Last Day of Skiing and Back to Landshut

We got an early start today, swapped my boots for a larger pair and were back on the slopes. Today, the weather was divine: sunny but still cold and the snow was freshly groomed. We worked our way to the sunny side mountains and skied around there most of the day. We debated how many Quanods were in the Micheal Bublé song (Manueal was right with the 3), Nic and Manual tried to sing Winter Wonderland, but I ruined their fun by singing a lot of Schnappi (http://www.schnappi.tv/neues.php). We went to a close by Alm for lunch (I had Germknodel) then we skied until we darkness was absolute. Later, we headed back to Manual’s favorite Alm where we ran into a bunch of Bavarians. Manuel thought they were Swebbish at first, which would have made it harder to be their friends. They were totally rowdy, and when I tried English, they all started laughing and told me to take the bubble gum out of my mouth. Manuel explained that Germans have this idea that Americans talk like their jaw is stuck, but this is still better than how the British speak. I somehow earned the nickname Mr. Chicago, and an accompanying song where the only English I understood was “May there always be a Mr. Chicago!” I think they were calling Nic John Wayne, but I was totally confused by the whole affair.
Again, another night skiing venture down to the “Hut” where we watched Tomorrow Never Dies in German (at least it wasn’t Viva La Bam, which is a horrendous show and is on way too often here). Manual’s dad arrived; we helped him settle in before heading out to check out the town nightlife for our last night here in Kitzbürg. We went to a Highway, a bar where we there were some people who “Weren’t bad looking for Austrians.” Are Austrians supposed to be hideous or something?
After a long drive back to Landshut, with a quick stop by a Austrian castle where Manual reenacted the Bavarian invasion, we had a huge lunch/dinner back at the Schatner household before heading to the castle tour in the city. The castle tour will be told in the form of a short narrative in the a few following entries. Some names have been changed in order to protect their true identities…

SKIING!!!

First day of skiing! Plenty of pictures were taken, much to the chagrin of Nic and Manual, and a few will be posted. I rented a pair of massive parabolic Atomic RC8s and a pair of Salomon boots. The skies were awesome, not too fast but perfect for the snow conditions and totally fun. The boots, on the other hand, didn’t really fit right but it didn’t bother me too much. Nic got some off-pist double tipped skies, so he spent a significant percentage of the time on the slopes skiing backwards. Visibility was low, but that just meant there was no one else on the slopes as far as we were concerned. We were able to careen reclassly around the alps like the stupid Americans we were (we co-opted Manuel into this group). The slopes here seemed MUCH larger than what I am used to, also, there are far fewer safety precautions and no ski patrol to speak of. The sunsets and it gets pitch black around 3:00, so we worked our way over to Manual’s favorite Alm for a huge “lunch.” It’s a tiny hut, hidden under the snow that features some awesome food that makes only one meal a day necessary. I had schnitzel and this crazy soup with ham. We ate way to much, and didn’t need dinner until 11, but we made our way down to the car in the dark, and had did some ice driving (Manual should be a stunt driver, I can’t believe there are no dents on the 7).
We gambled the night away with this dice game called Metch, then hit the sauna for 3 cycles.

Bavarian Ridiculousity

Things don’t always go as planned, but at least everything has a silver lining. Missing our train provided the silver lining of an extra day in Paris and 30 euros back in Nic’s pocket. Unfortunately the silver lining was masking uncomfortable seats and a sleepless night-train to Munich. We were in a packed compartment with ridged seats: as one side of my body fell asleep, I shifted positions to make sure that half didn’t atrophy.
Thankfully we arrived in Landshuft bright and early Monday morning, with our Transporter in his new 7 series was waiting to deliver us to a ridiculous Bavarian Breakfast. We raced our way to the Palais Schatner, skidding and slidding down the cramped streets, to be welcomed by the senior Schatners and Thomas. After settling in and having 2 heavy (but heavinly) Bavarian meals, Thomas gave us a tour of Landshuft, which was highlighted by his ex-girlfriends’ houses.
We met up with Manuel at a café and had yet MORE food and hot chocolate before heading to the movie 11:14. This was one insane movie, starring Hilary Swank and a large cast. It was a series of crazy dark humor convergent stories that all revolved around the time 11:14.
The next day, we headed to Munich for Manuel’s classes and to meet up with Thomas. We spent a lot of time touring Munich with Thomas, only to have Manuel show us landmarks and ask, “What did Thomas show you if he didn’t show you this stuff?” The answer: his ex-girlfriend’s places. Thomas actually showed us a lot of the major shopping areas, as well as the impressive BMW pavilion.
We headed out to Kitzbürg that night, which is only an hour outside of Munich. The “Hut” they have there is no “Hut” at all, and is rather larger than the majority of the surrounding buildings. We settling in quickly, looking forward to our first day of Austrian skiing!

Au Revior Mon Cheri

The Paris program is officially over. I am currently drowning my sorrows in fine Austrian snow along with loads of Bavarian food and drink with Manuel and Nic. Niki and Katie accused me of not acknowledging the sadness of the end of our program, but I believe that we have so much to look forward to now. I can’t wait to see my family back in the city and show them my personal Paris, as well as plenty of smaller gatherings of friends in the city. I know we can’t recreate the time we had in Paris, but the memory is will do for now.
Writing this has depressed, so I am going to eat massive quantities of snitzel and drink Rattler with Manual and Thomas.

Random Thoughts

Did Jesus have a Bar Mitzvah?
My mind tends to wander when I am working on a paper.

Thanksgiving in Paris

There is actually an American “grocery store” (I use quotes because this phrase usually conjures the image of a large store, but this was more like a boutique) called Thanksgiving in Paris. There was a surprising number of Parisians shopping there, but it had all the necessary cooking items, but for a price. Somehow, I conned my way into Turkey responsibilities, and I also decided to pay for most of the necessary ingredients (only so I could get the cash back from the center).
Luckily we were cooking at the home of Emmanuel’s (my French conversation assistant) Saintly family who had a professional kitchen for massive cooking and were incredibly friendly. Her father and I immediately launched into conversation when I recognized and commented on his photography collection: this included a photo of a young Orson Welles and an amazing photo of Ezra Pound and the cage he was kept in during the war. He also helped me choose the best translation of Dangerous Liaisons (a book highly recommended to me by Emmanuel) and their twelve-year-old daughter, Gabriel, a wonderful pianist. Unfortunately Emmanuel’s parents had to leave for cousin’s boyfriend’s rock concert. They live in this beautiful Belleville apartment, complete with exposed wood beam ceilings, and a fantastic library. Sylvie, the director of our Paris program, whose house I went to retrieve the wine and the turkeys, had another interestingly awesome home.
Justin, our supposedly fearless head chef, came so late that my workload had already been completed. We had to edit our menu, but still had enough to feed our crowd of 17. The pictures of the gathering will be posted, and they inevitably will include the food. It was also illustrate how much wine was provided and how Emmanuel rolls about a cigarette every 3 minutes (without filters).
The worst problems of the night were a spilled pumpkin pie (onto Niki) and Lynn’s allergic reaction to the surviving pie.

Barcelona Weekend

Ecola, Katie, Lynn, Niki and took off for a weekend in Barcelona, a city of even later nights and earlier mornings than Paris (and that is saying a lot). Upon arrival, there were immediate problems as we had arrived too late to take the public transit into the city, and too early to move into the chosen hostel. However, we were lucky enough to find a Hostel off of the famous and lively Las Ramblas. After dropping off our stuff we headed out to an apartment/bar, hidden away in Barri Gøtic. Lynn doesn’t believe this, but it was Sherlock Holmes themed and was very intricately and caringly decorated. Lynn and Katie were in dire need of sleep, so they left earlier but promptly got lost. This was not a good thing: they did not have a phone and did not know the city. Luckily, they found their way back, and all was well (except for the creepy man who was intent on coming through the wall to attack Katie and bunk bedding above the kick happy Ecola). We all survived the night, except for Lynn who could not wake up and just switched beds to avoid attacks. We moved to the new Hostel, which was livelier and cleaner, and met up with a bunch of UofC students from other study abroad programs including Bex, Anita, Annie Margret, Tim, and Rico.
Ecola, Lynn, Tim, Rico and I split off and formed our own tour group of the city. Ecola was alpha dog, and served as guide. First, we found our way to the Picasso Museum that specializes in his earlier works, which is a perfect before going to the Paris Picasso Museum that specializes in his cubist works. The highlight here was his crazy sketches from his childhood and his study of the Vélåazquez’s Las Meninas Ecola was an ideal guide for this museum, being an artist herself. She corrected me in pointing out that it is actually the shadowy figure of José Nieto that is the focus of Picasso’s interpretation of this painting.
After Picasso, we headed to a tapas lunch and the Cathedral de Barcelona (photos on the website). We then went to The Arc de Triomf (present in many photos) and the Parc de la Ciutadella where we met the Godfather of Ducks, and a duck who would rather fall down a ledge than fly (there were an unusual amount of flightless birds in Barcelona). We explored this area for a while: played soccer with the local kids, found hollow bushes and told far too many Mitch Hedberg jokes. That night we went to this crazy circus style bar called La Fire. There were creepy old signs; a giant devil and most importantly there were swings.
The last day in Barcelona was our designated Goudi day, but we ended up only going to Sagrada Familia. The exterior looks like it is the result of an ADD architect who never actually drew a plan. There are huge spires in front of gigantic stained glass with tiny knights dotting the perimeter. Overall, this building can be described by one adjective: Gaudy.
We spent the rest of the evening walking around that area of the city, watching a bit of a soccer game, going to the bull fight ring, sending off Rico and Tim and of course, and once again far too many Mitch Hedberg jokes. Working our way back to the Arc de Trompf, we met Katie and Niki who were in tears after sending off Annie Margaret, Anita and Bex. They were joyous to later find that Annie Margret had missed her bus, so they joined us for dinner. Ecola, Lynn and I did some quick emergency shopping (I had no long sleeve shirts and they required them all over this city). We then had yet another awesome tapas dinner, only interrupted by a bunch of hero costumed British guys. We then decided to stay up until our early morning flight. Only Ecola and I made it, thanks to some Sangria and Lynn’s Mitch Hedberg mp3s.

Amiens

Today was the second major outing with the group, and this time we knew to go to sleep earlier the night before. We caught an incredibly crowded RER to Gare du Nord where we met Stephan. From there we caught our train to Amien (a town I, as well as numerous other people, including Parisian, didn’t even know existed until now).
The more time I spend with Stephan, the more I like him. He told us we were a good group (even after a rowdy lunch where he and Ecola played the adult to keep us under control) and told us stories of “bad” groups. His most quotable comments were that “beer is for breakfast, cocktails for lunch, whiskey for dinner,” “who is this professor?” and “I have to take a picture because my wife will not believe we walked this far to see a broken bridge.”
These comments were interspersed throughout the day, but we started the day out with a tour of the Amien Cathedral. This is a Gothic structure that looks very much like a very large Notre Dame. It was built because of the relic it houses of St. John the Baptists skull (which is still on display inside). The oddities of this building are plenty, but most noteworthy amongst them is that one of the stain glassed windows is actually an upside-down pentagram, there are no books in the hands of the statues of the pre-Catholicism prophets, and under all the statues are the only real examples of artistic freedom: tiny “stupid people.”
After the tour we had the aforementioned lunch, a quick walk around, an entertaining carousel ride, then a fun but long walk to nowhere featuring a hilarious Juewai and Justin, then finally a long ride back featuring M.A.S.H. I am marrying Katie, we are having 12 kids, live in a Shack, we have an elephant and a tricycle.

Preview and Apology

I haven't updated in a while, thanks to a hellish week of work and travel plans, so I am apologizing. However, what you have to look forward to is this:
1.) A weekend in Barcelona, one overwhelmingly awesome city with some awesome people (complete with many pictures)
2.) A day trip to beautiful Amiens with the group, the Professor and Stephan (with much photographed drunken revelry)
3.) A week in exotic Marrakech (with far too many photos)
4.) A second appraisal of Parisian Nightlife with Halloween pictures
Same Sage Channel, Same Sage Time, Same Sage Site!

Tour with the Professor

The Professor (sorry, I can’t type that without thinking about Harpo’s Professor in Animal Crackers) took us to his home area of… PLACE DE LA CONTRESCARP! Yes, exactly where I did my Moveable Feast week before classes started.
Yes, he even took us to Hotel Grand Ecoles to tell us that it is the best place to stay in Paris. He was very impressed when I told him about my pre-class week, and we had a great talk about the area. I like this guy, he actually reminds me of Andy. He took us by an Old Roman Coliseum around the corner from the Hotel, Hemingway’s house and the old city wall around Paris. He then took hungry people to Le Volcon, but I had just eaten so I sadly did not join them.

Manchester United Game

Manchester United
After class, a large group of us rushed off to a Manchester United versus Paris’s Lille Football game at Staid du France (right around where the riots started out). Yili, Michelle, Sara and I split off from the group to drop by St. Michele for Falafel and some Chinese food. Sara was a lifesaver and carried my bag back to the dorm.
En route to meet Courtney at Chatelet, we came across some stereotypical Manchester United fans: shaved head/bald males of varied ages, missing teeth, covered in denim, drunkenly yelling obscenities and soccer chants at passersby.
We got out of there and found Courtney at Chatelet and road up north. When we arrived, we were greeted by an unprecedented (at least in my experience around Paris) show of Police force. Many battalions of riot gear clad police glared us at, after that we met the police on horses, then finally we got into the gates where we were frisked.
We got to the game where sad Brits notified us that they were not serving real beer (for obvious reasons), but most of the ManU fans were drunk and dangerous enough already. We didn’t heed their warning, and we bought some awful non-alcoholic beers for far too much money.
The chants were hilarious, when the Parisian area started a wave that went full round their end of the field the Man U fans stopped it with their version of flicking people off and a resounding “FUCK YOU!” I couldn’t understand most of the chants, they yelled them while balancing on the ledge and pounding the fences, but when Paris scored their winning goal, the ManU guys were booing and throwing their stuff onto the field.
The Yili, Michelle and Courtney were all cheering for our Parisians, but I unfortunately choose to go with the losing team, ManU.

Nietzsche is a Negative Nancy

After seeing Walküre, I spoke with Andy, one of my favorite Opera companions. He and I were discussing why directors do such dramatic things to productions of Wagner. He said that this is done because they don’t want people to be sucked into the Wagnerian ideology: his lies about heroism and redemption.
We both agreed that anything that distracts or detracts from the drama should be excluded. However, do not see the harm in his romanticized vision of heroics. Yes, they have little to no place in reality, but for me deception and escapism is very different.
I wish I had saved the conversation however, because I see now that attempting to reproduce it from memory does it no justice.

Die Walküre

For a stereotypically pompous city, they take their ostentatious activities very unpretentiously. Every opera production is quickly sold out, even the tickets for where you can’t see the stage. People do not dress up, but if any noise is made (including eating, a massive pet peeve of mine) they will kill you. While Opera is a luxurious habit in other areas around the world, here it is a necessity and an addiction. To borrow from Nietzsche: “An artist has no home in Europe except in Paris.”
I was lucky enough to snag some last minute tickets to Theatre Chatalet’s modern production of Die Walküre. Mon Dieu! What a production! While the traditional productions are relaxing where one can forgo directorial choice analysis, the active mind sometimes prefers the novel productions so you can wonder what the hell they were thinking. For instance, I saw a production of Parsifal where the set was a one-dimensional grey landscape, divided by a railroad track and there were 14 aluminum chairs mounted on the backdrop. It was horribly distracting, and ruined an otherwise fine performance; fortunately this was not the case for this afternoon’s Die Walküre.
The markedly symmetrically blocking of the performance and the kabuki movements purposefully eliminated the anthropomorphism of the Gods as well as the work’s human concerns. The costuming fit perfectly with the stoic nature of the production. No one smiled, touched or even hinted at any intimacy (until the final duet between Wotan and Brünhilde, this certainly emphasized their “embrace,” but at the expense of every other character) and I found this inappropriate in such a romantic work.
There were interesting moments, when the vampirically pale Brünehilde and Wotan lie on these adjacent protrusions from the floor. Also, while everyone was wearing black, the underdeveloped character of Sieglinde was clothed in a flowing white robe. When Wotan was explaining Alberich’s plots to Brünhilde, the lighting made his hand green. In contrast to the many circle/ring motifs I have seen in other productions, there were none in this one. During the beautiful orchestration at the end, Wotan raised his hands in what I thought would have been a circular shape, but instead it was a triangle.
The voices were amazing as, most markedly Hunding, played by Stephen Milling, but I love that bass role so I am biased. Fricka was also quiet notable, played by Mihoko Fujimura who at first was having some problems. It seemed like the orchestra was having such a great time playing (and they played wonderfully) that they forgot there was an aria going on onstage. She was able to surmount these odds, and sang beautifully. Another issue I had was with the staging in the first Act between Fricka and Wotan, when the onstage table actually turned.
I should also make it clear that I was in a weird haze for most of the weekend, not feeling very good and not able to really produce any decent work. As soon as the violins started their triplets everything changed. All that existed was the music and myself; one of those divine moments I am privileged to every once in a while.

Wine Tasting

After our last Descartes lecture (shades of The Matrix) we were treated to a wine tasting, hosted by Sorbonne University Wine Tasting Club member. Yili and I sat next to each other and had great fun using the list of Wine terminology to describe what we were tasting.
We started the evening with the Alsace Riesling grand cru, Louis Pion, 2001: a white wine that sparkled like a diamond against the tablecloth. It had a green hue, indicating that it was young; no tears, indicating a low alcohol content and that it was from a sunny region. We characterized it as being crisp and attractive (partially because they were the most pretentious adjectives we could find).
The next wine was the Hauts de Pontet 1997, Pauillac a Médoc Bordeaux. We characterized this wine as a oaky, earthy, smokey, and slightly musty. The Host added that oaky and earthy are typical of a Bordeaux. He also added that it was “animal” which makes it sound nasty.
The last wine was the Beaune 1997, Bouchard pére et fils a Bourgogne, which the Host called a connoisseur’s wine. This was fruity, berrylike and Justin made the amazing call that it had an apricot taste.
We finished the tasting with a Nicolas Feuillate Rosé millesime 2000, champagne. Daniela behind me was dizzy after the first glass of wine, but she did take many pictures (including the one posted here). This was our sad attempt at a sexy picture, Yili may be pulling it off, but I just look ridiculous.

Salon du Chocolat

Women and Chocolate.
Now that I have your attention, those two are what made Salon du Chocolate mind-blowing. A convention of Willy Wonkonian proportions was made even more amazing by the presence of a “chocolate fashion show” which is precisely what you think it is. I would post the video I took if I could (it is complete with commentary: starting with the sound of our mouth dropping, calls to the models not to leave, and the final note that it was just dudes now so we should go).
The event started out on a worrisome note, as Justin and I arrived we were promptly lost in the exclusively French speaking crowds. Severely lacking chocolate, despite being surrounded by little else, we were completely unable to obtain ANY, and it was killing us. Then we happened across the fashion show that made us happy, and our asses were grabbed by Nîna and Lulu, who became the Oompa Loompa’s on our tour of Wonka Land. We witnessed impressive novel arrangements (sea coral motifs were the trend), incredible gourmet presentations, and superb chocolate dishes served every way imaginable, and then a few more ways. We consequently over-dosed on them, but to a comfortable degree. Walking out of Ponte de Versailles, full of and covered in chocolate, we headed to Montparnasse, with its abomination of a ski scraper: a hideous behemoth scarring the otherwise picturesque Parisian city-scape.
We had a great time out; we went to a movie and then had an Indian dinner.

Sick Weekend Notes

Sick Weekend Notes
Disease and a final paper occupied this weekend, but still some things happened:
1.) Sam incredulously discovered that Pimp and Mackerel are the same word in French. This was discovered when Filet of Pimp didn’t sound so delicious.
2.) In Marais our conversation group went to a Lenny Kravitz approved falafel stand, it was very popular.
3.) Bakers at Paul (a chain bakery) do not appreciate broken French, and do not understand any English. We didn’t want any of their many cheese breads, we wanted good bread to go with our cheese and wine.
4.) Instead of good luck, you are supposed to wish your friends: “Merde” (shit).
5.) My paper turned out well; it dealt with a topic close to my thesis so I’m killing as many birds as possible with minimal stones.

La Boheme, and Le Verre du l’amentier

The final days with Professor Poutheir were memorable, we watched the Sean Connery film The Name of the Rose, went to La Boheme at the Bastille (where the Professor bought wine) and had yet another wine tasting in class (after we had been served wine in French class as well). The Professor served white wines from his birthplace, the place where he fell in love and some Chardonnay Americans like. The one from his place of birth was very interesting, not what I am used to tasting in a white. Consequently, he didn’t bring more than bottle. The wine from where he fell in love was sweeter and quiet fruity. You may be asking yourself how Sage knows so much about wine all of a sudden? Well, I don’t, the professor helped us out, but I am getting there. He then thanked us for putting up with his “brutal English” and we toasted to what he called “Le verre du l’amentier.”
This production La Boheme was set in the 1940s, and was set in the familiar Latin Quarter. This production heavily emphasized acting, and the performers were very active onstage. The first act, second and fourth were very well performed, and Musetta’s “Quando m’en vo” was funny, beautifully performed and made you wish she had more arias to come. The first and fourth act were set in Marcello’s and Rodolfo’s apartment, which was complete with a Cardillac Ballet poster, a minimalist painting and a Jeane Harlow movie poster. The second set in a very impressive set of popular café in the Latin Quarter. Complete with large crowds, character waiters and adoring onlookers for Musetta. The third was very desolate street corner, with a wall covered with DuBonnet posters. You get the idea that this production was very impressive, period specific and detailed.
Mimi and Rodolfo sadly didn’t compliment each other in any notable way until the fourth act, when finally their voices seemed to match for “Sono andati.” The Conductor was very explicitly directing the singers on stage as well, something I am not used to seeing. He would pound his chest and jab his baton at them. Despite his being sidetracked by the singer, the orchestration was very impressively done.
I also should note, that La Boheme was the first Opera I ever saw, and I didn’t get why Mimi was taking so long to die, I had to ask my Dad. I have now seen it at least four times, and I don’t think I will ever tire of it.

Matt's Revenge

I think this picture speaks for itself. Thanks Matt.

Captain Jean-Luc.... Pouthier: First Star Trek Reference

Professor Jean Luc is a Godsend. While I was speaking with him after class about Machiavelli, we got onto the concept of European vs. American realism. From there we worked our way to Kissinger, Fukuyama, then to my thesis! An hour later, I have 3 pages of notes, a load of book recommendations and inspiration for my final paper, my thesis and my presentation tomorrow.
Damn, this guy is good…

Daniela's Billie Jean

Daniela wrote this while we were in the library:

billie jean is not my love,
she cannot fix the wifi above,
she does not like, the color orange, or jd (johnny depp),
that's cause sage is the one,
and we type, on our puters, in the library,
yeah i said, sage is the one,
and we type, on our puters, in the library.

Random Weekend Entry

So I thought I should note from this weekend, most of it was spent working, so nothing too exciting:
1.) I had a 4 incompatible cheese pizza with John and Sam. It had circles of brie, melted goat cheese, mozzarella and cheese X. Not meant to be.
2.) I hung out with Nina and Lance, they eat non-stop.
3.) I tried for the third time to go to Opera Garnier for a tour and/or an opera. All the students’ tickets were gone, and all that was left were overpriced seats where you can’t see the stage. The tour was full already, so I’ll have to wait until the tourist season dies down.
4.) Nina, Lulu, Monica and I briefly went to Marais, but I was a total party pooper and turned in early to work.
5.) Totally missed Samar, who coincidentally was arriving at my dorm as I was leaving.
6.) I found an awesome paper topic that ties into my thesis (thanks Lance and Nina). I haven’t refined it yet, but I hope to write about how the Church has a tradition of “creating” enemies throughout the era we have studied, similar to how a declining state powers acts when they feel that their power is waning.
7.) Yili is an amazing cook.
8.) Reading Machiavelli on a beautiful day in a park surrounded by happy families and their babies seems highly inappropriate.
That is all to report from Sage’s non-weekend.

Châteaux Day

Today started at 7:45, with not enough sleep (Erasmus). I was one of the first downstairs and I met downstairs with John and Ecola. I couldn’t remember if I locked my door and ran up to check it twice. This is something that happens to me when I am tired or distracted.
I slept on the way to Loire, occasionally waking to try and wedge myself into the seats more comfortably, but I never figured out a suitable configuration. It was 10:15 when we arrived, but I had no concept of the passage of that time. We dropped by a nearby patisserie and café where Lauren and I split the special on 3 pan au chocolates for a discounted price (by split I mean I ate 2, she ate 1). I had a crème café too; the coffee here is fantastic, even by my coffee-phobic.
We met with tour guide Steve, a UofC grad student who is in Paris. He was very entertaining and had the French look down. He went nuts when I asked him a question and told him my name: “Sage is a perfect name for you because that is a brilliant question!”
The Château in question is knows as the Blois Château Royal and was occupied by several different members of royalty throughout the ages. It had a Gothic section, a Flamboyant section, a Renaissance style section and a Classic wing. Each of these styles was carelessly mashed onto the previous style. There was even exposed brick where the sections connected. I think that in our era of architecture, a “genius” architect (as some of the architects of this structure were labeled) would have, at the very least, been able to compliment the adjoining styles.
There were open Renaissance stairwells next to a Gothic fortress, next to asymmetric windows from a compilation of eras. Each style reflected the mentality of the role of power that was en vogue, and the building was very interesting. I really wanted a picture of me orating from the top of the Renaissance stairwell, but I had to make due with the time we had. Steve filled the tour with funny asides, great stories and historical notes. I could see myself lording over the peasants from this place.
Next, we got back on the bus and worked our way to Chambord, a cartoonishly perfect Château that is truly in the middle of nowhere.

We were “treated”(the price was included in the tuition) to a multi hour lunch with unlimited wine, foie gras salad, and roasted duck with potatoes and green beans. We finished with a cheese plate then a chocolate cake, easily the largest lunch I’ve had in a while. It is amazing how some people cannot handle their alcohol, especially when its wine. Steve told us about the French phrase that translates into “The Ugly American” and that some of our group were the definition of it.
The Château tour was consequently loud. It is a Renaissance style building that incorporates shades of medieval architecture. It was built for King Francois I, but he only spent 3 days here and drained the treasury building it. At this time, the world was graced with the presence of the unparalleled Leonardo da Vinci, and he allegedly designed some of the more ingenious aspects of the structure, such as the double helix staircase (apparently there was a septuplet helix designed but never built). This was designed so that the people ascending would not see each other person descending (a mistress going down one side, the wife on the other). The whole Château also had modern art interspersed and the building a very playful feel to it.

The bus ride back was mostly political discussions, with a frustrated Lulu and John highlighting it. I had a similarly themed conversation with John and I tried very hard to stay out of this one.

Hehehe

http://davidlyons007.blogspot.com/

A Paris Intermission guest starring James Bond

An IM conversation with friends and a call from Catt reminded me of the short nature of my Parisian interlude, so I decided to talk about something that is of universal importance and consequence: Daniel Craig is James Bond number 6!
I can’t honestly say he is perfect, but he will certainly bring new dimensions to the role. He was fine in Layer Cake, but James Bond? I think he can actually pull off the fabled magnetism, the style, the wit, and he proved that he could portray the haunted-killer character. However, people want Bond to be entertaining first and foremost,
Bond may kill without a second thought, he gives everything for the country he loves, his loved ones die or are maimed, and he washes it away with vodka. However, what makes the character tolerable is that he does it all with the façade of the English Gentlemen with a smile on his face while tossing out cruel joke. Dalton proved that you couldn’t just make a gritty action movie; you have to maintain the fun.
Casino Royale can make a very good film, its more character driven, and less spectacle then the other Bond stories. Tarantino has written several treatments of this story, and I would love to find them. Of course, I have my own vision of how to tell this story, but I trust the director, and the rewriter of the script (the original authors of the script, Purvis and Wade, I do not trust).
So here are Sage’s do’s and don’t for the film:
1.) There has to be a convincing romance with Vesper. Daniel Craig had it right with the best Bond Girl being Diana Riggs, but she is one of a kind so they’ll have to make do with someone close.
2.) Portray and cast Vesper correctly; she is a formative character for the young Mr. Bond. Jessica Alba apparently is campaigning for the roll (I found out with my broken French) and I think she would be perfect. Vesper isn’t the usual Bond girl from recent films; she is more fragile and flawed. It can be argued that it is her that ultimately drives Bond to his playboy lifestyle.
3.) Keep in La Vie del Rose (knowing the producers, it will unfortunately be a remix).
4.) Bond has to change into the superspy we know and love. He must realize that he cannot afford mistakes, and that the only world for him is the lonely world of the assassin, which he is what he is first and foremost.
5.) Sean Connery should be LeChiffre.
6.) Q should give the young Bond a crappy car.
7.) Bond should see LeChiffre’s Aston Martin, be angry that this enemy of England drives it, and should steal it. He is thereafter assigned Aston Martins.
8.) They should reference how Bond got his double O. They should also note that he is the best shot in the agency.
9.) Colin Salmon should stay as the Chief of Staff (Bond’s only friend in the department). The relationship was developing very well in the Brosnan era, and it could be a very good source of future plot work.
10.) They could maintain LeChiffre and his crew as a continuing bad guy, alla S.P.E.C.T.R.E. (bonus points for those who know what it stands for), but I like the end of the original story.
This is the end of my first Bond rambling. A FaceBook wall message from Nefarious Nathan brought me back to Paris. That sinister man will be here in Paris in December, and we’ll have to meet up.

Moroccan Food in Belleville and Erasmus Clubbing

Whenever I get off of a Metro hitherto unseen area, I am constantly reminded about the size and diversity of this city. Tonight’s adventure was Belleville, where Daniela had spotted and recommended a Moroccan restaurant. John, Sam, Yili and I headed out there straight from class. We found the restaurant, and it turned out to be a cute little family institution, where the wife was phoned to cook in when we turned up, and the kids were doing homework on the table next to us.
The dinner was delicious, and VERY inexpensive (for Paris). I had a Tolarie curry, but the highlight entrée was Sam’s couscous dish. From there, I bolted crosstown to Charles Madeline to Erasmus, which was free for foreign students. When I showed up, I accidentally pulled out my keys and the doorman said “Désolé, je ne suis pas cette sorte de fille.” Then the admittedly scary International ID picture of me made him jump.
The club itself was fun, but I didn’t stay long, I had an early morning to look forward to with our day exploring the Chataux. We did make a quick detour to the Tour Eiffel at night (but they won’t let you go up) and then to Champs-Elysees for a quick desert.

Salad Night

6 hungry students + 0 meal plans + 1 nasty cafeteria + tons of random food = fun dinner. I contributed summer sausage, a fresh baguette and some dried apricots and somehow we ended up with a multiple course meal that stuffed us all (except Martyna, I have no idea where her food goes). The fruits and veggies were market fresh, and the company was getting quickly drunk. Half a glass of wine made Sara VERY red, and she was promptly cut off.
I was reading outside when a friend came back from class. She is in this awesome international MBA program, and is the daughter of a Canadian diplomat. She has lived absolutely everywhere and is incredibly interesting. Michelle joined us, and John followed suit later. I brought down some Desperados, a French tequila beer Manuel and Thomas introduced me to, and we all sat on the step outside and enjoyed them.
The picture is unrelated to Salad Night, but it was just sent to me by Sara and I like it, so tough luck, you're going to have to look at it now. It accurately portrays my Parisian lifestyle: eating cheap Gyros that are bigger than my head (introduced to me by Michelle) while in search of a cafe or park to work.

Marais: The Gay/Jewish Area

The Gay/Jewish area of town is known as Marais (come on, roll that r). It apparently has fantastic boutique shopping, delis and rainbow yamakas. I kid, I kid. Seriously though, it is a very schweat (French slang for cool) area, even Victor Hugo would agree. His house stands on a bat-inhabited corner of Place des Vosges.
We started at the Bastille Opera house that is an amazing statement of the nature of Paris. To build an opera house for the people, as opposed to the elitism the genre carries in America, is very telling. Posters for Verdi’s Requiem and Bach performances adorn the streets, side by side with posters for Jacky Brown’s latest album and Sigur Ros’ next performance.
Starting down Rue St. Antoine, it is evident that very noticeable that Algerians exiles, Jews and Muslims all live peacefully together in Marais. There is an amazing diversity of stores and restraints all along Rue des Francis Bourgeois and around Place Marche St. Catherine. Reminders of the holocaust are presented in the form of plaques over institutions where entire groups of people were taken to Auschwitz.I honestly didn't see the rebranding of this area as Gay.
We really didn’t get enough time to explore. Samar and Courtney’s recommendation to explore this area was spot on, and I'll have to revisit.
Instead of further wanderings, we grabbed lunch near Pompidou, and then headed to the metro to get to class.

Nightlife: Take 1

Speaking of shady characters, the best nightlife experiences I’ve found here are by exploring. This proved true for a spontaneous dinner on Tuesday night by the Tour Eiffel with Martyna, and a magnificent walking and eating tour of the city on a Saturday.
That night began by meeting Samar and Courtney at the most popular place to meet people in Paris: St. Michele’s fountain. I was sitting by the fountain when I realized that it was all single guys looking like they were waiting for their dates.
I quickly escaped and found Courtney and Samar. We started with Indian food at Safran on Rue de Harpe (a hole in the wall off of St. Michel recommended by Ecola and Justin), then Gelato on St. Germaine at Samar’s favorite place. Every flavor we tired there was ridiculously perfect (also a much awaited occasion to use Mon Dieu!), and it is a place not to be missed. We then walked past the Pont de Arts in front by the statue of Volatire (“Jesus committed suicide,” nice one buddy, way to piss off every superpower in Europe) and the school of the Arts. Courtney and I then went to a hookah bar in Place de la Contrascarpe and then a walk along the Seine with dreamlike views of the Seine and the three in a row arcs (it was too dark for any pictures to turn out, but it was breathtaking). We walked all the way to Champs Elysees where we had well deserved Nuttella Crepes. Turkish guys were celebrating some soccer victory and “Fashion Week” models and their old man accessories were promenading. The time flew by that night and I got the best French lesson yet.
I was also able to meet up with the Moreys at a Starbucks on Saturday, after an unsuccessful attempt at Café de la Paix by the Opera house Friday. The Café is a beautiful baroque style institution adjacent to the Opera Garnier. It is very popular and, as Paul noted, “is a great place for people watching.” The Starbucks was down Avenue de l’Opera and was totally packed. It was great to see the Moreys out of the usual setting, and they gave me some fantastic tips for museums, markets and other Parisian activities. I also went back to the Luxembourg Gardens and the gardens by the Lourve during the days to get a full stack of reading and notes done. Even when its cold, these are great places to read and work, mostly peaceful (the occasional Police chance breaks that up) and crisp air is always refreshing.

Week 1 of Class

The first week of classes is sadly over, but progress has been made on the thesis, explorations of the city, class and getting to know the group.
Professor Pouthier teaches the Civ class. He is French and has that very rich accent; the class has a theology focus and just covered the Roman to Holy Roman-German Empire.
The professor is incredibly nice (he saved Yili when she lost her Carte Orange to get on the train, by giving her an extra one of his) and he continually apologizes for his English and he teaches with a dictionary on hand. This all adds the experience, and the pace of the class is perfect for absorption and note taking. I have read a lot of the material from this class before, but now I am noting that a lot of this early theological history is very similar to political bickering. “We’re better than you because…” style of debate has been going on for millennia, and these people often resort to name-calling.
Keeping the monks under control at this point in history was also a major burden of the church, with measures to prevent knife fights built into church doctrine (I find this to be a very odd mental picture).
In French, my favorite word is Pamplemouse (grapefruit) and the first slang I’ve learned is that “yeah” can be said as “whey.” Now I can roll with all sorts of shady characters.

Cluny

Master of the obvious says: Paris is old. Yes, but how old? Well, we explored this question by getting an excellent tour of the archeological site by Sorbonne of a Roman bathhouse ruin. Stephan presented me with an old all (archeological tool used to dig) he found, and I’ll take it back to show Paul. Those Romans sure could build a bathhouse; this place was still sturdy and huge.
For some reason, meeting at 9 was very difficult for everyone, and it seemed so early (evident in the posted picture). Because Paris (the first noted appearance of this city being called Paris is carved onto the remains of a pillar here) was used as a Northern power base for the crumbling Roman Empire, Emperor Julian spent much of his time here. Cluny houses the remains of the temple of Jupiter (that stood where Notre Dame now stands) and the 21 stone original stone heads of the Kings of Judah from Notre Dame (that were torn down in the revolution).
We hung out at a cafe by Hemingway's old haunt, Shakespear and Company, and did readings for class. I picked up a Gyro on the way out that was stuffed with french fried. Michelle was right in her ravings about these, they are delicious.

Guy Ritchie, Nuit Blanche and Hookah Nights

If you have no desire to see Guy Ritchie’s Revolver, you can skip the following paragraph:
I have to start this entry with an apology: the first draft of this entry was a huge long rambling panning of Guy Ritchie’s new movie, Revolver. I could not say enough bad stuff about this movie, and I generally like the movie going experience. I know people don’t want to read a rant, so it has been exorcized from the blog except for this short tirade. Guy Ritchie assumes his audience is idiotic and has no ability to analyze or understand a more than one-dimensional character. He has sadly proven to be a one trick pony, but that one trick (Lock Stock and Snatch) memory should not be tarnished by this absolutely abysmally horrible movie. There are fine moments, but these moments are quickly forgotten because of the surrounding material. Do not see this movie (I know this is will be very hard, I can’t imagine anything that would have prevented me from seeing this movie, but I wish something had, because this movie was totally pathetic and an utter waste of time and money).

Guy Ritchie haters can start here:
Okay! So with that introduction out of the way, I will now tell you that I went to go see this movie with Michele and Abbey. We were really meeting up here as a way to start Nuit Blanche, or White Night. This is the fourth annual event were, in lieu of sleep, Parisians keep everything that makes this city an icon (museums, libraries, monuments, tourist traps, gardens, places of worship etc…) open all night and party citywide. It is the ultimate welcome to Paris.
We started the night at the Biblioteque by the movie theater, where there was excited crowd around an exhibit of black light art serving free food and wine. Michele and Abbey had also brought wine in their water bottles, so we enjoyed this exhibit for a while before heading to Chatalete via Metro. The metro was packed with people, and Michele and Abbey had to artfully dodge flirtatious teenage boys by pretending to be Spanish. That may sound weird, but everyone speaks English so by only speaking Spanish they limited the conversation.
We got off at Chatalete that was a sea of people. We waited for Abbey’s roommate (Hilary) and filled up on Sangria at this very cool but too popular Tapas bar. We killed off the Sangria, then moved (en masse with the crowd) into Chatalete where Michele dragged us to the thumping of a Brazilian dance music, then past some insane mime performance with a projector, to the carousel, then to some African drums, to Pompidou, to a Church with a light show and Chihuly-esque chandeliers, and then to Hotel de Ville.
Yes, we ran a gambit. Yes, it was mind-blowing, and yes I listed it like that because it would take pages to describe how amazing each place was. I’ll put up pictures later.

I could write a whole separate entry on what happened next, but I’ll try to keep it short. First, you must understand that the metros close at the unreasonable hour of 1 and do not open until 5:30. Next you must know that the dorms are too far from Paris proper to walk. Lastly, you should know that a rainstorm rolled in. The buses were the best option left, but they were packed like the ones in India and Africa, with people hanging off the tops and sides, until the police took them off. Even if they weren’t overcrowded, the bus stops for me is pretty far from the dorms and were breaking down, and I don’t know that area well enough yet.
2:30am After about an hour and a half of bus waiting, I gave up and decided that Taxis are now the best option.
3am Walked for a while and I got a pizza but no taxi. I can’t feel my feet and I’m soaked, and the pizza isn’t sitting well. Waving down a taxi does not work tonight.
3:30am Asked police for a taxi stop and I found it right on the Seine by Notre Dame (which has a large projected Jesus on it). I was not moving (except from deserters). Several shady cars some by waving people in. No one is foolish enough.
4am Found a new taxi line I don’t remember where. It starts getting very cold, so I fold my arms under my jacket. Some Americans down the line start panicking about being stuck downtown. The French people stare at them, and I try not to. I am joined by a group of fluent French speaking students from Sorbonne, Georgetown and Holy Oak. There is a café and bar next door, so at least I have some good company and sustenance.
5:30am Taxi comes, and I am on my way!
6am Sweet Sweet sleep.
11am Yili wakes me up, asking if I want to eat. I don’t think it was a polite no. Today we have a tour and conversation with a French advisor at 12, so I get up anyway.

The rain stymied the tour, but the conversation as great fun. I was told to watch out for eye contact, because apparently that is flirting here. I don’t believe it. Our advisor will serve as our extra-curricular chief in command in Paris and we talked about activities we would like to do.
After the conversation, some fellow students meet up and we talk food. I play tour guide and lead us to Place de la Contrescarpe (home sweet home) to the old haunt Café Delmas then the Egytian Salon. We had an amazing time with Sarah, Monica, Yili, Daniella, Michelle, Mia and Lauren (Abbey and Hilary joined us at the Hookah bar). Martyna Majok (I use her last name because she sounds like a magician if you call her Martyna MAGIC!!!) was a leading proponent of this outing, but she totally missed us when we left, and has a sad story to go with that.
We come across a storefront climbing gym on Rue de Ecole that I will have to show in a picture and definitely will check out later.
I am trying to keep the entries factual, to keep them short and sweet, but informative. As classes start and I don’t get to go out as much, things will become more detailed.

For Dom: Renegades Episode 2: Late for a Movie

The passengers sit serenely in their seats, in neat orderly rows. They get up and sit down when told; they drink and eat what they are given. These monotonously robotic passengers have no idea that today will be different for them, today their ordered little lives are about to be rocked by a couple of… RENEGADES!!!

“Looks like we’re about to hit some turbulence,” drones the captain of the hopelessly uncool plane. The fasten seat belt sign blinks on with a single metallic note and the passengers follow the protocol with vacant stares while slowly chewing the stinking globs they have been given as food.
Then a boot appears, crashing through the emergency exit of the plane! The cabin depressurizes as the brown blobs of rancid food mixed with trashy books, and magazines adored with idyllic airbrushed bodies swirl into the air and out the door.
The passengers don’t scream, they just hold onto their seats, stunned that this sort of disaster would dare disturb their mundane lives. Then as they stare, they see whom the boot belongs to as two leather-jacket clad motorcyclists fly through the airlock door, slamming it behind them. They screech across the airplane, skidding to a stop right before hitting the opposite side of the airplane’s emergency exit. The two intruders slam down their kick stops on their red and blue Ducattis The passengers gape, the stewardesses’ mouths drop to the floor as they shift their glances between their ruined kitchen and the two mystery men on the bikes.
The ominous figure on the red Ducatti is the first to dismount. His right leg swings over his bike and the black boot hits the floor makes it reverberate like an earthquake. His helmeted head surveys the blank faces of the passengers and the dumbstruck stewardesses. Then his gloved hands reach up and pull off the jet-black helmet to reveal the face of RH103! The passengers gasp!
A small beeping is heard and the passengers glance around, baffled.
The second biker looks at his watch on his left wrist, and stops it. He then reaches up and pulls off his helmet, to reveal the face of Sage! The passengers excitedly whisper!
“Looks like we’re a bit early,” he said out of the corner of his mouth that his blunt cigar did not occupy.
The captain’s voice drones over the intercom “Sorry about the folks, looks like were through the worst of it.” The fasten seat belt sign clicks off with a dull metallic ding.
“I am afraid that I have to disagree with the captain! The worst IS yet to come!” comes a Russian accented voice behind the two RENEGADES. The lavatory door slides open to reveal a tall woman with a deep scowl on the half of her face that is showing under her dark bangs. Her frown is sinister, and all you can see of her squinting eyes is their pitch-black pupils.
“Hello boys,” she intones in her low accented voice, as she sashays toward the Renegades. She slides up toward RH103 and swiftly slaps him across the face. “That’s for not emailing me! And this,” she proclaims as she gestures down the aisles of the plane “is for breaking my heart! Now my team of highly trained Ninjas will break YOU!”
She raises her long finger as the overhead bins storage fly open and a gaggle of Ninjas stream out! The passengers scream and run around like chickens with their heads cut off. The Ninjas move swiftly down the aisles toward the Renegades, surrounding them and the woman. RH103 and Sage casually glance around the airplane, the screaming passengers just beyond the periphery of the ring of ninjas. After a few moments, they look over their shoulders at each other and nod slightly then spring into action! Sage goes low, tripped the slower Ninjas, and grabbing two of their nun chucks. RH103 goes high, with a flying kick knocks out the Ninjas adjacent to the woman. Sage’s nun chucks move so fast and ferociously that they are invisible to the naked eye. RH103 disappears underneath a pile of stabbing, swinging and punching Ninjas as he dives toward the Russian woman.
One by one the Ninjas’ bodies are seen flying across the plane, or are being locked in the remaining kitchen cabinets, carts and lavatories. RH103 is still nowhere to be seen, the passengers are crowded in the aft of the plane, screaming and hiding their faces as blood spatters the walls around them. The passengers, however become concerned, they start whispering, worrying, wondering what happened RH103? Could the killer Ninjas actually dispensed with the immortal Renegade? Why was the cigar smoking Sage not concerned, and simultaneously cooking a meal in the remains of the kitchen while he was still battling the Ninjas? They had to help them! They had to help the Renegades, even if it meant becoming Renegades themselves!
The passengers ran up the aisles, screaming a battle cry. They swarmed on the remaining Ninjas, dragging them down and disarming them. “You flippin’ Ninjas!” some shouted. “You mother flippin’ had better not have hurt the Renegades!” A few of the passengers grabbed and dragged back a few stationary Ninjas, and they uncovered an unexpected sight: RH103 and the Russian, making out in two of the first class seats.
Sage popped up behind the stunned passengers, shrugged said: “Oh, that RH103, what’ll he do next!” Everybody shoock with laughter, and Sage announced, “Who wants some deep dish pizza!” The passengers cheered as Sigur Ros Untitled 8 started playing and they all got down.
“Wait a minute! Deep dish?” asks one of the broken boned Ninjas bleeding and dragging himself along the floor “but isn’t that horribly unhealthy?”
“Well, that's what makes them Renegades!” chimed the passengers, and then everyone rocked out to some more Radiohead, Air and the Pixies.
“Sorry crew, but now we gotta jet, adios buddies!” shouted Sage as he downed the last slice with one bite and pulled on his helmet.
RH103 freed himself from the clutches of the Russian woman and leapt onto his bike, gunning the motors. The Ducattis flew down the aisles and out the rear emergency exit as people dove for their seatbelts. As our heroes flew down to their next adventure, they could just hear over the whistling of the wind, the Russian woman screaming: “Damn you Renegades!”

Hundreds of feet below, at the San Francisco Aquarium tourists and visitors were taking pictures of the humpback whales. They were idly snapping pictures of the depressed suicidal animals until they heard a faint whistling. The tourists started looking around, wondering if this was a whale song or some emergency beacon. The whistling grew steadily stronger until it was apparent that it the source was somewhere above them!
The tourists looked to the sky and saw two red and blue dots growing larger and larger. Their mouths gapped at the sight, as the dots seemed to be headed right toward them! Just then, they saw two of the whales move toward the surface and let out a fury of water from their blowholes. The water came up right below the two shapes falling out of the sky, perfectly enough to slow their fall, then came a crash as the tourists saw two Renegades ride their Ducattis through the water next to the whales! The motorcyclists hadn’t dismounted from their bikes yet, and as they floated downward, they gunned their motors, headed with the whales toward the gates separating the aquarium tank from the ocean! The whales and the Renegades crashed through the barrier as the tourists cheered and the whales sang.
The Renegade’s heads surfaced above the water, and they stripped off their helmets. Sage checked his watch.
“5 minutes until the premiere starts in LA,” he noted., out of the corner of his mouth not occupied by his soggy cigar.
“We’ll make it,” said RH103 with confidence, and they he turned toward the happy waiting whales. The two renegades were suddenly being raised unnaturally out of the water, as two sharks appeared below them and the whales snap their tales down onto the water, creating a giant tidal wave!
The Shark riding Renegades ride the wave threw the streets of San Francisco, down the highway and into LA. They grab two tuxedos off of mannequins as they pass, but then Sage says “Sorry, but we’ve got to make a stop.”
The tidal wave and the sharks park outside of a nursing home where the Renegades read to the residents and serve them food. The serve the residents until sirens interrupt them as the all too square PETA shows up and surrounds the place!
“Come out with your hands up!”
“What a damn cliché!” RH103 shouts back, as the poor nursing home residents struggle out of their home onto the street with their arms raised.
“If you want us to come out, you’ll have to think of something more interesting, like tempting us with some fine steaks and ice cream to eat!” shouts Sage.
“Or some Argentinean orphan meat!” suggests RH103.
“Shocking, much like the early shorts by David Lynch.”
“Ahh, I am glad you brought him up, I was just reminded of his works when I was teaching blind children how to write the alphabet in Guatemala…”
PETA gets impatient and they throw in some torches to burn the place down. The home erupts with flame, but RH103 and Sage crash through the glass windows carrying the last two people inside, a pair of hot nurses. As the pair of Renegades and newfound friends gets back on the sharks, they throw a briefcase full of hundred dollar bills and Sage calls in Frank Gehry who already started rebuilding the home for free.
“You called Gehry? I prefer Ito.” Notes RH103 as they are carried toward LA.
“Ito! His pretentious styling makes me cringe, he has to tone it down, and then we might as well have asked James Joyce to write in declaratives.”
“Well, that seems like you, you prefer the primitive machismo expressed in Germanic music and Hemingway.”
“Oyster, I hardly knew her!” interrupts Nurse 1. The two white clad guests both laugh, as they slowly slip off the back of the sharks, into the depths of the rolling wave. The Renegades would have saved them, but they were lost a long time ago…

Miles away, at the Chinese theater in Hollywood, the largest and most ridiculously mind-blowing red carpet extravaganza ever conceived was taking place. There were somersaulting acrobats, a pool full of caviar and crème fresh, a champagne slip and slide red carpet, Cuban cigar smoke blown at the crowd by giant fans, diamond studded bicycles, gigantic gold plated animatronics posters of the stars faces that spouted their catch phrases and a platinum Baskin Robbins that gave out free Ice Cream but periodically erupted in flame.
The theater marquee read:
RENEGADES: A Musical Tale of Procrastination, Pizzas, Adventure, Intrigue, Emails, Music, Friendship and Tap-dancing!
Starring: Denzel Washington, Dave Chapelle, and Don Cheadle as RH103!
Sean Connery as Sage!
Guest starring Will Smith as RH103.
The attendees included the entire UN (but they had to sit in the folding chairs at the back), the deliveryman from Florian (he got a better seat), Woody Allen, the cast of Family Guy, heads of many countries, and the reanimated Fedrico Fellini! But the guests of honor were still missing. Then, down the boulevard came an ominous rumbling, as a rush of water filled the street, and on top of it were the two shark-riding Renegades! The tumbling water quickly drenched the crowd, and the Renegades glide down the slip and slide red carpet. As they slid past the representatives of the Academy, they were presented their Oscars in advance (in every category, even the technical awards), and the Renegades threw the extras out into the crowd because their were two many to carry.
As the renegades slide into their premiere in slow motion, the night sky is light by the flaming Baskin Robins and an explosion of fireworks. The pair turns around one last time as the light illuminates their faces, giving one last wave to the throbbing masses.
The night is young, and the Renegades have a masterpiece to attend. As they enter, the screams fade, and they are embraced by dead silence, tears already shinning on the audience’s faces. The opening cords of the overture for the movie strike a haunting note, and the Renegades relax and are sated, for the moment…
The End… or is it?

Day 4 and 5: The Pere Lachaise Cemetary and Montmartre

I randomly ran into Michele who was walking a few steps behind me on our way into the Luxembourg Gardens. She was headed there to read, but she didn’t like the weather so she joined me on the Bus 69 (a very scenic route) over to the Pere Lachaise Cemetary. There, we visited Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein, Chopin, Jim Morrison, Moliere, Edith Piaf, Colette and what seemed like a million other permanent residents. I will have to post pictures of this place; the tombstones were like small houses for a midget civilization long gone. The place may is dilapidated, and graffitied, but this only adds to its beauty. I wrote a few pieces about this place, it was very easy to. Michele and I then worked our way back to the Bastille, then to Luxembourg Gardens where we read for a while, then parted for our respective corners of the city.
I should note that the days and nights in Paris are two separate chapters. The city changes when the sun sets. I am trying to write about this, but finding it very hard.
The fifth day, I started late and decided to go to Montmartre, the armpit of the city. Perhaps it was just the pouring rain, and my lack of umbrella or gore-tex, but describing this area as seedy is generous. I explored the area for a while, climbing Sacre-Coeur Basilica for the view of the hazy autumn Paris cityscape. The building itself is so unnaturally white that it looks like it is built from bone.
This area is most definitely a tourist trap, this was confirmed when I was immediately accosted by North Africans (great accents) who were busy scamming tourists. They went through 3 languages before they got to mine, but I escaped even though I was rusty at dealing with these guys.
Montmartre is dotted by buildings that had housed Edith Piaf, Maurice Utrillo, Dali, Renior, van Gogh, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, Toulouse-Lautrec etc… I even passed the Moulin Rouge, still hosting shows that include champagne in the ticket prices. This put me back on Pigalle, so I escaped via metro.
I finished up A Moveable Feast at Le Volcon, a charming little restaurant in Place de la Contrascarpe. The food is very simple and good, and I ate the largest meal I have had here yet. Starting tomorrow, then I am stuck in the dorms (evidently in the same dorms my Mom was at when she was here, I am just moving from one parent’s place to the others) so I enjoy my last night of freedom, despite all the rain.

Days 2 and 3: Dark Days in Paris

I was walking from Pont des Arts to Quai du Lourve when I noted that my ridiculous amount of walking does let my mind wander, and perhaps that's why I have needed to write so much. Inevitably, my minds wanders toward cars, so I sit down and write a few pages on my thoughts of nations and how cars reflect the essence of the nation where they are produced (totally random and probably total BS).
This is a prime example of this weird writers disease I have gotten. I have been writing about all sorts of random things. I even wrote about watching McGyver in French, the hotel wallpaper (it reminded me of Oscar Wilde’s dying words: “My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go” in the end he had his way, the hotel he died at has been redecorated and his works live on, but I still love that quote), French designers, several Café’s, and a piece on the Monet works at Momartonn (which is an awesome museum that I highly recommend). The first impressionist piece he produced is there: the Impression, Soleil Levant with its angry red sun and grey ghost ships. They also had his Wisteria from 1920 that serves as ample evidence that abstract and minimalism was just around the corner. They also had five painting from his red period that look nightmarishly like mutilated (and bloodied) version of his paintings from Giverny.
I also decided that I should design my own clothes, because I wasn’t happy with what I have seen here. This is mainly because I totally was right about the velvet jacket trend, but I am not very happy with what the designers have done with it. Do not worry; I have now I have now written this idea off as foolishness.

Day 1: The Phantom Menace

This is the first real entry of the blog, hopefully this entry will be informative and perhaps even interesting. Unfortunately, the first sentence is neither informative nor interesting (and it looks like this one isn’t either). After a semi-sleepless flight with a talkative neighbor, I arrived with no hangups and set about my self-guided weeklong reorientation of Paris. I set about trying to get to know the left bank better, and walked from the 5th arrondisement to the 15th (where the dormitory will be situated), but I felt drawn to the right bank, with its more familiar territory.
I wandered around Paris University at lunchtime and found the longest line for sandwiches and joined it. I figured out the opera schedules (Cosi Fan Tutti!) and took up various stations around the city to read. I started on the steps of the Opera Garnier, the roof of Gallerie LaFayette, the carousel in the gardens off of Rue de Rivoli, the fountains by the Lourve and finally ended up back in Place Contrescarpe, where much of the A Moveable Feast takes place.
The hotel I am at is merely a hold over, the one I had planned on staying at doesn’t have any record of a reservation, so I am down the block at another recommended place for just one night. As much as I hate dragging around my stuff, I really want to stay at the other hotel, it is beautiful and has a great history, literary and otherwise (my Dad having stayed there in his med school days).
I went to Le Soufflet for a late dinner, but was so dead tired I promptly crashed thereafter, even though the Eiffel Tower had a spotlight on it, and I want to know why! I also need to make a list of stuff to do before classes start, but right now I know that somewhere on my list I'll make room for dressing up like Waldo (who must be French) and hiding in the crowds.

INAUGURAL ENTRY!!!

Fellow web citizens, we observe today not a victory of one man, but a celebration of freedom- symbolizing an end as well- signifying renewal, as well as change. This entry marks the end of Sage’s blogging silence, and the beginning of web based Sage bloggging madness. Do not for one instant believe that this blog was created out of some narcissistic foolishness, something that would befit a lesser blogger. Neh, the impetus behind the creation of this blog is akin to the divine inspiration spawned immortal art.
So take to the streets young readers! Kick your heels together and sing a jolly tune, fore today is the day that your web surfing woes are slain and its filthy carcasses are tossed into the gutters!