haircut + art
While we were on our roadtrip and in Lyon, I accidentally forgot my toiletry bag in the hotel. It took almost two weeks for me to get it, so that made it about two months since my last haircut and three weeks since my last shave (since my clippers were in the bag).
When the bag arrived, I went to go get my haircut first. The area where the apartment is is on the edge of a hipster area, an Afrikan area, a Muslim area and an Asian area. And each of these areas there is a major presence. So I wandered into the Muslim neighborhood to get my hairs chopped, picked a spot and wandered in. I don’t speak French and he didn’t speak English, but let’s face it: 90% of guys cuts are the same. At least that you get in a barbershop. So I made the international sign for scissor cutting, he nodded, and we were off. 10 minutes later I had a sharp haircut. It was time to pay him, but I don’t even know numbers past “trois,” but he was either saying five euros, stop, or high-five. I showed him money, he held up five digits still and I gave him eight.
Being in such a densely populated Muslim area is odd. It’s not like being in West Philadelphia. But the lack of fear may of come from just not being in Philly and have nothing to do with the Muslim factor.
Since I had time to kill, I decided to wander in a different direction than usual and I am glad I did. Saw some really interesting stuff and hoods I want to explore, and I stumbled across some really great street art.
Then I went home to shave my facial hair completely off. Something that had not been seen by the world post-puberty. I blossomed late, so once I was able to grow facial hair I wanted to show the world. And then it just became a part of me and stayed that way for 15 years. So with a fresh cut I thought I would rock the facial baldy. I didn’t like it, and the world will never see those pics, but I did have fun with it first.
Tags: Paris, street art
Books etc.
I have said it before and I will say it again.
I judge books by their cover.
I know this isn’t pretty but it is true. What can I say? It has been that way for a long time. I often end up picking a book by the feel and texture of the cover and/or on the book jacket design. (Now before you go getting all high and mighty, don’t try to tell me you are above getting trapped by visual consumerism. Please. I’m guessing you bought something you have on right the fuck now based on how it looks over the quality of the product. Just saying…)
Admittedly, this modus operandi has steered me clear of a few sure shots and classics, but it also probably has something to do with the fact why my top 5 favorite books contain no classics. (I have read some of the classics, they just didn’t make it to one of the coveted Top 5 Favorite Chris Malo Books list.)
But here in Paris? Wow… I brought a few books with me but they were all the short story/reader/compendium type. No novels. I pass bookstores on the regular, but the books are all in French. So I Googled bookstores in Paris that sell books in English and turned the list of 11 into a map.
A few days ago I went to Galignani, across from the Louvre. It’s the oldest English bookstore on the continent. I went to the back where the books in English are and was blown away. First, as I said, I am someone who judge books by their cover. It was obvious that the covers used on the European editions of books differ- and are FAR superior- to their US counterparts. Damn near every book had covers that were beautiful. Either the photography or the graphics, but the design was just drop dead phenomenal. And it wasn’t just titles from one publishing house either. (Although Penguin titles seemed to extra stand out…) Across the board they were all markedly light years better than almost anything in the states.
And although they had a large selection of books it wasn’t like being in a Borders or B&N. It was a decent size for a bookstore in Paris with an English selection, but definitely not expansive. Yet, the selection they did have was outstanding. I easily could of walked out with 50 books. Instead I walked out with one. What blew my mind was when I went to the V’s. Before my eyes, not one, not two, but six titles by William T. Vollmann? I have yet to see a store back home that carries one, let alone six. The books of his I have I have all had to order online. But here…
I picked The Atlas because it seemed appropriate.
(They also had a selection of Nick Tosches, which is rare to see…)
The following day I dragged Jill out to hit more bookstores. I had picked up a copy of East of Eden in Galignani, but thought I might be able to find it used at one of the other places. Turns out I was wrong. We went to Village Voice Bookshop (new only; smallish selection), San Francisco Book Co. (used only; good selection, not for anyone that requires order), The Abbey (new & used; see: San Francisco Book Co.) and Shakespeare & Co. (new only; lots of history, lots of books, tourist trap) and none had it. So today I went back to Galignani and in between posting, finishing the third season of The Wire I have had my nose in it…
During one leg of our roadtrip, the conversation obviously turned to books, literature and authors. (See end of post for my often discussed/mentioned top 5.) Great convos for sure. Again, I commented that even as a recovering dope fiend, I still fear running out. If I find something I like I want to buy several of whatever it is, in case the original runs out or breaks. One of the things I love about reading and books is that the list of books to get to is endless. I can never run out. And for someone like me… It gives me a little bit of security.
Strange fact time?
Bookstores and libraries make me have to take a shit. No lie. Ask my family or any of my exes. If you are in a bookstore and want to find me, scan the place quick, then head for the men’s stalls.
My top 5 books (in no order & subject to change at any time):
- And the Ass Saw the Angel by Nick Cave
- The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks
- Big Machine by Viktor LaValle
- Horace Afoot by Frederick Reuss
- Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami
Tags: books, bookstores, Paris
We will always have Bonneville
Aug 19, 2010 travel
So I am not as great keeping the blog updated while away as I would have expected/hoped/liked.
One reason is that there is a ton of relaxing downtime and I don’t want to A.) change that, and B.)be someone that posts/blogs/tweets annoying shit like “sitting at coffee shop drinking café crème” or “Slept in, went to store and got stuff for breakfast, made breakfast, went to cafe, read, fucked around online, went to the oldest bookstore on the continent across from the Louvre, then went to Colette. Came home, made dinner, went to cafe to read book I bought, came home and watched a few episodes of The Wire.”
But, I did recently get back from a 10 day road trip with friends through the south of France and had an amazing time. Plus, once my mom gives me shit saying she checks and is willing to read my blog -when the woman hasn’t read one issue of my magazine because of “the language Christopher. The language…”- it is time to do a little recap.
Having said all that, I am going to spare everyone the play by play of the trip. You will have to wait for the book. (And I know people have Billy has a short attention span for long blogposts.) I will try to keep it to a summary and highlights.
So the rough idea is two of our friends got married 8 months ago, they planned a trip to France, wanted to crash with us in Paris, and we wanted to or were invited to crash their roadtrip. Their style of travel meshes pretty well with ours: have a rough idea and figure it out as you go. The original idea was to make it to Barcelona, Spain, but it would of required a breakneck pace and I don’t think that suited anyone. So instead a car was rented for 10 days and Marseilles became the furthest south destination. Between here (Paris) and there (Marseilles) we stopped in Lyon, Anemasse/Geneva and Chamonix/Mont Blanc in that order.
On our way to Lyon we found the most amazing boulangerie in the world (in Bonneville), that made the best pizza in the world.
Stopped at a street fair and continued on to Lyon, where we stayed in the palacial Hotel Helder. Rooms were not pricey, which explains why they apparently didn’t have any disinfectant, odor eater, sanitizer or cleaning services in their budget. One of those things you thug your way through at the time knowing you will look back and laugh. Or at least 3 of the 4 of us will.
Had an amazing lunch the following day.
That night for dinner I ate cow cheek and pig intestine. Willingly. And they were both pretty good.
From there to Anemasse, which is right over the border from Geneva, Switzerland. That city is fucking balleriffic. On one corner there was a Fendi, Louis Vuitton, Cartier, Phillpe Patek. I counted 5 Ferraris, 1 Maybach and 1 Lambo.
From there we headed to Chamonix. Crazy. Situated in the French Alps and at the base of Mont Blanc, it was like waking up on a movie set. The only thing comparable as the scenery in New Zealand. It was crajee.
First thing we did when we got there was book whitewater river rafting and headed up to the ice cave. It is a man made cave, drilled into a glacier. It was insane.
Spent a few days there and among other things, broke my 15 consecutive year string of not owning a pair of Nikes. But how could I pass these up?
One day we took 2 gondolas up to the top for the view. Amazing.
The weather held up until the day we left, and our scheduled whitewater rafting trip. Luckily, once you are in a wetsuit, with booties, and a helmet and a life preserver, rafting down a river of glacier water, a little drizzle doesn’t really matter.
Next and last was Marseilles. We drove in and like most of the cities we encountered problems with directions. Then again, you figure 4 people driving in a foreign country who can’t speak the language or read the signs and don;t have maps but have taken pics of google directions on their digi cameras to try and read/navigate off of, are certainly in for some mis-steps.
As a result, our initial impressions of Marseilles is that of driving into Beruit. Shit was fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked up. We knew it was the heroin capitol of Europe, but goddamn. Judging by looks, it was as if graffiti was not only legal but encouraged. (In service trains with burners = yes!)
We weren’t even sure if we would stay. The room we booked the night before looked to be the nicest of the trip, but it was initially looking dismal. We eventually found our hotel and despite the reception area being straight out of One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest (complete with dudes nodded out and drooling, woman with buttcheeks that hung out of her shorts, and the dude with a stuffed animal stuck down the front of but sticking out of his pants) the hotel was really nice. And our initial impression of the city did a 180.
We dined the first night at a phenomenally amazing restaurant who had a chef that, well, deserves his own blogpost.
The next day we hit the beach. We went from the mountains of the French Alps one day to the beaches of the French Riviera the next. Baller.
Then we headed home, but not before going out of our way to stop at the same boulangerie in Bonneville. They didn’t have the same pizza, but they had pizza bread that was the second best pizza we ever ate.
There is a ton of stuff I didn’t post, some of the details, but I wanted to drop some of the highlights. We put 1600 kilometers/klicks on the rental car. Ernest and Kelly were great road dogs and we had a blast and tons of laughs and shit to remember. It had to come to an end, but we will always have Bonneville.
Top 5 trip highlights (not in any order):
- Jean-Luc
- pizza bread/vanilla eclairs from the Bonneville boulangerie
- The ice cave in Chamonix
- The beach in Marseilles
- Whitewater rafting in Chamonix
Tags: boulangerie, Chamonix, France, Geneva, Lyon, Marseilles, road trip, whitewater rafting
Jean-Luc
Aug 19, 2010 travel
So when we got to Marseilles, we were all a little worn out and spent from the ride and felt like we deserved a nice meal. We had had some good ones, but no out of this world experience that we were all looking for.
After Ernest’s pick/pig suckling fiasco back in Paris, he was looking for redemption. He got it when he picked Le Cafe des Arts. We ended up eating there two nights in a row.
The first night as we sauntered down th street looking for a place to eat, we were at first invited in by a man in a white jacket who turned out to be the chef. As we placed our order, we were situated near the open grill area where we could actually see him preparing the food. He was clearly an intriguing sort of character, so we just started throwing all these things out there about him and his life. And I actually started jotting things down.
First things first, we guessed his name was Jean-Luc.
Here’s the rest:
- has wife
- 2 mistresses
- one older (spanish/italian)
- one younger (blonde, french)
- 3 sons
- 1 gay, mongrel brother
- Porshe Cayenne SUV
- Restaurant loft
- big cock
- talks on cell while cooking
- leopard print glasses
- CK briefs/g-string underwear
- CK loafers
- spotless white cooking jacket
- gambling debts (ponies)
- dogs:
toy yorkie and/or rhodesian ridgebacks (whose ridge compliments his ponytail) - into archery. big time. expensive bows.
- mixes drinks
- smokes $45 cadrones
- drinks red wine & johnny walker blue
- could eff your girl and not only would you not be mad, but you would understand
- owns small but nice boat with sail
- country home with white stallions
- gardens/grows his own herbs
- owns a pagan approved Harley-Davidson
- one son is an addict
- painting
it’s his true passion… but couldn’t make living from. Turned to cooking as an artisian expression - his food tastes like fire
- raised on a farm
- no culinary school. art school?
- no tshirt. bare breasted.
- one true love is his older mistress… but he has loved them all.
- retires to Italy
- dies in his mid 80′s in excellent shape and health
- Jean-Luc chops his own firewood
- did all the paintings in the restaurant
- Jean-Luc allows photos (but not with his glasses on)
- has one illegitimate daughter
- plays spanish guitar
- collects old books
- collects religious art
- addict son has afrikan girlfriend
- has a woman in Corsica he takes his boat to see
- makes son wash his Porsche daily
- grinds his own ice
- wife has same leopard print glasses
- stomps his own grapes for wine
The man.
The myth.
The legend.
Tags: chef, food, Jean-Luc, Le Cafe des Arts, Marseilles, restaurant
la maison rouge
Aug 1, 2010 art, travel, video
So in Paris, the first Sunday of the month is free museum day, where all the city’s museums are gratis. Since I have been here for weeks and have yet to visit a single one, after brunch we decided to walk all the way to La Maison Rouge in the 12th. I was feeling very lazy after stuffing my face with all sorts of breakfast yummies, and almost opted for a nap, but Jill pushed since I hadn’t been to one museum and it was free, and I’m glad we went.
Of course in Malo form and fashion, it was a foundation and not a museum, so it wasn’t free. But after walking for an hour, we forked over the 7 euros each to see the three exhibitions. One I liked, one I laughed and one I was just meh. (That was the ethnic headdress one.)
Let’s start with the one I liked.
jean de maximy, suite inexacte en homologie singulière (1968-2005)
12 June – 26 September 2010
When Jean de Maximy (b. 1931) exhibited at the Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris in 1971, he was far from imagining that the work he showed would not be finished for another 40 years. This ink drawing, which he began in 1968, extends over hundreds of 50 x 60cm sheets. Geometric figures move through a romantic landscape towards a distant horizon. Elsewhere they appear in an enclosed, labyrinthine space that is redolent of Piranesi’s prisons. The frieze that will run for some sixty metres through the gallery spaces around the patio will plunge visitors into a mysterious world of constant metamorphosis.
This was just fucking impressive. Huge. Imagine spending almost 50 years crosshatching with a pen on a paper that’s nearly 200 feet long. It looks like a black and white acid trip. It incorporates geometric shapes and landscapes and is amazingly shaded. Some parts even look like a photograph. It was dope to look at it both up close and from a distance.
And then there was the one that had me scratching my head…
peter buggenhout, it’s a strange, strange world, Sally
12 June – 26 September 2010
After the first showing in Paris of a work by Peter Buggenhout (b. 1963 in Belgium) for the Mutatis Mutandis exhibition in 2007, la maison rouge now presents the artist’s first solo show in France. Peter Buggenhout transforms discarded material, reclaimed objects and organic residues into sculptures. Both repelling and compelling, these autonomous, solitary, indefinable shapes are as much miniature universes as they are parts of a fantasy macrocosm. They are the “archaeological finds of the future.” An important group of works gives insight into the artist’s singular world. Amorphous and escaping classification, three categories of sculpture are represented: those covered in dust (The Blind Leading the Blind) with four large works, an astonishing in situ installation of dust in a 120 sq m/ 1,300 sq ft room, and works impregnated with animal blood (Gorgo) or made from entrails.
So in case you missed that, he makes art with found objects, dust from vacuum cleaners, blood and pig entrails. Yup. I mean, how can you pass that up? How often can you hear something like that and say, “Oh that old trick again?”
The first installations Jill nailed on the head when she said, “They look like dirty air conditioning filters.” Pretty much. Look, I definitely wouldn’t claim to be the art dude, but it was one of those “really, how the fuck does this get in any exhibits, let alone called art” moments. I couldn’t take any pics (I had got in trouble for writing notes looking at the de Maximy drawing, but maybe that was just my pen that made them nervous…) but here’s some from the foundation’s site:
This gem took 6 years to pull off:
Then I went into a room to see his sculptures made of pig intestines. Jill waited upstairs and I took advantage of the wandering guard who was sneaking in calls to his shorty on his cell phone to take a few pics.
Art. Art?
(<— insert diatribe rant about the definition of, labeling of and/or making of art, here—>)
So we walked home and watched Lost in Translation.
Tags: it’s a strange, jean de maximy, la maison rouge, Paris, peter buggenhout, Sally, strange world, suite inexacte en homologie singulière (1968-2005)
Yesterday…
Jul 26, 2010 travel
tour de france finish
and
macaroons from laduree
Tags: Laduree, Paris, Tour de France
Paris. So far…
Jul 24, 2010 travel
Way overdue.
Sue me.
I got to Paris about two weeks ago. Clearly I have acclimated to the schedule I keep back home in the US. I am up all night, going to bed around 4 or 5 am, and since I don’t have a pesky thing called a job, I sleep until 2 in the afternoon. Can you blame me? Usually there is breakfast around 4. That consists of either going out to a cafe (which can be difficult in and of itself. Apparently they aren’t on my american schedule and stop serving their menu around 2 or 3 not to offer food again until 7ish…) or going to the store for eggs and cheese and the patissiere or lingerie for a baguette. From there we head out. Our schedule seems to be so damn relaxed if we have one thing to do on the list, that typical eats up our day. Let’s say we are going to the American Church to look for job and/or flats to rent, that’s our day. We may do that, walk around, figure out dinner and just kind of fall through the rest of the day. It’s strange because we get up and out so late (except today where I set my alarm for the second time and forced myself to get up and out to a cafe to do some writing, at 11am…) and with the fact it doesn’t get dark until 11pm, the day can be fairly deceptive. But with two weeks gone by I thought an update as far as what my days have consisted of were in order. I remember being on a family trip years ago and seeing my sister take copious notes. I laughed a little at her, out loud and in my head, and as usual with my family now I realize how right she was. I have been carrying a moleskin with me and jot down little notes throughout my day. So from those hints and my recollection, here’s a little rundown and some pics so far.
7/12/10
Landed in Paris. Jill had told me if I brought a box fan we could call the last 2 months even. The woman at Jet Airways looked a little sideways at me as I checked it as a piece of luggage, but oh well. I had to change airlines in Brussels before arriving in Paris. Baggage claim was my moment of truth. My oversized backpack came around first so I thought my chances might be good after all. After 20 minutes and the passengers thinning, when the sign read “Delivery Complete” I thought some stinky hot Parisian had gotten their grubby Eiffel Tower paws on my fan. Of course they would of. I would of done the same if I lived here with no air conditioning or fans as hot as Jill told me it had been.
I found the place to file the report of missing baggage and as I stood in line it occurred to me. A.) I don’t speak a word of French (save for “Voulez Vous A Chez Avec Moi,” which I later learned was actually written by someone from Belgium, which Parisians disdain) B.) I don’t have an address to give them should they find it to deliver to C.) I don’t have a phone number for them to call should they find it D.) I am thinking that the chances of one of the pictures on the little card for all the different pieces of luggage that people who don’t speak the language can point to is not likely to have a picture of a box fan. Wonderful.
I am supposed to meet Jill outside the baggage claim, and with no other way of connecting with her I wonder if I am wasting my time and about to miss connecting with Jill. But I decide that the act of trying to fix the last two months trumps almost anything else so I decide to at least try.
And that’s when the man from the airline wheeled up a cart with my fan on it.
I met Jill, went back to the flat.
She plugged the fan in.
In under 30 seconds the motor burned out.
At least I did my part.
7/13/10
Breakfast at a cafe.
Went to the pedestrian bridge over the Seine.
Walked around and bumped into a street festival in the third.
7/14/10
Bastille Day.
Rainrainrain.
Went to Trocadero and Eiffel Tower with Randy and his girlfriend to watch the fireworks.
Start to realize how odd it is not to be checking phone every 5 minutes. For calls, txts, messages, email, Around Me, Facebook…
Also strange not to feel constantly threatened or on edge or challenged here.
Also start to realize how goddamn stylish the people are here. Not in a high falootin’ Athens kind of way, but damn.
7/15/10
Lazy day.
Slept until 4pm.
Crepes at 1am.
Realize that nights are pretty quiet, with the occasional inebriated laughter.
Cars don’t ride with windows down and radio on blast.
People seem to live more than exist here.
No ratrace.
7/16/10
Lazy day.
Read a lot. Started reading Hunter Thompson’s “The Great Shark Hunt.” Excellent.
7/17/10
Brunch at Paris’ version of Sabrina’s.
Watched bums taking pics of each other on their cellphones.
Weather is great.
Went to American Church for job/flat hunt.
Went to outdoor film festival, Cinema En Plein Air to see The Wild Ones.
7/18/10
Hung out with Randy.
Visited the basement of the Socialist Party’s Paris headquarters. Strange.
Walked around the Jewish section of the city.
Falafels.
Je suis Daltonian. Colorblind.
7/19/10
Met up with Ed’s friend Chris and his girlfriend Kelly for lunch in the 5th.
Good times and good convo.
Walked to Jardon du Luxembourg.
Looked for Billy’s fountain but concert taking place.
Watched amazingly awkward Parisian runners. They are amazingly ungraceful and look like they are in a state or perpetual tripping.
Cooked steak and potatoes au gratin with a baguette and salt butter for dinner.
7/20/10
Made breakfast and packed lunch.
Headed for the gardens outside of the Louvre for the day. They also had a fair going on in the garden too.
Read, practiced French, talked.
Started trying to make plans for a short trip. Where and when are the questions.
7/21/10
More trip planning. May head to London to crash with George.
Did some shopping.
Dinner with Pierre and Benedikt.
7/22/10
More shopping in the hip hop & hookers section of the city. On a sneaker and shorts hunt.
Went to movies and saw Inception. Really. Fucking. Good.
7/23/10
The sneaker/short hunt continues. Maybe a bag too?
Cooler. Rainy.
More attempted trip planning.
More reading/realizing how great HST is…
And today I have woken up to get some cafe crem at a cafe, bang away on this keyboard.
We are supposed to be going to a travel agent, followed by some more shopping, etc.
Here’s even more pictures which I also update regularly and has more/all pics:
Pictures
I suppose that it sounds like we haven’t done much. But we have.
Relaxed, taking it easy, taking in the way of life here. There’s plenty of time to do tourist and museum stuff, so we didn’t want to go at a breakneck pace as if we are here for a week or two. A lot of our days are spent walking around in Paris. How fucking great is that. There are parks everywhere, cafes every where, something extravagant everywhere, something that is a small detail everywhere. We have watched almost three seasons of Breaking Bad since I have arrived, but there is also a ton of taking in the city too. It feels like a perfect balance.
This is an amazing city. The last time I was here I was pretty banged up. But there is so much to see and do. So easy to people watch.
Hard not to want to move here…
I will post and update about the trip more regularly.
Tags: Paris
Things fall apart…
Jul 13, 2010 travel
And sometimes things fall back together.
she said she loved my show in paris
at Elysee Montmartre
and that I stepped off the stage
and took a piece of her heart
we knew from the start that
things fall apart, intentions shatter
she like that shit don’t matter…
Tags: Paris
