Au revoir, Lost
I'm looking forward to posting a bit about this past week and what's been going on in my little life in Paris, and I will soon. But, for the moment, my mind is so preoccupied with thinking about the season finale of Lost, which will air in the US on Sunday.
I'm not usually nutty about stuff like this, but for some reason, I feel kind of emotional about the finale. I saw an interview that "Kate" (Evangeline Lilly) did on The View a while back, and I think she really made a great point - that Lost is a show that focuses on so many universally-emotional and personally-important questions that other shows in our generation don't address. And, I totally agree. It's had its shaky moments and outlandish plots, but something about it just sings to me - and to so many others, too, it seems. It could be that watching someone else's interpretation of the ultimate answer to the ultimate question - why are we here? - just seriously entertains me. But, I think in some ways, it's a little more than that, and something about "getting to the end" and "finding out what happens" helps me move along in my own little journey to find the answers I'm looking for. And, well, I think that's worth getting a little emotional over.
I'm not usually nutty about stuff like this, but for some reason, I feel kind of emotional about the finale. I saw an interview that "Kate" (Evangeline Lilly) did on The View a while back, and I think she really made a great point - that Lost is a show that focuses on so many universally-emotional and personally-important questions that other shows in our generation don't address. And, I totally agree. It's had its shaky moments and outlandish plots, but something about it just sings to me - and to so many others, too, it seems. It could be that watching someone else's interpretation of the ultimate answer to the ultimate question - why are we here? - just seriously entertains me. But, I think in some ways, it's a little more than that, and something about "getting to the end" and "finding out what happens" helps me move along in my own little journey to find the answers I'm looking for. And, well, I think that's worth getting a little emotional over.
I found this really great clip with very candid mini-interviews from the cast-members of Lost about what the show has meant to them and how they feel about it coming to an end. I think the cast are even sad to see their characters go. (FYI - there are NO spoilers here!)
Feeding my spirit
Paris is full of creativity, creative people, inspiring scenes. So many friends I have made here have inspired me to feed my creative passions that I never really knew I was starving. From knitting, to cooking, to sewing to blogging, I have found so many outlets to express my point of view and creativity that I might never have otherwise known about. My knitting group has the cream of the crop of creative types in Paris, and I'm truly inspired by them every time we meet up. I met my friend Abby at Tricothé and she is seriously creative - she turns all kinds of objects into beauitful treasures, and she seems to find magic in the most everyday of items. She has a perfectly charming blog where she posts her thoughts and musings on the very simply lovely life she leads in the city of lights. This post is inspired from the Marché Photo of the Week series on her blog, and hopefully it will become a regular on this blog, too.
This past week brought the devastating news of the passing of one of my dearest aunts, an incredible, bold and loving soul who taught me that many of life's grey days could be brightened with a funny joke and a hearty laugh. After a few days of grieving and reflection in hibernation, I finally left the apartment to live again. The sun came out this morning, and we took to the marché to embrace its warmth and energy.
My Aunt Clare loved to cook, and she introduced me to so many new flavors and recipes in my younger years that inspire my culinary endeavors to this day. My first manicotti, my first split pea soup - she was a whiz in the kitchen who influenced my palate and fed my creativity at the stove. Her spirit of life and her passion for sharing delicious food with the ones she loved will always resonate in my heart and in my kitchen.
This past week brought the devastating news of the passing of one of my dearest aunts, an incredible, bold and loving soul who taught me that many of life's grey days could be brightened with a funny joke and a hearty laugh. After a few days of grieving and reflection in hibernation, I finally left the apartment to live again. The sun came out this morning, and we took to the marché to embrace its warmth and energy.
My Aunt Clare loved to cook, and she introduced me to so many new flavors and recipes in my younger years that inspire my culinary endeavors to this day. My first manicotti, my first split pea soup - she was a whiz in the kitchen who influenced my palate and fed my creativity at the stove. Her spirit of life and her passion for sharing delicious food with the ones she loved will always resonate in my heart and in my kitchen.
Today's marché finds (Marché Président Wilson):
sliced speck and fioccia
mozzarella di bufala
white onions
green asparagus
limes
eggplant
bean sprouts
spring onions
fresh parmesan
arugula
Thai rice noodles
jasmin rice
freshly ground beef (not shown)
On this week's menu:
Mom's baked spaghetti
Asparagus chardonnay risotto
Italian meat, mozarella, onion, arugula pizza (crust recipe)
Eggplant parmesan on buttered linguini
Eur-woes
Since Gui and I travel at least once a year to the States, we try to track the movements of the Euro against the US Dollar so we can capitalize on the best exchange rates for our trips. We've usually been pretty good about exchanging our currencies at really favorable rates, which lets us spend a bit more when we're visiting and going out in The Land of Plenty. Back in November, we talked about exchanging our fancy European money while it was towering over the dollar at about $1.50. But my overly-confident optimism kept our Euros in the bank and our American bank account stagnant. Since then, it's all been literally downhill for the Euro, and we'll likely be forced to deal with a relatively even, Dollar-for-Euro exchange rate while we're visiting next month. Which sucks.
While I'm clearly no expert on the subject, it wouldn't surprise me to see the Euro pan out flat against the Dollar in the coming months. With all the uncertainties surrounding the Greek and Spanish economies (and the French one, for that matter), the Euro seems to be holding less and less water these days. Luckily for Gui and I, we don't have a problem subsisting on 79¢ tacos and $1 Lone Star. America The Great, indeed!
While I'm clearly no expert on the subject, it wouldn't surprise me to see the Euro pan out flat against the Dollar in the coming months. With all the uncertainties surrounding the Greek and Spanish economies (and the French one, for that matter), the Euro seems to be holding less and less water these days. Luckily for Gui and I, we don't have a problem subsisting on 79¢ tacos and $1 Lone Star. America The Great, indeed!
Graph tracking the Euro against the dollar from BBCnews.com
Rain + Monday = Nothin' to do but frown
Today sucked for no good reason. It was rainy. It was cold. It was Monday. And everyone seemed to be wearing their grumpy pants. Karen Carpenter is familiar with this rainy Monday phenomenon, it seems, and somehow, hearing her sing it kind of makes me feel a little bit better.
So, here's to sunny Tuesday...
So, here's to sunny Tuesday...
Fun in the sun
Since last Friday, the sun has been shining as bright as it ever has in Paris , and Gui and I have been taking full advantage of the beautiful weather all weekend. Our friend, Juliet had the foresight to plan a barbecue on the most perfect day we’ve had all year, around which we gladly planned our weekend. Our first stop on Saturday was at my favorite local marché (on Avenue Président Wilson). Although Gui doesn’t agree with me, it totally beats out the Avenue Versailles marché which is held on Sundays and is about 15 minutes closer to our apartment. It’s not like it’s really a “better” marché, but to me, it just seems more authentic…more “French.” And, besides being fooled by fake farm-fresh eggs, the products just seem nicer – and the people do, too.
It was a perfect morning for some marché shopping, though, and after gathering all the necessities (and a few luxuries in the form of 50€/kg cheese), we hopped on a metro back home where I worked-up a batch of my mom’s version of my Aunt Mary’s potato salad. We headed over to the barbecue as early as possible to take full advantage of the glorious sunshine and fresh green grass, which can be really hard to come by ‘round these parts. Everyone was all laughter and smiles, and as delectable as the assortment of grilled burgers and American goodies was, the best part of the barbeque was easily the company. Give us an imported barbecue grill, a plush, green yard, and lots of sunshine, and nothing can stop us from being the happiest people in Paris .
Sunday gave us a few more clouds than Saturday, but Gui and I didn’t let them stop us from going through with our plans for a bike-ride to the Eiffel Tower . It's been a long time since we've been bike-riding, and I've always wanted to see how long it would take to get to the Champs de Mars from our place, so Gui hopped on his bike (generously given to him by our friend Justin who returned to the States) and I rented a velib', and off we went! All I can say is, man, do I need to work out more! The half-hour bike ride there tired me out a bit, but the crazy uphill ride back to our apartment is what really got me. We took our time, though and enjoyed the spectacular views along the way. There really is a magic in the Paris air during Spring, and it somehow just wipes the slate clean from the grim memories of a bitter winter. Vive le soleil!
Vente privée
One of the many perks (and quite possibly the best one) of my job includes priority access to many vente privées throughout the year. A vente privée literally translates to "private sale," but saying it in English doesn't quite give off the same meaning as when I hear it in French. I'd compare it more to a special few days when guests can shop a brand name at their leisure and pay for their items at a very generous employee discount. Sometimes, this means that the sale will be full of past seasons' collections or off-colored and blemished items, but that is not usually the norm.
Last year, I attended my first vente privée in Paris, and it was such an adrenaline rush. Usually, a huge line forms before the sale begins, and depending on the brand's popularity, it could continue throughout the day. Most sales are held in spaces or warehouses specifically designed and purposed for such, which means they are professionally staffed with people who run these kinds of private sales for a living. Nothing but wallets and cell phones are permitted on the selling floor, so a mandatory coat and purse check is the first place to visit after showing your invitation and ID to the security guard at the door (once you've finally made it there). Then, you grab a massive plastic bag and fill it with as many shoes, purses, wallets, and clothes your heart desires before finally sorting it out into "keep" and "sadly leave behind" piles.
There are no dressing rooms to try your clothes on, so oftentimes, you'll catch a glimpse at someone's undies or see people posing with their hangered treasures in front of the few mirrors available. Most bags, shoes and haute couture items are placed on shelved walls guarded by staff members who stand in front of the shelves and behind a table of display bags. You can usually grab what you want from the table, but if you notice something sparkling on the shelf, you can simply ask for it from the staff member.
As much as it all sounds like such a privileged and organized event, it can get pretty ugly. I went to a sale a few weeks ago on its third day of opening (vente privées can last anywhere from one to five or more days), and could not believe the chaos that normally respectable ladies were causing ... for fabric bags, no less! The staff can only stock so much on display, so the rest is left hidden "backstage" in cardboard boxes that don't give any indication as to what's in them. For deal-desperate shoppers, this means that as the day goes on, there will be more stock with possibly newer items available for sale, so, someone's dream bag could be trapped in a cardboard box and not come out until the end of the sale. And, that's what these "ladies" were hoping would happen for them if they waited and pushed long enough. Despite there being limits on how many bags and shoes can be purchased, these women had gobs of handbags well over the limit and had invited every friend, neighbor and cousin to come with them so they could amass the most stock possible. I could barely stand the insanity, so I left empty-handed from that sale and swore to never again wait to come when the invitation is extended beyond the employees of the company (it's usually open to anyone with an invite after the first day).
There are a few "big" brands that everyone looks forward to but are really strict on the amounts of items you can buy and whether or not you can bring a guest (you usually can't for the popular brands). And, as for the prices, well, they're quite good considering the brand that's being sold and the retail prices that the items would normally sell for. But, these are expensive goods we're talking about here, so it's kind of just relative.
My job has definitely fed my desire for fancy purses and logoed shoes that I never really had so much before. Women at my office are often dressed head to toe in recognizable designer threads, so walking around in my Zara dress, H&M heels and Gap handbag doesn't turn many heads for the right reason. And, mostly I'm OK with that. I never buy everything I want, but I often rationalize my rare vente privée splurges by reminding myself that every Parisienne needs a nice handbag (or four) and that I won't have access to the sales once my work contract is up. Now, rationalizing my need for three more handbags to Gui, well that's another story, and obviously, he's no longer sensitive to my so-called "need" to fit in.
Last year, I attended my first vente privée in Paris, and it was such an adrenaline rush. Usually, a huge line forms before the sale begins, and depending on the brand's popularity, it could continue throughout the day. Most sales are held in spaces or warehouses specifically designed and purposed for such, which means they are professionally staffed with people who run these kinds of private sales for a living. Nothing but wallets and cell phones are permitted on the selling floor, so a mandatory coat and purse check is the first place to visit after showing your invitation and ID to the security guard at the door (once you've finally made it there). Then, you grab a massive plastic bag and fill it with as many shoes, purses, wallets, and clothes your heart desires before finally sorting it out into "keep" and "sadly leave behind" piles.
There are no dressing rooms to try your clothes on, so oftentimes, you'll catch a glimpse at someone's undies or see people posing with their hangered treasures in front of the few mirrors available. Most bags, shoes and haute couture items are placed on shelved walls guarded by staff members who stand in front of the shelves and behind a table of display bags. You can usually grab what you want from the table, but if you notice something sparkling on the shelf, you can simply ask for it from the staff member.
As much as it all sounds like such a privileged and organized event, it can get pretty ugly. I went to a sale a few weeks ago on its third day of opening (vente privées can last anywhere from one to five or more days), and could not believe the chaos that normally respectable ladies were causing ... for fabric bags, no less! The staff can only stock so much on display, so the rest is left hidden "backstage" in cardboard boxes that don't give any indication as to what's in them. For deal-desperate shoppers, this means that as the day goes on, there will be more stock with possibly newer items available for sale, so, someone's dream bag could be trapped in a cardboard box and not come out until the end of the sale. And, that's what these "ladies" were hoping would happen for them if they waited and pushed long enough. Despite there being limits on how many bags and shoes can be purchased, these women had gobs of handbags well over the limit and had invited every friend, neighbor and cousin to come with them so they could amass the most stock possible. I could barely stand the insanity, so I left empty-handed from that sale and swore to never again wait to come when the invitation is extended beyond the employees of the company (it's usually open to anyone with an invite after the first day).
There are a few "big" brands that everyone looks forward to but are really strict on the amounts of items you can buy and whether or not you can bring a guest (you usually can't for the popular brands). And, as for the prices, well, they're quite good considering the brand that's being sold and the retail prices that the items would normally sell for. But, these are expensive goods we're talking about here, so it's kind of just relative.
My job has definitely fed my desire for fancy purses and logoed shoes that I never really had so much before. Women at my office are often dressed head to toe in recognizable designer threads, so walking around in my Zara dress, H&M heels and Gap handbag doesn't turn many heads for the right reason. And, mostly I'm OK with that. I never buy everything I want, but I often rationalize my rare vente privée splurges by reminding myself that every Parisienne needs a nice handbag (or four) and that I won't have access to the sales once my work contract is up. Now, rationalizing my need for three more handbags to Gui, well that's another story, and obviously, he's no longer sensitive to my so-called "need" to fit in.
My latest splurge.
My latest sacrifice. (So sad.)
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