Creepy Ad

I just got back tonight from a wonderful vacation in Stockholm. Before I blog about that, however, I wanted to mention a creepy ad that recently went up all over Paris and Marseille. It features two middle-aged men—who are possibly well known and probably pedophiles—making faces that make me uncomfortable. Apparently this is supposed to make you want to buy car insurance.

Marseille was a riot, literally

I just got back from a fun weekend in Marseille with two friends. Things got a little intense, however, when the soccer match between Marseille and Paris was postponed at the last minute and people started rioting. Unfortunately we were on a boat tour during the incident and did not get to witness/participate.

(I leave tonight for Stockholm but will devote an extensive blog post to my travels when I get back.)

The 13th

I thought I'd dedicate a post to the 13th arrondissement, a part of Paris that is not very well known and is currently going through a ton of development. ( My French University, Paris 7, is in the 13th and thus I've spent a good amount of time there. ) As you can see from some of the pictures, the 13th is full of pretty modern-looking apartment buildings and doesn't exactly look like story-book Paris. Also in the 13th is the Biblioteque François Mitterand, a national library that hosts talks and exhibits and a foresty courtyard. I'm not sure how the French feel about the four buildings—which are supposed to represent open books—but I really like them. All in all, I really like the area.

Allez les bleus!

When my dad was visiting, we went to see France play Austria in a World Cup qualifying match. The stadium, just beyond the city limits, is pretty well done for being a huge block of concrete. It was a fun game, with France winning 3-1. (France must now play Ireland in a playoff in order to qualify for the World Cup in South Africa in 2010.)

There were flags on everyone's seat, which made for a cool effect when France scored their goals. Also, French crowds LOVE doing the wave; hardly five minutes would pass without an enthusiastic fan starting one up.

It was pretty cold and my dad, as seen in the picture, was wearing his fashion week-finest to keep warm.

Camera Obscura

Last night, I went with two friends from the program to see the Scottish band Camera Obscura. Despite some technical problems, the show was fun. At one point the lead singer, Tracyanne Campbell—and apparently the rest of the band—forgot the words to one of the songs and had to ask an audience member for help. Luckily there was an avid fan in the front row who knew the lyrics. (Also, thanks to Ryan for the picture, as I didn't want to lug my SLR to the show.)

The venue, La Maroquinerie, is quite cool and seems to be a big Parisian—and Brit—hipster hangout spot in the very cool 20th arrondissement.

For all my edgy, indie-rock-loving blog-followers, I also have tickets to see Grizzly Bear with St. Vincent (courtesy of Julia) and Atlas Sound.

PD

For those of you who do not know my dad, Phil Durst, you have no idea what you're missing . . . or how lucky you are. He is a schlubby Jew originally from New York—all these things are apparent from his appearance—and has been repeating the same jokes for as long as I can remember. But all joking aside, he's a real treat. He spent the last week in Paris visiting me/asking me to translate really stupid jokes to my host family. We had a great time and had some amazing traditional French meals. And surprisingly, my host parents really liked him. (Not understanding many of his jokes, they remarked that his constant joking was dry and clearly of Anglo-Saxon tradition. I tried to explain that actually he just isn't funny.) Here are a few Phil Durst-stories from his trip. (I'll add more as I remember them.)

--Strolling through Montmartre one night, my dad, seeing a pedestrian walking the other direction, suddenly spun around and said loudly, "Andy?!" It was of course not Andy and the pedestrian continued walking away.

--In addition to considering himself a comedian, my dad also fancies himself an artist and would proclaim several times a day: "Eli, I thought of a great photo series idea for you." He would consistently follow this with a terrible photo series idea.

--One night we walked by a Pizza Hut with a bunch of mopeds in front that were all red and had the Pizza Hut logo printed on the side. "Do we think those are their delivery vehicles?" he inquired. (He often uses the pronoun "we" to mean "I," which can be fairly annoying, as I thought it was quite clear that those were the delivery mopeds.)

--Another PD quirk is that he loves swimming on vacation. This vacation was, of course, no different, despite the fact that it was 50 degrees outside. My host family was a little surprised that my dad wanted to spend his time in Paris in a pool.

--He tried to get me to translate the word "crypt keeper," which I did not know, so that he could make one of his standard jokes that my mom is old and mean. Sarcasm doesn't always translate well, especially when you don't speak a word of the language, and I think my host family was a little shocked by the fact that he was calling his wife old and mean.

But like I said, we had a great time and I'm really glad he came to visit. Love you, dad.

Le Cyclop

(the front)

(ultra-creepy piece inside by the artist's wife called "Invitation to Commit Suicide.")

(gears)

(creepy moving chairs.)

This past weekend, I went on a a field trip with my art installation class—which I signed up for after dropping the way-over-my-head Proust/psychoanalysis class I foolishly decided to take. We took a bus about an hour outside of Paris to visit Le Cyclop, a 70-foot tall interactive "scultpture" that you walk into. It was pretty cool and very weird.

Fashion Week

This past week in Paris—and other select cities—has been Fashion Week. I would not have known this unless my a friend had told me. Here are pictures of two outfits shown this week in Paris that express how stupid fashion shows are. It's like if car manufacturers had a car show and only displayed super ugly, uncomfortable, and non-functional models that would never go on sale and nobody would ever drive in public. Needless to say, I'll be sticking to the Franklin & Marshall collection this fall.

King of the Pop

Walking through the streets of Paris with my dad, we noticed this memorial to Michael Jackson inscribed on the wall of the tunnel where princess Diana was killed. (Apparently it has become just a general area of remembrance.) It is a sweet sentiment and therefor forgivable that the drawing looks more like Jigsaw from the Saw movie series with a piece of spaghetti on his face than MJ.

RIP