Sunday, January 30, 2005
I'm not hating Lleyton Hewitt that much tonight. Although generally he's rather cunty, he's quite tolerable off court. Best of all, HE LOST tonight's final (in YOUR FACE Channel 7 commentary team!). If he really wants to move off the shit list, he should make Bec Cartwright scrape off her fake tan. Possibly with the trowel she uses to apply it in the first place.
However, the biggest embarrassment for Australia has got to go to Olivia Newton-John's WTF Centre Court appearance tonight singing some inappropriate song completely off-key. Oh, if only she'd had throat cancer.
Lastly, I know I shouldn't beat a dead horse, but oh man, Lisa FUCKIN' McCune.
Hell Has Harbour Views aired tonight and it's not too shabbily adapted. Apart from FUCKIN' McCune it was also surprisingly well cast (but geez - Peter O'Brien, Steve Bisley and the other usual suspects - don't we have anyone else?). The beautiful Freya Stafford (last seen on White Collar Blue) was wonderful and out-acted everyone. But enough of the good, on with the bad:
Lisa FUCKIN' McCune and her snow peas. Not only was I assaulted by her craptacular acting but also her shite-tastic sex scenes. (No, scat was not involved, I'm talking about quality here). As Dave has pointed out, she's managed to take her kit off in every movie appearance since Blue Heelers.
In addition to her poorly faked orgasms she has, shall we say, a physique of surf board proportions. And, if you were rendered ill upon seeing Gwyneth's ne nes in Shakespeare in Love, step AWAY from this movie. I don't understand why this is such a recurring phenomenon. Who the hell wants to see FUCKIN' McCune naked anyway? I mean, if you aren't left instantly blind after seeing her trying to be teh sex, you certainly get that way after having to douse your eyes in bleach.
In sum, Lisa please: Stop taking your clothes off because no one wants to see your FUCKIN' McCunes, mmmkay?
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However, the biggest embarrassment for Australia has got to go to Olivia Newton-John's WTF Centre Court appearance tonight singing some inappropriate song completely off-key. Oh, if only she'd had throat cancer.
Lastly, I know I shouldn't beat a dead horse, but oh man, Lisa FUCKIN' McCune.
Hell Has Harbour Views aired tonight and it's not too shabbily adapted. Apart from FUCKIN' McCune it was also surprisingly well cast (but geez - Peter O'Brien, Steve Bisley and the other usual suspects - don't we have anyone else?). The beautiful Freya Stafford (last seen on White Collar Blue) was wonderful and out-acted everyone. But enough of the good, on with the bad:
Lisa FUCKIN' McCune and her snow peas. Not only was I assaulted by her craptacular acting but also her shite-tastic sex scenes. (No, scat was not involved, I'm talking about quality here). As Dave has pointed out, she's managed to take her kit off in every movie appearance since Blue Heelers.
In addition to her poorly faked orgasms she has, shall we say, a physique of surf board proportions. And, if you were rendered ill upon seeing Gwyneth's ne nes in Shakespeare in Love, step AWAY from this movie. I don't understand why this is such a recurring phenomenon. Who the hell wants to see FUCKIN' McCune naked anyway? I mean, if you aren't left instantly blind after seeing her trying to be teh sex, you certainly get that way after having to douse your eyes in bleach.
In sum, Lisa please: Stop taking your clothes off because no one wants to see your FUCKIN' McCunes, mmmkay?
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Thursday, January 27, 2005
Thanks to the subtitle options on my Sex and the City DVDs, my French vocab has improved exponentially. I thought I’d share some of the new words I've learnt – because education is important. (Grammatical accuracy not guaranteed).
Un salaud (n.) – asshole, jerk (also, un connard)
Richard Wright mangeait le chatte* d’une autre femme. Quel salaud!
*pussy
Une salope (n.) – bitch, slut
Lainey, leur amie de Conneticut est une grande salope parce qu’elle a volé “Shayla”, le nom de bébé de Charlotte.
Baiser (v.) – to fuck (also, taper)
Pendant qu’il baisait Charlotte, le mec* a crié après-t-elle “Tu es une salope! Une putain, toi!”.
*guy/boyfriend
(Le?) bite (n.) – Cock, dick
James, qui etait un copin de Samantha, avait un bite si petit qu’elle ne sens rien.
Les couilles (n.) – Balls
Steve avait le cancer des couilles. Pauvre Steve.
Les ne nes (n.) – titty witties
L’homme qui parlait comme un bébé aimait bien “les ne nes” en caoutchouc de Samantha.
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Un salaud (n.) – asshole, jerk (also, un connard)
Richard Wright mangeait le chatte* d’une autre femme. Quel salaud!
*pussy
Une salope (n.) – bitch, slut
Lainey, leur amie de Conneticut est une grande salope parce qu’elle a volé “Shayla”, le nom de bébé de Charlotte.
Baiser (v.) – to fuck (also, taper)
Pendant qu’il baisait Charlotte, le mec* a crié après-t-elle “Tu es une salope! Une putain, toi!”.
*guy/boyfriend
(Le?) bite (n.) – Cock, dick
James, qui etait un copin de Samantha, avait un bite si petit qu’elle ne sens rien.
Les couilles (n.) – Balls
Steve avait le cancer des couilles. Pauvre Steve.
Les ne nes (n.) – titty witties
L’homme qui parlait comme un bébé aimait bien “les ne nes” en caoutchouc de Samantha.
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Worst gangstamoll autobiography cover EVAH:
URGH!
What is Judith Moran doing submitting herself to an Oprah Makeover Special and airbrushing herself into near transparency?? Her public demands a cover with a pump action shotgun and several fags hanging out her mouth.
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URGH!
What is Judith Moran doing submitting herself to an Oprah Makeover Special and airbrushing herself into near transparency?? Her public demands a cover with a pump action shotgun and several fags hanging out her mouth.
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Sunday, January 23, 2005
Memo to the fuckers at apple
re: iPod Shuffle
I have spent the last 7 hours installing and reinstalling your cunty software, combing your "support" site and trawling the net for assistance by computer geeks on how I can get my PC to recognise your unworkable program. DIE.
Please understand that "Make sure your computer meets the system requirements for iPod or iPod mini.", is actually NOT a "Solution". Who do you think you are? Microsoft?? And next time you launch a product you might want to spare some resources from your marketing juggernaut to include a number for the techsupport hotline so that I will have someone to abuse for your incompetence instead of having to just sit here seething impotently on blogger.
I hate you all. Die painfully.
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re: iPod Shuffle
I have spent the last 7 hours installing and reinstalling your cunty software, combing your "support" site and trawling the net for assistance by computer geeks on how I can get my PC to recognise your unworkable program. DIE.
Please understand that "Make sure your computer meets the system requirements for iPod or iPod mini.", is actually NOT a "Solution". Who do you think you are? Microsoft?? And next time you launch a product you might want to spare some resources from your marketing juggernaut to include a number for the techsupport hotline so that I will have someone to abuse for your incompetence instead of having to just sit here seething impotently on blogger.
I hate you all. Die painfully.
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Tuesday, January 18, 2005
I need to stay off eBay - today, I bought a set of golf clubs. Apparently I don't have enough hobbies to which I can half-arsedly apply myself.
MSB and I spent Saturday afternoon at Moore Park: between catching a screening of Sideways and getting dinner at Fox Studios, we thought we'd have a go at the Moore Park driving range. (Moore Park is not only a former slum and gathering ground for flashers and tree masturbators but has a council run golf course with one of those big, fuck-off three tier driving ranges).
It is so addictive. Before we knew it, we had spent 60 bucks on about 400 balls. It is so cathartic. I mean just look at the ball: do you see the HR director's face? WHACK! Do you see the faces of those screechy brats that pack out Coles when you try to get your groceries on a Saturday morning? WHACK! WHACK! Do you see that sleazy senior associate who suggested that you and he should "do it" and get it "out of our systems (*vomit*)"? WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I really don't think $150 is too much to pay for hours of sweet, sweet violence.
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MSB and I spent Saturday afternoon at Moore Park: between catching a screening of Sideways and getting dinner at Fox Studios, we thought we'd have a go at the Moore Park driving range. (Moore Park is not only a former slum and gathering ground for flashers and tree masturbators but has a council run golf course with one of those big, fuck-off three tier driving ranges).
It is so addictive. Before we knew it, we had spent 60 bucks on about 400 balls. It is so cathartic. I mean just look at the ball: do you see the HR director's face? WHACK! Do you see the faces of those screechy brats that pack out Coles when you try to get your groceries on a Saturday morning? WHACK! WHACK! Do you see that sleazy senior associate who suggested that you and he should "do it" and get it "out of our systems (*vomit*)"? WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I really don't think $150 is too much to pay for hours of sweet, sweet violence.
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Monday, January 17, 2005
I tried to make a peach pie tonight. It tastes like nail polish remover. Peaches, sugar, flour and vanilla - how hard can it be?? I am so discouraged.
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Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Poet Fujiwara-no Teika on Mt Ogura 1909, SHIMOMURA Kanzan
Fine rain on Mt Yoshino 1914, KIKUCHI Hobun
Autumn Among Trees 1907, SHIMOMURA Kanzan
On Wednesday evenings the Art Gallery of NSW is open until 9pm so today we went to check out the Japanese Art of Screen Painting exhibition. It’s much smaller than last year’s SEASONS: the Beauty of Transience in Japanese Art but features a couple of large screens from that exhibition and still worth a look.
Afterwards we headed over to Matsuri on Crown Street and shared a massive sushi boat. Damn, rice and fish can be filling, especially if you follow up with a slice of lemon and lime tart with ice cream.
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Monday, January 10, 2005
Stop Lisa McCune and her shitty acting
Lisa McCune continues to ignore public pleas for her to go way and will be starring in an ABC adaptation of Hell Has Harbour Views, a funny and pretentious legal career handbook of sorts which nicely shits on the hollow dreams of aspiring lawyers. Just who the fuck green-lights these casting choices anyway? Obviously not anyone who has watched even five minutes of Marshall Law. Yes, three years on and I still cringe with embarrassment for all involved.
The ABC's Sandra Levy evidently doesn't understand the concept of "humour" (and possibly "acting") which is why McCune was cast in the first place. I mean sure, she was good in those Coles ads, but come on. As Lisa's past roles demonstrate her forte lies in emoting "boring" and "asexual" with a frequent flash of "ham". Just because she can convey the essence of someone who makes appropriate grocery choices doen't mean she should be allowed back on our televisions. It's not right.
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Lisa McCune continues to ignore public pleas for her to go way and will be starring in an ABC adaptation of Hell Has Harbour Views, a funny and pretentious legal career handbook of sorts which nicely shits on the hollow dreams of aspiring lawyers. Just who the fuck green-lights these casting choices anyway? Obviously not anyone who has watched even five minutes of Marshall Law. Yes, three years on and I still cringe with embarrassment for all involved.
The ABC's Sandra Levy evidently doesn't understand the concept of "humour" (and possibly "acting") which is why McCune was cast in the first place. I mean sure, she was good in those Coles ads, but come on. As Lisa's past roles demonstrate her forte lies in emoting "boring" and "asexual" with a frequent flash of "ham". Just because she can convey the essence of someone who makes appropriate grocery choices doen't mean she should be allowed back on our televisions. It's not right.
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Sunday, January 09, 2005
I just won the first season of Arrested Development on ebay. booYAH. Dare I say it but this show may even be better than Sienfeld.
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Saturday, January 01, 2005
Not quite a Domestic Goddess
I am fucking EXHAUSTED. Last night I stayed up to bake a lemon cake with a strawberry curd filling. The recipe was from Stephanie Alexander's chunky, door-stop opus, the Cook's Companion and I followed it pretty carefully right up until the end when, in a fit of madness I thought "Fuck this bake for 1 hour crap, I'll just throw it in the microwave for 12 minutes on high." Brilliant!
The cake was done after 12 minutes all right, but on cooling took on the consistency of a brick. I took a bite and it was like swallowing a spoonful of footpath (which then sandpapered my oesophagus on its way down). I don't get it - what happened? Why can't you just nuke cake mix and be done with it?? Stupid radiation.
New Year's Resolution 1: I WILL become a better cook.
Not being Christian has its upsides at Christmas. Instead of suffering through forced family togetherness and church-going, we like to take the opportunity to avoid seeing our relations as much as possible. It certainly gives me more time to indulge my yarn-related hobbies. I taught myself to crochet the other day.
New Year’s Resolution 2: My arts and crafts repertoire WILL expand beyond scarves and other quadrilateral shaped garments.
I did not go to a single tae kwon do training session last year. I’m too embarrassed to go back because I can't remember a single poomse pattern in its entirety. I can’t even remember the three basic thingies (or even what they’re called)! My club teaches both the ITF and WTF patterns for grading purposes which are different pattern systems but are yet similar enough to be very confusing for the lazy, dilettante martial artist. Thankfully I’ve found a site that has ITF pattern diagrams and a book at Dymocks which has the WTF ones. I have also lost much flexibility in my legs – I used to be able to do the front-on and side-on splits (in reflex angles!), whereas now, I can hardly spread them 100 degrees.
New Year’s Resolution 3: I WILL go to tae kwon do training twice a week, every week and the gym 3 times a week. I WILL kick poomse ass.
At the risk of sounding like even more of a poonsy tool, I really like learning languages. (Actually, it's probably just the idea of learning languages?). My spoken French is sufficient to keep me fed and from getting lost but it’s not much better than basic conversation level. I’ve never mastered the subjunctive and still confuse the conditional and the future tenses. Realistically, I’ll never get very good at speaking if I don’t spend time in a francophone country actually interacting with the locals.
With Vietnamese, I’m okay with speaking because my mum makes us all speak it at home. She rightly knew that if she let us speak English at home too we’d just forget it (or in the case of my sibs who were born here, never learn it at all), which would be a shame. My vocabulary isn’t too crash hot though even after a stint at Vietnamese Saturday school where I was the only 23 year old in a class of teens and pre-teens. For one brief shining moment, I was the Billy Madison of Vietnamese School.
New Year’s Resolution 4: I WILL finish the French and Vietnamese translations of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I WILL work harder on Everyday Japanese for Busy People. Occasionally, I MIGHT even watch my SATC dvds with the French dubbing switched on.
Now seems a good a time as any for a detour to post the rest of those Paris pics:
Having viewed my collection of Paris holiday snaps, it appears I’ve taken about a hundred too many pictures of and from the Eiffel Tower – in the late afternoon, the morning, at twilight, after dark, from the Trocadero, the Samaritaine Terrasse, the Arc de Triomphe, the Tuileries and whilst on a bateau-mouche ride. I admit to being the quintessential, shameless tourist.
From the Pont D’Iena
To get to the Arc you take an underground walkway from the métro at the top of the Champs Elysée (metro Charles de Gaulle Etoile). Given the intensity of the traffic in that area and the cavalier attitude of motorists, trying to cross over to the Arc from any of the streets that form spokes off the centre island would be sheer lunacy. There were no lifts and you have to climb up a steep, spiral staircase. It is not the most geriatric-friendly attraction in Paris. The Arc itself is breathtaking, especially when lit up at night. In the day time though, you can make out the moulding underneath it.
You also need to take a steep spiral staircase when you visit the Paris Catacombes, only downwards. The Catacombes are in the 14th arr. and contain some 6 million skeletons that were removed from various cemeteries over the last couple of centuries to make way for fresher corpses. The paths are dimly lit so instead of forking out 17 euros for a lampe de poche, Al and I stuck closely to a well-equipped American couple for a while. The “skeletons” were neatly piled in layers of femurs and tibias which alternated with rows of skulls. (Where had they stacked the ribcages and hipbones??). With 6 millions skeletons, the place is pretty expansive and some of the stacks reaching about 8-10 metres in depth and about 2 metres high. The ceilings were really low and with the stale air made the experience a bit oppressive and claustrophobic.
Just as maudlin but one of my favourite experiences was visiting the Père Lachaise Cemetery in the 11th Arr. It rained all afternoon and we froze our arses off but that only made for better ambience. The place is like a big, well landscaped, well-tended park. It’s also the final resting place of various literary and historical luminaries (Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Heloise & Abelard, Jim Morrison…), it didn’t feel right scrambling over other peoples' tombs to get to any of them though.
Towards the south-east corner are memorials dedicated to the Jews who had died in Nazi concentration camps. Around there are also the head stones of various Jewish families who had all died or had been largely wiped out after being deported by the Vichy government during the war. You walk through this area and just get chills.
When not surrounding ourselves with death and tragedy Al and I went off to the odd concert or jazz session. Near our place was a Jazz club called the 7 Lézards situated below a restaurant. The nice ticket lady heard our accents and knew to speak to us clearly and slowly. The first time we went the act was a Russian folk band which relied on an eclectic collection of instruments. The lead singer (who looks like she may become a crazy cat ladies later in life - if she isn’t one already) used one of those moo-in-a-can things – you know, a cylinder toy thing which when you flip it over goes, “Moooooo”? Very odd, but greatly entertaining. We came back on another night when they had on a Cuban Jazz ensemble. The lead singer this time was this amazing giantess; casting agents for Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire should check her out for the role of Madame Olympe.
Through Pariscope we got tickets to a performance of the Four Seasons at Ste Chapelle on the Îl e de la Cité. The Sainte Chapelle is this incredibly beautiful church, the sides of which are covered in stained glass. We never visited it during the day but I can only imagine how amazing it looks with shafts of coloured light falling all over the place. The perfect venue for a Vivaldi concert. Somewhat less opulent is the aptly named St Julien le Pauvre where we went for a Chopin performance. Damn, these Parisians are spoilt! Our tickets were only about 20-25 euro and the standard of the performances quite good. A couple of years ago when Nigel whats-his-face came to conduct the Four Seasons at the Opera House, a half-decent seat was about 90 bucks! Outrageous. And hello, the Sydney Festival acts are a bit shit especially for how much they cost (freebie events NWS).
Ste Chapelle – blurry because I can’t hold a camera still.
Further evidence of how spoilt Parisians are can be seen by a survey of their museums and art galleries. What an intense concentration of art and artefacts. My favourite part of the Louvre is the Sculpture Courtyard. The Orangerie was still closed for renovations so we didn’t get to see some of the big-arsed Monets. Quel disappointment. After the Picasso Museum, the D’Orsay and whatever else, I went to the Pompidou Centre and got a bout of Museum Fatigue.
There was just so much to look that my senses got overstimulated. I wish I’d paced myself better because that place is full of cool stuff. There were lots of huge part-interactive installation works like the winter garden which is this room you come into through a swinging flap in the wall and inside is like a snow cave with an all white, rocky surface terrain. There was another room covered in what looked like rolls of carpet underlay and when you ducked inside there was a (WTF?) Grand Piano. In another room the walls were covered with 3-D coloured panels and in the centre was a metal sculpture. On the outside the room was covered on the front side by vertical panels of coloured plastic so that your view of the room, the sculpture and the 3-D wall panels changes as you walk along that outside wall. Other notable works were chunks of what looked like asbestos which were nailed to the wall in various configurations. I didn’t really like those as much as this work which featured (I think) lots of suspended pantyhose of varying lengths filled with balls of sand. It looked like giant, runny boogers falling from the sky. Awesome.
As lovely as Paris is in Autumn, the ubiquitous dog poo and pall of gauloises can get a bit much. Towards the end I went on a day trip to visit Monet’s house at Giverny, about an hour’s drive north-west of Paris. There is a highway that runs right through the property! One side of the high way is his famous lily pond and on the other is the house and gardens. Despite the constant passing trucks, sitting in the garden is such a calming experience – and you do need calming because the house itself is invariably full English schoolkids on art class excursions. The garden has been cultivated so that it blooms almost all year round. Dahlias were the big flowers for Autumn.
It’s tiny in this pic, but off in the distance is Monet’s oft-painted Japanese Bridge
I like ponds.
From a bedroom window.
Oh why can’t France be a common law country??
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I am fucking EXHAUSTED. Last night I stayed up to bake a lemon cake with a strawberry curd filling. The recipe was from Stephanie Alexander's chunky, door-stop opus, the Cook's Companion and I followed it pretty carefully right up until the end when, in a fit of madness I thought "Fuck this bake for 1 hour crap, I'll just throw it in the microwave for 12 minutes on high." Brilliant!
The cake was done after 12 minutes all right, but on cooling took on the consistency of a brick. I took a bite and it was like swallowing a spoonful of footpath (which then sandpapered my oesophagus on its way down). I don't get it - what happened? Why can't you just nuke cake mix and be done with it?? Stupid radiation.
New Year's Resolution 1: I WILL become a better cook.
Not being Christian has its upsides at Christmas. Instead of suffering through forced family togetherness and church-going, we like to take the opportunity to avoid seeing our relations as much as possible. It certainly gives me more time to indulge my yarn-related hobbies. I taught myself to crochet the other day.
New Year’s Resolution 2: My arts and crafts repertoire WILL expand beyond scarves and other quadrilateral shaped garments.
I did not go to a single tae kwon do training session last year. I’m too embarrassed to go back because I can't remember a single poomse pattern in its entirety. I can’t even remember the three basic thingies (or even what they’re called)! My club teaches both the ITF and WTF patterns for grading purposes which are different pattern systems but are yet similar enough to be very confusing for the lazy, dilettante martial artist. Thankfully I’ve found a site that has ITF pattern diagrams and a book at Dymocks which has the WTF ones. I have also lost much flexibility in my legs – I used to be able to do the front-on and side-on splits (in reflex angles!), whereas now, I can hardly spread them 100 degrees.
New Year’s Resolution 3: I WILL go to tae kwon do training twice a week, every week and the gym 3 times a week. I WILL kick poomse ass.
At the risk of sounding like even more of a poonsy tool, I really like learning languages. (Actually, it's probably just the idea of learning languages?). My spoken French is sufficient to keep me fed and from getting lost but it’s not much better than basic conversation level. I’ve never mastered the subjunctive and still confuse the conditional and the future tenses. Realistically, I’ll never get very good at speaking if I don’t spend time in a francophone country actually interacting with the locals.
With Vietnamese, I’m okay with speaking because my mum makes us all speak it at home. She rightly knew that if she let us speak English at home too we’d just forget it (or in the case of my sibs who were born here, never learn it at all), which would be a shame. My vocabulary isn’t too crash hot though even after a stint at Vietnamese Saturday school where I was the only 23 year old in a class of teens and pre-teens. For one brief shining moment, I was the Billy Madison of Vietnamese School.
New Year’s Resolution 4: I WILL finish the French and Vietnamese translations of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I WILL work harder on Everyday Japanese for Busy People. Occasionally, I MIGHT even watch my SATC dvds with the French dubbing switched on.
Now seems a good a time as any for a detour to post the rest of those Paris pics:
Having viewed my collection of Paris holiday snaps, it appears I’ve taken about a hundred too many pictures of and from the Eiffel Tower – in the late afternoon, the morning, at twilight, after dark, from the Trocadero, the Samaritaine Terrasse, the Arc de Triomphe, the Tuileries and whilst on a bateau-mouche ride. I admit to being the quintessential, shameless tourist.
From the Pont D’Iena
To get to the Arc you take an underground walkway from the métro at the top of the Champs Elysée (metro Charles de Gaulle Etoile). Given the intensity of the traffic in that area and the cavalier attitude of motorists, trying to cross over to the Arc from any of the streets that form spokes off the centre island would be sheer lunacy. There were no lifts and you have to climb up a steep, spiral staircase. It is not the most geriatric-friendly attraction in Paris. The Arc itself is breathtaking, especially when lit up at night. In the day time though, you can make out the moulding underneath it.
You also need to take a steep spiral staircase when you visit the Paris Catacombes, only downwards. The Catacombes are in the 14th arr. and contain some 6 million skeletons that were removed from various cemeteries over the last couple of centuries to make way for fresher corpses. The paths are dimly lit so instead of forking out 17 euros for a lampe de poche, Al and I stuck closely to a well-equipped American couple for a while. The “skeletons” were neatly piled in layers of femurs and tibias which alternated with rows of skulls. (Where had they stacked the ribcages and hipbones??). With 6 millions skeletons, the place is pretty expansive and some of the stacks reaching about 8-10 metres in depth and about 2 metres high. The ceilings were really low and with the stale air made the experience a bit oppressive and claustrophobic.
Just as maudlin but one of my favourite experiences was visiting the Père Lachaise Cemetery in the 11th Arr. It rained all afternoon and we froze our arses off but that only made for better ambience. The place is like a big, well landscaped, well-tended park. It’s also the final resting place of various literary and historical luminaries (Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Heloise & Abelard, Jim Morrison…), it didn’t feel right scrambling over other peoples' tombs to get to any of them though.
Towards the south-east corner are memorials dedicated to the Jews who had died in Nazi concentration camps. Around there are also the head stones of various Jewish families who had all died or had been largely wiped out after being deported by the Vichy government during the war. You walk through this area and just get chills.
When not surrounding ourselves with death and tragedy Al and I went off to the odd concert or jazz session. Near our place was a Jazz club called the 7 Lézards situated below a restaurant. The nice ticket lady heard our accents and knew to speak to us clearly and slowly. The first time we went the act was a Russian folk band which relied on an eclectic collection of instruments. The lead singer (who looks like she may become a crazy cat ladies later in life - if she isn’t one already) used one of those moo-in-a-can things – you know, a cylinder toy thing which when you flip it over goes, “Moooooo”? Very odd, but greatly entertaining. We came back on another night when they had on a Cuban Jazz ensemble. The lead singer this time was this amazing giantess; casting agents for Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire should check her out for the role of Madame Olympe.
Through Pariscope we got tickets to a performance of the Four Seasons at Ste Chapelle on the Îl e de la Cité. The Sainte Chapelle is this incredibly beautiful church, the sides of which are covered in stained glass. We never visited it during the day but I can only imagine how amazing it looks with shafts of coloured light falling all over the place. The perfect venue for a Vivaldi concert. Somewhat less opulent is the aptly named St Julien le Pauvre where we went for a Chopin performance. Damn, these Parisians are spoilt! Our tickets were only about 20-25 euro and the standard of the performances quite good. A couple of years ago when Nigel whats-his-face came to conduct the Four Seasons at the Opera House, a half-decent seat was about 90 bucks! Outrageous. And hello, the Sydney Festival acts are a bit shit especially for how much they cost (freebie events NWS).
Ste Chapelle – blurry because I can’t hold a camera still.
Further evidence of how spoilt Parisians are can be seen by a survey of their museums and art galleries. What an intense concentration of art and artefacts. My favourite part of the Louvre is the Sculpture Courtyard. The Orangerie was still closed for renovations so we didn’t get to see some of the big-arsed Monets. Quel disappointment. After the Picasso Museum, the D’Orsay and whatever else, I went to the Pompidou Centre and got a bout of Museum Fatigue.
There was just so much to look that my senses got overstimulated. I wish I’d paced myself better because that place is full of cool stuff. There were lots of huge part-interactive installation works like the winter garden which is this room you come into through a swinging flap in the wall and inside is like a snow cave with an all white, rocky surface terrain. There was another room covered in what looked like rolls of carpet underlay and when you ducked inside there was a (WTF?) Grand Piano. In another room the walls were covered with 3-D coloured panels and in the centre was a metal sculpture. On the outside the room was covered on the front side by vertical panels of coloured plastic so that your view of the room, the sculpture and the 3-D wall panels changes as you walk along that outside wall. Other notable works were chunks of what looked like asbestos which were nailed to the wall in various configurations. I didn’t really like those as much as this work which featured (I think) lots of suspended pantyhose of varying lengths filled with balls of sand. It looked like giant, runny boogers falling from the sky. Awesome.
As lovely as Paris is in Autumn, the ubiquitous dog poo and pall of gauloises can get a bit much. Towards the end I went on a day trip to visit Monet’s house at Giverny, about an hour’s drive north-west of Paris. There is a highway that runs right through the property! One side of the high way is his famous lily pond and on the other is the house and gardens. Despite the constant passing trucks, sitting in the garden is such a calming experience – and you do need calming because the house itself is invariably full English schoolkids on art class excursions. The garden has been cultivated so that it blooms almost all year round. Dahlias were the big flowers for Autumn.
It’s tiny in this pic, but off in the distance is Monet’s oft-painted Japanese Bridge
I like ponds.
From a bedroom window.
Oh why can’t France be a common law country??
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