au revoir

I think maybe this blog has run out of steam, or at any rate I’m not feeling particularly inspired lately. It’s not because I’m back in Bethlehem. It’s something I’ve felt for a while now. I don’t know what is worth writing about anymore.

I binged more than usual my last week in Paris; on three or four occasions I won beer chugging contests, and I now have a new found confidence in this department. On Tuesday night Dave and I, after drinking heavily, insulted a group of people that claimed to be Spaniards, but sounded and looked like Americans to me. I asked them if there were any bars open, and they gestured in a couple directions and I said thanks. Then they said, ‘yeah, thanks for everything.’ It seemed to me that they were implying that I had been useless to them, as if they had asked for something and I didn’t have an answer. I told them that I was the one who asked if there was a bar open nearby (and they didn’t really tell me anything useful) so their sarcastic reply didn’t make any sense. I don’t remember how they responded, but in any case I told them they should go suck a dick, and Dave yelled insults at them in Spanish. Then Maddie tried to ask a French couple in a roundabout way the same question about open bars, and I interjected and said, ‘franchement, on cherche de la bière.’ It seems to me like more amusing things happened that night, but I don’t remember very well, and like I said I’m not sure if any of it is worth recounting.

Katrin accompanied me to the RER station Thursday morning. We didn’t say very much. She tried to calm me down a little. I find flying stressful. I was reminded of a scene at the Philadelphia airport when I was catching my flight to Paris in January. An eastern European family was going through the security checkpoint leaving the rest of their family behind. One of them was a young girl with tears swelling up in her eyes as they said their final goodbyes. The whole thing seemed very final, like they were never going to see each other again. My family was there too of course and my mother and sister were crying, but I just paid attention to this little girl.

antichrist

On Sunday night I saw the new Star Trek film with Sebastian. I don’t understand why people in the future put so many narrow bridges without hand rails over deep chasms in their spaceships. Yes, it can make for suspense, but there are limits, and I have to wonder why safety isn’t considered a little bit more.

The best thing about the movie was that before it started I saw for the first time the trailer for Lars Von Triers new film Antichrist. It looks like some pretty freaky shit happens in that film, and from what I’ve read the trailer only scratches the surface. It’s making a huge splash and dividing critics right now at Cannes (that bloated phony Roger Ebert said something about it being offensive to society), and it hits theatres June 3 in Paris—which is after I leave, much to my chagrin. I’m not sure if it’s going to get picked up for US distribution, and if it does chances are it will be recut to accommodate the MPAA.

A somewhat similar fate befell Bernard Tavernier’s In the Electric Mist. It didn’t have problems with the MPAA, but the American producer didn’t agree with Tavernier’s cut, so Tavernier left, found another editor, and released the version of the film I saw throughout Europe. In the US, an inferior version with little of the narration featured in the European cut was released directly to DVD. All of this makes me believe that as far as cinema goes, Europe and especially Paris are far ahead of the US.

a different kind of malaise

I admit that in some ways I appreciate Florence, but there are limits. She reached that limit the other day when she had the refrigerator moved out, in addition to the two chairs in my room. On the bright side, the center gave me a tidy sum of food vouchers, which are good just about anywhere you can buy food, to compensate.

Last weekend in Katrin’s room I bumped my head against the wall that slopes down. It was a pretty hard blow but eventually the pain went away. The next day though it came back, especially when I chewed. I felt out of sorts and I started to feel as if something were amiss. How would I know if I sustained brain damage? I thought. I saw Tati's Jour de fête with Katrin and enjoyed it but then a feeling of malaise started to come back, as if something was subtly putting pressure on my brain. The people in the metro bothered me. It was a disagreeable, nondescript kind of sensation. Katrin innocently suggested that I might have sustained a concussion; this only sent me on a new wave of malaise, as I can sometimes be a bit of a hypochondriac.

This brush with insanity passed by Sunday, but for all of Saturday I was in this other zone, troubled and irritated.

movies

Last week was a great week for the movies. I saw The Big Sleep, Key Largo, Band of Angels, Badlands, Nothing Sacred and l’Autre. Band of Angels is a curious film about a white woman who discovers that she has a black mother and so is sold into slavery—to none other than Clark Gable. Clark Gable is one of those kind slave masters; there were many very disconcerting scenes where masses of slaves follow him around singing gospel songs. Hollywood has a long history of handling race relations indelicately, crudely, and often tastelessly (and this is a trait that I would argue we still see, in movies like Crash—not the Cronenberg film). Anyway, the film has very offensive moments, but I’m not sure what the whole thing adds up to.

Badlands was the highlight. Seeing it on film, even if the print was a little scratchy, was infinitely better than seeing it on DVD. I realized how carefully composed every frame is. Terrence Malick uses Carl Orff’s piece ‘Gassenhauer’ throughout the film (this was before True Romance, I should add): one sequence with this music, I think at any rate, is easily one of the best sequences in film history.

florence

The events of Friday night prompted me to do some research on the internet about Florence. Much to my surprise, she even has a French wikipedia entry, which indicates that she is 65 years old. I asked Natalie, the residential adviser at the center, about this and she confirmed that Florence is that old, and that she probably had many face lifts. I experienced another sensation of surprise, but this time mixed with mild discomfort, when I went over to google images to confirm that I was reading about the right Florence. On the very first page, there are images of a nude scene she did in the ‘80s.

adieu, adieu, remember me

I find that bus rides are often punctuated with feelings of pointlessness or, alternately, waves of optimism. Yesterday on the bus I put this down in the memo function of my phone so I would remember it and I noticed that I had another memo written down. ‘She is like a Bridget Bardot knock-off,’ it said. I could not remember why I had written this down—or who, where, or when it came from, for that matter; all I knew was that it was something I thought should go in my blog. Finally, I figured that it came from last Friday night, at Jackie’s birthday party.

At Jackie’s, we binged excessively. I somehow managed to break two glasses, although this was before I was even very drunk. I asked Michael, Nicola’s French bf, if he had heard of Florence. He googled her and to my surprise, there were several different websites with bio pages about her and even filmographies. Michael said that he didn’t know her personally, but that his family probably does. When Simon saw her picture, he remarked that she looked like a Bridget Bardot knock-off.

On the way home, Katrin, Tobias and I stopped for a Greek sandwich, which was just what I needed. Some people there were being obnoxious to us, so when they walked away, I said, ‘aideu.’ I am pleased that I found an occasion to use this word.

still moaning and groaning

The other day Florence came home and was moaning and groaning more than usual: ‘Oh la la la, c’est pas possible.’ I’ve learned to just ignore it and stay in my room. After a while I did go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and she brought up Still Walking, which I had recommended to her. She detested it; it actually made her angry, and, according to her, all of her friends shared her sentiments. I didn’t really know what to say. She said that it had nothing in common with the Japanese classics like Ozu’s films. In retrospect, I should have told her that she was just wrong there, considering that the plot is nearly identical to Ozu’s most famous movie, Tokyo Story. But at the time, none of this came to mind, and I was even left doubting my own opinion. After our conversation, she left the kitchen and apparently noticed something that caused her to recommence her moaning and groaning. In fact, she even said something along the lines of, ‘I’m starting all over again.’

At Bercy Park today we met Stacy from Bethlehem. We got Greek sandwiches and ate them outside, and then we walked around and talked about Stacy’s plans to work in international relations and battle the evils of terrorism/globalization after she graduates. We were looking to see a crane, and eventually we found one. They always seem out of context in Paris. We witnessed it catch and eat a goldfish in one quick movement. I remarked that that was the stuff of nature documentaries.

Interesting aside: according to Google analytics, my blog is getting hits from a wide variety of cities around the world. One of them is called “Paradise.”