -- stay away from the black and white of the outside, eat good food, drink coffee, and move. Without the sun, those are the things that keep me alive.
It is a little known fact that January is the longest month of the year. And once it is finally finished, the same day repeats 28 times. Of this I am firmly convinced and will not hear otherwise -- no matter what the days look like, February is the same day. Just repeated.
Also to my knowledge, these two particular months, especially February, are not kind to me. There is always some miniature disaster, but mostly just the little things bug the crap out of me.
And yes, I do believe these two phenomenon are related; clearly, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, I expect the first two months of the year to be shitty and thus pick out everything that is, leading myself further into the belief that they are shitty. A vicious cycle, you might say.
Well, hey, this year I am in Paris, and I can't afford to mope away two whole months, despite my inherent mistrust of them. It's just that the days
d
r
a
g
.
And it's gray, ugly, spitting rain and cold, and did I mention gray gray gray and uhhhggggglieee.*
*like the way I just wrote ugly.
What hey. I want the sunshine. I was born and bred in Colorado and the western sun good and soaked into my DNA and everywhere I go, I miss it. New York, now Paris. I don't know if I will end up living in Colorado but wherever I am I take the endless blue skies of the west with me and I firmly believe that I'm just more alive when the sun is shining.
That said, it doesn't do so very much in Paris.
Au contraire.
I've been missing it dearly this week, missing the sun. But I've been working hard not to get too complacent and whiny because my time in Paris is limited and I know it. I pay cher in euros but also in time.
(I've noticed these days that no matter how much I dance, it isn't enough. I always thought I should stop moving sometimes, but I realize that I'm just a restless person and I need to be moving, dancing walking, and so these days, especially these days, I try not to sit around too much. I need to do less of that, even still...)
This sunday was one of those patented January days. Not terribly cold at least, but spitting rain, windy. Turns your cheeks red and batters little drops of water against your face. But I couldn't stay inside, it would drive me crazy to sit and stare at the gray sky outside my window...
So I decided to take a walk. Not really knowing where I was going, I turned down a street I'd never been down before. Wandered along, looking at the shops, slowly. A pale, unhealthy sun was trying to poke through and in a few minutes of glory, succeeded, right about the time I found a random tiny little park, with tall green hedges and benches for one people, while a mother and her little girl kicked around a ball. I didn't stay long, but paused for a minute and smelled the green, this wonderful little oasis....
Then moved on. The street took me to another that I knew, the Avenue du Maine, wide and busy. I walked along, noticing my shadow walking alone on the sidewalk, the still pale, quickly vanishing sun. I was heading towards the Tour Montparnasse, I thought, and I knew where I was going.
Le Chien Qui Fume, a well known café run by the friends of my host mom, a place I now frequent. Cute, small, the regulars at the bar. People come in one and twos, meeting friends or reading books. They know me, say hello and a kiss on both cheeks.
I ordered a café express, and then was asked if I wanted a croissant or a pain au chocolat. I hadn't thought of it, but the waitress told me it was the best croissant in Paris, so I agreed finally.
She didn't lie. It was the best croissant I've ever had. With a half package of sugar the express is just bitter enough to make you awake, and I drank it slowly, reading some old bits of writing from the past year, things I keep in my "book of souls", which is not really a journal but acts like one sometimes. The colors of the café, though not garish, were bright enough to contrast sharply against the gray world outside, and the people outside bustled along with their heads down. I watched them, and ate my croissant.
I decided to walk home -- I could have easily taken the bus, but wanted to do something with my life and my energy.
But I didn't want to leave the café -- somehow it seemed like the only thing real. In my mind, I remember it being the only thing that wasn't black and white that day.
I think the moral of the story is that I need to spend my time in Oz these months -- stay away from the black and white of the outside, eat good food, drink coffee, and move. Without the sun, those are the things that keep me alive.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
An Evening in Montmartre: The View from Center Stage
It seems like more than a week since I've last updated -- I feel like it's been a long time but not that much has really happened. I'm currently caught in the throes of the January blues. I hate, I repeat, I hate this time of the year. I'm convinced that January is the longest month of the year, and just when you think it's over, the same day repeats 28 times. Not to mention it's just kind of gray and cold all the time. Paris allowed me a glance of sunshine Sunday and it just made me miss the sun more.
I've been feeling kind of stuck lately anyway, for no particular reason. I had a fight with the voices in my head on Monday (should I have admitted that?) because the one in particular was not being sympathetic to my plight. Let's just call it the voice of my conscience, shall we? In any case, I was complaining about not going anywhere, and it was like, no, you aren't, the subway is stopped right now. Not helpful, thanks very much dude. However, he has a point -- I'm not really going anywhere right now. My work is to be here, right now. It's not that easy, but I'm working on it.
I actually think I'm not dancing enough -- though it occurred to me today that no matter how much I dance, it's not enough. I had 7 straight hours on Monday and though I was exhausted afterwards, I was ready to go again Tuesday. Of course it comes down to a question of money -- something a little iffy at the present moment, for various reasons. It has to do with transfers.
I will get to the title in a minute, but for a second I'd like to tell a little anecdote. In my ballet class on Monday, my teacher was explaining something and getting on everyone for muscling through everyone. That's not dancing according to him, because anyone can make their body do something with enough training. But anyway, he was talking about wanting to dance, and he said, for me it was never a choice. Everyone says you always have a choice, and of course some people in the class just take it for leisure and work other jobs, but he said, for me I never had the choice, I had to dance.
When he said, I thought, yes. I understood completely. I've been saying for awhile, and I completed identified with him. I don't have a choice. If I had a choice, I'd probably do something different -- the dancer's life is difficult, often uncertain, and taxing. I don't have the years of technique some do. I'm behind on my training. But I mean it when I say I don't have a choice. I can't do anything different. So the only thing I have left is to make it work, somehow.
Cut to Friday night. I was at the Elysée Montmartre, a nightclub in Montmartre, one of the old cabarets. These days it's just a giant room, with two bars surrounded by people shoving for their drinks, and two coat checks that are even more insane. On the night I was there, it was a special "We are the 90's" soirée -- only 90's music! - and was absolutely packed.
Oh great, I thought. I hate clubs like that -- you can't move, it's too hot, the floor sticks, and all you can do is just kind of bop around a bit. Until 5 in the morning? Mmm, not so sure about that.
Then my friend decided to make it her mission in life to get on the stage at one end of the room, where the DJ was and a few VIPs who were bumping and grinding to the delight of the onlookers. So off we went, and she flirted shamelessly with a few people and got us on for about twenty seconds before we were kicked off.
"Come back at four," the guard told us.
4:05, we were back. By this time we were pretty good friends with the dude, and so he went off and talked to someone, and up we went.
Hey, look, room to dance. I don't remember if I had the idea first or if my body just did it -- both are possible, but I decided, hey. I'm a better dancer than anyone up here. I'm classically trained, but I can work it. I learned a bit about showboating from someone this summer and added it into my repertory. So I thought, fine. Let's see what I can do.
Give me about twenty minutes, during which I got warmed up and starting attracting attention -- my friend decided it was too hot and headed off, but I stayed -- and let me put it this way: by the time I was two, probably earlier, I already loved being the center of attention. That's just who I am. Performing. I tell you, I don't have a choice.
The point is, I got myself center stage. I had fans. At one point, I had everyone on the stage around me in a semi-circle clapping. I had people filming me with their cell phones. I had the attention, that is to say, of pretty much the entire club.
I can't tell you how amazing it felt. I've been busy spending my last semester questioning my ability to be a dancer, to join a company, technically, etc. I spend all my time wondering, and I had a hint on Friday night. Not to mention the last time I was on a stage at a nightclub, I was being upstaged by the guy I was with at the time, and while I was happy to let him have the attention at the time, this time there was nobody upstaging me. The stage was mine, and I can tell you, the vindication was pretty sweet.
The view from up there? It was a whole lot of flashing lights, heat and sweat, heads, faces and smiles, hands and arms. The beat, just the beat, the music, and sometimes the strobes blocked my view, so all there was was the music, pounding in my soul, making me move, the kind of deep, fierce joy that makes me smile like a "folle".
No, I don't have a choice. I'm just more alive when I'm dancing. It can't be helped.
The view?
It was good.
I've been feeling kind of stuck lately anyway, for no particular reason. I had a fight with the voices in my head on Monday (should I have admitted that?) because the one in particular was not being sympathetic to my plight. Let's just call it the voice of my conscience, shall we? In any case, I was complaining about not going anywhere, and it was like, no, you aren't, the subway is stopped right now. Not helpful, thanks very much dude. However, he has a point -- I'm not really going anywhere right now. My work is to be here, right now. It's not that easy, but I'm working on it.
I actually think I'm not dancing enough -- though it occurred to me today that no matter how much I dance, it's not enough. I had 7 straight hours on Monday and though I was exhausted afterwards, I was ready to go again Tuesday. Of course it comes down to a question of money -- something a little iffy at the present moment, for various reasons. It has to do with transfers.
I will get to the title in a minute, but for a second I'd like to tell a little anecdote. In my ballet class on Monday, my teacher was explaining something and getting on everyone for muscling through everyone. That's not dancing according to him, because anyone can make their body do something with enough training. But anyway, he was talking about wanting to dance, and he said, for me it was never a choice. Everyone says you always have a choice, and of course some people in the class just take it for leisure and work other jobs, but he said, for me I never had the choice, I had to dance.
When he said, I thought, yes. I understood completely. I've been saying for awhile, and I completed identified with him. I don't have a choice. If I had a choice, I'd probably do something different -- the dancer's life is difficult, often uncertain, and taxing. I don't have the years of technique some do. I'm behind on my training. But I mean it when I say I don't have a choice. I can't do anything different. So the only thing I have left is to make it work, somehow.
Cut to Friday night. I was at the Elysée Montmartre, a nightclub in Montmartre, one of the old cabarets. These days it's just a giant room, with two bars surrounded by people shoving for their drinks, and two coat checks that are even more insane. On the night I was there, it was a special "We are the 90's" soirée -- only 90's music! - and was absolutely packed.
Oh great, I thought. I hate clubs like that -- you can't move, it's too hot, the floor sticks, and all you can do is just kind of bop around a bit. Until 5 in the morning? Mmm, not so sure about that.
Then my friend decided to make it her mission in life to get on the stage at one end of the room, where the DJ was and a few VIPs who were bumping and grinding to the delight of the onlookers. So off we went, and she flirted shamelessly with a few people and got us on for about twenty seconds before we were kicked off.
"Come back at four," the guard told us.
4:05, we were back. By this time we were pretty good friends with the dude, and so he went off and talked to someone, and up we went.
Hey, look, room to dance. I don't remember if I had the idea first or if my body just did it -- both are possible, but I decided, hey. I'm a better dancer than anyone up here. I'm classically trained, but I can work it. I learned a bit about showboating from someone this summer and added it into my repertory. So I thought, fine. Let's see what I can do.
Give me about twenty minutes, during which I got warmed up and starting attracting attention -- my friend decided it was too hot and headed off, but I stayed -- and let me put it this way: by the time I was two, probably earlier, I already loved being the center of attention. That's just who I am. Performing. I tell you, I don't have a choice.
The point is, I got myself center stage. I had fans. At one point, I had everyone on the stage around me in a semi-circle clapping. I had people filming me with their cell phones. I had the attention, that is to say, of pretty much the entire club.
I can't tell you how amazing it felt. I've been busy spending my last semester questioning my ability to be a dancer, to join a company, technically, etc. I spend all my time wondering, and I had a hint on Friday night. Not to mention the last time I was on a stage at a nightclub, I was being upstaged by the guy I was with at the time, and while I was happy to let him have the attention at the time, this time there was nobody upstaging me. The stage was mine, and I can tell you, the vindication was pretty sweet.
The view from up there? It was a whole lot of flashing lights, heat and sweat, heads, faces and smiles, hands and arms. The beat, just the beat, the music, and sometimes the strobes blocked my view, so all there was was the music, pounding in my soul, making me move, the kind of deep, fierce joy that makes me smile like a "folle".
No, I don't have a choice. I'm just more alive when I'm dancing. It can't be helped.
The view?
It was good.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Paris vs. New York: A layman's view
Hey, look at that, TWO posts in one day!! Let me put it this way: being just sick enough to stay at home and not quite too sick to be flat on your back (like yesterday) has its way of being impossible boring. And so since childish computer games can only hold their appeal for so long, I thought of this subject and thought I'd write a bit.
(Disclaimer: I have an Inner Poet. Thank you).
Paris and New York are particularly related to me -- two cities I have up and moved to for school, not knowing really anyone, the surrounding geography, or street names. It happens sometimes (surprisingly often in my life, actually). However, I'm not the only one. A lot of Parisians apparently love New York, and often go to live there. I did not know this, but you can speak only French and mostly get by in New York. Go figure. They say it's the most European city in the US -- I'm not exactly sure why, but I suppose it works.
The thing is, though, is that while they are linked psychologically, they are nothing alike. As far as their characters -- yes, they move a lot, yes they are big cities and thus have more in common than, say, Cheyenne Wyoming and Los Angeles might -- they are -- well. Nothing alike.
I knew that was the case from the beginning but could never quite put my finger on it, besides the obvious (HINT: it has to do with a thousand years or two of history, but I saw it the other day when Darcy and I went up the Tour Montparnasse and looked at Paris from way up high.
Here's something you need to know about New York: Seen from up high, especially at night, New York is impossibly beautiful. It makes sense from up there -- the grids, the lights, the sky scrapers jostling for a position in the skyline, the endless, twinkling lights lights lights, and you just can't hear the madness from up here. All the cars, or most of them, are yellow, and everything could be glamorous.
The truth is, bluntly, is that Paris just doesn't make sense from above. There is no rhyme or reason, and from above it just makes things confusing. The buildings, from the most part, look alike, and there is no street pattern -- they wind around each other in no particular order, spitting out onto the occasional grand boulevard. Here and there, the great monuments pop up, the space around them strangely and bizarrely empty, as though they have warning fences around them. Do Not Touch, it seems to say. Historically Important.
No, from above, the character of Paris is wiped out-- because it's here, on the streets, below the buildings. Only from here you can see the differences, the different types of balconies. Only from here can you see what's hiding under the eaves of the boutiques of the Rez-des-chaussées. The boulangeries, épiceries, patisseries, brasseries, cafés...you can't see it from above, but that's where Paris lives. On the streets, in the cafés. The conversations, the people, the cigarette butts scattered everywhere. The motorcycles taking never before seen traffic liberties.
Because the thing is, history is taken for granted here, even as people cling desperately to it. No monuments must be changed. If it's historical, it must be preserved. The boulangerie that you go to everyday has always been there and probably will be.
In many ways, Paris has become, I think, a museum city, sometimes cold and unchanging like the somber austerity of the Pantheon, which for being the home of the great men, feels numb to me. The city is filled with museums of course but the city itself is a museum.
In contrast, New York is new. It breathes. It changes. Of course, it lives through its street vendors and taxi drivers and the bum you always see on the corner, but the thing about New York is that all of things build up to this bigger entity, almost, that has no real faces but everyone knows what it looks like. From above, it makes sense. Paris is only made up of what it is.
Of course I couldn't tell you which one I prefer. I think I've mentioned that I fell into living in Paris as easily as breathing, while in New York, I just loved it. Two different characters for two different cities, and if I could tell you which one or either may find me in the years to come, I would be a rich psychic.
Bisous à tous.
(Disclaimer: I have an Inner Poet. Thank you).
Paris and New York are particularly related to me -- two cities I have up and moved to for school, not knowing really anyone, the surrounding geography, or street names. It happens sometimes (surprisingly often in my life, actually). However, I'm not the only one. A lot of Parisians apparently love New York, and often go to live there. I did not know this, but you can speak only French and mostly get by in New York. Go figure. They say it's the most European city in the US -- I'm not exactly sure why, but I suppose it works.
The thing is, though, is that while they are linked psychologically, they are nothing alike. As far as their characters -- yes, they move a lot, yes they are big cities and thus have more in common than, say, Cheyenne Wyoming and Los Angeles might -- they are -- well. Nothing alike.
I knew that was the case from the beginning but could never quite put my finger on it, besides the obvious (HINT: it has to do with a thousand years or two of history, but I saw it the other day when Darcy and I went up the Tour Montparnasse and looked at Paris from way up high.
Here's something you need to know about New York: Seen from up high, especially at night, New York is impossibly beautiful. It makes sense from up there -- the grids, the lights, the sky scrapers jostling for a position in the skyline, the endless, twinkling lights lights lights, and you just can't hear the madness from up here. All the cars, or most of them, are yellow, and everything could be glamorous.
The truth is, bluntly, is that Paris just doesn't make sense from above. There is no rhyme or reason, and from above it just makes things confusing. The buildings, from the most part, look alike, and there is no street pattern -- they wind around each other in no particular order, spitting out onto the occasional grand boulevard. Here and there, the great monuments pop up, the space around them strangely and bizarrely empty, as though they have warning fences around them. Do Not Touch, it seems to say. Historically Important.
No, from above, the character of Paris is wiped out-- because it's here, on the streets, below the buildings. Only from here you can see the differences, the different types of balconies. Only from here can you see what's hiding under the eaves of the boutiques of the Rez-des-chaussées. The boulangeries, épiceries, patisseries, brasseries, cafés...you can't see it from above, but that's where Paris lives. On the streets, in the cafés. The conversations, the people, the cigarette butts scattered everywhere. The motorcycles taking never before seen traffic liberties.
Because the thing is, history is taken for granted here, even as people cling desperately to it. No monuments must be changed. If it's historical, it must be preserved. The boulangerie that you go to everyday has always been there and probably will be.
In many ways, Paris has become, I think, a museum city, sometimes cold and unchanging like the somber austerity of the Pantheon, which for being the home of the great men, feels numb to me. The city is filled with museums of course but the city itself is a museum.
In contrast, New York is new. It breathes. It changes. Of course, it lives through its street vendors and taxi drivers and the bum you always see on the corner, but the thing about New York is that all of things build up to this bigger entity, almost, that has no real faces but everyone knows what it looks like. From above, it makes sense. Paris is only made up of what it is.
Of course I couldn't tell you which one I prefer. I think I've mentioned that I fell into living in Paris as easily as breathing, while in New York, I just loved it. Two different characters for two different cities, and if I could tell you which one or either may find me in the years to come, I would be a rich psychic.
Bisous à tous.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Confessions of a mid-January Slump
When it comes down to it, I don't really have anything against January, it's actually February that I have an active dislike of, but either my normal February shit is coming early or February itself will be worse than usual.
Okay, yes, I'm whining probably too much for the situation. My only real main beef with the life at the moment refers to a vicious cold that has laid me out flat for the last, oh, 48 hours or so. I don't usually get this sick, and while Colette astutely pointed out that it's just a cold and it's not that "grave", normally my colds just get in my way without actively attacking me. Either way, after spending the ENTIRE day yesterday in bed, I decided to pretend I was a human being today and take a shower, get dressed. I still refuse to leave the house, but I'm making progress.
Another problem is that I'm bored as heck. This has something to do with the fact that I refuse to go out in public in the state I've been in for the past couple days, and there is only so much I futzing I can do on the internet, especially in a half-brained haze. But let's put it realistically: I don't have a lot to do these days, and I have never been particularly good at chilling out. I talk about it often enough -- man, I do too much, I need a vacation, what have you -- and then whenever I get more than a day or two to do nothing, I get bored.
This semester, I have the feeling, has the possibility to leave me with a fair amount of free time. I don't expect to have a lot of homework, and I'm still working on finding some new dance classes, because I don't think I'm dancing enough. I imagine things will pick up once my directed research gets going, and rehearsals for the big she-bang in April, but either way.
I need to be better than ever at living in the moment. Whether it be going out to wander around Paris, going to soirées, seeing friends -- I don't have a LOT of time left here, as much as that dismays me, and I need to profit as much as possible for the second half of my time here. (Wow).
I'll keep you updated!!
Okay, yes, I'm whining probably too much for the situation. My only real main beef with the life at the moment refers to a vicious cold that has laid me out flat for the last, oh, 48 hours or so. I don't usually get this sick, and while Colette astutely pointed out that it's just a cold and it's not that "grave", normally my colds just get in my way without actively attacking me. Either way, after spending the ENTIRE day yesterday in bed, I decided to pretend I was a human being today and take a shower, get dressed. I still refuse to leave the house, but I'm making progress.
Another problem is that I'm bored as heck. This has something to do with the fact that I refuse to go out in public in the state I've been in for the past couple days, and there is only so much I futzing I can do on the internet, especially in a half-brained haze. But let's put it realistically: I don't have a lot to do these days, and I have never been particularly good at chilling out. I talk about it often enough -- man, I do too much, I need a vacation, what have you -- and then whenever I get more than a day or two to do nothing, I get bored.
This semester, I have the feeling, has the possibility to leave me with a fair amount of free time. I don't expect to have a lot of homework, and I'm still working on finding some new dance classes, because I don't think I'm dancing enough. I imagine things will pick up once my directed research gets going, and rehearsals for the big she-bang in April, but either way.
I need to be better than ever at living in the moment. Whether it be going out to wander around Paris, going to soirées, seeing friends -- I don't have a LOT of time left here, as much as that dismays me, and I need to profit as much as possible for the second half of my time here. (Wow).
I'll keep you updated!!
Monday, January 3, 2011
No Such Thing as a Coffee To Go: Holidays in Paris
I present two situations of surreality:
December 24th: Christmas Eve. In a black dress, heels, in a huge, beautiful Parisian apartment in the 16th arrondissement, surrounded by fifteen excitable French people, for the most part all much older than me and dressed to the nines, talking loudly and quickly, as families do when they're together. Eating foie gras, oysters, shrimp, cuchon au lait, potatoes, bûches du noël, chocolate, and endless glasses of champagne. Everything decorated white, the tree, a huge mound of presents underneath . At the beginning of the evening, I knew exactly two people. By the end, everyone kissed me on the cheeks to say goodbye, said they hoped to see me soon.
This was my Christmas Eve, and it was surreal because it just seemed so far away from anything I've ever done before. The first Christmas away from home, in someone else's home, but not only that, in Paris. It struck me as somehow remarkably significant, to be celebrating like this.I stumbled home at 3 in the morning that night, drunk off champagne, and collapsed into bed -- only to wake up the next morning and, three hours later, restart the whole process with my host mom and her family.
The second moment of surreality:
December 31st, or really January 1st if you want to get technical. Another apartment in the 16th. Low lights. Young people this time, though equally unknown. My sister as well, by my side. We'd just noticed it was midnight.
"Bonne année!!" everyone yelled, turning to everyone else and kissing them on both cheeks, unless they were a couple and then on the mouth. Everyone hugging, music pounding in the background, to which we spent the next two hours dancing too. Wearing heels, of course, and something fashionable. Chatting with a new friend, who was trying to speak English for Darcy's benefit.
It was another moment, that I looked around and thought, wow, is this really my life? I thought, this is the first time I'm celebrating the New Year's in Paris. I thought, my year is starting in Paris. I loved thinking it, and had the strange feeling that though it was the first, it won't be the last.
For the past week, my sister has been in town, and it's been a ton of fun. We go out every day and see something new -- some things I've been to already, but also some new things. We went to the Musée d'Orsay, for example, which was really fun, and the displays at Printemps and Galeries Lafayette, the Ferris Wheel at the Place de la Concorde. We went back to Montmartre today -- I love Montmartre. I wish it was closer to me. Went up the Tour Montparnasse because everyone and their brother was at the Eiffel Tower. We also went to the Musée de Quai Branly and found one of the best exhibits I have ever seen in any museum.
It was called "La Fabrique des Images" and was essentially using archeological objects - like masks, tribal statues -- and art -- paintings, sculptures -- to present four different world views of the interaction between man and nature, specifically animals. The world views themselves were incredibly interesting, but what I loved about the exhibit was that it forced you to think. We started going through it without really thinking -- we were both exhausted - but about halfway through I cottoned on to the fact that there was more to it besides the objects, and we restarted and paid attention this time. Most exhibits -- in fact, all of them -- present something and just require that you look at it and go, oh hey, cool. They show something. This one synthesized. It had a connection. It had relevance. It didn't just present something, it was an intellectual exercise. It was incredibly well put together, and if you are around and have time to go there, do.
I've spent the past two weeks pretty much eating straight through. We had a super good dinner on Thursday night, where for 33 euros you got an aperitif, entrée, plat, cheese, dessert, and a café. Oh yeah, and a half bottle of wine apiece. It was really good, too, and was made more amusing by the fact that the waiter and the two elderly gentlemen on either side of us were all flirting with me at some point in the evening. The waiter was at least quite charming about it -- he asked if all the girls in New York (he had previously asked me where I was from) were as pretty as me.
Tomorrow Darcy leaves at the crack of dawn and everything goes back to normal. I start teaching again, and my choreography workshop restarts. I'll probably start dancing again as well, so there you go. I need to start eating better and cheaper as well, because I have spent SO MUCH money on food this past week. It's been really nice to have Darcy here, though I can't deny I will enjoy having my room back to myself, and though it's kind of silly, I'm also looking forward to conducting all my daily business in French again. She doesn't speak French, so I've been mostly talking in English, and I miss my French!!
It's also just been really interesting to hear her questions -- she has never been to Paris before, and so she often asks things or make observations that I realize are normal for an American -- but it's been four months since I was in America, and they occasionally seem bizarre to me. I think today was the most telling -- we were in Montmartre. I had just gotten some cash from the ATM and was looking for a café. "Why don't we go up to that coffee to go place I saw up there?" she asked, and I looked at her like she had sprouted an extra head.
"What would be the point?"
She's remarked a couple times there doesn't seem to be the concept of coffee to go, and when she asked that, I realized that I have completely bought into that idea. In New York, all the time, I bought a coffee and walked off with it, going to the next place, the next class. And now -- I honestly do not see the point. It seems so random. If you are going to get a coffee, you have to sit down in a café and drink it. Coffee to go is utterly absurd. I mean, I know the point is to wake up, technically, but still.
She also pointed to the boulangerie and asked if they might sell coffee in there, and the idea seemed absurd again to me. No, I said, the boulangerie sells baked goods and pastries, and that's it. The idea of the "coffee shop" with pastries and coffee drinks just doesn't compute anymore. It is extremely interesting to note how I think about things these days!!!
And so life goes on. 2010 is over: it was probably one of the most intense years of growth I have ever had. I had everything to gain and I did --- then I had everything to lose, and I did. I got lost, found, and love more fiercely than I ever have. 2011 has begun, the first year of my life in which my only goal has been to not make plans. I can tell you what is most likely to happen, but I refuse to set anything in stone, or even think about it. My life has been reduced to a few basic truths: I love where I am. I dance. I live. As far as anything else, tomorrow, next week, next month, I have no idea.
Bisous à tous, bonne année à vous!!!
December 24th: Christmas Eve. In a black dress, heels, in a huge, beautiful Parisian apartment in the 16th arrondissement, surrounded by fifteen excitable French people, for the most part all much older than me and dressed to the nines, talking loudly and quickly, as families do when they're together. Eating foie gras, oysters, shrimp, cuchon au lait, potatoes, bûches du noël, chocolate, and endless glasses of champagne. Everything decorated white, the tree, a huge mound of presents underneath . At the beginning of the evening, I knew exactly two people. By the end, everyone kissed me on the cheeks to say goodbye, said they hoped to see me soon.
This was my Christmas Eve, and it was surreal because it just seemed so far away from anything I've ever done before. The first Christmas away from home, in someone else's home, but not only that, in Paris. It struck me as somehow remarkably significant, to be celebrating like this.I stumbled home at 3 in the morning that night, drunk off champagne, and collapsed into bed -- only to wake up the next morning and, three hours later, restart the whole process with my host mom and her family.
The second moment of surreality:
December 31st, or really January 1st if you want to get technical. Another apartment in the 16th. Low lights. Young people this time, though equally unknown. My sister as well, by my side. We'd just noticed it was midnight.
"Bonne année!!" everyone yelled, turning to everyone else and kissing them on both cheeks, unless they were a couple and then on the mouth. Everyone hugging, music pounding in the background, to which we spent the next two hours dancing too. Wearing heels, of course, and something fashionable. Chatting with a new friend, who was trying to speak English for Darcy's benefit.
It was another moment, that I looked around and thought, wow, is this really my life? I thought, this is the first time I'm celebrating the New Year's in Paris. I thought, my year is starting in Paris. I loved thinking it, and had the strange feeling that though it was the first, it won't be the last.
For the past week, my sister has been in town, and it's been a ton of fun. We go out every day and see something new -- some things I've been to already, but also some new things. We went to the Musée d'Orsay, for example, which was really fun, and the displays at Printemps and Galeries Lafayette, the Ferris Wheel at the Place de la Concorde. We went back to Montmartre today -- I love Montmartre. I wish it was closer to me. Went up the Tour Montparnasse because everyone and their brother was at the Eiffel Tower. We also went to the Musée de Quai Branly and found one of the best exhibits I have ever seen in any museum.
It was called "La Fabrique des Images" and was essentially using archeological objects - like masks, tribal statues -- and art -- paintings, sculptures -- to present four different world views of the interaction between man and nature, specifically animals. The world views themselves were incredibly interesting, but what I loved about the exhibit was that it forced you to think. We started going through it without really thinking -- we were both exhausted - but about halfway through I cottoned on to the fact that there was more to it besides the objects, and we restarted and paid attention this time. Most exhibits -- in fact, all of them -- present something and just require that you look at it and go, oh hey, cool. They show something. This one synthesized. It had a connection. It had relevance. It didn't just present something, it was an intellectual exercise. It was incredibly well put together, and if you are around and have time to go there, do.
I've spent the past two weeks pretty much eating straight through. We had a super good dinner on Thursday night, where for 33 euros you got an aperitif, entrée, plat, cheese, dessert, and a café. Oh yeah, and a half bottle of wine apiece. It was really good, too, and was made more amusing by the fact that the waiter and the two elderly gentlemen on either side of us were all flirting with me at some point in the evening. The waiter was at least quite charming about it -- he asked if all the girls in New York (he had previously asked me where I was from) were as pretty as me.
Tomorrow Darcy leaves at the crack of dawn and everything goes back to normal. I start teaching again, and my choreography workshop restarts. I'll probably start dancing again as well, so there you go. I need to start eating better and cheaper as well, because I have spent SO MUCH money on food this past week. It's been really nice to have Darcy here, though I can't deny I will enjoy having my room back to myself, and though it's kind of silly, I'm also looking forward to conducting all my daily business in French again. She doesn't speak French, so I've been mostly talking in English, and I miss my French!!
It's also just been really interesting to hear her questions -- she has never been to Paris before, and so she often asks things or make observations that I realize are normal for an American -- but it's been four months since I was in America, and they occasionally seem bizarre to me. I think today was the most telling -- we were in Montmartre. I had just gotten some cash from the ATM and was looking for a café. "Why don't we go up to that coffee to go place I saw up there?" she asked, and I looked at her like she had sprouted an extra head.
"What would be the point?"
She's remarked a couple times there doesn't seem to be the concept of coffee to go, and when she asked that, I realized that I have completely bought into that idea. In New York, all the time, I bought a coffee and walked off with it, going to the next place, the next class. And now -- I honestly do not see the point. It seems so random. If you are going to get a coffee, you have to sit down in a café and drink it. Coffee to go is utterly absurd. I mean, I know the point is to wake up, technically, but still.
She also pointed to the boulangerie and asked if they might sell coffee in there, and the idea seemed absurd again to me. No, I said, the boulangerie sells baked goods and pastries, and that's it. The idea of the "coffee shop" with pastries and coffee drinks just doesn't compute anymore. It is extremely interesting to note how I think about things these days!!!
And so life goes on. 2010 is over: it was probably one of the most intense years of growth I have ever had. I had everything to gain and I did --- then I had everything to lose, and I did. I got lost, found, and love more fiercely than I ever have. 2011 has begun, the first year of my life in which my only goal has been to not make plans. I can tell you what is most likely to happen, but I refuse to set anything in stone, or even think about it. My life has been reduced to a few basic truths: I love where I am. I dance. I live. As far as anything else, tomorrow, next week, next month, I have no idea.
Bisous à tous, bonne année à vous!!!
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