Flaming Pablum

Back to School: A Playlist

Surreally enough, my daughter is now a senior in high school. This means that our lives are currently ruled by the looming prospect of college. Our downtime is largely spent discussing the finer points of the application process, unspooling that tangled ball of red tape that is financial aid and visiting as many college campuses on my daughter’s list of “Likelies,” “Targets” and “Reaches” that we can get to. To say that this is an intimidating process is a herculean understatement.

This coming weekend, the four of us (we’re bringing Charlotte’s little brother Oliver along, as he’ll be in this same position before we know it) to go visit my alma mater, Denison University out in Central Ohio. We made the plan some months ago after the school reached out to my daughter about her fencing. In a strange coincidence, the weekend we planned to visit also turned out to be my reunion weekend. Being that I was already going to be there, how could I NOT go to that? It was turning out to be quite a point on my calendar to look forward to.

But, as fate would have it, much like the Devo show I was all excited about last night, my reunion ended up getting cancelled over COVID-19 concerns.

We’re still going, of course. Actually, the more I think about it, it’s probably for the best. We can now focus on my daughter’s visit and keep our eyes on the prize, so to speak. I’ll still get to wander around the campus and probably freak out.

In any case, while I don’t normally use Spotify, for the purposes of beefing up this post, I made a needlessly sprawling playlist of the music I concerned myself with during my four years at Denison as a gormless, chicken-chested college dork. Enjoy.

Brûlant Pablum à Paris: Part 2

Just to complete the recap...

The flat we stayed in was literally steps away from the current Picasso museum on Rue de Thorigny in the Marais. We couldn't not go, obviously, it being so damn convenient. As cool as it was, however, Picasso strikes me as an artist that has reached such an iconic level wherein literally every single thing he ever did is now treated like absolute gold. This is not to say that his work isn't striking to the layperson, but we didn't see anything within the collection that was especially well known, so the "wow" factor was slightly diminished. Against my better judgment, I was privately hoping they'd be selling beach towels with "Guernica" on them, but -- to the credit of their taste -- this turned out not to be.

Much to the chagrin of my kids, we made it to the Francis Bacon show at the Pompidou. While m'self and the wife are fans of his work, the kids weren't really buying it (nor is much of Bacon's work especially "kid friendly"), but the element that made it especially tough was the crowd size. Enjoying Bacon's paintings is somewhat difficult when you have people stepping on your feet and breathing down your neck. Still, while not for everyone,if you're a fan of the man's stuff, it's worth seeing.

While they didn't necessarily dig Bacon's splattery grotesqueries, the kids did quite enjoy the view from the top of the Pompidou.

While significantly decreased here in Manhattan, street art is still alive and well in Paris...

Oh yeah, and the French don't like him either....

The day before we left, Peggy & the kids went to do some shopping, letting me off my leash long enough to go track down a punk rock record shop I'd read about across the Beaumarchais in a slightly less salubrious area of Paris. I found Born Bad Records in the end, tucked around a corner on a quiet little street. They didn't really have anything I crucially needed, but I bought a t-shirt to be supportive. Vive Le Rock! 

I will say this. If you're planning a trip to Paris, you very well may have heard about the Bateaux Mouche, which are those boats that sail around the Seine, giving sight-seers a view of the City of Light from the water. While that certainly sounds nice, lemme tell ya.... if you hate tourists as much as I do, avoid the Bateaux Mouche like the plague. It will put you swiftly in touch with your inner xenophobe in no time. Packed with competing hordes of German and Japanese tourists (the former are way more annoying than the latter, I decided), the experience made appreciating the visual splendor on offer very difficult. Don't say you weren't warned.

So, yeah, Paris was just as magical as we're all repeatedly told it should be. I ate like royalty and regained the fleeting remnants of my sanity that have otherwise been robbed of me by the daily grind. That is, of course, when I wasn't squabbling with my teenage daughter, who took a bit of time acclimating to the pointedly unhurried nature of Parisian living ... something native New Yorkers have a harder time adjusting to. In the end, she was heartbroken to have to leave. We all were. 

We will go back. 

Brûlant Pablum à Paris: Part 1

You're probably all getting bored sick of hearing me continuing to invoke Paris, so before any more time goes by, I thought I’d just post a quick recap not unlike the one I did for our trip to Beirut last year.

It should come as zero surprise to anyone who has been lucky enough to go there that our quick trip to Paris was nothing short of delightful. Say what one will about the French, but they do know how to live. If you’ve not been, I cannot recommend it highly enough.

For maximum fromage effect, click on the video below for a suitable soundtrack as you view the pics.

S'amuser

The courtyard of our AirB'n'B on Rue de Thorigny in the Marais...

Oliver enjoys a crepe...

Action at the Louvre....

As is to expected, everyone loses their shit for a glimpse of the "Mona Lisa," which -- to be perfectly candid -- left me a little underwhelmed. In an adjoining gallery, however, I came finally face to face with a painting I'd both studied in high school and adored from the cover of the Pogues' Rum, Sodomy & The Lash, that being Gericault's "Raft of the Medusa." I'd never realized the sheer scope of the painting before, and to see it up close stopped me dead in my tracks. Forget the "Mona Lisa" and check this out!

Just a hairstylist on the Beaumarchais whose name caught my eye...

He is rightly everywhere still...

As first invoked back on this post from way back when, we made it back to surreal taxidermy emporium Deyrolle. To be honest, I'm not sure my kids knew what to make of it. Oliver was certainly intrigued by the beasts on display, but Charlotte -- who is a bit woke, it must be said -- was somewhat horrified by the whole endeavor. I did manage to spot the afore-cited poster for "Squelette de Lapin," but they had none left for sale, alas...

More to come ... watch this space.