my first ever contrôle, or partiel, or whateveryoucallit, was a mild success (hasn't been graded yet, but tant pas): the subject was "chant de linos" by jolivet. he gave us 10 points to consider before giving us the first hearing of the excerpt, and from the downbeat of the first bar i was home free. it was the version with strings and harp. i talked about ritual and jolivet's compositional color palette...
iván is intellectually provocative. of this i have no doubt. yvonnick is having coffee with me tomorrow afternoon. i might have to feed him leftover hummus. we concluded at dinner that it's probably too strong for a 9-month-old's taste pallette. she's cute though, that maéva. i played her the solo from "boléro" and thought about the crisp, windy air.
plan for crazy dance at bar"swing"ona: wild stripey tights from the sock store at les halles (to buy tomorrow) and black short skort with a silver band, bright yellow tank top, star hoops and bright glittery barettes bought at pimkie. feel free to ajoute something if you can think of anything else that would make the outfit more tacky.
2.4.07
yahya al-shabih, fatimid cairo, egypt
what i should be looking at. instead i created a flickr account:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/parisianmelon/
i miss listening to alison krauss.
a freewrite i composed yesterday after a weekend of late night reflections.
hand on the small of my back wine
stained your shirt fruit salad with
chopsticks gummy obsession emerging
from pockets inevitably squishy from
constant body heat jointed hands fluid
i slept deeply subconsciously imagining
flamenco and a deep tan away from the
harsh words of boys not-yet-grown-up
i am not sick because i am not dying
taxes voting ballots visas contracts papers
the trails of bureaucracy could not touch
your mission does it come with 10 years
6 months of hungarian cigarettes
how to formulate the right thought in
each of your six languages such a virgin to
all of it in many more ways than one
one ear to caceres this argentinian whose
rhythms touched me i never understood
the lyrics never guessed their political
underpinnings assumed their romantic liens
and throaty disclaimers ultimately he
overdramatized the case misread my
interpretation maybe he's right but
the least i can do is give the smooth
blue-eyed harmonica player a shot
idle at a café consider the present a gift
i can never return reimbursement out of
the question ink drying quickly the the
page the scattered drunken drippings
of my incandescent mind though sober
my network connection slowing to a
trickle with six languages do
writing and turns of phrase become
empty and without dubious implication?
jean was right i stick to my borders
théophile bra drew mystical pictures
and scribbled almost illegibly in the
margins his second wife died young
but it barely paused his stream of creative
output she probably never asked questions
or demanded explanation he required
precision of language and intention
i was never quite that lucid my carte
orange guaranteed free public transit
but the time factor was never taken
into account maybe intimacy will
come with the dawn of spring rain
banished come april self-portraiture
a way of immortalizing a moment
a thought an expression that belies
a glimpse of my perplexed sometimes
muddled soul a soft cheap grey
hoodie quest for a clearer path for
someone to "meet me one day on the
street and get me, take me at face
value, and not be blown asunder"
even if once in a cirulean blue moon
http://www.flickr.com/photos/parisianmelon/
i miss listening to alison krauss.
a freewrite i composed yesterday after a weekend of late night reflections.
hand on the small of my back wine
stained your shirt fruit salad with
chopsticks gummy obsession emerging
from pockets inevitably squishy from
constant body heat jointed hands fluid
i slept deeply subconsciously imagining
flamenco and a deep tan away from the
harsh words of boys not-yet-grown-up
i am not sick because i am not dying
taxes voting ballots visas contracts papers
the trails of bureaucracy could not touch
your mission does it come with 10 years
6 months of hungarian cigarettes
how to formulate the right thought in
each of your six languages such a virgin to
all of it in many more ways than one
one ear to caceres this argentinian whose
rhythms touched me i never understood
the lyrics never guessed their political
underpinnings assumed their romantic liens
and throaty disclaimers ultimately he
overdramatized the case misread my
interpretation maybe he's right but
the least i can do is give the smooth
blue-eyed harmonica player a shot
idle at a café consider the present a gift
i can never return reimbursement out of
the question ink drying quickly the the
page the scattered drunken drippings
of my incandescent mind though sober
my network connection slowing to a
trickle with six languages do
writing and turns of phrase become
empty and without dubious implication?
jean was right i stick to my borders
théophile bra drew mystical pictures
and scribbled almost illegibly in the
margins his second wife died young
but it barely paused his stream of creative
output she probably never asked questions
or demanded explanation he required
precision of language and intention
i was never quite that lucid my carte
orange guaranteed free public transit
but the time factor was never taken
into account maybe intimacy will
come with the dawn of spring rain
banished come april self-portraiture
a way of immortalizing a moment
a thought an expression that belies
a glimpse of my perplexed sometimes
muddled soul a soft cheap grey
hoodie quest for a clearer path for
someone to "meet me one day on the
street and get me, take me at face
value, and not be blown asunder"
even if once in a cirulean blue moon
1.4.07
bonne fun soirée
friday, all day, shopping for swing shoes and cute going-out-in-fez-and-andalusia clothes in les halles. accompanied by, of course, meredith benjamin.
friday night, soirée at the 5th bar with caro's friends, rue mouffetard. too much drinky smoky for me. not my scene. nice couch surfers though, have to seriously think about joining tea/coffee, because i don't at the moment have a couch on which people can surf. if i move in with kat in new york, we will have to get a futon and join couch surfing. best idea ever.
saturday afternoon, musée de la vie romantique. the collections of george sand. anyone know what other famous literary person she had an affair with? frédéric chopin for sure, i learned that in "impromptu" with hugh grant. there's someone else. cyrille suggested albert camus, but i'm not so sure. i don't think he was the same époque.
karine had the sweetest party for which i for some reason bought almost 2 kilos of super-expensive hummus imported from greece and a mix of delicious strong olives. needless to say, i returned home after a looong walk from the 18th with ivan the 6-language-speaking spaniard with half the olives and hummus. we ate sushi rice, drank ginger pineapple and kiwi lime juice (those are 2 separate juices, they were totally delectable and freshly made) and had fresh fruit salad and/or these other delicious tart-type desserts. even though it was a little chilly outside, the party was so nice, lots of artistic types, a lot of musicians, though i did meet a woman who has a british father doing her doctorate in art history here in paris (?) and works as a professor of "art plastique." she should teach me all she knows.
overall, a fine fine weekend, and the sun has finally come out! i read that the weather will be 60s and 70s-ish in spain and morocco. thursday night it's bon voyage for darcy and martha-she leaves by car from toulouse with some people, i'm flying out of charles de gaulle at around 10 pm and arriving in barcelona at around 23h30, and hopefully i'll find a taxi or somesuch to carry me off to the airport, where i will crash and wake up anew for my first day in barcelona!
the plan is: with darcy, 4 swingin' nights in barcelona, 4 nights in fez (possibly a train ride to chaowen for a day); solo, a boat ride nador-almeria, 2 nights at oasis hostel in granada, 2 nights in sevilla, fly back to paris april 17. true adventure!
friday night, soirée at the 5th bar with caro's friends, rue mouffetard. too much drinky smoky for me. not my scene. nice couch surfers though, have to seriously think about joining tea/coffee, because i don't at the moment have a couch on which people can surf. if i move in with kat in new york, we will have to get a futon and join couch surfing. best idea ever.
saturday afternoon, musée de la vie romantique. the collections of george sand. anyone know what other famous literary person she had an affair with? frédéric chopin for sure, i learned that in "impromptu" with hugh grant. there's someone else. cyrille suggested albert camus, but i'm not so sure. i don't think he was the same époque.
karine had the sweetest party for which i for some reason bought almost 2 kilos of super-expensive hummus imported from greece and a mix of delicious strong olives. needless to say, i returned home after a looong walk from the 18th with ivan the 6-language-speaking spaniard with half the olives and hummus. we ate sushi rice, drank ginger pineapple and kiwi lime juice (those are 2 separate juices, they were totally delectable and freshly made) and had fresh fruit salad and/or these other delicious tart-type desserts. even though it was a little chilly outside, the party was so nice, lots of artistic types, a lot of musicians, though i did meet a woman who has a british father doing her doctorate in art history here in paris (?) and works as a professor of "art plastique." she should teach me all she knows.
overall, a fine fine weekend, and the sun has finally come out! i read that the weather will be 60s and 70s-ish in spain and morocco. thursday night it's bon voyage for darcy and martha-she leaves by car from toulouse with some people, i'm flying out of charles de gaulle at around 10 pm and arriving in barcelona at around 23h30, and hopefully i'll find a taxi or somesuch to carry me off to the airport, where i will crash and wake up anew for my first day in barcelona!
the plan is: with darcy, 4 swingin' nights in barcelona, 4 nights in fez (possibly a train ride to chaowen for a day); solo, a boat ride nador-almeria, 2 nights at oasis hostel in granada, 2 nights in sevilla, fly back to paris april 17. true adventure!
29.3.07
is my bed disponible pour le PEB?
possibly a little too much time in sudoc, poking around for my bibliographies and syllabi...
scene: sunside, a jazz bar near chatelet.
pour quoi faire: to see yvonnick prené, that ambiguous blue-eyed harmonica player, play a gig with a jazz quintet. 12€ at that. worth it? read on...
the first set started at around 22h30. i of course have become nearly as flaky as michael beharie in terms of punctuality (mais je rigole). still, i was significantly late in showing up to metro chatelet with meredith (who constantly plans well, and got there just shy of 21h45). the bar was easy to find though.
the ensemble was pretty good, in general. twins, scott and tony, on violin and piano respectively, a girl i can't remember the name of on drums (pretty freaking good), some guy joe i think on bass, and yvonnick on harmonica. it's interesting, actually, the sound of the harmonica in a group like that. it's like a saxo, but not quite, with more of a mellow sound...and it apparently gives your mouth hella blisters if you play it too much.
their sound in my opinion (take that as you will) was a little too consistent. scott's solos were blasé at first and then grew into craziness (impressive, and then tiresome after he gave similar solos in other tunes). yvonnick's playing is extremely agile. i remember trying to play harmonica in my childhood, i think my dad taught me...yvonnick sounds way better than the lame-o sounds of small martha.
anyway, after a long "pause" (with jazzers i suppose intermission is too brief a term), meredith had to check her watch because she wanted to catch the last metro home (she lives all the way in the 17th and had to transfer). i bought her a nutella crepe (the forlorn anemic ballerina) and she stuck it out until the end of the 2nd tune of the final set. i chilled in the back til the end and proceeded to get sleepy.
i think yvonnick was glad i came though, he was very appreciative. there was a brief instant at the end where it wasn't clear whether or not he would be walking me home, but he was smoking a cigarette and got distracted, so i took off into the night. i wrote in my journal for a while after getting back and before turning in noticed i had a new call. apparently, he called me to see if he could crash at my place (which isn't really mine at all)...and i have absolutely no clue how that would fly with my host family. not even an inkling.
he's moving to new york next year, and i've been storming ideas for the fall too, like: what if...i don't get into grad school?...i don't get the fellowship i want?... i don't get enough money?...i decide that living with kat in nyc sounds damned good?
scene: sunside, a jazz bar near chatelet.
pour quoi faire: to see yvonnick prené, that ambiguous blue-eyed harmonica player, play a gig with a jazz quintet. 12€ at that. worth it? read on...
the first set started at around 22h30. i of course have become nearly as flaky as michael beharie in terms of punctuality (mais je rigole). still, i was significantly late in showing up to metro chatelet with meredith (who constantly plans well, and got there just shy of 21h45). the bar was easy to find though.
the ensemble was pretty good, in general. twins, scott and tony, on violin and piano respectively, a girl i can't remember the name of on drums (pretty freaking good), some guy joe i think on bass, and yvonnick on harmonica. it's interesting, actually, the sound of the harmonica in a group like that. it's like a saxo, but not quite, with more of a mellow sound...and it apparently gives your mouth hella blisters if you play it too much.
their sound in my opinion (take that as you will) was a little too consistent. scott's solos were blasé at first and then grew into craziness (impressive, and then tiresome after he gave similar solos in other tunes). yvonnick's playing is extremely agile. i remember trying to play harmonica in my childhood, i think my dad taught me...yvonnick sounds way better than the lame-o sounds of small martha.
anyway, after a long "pause" (with jazzers i suppose intermission is too brief a term), meredith had to check her watch because she wanted to catch the last metro home (she lives all the way in the 17th and had to transfer). i bought her a nutella crepe (the forlorn anemic ballerina) and she stuck it out until the end of the 2nd tune of the final set. i chilled in the back til the end and proceeded to get sleepy.
i think yvonnick was glad i came though, he was very appreciative. there was a brief instant at the end where it wasn't clear whether or not he would be walking me home, but he was smoking a cigarette and got distracted, so i took off into the night. i wrote in my journal for a while after getting back and before turning in noticed i had a new call. apparently, he called me to see if he could crash at my place (which isn't really mine at all)...and i have absolutely no clue how that would fly with my host family. not even an inkling.
he's moving to new york next year, and i've been storming ideas for the fall too, like: what if...i don't get into grad school?...i don't get the fellowship i want?... i don't get enough money?...i decide that living with kat in nyc sounds damned good?
24.3.07
geographical tongue and crêperie-bound pompiers
date: 23 mars
time: 16h
location: the 7th arrondissement, and surrounding area. start, musée rodin. end, the terminus of line 8.
persons involved: chelsea from harvard and erin from yale. pompiers, around 17h30 til arrival at hospital. crazy sick people, 18h30 forward. doctor who gave me his cell phone number, 23h.
i have never experienced this before in my life. i think i had an anxiety attack yesterday. it was basically a cascade of unfortunate events: the start of that time of the month, exhaustion from not sleeping enough because of the small dosage of prednosone (steroids for the sinus infection), really cold weather (plus rain), stress froma long week of classes and studying, the medium-sized stress of planning spring break with darcy...basically, as one of the pompiers said, "it's just not your day."
needless to say, i started having cramps at the musée rodin and had to take a couple of sitting down breaks, and by the time erin arrived the museum was closing and i was feeling worse. we tried to make it to a café, but a lot of places were closed, inexplicably for a friday mid afternoon...eventually i found a place to go to the bathroom and erin ran and got me some meds close to ibuprofen to ease the pain.
we got to a creperie, where i proceeded to slump to the floor (i was very sleepy and just wanted to lie down, but was also nauseous). this couple in the corner was terrified for me. one of the people working there called the pompiers (an ambulance, i guess), and 4 guys rolled out in uniform with a gurney, and a first aid kit and everything. they tried to calm me down - by this point i was shaking, my hands were numb and trembling, and i was basically just freaking out - and thought maybe it was my blood sugar, so they tried to have me drink a coke, but i don't really like coke, so i was sipping it very slowly.
then i asked if i could just lie down, so they sped me off (chelsea and erin included) in their ambulance-type vehicle to the emergency room (by this time i had not vomited, was still just convulsing). i was lying on my stomach, and they convinced me to turn my head towards them and not fall asleep.
when i got there, i was slightly calmed down, but i had to check in and get seen my an initial person who evaluated the state of my emergency (not very grave, i guess). while she was taking my blood pressure, i felt much more nauseous and proceeded to give up my lunch (there was a little warning), which was a camenbert sandwich. maybe it was food poisoning?
after that, we waited for 5 hours, and honestly i felt a lot better after vomiting. we waited until 11 pm at the georges pompidou hospital, where we saw all sorts of types come in and out - broken bones, one guy foaming at the mouth, one older man yelling at the hospital people fairly insistently, one very depressed marching philosopher who talked to me about his anorexic girlfriend and his metaphysical despair and his hypersensitivity - lost of people who needed to get seen before me.
when i finally did get to see the doctor, he diagnosed it as an isolated incident of vomiting, and gave me a scrip for something and his cell phone number (is this typical?). i recounted my life story, including my psychiatric diagnosis 3 years ago, my stomach flu history when i was in high school, and my utter lack of panic/anxiety attacks. all in french. i think he was impressed that i was american, maybe for the fact that i could so lucidly explain myself in french.
we all bounced at around midnight, and i hope that erin was able to catch the train at porte de versailles alright. they're troopers, man...i was hungry when i left, and of course madame cheminal left me a complete dinner: crepes with ham and mushrooms (delicious), a salad with balsalmic vinagrette, ratatouille, avacado slices (which i love), and yogurt. i had some orange juice and drank some water and went to bed around 1 am.
a story for the grandkids, people. and erin and chelsea will take a pompier each. i failed to notice their charm at the time. i think i was thinking too hard about trying not to convulse and/or vomit.
time: 16h
location: the 7th arrondissement, and surrounding area. start, musée rodin. end, the terminus of line 8.
persons involved: chelsea from harvard and erin from yale. pompiers, around 17h30 til arrival at hospital. crazy sick people, 18h30 forward. doctor who gave me his cell phone number, 23h.
i have never experienced this before in my life. i think i had an anxiety attack yesterday. it was basically a cascade of unfortunate events: the start of that time of the month, exhaustion from not sleeping enough because of the small dosage of prednosone (steroids for the sinus infection), really cold weather (plus rain), stress froma long week of classes and studying, the medium-sized stress of planning spring break with darcy...basically, as one of the pompiers said, "it's just not your day."
needless to say, i started having cramps at the musée rodin and had to take a couple of sitting down breaks, and by the time erin arrived the museum was closing and i was feeling worse. we tried to make it to a café, but a lot of places were closed, inexplicably for a friday mid afternoon...eventually i found a place to go to the bathroom and erin ran and got me some meds close to ibuprofen to ease the pain.
we got to a creperie, where i proceeded to slump to the floor (i was very sleepy and just wanted to lie down, but was also nauseous). this couple in the corner was terrified for me. one of the people working there called the pompiers (an ambulance, i guess), and 4 guys rolled out in uniform with a gurney, and a first aid kit and everything. they tried to calm me down - by this point i was shaking, my hands were numb and trembling, and i was basically just freaking out - and thought maybe it was my blood sugar, so they tried to have me drink a coke, but i don't really like coke, so i was sipping it very slowly.
then i asked if i could just lie down, so they sped me off (chelsea and erin included) in their ambulance-type vehicle to the emergency room (by this time i had not vomited, was still just convulsing). i was lying on my stomach, and they convinced me to turn my head towards them and not fall asleep.
when i got there, i was slightly calmed down, but i had to check in and get seen my an initial person who evaluated the state of my emergency (not very grave, i guess). while she was taking my blood pressure, i felt much more nauseous and proceeded to give up my lunch (there was a little warning), which was a camenbert sandwich. maybe it was food poisoning?
after that, we waited for 5 hours, and honestly i felt a lot better after vomiting. we waited until 11 pm at the georges pompidou hospital, where we saw all sorts of types come in and out - broken bones, one guy foaming at the mouth, one older man yelling at the hospital people fairly insistently, one very depressed marching philosopher who talked to me about his anorexic girlfriend and his metaphysical despair and his hypersensitivity - lost of people who needed to get seen before me.
when i finally did get to see the doctor, he diagnosed it as an isolated incident of vomiting, and gave me a scrip for something and his cell phone number (is this typical?). i recounted my life story, including my psychiatric diagnosis 3 years ago, my stomach flu history when i was in high school, and my utter lack of panic/anxiety attacks. all in french. i think he was impressed that i was american, maybe for the fact that i could so lucidly explain myself in french.
we all bounced at around midnight, and i hope that erin was able to catch the train at porte de versailles alright. they're troopers, man...i was hungry when i left, and of course madame cheminal left me a complete dinner: crepes with ham and mushrooms (delicious), a salad with balsalmic vinagrette, ratatouille, avacado slices (which i love), and yogurt. i had some orange juice and drank some water and went to bed around 1 am.
a story for the grandkids, people. and erin and chelsea will take a pompier each. i failed to notice their charm at the time. i think i was thinking too hard about trying not to convulse and/or vomit.
20.3.07
sometimes i wish, i do
that i could breathe and not cough. that it wasn't 0ºC and raining in paris. that lawrence earp could do my motet analysis for me. so that then i could prepare my bibliography for my paper on the mosque at al-azhar in peace. that i could snap my fingers and a lonely planet/lets go morocco would appear in my hand and i could instantaneously book hostels. cheap ones, with no sketchy people. that i could stock librarie imagigraphe with wanderlust stationary, so i don't have to buy tacky high-heeled andy warhol paper. that the things sold at museum gallery bookstores didn't always break my wallet (except in sweden, where i bought a book in the icons series about extraordinary objects bound upside-down for 20 kronor, which is about 3 dollars). that somehow, someone could meet me once on the street and get me, take me at face value, and not be blown asunder. that the desks in st genevieve library could be as accomodating as those in michelet. that my legs didn't ache. that i could play the flute again. that i could have a pocket version of maéva to smile and blink at me.
18.3.07
freebox and lhasa
FINALLY, finally, people, i have a consistent airport signal. flaurent cheminal is awesome. i no longer have to steal from neighbors, nor deal with weak signal insufficient to send email attachments or gmail chats! with freebox, i am free.
rejoice.
last night meredith and i skipped the free baroque concert in the 15th arrondissement and ate at a tibetan restaurant called lhasa between blvd st g and rue des écoles at place maubert. there's another tibetan one right next to it, an argentinian one slightly closer to the metro, and a vietnamese place across the street. basically, a little international haven. the prices weren't too bad. i had friend beef dumplings with homemade sauce, a beansprout and carrot salad, and a sweet lassi. it was small, if a little smoky, and very peaceful for st. patrick's day. then we ventured on to this canadian bar near odéon in the 6th called moosehead, it took us a few minutes to find it even though we were stonecold sober (which i remained throughout the night, i bought a liter of water across the street)...they were playing the march madness basketball games. in particular, all the girls from georgetown were out in full form to support their team...there was also talk of buying tickets to fly back to the states to see the final if they won the game (which they did)...coming from oberlin, i guess i have no perspective on that, although i do remember when maryland beat duke my senior year of high school. that was sweet. they couldn't burn their blue benches.
today, it's raining and it looks like a cool front has returned, at least for this week. i haven't really brainstormed about flight tickets to barcelona yet, but hopefully the prices won't be abominable by the time i book them. i also am going to have to work on my machaut motet analysis during spring break.
rejoice.
last night meredith and i skipped the free baroque concert in the 15th arrondissement and ate at a tibetan restaurant called lhasa between blvd st g and rue des écoles at place maubert. there's another tibetan one right next to it, an argentinian one slightly closer to the metro, and a vietnamese place across the street. basically, a little international haven. the prices weren't too bad. i had friend beef dumplings with homemade sauce, a beansprout and carrot salad, and a sweet lassi. it was small, if a little smoky, and very peaceful for st. patrick's day. then we ventured on to this canadian bar near odéon in the 6th called moosehead, it took us a few minutes to find it even though we were stonecold sober (which i remained throughout the night, i bought a liter of water across the street)...they were playing the march madness basketball games. in particular, all the girls from georgetown were out in full form to support their team...there was also talk of buying tickets to fly back to the states to see the final if they won the game (which they did)...coming from oberlin, i guess i have no perspective on that, although i do remember when maryland beat duke my senior year of high school. that was sweet. they couldn't burn their blue benches.
today, it's raining and it looks like a cool front has returned, at least for this week. i haven't really brainstormed about flight tickets to barcelona yet, but hopefully the prices won't be abominable by the time i book them. i also am going to have to work on my machaut motet analysis during spring break.
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