First the film Ironman, then Arrested Development, I Love You Man, Zombieland, and True Lies, now The Sandlot??? Where does it end? Is everything filmed in LA?? I have a fabulous hard drive that I brought to France, filled with films and tv series alike but I can't watch a certain number of them because they feature beautiful, exciting, too-good-to-be-true visuals of Los Angeles and various neighborhoods I used to frequent 2 months ago. It's aggravating. I just started watching The Sandlot, heard the phrase "The Valley" and clicked out. I can't handle this. Obvi I'm adjusting fine, wrists intact, but I made the mistake of watching the series finale of Sex and the City (based in New York, mind you) where Carrie goes to Paris and has difficulty adjusting to life there, experiences culture shock, doesn't speak the language fluently, and misses her 3 best friends, and totally fell apart. I spoke with another friend today and found out she had a bad night recently too. Homesickness: it's catching.
When I rule out obvious LA references (to- my old life, routines, comfort, stability, family, security blanket, total and serene peaceful existence) and films I've already watched, I'm left with the remaining films on my hard drive: Love Actually, The Notebook, and Romeo & Juliet. Though lovesickness is a fate worse than longing for your country, R&J features the most violence of the three and for that must be commended above its competitors. And it practically features psychedelic drugs as an indirect lead so what's not to like? Really if there was a giant Ecstasy pill bemoaning the "Ides of March" after Mercutio's drag dance number it couldn't be any more of a major plot indicator.
Hide yo kids! Hide yo husband! HSN is comin' for ya.
Bah.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
misc
My town is 24,000 people and probably 4 miles in diameter, counting all of the residential neighborhoods. And still I get lost while running well mapped routes, complete with maps.google satellite images.
Most of the leaves have fallen and changed colors already - something I haven't seen in years and something I've never seen on this magnitude or color spectrum.
It's begun to rain at least weekly. But even though I walk everywhere and cars park on the sidewalks here, forcing me to walk in the street sometimes, I haven't really gotten wet.
There have been exactly 4 cars since I've arrived that blare their music and pump their bass like they live in LA.
And if I make it out for a run before 10am, I will inevitably cross paths with an old man, who walks with a cane and wears a page boy cap circa 1935. I always say good morning to him as I pass and he replies in turn, "Bonjour belle mademoiselle!" every time.
Most of the leaves have fallen and changed colors already - something I haven't seen in years and something I've never seen on this magnitude or color spectrum.
It's begun to rain at least weekly. But even though I walk everywhere and cars park on the sidewalks here, forcing me to walk in the street sometimes, I haven't really gotten wet.
There have been exactly 4 cars since I've arrived that blare their music and pump their bass like they live in LA.
And if I make it out for a run before 10am, I will inevitably cross paths with an old man, who walks with a cane and wears a page boy cap circa 1935. I always say good morning to him as I pass and he replies in turn, "Bonjour belle mademoiselle!" every time.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Hair today...
Sometimes I get restless and usually when I feel like things are out of my control or I need a change, I do something impulsive. Like move to France.
Last Friday, I was feeling restless and decided to brave the pirate waters of foreign hair salons for a trim and some layers. I tried to prepare as best I could, but couldn't find the colloquial French word for 'layers' in my French-to-English dictionary and so decided that asking for different "levels" in my hair would have to suffice, hoping with mime and emphatic facial expressions I would get the point across. The stylist (who was young, cute with a fashionable hairstyle herself - in short, trustworthy) understood I wanted layers and even provided the correct term for it, "degrade". Believing that my French was working, I went on to specify I wanted 2 inches trimmed all around and also pointed out the level at which I wanted the shortest layer to be. She then cut off everything beneath that. She literally made what I wanted to be my shortest layer, my longest. A good 5-6 inches. The woman owes me a scarf. On the plus side it was one of the cheaper haircuts I've gotten at 18 euros (roughly $25), but maybe that's because the stylists are fresh out of L'Institut de Paul Mitchell.
Actually I like it. Despite the initial shock, I was toying with the idea of chopping it all off (again) anyway. So maybe I should be thanking her or finding the French Yelp online. I'm not all that particular about my hair and am a big believer that 'it grows back, so let's not worry about it'. But I wouldn't recommend attempting a foreign salon for the faint of heart, or the high maintenance. Adventure is out there!
Last Friday, I was feeling restless and decided to brave the pirate waters of foreign hair salons for a trim and some layers. I tried to prepare as best I could, but couldn't find the colloquial French word for 'layers' in my French-to-English dictionary and so decided that asking for different "levels" in my hair would have to suffice, hoping with mime and emphatic facial expressions I would get the point across. The stylist (who was young, cute with a fashionable hairstyle herself - in short, trustworthy) understood I wanted layers and even provided the correct term for it, "degrade". Believing that my French was working, I went on to specify I wanted 2 inches trimmed all around and also pointed out the level at which I wanted the shortest layer to be. She then cut off everything beneath that. She literally made what I wanted to be my shortest layer, my longest. A good 5-6 inches. The woman owes me a scarf. On the plus side it was one of the cheaper haircuts I've gotten at 18 euros (roughly $25), but maybe that's because the stylists are fresh out of L'Institut de Paul Mitchell.
Actually I like it. Despite the initial shock, I was toying with the idea of chopping it all off (again) anyway. So maybe I should be thanking her or finding the French Yelp online. I'm not all that particular about my hair and am a big believer that 'it grows back, so let's not worry about it'. But I wouldn't recommend attempting a foreign salon for the faint of heart, or the high maintenance. Adventure is out there!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)