My So-Called Life in France

Top 10 Ways You Know You've Gone Froggy.

2011-11-16T20:56:00.001+01:00

Now that I'm back in France, and I've conquered my jetlag, I've had some time to reflect on more than a few things. Being in the states--specifically--in Brooklyn for such an extended stay has made me realize something.

I've become terribly French.

Nothing like a trip back to the US to make you understand just how much your sensibilities and ways of thinking have changed. There's really no fighting it: I am a complete AmeriAngloFranco Hybrid Freakshow. The Proof?

Top 10 Ways I Know I've Gone Froggy.

1. I very strongly believe that lunch should take at least 1.5 hours. There should be a law. Seriously.

2. If you invite me to your house and within the first 10 minutes you haven't offered me a a drink, preferably a glass of wine, I will likely write you off as a heathen.

3. During casual social gatherings in the US I have to constantly remind myself to just say "hello", but DO NOT lean in for a kiss unless I want to get some very confused and slightly horrified reactions.

4. (And speaking of casual) I'm terribly over-dressed for almost every occasion.

5. If you add up the price of the 300 bottles of perfume and over-priced facial moisturizers in my bathroom closet, the resulting number would FAR exceed what I paid for my first car.

6. I only smile when absolutely necessary. It prevents wrinkles. I do however enjoy a trip to the tanning salon where I pay good money to be baked until slightly crispy and I have reached a bronze color that I refer to as "Will Smith".

7. I iron all of my clothes, including my socks and undergarments...and resent those who do not.

8. If I'm at a restaurant and the waiter brings be my check before I ask for it, I subtract 2.5% from said waiter's tip. Mean...but true. (Please refer back to item #1 on this list.)

9. If I don't have coffee after every meal I become intolerably grumpy. I'll even drink that swill that Starbucks calls coffee if necessary. Just gimme the f*cking coffee!

And last but not least, on the list of ways I know I've gone froggy....

10. I find very politically incorrect and/or inappropriate sexual jokes totally acceptable as polite dinner conversation. Don't believe me? Invite me over for dinner sometime and I'll tell you the one about the really tall lady and the midget.

Anybody in the Washington DC Area?

2011-10-22T09:17:00.000+02:00

6x6 is barely finished and I'm already prepping for the next leg on my 20111 exhibition tour.

Next stop: Washington D.C.!

I haven't been to Washington DC in over a decade and this is my first solo exhibition there so obviously I'm thrilled! Also, I'm so sick of NYC right now that every time I see a bearded Brooklyn hipster in orange skinny jeans I have to close my eyes and count quietly from 1 to 50 in order to keep from throwing myself onto the F train tracks just so the pain will stop. Oh the glorious glorious pretentious PAIN!

Anyway, if you're in the DC area. Come meet me in 3D. One rule: Don't be creepy.

The deets:

As part of the FOTOWEEK DC 2011 FESTIVAL you are cordially invited to the opening reception for

(Re)calling and (Re)telling

An exhibition of work by Kesha Bruce.

November 5–November 12, 2011.

Artist Talk and Opening Reception:
Saturday November 5th, 2011.
2 - 5 PM.

(Re)calling and (Re)telling uses maps,

drawings, found documents, and family

photographs to create new, hybrid

narratives that address aspects of

African-American history and

experience through memory

and storytelling.

Morton Fine Art
1781 Florida Avenue Northwest
Washington, DC 20009-2647
(202) 628-2787
www.mortonfineart.com

This is my LAST exhibition for 2011 and my last stop before heading back to Frog-land.

Be there or be square.

Werd.

Wheelin' and Dealin'!

2011-10-18T21:17:00.000+02:00

I'm sorry I haven't been posting much here about my New York City adventures. The past few weeks have been the most ~~fun and drunken~~ challenging period of time I've experienced in a recent memory.

I've been busy every day at the gallery selling art and busy every evening ~~drinking rhum cocktails at tiki bars on the lower east side~~ doing follow-up and marketing work.

At least 3 nights a week you can find me at ~~the local bar slamming over-priced cocktails and playing drinking games~~ a non-profit art space attending a workshop or networking event. Meeting new people and ~~getting drunk with them~~ discussing art with them is pretty much my life's core focus at the moment.

My ~~party~~ work schedule is so tight that I can barely keep up.

So forgive me if I seem ~~hung-over or perhaps still drunk~~ a bit frazzled or distracted.

God Bless Art and God Bless ~~Tequila~~ America.

Meet Me in NYC.

2011-10-04T18:49:00.000+02:00

Part of the reason I've been so AWOL from blogging is that instead of having fancy lunches and taking photos of all the glorious French food I've been eating, I've been planning this 6 week art event. The whole project only lasts 6 weeks, but it took my business partner and I the better part of a YEAR to plan, organize, and fundraise for this baby.

And now that I'm in NYC, of course, every day of the week is moving at absolute lightspeed x 10. I have appointments and places to be, I forget to eat meals, and half the time I don't know what day of the week it is.

Good Stuff!

I'm an experience and intensity junkie, so this is my sweet- spot. Sure I miss France, but I've barely had time to think about it.

Art has officially taken over my life, but that doesn't mean we can't still be friends!

How many of you live in the NYC area? I'd LOVE to meet y'all. Why don't you find a way to make it to our next gallery opening? It's not every day that I make it to NYC, or to the US for that matter. Plus my gallery throws the best openings in town.

A few sexy pics from the opening of Please Standy By: new work by artists Stacia Yeapanis and Readymade777.

Click here to see the full Flickr photo set.

Couldn’t make it to last week’s opening? No Problem! Come to the next one:

Violently Happy: New work by Jacqueline Norheim and Cara Lynn Kleid.
October 6 -12, 2011

Opening Reception: Thursday October 6th, from 6-8 PM.

Baang and Burne Contemporary Art
547 W 27th Street suite 309 (3rd floor)
Btwn 10th & 11th Ave.
New York City

Be there or be square.

Seriously. All the cool kids are doing it.

I Love New York!

2011-09-11T08:52:00.000+02:00

For those of you who haven't been keeping up on my other blog. I'm in New York for the next 2 months for my big fat art project.

It's incredibly bizarre to be back in Brooklyn---especially today. It's been 10 years since I left New York for France. What to say?

Maybe just a photo.

The view from my first apartment in Brooklyn.

My Big Fat French Life.

2011-07-15T19:55:00.001+02:00

So many thing, So many thing So many things!

There’s so much stuff going down in my so-called ‘hood these days that I barely know where to start. Screw it, I’ll just start with the things I’m most excited about:

1. I gotz de flowers! After 2 years of awful summers, I’ve actually managed to get a little rooftop garden growing at the Barbie Dream House.

It is truly awesome! Special thanks to French Mother-in-law and French Father-in-law…who basically did all the work while I stood around and grimaced and moaned.

2. I have new artwork! I’m in the middle of working on a new series called “The Coronation” for my September exhibition in NYC. (more on that in a minute. Just hold your horses.) Wanna hear me talk about it? Take a look at my promo video in which I am wearing my super-fly pink star earrings.

3. And last but not least—the thing that’s totally taken over my life: For the last 8 months I’ve been planning and organizing an incredible art event that kicks off September 8th in New York City. It’s called “6x6” (pronounced six by six) and it is going to be totally RIGHTEOUS.

Basically 6x6 is the art version of a music festival with six back-to-back exhibitions sandwiched between a whole slew of events aimed at bringing artists and art lovers together in a totally “no art snobs allowed” way.

Long story short, I met artist Charlie Grosso in 2009 when we were in an exhibition together. Eventhough she lived in Los Angeles at the time, we stayed in contact….and voila---a year later we had formed Baang and Burne Contemporary Art. A kind of freestyle curatorial gallery project that stages short term exhibitions in New York City.

At the moment we are in FULL-ON fund-raising mode to pull off this event. We have 20-something days left in our fund-raising campaign over at kickstarter.

If you really love me, you should go over there and become an official backer.

It’s pretty easy and takes about 2 minutes. We’ve raised $6400 so far. But I just need a little push to cross the finish line. Please watch the video if you want to see me hopped up on 3 double espressos:

If you can back my project for $10 that would be great, but if you’re willing to back me for $25 or more you can score some really cool rewards! The $200 reward is actually one of my limited edition, hand-pulled lino-cut prints from the coronation series. (That's about half the regular gallery price.) Click here to become an Art Hero: http://kck.st/lb7d0L

So that about brings us up to date I think.

Oh wait, also, I lost 25 lbs. But that’s a story for another post.

Wicked.

-Your beloved, Madame K.

A Blast From The Past: Why I Heart France: Reason # 5

2011-05-13T20:57:00.001+02:00

The French mother-in-law is a much maligned creature. Much like her American counterpart, La Belle Mere (literally translated: "Pretty Mother") is often accused of being overbearing, demanding, and have been known to coddle their sons to the point of co-dependency. More than a few of my friends have told me their Belle Mere horror stories, so it appears I have hit the French Mother-in-law jackpot.

Today my own French Mother-in-law stopped by for coffee on her way home from her weekly "soin de visage" (Fancy french facial treatment). Not only did she fold the mountain of laundry that was piled on our bed, she took all the wrinkled items home with her to iron. She then proceeded to dry & put away all the dishes I had just finished washing. Oh and did I mention that she just happened to bring along a hot baguette from the best boulagere in town and a fresh green bean salad topped with her nearly legendary sweet vinaigrette?

...And some people ask me if I'll ever move back to the states. Well let me tell you now, that living under these conditions makes it highly unlikely.

What can I say? I married well.

Why I Heart France Reason #20: Pimps.

2011-05-03T13:01:00.000+02:00

If you ever happen to be at the Novotel hotel in Metz, be sure to stop by "Le Bar" and order a "Pimp in Soho".

Extra credit points if you do it with a straight face.

I bet you can't do it.

Why I Heart France Reason #19: Fungus.

2011-02-27T12:04:00.012+01:00

At the request of blog commenter 'Tired of Snow', Saturday night Frenchboy and I managed to get a table at one of the cities best restaurants, Au Pampre d'Or, without a reservation.

It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

It's true, Au Pampre d'Or happily lost it's Michelin star recently, but after ordering and being absolutely charmed by the 5 course Truffle Menu I have no effin' idea why.

Now, before we get to the food porn, can I just say how much I adore the French for their love of mold and fungus? Before moving to France, I had only heard of chocolate truffles (although I don't think I'd ever eaten one of those either). So naturally I am absolutely fascinated by the idea of eating a spore that costs nearly €2,000 for a kilo.

Last night we must have eaten at least 50 grams of truffles and I won't lie to you:

It was Divine.

An Amuse-Bouche fit for Royalty.

I love when they bring your food under a cloche. (What do we call that in English?)
The French do have a flair for the dramatic---even in their food.

I wish had stolen a copy of the menu because describing this first dish as
"scrambled egg soup with truffles" doesn't really do it justice.
It was amaaaazing.

Pigeon with truffles!

How is it that I've lived in France for 7 years now yet I had no idea that you're supposed to eat your Munster with light sprinkling of cumin? Seriously? I'm just finding out about this heavenly combination now?

I love when they bring you two platters filled with
what can only be describes as"pre-desserts".

The cutest mini pistachio muffin on earth.

Insane chocolate soufflé that what so perfectly light and fluffy that I felt like I was eating chocolate and mandarin flavored air.

And a bit of Meringue for good measure.

Take that André Michelin!

I Survived the Snownami.

2011-02-08T15:20:00.007+01:00

I'm writing this from the great state in Indiana visiting me mum. I booked this trip to the US because I have not one, but three exhibitions planned back to back and I had planned to attending at least the closing reception for the first one near Chicago last week.

Unfortunately my reception got canceled by the Snowpocalypse.

Two days before the reception, Chicago got pounded by a storm system that pounded them with with 2 FEET of snow. Here in Indianapolis we didn't get snow, instead mother nature treated us to a 3 inch coating of ice that paralyzed the entire state and left many without electricity or heat.

How's that for a homecoming party?

We were all but trapped in the house for nearly 3 days. Luckily my friend Danielle managed to make it to our house on the 3rd day. She helped me dig out my car and my mom's car. No, No. Let me rephrase that. She helped me chisel my car out of an effin' glacier with a hammer. A frickin' HAMMER!

Once we had liberated the cars we were feeling quite triumphant. Here is me with my mini shovel and my nearly 18 inch tall and 3 inch thick Ice trophy. The bugger weighed nearly 15 lbs. No kidding.

But besides that, all is swell. In spite of being technically out of the office, I'm getting a TON of work finished, and more importantly I was here to help out my mom. I was like a gladiator shoveling out her car.

I am a total bad-ass.

New Year, New Ideas, New Focus, New Fun!

2011-01-22T11:30:00.008+01:00

Those of you who e-mailed to check up on me are just too sweet. There is no cause for concern, I am doing just fine.

No, no, to be more correct: I am doing frickin’ awesome! See, don't I look happy?

Just when you think life can’t get any more juicy and interesting, well, it does.

What I’ve been up to:

Baang and Burne has been keeping me busy!

With 2 exhibitions under our belt we’re planning an event for Chicago, another psychotically enormous 6 week project to take place in NYC in September. If you're in the NYC area, join my invite list so I can...well invite you.

In other news:I gave up coffee and have become a tea junkie.

Which may or may not be related to the fact that I’m watching Being Human. A show about a ghost, a vampire, and a werewolf who constantly drink tea.
(Why can’t France have an equivalent of BBC3?)

Also, I’ve been cheating on you with my Art blog. For those of you who don’t what I do for a day job, go on over and check it out. I just gave it a ginormous overhaul and a new focus. In the past year I’ve published a few articles about art school loans, juried shows, and understanding difficult art. But now it’s time to take off the training wheels and really kick things into high gear.

I’ll still be showing off my own totally bad-ass Art , but I’ll also be helping other artists get their sh*t together and get their careers on track. For years I’ve been helping artists rework their resumes, write their artist statements, and put together exhibition proposals. Believe it or not, that type of stuff is fun for me.

Seriously, if you’re and artist who is struggling to create, show, and sell your art, you really should be working with me.

So you see, I haven’t been kidnapped, nor otherwise imprisoned. I simply got carried away living my big fat juicy life.

Oh how the time does fly when you’re having fun.

Look on the Bright Side. It Could Be Worse!

2010-10-07T14:06:00.001+02:00

I just got an e-mail containing the following message from the US Department of State. When I read this stuff I always feel really helpless. I happen to be American. I live in Europe. It's not like I can cut my holiday short and fly home to avoid any possible dangers. I'm not a tourist. This is my home.

So instead of sitting here feeling all panicky and helpless. I thought I'd entertain y'all. Now, don't be skeered, but ask yourself....

Travel Alert
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF STATE
Bureau of Consular Affairs Europe
October 3, 2010

The State Department alerts U.S. citizens to the potential for Zombie attacks in Europe. Current information suggests that al-Zombi’ia and affiliated organizations continue to plan terrorist attacks. European governments have taken action to guard against a Zombie attack and some have spoken publicly about the heightened threat conditions.

Zombies may elect to use a variety of means and weapons and target both official and private interests. U.S. citizens are reminded of the potential for Zombies to attack public transportation systems and other tourist infrastructure. Zombies have targeted and attacked subway and rail systems, as well as aviation and maritime services. U.S. citizens should take every precaution to be aware of their surroundings and to adopt appropriate safety measures to protect themselves when traveling.

We continue to work closely with our European allies on the threat from international Zombie-ism, including al-Qa’ida. Information is routinely shared between the U.S. and our key partners in order to disrupt Zombie plotting, identify and take action against potential operatives, and strengthen our defenses against potential threats.

We recommend U.S. citizens register their travel plans with the Consular Section of the U.S. Embassy through the State Department's travel registration website.

This Travel Alert expires on January 31, 2011.

(Wait. Serously? WTF for? Is this the date world peace starts? Oh, Awesome!)

United States Embassy
American Citizen Services Unit
4, avenue Gabriel
75382 Paris Cedex 08
France

Telephone in France: 01 43 12 22 22
Telephone from U.S.: (011 33) 1 43 12 22 22
Website: http://france.usembassy.gov
E-mail: citizeninfo@state.gov

Bringing Art Back to "Everyday" People.

2010-10-06T18:03:00.001+02:00

Through the process of organizing Baang and Burne Contemporary’s first event, I’ve been asked time and time again ‘So who are Baang and Burne?’ To answer simply—they don’t exist. Instead our gallery takes its name from a cold-war era espionage term for covert demolition and sabotage operations. We altered the spelling slightly to make a tongue in cheek reference to Big-name art galleries that take their names from their celebrity directors. When I came across the term ‘Bang and Burn’ it seemed perfect considering that our whole approach is about doing away with all the barriers that come built-in to the traditional art buying experience.

So let’s take a moment to talk about the biggest barrier shall we?

I’ve been on the ‘inside’ of the art world for quite some time, but not so long that I’ve forgotten how confusing and intimidating it can be to shop for art. I’m not too proud to admit that there was a time not so long ago that even I was afraid to go into certain galleries in New York City. Let’s face it folks—the art snob intimidation factor at many galleries is quite high. I was reading an article not to long ago where even world famous/fabulous fashion designer Marc Jacobs was too intimidated to go shopping for art.

If Marc Jacobs found the experience of shopping for art intimidating, how on earth can a non-art, non-millionaire “everyday” person be expected to enjoy the experience? And buying art should be an enjoyable experience, no? I refuse to believe that the fun only begins when you unwrap and install it in your home. The buying is an important part of the process. When asked, most people would say that the main reason they don’t buy art is because if the price. In reality, I think at least 50% of the problem is the actual process.

The traditional model of selling art in galleries has removed people from the experience of art, let alone the experience of buying it. Aside from those people who are especially motivated to take a drawing class or enjoy painting as a weekend hobby, very few people feel connected to art in the same immediate way that they feel connected to music for instance. The whole experience of viewing, understanding, buying, and just interacting with art and the very real people who make art has become almost completely alien. And this alienation has become the norm. Am I the only one that finds this fact tragic?

So I'm just throwing this out there:

What can be done to make the art buying experience less foreign?

What should be done to make art more accessible to would-be collectors?

What can be done to demystify the art buying process?

What can be done to make the entire idea of “art” less foreign to the “everyday” people of the world?

Who the hell are “everyday" people anyway?

I Came, I Saw, I Baanged, I Burned.

2010-10-04T17:49:00.002+02:00

I blame my lack of posting on my massive case of jetlag. Just in case you’ve lost track, I spent the entire month of September in the US, shuttling between NYC and the grand state of Indiana. Now that I’m home, back in the studio, in France, I wanted to post a short and sweet wrap up of Baang and Burne Contemporary’s first NYC event.

In short, it was fabulous. Jane Zweibel’s work filled the space perfectly and it was a real pleasure to have the chance to see it again. The guests were intrigued and enchanted by the art, the food, the environment, and by the very concept itself. I know I’m biased, but our event was one of the best art event’s I’ve ever been to. However next time I will put someone in charge of documenting the entire event from start to finish because I was so busy with the guests that I barely took any photos!

What surprised me is that almost every guest spent time in the flat files room handling and touching the works on paper. Even more surprising was how many people went back in to see and touch the work a second time after they’d made the rounds once. As it turns out, I’m not the only one who loves white art handling gloves. I think everyone put on a pair at least once.

By 6PM the lasts guest had all said their goodbyes. An hour after that the entire exhibition had been uninstalled and packed for transport. No muss, No fuss. And that, my friends, is how you Baang and Burne.

The next Baang and Burne event will be EveryDAY: Recent Artwork by Charlie Grosso and Todd Squires, and takes place in NYC on Thursday October 21, 2010 from 6-8 PM.

Unfortunately I won’t be there. I can't get on a plane for fear that I might actually be the first person in history to actually die of jetlag. But if you're interested in seeing soem great artwork and actually meeting and talking to some great artists, I know a guy, who knows a guy, who can get you on the invite list. *wink wink* If you’re in the NYC area and you want to attend, just drop me an e-mail, or you can just go directly to the website and sign yourself up to the invite list .

Five Years of Bloggy Wisdom.

2010-09-29T11:03:00.003+02:00

Maybe my jetlag is making me all goofy and euphoric, or perhaps it’s just the absolute joy of waking up in my own bed for the first time in almost a month, but I feel absolutely celebratory.

Happy 5 year blog-aversary to me!

That's right. I've been whinging for 5 whole years now. Click here to read my first, very whingey post titled: "France: Not all it's cracked up to be."

My first blog post was just dripping with disappointement in regards to France. Five years later my feelings for France aren't nearly as dramatic. What I feel now can only be described as... a light-hearted indifference.

But like I said then: At least the food is good.

How to Bang & Burn.

2010-09-16T15:45:00.001+02:00

Hot on the heels of my guest post about "What I Learned From Running My Own Art Gallery", I figured this would be the a perfect moment to segway into telling you about my latest big project.

A few months ago I got the idea for a traveling, no-walls gallery while listening to an Art Heroes Radio podcast. Philip Huang was talking about how he opened a theatre in his spare bedroom because he couldn't find an affordable theatre where he could produce his one-man shows and performance works. I thought to myself: “Uhm, I should do that.”

My partner in crime, and fellow artist, Charlie Grosso and I have been wanting to work together on a project for about two years now. The idea of producing our own exhibitions and events seemed to fit the bill perfectly. Last month while I was in New York we decided to put our heads together and just do the thing. Less than six weeks ago we officially formed Baang & Burne Contemporary.

Our plan is simple yet ambitious: To produce 4-6 exhibition events a year in cities in the US and Europe. I say it’s ambitious because the goal is to pull off each event with a minimal budget while putting together a quality exhibition. The ‘Big-Picture’ goal of each event is to introduce each of the artists to possible new collectors in a new geographic region, or just a new group of people even in their own backyard. In other words, each event is not just about showing the work and adding a line to a CV, but about promoting increased future sales by engaging new audiences through relationship and community building.

Now here’s where it gets really exciting. Instead of using the traditional “pop-up” gallery that takes over a commercial space or store front for a limited time, we’re going to create a series of private “one night only” events with a much smaller cozy guest list of individuals. Most of the events will actually take place in a private home and will be by invitation only. Of course invitation only doesn’t mean exclusive. Anyone has the chance to be invited simply by getting onto our invite list.

Baang and Burne’s first event will take place in New York City on September 26th, 2010 with New York City artist Jane Zweibel. To say the least, we are excited! As usual more details will be forthcoming.

In my next post I’ll answer the question: “Who the hell are Baang and Burne?”

"Hey, Whatever Happened to the Art Shop?"

2010-09-07T16:46:00.003+02:00

Unless you too happen to be an artist, most of you reading this might not know about Alyson Stanfield’s Art Biz Blog, but you should. And I'm not just saying that because last week I was the featured guest post writer.

Most of you know that back in 2008 I set up and shared a gallery space in my city with another artist. The whole experiment lasted about a year or so before I pulled the plug. If you want to hear my take on what I learned from the experience of running my own gallery, you should definitely head over.

Magic Garden Update: You Bring the Bamboo, I'll Bring the Booze.

2010-08-26T11:32:00.005+02:00

It's been ~~pissing~~ pouring rain for 4 days, so I haven't been able to get outside on the terrace to take any photos before now. Finally, the storm let up for a few minutes this morning and I was able to get outside and take a few quick shots.

As you can see my mail-order bambou is happily in its home. We found these gigantic plastic planters made by some slick Danish company at the local yuppie garden center. They are super lightweight and are guaranteed to resist UV fading for a hand-full of years. I have complete and blind faith in Les Danoises.

The same weekend we potted the Bambou, French Father-in-Law and FrenchBoy installed this lovely and colorful straw material stuff that I found on sale at Leroy-Merlin. It's synthetic, so it should hold up a bit better than the real stuff we had installed on the terrace at our old apartment. The best part, besides finding it one sale of course, is that it makes the whole space seem more defined and dare I say cozy? I mean who wants to hang out and have cocktails on a Helipad? Ok, I would, but it would need to be dressed up pretty nice first.

You bring the bamboo, I'll bring the booze! p.s. That metal armiture to the right of me in the photo is a hammock that I might eventually use if it ever stops raining.

And just last week French Mother-in-Law called to tell me that Lidl was running a promo on lavender for less than 3 euros a plant.

I promptly drove over to my nearest location and bought their entire stock. OK, I left one plant in the store. I didn't want to look too greedy. (My apologies to the grey-haired old lady that I drop kicked in order to score an entire case of 6 plants, but lady, you had it comin'.) When we bought the planters from the garden center, I saw the exact same size of Lavander plant for about 10 bucks per plant. I don't exactly know which type of lavander this is, but I couldn't pass up that deal. Now my only hope is that they somehow manage to survive the psychotic Lorraine winter and don't end up as 6 flower-sicles.

Anyone who has tips on how the hell to protect Lavander from frost and ~~pissing~~ pouring rain for months on end, speak up in comments.

Oh, and for those of you in France who want to order your own magic garden in a box, I bought my bambou here: here's the website: http://www.bambouweb.fr. The selection, information, and pricing is nothing short of amazing. Order now, have your plants in 4 days. Insane!

Ask and You Shall Receive.

2010-08-24T11:14:00.005+02:00

So, in conclusion: The best way to get what you want--Ask for it.

For those of you who have been playing interweb tag with me on and off for the past week or so, this will not be new information for you, but I'm thrilled to announce I’ve managed to find a location for the art event I wanted to organize. The event will take place September 26th in New York City. The project's official launch is September 1st, so I'll have to try to contain my excitement for another week yet. The website isn't quite done yet so I don't wanan give the URL out just quite yet.

For now I just want to thank everyone who stepped up to be a real Art Hero. I never could have pulled this off without the crazy magic of the internet. Those of you who jumped on Twitter and Facebook and spread the word about my request...well, you're just awesome.

At the same time, I’m not at all surprised. I've always had faith in the power of a small group of people to get things done. *insert off-color joke about Germany here*

More details coming soon.

The Magic Garden.

2010-08-13T15:28:00.000+02:00

One of our main goals for this year was to finally do something with the Barbie Dream House terrace. It’s been nearly 3 years since we moved in I think and we still haven’t done anything with the space. You see the problem with having a 130 square Meter terrace is…where the hell do you start? Not to mention the obvious question such as how much is this project gonna cost. In the end we gave ourselves a modest budget to work with for this year. Little by little we’ve been ordering everything on our list:

Salon and coffee table? Check!

Over-priced planters? Check!

Ginormous Parasol? Check!

Plants? Oh Fer f*ck’sakes I knew we forgot something!

So after much deliberation and research we took the logical next step. No we didn’t go to the garden center and pick up some trees; instead we ordered some bamboo on the internet. The place came well recommended by a friend of French-Mother-in-Law so I wasn’t really worried about quality. I don’t know exactly what I thought it would look like or how it would arrive. I guess I imagined it would come on a truck or something. Instead, what actually arrived was so much better:

Voila! Say hello to my gorgeous little garden in a box delivered by regular express mail.

My 8 baby bamboo plants came wrapped in saran wrap and packed in white packing peanuts inside a medium-sized cardboard box. (Seriously dude. Who the hell still used packing peanuts?) Much to my delight they are in perfect health, and very, very pretty.

Bamboo in a box. Who knew?

New Work in Progress and One Naughty Drawing.

2010-08-11T15:21:00.001+02:00

Leave it to me to fly all the way to another continent to take a technical workshop on printmaking and encaustics, only to come home and start making sculptures. You really never know what part of your brain will get tickled when you let new info in. I can't be bothered to make drawings or paintings at the moment. I'm way too interested in making three dimensional objects that I can touch and hold. Oh, and I'm making them in concrete.

Why concrete? Two reasons:

1. Beautiful and incredibly flexible material (surprisingly enough) with so many options and ways to form it.

2. It costs practically nothing and can be bought at nearly any common hardware store.

(You know how much artists love hardware stores, right?)

3. Concrete is hard, heavy, and tough i.e., it's bad ass.

At the moment 3 sculptures are curing in my garage. They aren't done yet since I still have finishing work to do, but still, this is exciting stuff. I have no photos, but here are the idea sketches from my sketch book.

Of course the actual objects look nothing like the drawings. I made the sketches before I'd ever even mixed my first batch of concrete. (Wishful thinking?) As soon as I started applying my mix to my armature everything changed. But hey, that's half the magic!

p.s. Thank You to my friend Mr. Aaron California for pointing out the perverse implications of the second to last drawing.

Perve!

Small NYC space needed. Finders fee: Fancy Tea!

2010-08-06T08:58:00.009+02:00

Dear Interwebz Friends, Roman & non-Roman Followers, Lovely Lurkers, and Countrymen,

Lend me your ears.

I’m working on a really fun curatorial project and I’m planning a cozy “one night only” preview.

I need an exhibition space in NYC for a total of 72 hours.

It could be a studio, an apartment, an office, a store-front, a lobby, a spare room, etc, etc. Any nice place where I could install artwork on walls.

- I need it preferably the first weekend in September.

- It needs to be easily accessible by public transit.

We have a ~~small~~ miniscule budget and we are properly insured.

Also, we’re nice people. We promise not to be naughty or be too much of a bother.

If you have a spare room we could use , or you have a buddy who does, please feel free to drop me a line at madamek@ymail.com.

You don't have no space? No problem! But I bet you know somebody that knows somebody that knows somebody that does.

The only questions left to ask are:
1.) Are you a "can do" or a "can don't" person? and

2.) Are you in or are you ass-out?

Friends, this is your chance to shine. Forget Charles Saatchi. The year 2010 is the year yu can become a real art hero. This is going to be... (wait for it)... LEGENDARY. *

Plus if you help me pull this off, I might just reward you with a complimentary tea at The Hotel Crillon the next time you're in Paris. (If it's good enough for Princess Di, it's good enough for you and me!)

How's that for a finder's fee?

That's what's up. E-mail me.

And most importantly, thanks for being my peeps!

*bonus cool points if you get my 'legendary' reference.

Welcome Back to New York - Part #2

2010-08-05T15:02:00.003+02:00

Of course the main point of taking this trip to the US was to take part in the WSW Summer Arts Institute. From the level of instruction to the fabulous meals provided by WSW, the entire experience was a really valuable and constructive one.

Tatana Kellner and Cynthia Winika are both very patient and attentive instructors as well as being really powerful artists in their own right. Having the opportunity to work with them came when I most needed it. Their level of mastery and enthusiasm for their chosen mediums was absolutely contagious. Their idea kept all of the workshop participants going on their individual projects and helped us all keep our minds off the fact that were were working with hot wax in the middle of a heat wave.

Nothing loosens up my brain better than learning a new skill as a debutante. When I’m not expected to be an expert there is a level of play and willingness to take risks that doesn’t usually happen when I am working in a media that I call my own.

The entire experience was about learning to make art, yet not once did I feel the need to actually…make art. I was so focused on the technical aspects that honestly, I wasn’t too concerned with coming home with finished works. And since we were learning 3 techniques in just 4 days, it struck me as a bit arrogant to think that I could even accomplish such a thing.

The second day I was upstate, I went to the local goodwill to look for old books or any printed material I could incorporate as collage elements into my work. I ended up finding two very interesting, although incredibly racist books, on 'The Wild West' published in the 1920’s and 30’s. Under the influence of vocabularly such as "savages", "destiny", and "massacre", I let the text and images in the books guide me into new territory so to speak. I just responded to what was written in the books. New stuff happened.

Oddly enough however, the 3 pieces I did actually work on look strangely like my normal work in a lot of ways. I always hope that a new medium will suddenly transform my imagery or the way I work, when in reality, no matter what I do end up looking like I made it. Whether I’m making cupcakes or paintings. Clearly I’m always me.

In other news: New stuff happening in the studio…I’ve been mixing concrete in my garage….more coming soon!

Welcome Back to New York - Part #1

2010-07-23T19:10:00.007+02:00

Stuff I Love about New York:

The sky as seen through the stencil of tall buildings that wear watertowers like crowns.

Stuff I hate about New York:

Your ass might get shot...by a gun painted in a stylish color.

Guns or no guns, my trip to the great state of New York was fabulous. It was the perfect balance of city and country. I arrived at JFK, caught a taxi to Prospect Heights, and was then promptly whisked off to a roof-top wine tasting party in Manhattan. That does not suck.

My first 48 hours back in New York were so delicious that it felt like New York City was throwing me a welcome back party. Yes, New York. I love you too.

Anyway I did so much stuff that I don’t wanna bore you with so I’ll skip to the highlights:

1. Wine and cheese at Balthazar’s with my partner in art-world domination. Followed by a performance by Carolee Schneeman at Location One. Yes that Carolee Schneeman.

2. Bought my favorite OPI nail polish colors: Big Apple Red and Midnight in Moscow

3. New running shoes!

4. Free tickets to see “Fela” on Broadway. So good I got goosebumps.

5. Two Hour lunch at Old Homestead SteakHouse.

6. Girlfriend Gallery hopping meet-up in Chelsea.

7. Complimentary Dinner at Maze by Gordon Ramsay at The London, followed by a tour of the kitchen.

Dude I was in Gordon Ramsey’s kitchen! (And no he wasn’t there… which is kinda fine with me cuz let’s face it---he’s a scary man.)

All that and I haven’t even told you about the week I spent upstate.

To Be Continued…

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig!

2010-07-19T17:31:00.004+02:00

People. As much as I love to travel, I can honestly say I have never been quite this happy to be home! I got back to the Barbie Dream House on July 13th. My luggage arrived on July 14th. (~~F*ck~~ Thank You Air France!) I stopped being jetlagged on July 18th. I will resume blogging sometime before July 23rd.

So many pictures, so little time! Gimme a sec to catch my breath. I'll be back shortly.

Coming To America.

2010-06-22T10:35:00.009+02:00

Well ladies and gentlemen, I finally finished doing our vacation laundry and now it’s time to repack! Tomorrow morning I’m headed to Brooklyn baby! In fact I’ll be in New York for 2 weeks. This year will be the first time I’ve experienced a good old fashioned 4th of July in America celebration in like---7 years. Then I get back to France just in time for Bastille day. In true Aries fashion---I can never get enough ~~beheadings~~ fireworks!

More importantly this trip to the US will be my first in 2 years. Two whole years! I wonder how quickly I’ll get my American accent and swagger back this time around. Every time I go back to “the States” my brain goes through a slow transformation: It usually takes me roughly 24 hours to stop thinking in French and starting all my sentences, then having to restart them in English. Within 48 hours, I’m back to thinking in English and only a few French words pop up in my brain. By day 3 I’m All-American again and using the F-word like it’s going out of style.

Anyway besides doing a lot of gallery visiting in Chelsea and Brooklyn, and eating too many meals with my friends, the main reason I’m going is to take an intensive art workshop at the Women’s Studio Workshop in Rosendale New York.

Every year WSW hosts a Summer Arts Institute which offers intensive courses in printmaking, hand papermaking, ceramics, letterpress printing, photography, and book arts. I’ll be taking the Cross Pollination: Trace Monoprints, Paper Lithography and Encaustic class, taught by Tatana Kellner and Cynthia Winika. I’m especially excited because the last two days of the workshop we will actually be working at R&F Handmade Paints and learning the basics of encaustic painting. I’ve been toying with the idea of taking this class for 2 years now. Needless to say I am so excited to finally learn some new techniques that I can incorporate into my own work. Tell me this video of a book in-progress doesn't make you just wanna jump up and make something:

Artwork aside, I plan on taking advantage of all the good things that America has to offer like, shopping on Sundays and 24 hour restaurants that serve meals that are bigger than your head. How sad is it that what I’m looking most forward to is eating and shopping?

If you live in the NYC area or you know of any interesting cultural activities that I can do in between my capitalist-obesity fueled orgy, please do leave ideas and activities in comments.

See ya on Bastille Day!

Why I Heart France Reason #18: Scandalous!

2010-06-21T13:00:00.010+02:00

The BP oil spell is ruining a corner of the planet, there are wildfires blazing in Arizona, and a mine explosion killed 45 people in China, but in France all anyone is talking about is the “Champs de ruines” that is the French National Football team. I thought the whole under-aged prostitution ring scandal was as bad as it could get, but apparently we haven’t seen nothin’ yet! The French simply cannot get enough wine, cheese, and scandal in their diets. How do you say "More please!" in French?

Last night there was an hour long special about the incident in which during last week's World Cup match, player Nicolas Anelka told coach Raymond Domenech to quote: “Go get yourself f*cked un the *ss , you dirty son of a wh*re.”

Ahem.

As a nouveau immigrant, I still haven’t fully grasped how much a part of the culture Football is for zee people of France, but last night’s broadcast has brought me a whole heck of alot closer to finally getting it. Seriously—I haven’t seen so many gloomy faces and grim expressions since the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I’m talking about grown men on the verge of crying on national television….over effin’ football! I’ve always understood that the French have a gift for the dramatic, but this has become full-fledged theater. Step up and buy your ticket.

Yesterday the entire French football team pulled a no-show for practice in protest of Anelka being kicked out of the World Cup and sent home from South Africa. And oh wait! The plot thickens! I just read that an emergency meeting has been scheduled for today to see if the team can be salvaged. (Warning: If the team collapses it may throw the whole country into civil war. But no worries. In the even that this happens I will continue blogging from the Häagen-Dazs ice-cream shop in Kirchberg mall in Luxembourg City.) I can’t wait to see what happens next. This is better than the last movie I rented on Pay-per-view.

Stay tuned. And don't forget the pop-corn.

Sidenote: All of this TV watching is excellent for my vocabulary. My new favorite expression: “Champs de ruines” which is basically a fancy French way of saying something is FUBAR.

Sidenote#2: Also, Thierry Henry is hot.

Just sayin'.

Crete: A Perfect 10!

2010-06-18T11:21:00.004+02:00

The sea was too cold to swim in, but OMFG Crete was fantastic!

We swam, we ate, we stole rocks.

Bacardi & Hairy Legs.

2010-06-04T09:04:00.001+02:00

By the time you read this I will be driving to the airport. Once again FrenchBoy and I are off for one glorious week at the Amirandes resort on Crete. It was so good last year that we had to go back and do it again.

The only thing we don't like about the place is the price of the coffee. Five euros is a steep price to pay for a lukewarm cappuccino. So, we opted for the most logical remedy. Last week in Paris we bought a travel case for our Nespresso machine so we could take it with us to Crete. Yes. We are taking our expresso machine on vacation.

I haven't packed anything yet, but I figure all I need is my swimsuit, my sunglasses, and a pair of busted flip-flops so everyone will immediately understand that I'm American. I'll pick up a couple of bottles of booze at the duty-free shop at the airport before I board, and that will be that.

Oh speaking of busted. I managed to remedy my Frodo-feet issues with this device, which would just be so incredibly wrong, if it didn't work so damn well. I will finally be wearing my Choos without drawing a crowd of horrified gawkers.

And since our suite has a small private pool, I don't even have to shave my legs. People this is the life!

Epilation be gone! Bring on the Bacardi!

Thoughts on Lucien Freud at the Pompidou Museum.

2010-06-03T19:00:00.003+02:00

I saw the Lucien Freud exhibition at the Pompidou Museum in Paris this weekend.

When I was working on my BFA at the University of Iowa I had a few professors who talked about both Lucien Freud and Susan Rothenberg with an almost religious fervor. Until this weekend I'd only ever seen Freud's work in glossy art books, so I was really looking forward to getting a chance to rediscover them in person.

What can I say? I have no doubt that Cécile Debray is one of the Pompidou's strongest curators. The show was good of course. Small and compact, but good, and filled with some pretty recent works. I know this all sounds a bit flat, but what else can I say that hasn't already been said better about Lucien Freud?

And to be honest, with the exception of the 3 garden, floral paintings, nothing in the entire exhibition really moved me too much. At least not in the same way that a Francis Bacon painting literally makes my heart race or how Alice Neel's paintings give me goosebumps while simultaneously making me cry on the inside.

Some random thoughts & commentaries I had about the show:

1. "I thought it would be much more impressive." I once heard a Texan say these exact words while standing at the foot of the Eiffel tower about 6 years ago. Now I know how he felt and I am sorry that I have been making fun of him for all these many years. Also, I though the paintings would be bigger. Literally bigger.

2. The exhibition audio guide was useless and annoying. I am a museum audio guide junkie, but after paying for this one--I wanted a refund. It's bad enough that I have to walk around looking like a complete freak-show wearing those stylish headphone sets circa 1986, so I most certainly don't like being talked down to by a palm-sized device with a posh British accent.

3. Almost all the paintings were framed behind glass. I'd never seen that before. Interesting and weird. I don't understand why this is so. (If anybody has insights please speak up in comments.)

4. The garden paintings were AMAZING. The color was....like little mini earthquakes. While the rest of the masses were jockeying for position infront of the fleshy portraits, my husband and I stood mesmorized in front of them looking back and forth at eachother like "Holy crap. Are you seeing this!?"

5. I wish my paintings could make mini earthquakes.

That is all.

Louise Bourgeois: Do it RockStar.

2010-06-01T09:50:00.002+02:00

A quick post dedicated to the passing of an absolute Art RockStar.

I was lucky enough to see her retrospective at the Pompidou in 2008. Folks, this is how it's done. This is the kind of artist I want to be when I grow up.

"I have been to hell and back and let me tell you it was wonderful."
-Louise Bourgeois

Photo of Louise: Maplethorpe Gallery

Bienvenue au Pompidou!

2010-05-17T09:22:00.006+02:00

It finally happened. The Pompidou Museum Metz finally opened this weekend.

There were so many people that you would have thought that there was a football match or a Johnny Hallyday concert. I was more than a little bit touched to see so many people come out for the opening of an art museum. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that even people in the armpit of France will come out to support it.

The public was invited to participate in a performance art piece designed by Spanish Artist Maider Lopez which included the use of 3000 white umbrellas lit up by LED flashlights.

I also learned that I need to read the user's manual for my new camera. I bought a Nikon D90 back in November and it's so complicated that I left it on my bookshelf until last week. Clearly I have NOT mastered night shooting. I just figured out how to turn the damn thing on last week.

Night-time photography--Y'ur doin' it wrong!

Studio Tour.

2010-05-14T12:45:00.001+02:00

I think I’ve explained this before. The reason I don’t use my real name here on this blog isn’t because I’m hiding anything really, but because I don’t want museum curators googling my name and ending up finding pictures of me chugging champagne at a New Year’s eve party. (Oh who am I kidding? In my field that might even help my career.)

But if I’m gonna have time to keep up this blog I have to find a way to UN-separate it from my work life a bit, because frankly at the moment I’m working my ASS off and all I’m thinking about pretty much revolves around what is going on in my studio. If I blog, it’s gonna be about art or it aint gonna get blogged. Period. *snapping fingers*

So, an an introduction, I thought I'd take you on a tour of my studio. I know how much I personally love to see other artists work spaces. For me it's quite magical and exciting to see an artists studio. It's like opening the back of a clock and seeing all those tiny gears and mechanisms turning. You have no idea what they do, but dammit they mean business.

Here's where I live all day:

More later!

No Boobs Necessary.

2010-04-27T12:48:00.000+02:00

I know I've talked about this before, but I have to gush about it a bit more. It's damn exciting to have a major international Art museum opening up down the street from your house! I'm not ashamed to admit that I go the city's website to peek in on live webcam footage at least once a week.

After several years of delays, The Centre Pompidou-Metz is set to open in less than two weeks.

These hilarious posters have been popping up around town within the last week. There's also an Andy Warhol version. Translation: "I'm moving to Metz."

My question: Is there not ONE female artist that could have been used in the marketing campaign? These specific artists were chosen because their faces and/or public personas are just as recognisable as their actual artworks.

What woman artist do you think the general public would easily recognise?

Black Wednesday: The Rise of The Crumb-Snatchers.

2010-04-12T12:07:00.005+02:00

I don’t leave my house on Wednesday.

My friend Mr. Taylor once called Wednesday “children’s day”. I on the other hand prefer to refer to it as Black Wednesday. Those of you who live outside France probably don’t know this, but in France there is no school on Wednesday. This means that every Wednesday all public places in France become jungle gyms. There are children frickin’ everywhere. How many children? Need I remind you that France is one of the only countries in Europe that is actually experiencing population growth?

The reasoning behind the no school on Wednesday business is that this is the one day that children do extra-curricular activities such as sports or music. And by sports I mean head butting people and objects, and by music I mean the sound of them screaming in restaurants and shopping centers. If you want to see the French “Just Good Enough” parenting philosophy in action, Wednesday is the perfect day for it.

Below you will find my personal top 3 list of places in France that should absolutely be avoided like the plague on Wednesdays and why:

1. Doctor’s Offices- Mommy + 3 children under the age of 5, all 4 have been waiting 3 hours to see the doctor, all 4 have runny noses and a slight fever. If you weren’t sick when your ass entered that waiting room, you sure the hell will be by the time you leave.

2. Museums- I am convinced that all of France’s major museums double their security on Wednesdays to insure that some priceless national treasure doesn’t meet its demise at the hands of a rambunctious 7 year old. (p.s. Your snack from the cafe has been laced with Ritalin for insurance purposes. Enjoy!)

3. The Grocery Store- By all means feel free to shop on Wednesday if you enjoy a full-on obstacle course of 5 year olds having temper tantrums on the filthy floor. Oh, beware of that slippery spot in aisle 4 where Johnny lauched a jar of pickles at Mommy's head like a frickin' vinegar grenade. Stuff you should bring with you on your adventure: recyclable shopping bags, sensible shoes and or combat attire, earplugs or ipod for mental/ear protection, and a copy of War and Peace for the 45 minute wait at the check-out counter. Good luck with that.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually really like kids. Just not other peoples’ bad ass kids. Also, I am sick of getting hip-checked by some breeder's SUV sized baby stroller. Riddle me this: How the hell does an infant need a hummer? All you moms out there reading this- Please forgive my ignorance and learn me something. What the hell do you keep in those “diaper bags” that are twice the size of a Samsonite weekender? Just admit it: That's where you hide the wet-bar right?

Photo courtesy of Enfant Terrible kids clothing which makes the cutest kid t-shirts ever. No hipster off-spring should be without one! Buy one for your crumb-snatcher now.

Capitalism...Y'ur doin' It Wrong!

2010-03-16T11:12:00.003+01:00

I just wanted to share with you a few local businesses and business ideas that have popped up in the last few months here in Metz, France. Sorry the photos are so crappy. It was freezing cold and pissing rain, but I think you can still get the point.

Cheeseburgerz.....Y'ur doin' it Wrong:

Duck Hamburger discounted to only 15,90 EUR.

Gangsta...........Y'ur doin' it Wrong:

For real y'ur too cheap to reprint this sign?

Discuss.

Last Minute Escape!

2010-03-11T13:18:00.001+01:00

This weekend we took a last minute get-away to Paris. As much as we love the Barbie Dream House, we very much enjoy getting away from Metz. Also, I needed a cheeseburger. So, we hopped on the TGV and away we went. We stopped by the Pompidou to see the Pierre Soulages retrospective, and spent about an hour at the elles@centrepompidou exhibition which was just massive in every sense of the word.

The Marlene Dumas paintings just knocked my socks off. If you can get to Paris this year, get thee to this show. After February 2011 most of this work will go back into storage untill the next time some wise curator decides it’s time to pay attention to women artists again. Ahem. Moving along.

Contrary to popular belief, the highlight of our weekend was of our weekend was not inhaling cheeseburgers at the Hard Rock Café while head-banging to System of a Down. Nope. The highlight of my weekend was scoring not one, but these two pairs of Jimmy Choo Nimbus sandals on sale.

Actually only one pair was on sale, but my lovely FrenchBoy managed to talk the sales girl into giving me the 2nd pair at the sale price since I simply couldn’t choose between two Choos.

(I bet you can’t say that real fast 5 times in a row!)

Ladies and gentlemen, I am in shoe love, but obviously I cannot wear these babies untill Spring officially arrives. Unfortunately it is currently minus 3 degrees here in Metz France, so I’m in for a long wait….which is actually a good thing cuz right about now my feet look like Frodo Baggins.

Seriously--My once lovely tootsies are lookin’ a bit rough around the edges due to the fact that I’ve been stomping around in the snow in my Harley Davidson Motorcycle boots every damn day all damn winter. So, for the next 28 days my feet will be in serious full-time in-patient rehab. I cannot be seen wearing my Choos with effin’ hobbit feet.

I’m just keepin’ it real.

There is no French word for 'Happy Hour'.

2010-03-04T12:29:00.000+01:00

One of the toughest parts of being an expat, or in my case an immigrant, is the reality of leaving your friends behind and jumping into a new location and trying to make new ones. Anyone who has ever moved to a new city or state knows how difficult it can be to jump ship and create a new social circle. Doing so in a foreign language is just that much more daunting a task. I think I’ve whined about making French friends on this blog before and I plan to do so again one last time and then I think it will beofficially out of my system:

I find Frenchmen lovely. So much so that I married one. French women on the other hand don’t really trip my trigger. For one, I think I intimidate them. That’s a nice way of saying I scare them off. If you’ve been reading this blog for any time now, you know I have a big personality, but to my credit I’m a bit more subdued in person….as long as I’m sober. Unfortunately most casual social situations or informal events in France do not include sobriety. After a few glasses of wine I have been known to do things that seem completely strange and obnoxious to French women, such as laughing. And trust me it's not just Parisienne women who enjoy looking down on fun people.

But I have to admit; If I didn’t live in the armpit of France I would definitely give this a try. The idea is so simple: It’s like a cocktail hour before work. Only the cocktail is coffee of course. Is this a great idea or is this a great idea? And wouldn't it just be a really cool way to start off your day?

If anyone has ever been to one of these events in Paris I would LOVE to hear how it went. Seriously please either e-mail me or post in comments.

Wait, wait, don’t tell me. A bunch of Anglophones showed up.

Shallow As A Kiddie Pool.

2010-03-01T09:37:00.008+01:00

And now, on a much lighter note:

For the last 3 weeks I have eaten nothing but steamed fish and organic fruits and vegetables, and about 85 cups of coffee. Why? Not because I want to get healthy and feel good about myself, but because I want to be able to fit into these clothes.

Tracy Reese is a Goddess with a capital G, and that ensemble at 1:32 is the bee's knees. And did I mention she makes clothese up to a size 12?

Is it wrong to pray to Jesus to help you get designer clothes? Will I go to hell twice if I admit that I only want to get skinny so I can wear slutty clothes?

Oh No He Di’int!

2010-02-25T09:28:00.000+01:00

You may or may not have heard about the controversy surrounding the new film The Other Dumas. Long story short--Gerdard Dipardoo, one of France’s most famous actors, will be playing Alexandre Dumas, author of such famous novels as “The Count of Monte Cristo” and “The Three Musketeers,”. There is however, one small catch: Alexandre Dumas was kinda Black. Dipardoo is not kinda Black. He’s just kinda fat and kinda ugly as all get out.

When I first heard about this I was offended for obvious reasons. One, Dipardoo makes my skin crawl, and two, he’s daring to play one of France’s most beloved and celebrated cultural icons in black face and a fuzzy afro wig. (OK that last bit was just me being dramatic.) I know it’s tough for Black actors in Hollywood to get the really interesting roles they want to play, but they’ve got it easy compared to Black French actors. Apparently French casting directors don’t even bother trying to find Black actors to play actual Black characters. They just paint the white actors browner and slap a curly wig on their head and say “Whatever. Same diff.”

To clarify, my beef with Dipardoo is not just that he isn’t Black, but that I’m just sick of seeing his bloated face in so many damn movies. I am under the impression that there some kind of French film mafia that requires he be given a role in 40% of the films made in France. I hear he almost beat out Marion Cotillard for the role of Édith Piaf in La Môme, but eventually settled for a supporting role.

There are just so many things wrong with this whole set up that I hardly know where to begin. It’s bad enough that 99% of French people don’t even know that Dumas was kinda Black, did they even try to find a Black actor for the role? My guess is no. I mean does Dipardoo even look like Dumas?

OH SNAAAAP! He does look like Dumas!

OK, that freightening fact aside, the whole thing still rubs me the wrong way. Or maybe I’m just being closed-minded. Film is art and art should be allowed to take creative liberties. For instance when they make the biopic of Barack Obama’s life...

Young Barack should be played by a slightly sun-kissed Zack Efron...

and Rob Lowe can play Obama during his white house years. No fake-bake necessary since he is already lightly toasted.

Gosh darnit! I do declare that I have truly missed my calling as a casting director. I think I really nailed this one, although I am open to discussion. Maybe Clooney would do a better Obama?

"What does it all mean?"

2010-02-22T11:38:00.003+01:00

Thank you all for obliging the “mid-blog crisis” I’ve been going through for the last three months. After a few years of blogging you kind of start asking yourself some pretty deep existential questions about why the hell you show up to a blog twice a week to talk to complete strangers. I mean, I didn’t start doing this so I could get a book deal. And I only make $100 a year from Google Ad-sense. Nobody is getting rich chez moi, but still, I show up.

After three months of deliberation I’ve come up with more than a few explanations for why I keep doing this blog, ranging from: my mother didn’t breast feed me long enough, to iron deficiency and lack of sufficient REM sleep. Still, nothing quite adds up.

What I know for sure is that when something strikes me as funny, I feel the unyielding urge to write it down or at least tell a few people. I am a good story-teller. Oh, and I enjoy it. So, I make no promises, about how long I’ll keep doing this, but for as long as I keep enjoying it--- I’m back.

"And I'm just gettin' warm..."

2010-02-19T11:25:00.003+01:00

My immigrant ramblings will continue next week.

Madame K has left the building.

2010-01-08T10:18:00.003+01:00

Happy New Year and all that, but I just can’t bring myself out of my winter coma long enough to write stuff. All I really feel like doing as of late is napping, playing my guitar and baking chocolate cakes and sometimes watching James Bond movies on Blu-Ray. Blame it on the winter and OH, did I mention I came down with a killer head-cold?

WhingeWhingeWhinge much?

I’m originally from Iowa, so I should be able to handle this better, but lord almighty if snow doesn’t put me in a rightfully evil disposition. So, back to baking and napping it is. With any luck I will be out of hibernation before April showers arrive.

In the meantime I leave you with this delightful paper animation with music that seems somehow wonderfully appropriate for this post.

Why I Heart France Reason #17: Sin Delivery.

2009-12-20T10:01:00.010+01:00

One of the things that always made me a bit grumpy about living in the armpit of France is all the modern conveniences that you simply can't get. The French simply can't seem to get the hang of delivery service. Yes, we can pizza delivered, but untill about 2 years ago if you didn't go to pick it up yourself, the pizza would arrive chez vous roughly 1.5 hours after your ordered the damn thing, on the back of a 18 year old motorbike-riding half-wit who clearly jumped up and down on it 3 or 4 times just before he rang your doorbell. And did I mention that said pizza would taste like it had been seasoned with old gym socks?

Somehow in France you can get a doctor to come to your house at 8PM for 5 Euros, but pizza or egg rolls? B^tch, not if your life depended on it.

So imagine my delight when I got this flyer in my mailbox a week ago:

Alert Drink offers free home delivery of aperitifs, smoothies, cocktails, wines, champagnes, salads, sandwishes & paninis, ice-cream, desserts, and....wait for it......Sex toys and accessories.

At first I thought it was just bizarre, but then I realised the Alert Drink genious. We live in a part of France where they roll up the sidewalks at 7PM. What about us drunks and pervs who want to party till dawn?

Ah, finally a delivery service with us in mind!

Not For Nothing....

2009-12-18T13:51:00.000+01:00

but as of December 13th, FrenchBoy and I have been married 6 years.

And in classic fashion we completely forgot about it until about 8PM that evening when French Mother-in-law reminded us...by sending us a text message on my phone.

All so very romantic.

OOOOh-Weee! I Been Busy....Readin'!

2009-12-17T11:22:00.005+01:00

Well first I’d like to apologize for not blogging as of late. I’ve been really really ~~drunk~~ busy. Well, it is the Christmas season and all. And Goddess knows the only way to make it through the uber-grey Alsace-Lorraine winter is to ~~get y'ur drink on~~ start a book club with a few friends.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I have friends now. Unlike when I lived in Thionville, now that I live in the big city of Metz (please catch my sarcasm) I actually have managed to build up a lovely group of friends to ~~get drunk~~ spend time reading books with. How a former Brooklyn ~~party-girl~~ literati could survive 4 years in a small town in France without a proper ~~drinking possee~~ book club, is a complete mystery to me, but it happened.

But those days are over, and now that I have myself a pretty nice sized posse. Big enough that when we all go out together we have to make reservations so they can push 2-3 tables together. We have even developed proper ~~drinking~~ book club names for eachother such as Quich-Lorraine, Kir-on, A-Ron Hubbard, and La Rochelle, all clearly inspired by ~~copious amounts of wine~~ our favorite literary references.

We all ended up in France for different reasons, and we’ve all been here differing amounts of time, but the one common denominator is that we all really appreciate being able to spend time with other Anglophones. As lovely as France can be, there are days when you’d prefer to be just about anywhere else on the planet earth. And on days when I need to drown those sentiments in a ~~bottle of Rosé~~ good book, well, now I have buddies to do that with.

Photo caption: "I love the reading!"

"No Thanks. Keep the BJ."

2009-11-20T16:59:00.004+01:00

Yesterday afternoon I met up with my buddy Aaron for coffee….which turned into cocktails…as usual. Of course as soon as I arrived at the bar I randomly realized that it was the 3rd Thursday in November.

So after Aaron and I had warmed up our palettes with a couple glasses of Rose, the bartender asked us if we’d like to try the BJ Newvo. Aaron was a bit hesitant, but I agreed to give it a try if for no other reason than tradition and the fact that after 2 glasses of wine I’ll pretty much try damn near anything.

Long story short--- I hated the BJ Newvo. I will never become one of those people who bashes a bottle of BJ, but I gotta tell ya, the glass I had last night was crazy bitter and very flat tasting.

In technical wine tasting terms: It was yucky.

Public Service Announcement From Your Sponsor:

2009-11-12T13:35:00.000+01:00

While I’m sitting here drinking my morning tea I would just like to take the opportunity to make a public service announcement:

*Ahem.*

I am not pregnant.

Ever since I made that damn post about quiting smoking, certain members of my entourage have been taking sideways glances at my midsection. People, I’m not knocked-up, I’m just fat….which is why I have also cut back on the drinkin’. Cuz as much as I love the booz, I’d still I’d rather eat my calories. It's a hard choice, but in the war of cakes vs. cocktails, cakes usually wins.

Please understand my sudden lifestyle changes have nothing to do with allowing a miniature human to reside in my uterus for the good part of a year. My reasons for giving up a few of my vices are shallow as a kiddie pool.

I wanna buy new fancy clothes and most designers only make fancy garments up to a size 10.

And Valentino sho'nuf don't make maternity wear so.....whatever to that.

How To Get Your Fancy On.

2009-11-10T09:59:00.000+01:00

I’m not afraid to admit that I like fanciness. I am all but certain that I get this peculiarity from my grandmother Myrtle. I say peculiarity because, well, I don’t exactly have any rich uncles, yet as my father once so eloquently said to me: “Girl, you got champagne tastes on a beer budget!”

Touché Dad. Touché.

My grandparents were far from being rich, but that never stopped my Granny from treating herself to fancy perfumes, fancy hats and fancy costume jewelry. From my Granny I learned that sometimes, life is rough, but that doesn’t have to stop you from gettin’ your fancy on. In fact when life is rough you MUST get your fancy on!

Lucky for me I have friends that also like to get their fancy on. Everytime I’m in London I meet up with my friend Janice who keeps on the ready a list of fan-tabulous tea salons in London.

This past visit we went to The Mandeville, which was specifically chosen because they have a separate “man menu” which included larger hardier sandwiches. FrenchBoy even got to eat off of manly blue china instead of the standard pink floral patterned stuff.

However I don’t know how manly one can feel whilst munching a scone topped with clotted cream and strawberry jam on “Tiffany Blue” fine bone china…But you can certainly try.

For those who don’t wanna cross the pond, there is of course my old Paris stand-by: the tea salon at Hôtel de Crillon. A few weeks ago I met up with my friend Liz for a weekend in Paris and I took her on a "friend date" there. In fact Hôtel de Crillon has become my default friend date whenever I’m in the neighborhood with someone from out of town. I drag all my friends and family there and afterwards they gush about how lovely it was and I get to say “Duh I know.”, because well, I am sure my Granny Myrtle would agree that having fancy tea is fancy perfection!

p.s. Am I the only person who called their grandmother “Granny” or am I the lone reject? Discuss.

Halloween Part 2

2009-11-05T08:16:00.006+01:00

I wrote a response to Charlotte's really good comment yesterday, but it got so damn long that I had to turn it into a post. Lucky you!

Anyway, Charlotte suggested that I was being a bit hard on the French. And she's right. I am a bit hard on the French. (But I like to think that I am equally ruthless with everyone I skewer on this blog.)

And in some ways I agree with her, but let’s not over-look the fact that in France it is also “cool” to be glibly anti-American for non-specific reasons that have vaguely something to do with capitalism, McDonalds, or religion. Nevermind the fact that in general the French LOVE to shop, when pushed will admit to having eaten McDonalds quite recently, and relish all the free days off they get for the Public and School holidays, of which a good part are Catholic holidays.

And while much of Halloween in the US is focused around companies getting people to buy crap they don’t need, I for one have never bought or paid for a Halloween costume. Never, not once. I will admit to buying obscene amounts of sweet treats, but who are we kidding---I do that even in France. If I could blame my candy consumption on the unseen forces of rabid consumerism….I would. But truth be told. I loves the candies. Give me some credit for personal responsibility...erh accountbility...erh whatever.

What this Halloween rant is really all about is that it just seems like in France there is only one way to be "French". Multiculturalism does not exist in any real way here. Either something is French or it has nothing to do with France. There is absolutely very little room for expansion, advancement or change in the definition of "French" in spite of the fact that France is changing----at the speed of f*ckin' light right before my very eyes. Inspite of this absolute fact, the idea of “Frenchness” remains very very rigid and set in it’s ways, and might I add, has a habit of cutting off it’s nose to spite it’s puckered face. It’s all so…..well, for lack of a better word…French.

By the by--Americans imitate the French alllll the damn time (art, cinema, fashion, cuisine)sometimes without even knowing it. And unless taken to extremes, few people would think of it as “pathetic”.

I mean is it pathetic that I desperately want these Chanel shoes?

I think not.

R.I.P. Halloween in France. (Born 2007- Died 2009)

2009-11-03T11:41:00.011+01:00

Does this make any sense to you: The French hate Halloween because it’s American, but they inhale Le Beeg-Mac like high cholesterol is the new black?

Whatever. Don't get me started.

We don’t get to celebrate Halloween here in Frogland. I got excited about 3 years ago when it seemed that the Frogs were on the verge of adopting it, but then it just fizzled out. I used to be really bitter about lack of Halloween in France, but now I’m over it. In fact this year I forgot, and we didn’t get any trick-or-treaters anyway.

BUT, one very charming reader (*cough*Jamila*cough,cough*) sent me this photo from the movie “The Chronicles of Riddick”.

Would this not make the most bad-ass Halloween Couples Costume ever for FrenchBoy and I? Or hell we could just go out to dinner dressed up like that. The big manly metallic shoulder pads might be tough to pull off, but we could give it a try.

Also side note: I lurve "The Chronicles of Riddick" because:

A.) I love Thandie Newton long time.

B.) The fact that Vin Deisel has a million-dollar acting career and Ralph Macchio does not, is just sick and awesome.

And oh, oh, my favorite line from the movie: "Now look at you... all back of the bus and sh*t."

Priceless.

Cold Turkey.

2009-10-16T09:34:00.007+02:00

...And in other news. I quit smoking.

Now, before you all start in on that round of applause, please note for the record that I am not at all proud and/or happy about my new so-called life as a non-smoker. In fact I'm down right pissy about it.

Eventhough I rarely smoked more than 6 cigarettes a day, you gotta understand something: I loved those 6 ciggies! They were mine. Mine! Mine! Mine! In fact I love smoking. I love the smell of it. I love the feel of it. I love delicately rolling a freshly lit ciggie between my index and F-U finger and waving it around like a flaming wrath-of-god magic wand. And really, there's nothing like that sensation of hot poisoned air rushing into the depths of your lungs. Naturally there's only one thing in the world that would convince me to give it up all that: FrenchBoy.

About two weeks ago, on our way home from London, we were standing outside Gare de L'Est in Paris while I smoked a cigarette. Every minute or so, some shifty character would come by and ask us for spare change. (Anyone's who's spent time outside a Gare in Europe knows just how shifty-shady these characters can be.) After about 5 minutes of this, FrenchBoy and I were both fed-up. As I prematurely extinguished my smokey-treat, Frenchboy said something to the effect of "You should quit smoking." or maybe it was "I thought you said you were gonna quit smoking." Either way, given the company we were keeping at that very moment, it seemed like a really good idea...at the time. And since it was the last ciggie in the pack, I just decided to quit then and there. That said, if I had known in advance that the smoke outside the gare was to be my last ciggie, I would have savoured it. Or at least finished the damn thing instead of putting it out only half smoked.

*insert deep sigh here*

So, two weeks sans-ciggies and I'm OK. I haven't tried to strangle anyone. In fact it's been easier than I thought it would be. I've been keeping myself insanely busy with work. Lots and lots of mind-frying paperwork. Oh, and audio books. It seems that the key to quitting smoking, at least for me, is to focus intensely on incredibly boring and repetitive tasks for hours on end. But whatever. It's working.

I have however gained 2 kilos in 2 weeks, so, it looks like I won't die of lung cancer after all. Instead I'll live forever as a fat-ass.

Bravo.

Burger With a Side of Nostalgia.

2009-10-14T09:47:00.004+02:00

Everytime I have a friend or family member that’s coming to France for a visit, the first thing they ask is “Do you want me to bring you anything?” And it’s a fair question. Any expat can tell you that one of the hardest things about moving to a new country is all the food items that just aren’t available at your local grocery store—or any grocery store for that matter. But as the years pass, the list of food items that I miss gets shorter and shorter. First I started hating Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Then,about 2 years ago, stores started stocking taco shells. If the local supermarket starts carrying strawberry Twizzlers, I can officially stop asking people to smuggle candy into the country for me.

That said, the one thing that The French just cannot seem to get right is a freakin’ cheeseburger. When you order a cheeseburger in France it is always a surprise: Will it arrive with 1 or 2 slices of bread, or maybe no bread at all? What the hell kind of cheese will they put on it? And most importantly--Will there be a half cooked egg on top of it?

So my friends, each and every time I am in Paris I make a quick stop at the Hard Rock Café. Yeah yeah, the first time I went I thought that too. It’s just too corny. But then I learned something about myself: when push comes to shove, I am likely to put up with all sorts of humiliation in order to get my hands on a really good Cheeseburger.

After I got over my initial embarrassment of being an American in Paris going to the Hard Rock Café, I really started enjoying eating there. I would look forward to it for a week in advance and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. And then, halfway through my HRC Cheesburger I realized why:

I love the Hard Rock Café because it reminds me of the golden years of MTV with Mark Goodman and Martha Quinn, when it was all music all the time. I mean where else on earth can you go grub on a cheeseburger while watching non-stop videos of Billy Joel, Depeche-Mode, and then U2 (circa the era where Bono had that crazy mullet) while a smashed up guitar once played by Eddie Veddar (circa ‘10’ before he started looking like a drunk sailor) hangs on the wall above your head?

Also the Purple Haze cocktail will get ya super drunk. Seriously what’s not to love about the Hard Rock café?

So here’s to nostalgia…and American cheeseburgers. Savor it, cuz this is about as patriotic as I get.

You Cannot Eat a Louis Vuitton Bag.

2009-10-09T10:51:00.003+02:00

How on earth can I cram 6 weeks worth of blogging and photos into like 3-4 posts? I dunno but I’ll do my best. We’ll start with the good stuff: Food.

So, FrenchBoy and I went to Kong. (Warning: Loud obnoxious music on Kong website.)

Those of you who are Sex and the City whores already know exactly where it is. For the rest of y’all, Kong is a restaurant on the 4th and 5th floors of the Kenzo building (kinda facing Pont Neuf).

Philippe Starck designed the entire interior which is apparently supposed to be Manga hipster kitsch. In the final series episodes of “Sex and the City” which are partly set in Paris, SJP’s character Carrie meets with her boyfriend’s ex-wife here.

As expected, the service was just OK, and the food was lack-luster. (side note: If you want a good burger---go to the Hard Rock Café. More on that later.)

Next stop Nomiya.

I’ve always been insanely lucky, but I totally hit the jackpot when I was able to snag two seats in the Nomiya dining room. What’s Nomiya? Text stolen from the website:

"Enjoy a unique lunchtime event with family or friends. Gilles Stassart and his team invite you to sit at their table in the extraordinary ambience of the Nomiya dining room, where you’ll discover a moment of culinary bliss and creativity. There, on the rooftop of the Palais de Tokyo, in this ultra-contemporary architecture, you’ll relish in the breathtaking panoramic views of Paris and enjoy a truly unforgettable experience."

What they fail to mention is just how difficult it is to get a reservation. Ya see, bookings are released one day at a time, one calendar month in advance at exactly 10 AM. Oh, and there are only 12 places available, so if you log onto the website at oh say, 10:01, you are proper screwed so better luck next time.

Anyhoo, we got two seats and showed up for our fancy lunch. On the way up to the rooftop we got a chance to take a brief rest on the Palais de Tokyo rooftop garden complete with the most real-looking fake grass I’ve ever seen. (I took as many photos as possible so that I could steal and then duplicate all their landscaping ideas at the Barbie Dream House.)

Next we hiked up to the actual restaurant which is in fact a little glass cube that is temporarily affixed to the top of the building.

To say that the view of the Eiffel Tower is stunning is well, retardedly obvious.

"Yep. Only 12 seats. Shall we sit boy-girl-boy-girl?"

Right after I took this photo I snuck up behind the sous-chef, and in my best Fat Albert voice imitation yelled "Hey, Hey, Hey! I'm hungry b*tch. Where's my lunch?" It was super funny. Unfortunately it only took place in my head and thus there are no witnesses to this event.

Eiffel Tower hat!

Ok, long story short, the food was yummy and interesting. Our handsome young host was gracious and warm and very easy on the eyes. The other guests were a really interesting mix of middle-aged professionals---all Parisian. That said, they were all really delightful and the conversation was fun and easy even if FrenchBoy and I were a bit of a curiosity. Which brings me to my final topic of discussion.

How is it that when FrenchBoy and I go to fancy lunch we are almost always the only people under the age of 45 in the restaurant? OK, OK, Metz isn’t exactly a foodie paradise, but come on! We can’t be the only 30-somethings ‘round these parts who like to eat. And don’t try to tell me it’s cuz the restaurants are too expensive, because I just spent a month awash in a sea of skinny Hipster chics sauntering down la rue with their mini-LV bags while talking on their slick iphones. I love handbags as much as the next gal, but you cannot eat a Louis Vuitton bag no matter how hungry you get. I'm just sayin'.

Peoplez get your priorities straight here!

La Sorbonne- Part 2 "It Was Just Like Rocky Five!"

2009-09-20T22:38:00.005+02:00

I cannot even begin to tell you how much of a buzz-kill it is to be completely unable to upload photos to my ancient travel laptop. I’m having a blast running around Paris like a chicken with it’s head cut off, but I’ve no way to share my photos with you. So until I’m home, you’ll have to settle for one little spicy anecdote.

So, at La Sorbonne, as part of our last 2 hours of the day, we have a literature/culture/history discussion. Last week we studied the history of immigrants in France. Then as a way for each of us to practice our speaking skills, the professor went around the room and asked each of us to talk a bit about immigration and culture in our home countries. Everything was going really well at first. The Brazilians talked about the large Japanese population in Brazil, and the Londoners talked about Indian and Pakistanis in England. All very enlightening stuff. Then we got to the Russian girl.

“The Russian”, as we’ve all come to call her, began a tirade about how the only immigrants that come to Russia are criminals that move to Russia to become part of the mafia. Oh, and especially the Jews because they are smart and good with money.

Mind you, as she is spewing all this, the rest of us are just looking around at eachother in absolute bewilderment, (is that a word?) half wondering if we were hallucinating or if maybe we’d simply misunderstood her. Even our preternaturally calm, cool, and collected French professor looked a bit stunned. But before the professor could ~~shut her up~~ cut her off , one of the Italian students jumped in, and well, jumped about as far down that poor girl's throat as is earthly possible-- in broken French. It was beautiful! Bee-oootiful I tell you! Two people arguing in broken French about whether or not Jews run the Russian mafia. Needless to say, the Italian got the last word and that was the end of that.

Now each day after class “The Russian” scurries out of class as soon the class has finished. She won’t even hold eye contact with any of us Jew-lovers.

Oh the joys of higher education!

La Sorbonne - Part 1

2009-09-09T17:39:00.004+02:00

The good news is that I have a million things to chat about, the bad news is, my camera and my computer are in the middle of a messy divorce and refuse to speak to each other. This post will be illustrated entirely with photos I have stolen from the interwebz.

A perhaps crazy, yet nice lady walks past the class building every morning. Yesterday she stopped as she passed by to say: ---“Oh you’re so beautiful. I always did love Black people.” I will leave the interpretation of that comment up to you my wise readers.

I am learning French, but I am also learning that the best way to meet crazy people in Paris is to take the bus. Last week, on the way home from class, a slightly wild-eyed Japanese man got on the bus with about 15 bags of god knows what. A few stops into our journey, he gets out of his seat, waits for the back doors of the bus to open, and then leisurely tosses out a bucket of noodles---nearly missing the immaculately coiffed women who had just gotten off to do some shopping on Rue Raspail.

And last but certainly not least, let us speak of La Sorbonne.

The first day of class we met in the amphitheatre Richelieu at the Sorbonne main campus building thing. Which in spite of its age is still quite beautiful, but also kind of creepy in an intangible way.

We meet our professor who informs us that our class will be starting—NOW, and that the quickest way to get to the class building is to take a “short cut”.

She then proceeds to take us on a break-neck speed death march across Le Jardin de Luxembourg at 8:45 in the morning. We actually lapped the military soldiers as they did their morning run.

Once we arrived at the class building we were relieved, but this relief soon faded into despair when we discovered that our classroom was on the 6th floor of a very old walk up building which of course had no elevator. The stairs are so steep that on each narrow landing there is a chair and a phone for the eventuality that you will need to sit down and call an ambulance to come retrieve your ass when you have your heart attack. On the way up I joked with the Japanese girl behind me that this was worse than hiking up Mount Fuji. She started to laugh, and then nearly passed out from lack of oxygen.

My bad.

I should have recognized the death-march and the hiking expedition as foreshadowing of things to come. The first day of class we covered 300 years of French history in 2 hours then were assigned a 500 word essay. Since then, things have not let up for one second. The verb exercises are abusively endless, and homework assignments take hours to complete. Folks, I am treading water in a sea of irregular verbs.

The professor is good. Damn good. She’s serious and she means business---and I’m not just using that as an expression. She supplements her meager teacher’s salary by making you pay her 1 Euro every time she catches you speaking any language other than French. It’s either that or you can choose to take 40 lashes in front of the class. Most people just pay the euro, hence her endless assortment of perfectly-tied silk neck scarves.

By the by, I’m having a blast.

Paris is great and my classmates are great. They are just as overwhelmed and confused as me, but seem not to care one bit. They go out to nightclubs every night and come into class late and unprepared and they just have a good time. Part of that might have something to do with the fact that they’re all young college-aged kids, Oh---did I mention that most of them are Brazilian?

Not only am I learning French, but I’m learning some Portuguese by osmosis.

So, that about brings you up to speed. Class at the Sorbonne part #1.

OK, I have to go now because I have to learn to use relative pronouns, and then quickly memorize how to conjugate every French verb in existence in the Present Indicative tense by tomorrow morning at 9AM.

Eeeeh, which ones?

2009-08-25T13:13:00.000+02:00

I will never understand how those skinny Parisian bitches manage to click-clack around the cobblestone streets of Paris in those suicide stilettos. I for one am in need of a pair of sensible walking shoes. Not so sensible that I have granny feet, but sensible enough that I can wander around Paris aimlessly for a few hours without too much pain.

I already have a pair of StoneFly Fontana's:

But I'm also looking at these:

The No Name Akiko Jogger

The No Name Flyer Jogger

As much as I love the name Akiko, I'm leaning towards the Flyer because the leather and the square toe make it a bit less casual. Also the heel on the Flyer is one centimeter higher,which is always attractive to a girl who measures barely 5'3" on a good day. Oh one other important thing to note: I hate tennis shoes and sneakers of all sorts unless they are Chuck Taylor All Stars or unless the person wearing said sneaker is well under the age of 25.

Ok, Which of the above shoes do you hate the most and why?

The One Where I Panic For No Reason.

2009-08-24T12:44:00.000+02:00

Okay so, it’s September, and so that means in less than one week I’ll be heading back to school. As I mentioned before, during September I will be spending one whole month in Paris trying to Frenchify myself further by taking an intensive French course at La Sorbonne!

So, I should be all happy and dancing around right?

Instead, for the past week I have been having little anxiety induced heart palpitations. Each night I’ve been grinding my teeth so hard in my sleep that I’m about to give myself a case of TMJ. Dude, I feel like I’m about to start kindergarten or something. I know y'all think I'm just a cool, go with the flow good time gal, but in reality I'm a totally nerotic control-freak over-achiever, and thus--I'm so nervous I might actually pee my pants. Today I actually went out shopping for “school clothes” because I want to look especially spiffy so that the cool kids at La Sorbonne with play with me during recess. But even shopping could not chase away the butterflies in me belly.

Sidebar: I scored 2 pairs of rockin’ jeans that were already midget sized so that I didn’t even have to take them to the seamstress, 4 shirts (one left over from “les soldes” which was only 7 euros), and 4 fancy colorful scarves that are so long and beautiful that I can wrap them around my kneck several times and the ends still dangle happly at around waiste level----All for around 200 euros. Do I know how to shop or do I know how to shop!? *patting self on the back*

In other news: The agency I rented the apartment through actually makes videos of some of the apartments, mine included. As you can see in the video, apparently Its right across the street from the Louvre. Take a sneak peak at my over-priced hipster apartment:

Anyway, please feel free to use comments to comfort me and tell me how silly I’m being, and how I don’t need to be a nervous wreck because it will be awesome and there will be many nice peoples in my French class, and that surely I will be able to handle 5 whole hours of French lessons each day because I’m not an idiot and I will in fact be able to learn some new French language skills eventhough I feel all old and some days I feel like by brain has shrunken considerably over the last few years and is now just floating around in my skull like the last pickle in the pickle jar, but this is not true so it would pay to relax and just enjoy the whole experience.

Right?

In It To Win It!

2009-08-21T18:08:00.007+02:00

My mom had a dream.

Not exactly one like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. , but important none the less. About a week ago my mom dreamt up some numbers. She said she woke up and the dream numbers were so clear in her head that she quickly grabbed a piece of paper so she could jot them down. Also today is me mum's birthday, so I figure if I play the Euromillions lotto on my mom's birthday with her dream numbers, somehow my chances will magically much better than the usual 1 in 76,275,360. Right?

So this is just a warning: If you don't hear from me for like a few months, it's likely that I've won the Euro millions jackpot in which case I will promptly start packing for a last-minute, extended beach vacation to the Maldives. We will be staying there while our next dream house is being constructed:

I mean, I suppose I could still blog from the Maldives when I'm not too busy swimming or napping.

Anyway, Happy Birthday mom. If we win you're welcome to come to the Maldives with us.

Feast of the Assumption.

2009-08-18T13:51:00.006+02:00

Saturday is the one day each week FrenchBoy and I can go out and do stuff together, so Imagine our chagrin when we found out Saturday around 11am that it was a holiday and almost every damn thing in town would be closed all day. You would think at least FrenchBoy would have known something was up, but since he works in Luxembourg his mental schedule revolves around Luxembourgish holidays. (Yeah there’s only 10 actual Luxembourgish people but they do have their own holidays.)

As for me I’ve lived in France for almost 6 years now and I still don’t have all the Holidays memorized. Part of the problem of course is that I’m not catholic. I mean how the hell am I supposed to remember what day Mary flied up to heaven on? Geez. And frankly I’m such a shut in that we could be 3 or 4 days into Armegeddon before I realized what was what. “Oh so that’s what all the weeping and gnashing of teeth is all about!”

Alas,everything's closed. What to do, what to do? Fancy Lunch course! Eventhough we didn’t have a reservation, we popped into a local restaurant I’d read about on-line and were lucky enough to get a table on the terrace. It was by far the best meal we’ve had since visiting Brugge.

A few photos from the Menu Plaisir for your drooling pleasure:

Petite assiette de la patience. ("Little plate for patience". Something to munch on while you choose your meal and your aperitif cocktail arrives. Spicy Beef Carpaccio served on a slice of Cucumber.)

Médaillon d'agneau et côte, tarte à la tomate, jus d'ail doux et wasaby.
(Medallion of lamb and rib, tomato tart, some veggies, a bit of potatoe puree, aka mashed potatoes, and this amazing wasabi and garlic gravy in that tiny shot glass.)

Médaillon de lotte aux aubergines, fumet tranché à l'huile de basilic.
(Medallion of monkfish with eggplant, sliced and smoked with basil oil.)

Dessert:

Crème parfumée au pralin, entremet et sa glace façon tiramisu

(Praline Ice Cream and a Tiramisu)

Blame it on the salt content of our little Feast of the Assumption or perhaps it was the heat, but I’ll have you know that the next day neither my pants or my bras would fit, and my toes looked like cocktail wieners. I literally went up one whole clothing size overnight. I waddled around the apartment all day Sunday. At Sunday dinner French mother-in-law even mentioned in a ‘round about way that I looked a bit “Forte”….which by the by is one of my FAVORITE French expressions. How lovely is it that when a woman is a bit overweight they say “She’s a bit strong!”

Anyway, the meal was wonderful, even if it left me feeling a bit strong.

The Great Valentino Caper.

2009-08-17T11:52:00.014+02:00

A few weeks ago a munchkin snuck into our home and stole FrenchBoy’s Valentino suit. For what reason, we had no idea. It was all very confusing.

We looked everywhere for "The Valentino". Every armoire and closet was thoroughly searched. We frantically dug through every conceivable (and inconceiveable) hiding spot until we came to the conclusion that munchkins must have stolen it….which came as a real shocker. We had no idea that munchkins were such fashion whores or that they were even interested in wearing human formal work attire of all things. Also, wouldn’t the pant alterations alone cost a small fortune in Münchells? (modern Munchkin currency) Why wouldn't the little bastard simply buy proper munchkin-sized clothing to suit his munchkin fashion needs?

But after a bit of thinking and backtracking, my heart sank. Somehow, someway, I must have left "The Valentino" with the dry cleaner. The last time I came home from the cleaner’s it must have accidentally gotten left behind. How we had not noticed this weeks before, I have no idea.

The French are not great when it comes to customer service. We’ve discussed this at length, no? So I really dreaded the idea of walking into the Dry Cleaner and saying: “I know you don’t know us, and we don’t even have our pick-up receipt, but hey, if you find a random Valentino suit in here, give us a call and we’ll come take it. Thanks.” I was sure they’d give us the evil eye and send us on our way.

Evenso, we did just that. We marched into the Dry Cleaner's a bit sheepishly and stated our case. The lady at the counter picked a crumpled up piece of paper out of the waste paper basket and scribbled down our name and telephone number and told us she would call if she found anything. As we walked out the door I thought to myself: “We are never going to see that suit again because as soon as we leave, that piece of crumpled paper is going right back into the garbage.” We drove home and I tried my hardest not to mentally kick myself over and over again for loosing my FrenchBoy’s suit. Things get lost, I told myself. It's the Universe's way of teaching you to not get too attached to material objects. Just. Let. It. Go.

But wait.

Did I mention that we bought The Valentino in New York City-----for our WEDDING? Yes indeed! I managed to loose the suit that my dear Frog wore on our wedding day. The suit that FrenchBoy was wearing as he stood up before The Creator, human-kind, and a few squirrels, to make an oath that he would love and treasure me until we dropped dead. A suit so revered that it is known around our house simply as “The Valentino”. As in: “Does this tie go with The Valentino?” or “I need a new pair of shoes to go with The Valentino.” A suit so filled with magic and memory that, to this day, it holds in it’s inside left pocket a small piece of ripped notebook paper on which is printed FrenchBoy’s original handwritten WEDDING VOWS.

Now, if you have been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know that I’m not especially sentimental or sappy, but the very thought of losing "The Valentino" and our wedding vows gave me sharp shooting pains in my wicked little heart. Pain. PAIN I tell you!

So imagine my utter elation when 30 minutes after we walked into our house the dry cleaner called to say she’d found the suit and we could come pick it up. I still have a slight bruise on the bottom of my chin from when my jaw hit the parquet. In one swift moment, France had redeemed itself somehow.

No fuss, no muss, FrenchBoy went to pick up The Valentino. We did a little dance of merriment, and we all lived happily ever after.

The End....Almost.

A few days after the suit’s homecoming, still on an emotional high from our good fortune, I stopped by the local fleuriste in Sablon (cuz that’s my 'hood) and bought the biggest bouquet of flowers she had. I wanted to personally deliver them to the Dry Cleaning lady who had actually found the suit. To say the least she was greatful. She kissed me—TWICE. Ok, it was only the French-style-supermodel-air-kiss type kiss, but still. You must understand that getting kissed once by your French drycleaner is a huge deal. Getting kissed twice practically makes us family around these parts. But somehow it seemed appropriate because that’s exactly how I felt about her when she called to tell us that our wayward Valentino had been found.

Moral of this blog post:

Not all French businesses hate their customers. Most, but not all.

Always check your effin’ dry cleaning before you leave the shop.

There is yet hope for this evil, evil world.

Munchkins do not wear normal man-sized Valentino suits.

In Bruges, I mean Brugges, I mean Flanders...Erh, whatever.

2009-08-06T11:06:00.008+02:00

I never know whether I should spell it the English way or the Dutch way. Anyhow, 2 weekends ago we went to Brugges....Flanders...whatever.

It was fantastic:

First things first, I had a Brugge Blonde, then we headed out for a little evening walk around town. Please be forewarned that FrenchBoy looks painfully adorable in the photo that follows.

Mmmmm! Frites!

Less than 30 seconds after this photo was taken, the dirty hippie sitting on that bench in the left of this photo spilled beer on my right food. It was the only bad part of our trip.

Oh---and he was American. *deep sigh*

So Brugge is beautiful at night, but it's fantastic by day as well. The city is clean and bright and extremely well kept. I literally had to search for a cigarette butt on the ground. It made us realise just how dirty the city we live in is. But this is no surprise because well, French people are generally dirty stinky litter-bugs.

So we walked around all day....

Did some shopping in Brooklyn...

And FrenchBoy got a hand ~~job~~ massage at Aveda. Doesn't the photo just look naughty?

But I guess it's the least they can do when they charge you 50 euros for a tube of conditioner. (Not for nothin', but the conditioner was worth every centime.)

BEER!

If you ever make it to Brugge and want an excellent meal, you gotta go to Pieter Pourbus. I have had very few dining experiences where I left the restaurant and said "Oh man, that was ridiculously good." This was such an occassion.

We ordered the "chunk of meat for two" and were both overwhelmed yet delighted when the waitress brought out half a cow and a bucket of frites. This is the very poorly composed before photo of our meal:

This is me going into a beef coma after my third serving. If you look closely you will see the gleaming beads of sweat on my forehead....or more like I'm actually sweating gravy.

Thumbs up! "I ate a whole damn cow bitches!"

The French have coffee after dinner out of habit, but after a meal like this, a strong coffee is absolutely mandatory. At one point before it arrived on the table FrenchBoy actually started to nod off at the table. This coffee saved me from having to drag him back to the hotel in a Fireman's carry. Close call I tell ya!

Of and for dessert I ate a rat.

Miam-Miam! (That's French for "Yum-Yum!")

Blog Ennui. Please Stand By.

2009-07-20T10:31:00.010+02:00

Seriously. I cannot be bothered to blog.

There's something in the summer air that has given me blog ennui as of late. Nothing seems exciting enough to blog about. And so I bring you....a random photo dump:

1. The new Metz Pompidou Center down the street is finally getting its chapeau. I think it's supposed to open next year?

2. Obama throws gang signs.

3. Double date with Manu and Emmanuella. We went to a Portuguese restaurant, in Luxembourg of course, where I had Dorado that was to die for.

And then the waiter came out and cooked up crepes in Grand Marnier...which I personally thought was super gross cuz I hate Grand Marnier.

4. Me and a bunch of other drunk Anglophones partying it up at La Fete de La Musique. I have no idea who the guy in the kilt is, but he was as cute as a bug's ear.

The only good band we heard all night:

5. And last but not least. My teeny tiny mom/Yoga Instructor/almost Reiki Master/ordained Disciples of Christ minister with her very tall Drag Queen friend at Gay Pride in Indianapolis, Indiana. Amen!

Ok, that's it. That's all I got.

Why I Heart France Reason# 16: Being French Means Never Having to Say You’re Sorry.

2009-07-03T11:47:00.022+02:00

Please carefully consider this conversation I overheard yesterday at the bank:

French Lady w/ pancake-ass: Bonjour, I need to make a deposit into my account.

(she hands him a fat envelope.)

Mr. Dim-witted Bank Teller: Merci Madame, Just one moment.

(Insert sound of dim-witted tapping sounds on computer keyboard.)

Mr. Dim-witted Bank Teller: There you go Madame, Please sign this form.

French Lady w/ pancake-ass: Uhm, Excuse me. This isn’t my account. You put my money in someone else’s account!

Mr. Dim-witted Bank Teller: Oh?

French Lady w/ pancake-ass: Yes! That’s not my name!

Mr. Dim-witted Bank Teller: Ooooh! Good thing you caught that!

(Insert sound of more dim-witted tapping sounds on computer keyboard)

Mr. Dim-witted Bank Teller: There you go Madame, Please sign this form.

(French Lady w/ pancake-ass carefully re-examines and then finally signs form then storms out of bank.)

(End Scene)

Yep. The dim-witted bank teller acidentally deposited this Dame’s 3235€ (make that 4,524.86 USD) into someone else’s bank account (yeah I have the eyes of a hawk and I could easily see the amount written on her deposit slip over her right shoulder.) and then blows it off like it’s no big deal?

Now, after living in France for so many years I’ve grown accustomed to the French inability to assume responsibility for their actions or to make a proper apology, but syriousleee…as soon as I heard him say “Good thing you caught that!” I thought to myself “Good thing it’s not my money you f*cked up buster because I’d have to leap across this counter and mince yur teeny frog brain a bit.”

Ok, my heat and hormone induced violent tendancies aside…wtf? Am I the only one who thinks that since he made a grave error concerning a boatload of cash, that he could have broken the Frenchy Code of diss-Honor and at least offered this woman a "Oh, Excuse me Madame!"?

Heart-felt Sidenote: Just for the record I would like to state that I have nothing against the pancake-assed folk among us. I am well aware that not everyone can be blessed by the great Godess of Junk-in-the-Trunk. But since this poor woman's ass was so insanely nonexistant, that's pretty much all I can re-call about the woman's physical appearance. Please refrain from sending me hate-mail relating to pancake-assed people's rights etc etc.

I even have a hat to prove it. But not really.

Sweet Jesus Get Me to France.

2009-07-01T10:01:00.013+02:00

Dear Madame K,

I've been reading your blog for a while now, and I'm wondering how you ended up in France. Partly because I'm interested, and partly because sweet jesus, get me out of Metro Detroit.

Thanks,

Susanne Summers

Dear Susanne Summers,

That’s a damn good question. How did I end up in France? I ask myself that question every day. Twice on bad days.

The quick and easy answer is, I met FrenchBoy. And once we decided that we were gonna get hitched, it was obvious that one of us was gonna have to move. We could have just as easily chosen to live in the US, but since he already had a job and an apartment, it was just easier for me to move to France than to start from scratch in the US. Plus I'm an artist. I have a job that I can do from practically anywhere. It just made sense. So I moved to France, and here I be.

But since I have time and a tendancy to over-analyze damn near anything, I'd like to take this moment to elaborate a bit on that question. How the hell did I end up in France? Well, I like to think that anyone’s life is the sum of the decisions they make. Given, life throws sh*tstorms at us that we definitely do not choose, but the rest is up to us. You know the old expressions about lemons....lemonade. So, I’d have to say the path that lead me to France started when I saw 12 years old. Yep. Before I even had boobs.

When I was in Jr. High, we were forced to take a foreign language. All of my friends chose to take Spanish, but being the contrarian that I have always been, I chose to take French. For the next 5 years of my life I studied French in school. In fact I took so many French language and culture classes that by the time I’d graduated from High-school, I was actually exempt from having to take any language courses at the University level. That fall after high-school graduation I went on to The University of Iowa where I spent the next 4 years drinking copious amounts of vodka and promptly succeeded in forgetting absolutely everything I had learned about France. Or so I thought.

Ok, fast forward like a million years.

After living in Brooklyn for 5 years I decide to leave the thrill-ride of life in New York City behind and I moved to upstate New York to ~~squat~~ live at me mum’s place while I figured out what the hell I really wanted to do with my life. After 6 months I was bored nearly into a coma and thus start planning an escape to….hell who knows...Timbuktu? Nova Scotia? Hell, even Europe? All I was thinking was sweet jesus get me outta Rochester, New York.

By the time I finally made it to Europe and met FrenchBoy, I still didn’t speak French, but having studied it for so many years there was a familiarity with the language and culture that really bridged the gap between us. It just made it easier. Freaky Frog accent aside, he just seemed….familiar to me. And I figured that re-learning French would be a snap! Or so I thought.

So I guess I should ~~blame~~ thank the hell out of my 8th grade French teacher for helping to land me here in the land of the frogs. And I thank the heavens everyday that I came from a family that allowed me to take risks and go for big adventures, even when they were a bit leery of my choices. But I give myself a lot of credit too. Thank god I’m one of those ~~difficult~~ head-strong people that decides to do stuff the ~~hard~~ interesting way. Or at least I like to think of myself that way on my good days.

So yep. Life is full of choices. God knows I've mad a crap-load of bad ones, and as much as I bitch and moan, moving to France definitely isn't one of them. At the very least, my decision to live in France has made for some big adventures that I'll be able to tell my grandchildren someday. The censored versions anyway.

I will however proudly leave in all the parts about the smokin' and the boozin'.

Have a question you’d like me to rant about?

Send your question to: Madamek at ymail dot com.

The Good, The Bad, and The Very Ugly.

2009-06-24T09:49:00.010+02:00

Dear Madame K,

Just love your blog! I'm reading a book on cultural misunderstandings, written by a French anthropologist, and was wondering if you could share your overall insights into the Good, the Bad, and Ugly of adjusting to French culture in one encompassing list ( well, you know what I mean?). I've got this thing about France and the French way of life seems so inviting.

Thanks a bunch,

Janet Jackson

Dear Janet Jackson,

I started to reply to your question, but then realized that it was turning into a short memoire of my years in France. There is no way to compile all that experience, observation, and analysis into one list. I’m starting to think that perhaps me mum is right. I should write a book.
So instead I’ve just narrowed it down to the basics:

The Good:

I’ve thought about this one really hard and the only ‘good’ thing I can think of in terms of adjusting to French culture is well, the food. Oh and let’s not forget the wine. It’s no secret that I’m a Foodie, but I certainly didn’t start out in life that way. For those of you who don’t know, I grew up in the Midwest. Des Moines, Iowa is not exactly a food culture hot spot unless you consider a jumbo corndog to be a gourmet dish. It wasn’t until I moved to France that my love affair with food began. Especially with cakes. I’m not much of a cheese fan, but oh pastries, how I adore thine elegantly crusty texture and long to take thy fluffy cream into my mouth. Yep, cake porn.

Anyway, I could go on and on about how much I love French food and how cool it is that you can get ripped at lunch on a bottle of wine and nobody threatens to send you to an AA meeting, but before you get all carried away, I’ll leave you with this bit of tragic info. Since moving to France, I have gained 50 pounds. So, there ya go. Everything comes with a price.

The Bad:

Again, it’s hard to make a list, so I’ll just tell you a bit about my struggles during my first year in France---because the first year is the hardest. First and foremost unless you are exceptionally talented with languages, you will be confused and overwhelmed in the midst of all those irregular verbs and all those ~~nonsensical~~ clever French expressions. And you will be humbled time and time again by those who are inpatient with your weak language skills.

When you are finally able to understand and speak a bit of French, guess what?---- sucks for you because all of your friends live back in (insert-name-of-your-home-town-here) and thus you have nobody to talk to anyway. You will try to make French friends but instead you will end up hanging out with just about any Anglophone Ex-pat you can find because in general French people really aren’t all that interested in making new friends, especially with people who barely speak French.

The Ugly:

According to the Wikipedia Gods, France has been a world famous center of global fashion since the 17th century. But nowhere in this wikipedia article do they mention the persistant ugliness that is Euro-Trash.

photos courtesy of www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com

So there you have it. Have I convinced you to move to France yet?

You see, Janet Jackson, If I ever did make that all encompassing list, I'm afraid it wouldn't make a pretty picture of this here country. I love France, or maybe that's too strong of a word. Let's just say I'm OK with it. Even after almost 6 years, there isn't a day that goes by where I don't feel like a complete an total outsider. I have been "Frenchified" in so many ways that even I am astounded, yet I am who I am, and God help me, I think I'll always be more American than anything else, and day by day I'm becoming very OK with that fact.

I really do love corndogs.

I'm always cautious when it comes to answering questions about transitioning into French culture. I think it's such an individual thing. Some have a harder time than others, but nobody finds it to be easy. You can ask any ex-pat living in France if they think of France as being an "inviting" culture to try to integrate into and I think you'd be hard pressed to find any who would use that term.

Hope I didn't rain too much on your parade.

Love,

Madame K

Have a question you’d like me to rant about? Send your question to: Madamek at ymail dot com.

Eureka!

2009-06-18T09:00:00.001+02:00

Ok, so just yesterday I mentioned how I'm having trouble coming up with "new material" as it were, and then all of a sudden it became obvious what I should do.

At least twice a week I get e-mails from peoplez asking for information or advice about France, or just asking for an opinion about something. Whenever I actually have the time I reply to individual e-mails and I find myself answering alot of the same questions over and over again. Now, I truly don't mind this, but I was thinking---wouldn't it be more efficient and way more cool if instead of that info just going out to individual peoplez, I re-posted it here for everyone to benefit from?

OK, so here's how it works: Email your question to me at madamek(at)ymail(dot)com, and not only will I reply to you personally, but I will post your question and answer here on the blog as well. I promise promise promise that I will not reprint your personal information unless you beg me to, or you want me to link to your blog.

So come on, ask away. It doesn't even have to be France related! (Although questions about my opinions on France are always welcome because they inspire the best rants.) You know you have questions you've been dying to ask. Like haven't you ever wondered where I bought my shoes, or what my favorite cheese is?

So join the fun by giving in to your not-so-hidden voyeuristic tendencies. I mean, What's the point of having the internet if you can't blog stalk people?

Not Exactly a blog-athon.

2009-06-16T08:39:00.006+02:00

You may have noticed that I haven't been around lately. Uhm, thats mostly because I haven't really been up to much. OK, that's not exactly true, but unless y'all wanna hear about how much fun I had rearranging my bookshelves on Friday or how crappy I am at playing guitar, well, there isn't much to say except...

I love summer! Althought the weather here lately has been dreadful, it still feels like summer, and that means long lazy days. Aaah sooo good!

After the month of May where I was pretty much all over the place, hopping from country to country, June has been a month of total relaxation. I haven't been doing much. June has been all about spring cleaning, playing my guitar, and resting my brain so I can get ready to start making some new artwork within the next few weeks.

Normally, I'm one of those super organized control-freak types who sets up entire time-lines and agendas for even the smallest of tasks, but a few days of sunlight combined with a few cocktails and I've managed to completely short-circuit that system of thinking. At this very moment my life philosophy is "Eh, Whatever." I half-heartedly make my to-do lists knowing full well that I no longer feel beholden to them, and I never beat myself up when at the end of the day less than half of the tasks are completed. Two months ago this would have whipped me into a frenzy, but today---I can't be bothered.

But I did find this little gem to share with you:

We were at Castorama (French version of "Home Depot") Saturday and I wandered down an aisle and saw this. So my question is---since it's titled in English, did they do this as a joke?

Uhm, dude, what were they thinking?

Frickin Oooouch!

2009-06-02T18:01:00.003+02:00

Well friends, I just got home from my first guitar lesson and well, I’m having a really hard time typing this post because…..MY FRICKIN FINGERS ARE BLEEDING. What kills me is that not one of you dear readers warned me about how badly it would hurt. To make matters worse, my guitar is heavy as shit and is twice as big as my teacher’s guitar. You know that guitar case I bought for it 6 months ago and then promptly threw on a shelf in the garage? The damn guitar won’t even go half way in it! I had to carry “the beast” to the lesson nude.

Question: How hard would you laugh your ass off if you saw a ‘lil black lady jump out of her fancy mom-mobile, pop open the trunk, pull out a big-ass black guitar that looks like something Johnny Cash would play, then start running down the street with it? If I had video footage of my arrival to my lesson this afternoon I would post it on YouTube so you all could enjoy it as much as I am enjoying replaying it in my head right now.

On the positive side, my teacher is fabulous and very patient with my lack of magical guitar playing ability, although I’m sure she thinks I’m mentally challenged in some way because every time I got confused I would wrinkle my face up right good, close my left eye, and just start grunting like I was constipated.

And thus goes the story of my first guitar lesson. A little bruising and lots of grunting. But still it’s better than air guitar.

With any luck, in about 6 months, I will be able to play “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” without crying or getting bloodstains on my left pant-leg.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

2009-05-31T12:19:00.008+02:00

Aaaaaaah. There really is no place like home.

After a month of non-stop work and travel I can barely begin to tell you how damn good it feels to just be home.

A quick vacation, my art opening in Brussels, then dashing off on a 10 day trip to London and Paris with one of my oldest friends. Sure, it was all great fun, but hot damn---travel is exhausting! Now that I am home, I may never leave my house again. I'm actually looking forward to doing laundry and reorganising my armoires. I am in full-on nesting mode.

Best of all, I have 3 glorious months of summer that are scheduled with absolutely nothing! No shows, no deadlines, no applications, no galleries, no nothing. Well nothing accept one little treat that I've arranged for myself. Beginning on Tuesday at 2PM I will officially be a guitar student.

A few years ago, I bought FrenchBoy a Fender DG-5 for Christmas because one time in some random conversation he casually mentioned that he would like to play an instrument. Of course, he really had no interest in taking guitar lessons, and a week after Christmas it was already collecting dust in a corner of our apartment. And Sadly, it has been doing just that for quite a few years now.

So, after nearly 10 years of hemming and hawing, I've finally signed myself up for guitar lessons because well, like everyone else, I secretly want to be a rock star. I'm really excited about my lessons, but also worried about how on earth I will acquire all the new musical vocabulary. Taking guitar lessons is one thing, but taking them in French is another. As the quote goes: "Some motherfuckers are always trying to ice skate uphill."*

*Mad props to anyone who know which movie that quote comes from.

My Vacation in a Nutshell.

2009-05-12T17:52:00.007+02:00

Breath-taking architectural design, 3 room suite with a private swimming pool, excellent cuisine, stunning views of the Mediterranean sea, a half-day drive through the mountains, 7 leisurely days with a handsome Frenchman...

I'm happy to be back home in France?

Dear Mom I'm On Vacation.

2009-05-01T07:47:00.003+02:00

My mom always gets really pissed off when she has to read on my blog, after the fact, that I've gone on vacation yet somehow managed to forget to tell her. "You left the country and you didn't even tell me?"

And once again this week we somehow got all the way through 2 hour and 37 minute phone conversation where I forgot to mention we were leaving Friday for a short holiday.

So...

Mom, I know you're reading this, so this is for you. We are leaving for Crete at 11 AM this morning. So although you're still hearing about it from my blog, at least for once you know in advance.

Photos of our resort (which by the by, is half price if you go off-peak)

We'll be back next Friday. 'kay?

Resistance is Futile.

2009-04-28T10:44:00.004+02:00

Ah man, the last 2 weeks have been so jammed packed with everything and nothing at all. Does that make any sense? But the best and biggest news is: In September, with any luck, I will be spending the entire month studying French at La Sorbonne!

Yes, after 3 years of passive-aggressive (but mostly aggressive) refusal to continue my French language studies, I’ve decided to go all the way and assimiliate. And what better way to get froggy than to take an intensive 25 hour per week French language and culture class at the Mecca of French language and culture?

Also, what sucks about living in Paris for a month? Nothing, that's what! I'm looking forward to using the time to get to know Paris a bit better so that when FrenchBoy and I visit on weekends we can spend more time having fun and less time lost and wandering around in circles cursing the fact that there are no easily located street signs in this godforsaken country.

The only down side to all this is that FrenchBoy won't be coming with me. He'll only be visiting on weekends, so I'll be home alone like Macaulay Culkin. Also, I’m still in the process of looking for a short-term apartment rental and it will most likely cost la peau des fesses.* If any of you reading this have suggestions on agencies that can get me a short term studio, lord knows I’m open to them. Just last week I thought I'd found a perfect place through an agency that had a good website and a listing of amazing apartments---only to have the owner of said apartment "decline" to rent that month because he himself wanted to use it.

Sidebar: WTF? Can someone please explain to me the point of having your over-priced hipster apartment listed as available on an apartment rental website when in fact you have no damn intention of renting said over-priced hipster apartment? Dude, whatever.

In the meantime, I’m busy dusting off all my French language study books and preparing to be assimilated.

*coûter la peau des fesses – A fairly vulgar French expression which translates to "to cost the skin of my ass". Equivalent to the English expression: "cost an arm and a leg."

Happy Botox to me!

2009-04-17T18:32:00.007+02:00

Well if you haven't noticed, I've changed the age in my profile because yesterday was my birthday. I am now 34. Thirty. Freakin'. Four. I say it like that not because I have some huge problem with aging, because I really really don't. I say it like that because I still feel like I'm 16 years old. How can I be 34 already? Life passes so fast. I'm having so much fun, and the years just keep zooming faster and faster. It's scary and beautiful at the same time.

Of course when I wake up first thing in the morning and look in the mirror I am reminded of how un-16 years old I am---mostly by the consecutive ridges of wrinkles that are slowly forming permanent horizontal bands into my ever-expressive forehead. (I can't help it. I make lots of faces. I've always been a bit theatrical that way.) And this is just the amount of worry lines I've amassed in 34 years. Can you imagine what my forhead will look like in 20 years?

Oh la la, Baby needs some birthday botox!

Good Food! Good Friday!

2009-04-17T12:07:00.003+02:00

A few photos from our Good Friday Fancy Lunch last week in Nancy. I am well aware of the fact that I must look like a total dork while I'm taking photos of every course of my meal, but gosh darnit, having the photos helps me remember and re-enjoy the meal. Yuuuuuum!

Sidenote: Don't you love it when a restaurant gives you a surprise dessert AFTER your first dessert? *swoon*

This Just In...

2009-04-15T16:53:00.000+02:00

How effed up is it that when I read this article about French forces capturing pirates off the coast of Kenya I immediately flashed upon the image of Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow? Am I the only one, or does this sound like a really good beginning to a French joke:

“Did you hear the one about the French sailors that captured a boatfull of pirates?”

Unfortunately I’m not clever enough to make that punchline.

Barbie Dream House vs. Baby: Round 1

2009-04-15T10:57:00.001+02:00

I am pleased to report that not only did we truly enjoy having my friend Nat and her daughter Esmé for a weekend visit at the Barbie Dream House, but that everyone survived and nothing got broken. Before the visit, I was a bit worried. For two people who profess to eventually want so breed and make some little crumb-snatchers of our own, we somehow managed to pick out the most un-baby friendly décor possible for our new home. That said, our baby visitor took it in stride. Amazingly she managed to not poke her eye out on the razor sharp edges of our BoConcept entertainment center, and failed to give herself a concussion on the 200 kilo glass dining-room table.

Before this weekend FrenchBoy and I had joked about commissioning the Bouroullec brothers to design us baby cages for our kids, but now I am confident that our furniture probably won’t permanently disfigure our future-offspring.

Why I Heart France Reason #15: Drink Up For Jesus!

2009-04-14T11:04:00.007+02:00

One of the things I love most about living in France is the fact that Frogs claim to be Catholic, but are really total heathens that will turn any religious holiday into an excuse to get ripped on really tasty wine.

I freakin’ love easter.

*hiccup*

And in my best effort to become more Frog-like I too took part in heathenous activities this weekend. (In fact, months ago we booked tickets to Paris not realising that this weekend was in fact easter weekend. Duh!) Gone are the days of shopping for the perfect outfit to wear for the church Easter recital on Easter Sunday. This year we skipped all that and just went shopping on Easter Sunday!

What are the odds that Jesus will bitch slap me straight to hell for celebrating his miraculous return from the dead with Korean Barbeque, 11 euro worth of FrenchFries, and Ferragamo loafers?

If You Ask Me How My Diet Is Going...

2009-03-31T13:12:00.004+02:00

I'll kick you in your teef.

Support Women Artists.......NOW!

2009-03-27T16:29:00.005+01:00

Ahhhhhhh! I just spent 24 hours working on my website. I actually worked so long in front of the computer that I got leg cramps that were as bad as the ones I got during my flight to Tokyo. But here it is: The new and improved version, ready just in time for SWAN day. Never heard of SWAN day? Here, I stole this text from their website:

SWAN Day/Support Women Artists Now Day is a new international holiday that celebrates women artists. It is an annual event taking place on the last Saturday of Women’s History Month (March).

Please join us for the Second International SWAN Day on Saturday, March 28, 2009.
By focusing attention on the work of women artists, SWAN Day helps people imagine what the world might be like if women’s art and perspectives were fully integrated into all of our lives.

To check-out what events are in your area you can go to the Events Map thingy. They even have an International Event listing. Oh, Oh, Oh and take a wild freakin’ guess at what country is curiously missing from the global list of events. Hmmm. I might just do one myself next year to save face. Jeez.

So, since there are no SWAN day events to go to I’m heading over to Art Metz to check out some art. If you re-call, Art Metz is the annual art fair that I was in last year. It was great, but it was a lot of work and I decided that I just didn’t want to do it this year. I am however looking forward to checking out other artist’s work. French artists are crap when it comes to marketing their work. There. I said it. So, we’ll see how many cold shoulders and snubs we manage during the opening night.

*rolling eyes and pretending to be a snotty french swan*

And The Winner Is…

2009-03-23T14:00:00.001+01:00

Jess, from Southbend, Indiana, USA…come on down! You are the winner of a ~~new car~~ a lovely art print. (Y0u gotta love a girl who wears rainbow colored toe socks with her flip flops and then says: “Don’t hate.”) Jess, please e-mail me at madamek at ymail dot com (not geee mail) and I’ll ship you your artwork on the double!

For those of you who posted but didn’t win, have no fear. I have a bit of a consolation prize for you. I’ve set up a small on-line shop for all of my works on paper. At my In Studio Store you can see more works from the “Fly Away” series. There are about 20 prints available in total. Also, over the next few days or so I’ll be posting other works on paper there too. Most of the artworks are small mixed-media paintings on paper like this one:

Fly Away Home #10, 2008. Mixed-Media Painting on paper.
Image size: 23 cm x 23 cm. Mounted on archival paper measuring 40 cm x 40 cm.

In the course of making any new series of work I inevitably end up with quite a few smaller pieces on paper. I love doing them, but they almost never end up in an actual gallery show with my photographs or works on canvas. There are just too damn many of them …which is kinda tragic considering that they are much more affordable than my gi-normous 2 meter by 3 meter paintings and frankly they are just as nice. So, the In Studio Store is kind of like a “trunk sale”. I figure, why let my beautiful babies collect dust in storage when I can pimp them directly to you, at wholesale price, without having to give a gallery their 50% cut. (Yeah, they take 50%.)

I’ve never really sold work on the interwebz before, so we’ll see how it goes. I think I’ll keep the shop up and running until I get bored of it. Which, let’s face it, could be in like 5 minutes. But in the meantime, go take a look around. Plus none of these artworks are on my website, so even if you are familiar with my work, it’s probably stuff you haven’t seen before.

Besides, it won’t you anything to do some window-licking.

So-Called Art Give Away Contest.

2009-03-20T08:15:00.003+01:00

Today's the day. Or as the French say "C'est le Jour J"! (What the fcuk does that mean exactly?) Anyway, only ~~five~~ four dumb questions stand between you and an addition to your art collection. Bonne Chance!

1. How many Fashion Models has this dude been married to?

2. Beaujolais Nouveau is officially released for sale on the _____ Thursday of November.

4. The apartment that I currently live in is commonly referred to on this blog as:
“The ______ __________".

5 . Complete the following nonsensical paragraph using information from your own life. (Feel free to cut and paste. Also feel free to lie for comedic value.)

“Hi, I’m from ____________. I speak ____ languages. I am wearing _______ colored socks right now. I (am/am not) allergic to peanuts. Today I'm feeling a bit______________. "

OK. That’s it. Get ta commentin’. FrenchBoy will pick the winner Sunday night and I’ll post the winner Monday…..so don’t forget to check back to see if you won. Also---no brainer---you can’t post anonymously. Duh.

Almost As Good As “The Price Is Right”.

2009-03-19T13:27:00.002+01:00

If you’re a loyal follower, reader, lurker of this blog you know that tomorrow is the big contest day. So I thought I’d do a post about what you’ll be competing for. After all, if it’s not to your liking, the 3 readers in Australia might as well sleep in!

Papillon Noir #13, 2008. Mixed-Media Gocco serigraph on paper.

Image size: 12.5 cm x 17.5 cm. Printed in an edition of 100.

Mounted on watercolor paper measuring 20 cm x 30 cm.

Now let me explain a bit about the process. The color in each work is added by hand in several layers of acrylic ink and Gouache. Then once the color has dried the image layer is added using a Gocco screen which is pretty much a silk-screen technique. But what makes Gocco prints so special now days is that they are no longer in production (as far as I know) and eventually it will be impossible to keep producing them without the set of special supplies that are needed to use the printing apparatus.

Anyway, this particular print is one of two prints from the “Fly Away” series that I started working on about a year ago. I often allude to flight in my work. Lately the people in my work have grown wings. I’m also a super huge fan of "The People Could Fly". I’m not sure if it’s obvious in the jpg image but the image is of a silhouette of a little girl who has butterfly wings. Can you see that?

I intentionally scanned the image at a fairly low resolution to prevent some Chinese sweatshop from turning my work into a poster for IKEA, so much of the subtlety of the washes of color and the overlay of the image have been lost in translation. So you’ll just have to take my word on how booo-tiful it is.

As indicated, it is number 13 in an edition of 100 prints. However, since each print is hand colored, no two prints are actually alike. And contrary to what Tyler Durden says, each print is a beautiful and unique snowflake, and I only have a handful left.

OK, enough already. Good Luck and Godspeed!

Tomato, tomato, keffiyeh, shemagh. Let’s call the whole thing off.

2009-03-18T14:57:00.004+01:00

For the past year or so if France I’ve been noticing a curious fashion trend especially amongst the Eurotrash hipsters. Everywhere I go in Downtown Metz I see kids wearing keffiyeh around town with their beat up, yet insanely over-priced, Chuck Taylor sneakers. Just last month at a boutique downtown I saw an entire display done up with these carves in just about every color in the rainbow.

According to the all-knowing gods of wikipedia: A Keffiyeh is a traditional headdress for Arab that is folded and wrapped in various styles around the head. Traditionally worn by Palestinian peasants, the keffiyeh became a symbol of Palestinian nationalism during the Arab Revolt of the 1930s. Increased sympathy and activism by certain Westerners toward Palestinians in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict have led to the wearing of keffiyehs as a sign of their solidarity with the Palestinian people.

I’m a little slow, so I didn’t pay much attention to the scarves until the whole Rachael Ray Dunkin Donuts incident came out in the press. (Also, please note that I didn’t even know who the hell Rachael Ray was at the time. Still don’t kinda. That’s how big the rock I live under is.)
Now, I ususally don’t pay much attention to these University kids since all they do is stand around in groups drinking diet coke, eating potatoe chips and smoking cigarettes, but I’m totally baffled on this one.

So my question here is---What gives? I don’t hang out with many French University students so I’ve never had the opportunity to ask—is this a political statement or some kind of misguided fashion trend? Could it be that these Euro-Trash hipster ids are actually displaying some sort of political consiousness?

Well whatever, call me crazy, or maybe I’m just turning into an old lady, but a hot-pink keffiyeh on just about anyone looks downright silly!

Thoughts?

And the Crowd Goes Wild!

2009-03-17T13:57:00.004+01:00

I don’t talk a lot about my work on this here nifty blog because I have another blog that’s pretty much dedicated to that. I mostly like to French it up over here and pretty much keep on topic as much as possible, but after much thought I’ve decided to change my thinking on the issue.

So many of you already know who I am in “real life” and the rest of you sneaky buggers are clever enough to have found out on your own without much effort. There’s no real reason to not talk about my work seeing as how it’s a pretty enormous part of my life here in France. Also, whenever I have those long blog absences it’s usually because I’m busy with work. Writing about work here is better than just going MIA for weeks on end right?

So with that in mind, I’m so so so excited to announce two things. First, many of you already know that I have two photographs in the traveling exhibition Double Exposure: African Americans Before and Behind the Camera which originated at MoAD in San Francisco. I’m pleased to announce that the show is moving onto its next venue at DePaul University in Chicago next month. If you’re in Chicago, check it out:

The two photographs I have in the show are Sweet Sisters #1 and Secret's in the House #2, both from the (Re)calling and (Re)telling series. I'm bummed that I won't be able to make the opening reception, which is actually on my birthday, and I would have loved to party it up with all my friends in the Chicago area, but I just can't see any realistic way to squeeze it into my schedule. But that doesn’t mean that y’all can’t scoot on over there and take a peek. It’s a great show.

And second. (insert drum roll here.) Friday I will be doing the very first My So-Called Art Give Away Contest! (insert clapping and cheering here.)

Here’s how it works:

1. Friday I’ll post a contest containing 5 easy Amer-Frog-MSCL blog related questions.

2. Everyone who posts a response in comments will be automatically entered to win an original artwork made by yours truly. Not a color copy, not a postcard, but a real live original artwork.

3. There will be only one lucky winner who will be chosen at random by FrenchBoy on Sunday evening.

4. You must post your answers before 12PM (noon) on Sunday March 22nd. (GMT+1) Got that? So, set your alarm clocks or mark your day planner, cuz if you had to buy this work from me at full market value you’d be writing me a check to the tune of around 80 bucks.

5. Friends and family are in-freakin'-eligible to participate in this contest. If I know you in real life, you live within 25 kilometers of my house, or we are blood related, you can’t play. This one is for the lurkers! (insert sounds of blog lurkers cheering here.)

So are you as excited as I am? Suh-weet! I also have some other neat treats to announce later this month, but for now I’ll just end with this. I don’t want to send you into a frenzy. As is, you’re probably so excited now that you won’t be able to sleep tonight. *giggle snort*

Why I Heart France Reason #14: "You're my BFF....Bitch!”

2009-03-16T10:03:00.011+01:00

Anyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows by now that Franco-American relations have been a bit tense throughout history. At best the two countries can be considered “Frenemies”.

Over the years this has caused me to get into many enthusiastic yet completely fruitless arguments at cocktail parties. They usually go like this:

Frog: Your country eeez so bad. France is zee best.
Me: Whatever. The US sucks, and so does France. The French can be so dillusional about their own country.
Frog: Oh la la, Zeees atteeetude eeez so teeepically Americaine!
Me: Oh, so you’ve met all the Americans?
Frog: No, but I goed to New York City for holidays one time 10 years ago and I watch 'Starsky and Hutch', everyday so I understand everysiiing about zeee U.S.
Me: Oh, then you understand I’m about to kick your Froggy ass right about now?
Frog: I go outside to smoke now. Bye Bye.

(End Scene)

But I’m here to tell you folks, the world it is a changin’! Er’body in Europe got MAD love for the O-man. The French especially. In fact these Frogs love Obama so much that they are apparently willing to buy U.S. currency to prove it.

I found this ad in the TV guide. And honestly I ain’t mad at whoever thought this up. I’m only pissed that I wasn’t clever enough to think of selling a Frog a quarter "for only 3 Euros" first.

Also, not too long ago while on my way to the post office I saw this.

It’s not everyday that you see a big-ass American flag draped outside someone’s window here in my part of France. I was so astounded at the sight, that I actually stopped my car in traffic, whipped out my camera and took three photos, much to the dismay of the Frog in the Twingo that was stuck behind me. But he didn’t even honk his horn or give me the screw face. And I can't help but believe that he sat there patiently most likely because he saw the Obama bumper sticker on the back of my dope ride.

L'hibernation.

2009-03-14T14:13:00.003+01:00

For the past month or so I have been in full-on hibernation mode. The weather here has been a steady stream of grey and the rain just kept coming with a vengeance. Add to that the fact that I really had a boat-load of work to finish up in the studio, and you get no blog posts for a month!

But alas, this week I was forced out of my bear cave for an art opening, and then a movie, and then coffee, and then cocktails. I have officially re-rentered the land of the living. So, no need to put my face on a milk carton, I’ll be back to blogging in a day or so because God knows I never tire of blogging about Frog nonsense!

Les Plus Bas...Prix.

2009-02-18T09:32:00.002+01:00

After lounging around the house for most of the morning, I finally decided what to do with me mum yesterday. After much deliberation, I took her shopping. At Tati.

Yes, Tati. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Tati, I have nothing but pity for you. Tati is the gold standard for trashy bargain basement shopping stores. Oh, and they have a bridal department! Need a pair of gloves for under 2 euros? Tati has it! Need discount hair gel from Mexico? Tati has that too! Need a pair of pin-stripe pants with lace sewn onto the back pockets? Have no fear, Tati has you covered!

I guess if I were going to compare it to a store in the US it would be comparable to an “odd Lots”, or a “Family Dollar” store. (Do those even exist anymore?) But let me remind you, they have a bridal department.

Anyway, going to Tati has kinda become our classic mom/daughter shopping tradition for when she’s in France. You see, my mom and I are absolute psycho bargain hunters. In my youth we spent entire weekends at garage sales, yard sales, the Salvation Army, Goodwill….the list goes on and on.

Anyway, check out the booty we scored yesterday:

1 pair of grey Yoga pants.
1 bucket of my favorite conditioner.
1 leave-in conditioner that smells like almonds and coconuts
1 mini zen garden
3 “designer” winter scarves
2 pairs of “shorty” underwear
1 pair of blue legwarmers
1 extra-warm wool undershirt

Total price 38.51 euros SCORE!

Feel free to share your Tati love stories and bargain scores in comments.

Diet Sabotage.

2009-02-17T09:20:00.001+01:00

The only thing harder than sticking to good eating habits during vacation, is sticking to your good eating habits when your mum comes to visit. For me eating has always been a social/celebratory event. So having invited guests for a stay is absolutel and utter diet sabotage for me.

Also since she doesn't get to France often, I feel obliged to treat her to delightful french meals complete with champagne, a 3 course menu, 2 types of wine, followed by a buttery/creamy dessert.

This week I'm going to try to control myself and me mum. Otherwise I'm afraid we'll both end up a total of 20 lbs. heavier by the end of the week.

Mad at the snow.

2009-02-16T09:01:00.004+01:00

It snowed yet again sometime during the night. This is bad. Now, normally this would be no big deal. I'd simply stay in the house all day and work. But now that me mum is here visiting I feel obliged to take her out places. But where?

Folks, I know I live in eastern France, but I don’t know how much more of this snow bullsh*t I can take. I feel like it’s been winter for a good 5 months already.

To make matters worse, we had the worse rainy sun-less summer ever. I barely remember what sunlight looks or feels like. I’m so pale that I can’t wear my normal brown bronzey make-up anymore because I look like I’m doing Blackface. Me mum keeps saying: “Girl you got your winter whites on!” And she's right.

So if anyone has some spectactular ideas for fun, cool, hip things to do with me mum during winter in Siberia lemme know.

Afro Bella

2009-02-13T12:10:00.003+01:00

It's February, it's cold, and I am in full-on hibernation mode. I don't have much to blog about seeing as how I've barely left the comfort of the Barbie Dream House for the last week or so.

The hilight of the past two weeks was a few days ago when I had a really good hair day. And so, I bring you a photo of my fro:

Voila!

Measurements: 36 centimeters across at ear level and 96 cm in circumference.
so that's like 14 inches and 38 inches or something. (Yes, I actually measured my head.)

Not a bad start.

Barbie Dream House Update #16: Let There Be Light!

2009-02-12T12:22:00.001+01:00

I haven't done one of these posts in awhile...mostly because there hasn't been much to talk about. After living in the Barbie Dream house for a year, we still have so much stuff to do, and frankly I've been really really lazy about it. The walls are in the first floor are still bare and we don't even have curtain on any of the windows thanks to the glorious magical invention that is electric "volets", which for you not Francophones is electric rolling shutters that at the push of a button roll down and render a room pitch black. Magic. Magic!

Anyway, we did however manage to finally order a chandelier for the dining room. Mind you this is a year in the making. We originally saw this light in a magazine about 2 years ago, but they forgot to list the name of the manufacturer. Fast forward a year--FrenchBoy finally e-mailed the magazine for information and was directed to the company's website. Unfortunately they only sell wholesale, so we went about hunting down a retail distributor. We were lucky enough to find a local shop that could order it for us.

In about 6 weeks, this lil marvel will be hanging above my dining room table:

It's called "Tundra" and is made by a company that specializes in making decor from natural and petrified woods. Since the rest of the house is uber-modern minimalist, I figured this piece would offer some much needed warmth. I like the combination of "slick" geometric and "organic". I dig it.

Now, if I can just figure out how to work a water element into the room, it will be Feng Shui'd up!

Tag, you're it!: "25 Random Things About Me."

2009-02-05T00:00:00.002+01:00

OK, this TAG has been spreading around the interweb and Facebook quicker than the clap in a college dorm, so I’ll just get it over with and post mine already:

1. I have entire conversations with the voices in my head---aloud. So loud in fact, that my FrenchBoy can hear me from all the way downstairs and often interjects: “Who the hell are you talking to this time?”

2. I’m really bad with numbers, and simple math of any kind.

3. When I’m drifting off to sleep I yell weird sentences like someone who has tourette’s syndrome. Last night I yelled something like: “It's coming in under the f*cking door!”

4. I have 3 brothers but I only know 2 of them.

5. I have the names for my first 5 kids already picked out, but I'm too busy to actually make some.

6. I’m only 5’3” but with my hair I’m at least 5’7”. That is mad rockstar.

7. I had a tracheotomy when I was 11.

8. I'm a nice person, but after too many drinks, I am pure Id.

9. I have no armpit hair.

10. I believe the space between my two front teeth makes me lucky. Also, I can fly.

11. I hate tomatoes, pudding, custard, apple sauce, grits, bananas, jello, or any soft food that feels weird in my mouth. Seriously, I will hurl.

12. I was blonde for 3 years.

13. I’m 6 chapters into my first novel. (I figure, if Dan Brown can do it, how hard can it be?) It’s a murder mystery, yet the main character is psychic.

14. When I was 16 I punched a drunk guy at an L7 concert. "BRICKS ARE HEAVY B*TCH!"

15. I have 8-10 tubes of chapstick that I use simultaneously. There are 2 sticks hidden in every room of my house just in case I have a dry lip emergency.

16. I haven’t left my house in 2 days. I hate leaving my house. It’s effin’ nice in here.

17. I haven’t had a “real job/day job/9-5 job” in 7 years.

18. I miss my husband the very second he leaves the house. Sometimes I wish we were siamese twins, but not the kind connected at the head because that would suck.

19. I can eat an entire cake in one sitting without breaking a sweat.

20. I kinda hated grad school.

21. I can drink you under the table. (Especially if I have just eaten an entire cake in one sitting.)

22. Every night I have dreams in which I fight people and win. But once this freak bit off all my fingers. That sucked.

23. My mom is an ordained minister.

24. I'm hopelessly addicted to coke. Coke Zero.

25. I firmly believe that cleanliness IS godliness.

Those Crazy Frogs #14: C'est n'importe quoi!

2009-01-29T11:39:00.010+01:00

I just found out last night that today in France there is a general strike. Anybody who's anybody is on strike: postal workers, planes, trains, and other mass transit, you name it. All the cool kids are doing it!

Not surprisingly, nobody seems to know what the strike is actually about. From what I can gather from internet news sources, the frogs are striking because they are pissed off at:

1. Sarkozy.
2. The economy.
3. Privatisation, pension reforms and spending cuts.
4. God. (...the one they don’t actually believe in. Heathens!)

But I'm not really complaining because after-all there are some aspects of French idiocy that I absolutely love. Like Remi Gaillard. Enjoy:

(C'est n'importe quoi! = It's nonsense!)

"Hey! That's Me Mum!"

2009-01-21T23:54:00.001+01:00

OK, OK, I didn't see my mom on any of the CNN coverage, but she was kind enough to send this photo via her cell phone:

This is my mom, Mamma K if you will, freezing her inaugural balls off in DC yesterday.

Look how happy she looks!

I was happy that she was able to be in DC for the event. This was a big day for her. My mom volunteered and campaigned for Obama in the waaaaay back before he’d even secured the Democratic party nomination. Yep. That's me mum: the eternal optimist. She’s always had high hopes.

From being a Black girl growing up in Iowa in the 1950’s, learning about the world by immersing herself in writings by James Cone, Malcolm X, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr.; to eventually participating in the Black Panther Party morning breakfast programs, I imagine she has always had the hope that this day would be possible. In an article she was working on in 2006 she wrote:

“Hope for the enslaved African was a subversive power that enabled them to survive the cruelties of slavery. And hope remains a subversive power that calls us to live a defiant life that questions the status quo, as it did with our ancestors.”

So yeah, this is a big day for her. A big day for a little tiny woman who has always had a big heart and even bigger hopes.

I know I'm on this diet...

2009-01-20T18:44:00.006+01:00

...and I'm not supposed to have even one ounce of alcohol, but I do believe that some sort of champagne celebration is in order.

Right?

I figure I can have one or two "coups" since I know in my heart that at this very moment my dear Granny Myrtle is somewhere in heaven gettin' her drink on with Rosa Parks.

Right?

Update: Instead of champagne I had Coke Zero. Also, Granny Myrtle and Rosa are now doing the electric slide to Kool & The Gang's "Celebration".

Fat in France.

2009-01-19T15:47:00.008+01:00

Before I forget I want to say two things:

1. In all my years of blogging, I have never enjoyed reading comments from this blog more than I did over the past week or so while reading the responses from the last post. You guys---are hilarious.

2. I know I posted my e-mail address last year, but please don’t be offended at my tardy replies. I’m busy doing stuff like watching TV and eating candies.

Which not so coincidentally brings us to this post’s topic: I’m fat.

I have only passive aggressively whinged about my weight issues on this blog because let’s face it---who doesn’t want to lose a few pounds? Nothing earth shattering or clever about that. I originally thought about making a whole separate blog about me and my weight issues, but then again, having a an entire blog devoted to discussing my fat ass could render me suicidal so I nixed that idea almost immediately. Instead I’ll just talk about it here.

Now I haven’t been a size 6 since I was 19 years old, and I don’t ever plan on being one again, but let me put my weight concerns into perspective for you. Since moving to France I have consistently gained 10 lbs for each year I’ve been here. As of last month I’ve been here 5 years. Do the math. 10 lbs x 5 years = Fat Ass. So let me just give out a free piece of advice to anyone reading this blog who might be considering moving to France: If you are a carb-addict American with a sluggish metabolism, who wants to lose weight, and quit smoking, perhaps France is not the country you should move to. Duh?

Anyway, I have no one to blame for this but myself of course and I do take full responsibility. I love to eat. Always have. I’m a foodie. I plan entire vacations around restaurants I want to eat at. Having a few extra pounds kinda comes with the territory. But over the last year it’s become a bit of a nuisance. You see. French people are small. Very very small. They are small people , with small little bird-like frames. I am not French. I am not small, nor do I have a small bird-like frame, unless you’re counting those huge carnivorous dinosaur birds that are in the movie 'Jurassic Park'. This makes buying clothes in France a real pain in my double-wide ass. I graduated years ago from regular clothing stores to the “specialty” stores where the French sizes range from 44-56. Doesn’t that just sound wrong?

I don’t complain a lot about my weight on this blog much, but in reality I do quite a bit of whinging and making fun of myself. All in good fun of course. I have a healthy self-esteem. I have mad love for all the junk in my trunk. I just wish I could fit my junk into at least a 46 so I could shop at the normal stores. Anyway, years of hearing me complain about my weight while two-fisting cupcakes must have finally pushed FrenchBoy over the edge because a year or so ago, after listening to me complain about having nothing nice to wear for the millionth time, he just turned to me and said “Look, if you ever manage to lose those 50 lbs, I’ll give you five thousand euros. And then you can go out and buy all new clothes.”

I knew he said it as a joke to get me to shut up, but I held him to it. And he agreed to honor his off the cuff-remark. Yeah, you read that correctly. If I lose 50 lbs. My Frog is going to give me 5 frickin euro Gs.

But before you get all excited, please remember that he originally said that back in 2007 I think. This is 2009 and not only did I not lose the 50 lbs, I added 10 to the amount I really needed to lose.

And here I am 2 years later, still fat in France.

So, no muffins for me. *shrugs*

"No muffins for you." courtest of the super cool Natalie Dee.

Whinge-Fest 2009

2009-01-13T10:08:00.007+01:00

Oh I'm still here. And frankly it's a miracle that I haven't blogged in almost 2 weeks considering that all I've been doing is sitting around my house pouting and groaning.

Oh how I loathe winter.

This winter in particular has been a real downer. It's cold. I mean reallly cold. Even Marseille got snow! You see, hell has oficially frozen over. (Yes, I just snarked on Marseille for no good reason.)

Here in the armpit of France things aren't much better, it's ten degrees below zero---every gah-damned day. Ice cube weather. I haven't left the house in days, but since I'm out of bubble wrap I will have to bundle myself up and force myself out the door today. All that effort and for what? Fucking bubble wrap!

So if you haven't noticed by now I'm in a horrid little mood. Also I'm on a diet. No cake, no carbs, no liquor, makes Madame K a very cranky girl. On the other hand, if I ever want to shed the many kilos I have gained over the last 5 years in France, I'd better stay on the wagon. (More on that later.) Only 48 hours into my diet I'm wondering if life as a happily drunk fat girl isn't just plain better than life as skinny but impossibly cranky bitch. You know what I mean?

So, because I refuse to believe that I am the only one that is going through a kind of post-New Years blues and I know for a fact that at least 4 or 5 of you reading this blog must be feeling just as crappy as me at the moment, I am designating this here post as MSCLIF "Whinge-Fest 2009". Look, let's just get it out of our systems now, so we can get on with 2009.

De-lurk thyself, go to comments, and get to whingeing. Because if you don't, and I'm left standing here complainin' and moanin' all by myself, it'll make me feel just that more pitiful.

My fate is in your hands.