Wine Through Water

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88479481521869970742012-02-16T17:42:35.773+01:00Wine Through Water"I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind." - Emily BronteC'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.comBlogger71100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-13869825149223180042007-10-29T11:42:00.001+01:002007-10-29T18:47:45.918+01:00Don't Walk Away

For the first time in a very long time, I watched a film at a theatre. While multiplexes do exist in good quantity here in Paris, we ended up in a narrow rectangle, underground, alongside a cement wall marked with the names of luminary directors. No frills, certainly no concessions' stand, though our seats were still plush and red as they were probably initially intended. We couldn't have picked

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-76005001897734015032007-09-30T23:42:00.000+02:002007-09-30T23:55:04.985+02:00She moves like she don't care

There's something sinister and ironic about listening to Nick Cave crooning "Death Is Not The End" while reading about the latest development in the iconography now known, simply, as Marie Antoinette. Luscious pearls she had once entrusted in the good faith of an English guardian have resurfaced and will be on auction this week in London by Christie's. I'm currently reading Antonia Fraser's

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-16393075747487142822007-08-06T18:03:00.000+02:002007-08-06T18:14:30.377+02:00Put Your Headphones On

Call it wonder, call it disbelief, call it naivete: I have yet to reach into my privileged pocket and pop in my iPod bugs. Whether I am walking or traversing the underground via Metro, I am almost always fascinated by the people and happenings around me. Paris is a city of numerous cultures, nationalities, and languages (though French is indeed a prerequisite for getting by), and my statements

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-14871208635780481872007-07-31T13:56:00.000+02:002007-07-31T14:39:21.243+02:00Dancing Days

All apologies (well really, to my pontificating self) for the absence. Limited access to the Internet prevents me from indulging in full about these adventures à Paris. In the interim since the present and previous posts, I took my first high-speed train trip, which included a weekend in London; wandered the Marais, Beaubourg, and parts of Belleville in this illustrious city; met various

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-63097866870438930352007-06-26T01:57:00.001+02:002007-06-26T02:25:33.782+02:00Strawberry Fields Forever

Laduree SublimeOriginally uploaded by ameliefreak Food is a luxurious treat here. Fast food takes on an entirely different realm with ingenious chains like Quick. Wine flows freely (in no way necessarily associated with the title here). Itinerant stands offer greasy kabab sandwiches and Nutella crepes side-by-side. Rich creams and sauces keep the salmon and salads afloat, not drenched. Couscous

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-29849336579677870382007-06-22T02:05:00.000+02:002007-07-31T15:19:07.090+02:00There's nobody near me, there never was

Years ago, I saw a film called Paris, Texas. It was dark and uplifting, morose and humorous, quaintly American and very European, and above all, unrelenting in its depiction of one man's struggle against his own private hell: the one inside his head. Harry Dean Stanton, a perennial of seedy Lynchian plots and one memorable role in Pretty in Pink, gave the primary character Travis heft with his

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8847948152186997074.post-65814249678403255322007-06-21T03:21:00.000+02:002007-06-26T02:04:30.149+02:00I paint pictures to remember

I've stopped and started and stopped, only to start the prose again. There's a time and place for everything, and right now, I'm reading the barometer. The pressure is exact, it's time to begin. Again. Each edit steady, swift, and sure, and then, in an instant, all changed with a few keystrokes.Several years since this adventure in navel-gazing first began, I could have hardly imagined myself to

C'est moi!http://www.blogger.com/profile/05643492496158022775noreply@blogger.com3