So last Sunday C and I went to Montavilla to do some yard work, and maybe make the garage look a little less like somebody blew up a miniature Vancouver, WA in there. Because I am a lunatic, I decided that it would be a good idea to clear out a tremendous mass of blackberries between our garage and the neighbor’s.
This is from fairly soon after I started, but I’d already cleared out the space in which I’m standing.
And here’s the aftermath. It’s not as if there’s nothing left, but I plowed through almost the length of the garage.
Didn’t come for nothing, of course but at least I don’t have to worry about bacterial infection.
So C and I went to see Only Lovers Left Alive. On the positive side, between this, Grand Budapest Hotel, and Jodorowsky’s Dune, this has been a pretty remarkable year in terms of new movies that I don’t despise. On the negative, Lovers and Budapest share a sort of tragically detached feel that makes it seem as if the impulse of the auteur these days is to basically tell people that it’s all basically ending. The only optimists left live and crazy old men like Jodo. Hopefully we can learn something from them before they shuffle off this mortal coil.
Wow, that was quite a gap. So, here’s the thing. On Sunday the 15th I went to a Mapplethorpe exhibit at Le Grand Palais. It was, in fact, probably the highlight of my trip, but I did not, unsurprisingly, bother taking any pictures there. I did bring a catalog back as a present for C, and perhaps it will be mined in future entries (in particular, I’d never seen any of his non-jewelry assemblages, some of which are. . . well, like I said: in the future). On Monday I mostly got things ready, although I did make a belated pass at sending some post-cards. The cards were surprisingly fun, and I’m going to make an effort to secure more addresses in advance the next time I go anywhere (thanks Mrs. Foster!)
I was ready, I suppose, but it was hard to come home.
The reason this post is so overdue is that my vacation coincided, in the worst possible coincidence, with the expiration of my old hosting plan, which I’ve been keen to abandon for some time. As I was returning to work I was also backing all this garbage up and finally getting hosting somewhere where I access my sites-available files with Vim and not some stupid “user friendly” control panel. Everything finally sorted out today, although there are lingering issues (since you asked, media controlled via WordPress on Futility Now is being served by raw IP; I’m hoping some location directives will resolve it without too much trauma).
Phew, running behind here.
So after the whole key thing was resolved I did the obvious thing, and took in some modern art at the Centre Pompidou. You know a place is classy when its bathroom graffiti requires a passing familiarity with art history to enjoy.
This painting, from 1928, predicts 99% of all video game level design. Time to get a new paradigm, fellas.
If you know me, you may be aware that my dream has hitherto to been to live in a concrete cube atop a single column. This is no longer the case. I now want to live in a house based on this architectural maquette. I’m not sure about what would be under it. Maybe a deck supported by a single column.
On Saturday I went to the Marche aux Puces in Saint Ouen. Despite not really being a shopping person, I really like being up there. I think I find it funky like a French village while simultaneously being very much in Paris. Unfortunately, I had a really shocking disappointment when I went to cafe that I had really enjoyed when I’d been there with C and was served a quiche that had clearly come out of the fucking microwave. Not on, French people, not on.
In the afternoon I finally found Buttes Chaumont, which, as mentioned previously, shouldn’t have required two days of effort. Once there, I was rewarded with a pretty great over-the-top folly, and a very nice greenspace generally.
As always, however, don’t think too much about that water. Good enough for ducks, and that’s about it.
On Thursday afternoon I tried to visit the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. In my arrogance I thought, “I don’t really have to do much planning. After all, I’m looking for a massive park, which includes the highest elevation in Paris.” They say pride comes before a fall, but in my case it was a rather substantial but fruitless climb.
At any rate, it was okay. Because it’s what we’d call “transitional” in the US, there are lots of sort of not-too-authentique, not-too-trop-moderne houses along my route, which I was able to revel in in lieu of goofy follies.
Like all foot journeys around here, mine ended along the canal. Almost everyone you can see in this picture is sketching, which is pretty great.
My evening was marred by losing the key to my flat, which was pretty embarassing, and also a bit frightening, as there is no way to get out of the apartment without one. My host was able to come by early Friday afternoon to let me out, at which point I discovered that the key had been trapped in the lining of my hat, which is both infuriating and hilarious.
So yesterday was Sacre Coeur day, which was pretty great. When C and I were here, there was some kind of exciting event going on, which was great because we got to watch this massive procession and listen to a bunch of neat chanting, but it also interrupted some things. In particular, we didn’t get a very good look at the main vault of the church, and the part of the crypt with the incredibly creepy relics (WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS!?!?) was closed. I enjoyed a fuller experience of both of these, although my enjoyment of the vault was definitely less ambivalent.
But we all know what the point of coming up here is, right? So far I’ve had 100% beautiful sunny days, and while the heat and light in Paris can be pretty brutal, I’ve definitley avoided too much of that. In short, the vest possible staring out into space from the top of a massive church weather. The downside is that it really empasizes what I sacrificed in deciding to save space by not brining a real camera. Well, playing to the strengths of what I have, here’s a selfie of me on my way back down again.
In my subsequent wanderings around Montmartre, I saw a lot of people eating delicious-looking omelets, and some cool graffiti.
Okay, there’s more yesterday, but I’m quite groggy now. Hodge podge dating to continue apace!
This abandoned typewriter in Brontes speaks to man’s inhumanity to man.
In retrospect, I’m sort of sad that I didn’t take more pictures of it.
Man’s inhumanity to man aside, the coolest place we visited was probably Simiane la Rotonde, so called for its incredibly scenic old fortification.
Here are some (I’m fairly certain) non-funerary cairns in a field behind our villa.
Here are my feet on their way out of the countryside.
These Parisian benches, each possessing something the other lacks, speak to man’s inhumanity to man.
So it’s 4ish on my first day galavanting around Paris. I’ve been back since 2, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do later. I should almost certainly propel myself out into things again, but it is awfully nice just sort of lounging around here.
I woke up around 6, which is a little better than I was doing in the south and went out for delicious pastries. So fortified, I walked along the Seine to the Paris Museum of Modern Art, where I experienced the sublime.
Strong showing, right?
So I have returned to civilization from the beautiful wildernesses of Provence. Everything was profoundly scenic. As one might expect, we made little day trips to medieval hill towns. There are pictures, but I didn’t bring a real computer, so I think I’m going to have to get some sort of mobile editing software, because the future is dumb.
At any rate, now I’m in Paris. I’m still more or less at the vague vector phase of my plans. We’ll see where that leads.
One thing being here has brought to my attention is that except for at brunch, Portland has spoiled me in terms of being able to not bother with places that are crowded. If you don’t want to be packed in, Portland generally allows you to go somewhere else. A lot of places aren’t so sympathetic.
I guess it’s also the case that a heavily arranged trip as this has been so far encourages that behavior. Now that I’m on my own in a town with which I am reasonably familiar, I expect that I’ll lighten up about it. The luxurious aspect aside, I shouldn’t let Portland turn me into a country bumpkin (except at brunch, which is basically the Tokyo subway.)