Bits and Bobs

Photographed are sections of a mural at a Farringdon pool hall. Not particularly subtle, but intriguing nonetheless. Makes you wonder about the artist, and the role low grade beer has had in inspiring his work and sexual relationships. The one on the right is a psychotherapist's dream (in the figurative sense, we'd hope).

London's Bad Rap

Paris in the spring is the stuff dreams are made of. But springtime in London ain't shabby either. I stumbled into this tiny park by the courtyard of an old cathedral in Covent Garden (picture complete with Perfect English Gentleman enjoying marvelous afternoon), one day last week after purchasing a book I intend to devour. I had picked it up off the shelf and turned to a random page, which read,
"'They told me it rained every day in London-and look at this!'remarked Will as we sat one lunchtime in a restaurant in Covent Garden. 'Incredible, and I brought only pullovers'".
I'm a big believer in signs when it comes to novel selection, so there it was ('Essays in Love' by Alain De Botton..a die-hard Londoner with an awfully French name..very interesting so far). Paris is breathtaking all year round in a village-y yet magisterial sort of way. Everyone is so bothered and uptight during winter, though, and the city breathes a sigh of relief with the arrival of the season for which it is so well known. A waiter might smile at you, a cab driver may agree to drop you off without muttering under his breath, and some brave souls go so far as to dress in primary colors. London under the sun, however, is just incredibly bright, easy and happy, and you just want to be at a pub terrace downing pints all day long. My days & nights of intense conversation in dimly lit cafes are behind me..til autumn at least.

Toy Car

How can you not fall in love with a city where regular people drive cars like this? Much thanks to our exquisite model Nadia who gives this photo the authentic feel of a 1971 Fiat ad (or whichever indeterminate European car it may actually be..Renault? Peugeot? Citroen?.whatever). People drive crazy in Paris, by the way. Worse than New York, and they don't stop at red lights. Although, when drivers here curse at each other, it doesn't sound at all threatening. which is nice.

Je regrette..

I wanted so badly to spend an entire day riding around on a velib (French and short for 'bicycle freedom'). Fantastic concept: you swipe a card at a bike station, grab a bike, and drop it off at any other bike station in the city, for, like, a Euro. Genius. I didn't get to for technical reasons (and too many cold days), and I could kick myself for not sorting it out in time. If I have to go back just to get on one, I will. I don't know why it seems so much cooler to me than riding your own bicycle. Maybe it's the idea of feeling like part of some giant bike gang.

Je t'aime, Je t'aime, Je t'aime!!

We don't say it enough, folks. This, I'm quite sure is a touristy little attraction, but I adored it regardless. A wall in a tiny park in Montmartre with the phrase 'I love you' written in different languages. Really really sweet (and not the least bit cheesy). I sat on a bench and admired it for a while. I centered the photo around 'ahibbak', although that sounds weird to me.

The Writing on the Wall

Only a French graffiti artist(e) would vandalize a wall by scribbling a pretty poem in even prettier cursive on it for us to ponder. (I didn't actually read it, but I'm sure it's lovely) SO enlightened.
Don't worry though, Parisian teenagers are just as shallow as their non French adolescent counterparts. The photo on the left is of the bathroom stall at the Pompidou library. Arab boys are popular among the 17-23 year olds, it seems. I especially like the "Je t'<3". cute! I also think it's funny how the girl who loves Ali and Jamal draws the heart in text form. I wonder if she passed whatever exam she was studying for.

Le cinquieme etage

I didn't take enough pictures of Paris, nor did I leave the 4th arrondissement more than a handful of times except to go to class. Shameful. I didn't write much about it, either. But it's warm out now, and I have the desire to be pleasant and share things. Then I'll move on. I'll miss many things, one of which is my window. I took this picture from bed one morning (ish). Church bells from God knows where woke me up every day. Very charming during my first week in Le Marais, then not so much.

En fait..

I stopped keeping a personal journal years ago because my audience lost interest in me. Now this should be more fulfilling. I learned the expression 'avoir un petit velo dans la tete' to mean someone's a little loopy. I imagine a mini version of myself on a tiny bicycle riding in circles inside my head, and this image appeals to me, hence the title. I am actually velo-less at the moment (although miniature velo is ever present), as I am in transition. But soon enough, hopefully.
This is/was my most recent bike, which I miss dearly, a 1977 Schwinn English beach cruiser. It was incredibly rusty and wobbly, but served me well. It is now abandoned somewhere in South Beach, chained to a lamp post, and I've heard the basket is being used as a trashcan. Tragic. It deserved a more dignified retirement. My fault completely. I was too busy fleeing.