A guy is exiting the Gare du Nord train station yesterday afternoon around 5pm in Paris when he is stopped for a "control" (where the train station agents check to make sure you have a ticket or "titre de transport"), and he doesn't have a ticket. Then he hits the two agents, one on the shoulder and one on the face. And then from there policemen arrive and break this guy's arm for assaulting the agents. So we know this guy that didn't have a ticket is stupid, and probably the police reaction was heavy-handed as well.
But it doesn't stop there. Four hours later a bunch of punks arrive at the lower level of the station and have a stand-off with the police and it degenerates into these kids looting stores in the station, setting fire to trash cans, yelling "Nique la France!" and breaking stuff. Are these kids bored? Do they have nothing better to do than go around vandalizing stuff? Does that mean they think it's okay to bum a ride on a train without a ticket or that it was unreasonable for the agents to do their job and conduct a routine inspection? If these kids have a cause, they're not helping to promote it by doing what they've done. It seems they just want to take part in the name of anarchy, because resisting any kind of authority is cool.
Even if the police acted in a manner that was more brutal than necessary (and should have done anything to prevent this from escalating) this whole incident makes me embarrassed for France and ashamed of the people of my generation. It's pathetic and maddening. Especially when you consider that the Gare du Nord is where the Eurostar train arrives, and you have tourists maybe getting their first glimpse of Paris in the middle of this chaos. Police in heavy duty riot gear, tear gas and a bunch of delinquents running around stealing shoes from Foot Locker doesn't exactly make for the nicest welcome. France certainly has its own problems...
You can see a video from Youtube here.
Also, the BBC has more.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Mangoes in Acapulco
The mangoes in Acapulco are so sweet. The way they eat them in Mexico is by taking a fork with three prongs, and the middle prong is longer than the others. You stick this fork into the mango and insert the longer prong into the seed. Then you peel the skin off the mango and eat the whole thing like a popsicle. I ate mangoes everyday while I was in Mexico.
We got up every day with the sun and walked on the beach while the mist was still lifting from the ocean and pink and purple hues were just starting to show in the sky. Breakfast, around 8:30 or 9, was huevos rancheros (scrambled eggs with chorizo and salsa verde) with tortilla, fresh papaya, kiwi, watermelon and pineapple; good strong coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice and buttery flaky croissants. We were famished after walking on the beach for an hour or so.
The better part of the morning and early afternoon was spent reading in the shade by the pool or under the tent near the ocean, taking pictures or playing in the waves which if you weren't careful could a) knock you over or b) pull you out to sea (Acapulco is notorious for its undertow and strong currents). Lunchtime was when we were hungry, and we ate so well. On various days we had: homemade mole; enchiladas; homemade spaghetti; salad with avocadoes; tacos with beans, chorizo, lettuce, avocado and cheese; and then mangoes for dessert.
Siesta was on a chair by the pool facing the sea, under a thatched straw arcade so the sun wouldn't burn. The constant breeze and 88 degree weather was perfect. We had 12-hour days so sunset was at 7:30 and the entire bay became golden and things became calm when the sun dipped. And then a shower and dinner brought relief from the sand and sun. After dinner I read "Hola Mexico!" which is like "People" for Mexicans (but a lot classier) until finally crashing into vacationally-induced blissful sleep around 10. Party animal, I know.
We got up every day with the sun and walked on the beach while the mist was still lifting from the ocean and pink and purple hues were just starting to show in the sky. Breakfast, around 8:30 or 9, was huevos rancheros (scrambled eggs with chorizo and salsa verde) with tortilla, fresh papaya, kiwi, watermelon and pineapple; good strong coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice and buttery flaky croissants. We were famished after walking on the beach for an hour or so.
The better part of the morning and early afternoon was spent reading in the shade by the pool or under the tent near the ocean, taking pictures or playing in the waves which if you weren't careful could a) knock you over or b) pull you out to sea (Acapulco is notorious for its undertow and strong currents). Lunchtime was when we were hungry, and we ate so well. On various days we had: homemade mole; enchiladas; homemade spaghetti; salad with avocadoes; tacos with beans, chorizo, lettuce, avocado and cheese; and then mangoes for dessert.
Siesta was on a chair by the pool facing the sea, under a thatched straw arcade so the sun wouldn't burn. The constant breeze and 88 degree weather was perfect. We had 12-hour days so sunset was at 7:30 and the entire bay became golden and things became calm when the sun dipped. And then a shower and dinner brought relief from the sand and sun. After dinner I read "Hola Mexico!" which is like "People" for Mexicans (but a lot classier) until finally crashing into vacationally-induced blissful sleep around 10. Party animal, I know.
One morning after breakfast we went to the local supermarket - the Walmart. Yes, the Walmart. It is twenty minutes away on foot, on an avenue that is lined with palm trees and borders a gigantic golf course. We bought Mexican chips and candy at the Walmart. One candy is called Bubu Lubu, it is chocolate with marshmallow and some kind of jam. So yummy. That was our only excursion since we were far away from the Acapulco downtown area (and apparently it is not very nice to see, like Myrtle Beach times ten) and were only visiting for three and a half days. One young man was selling silver jewelry in a palapa on the beach near our place. Another lady was selling genuine pearl necklaces for $30.
Not too far away from the apartment there is a huge hotel called "Princess" with several pools, many tourists, bars, and Mexican riff raff hanging out on the beach in front of the hotel offering gringos everything from massages to pot to horse rides to ATV rentals. But where we were, there are only apartments and condominiums, owned mainly by Mexicans, and since it was a low season we had the entire place and the pool to ourselves. Everyone we met was so friendly. There is also a bar near the pool where we had pina coladas, margaritas and fresh coconut (cut for you on the spot) while lounging around the pool.
So now, it's back to reality...I like feeling what I can only describe as "dépaysée" every now and then, enjoying things to the fullest...
Not too far away from the apartment there is a huge hotel called "Princess" with several pools, many tourists, bars, and Mexican riff raff hanging out on the beach in front of the hotel offering gringos everything from massages to pot to horse rides to ATV rentals. But where we were, there are only apartments and condominiums, owned mainly by Mexicans, and since it was a low season we had the entire place and the pool to ourselves. Everyone we met was so friendly. There is also a bar near the pool where we had pina coladas, margaritas and fresh coconut (cut for you on the spot) while lounging around the pool.
So now, it's back to reality...I like feeling what I can only describe as "dépaysée" every now and then, enjoying things to the fullest...
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Mini Spring Break
Ladies and gentlemen, I will be AWOL for the next few days enjoying the sun in Mexico. Acapulco, Mexico, where it will be 88 degrees Fahrenheit every day and the margaritas are on the house.
Not to rub it in your face or anything while you freeze over in the District. Tata!
Monday, March 19, 2007
Daniel Craig is yummy
Casino Royale with martinis on Saturday night sure beat standing around in a crowded Irish pub waiting for a Guinness to celebrate St. Patty's Day. And anyways, I'm not Irish! (At least I don't think I am, but I do enjoy a nice slice of potato bread every now and then)
Experimented with new cocktails Sat. evening: one called a Blue Lady is especially yummy: cream, chocolate liqueur, and blue curacao.
Also am totally sore from yoga yesterday. Everyone around me in my class kept audibly farting...at least they weren't the smelly kind.
Also particularly peeved that Mother Nature wasn't cooperating Friday evening...Spiderman (the boyfriend) and I tried to go to a friend's house for a party - something I had been looking forward to for at least two weeks now because whenever this friend and his roommates throw parties I am always out of town - but the roads were slick with an inch of ice. Boo.
So to sum it up the weekend was pretty low-key, and this week is going to go by fast since we're leaving to go to Acapulco on Thursday morning. Woot! My next post will therefore be much more interesting, with pictures of sunsets on the beach in Mexico included.
Experimented with new cocktails Sat. evening: one called a Blue Lady is especially yummy: cream, chocolate liqueur, and blue curacao.
Also am totally sore from yoga yesterday. Everyone around me in my class kept audibly farting...at least they weren't the smelly kind.
Also particularly peeved that Mother Nature wasn't cooperating Friday evening...Spiderman (the boyfriend) and I tried to go to a friend's house for a party - something I had been looking forward to for at least two weeks now because whenever this friend and his roommates throw parties I am always out of town - but the roads were slick with an inch of ice. Boo.
So to sum it up the weekend was pretty low-key, and this week is going to go by fast since we're leaving to go to Acapulco on Thursday morning. Woot! My next post will therefore be much more interesting, with pictures of sunsets on the beach in Mexico included.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Paris je t'aime
My boss sent me a Powerpoint of Paris. Pictures in the dusk, in the morning, at night under the rain - in every picture, a piece of the city that invariably looks beautiful, nostalgic, quaint, calm, inviting, warm. To go along with the pictures is a song by Charles Aznavour singing about youth and friends and being a carefree twenty-year-old. So for a moment I am taken back to the city's statuesque monuments, its energy and aesthetic that is so gorgeous it almost hurts.
And then I realize that the City of Lights is also grimy, and the heat in the subway in the summertime is stifling, and it's full of tourists and peddlers and people who will rip you off, and there is graffiti and lots of cigarette smoke and rude people and smelly people (yes it's true), and it is overpriced and the Seine is dirty, and the weather is rarely nice in the fall-winter-spring seasons like it is in DC. There are very ugly parts of Paris, too: next time you're there, take the RER train to the Charles de Gaulle airport through the northern suburbs (the "American Dream" in Suburbia is definitely an American phenomenon...).
But in my mind's eye Paris will still and always be a place that actually lives up to its reputation, where even the streetlamps and the trash cans are pretty; where the Eiffel Tower, as cliché as it sounds, lit up at night looks like a concoction of golden lace, a woman's corset, a bizarre champagne glass...where birds in Victorian cages adorn windowsills looking over trees and cafés, where people sit for hours watching other people.
Perhaps this idealistic view of Paris is because of my childhood: I am very lucky to have spent all of my childhood summers in France, and we usually spent a few days in Paris. I think it was in 1989, when I was six, I roller-skated around the city with my mom and dad while we were there for the summer. I had hot pink rollerskates with purple and silver stars on them. That year was the bicentennial for the French Revolution and so on July 14th it seemed like the entire city was out in the streets. I remember being on my dad's shoulders and being so scared when people were throwing firecrackers onto the sidewalk. We walked home for two hours because the subways were full. But I loved it.
One of my dreams for a few years now has been to live in Paris - for at least a short while. I know that if I do ever live there, my idealistic vision of the city - already a bit tainted - will truly be dashed to pieces. My family who lives in Paris never actually go to the monuments (just like I, as a "Washingtonian," have rarely been to the monuments in DC either). I would probably live in a shoebox attic apartment somewhere and complain all the time - as the French do - about any and everything. I would use my weekends to get out of the city and go to the countryside. I know this.
But at least I might get this Paris bug out of my system.
And then I realize that the City of Lights is also grimy, and the heat in the subway in the summertime is stifling, and it's full of tourists and peddlers and people who will rip you off, and there is graffiti and lots of cigarette smoke and rude people and smelly people (yes it's true), and it is overpriced and the Seine is dirty, and the weather is rarely nice in the fall-winter-spring seasons like it is in DC. There are very ugly parts of Paris, too: next time you're there, take the RER train to the Charles de Gaulle airport through the northern suburbs (the "American Dream" in Suburbia is definitely an American phenomenon...).
But in my mind's eye Paris will still and always be a place that actually lives up to its reputation, where even the streetlamps and the trash cans are pretty; where the Eiffel Tower, as cliché as it sounds, lit up at night looks like a concoction of golden lace, a woman's corset, a bizarre champagne glass...where birds in Victorian cages adorn windowsills looking over trees and cafés, where people sit for hours watching other people.
Perhaps this idealistic view of Paris is because of my childhood: I am very lucky to have spent all of my childhood summers in France, and we usually spent a few days in Paris. I think it was in 1989, when I was six, I roller-skated around the city with my mom and dad while we were there for the summer. I had hot pink rollerskates with purple and silver stars on them. That year was the bicentennial for the French Revolution and so on July 14th it seemed like the entire city was out in the streets. I remember being on my dad's shoulders and being so scared when people were throwing firecrackers onto the sidewalk. We walked home for two hours because the subways were full. But I loved it.
One of my dreams for a few years now has been to live in Paris - for at least a short while. I know that if I do ever live there, my idealistic vision of the city - already a bit tainted - will truly be dashed to pieces. My family who lives in Paris never actually go to the monuments (just like I, as a "Washingtonian," have rarely been to the monuments in DC either). I would probably live in a shoebox attic apartment somewhere and complain all the time - as the French do - about any and everything. I would use my weekends to get out of the city and go to the countryside. I know this.
But at least I might get this Paris bug out of my system.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Crankjockeys and a dog named Snax
So the other night I went to see Flip Orley at the DC Improv. Flip is a hynotist-slash-comedian and I think his show is one of the funniest things I have ever seen. He invites volunteers from the audience - maybe 20 or so - to come up on stage and participate in the hypnosis and then progressively narrows the crowd down to the people who are totally hypnotized by asking them their names (but tells them beforehand that they won't be able to remember their names, and the ones who go completely blank are hypnotized).
So you're left with 7 or 8 people on stage, and Flip devises these funny situations, like "Every time I say the word green you will smell something horrible coming from the audience," or "When I snap my fingers you will think my clothes have all fallen off." Or even, "when I say the words ladies and gentlemen, you will think someone is gooching you from under your seat." And then he gets them to tell us any random thought that is popping through their heads: "I have a dog named Snax with an x." "Don't let me poke myself in the eye, I just had Lasik." Doesn't sound as funny on paper... I think you had to be there to appreciate the hilarity that ensued.
One such situation is that all of the people onstage were in a British yodeling-slash-rock band in the 80s together and that they all dislike each other, but they're back for a "Behind the Music" type of show on VH1 or MTV. So this one guy states (in a really bad British accent) that they are called the "Crankjockeys" and then proceeds to demonstrate how the group yodeled on the song Magic Carpet Ride: "Oh lay HEE HOOOOOO! YEAH! Magic Carpet Ride dunna nunna!" It was classic.
The funniest thing is the people's expression on stage. While everyone in the audience is laughing their head off, they are totally straight-faced throughout the show.
In other funny things (and COOL IDEAS!) my friends are throwing a Rubiks Cube party next weekend. Yes that's right. You're supposed to dress up in a Rubiks Cube color. I'm guessing they will have fun colored red and blue and green drinks and lots of Rubiks Cubes to play with or just put in your pants. It should be a good time and it's too bad I can't go...I will be in Me-hi-co for a long weekend-slash-short spring break (I'm not complaining).
So you're left with 7 or 8 people on stage, and Flip devises these funny situations, like "Every time I say the word green you will smell something horrible coming from the audience," or "When I snap my fingers you will think my clothes have all fallen off." Or even, "when I say the words ladies and gentlemen, you will think someone is gooching you from under your seat." And then he gets them to tell us any random thought that is popping through their heads: "I have a dog named Snax with an x." "Don't let me poke myself in the eye, I just had Lasik." Doesn't sound as funny on paper... I think you had to be there to appreciate the hilarity that ensued.
One such situation is that all of the people onstage were in a British yodeling-slash-rock band in the 80s together and that they all dislike each other, but they're back for a "Behind the Music" type of show on VH1 or MTV. So this one guy states (in a really bad British accent) that they are called the "Crankjockeys" and then proceeds to demonstrate how the group yodeled on the song Magic Carpet Ride: "Oh lay HEE HOOOOOO! YEAH! Magic Carpet Ride dunna nunna!" It was classic.
The funniest thing is the people's expression on stage. While everyone in the audience is laughing their head off, they are totally straight-faced throughout the show.
In other funny things (and COOL IDEAS!) my friends are throwing a Rubiks Cube party next weekend. Yes that's right. You're supposed to dress up in a Rubiks Cube color. I'm guessing they will have fun colored red and blue and green drinks and lots of Rubiks Cubes to play with or just put in your pants. It should be a good time and it's too bad I can't go...I will be in Me-hi-co for a long weekend-slash-short spring break (I'm not complaining).
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Twentysomething...and strapped for cash
Today was hot and so everyone at work was in a bad mood. My coworker who will remain unnamed pops in, sits down and we both start to commiserate about being young and fabulous...and broke, stuck paying our dues and living out our twenties as slaves to "the man." I remember when I was an idealist in college and thought money didn't matter, only that you felt fulfilled in your chosen profession and then everything would be rosy. Ha!
Hmph. Think I will go eat some ice cream.
Hmph. Think I will go eat some ice cream.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Yoga is not for Sissies
In the last few months I have started to do vinyasa yoga. For any disbelievers as to the difficulty of yoga, let me correct your assumptions and tell you right off the bat that it is really hard, and it will kick your butt.
Spiderman (my boyfriend - I will call him that since he sincerely believes he is an arachnid-man) thought it was "girly" until I took him to a class where all the guys - half the class - looked totally diesel and my dearest ended up huffing and puffing his way through the asanas until he collapsed into a sweaty mess onto his mat (I was also like this the first few times). I am very proud of him, though, because now he goes too and is not only Spiderman but will someday be a master yogi.
In yoga, you will find yourself in some very compromising positions, things you had never thought you could make your body do: putting your legs over your head, reaching around with your right arm between your crotch to catch your left arm under your right thigh, squatting while balancing on your tippy toes. You wouldn't want anyone tickling you while you do this.
Wear long pants, for the love. Also, mind you, this is done in a room that is heated to your body temperature, so it is generally inevitable that everyone leaves a nice little puddle of sweat on the floor after their practice.
So why would anyone engage in such masochistic tendencies? Sometimes I too ask this myself in the middle of crow pose when I'm trying to balance my entire body on my elbows.
I, for one, wasn't able to do a pushup 4 months ago. I cheated and did the dinky knee-on-the-floor-pushup for middle school girls. Now I can do LOTS! And they're not the knee-pushup, they are the real deal. Also, I feel really energized afterwards - but not tired. That's the chakra, the mojo, being released and helping to keep the yang up :0)
I've also been much more aware of my breathing and posture during the day. It's funny that I pay someone to teach me how to breathe; but in our society we're not really aware of that. It's the same reason I will pay good money for a great massage, which is essentially paying someone to touch you for 60 minutes: it's all about focusing on yourself for a moment.
One more thing about yoga, though: all the release of that energy comes out in different ways too. At one particularly crowded class some woman kept releasing her foul-smelling brew three feet away from my face, and this in a space where you are being told to focus on your breathing! There are also people - male and female - who come to class wearing little more than tiny shorts made of dental floss. Avoid placing your mat directly behind these people, you will regret it in cat pose. And like I said before, wear long pants.
Spiderman (my boyfriend - I will call him that since he sincerely believes he is an arachnid-man) thought it was "girly" until I took him to a class where all the guys - half the class - looked totally diesel and my dearest ended up huffing and puffing his way through the asanas until he collapsed into a sweaty mess onto his mat (I was also like this the first few times). I am very proud of him, though, because now he goes too and is not only Spiderman but will someday be a master yogi.
In yoga, you will find yourself in some very compromising positions, things you had never thought you could make your body do: putting your legs over your head, reaching around with your right arm between your crotch to catch your left arm under your right thigh, squatting while balancing on your tippy toes. You wouldn't want anyone tickling you while you do this.
Wear long pants, for the love. Also, mind you, this is done in a room that is heated to your body temperature, so it is generally inevitable that everyone leaves a nice little puddle of sweat on the floor after their practice.
So why would anyone engage in such masochistic tendencies? Sometimes I too ask this myself in the middle of crow pose when I'm trying to balance my entire body on my elbows.
I, for one, wasn't able to do a pushup 4 months ago. I cheated and did the dinky knee-on-the-floor-pushup for middle school girls. Now I can do LOTS! And they're not the knee-pushup, they are the real deal. Also, I feel really energized afterwards - but not tired. That's the chakra, the mojo, being released and helping to keep the yang up :0)
I've also been much more aware of my breathing and posture during the day. It's funny that I pay someone to teach me how to breathe; but in our society we're not really aware of that. It's the same reason I will pay good money for a great massage, which is essentially paying someone to touch you for 60 minutes: it's all about focusing on yourself for a moment.
One more thing about yoga, though: all the release of that energy comes out in different ways too. At one particularly crowded class some woman kept releasing her foul-smelling brew three feet away from my face, and this in a space where you are being told to focus on your breathing! There are also people - male and female - who come to class wearing little more than tiny shorts made of dental floss. Avoid placing your mat directly behind these people, you will regret it in cat pose. And like I said before, wear long pants.
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Art of Blogging
So... have decided to jump on the blogging bandwagon. It's about time, I guess! Anyone know the rules for blogging? Are they as similarly contrived and outdated as the rules for dating (like at Bob Jones University in SC where you must ask for permission to kiss someone)? Are you supposed to be witty and funny a la Bridget Jones when you spill your guts into cyberspace?
Because it seems like there are a lot of blogs out there that I wouldn't really want to read. Ie, some guy I've never heard of writing about their coffee date with the girl from their office who has really big ... teeth. Or is the main purpose of blogging so that your friends around the world can have a peek into your everyday life? I suppose that could be part of it. I've also heard about people who blogged about their jobs or their bosses and got fired. So I will be refraining from mentioning any names or details about my work life. Besides, who wants to talk shop on their own time?
Speaking of Bob Jones University, it's kind of funny that the initials turn out to be BJU. Right. Mind in the gutter. But remember, this is a place where girls are expected to wear ankle-length skirts and pantyhose to class. Kind of ironic, you have to admit.
Because it seems like there are a lot of blogs out there that I wouldn't really want to read. Ie, some guy I've never heard of writing about their coffee date with the girl from their office who has really big ... teeth. Or is the main purpose of blogging so that your friends around the world can have a peek into your everyday life? I suppose that could be part of it. I've also heard about people who blogged about their jobs or their bosses and got fired. So I will be refraining from mentioning any names or details about my work life. Besides, who wants to talk shop on their own time?
Speaking of Bob Jones University, it's kind of funny that the initials turn out to be BJU. Right. Mind in the gutter. But remember, this is a place where girls are expected to wear ankle-length skirts and pantyhose to class. Kind of ironic, you have to admit.
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