Monday, January 31, 2011

I Was A Teenage French Girl

". . . You should know that I used to want to be a famous actress. I studied Stanislavsky, read Strasberg, played around with The Method. But I’d never imagined this as My Big Break. Here, now, in Le Marais, in this moment, what’s my motivation?

“'I told you – I’m buying the drinks.'


Wednesday, January 05, 2011

The Sheep Gets It On The New Vulgate!

". . . While watching someone slit a sheep’s throat isn’t so supremely surprising per se, watching them slit a sheep’s throat while listening to them lament about love is kinda just a bit too much. O.K. sure, all right, fine…while they were actually doing the slitting they were doing some praying, actually. (As, we can imagine, the sheep was, too.) But right after? When they hung it inside-out and upside-down to drain the brains and blood and guts and stuff? Gossip-gossip-gossip, girls-girls-girls, grumble-grumble-grumble, gab-gab-gab. And the shit they were saying! I’ve never had a Kurdish lover of my own, so I can’t really say how Kurdish men really are, really. And, of course, when you really think about it, it’s not right and fair and PC and just to judge all Kurdish men based on the behavior of some Kurdish men, but . . . The shit they were saying! Not to be unfair and unjust and un-PC or un-anything or anything, but it was like – c’est quoi, l’expression ? – it was like the blind leading the blind. Or the sheep following the sheep. Straight to the sacrificial slaughterhouse. . ."

Couples, Cuisine, Kurds...and France In Your Pants

"The thing about Paris is that if you’re gonna couple-up, you’re probably gonna be a couple mixte. That’s mixte as in dual-national, where one person is from one country and the other is from another. At minimum. Most of the time it goes like this: French-English, French-Canadian, French-American, French-Irish, French-Swedish, French-Finnish, French-Turkish, French-Tunisian, French-Brazilian, French-Korean, French-Russian, French-Portugese, French-Senegalese . . . and then there are those couples where neither person is from France at all. One couple I know is English-Japanese: To communicate, they speak French. To argue, it’s every man and/or woman for his and/or herself. (They yell at each other in their own respective languages.) I can’t think of one couple I know that isn’t mixte . . . Well, there was that French-French couple from back in the day . . . but it didn’t really work out.

". . . Being in Paris, in a couple mixte, basically boils down to food. As in: he cooks cuisine from his country (probably not boiled) and you cook cuisine from yours. (Note: Don’t even bother trying to explain the concept behind maple syrup to the French.) Every now and then you get stuck going to one of those long-ass French lunches – chez les in-laws, usually on Sunday, where they all yell at each other, all at the same time, for hours on end, and because Sunday afternoon comes after Saturday night, you’re horribly hungover as hell – but otherwise, as a couple mixte, you’re pretty much in the clear. Even when clearly hungover . . . "