Saturday, December 26, 2009

Das ist Guuut


Its a bit overdue, but I couldn't forgo the details from my first visit to my future new home. Welcome folks, to the incredible Munich, Germany. Everything here is, well, substantial. At least way more substantial than Paris. The men, the beer, the noise level. Instantaneously, I felt at home in this ridiculous place.

I hadn't seen the German components to my family tree in about 15 years, so I wasn't sure who to look for or exactly what to expect when Mickey came to fetch KK et moi at the airport. Being my dads side of the family, I was sure that these people were a little more than crazy. And Alas! How correct I was. In the first 5 minutes, we were laughing over old family stories and Mickey was trying to explain to me our family tree, which in reality is more like a lamp post. I guess the incest explains the kookiness? Anywho, Mickey takes us on a quick driven tour of Munich before we make a pit stop by the apartment/hotel he is letting us stay in complete with beers and cozy blankets. Cant ask for much more in freezing Munich.

And then the craziness ensues. While Mickey is preoccupied this way and that, alternating between business phone calls and playing family tour guide, we somehow end up at a very local beer-garden. KK and I take in the substantial surrounding, food, and people, and are introduced to our escorts for the night (or something like that), Dennis and Colby (Jack). These guys are definite dudes (and I looove DUDES) who I immediately impress by knocking over a half liter of beer right onto Colby Jack's pants. Oops! Mickey starts hysterically laughing and pointing to his crotch attempting to make “loo” jokes until, and a bit after, the beer evaporated into the beer-garden air. I got shit for that one for a while. So, back to the events at hand. We, more wine drinkers than beer aficionados, more vegetarians than carnivores, are ordered the following: 1 plate of sausages, mashed potatoes, potato dumplings, pork, sauerkraut, red cabbage, chocolate cake, apple strudal, and 3 kinds of beer that appear to be bottomless. Did I mention we weren't even hungry? Holy moly. Looking around, taking in the surroundings, these people are bigger and louder than most I've witnessed, and their mugs and plates definitely mimic that. We hit it off with the boys, and 3 doppelbocks (but in actuality much less as I kept pouring mine into Dennis' liter mug), 3 hours, and a whole lot of miscommunication later, Dennis and I are standing on the booth of our table, attempting to dance for the rest of the restaurant. Hmmm....we decide to take this elsewhere.

Quick lowdown on the boys:

Colby Jack: The tall, lankier of the two, he is your typical late twenty something asshole player type, trying to be smooth with the ladies even when he has remnants of an entire beer on his pants. The smarter of the two, speaking English, although not quite understanding when I call him a “creepster.”

Dennis: even more substantial than your average German, adorable in that free spirit, just wanting to have fun way, but complete with a whole lot of muscle. His English is fairly non existent, but understands when I respond to his love confession with , “oh, God, not another one.” He says that's his line. This guy is mine.

The five of us are dancing our way through the snowy baroque-ness that is Munich. We pop into a wine bar and witness and then take part in, although just for a moment, some dancing reminiscent of a type of German ho-down complete with lederhosen. We pop outside again, continuing to frolic through the streets, meanwhile being exchanged between Dennis and Colby Jack. What fun! At the point, I'm not sure what my cousin(?) thinks of his long lost family member. We reach our final destination, the German discotheque, finding ourselves on platforms dancing, in dark hallways at moments, and being handed vodka red bulls in the process. (O Lord, WHY?? Why did they pick that? Anything but that! or that's precisely what we moaned later that morning) After watching these macho type boys demonstrate pass the ice cube, KK et moi look at each other befuddled, and then partook. The night gets fuzzier, the smiles wider, the arms flail-ier. While being swept around the club by this Dennis character he accidentally bumps into the German, crazy security guard and ensuite....kicked out. Damn, these Germans are tough. We decide to steer clear of the situation and stumble home. 20 minutes of trying to separate ourselves from the boys, 15 minutes of trying to pronounce the name of our street to the cabbie, and another 10 unlocking our door, we fell into bed at 4am, some still with contacts, trying to forget that we hadn't been in this horizontal position for a good 24 hours.

The next morning, one of those huge sunglass and coffee mornings, after we had a quick photo shoot in the snow, we meet up with more long lost family and old family friends. My aunt(?) Renatae suggests the liver dumplings soup and fried fish since it is LIGHT??? and I've had enough meat to last me for the rest of my life. I look over to Mickey and am surprised by the reasonable lunch he has in front of him, thinking its fried egg on toast, except that isn't toast, its pork. They slay me. The lunch was complete with crazy family stories and laughter. I felt so at home in this crazy German world. For once, I was face to face with where my German family stems from and I felt more like them in one day, than 3 months in the other European country overflooded with stripes and moustaches. Renatae continued to take us to the Christmas markets, where we perused great architecture and the spirit of a snowy Christmas season. Of course they love us through food, feeding us gluhwein (hot wine) made to perfection, roasted chestnuts, chocolates, and then resting our feet to eat a supposedly famous dessert in the middle of old Munich. The markets are truly extraordinary, a must for any Christmas freak, like myself.

We haven't even been here for a day, and I feel as though it has been forever, and finally my unter schwester Shaina arrives and after some quality sibling time together, we take off to Hofbrau House and somehow end up drinking liter beers with the US Olympic Bobsled Team. I could go on forever baby, but honestly the more I think about this weekend, the more my liver and stomach start spasming.

Upon departing from Munich and returning back to my “real world” that is anything but, I have decided that if there ever needs to be extreme shitty times to balance these incredible ones, that's ok by me. I leave with invitation upon invitation from family and friends to return, and I hope to....maybe for longer than they expect.

Next stop: Detox. One thing I can always count on good old California for....

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Mais, Ouais [bah-way]

The weeks following your worst days, inevitability at least for me, are always some of the best....the ones filled with the most life. I suppose it could be this or the 1) minute amount of work and the excess of dinner parties and delicious hot chocolate 2) christmas shopping with german gluhwein (hot wine) in tow, 3)traveling 4)dating and of course my all time favorite pastime 5)dancing. Hmmm, I guess I will guess it is the latter bundle. So following a shit weekend, the past week has been one of the best so far, making it difficult to part with my newly beloved Paris...yet another city to express my love-hate relationship patterns with. But this use of extremity is fitting, as I remind you that their keyboards require the shift for periods and nothing for the EXCLAMATION. Telling, I say. So, recapturing the past week:

First up: Mon Date Avec Monsieur Falafel
Falafel, you ask? Mais, Ouais! KK was so kind to accompany me for my first drink with M. Falafel as to assure me that this one wasn't giving serial killer vibes or just plain crayzay-ness. After her more than approving, we parted ways and started gallivanting around the streets of the Marais (apparently we picked a bar where the men liked MF way more than KK et moi), we enjoyed one another as much as one can without understanding what the hell the other person is saying. Although, in some mysterious and fun way it just added to the fun, hilarity, and inventiveness of how to get to know each other. He did unknowingly teach me a few new words that would never come up in any other situation...But, about an hour of laughing et petites (peut etre plus) bises later, it was quite the fun night. (I am counting on my parents inability to use Google translate here.) And after his attempts to impress me with the few English words in his vocabulary, comme “Christmas”[krees-must] avec une petite foreign lisp, we parted ways, smiling all the way home...at least on my end. God, did anyone ever tell you this city is tressss romantic? A few days later, as I was being drilled by my roommates and their friends, about his looks, personality, etc, the question of intelligence made its way into conversation. To which, I attempted to answer in French, “How the hell do I know...I have no idea whether he is speaking to me in French or Hebrew half the time!”Yeah, I'm sure that didn't translate either. Anywho, its fun, harmless, and of course in my true fashion....so not serious.

Ensuite: Best Day Ever
Usually most “best days ever” include the use of the many senses and this is precisely what this day exploited. One of the greatest things about Paris is this, and its way of doing it to the extreme. Without work or obnoxious children, which is reason enough for me to smile, KK and I hit the town, with little else on the menu other than Christmas shopping, a good meal (or two), and even better chocolat chaud. We took Paris in, exploring the best epiceries, sampling with our eyes an taste-buds all this gastronomic city has to offer. We complained on and on about our weekends, letting all our hostility out, making room for nothing but pure goodness. So we continue, with hot chocolate that is not only presented as art, but tasting pretty darn amazing as well. And like everything in Paris, complete with a price tag that doesn't let you forget it. One of our stops was Gallerie Gourmet, the food component to the famous department store Gallerie Lafayette, housing every type of extravagant food indulgence from hand selected spices displayed in luxurious glass vials to fois gras sets and my favorite, magnificent looking chinese dumplings. I just couldn't resist, and although I knew well knowingly they could never be exist in the same realm as Dumpling Man (holler back), they offered a nice break from the norm. But after my taste testing, I will leave dumplings to, well, anyone else except Parisians. Even Chinese Parisians. Next is the Marais, our favorite spot for chocolate, falafel and their good looking men, and perfumes. After a few hours of contemplating what our family and friends would like to open on Christmas or the 8th night of Hanukah, we were yet again lured into our favorite perfumery. Whether its Schmoopie et moi a New York or KK a Paris, there is a place that good perfume takes you that is parallel to few other indulgences. Their dimly lit, cove-like ambiance makes one feel instantaneously cosy upon entering and the endless choices of fragrant destinations doesn't hurt either. The combinations, we have been testing for quite some months, and after trying to match each others personality to the appropriate combination, we both decided on “Chasse des Papillions” (Hunt of the Butterflies) to sport for the rest of the day. ( I would later buy and be complemented on the scent by one french teenager and one hot German dude) It was after smelling our wrists continuously for the next hours and while sipping hot chocolate, yet again, that it is these “material things” (whether art, dress , or scent) that helps you create your own perfect world as you see it. We couldn't stop smiling from ear to ear for the rest of the day. And after hitting one last vintage shop and avoiding falafel man as not to appear too crazy, we made our lasts stops, as most Parisians do, at the local boulangerie and fruit/veggie market to collect the last components for our wondrous day. The best bread in the world, other than Judy Stein's challah and NYC bagels, we stir fried veggies, poured some wine, and swapped great music back and forth over petits cigars. I cant remember what was for dessert, but it just added to everything great. Our senses were overloaded and nothing too crazy occurred; we just relished the company, laughter, and the help of constructing our own perfect, cozy worlds. KK took of at about 1130, but I think we both continued smiling the rest of the week.

To end this great week, things only got better over yet another fabulous dinner party de Carole and one crazy trip to Germany. But please, thats for next time. Get some sleep.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

O Merde


The universal standard question: How was your weekend? Tu as passe un bon week-end?

No sugar coating here folks (my inner new yorker speaking)..... it was crap. Straight up merde. The closer Christmas time draws near, the more I miss my family, my friends, and my country. And however much my hippie half hates the Internet and technology at times, I really appreciated it this weekend.


Countdown:

#5. NPR- It feels good to be connected to home. It feels even better when you can read or listen to a news program with a decent perspective sans their uptight/serious attitudes. Whether its the some guy's take on why he is okay with his masculinity while reading“Eat, Pray, Love”or the great “All Songs Considered”, the news radio will all the right kinds of bullshit, never seems to leave me unimpressed.

#4. E-Photos (with commentary): I think the saying is: “A picture is worth a Thousand Words.”Or is it a million? I never claimed to be great at expressions. No matter how great of a writer one is, there is nothing like a good photo. My favorites: The Sartorialist's ability to capture beauty and intruige and of course the slightly (but just slightly!) lesser known Sammy Rode. Her quirkiness still blasts through all borders and makes me feel at home with her strange email pictures and even stranger commentary.

Sammy a dit: "Tout alors! Shush! He is Le Chien, and he is traveling incognito."

J'ai dit: Tu est trop bizarrrrre! But hey, I guess it takes one to know one.


#3. Jiwa.FR – The international answer to Pandora, but better, lets me build my own playlists (gratuit!) and keeps me company no matter what mood I may be in. Dance...OK! Ridiculous oldies flashbacks... Naturellement! Christmas....Wait, no MARIAH??? You have to be f(insert Steve Stein's favorite word) me. Maybe I'll move this one to #5.

#2. G Chat- Sometimes it just feels good to pretend you are working when you are doing nothing but talking about nonsensical crap with your best friends thousands of miles away. You might be talking crap, but they get your crap. And thats all that matters. Without Betty_White69 and are semi-regular sessions on the good old computer, I think I might crack. Although you cant see peoples faces, their expressions, or laughter covered by obviously fake coughs dans le bureau.... you can always imagine it. And I'm sure 9 times out of 10, I get it right.

#1. Skype. Thank god. No explanation necessary.


Being in a foreign country, isolated from what you know, sometimes you just need a couple days to spend with people, virtually or not, to remember a bit about yourself, and to remember how to laugh...in English.

Friday, December 4, 2009

I Like Your Dog

For those who dont know...I love falafel. And I love falafel even more in Paris, and apparently it loves me back. I have been building quite the rapport with the falafel dude, who now knows me by name. And I don't think he wants to stop there. At first, it was free french fries for his “copine”or “girlfriend”. Now he is getting to know his girlfriend better and starting to speak my language. My favorite and consequently most commonly used words are roughly translated into “free” and “falafel.” So, on Wednesday, I decided to grab my favorite to go meal in Paris and an overly friendly bisous, free falafel, some flirty miscommunication, and 20 minutes of awkward fondling of my fingers later....I believe he asked me out for a glass of champagne...or at least I hope that's all he asked for. What the hell, I'll give just about anyone at least one chance. Hell, I am a sucker for a good story. And believe me, I don't think this one will disappoint. He scribbled down my name and number on his falafel order slip, in Hebrew of course. Steve Stein actually might not want to kill this prospect with the words Hebrew dancing through his head. As I pull myself away to anxiously get to the eats, he tells me he loves my smile and that I was tres jolie and I laugh to myself, again, letting yet another guy think that these stupid, cheesy lines actually work. Lesson: They don't. Even if you think they do. They don't. And if they do, the girl is prolly stupid. But maybe you like that.

Yes, this guy is cute, not shorter than I am, and has a gap between his two front teeth. In other words, the exact few things I might advertise on match.com....if I did that. Well, here goes nothing. There is no turning back now. I better not screw this one up. This could potentially be more prosperous than dating a dumpling chef slash vegan cupcake baker.

The only thing I miss more than my bizarre interactions with the universe, is discussing them with my favorite people in the world. One of these beloved has chosen not to disclosure his/her true name, but rather use the surname BetTy_WhITe 69. Very mysterious, I know.


BetTy_WhITe 69: fabulous

did you kiss the frenchie guy yet?

me: NO!

arghhh

not even after wine tasting

BetTy_WhITe 69: interesting

clearly things move slowly there

me: yeah tell me about it

but did i tell you the falafel guy asked me out

HAHAHAHA

o man

my falafel days are now ruined

BetTy_WhITe 69: shoot

well, if it get's you free falafel

that's prolly the wrong thing to say

lol

me: well initially i thought the same thing

BUT

what happens next? there are only two possibilities

BetTy_WhITe 69: lol

me: either i blow him off and can never eat the most wonderful falafel again

orrrr

i marry him

and get free falafel forever

its a tough choice

i mean he has A GAP

BetTy_WhITe 69: he's the one

BetTy_WhITe 69: but you will prolly get sick of falafel

me: NEVER

no way, its too good. its the best falafel ive ever had

E

V

E

R

BetTy_WhITe 69: that's bc he makes it with

L

O

V

E

me: L

O

L

O

L

O

L

but seriously...lolololol


ill keep you updated, BetTy_WhITe 69.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Beinvenue a Ma Semaine

Ah, the week! It has been truly spectacular so far. And its pretty much all thanks to a wonderful kick-start of a Sunday.

After a small post-Thanksgiving leftover feast followed by a movie in English (the title I am too embarrassed to mention by name), and a small sleepover (holler back 6th grade), finally came Sunday. Not only did I finally discover where France hides its raw milk (with the rest of the refrigerated goods, who would have thought?), but I became more familiar with what they classily call“La Salon des Vins” or more appropriately “One Great Excuse to Get Drunk Off Your Ass for 3 Euros all Weekend Long.” So here's the deal: one ticket, 6 euros, good for two people. I suppose they have made one ticket good for two, so WHEN you black out or start a drunken riot the odds are greater with two people that one out of the two might have some common sense/reason floating around somewhere. So 3 other friends and myself strolled into the craziness and each pair exchanged their ticket for 2 wine glasses. The crowds pushed us to the exposition halls, which housed thousands of wine stalls, each with at least three wines for tasting. People are everywhere, with their little trolley carts piled with boxes and boxes of wine. These people mean business. HOW DOES THIS EVEN EXIST?

Please, stop here, and use your imagination to re-create this scene in the US. I don't think there is enough barbwire or police force that would be able to control us under this situation. Thank goodness the french are calm. Or what a pity?

and I RESUME: I was very overwhelmed at first, being that normally I need a break after 1 glass, and by the second you can generally find me nestled in the corner by some heater. So I decide to try and put my big girl pants on and taste all of what France's vineyards have to offer. The combination of wine and the french language is always a great one, as I began to try and commence conversations with all of the self-proclaimed wine experts in the showroom. I think they thought I was an amusing subject, so they stuck it through my poor french and humored me with great information about wine. About 10 booths, 4 slurred conversations, 2 hours, and a million puzzles frenchie faces later we come face to face with the cognacs. White flag. I'm waving it. I'm done. I guess those mysterious buckets on the floor were for pouring the rest of your wine into. Hmmm, I guess next time (in March that is) Ill know better. Or maybe, Ill just have the tolerance higher than a 70lb 3rd grader.

It was pretty impossible not to have a great week after this madness. So I...

  1. Bought train tickets for Champagne for Saturday. I meant it when I said I was going to work on my tolerance. I am beginning to develop into quite the serious student.

  2. Met a fellow New Yorker for a drink and chatted over the sustainability practices of France's agriculture. Heaven! At last, normal people... at least in my obscure universe.

  3. Have been re-inspired to pick up my camera again. For some time, I lost the interest in continuing my photography. No matter how much I have tried to reason to myself to pick up my camera in the past, art is not reason. Like most things creative, the paintbrush cannot be pushed to the canvas if you want a truly wonderful byproduct. But now, I am driven to document the visual more than ever. An article, compliments of NPR, reminded me of the“complicated machinations of art: (and its) way of remaking a world.”I think it is the result of not living by means of a schedule; it allows you to actually experience life. At least for me...and its wonderful.

So in short: enjoying life, enjoying not living by a schedule....actually feeling like I'm living.