Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Baxter is the Cutest Puppy in the World: A Study in 13 iPhone Photos

          Baxter does an amazingly large number of cute things for such a small puppy. His cute antics include (but are not limited to):

  • Lying with his back legs out
  • Snoring huge snores
  • Burping huge burps and then looking at you as if to say "....What was that?"

  • Sleeping in ridiculous positions, for instance twisting half his body around, stretching all the way out, bending his body at a 90 degree angle, or curling up ridiculously tiny on top of himself in a tucked away corner
  • Flinging himself like a flying squirrel into our pool, spread eagle in the air, and belly-flopping with a splash
  • Skidding and slipping when he makes sharp turns running on the stone floor. Boyfriend has taken to tripping Baxter on purpose as often as possible because it's so freakin' cute.
  • Jumping in the toy basket, jumping out of the toy basket, then jumping in the toy basket again and rolling around in all his toys. Then jumping out. 
  • Rolling around and wiggling like a maniac crazy dog when he's in your arms because he's so excited to see everyone and everything that's going on around him. 
Burrowing-Baxter is kind of like the yeti. Photographic proof is inconclusive and more reliable footage is yet to be found.
  • Burrowing under large piles of pillows until only his butt or one of his ears is sticking out from under the pile. If you're sitting on the couch, he'll often burrow under the pillows next to you, squirm in between your back and the back of the couch, and magically pop up on your other side.

  • Invading the personal space of our other dog. Other Dog will be sleeping and Baxter will sometimes literally go lie on top of his face. He looooves to be close to Other Dog. Other Dog likes him well enough but looks at me mournfully and sighs when Baxter starts crowding him.
Other Dog says "Whyyyyyyyyyyyy"

Monday, August 1, 2011

What to Not Read Before Bed

          I suppose I felt invincible the other night, because for reasons which escape me right now, I thought I would be fine if I did a little reading before bed from a book called World War Z, which is about the zombie apocalypse. I climbed into bed, unaware of the horror which awaited me, curled up with my novel, and picked up where I left off.  The problem was, I didn't anticipate how much I would identify with the story...

"I can't wait to be lulled to sleep by some masterful story telling!"
          I started to read, "We never thought that the zombies would come to where we lived. We were just in some suburb in the middle of Northern California." Huh, I thought. Weird. I live in a suburb in the middle of California. It continued, "Another thing we never thought about was how there was a forest behind our house, the perfect place for the zombies to mass before they started crawling towards our back yard." 

"What are you doing? Turn off your television! Can't you hear them?!"
          "Huh," I thought as I laughed nervously to myself. "There's a forest behind my house too." The next paragraph began, "It never occurred to us how many windows there were on our first floor, effectively eliminating any chance of defense. That is, until the zombies crashed through the sliding glass door and into our living room."

          "I HAVE LOTS OF WINDOWS DOWNSTAIRS," I thought, breaking out into a faint sweat and eyeing my bedroom door nervously. "As the glass shattered, my husband leaped up and began to struggle with them, and I heard the children screaming in another room. I ran in to rescue them, knowing as I fled that my husband and my dogs were already dead." 
          "I HAVE DOGS. I COULD HAVE A HUSBAND. I HAVE A LIVING ROOM. SHIT, SHIT SHIT." I curled tighter and tighter into the fetal position, covers securely tucked around me as I tried to put down the book and take some calming breaths. But the masochist in me needed to know what happened to the children! (Hint: they didn't make it.)
           Three hours later, I was still awake, ears perked for any signs of dead bodies dragging themselves through foliage. 

          You should try sleeping sometime while your adrenaline spikes because you can't stop obsessively planning out how you'd hold off the living room so that your puppy can survive. Optimally on a night when you have work the next day. Then, if your boss asks you why you're so sleepy, you can try and think of an excuse to tell her, or at least something that makes you seem less insane than "I was worried the zombies would eat me."

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Harem Pants, Je Vous Déteste

          Harem pants are dumb, and the silhouette looks awful. There is no simpler way to put it. Best case scenario, you come out looking like Aladdin. My friend Stefany, who has an eye for such things, (by which I mean 1) trends, and 2) people who should be relentlessly mocked) once described harem pants by saying that it looked like they pooped their pants. Ever since then, the idea was stuck in my head. For the rest of my time in France, when I'd see an otherwise-chic girl on the street with a cool attitude, I would see her harem pants and involuntarily envision that her diaper was getting a little too heavy and needed a change. It can really ruin a fashionista's mystique. 

Try imagining it! It makes street fashion pictures approximately 85.346% more amusing:

She knows what she did.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

My Top 10 Wine-Related Moments in France

A French Army Knife. (Get it? Get it?)
10) Getting enthusiastic and knowledgeable wine recommendations from total strangers in the supermarket. On a regular basis.

9) Drinking wine in a metro stop on Saint Patrick's Day with all my friends.

8) Trivia Tuesdays at The Smoking Dog, one of the best pubs in Vieux Lyon.

7) The Beaujolais Festival in Lyon.

Easily-thrown together picnic lunch of brie, baguette, muscat, fois gras, and Maille mustard from Dijon. 
6) Discovering the complimentary combination of fois gras and muscat, and then sharing it with all my visiting American friends. Highly recommended: fried fois gras with rock salt sprinkled on top. As if it really needed to get more unhealthy for you.

5) Two completely free, massive-scale wine exhibitions where I bought tons of wine for Christmas presents, sampled so many wines that I actually had to start spitting them all out, became ridiculously, pleasantly drunk anyway, and happily munched on all the gourmet free samples of snacks that one could wish for.

The vineyard we tasted at in Beaujolais
Stefany and I sampling some Beaujolais grapes because we were starving during the tour
The neighboring towwn of Beaujeu
4) Wine tasting in the Beaujolais area, one of the southern appellations of the Burgundy region of France. Only a 45 minute drive away from Lyon!

Chateau Villandry, famous for it's amazing (and extensive) gardens
3) Wine tasting in the Loire Valley with my tour group, between chateau tours.

My favorite champagne tasting at Mumm.
2) Champagne tasting in Reims, one of the most important cities of the Champagne region in France.

The oyster farms on the coast, right next to the restaurant
1) Fresh oysters with white wine in a tiny sea-side village outside of Bordeaux.

Individual posts about my top three coming soon!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Haute Couture in Paris

Alexis Mabille Fall 2011 Couture
Alexis Mabille Fall 2011 Collection
          One of the many reasons Paris is such a remarkable city and such an important cultural landmark is because it is the only city that has ever really mastered haute couture, the extravagant, luxurious fashion which is designed only by the best and fitted personally to each client. The only customers keeping couture in business, literally the only people who can afford it, are movie stars and Arabian royalty. New York, London and Milan each showcase ready-to-wear, which is couture's cheaper, more casual counterpart. Ready-to-wear is what is sold in designer boutiques in designated sizes like "normal" clothes. But Paris is the only place where couture is created and shown.

Alexander McQueen Met Exhibit
          "So what?" you may be asking. The idea of uber-fancy dresses for uber-rich people probably has no bearing on your daily life. And why should it? Isn't it just a shameless indulgence participated in by the kinds of  people who dye their dogs to match their outfits? 

           To me, this would be viewing couture in the wrong light, in a way which cheats both it and you. Couture isn't about being bought. In fact, it's so labor intensive that it rarely makes a profit and is created solely to celebrate the craft. Ready-to-wear is what sells. Couture is what inspires.

Alexander McQueen
          Don't view couture as a commodity. Rather, view it as art. Couture fashion shows are like trips to a museum, where you go to be touched, to feel awe, where things that you didn't know could be created are sewn and paraded down runways like dreams come to life. If you've ever stared in admiration at a painting or a sculpture, if a movie or a book has ever left you in a state of quiet introspection, if you've ever sat in nature or looked at an urban skyline at sunset and you've felt wonder, then you can appreciate couture as well. In it's purest form, it's a celebration of feminine beauty, meant to enrich the soul.

From the Alexander McQueen Exhibition at the Met
          Recently I read the book Almost French, by Sarah Turnbull, an Australian journalist who moved to Paris and for one magazine ended up covering her first couture show. She says, “...Every moment was spellbinding. I loved the thrill of seeing these mad, amazing clothes swish past my feet, the deliriously imaginative setting that made it seem like high theater rather than a fashion show. I adored the champagne, the extravagance.... The urge to touch is overwhelming. This is not fashion. This is fairyland. Inspiring. Moving. Magical.... A showcase for wild creativity and craftsmanship… I'm awed by the mastery of technique that underpins haute couture. Its importance goes far beyond providing Oscar-night outfits to Hollywood stars. Rather haute couture is about history and tradition, passion and beauty, art and inspiration--everything that makes France a measure of civilized life."

Alexander McQueen

Sunday, July 24, 2011

How to Dress in France, Part 2

A photo shoot on Ave Montaigne

          So maybe you think you know French fashion. You've heard about those couture shows, you have an idea of sleek, impeccably tailored models strutting down Avenue Montaigne in Paris, and you know your Coco Chanel from your Louis Vuitton. But I guarantee you, you can buy all the French brand names you want, but you won't look truly French until you know the one golden rule: 

Dress completely, batshit-insane in regards to what the weather looks like outside or what season it is. 

Trust me. You want to look French, don't you?

Typical French Person in Spring:

Typical French Person in Summer:

Typical French Person in Fall:

Typical French Person in Winter:

          Any French person will condescendingly tell you that shorts are for tourists, as they delicately shudder and try not to think of all the fanny packs  and socks-with-sandals they witnessed last year. Was that you wearing a tank top in summer? Putting away your scarves and unlayering your multiple cardigans? Oh you poor, ignorant bébé. Shame on you for not wanting to sweat, all day, everyday, and especially on the metro. Your duty as a faux-French citizen is to stick it out in wool leggings lest you develop some sort of tan. 

          What's that? Is it freezing in a snow storm in the dead of winter? And you want to wear a giant coat? Non, non, non! Your flimsy leather bomber jacket and a kerchief around your neck should do the trick. Your smugness in the knowledge that you look good will toast you right up! And just think about all the calories all that shivering will burn! 

Friday, July 22, 2011

How to Dress in France

If you want to look French, it helps to have a little fluffy dog. Bonus points if he knows how to play checkers.
           If you have ever lived abroad or spent some time in another country, then you've probably faced the rather dismaying experience of walking into a store, restaurant, or some such public forum, and then having someone speak to you in English, before you even open your mouth. Sometimes it may be to patronizingly offer directions (in your native tongue, which is intended to only deepen the burn), and other times it may be an attempt to be helpful so that the Poor Tourist doesn't have to slaughter the subtle French "r" sound, which sounds like instant sexiness when a French person does it, but rather like gurgling mouthwash when Americans try. Perhaps before you were greeted, you were about to start speaking in French. Perhaps you live in that town. Perhaps your French is even better than the heavily-accented English you were just assaulted with. Yet despite any linguistic skills you may possess, you cannot help but reach the conclusion that storekeepers and servers across the nation are still able to identify you instantly as Most Definitely Not French. 

           "How?!" you may be asking yourself. "Is it something about me? Is it how I look? How I dress?"

           Yes. Yes it is. 

American fashion.
French fashion.

How to Tell if You Are Dressed Appropriately in France: 
Answer  honestly to get an effective evaluation of your wardrobe.

1) Are you comfortable? The correct answer should be "no." End of quiz. 

          If the answer is "yes," try again. Put on some higher shoes, some tighter leather leggings, some more scarves to get tangled in your shoulder bag, and cinch that belt a few more notches around the small of your waist. If you are unable to breathe or walk, you probably look French. If you are unable to eat, this is considered an extreme bonus. Your thighs should be looking more French within the month. For bonus French cred, spritz some eau de cigarette smoke and try to look bored and faintly hostile towards other women.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

What I've Learned from Living in France

  • Middle school students are demons who really like the soothing sounds of Usher and disobeying authority figures.
  • How to finally tell military time without first staring at the numbers for two minutes too long, like an idiot.
Yeah, I'll take it.
  • The Provence region and the South of France are incredibly charming and the perfect location for my fantasy dream cottage and/or château. Fantasy vineyard optional.
  • Fois gras is the best thing in the world.
  • Frog legs are not.
  • If you're not from New York, California, or Las Vegas, French people don't care where you're from.
  • If you're a size 8 in the US, you're a size 39 in European shoes.
  • 90% of the French population firmly believes Miami is in California. They will not believe you when you try to convince them otherwise.
  • Marseille is actually French for "anticlimactic." 
Me in front of Château Chenonceau
  • Which French monarchs built castles where
  • How to craft a lesson plan LIKE A BOSS
  • Jack Daniels is incredibly expensive, as if it were a fine brandy. Though equally disgusting to me, those of you who enjoy fine brandy may feel a little cheated at the cost of imported Jack.
  • How to duck awkward, cross-cultural advances
  • Trains are incredibly cheap for people with the "Under Age 25" card. Some stores even have under 25 discounts.
  • How to walk in heels in snow
Wine tasting in the Loire Valley
  • How to taste wine (Smell, swirl, smell again, and then taste first in the front of your mouth, swallow, the back of your mouth, swallow, and then in the back with your mouth slightly open to let the air hit it.)
  • How to say tampon in French
  • That I cannot survive without Mexican food. At all. For longer than 3 weeks. It was a pathetic show of endurance in the face of faux-hardship.
  • All the words to "Celui," by Colonel Reyel:

Monday, July 18, 2011

Midnight in Paris

          If you're enchanted by the idea of Paris, or if you've ever wished that you could party with some of the great Parisian artistic and literary circles of 1920's, Midnight in Paris is the film for you. After a lengthy opening sequence of the most picturesque spots in the city, you get to go on all sorts of decadent adventures through time with the main character, Gil, who is in modern day Paris with his fiancee by day and who somehow magically slips back in time at night to meet all the expats he idolizes. By catching a ride in an antique taxi at the stroke of midnight, he finds himself drinking with Hemingway, philosophizing with Dali, and conversing with the Fitzgeralds to the songs of Cole Porter. He's whisked to smokey  jazz bars, he's escorted into the home of Gertrude Stein, and he even feels himself drawn to Picasso's mistress as they stroll through parks full of horse-drawn carriages, covered with incandescent, white Christmas lights. Brought back to reality by the light of day, Gil becomes increasingly torn between living in the present to which he's accustomed, or the far more glamorous past. It soon becomes necessary for him to figure out how much of nostalgia is truth and how much is fantasy, and to which world he belongs. 

Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald
          I loved this movie not only for the premise, but for the characters. Everyone was cast exactly right, playing their roles precisely as how you'd imagine the infamous personalities to have been. The only drawback is that if you're not familiar with any of these celebrities of the past or a few of their works, there are no clues to help you, and you'll miss out on the jokes. I loved Adrien Brody as Dali, obsessed with rhinoceroses and pronouncing his own name. But my all-time favorite was Corey Stoll as Hemingway, who gave long soliloquies full of quotes such as, "It was a good book because it was an honest book, and that's what war does to men. And there's nothing fine and noble about dying in the mud unless you die gracefully. And then it's noble but brave." It was of course delivered with the rough-edged, pompous minimalism that makes Hemingway's stories so great.

          Worst case scenario, if you hate the movie, you could at least benefit from some of Hemingway's ridiculously macho pick-up lines. Swaggering drunkenly, he approaches Picasso's mistress: 

          "Have you ever shot a charging lion in the face?" 


          "Would you like to know how that feels?"

Ah, Hemingway, you will forever rest tenderly in my heart as my favorite eloquent dickhead misogynist.