Smarter than a goldfish
And very pretty too!
I’ll take them in red, and in yellow. And then I’ll stop winging about how I can never find good vegan shoes.
Find more shoes here, via the Morale Agency.
Just lovely
Let me close my eyes and revel in the magic that is Le Dernier Métro.
Seriously, watch it (if I hadn’t yet managed to convince you). You will even see Catherine Deneuve knock her husband out by bashing his head with a little statue.
From Somewhere in the Depths of Cinema, via Nerd Boyfriend.
Caroline, stop showing me things I want
Seriously, just stop*.
I love the Paris métro map, I love the colours representing the different lines, the names of the stops, and remembering what is on the surface at my favourite ones. Oh, and which ones are decked in a really clever way (a copper submarine interior anyone? Or how about a steamship?).
And I am the biggest sucker for stripes, and anything with blue white and red excites me no end.
And! On the detail image I can spot two métro stops I lived at: Rome (blue line) and Poissonière (pink line).
This was clearly meant to be mine.
*You know I love you and I don’t mean it right?
Fake ice-cream
Your throat is killing you. You want to eat something cold. You are vegan, which complicates matters. Your freezer is full, but of vegetables and bananas. Wait, bananas?
Here is a quickie reasonably tasty little recipe for a frozen treat I came up with last night, in desperation:
- 1 frozen banana
- 2 ice cubes
- 50 ml soy milk
- 1 tablespoon cocoa powder
- 1 tablespoon of sweetener (maple syrup, rice syrup, or honey if you are a devious vegan with a sore throat)
Blend but not too long. Eat quickly. Done. Sore throat? Still there, but that just means I get to make some more. The glass is half full right!
Paris sous la neige
Pretty no?
Taken in 1948 by a certain Mr Kessel. I love me some Paris in the snow!
PS: I have been sick as a dog for the last few days. And you know what? My father, the subject of my last post, just got over a similar nasty bug that robbed him of his voice. I know I said I missed him, but not to the point of being empathetically sick at the same time! Darn it.
PPS: I also have no voice. I have a faint cackle. Sounds great.
PPPS: Mr Kessel’s image, via Frogsmoke.
Mon Papa à moi
When I miss my family I unintentionally take turns: I focus on someone specific and without even trying I am flooded by memories of all their little quirks and habits.
This morning, it’s my father’s turn. Exhibit A: he has a winter driving outfit which consists of a cap like this, gloves and a scarf. For the record he drives a little Twingo which I find irresistibly funny.
His idea of waking us up in the morning as children was to open the door and whistle the same tune played in army barracks at sunrise (the aptly named Réveille). To this day when I hear it, I always picture my father’s silhouette in the door and smile.
He makes really obvious and daggy jokes, over and over again. If you are looking for something he will say: ‘Whoever looks for something, finds it.’ (‘Qui cherche, trouve’). If he hears a few knocks in a row (say you’re using a a hammer), it’s ‘Come in!’. Every time.
He loves to go to the food market (right next to the town hall), and as it happened the market was on the day Christian and I got married. My father disappeared for 15 minutes, and when I asked him where he went he said: ‘I had to go tell the lady I buy my salads from you just got married.’ Cute.
And finally, and I don’t really know why, his name is Jacques and it cracks me up. And today, I really miss him.
(Hat is from here)
That is a very skilled little dog
There have been many things to adapt to for me since moving from France to Australia, and this is the beginning of an attempt to explain.
Sometimes I say things to my delicious Christian that are perfectly natural to me (direct translations from French or even French words when I don’t find an equivalent) – and find out very quickly if they don’t make any sense.
Our little dog Mira does this adorable thing when she’s excited: she does little jumps while spinning 360º. One day I observed, got amused (and melted a little on the inside), turned to Christian and said: ‘Oh look! She’s doing a little tourniquet!’.
He blinked. Several times. Then: ‘She truly is a very skilled little dog, if she can do that kind of medical procedure.’
Turns out, when you English speakers use the word you mean bandaging to stop bleeding*. Not quite what I was trying to say. Or what Mira was actually doing. But now Christian and I are on the same page. So when I say ‘tourniquet’, he doesn’t blink anymore.
*The word in French can also mean that, but it’s not its primary meaning. Think turnstile in the Parisian métro that spins and lets people through one by one. That’s what I was going for.
Most legendary
My favourites from a series of photos where actors recreated some of their iconic roles, posing in street clothes. I love the seamless paper background, the simple lighting, and how the essence of the characters still comes through so strongly with so few props.
One teeny thing: as psycho and self-righteous as he was in Seven, I think Kevin Spacey might be even more legendary in American Beauty. But rose petals don’t make for as good a photo as a box supposedly containing Gwyneth Paltrow’s head*. Granted.
*I just realised I am totally blowing the ending here: but hasn’t everyone seen this by now, and knows what happens? Come on, it’s been 14 years!
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