Sunday, June 15, 2008

|Brussels in under 18hrs?! Done.|

Part of the plan for spending half the summer in the Paris office was to go and see other parts of Europe. I was going to go with a friend from the London office, but it was too costly to get from London to Brussels. So, only being able to sightsee for a while by myself (it’s like going to a club alone – I can dance for two or three hours by myself, but then I start to become very aware that I’m by myself), I decided, crazily, to take a “day” trip to Brussels.

The plan: arrive in Brussels on Saturday in the mid-afternoon, sightsee, sightsee, dine, club and bar hop all night until my early Sunday morning train. I took my blackberry with me and this is my log of the events. (I would have sent them directly to the blog rather than keeping a long test file, but for reasons passing understanding my firm issued me a blackberry from 20 blackberries ago and it didn’t have enough juice to keep the wireless constantly on [having only decided to journal the journey when I was on the subway to Gare du Nord].)


12.51 I arrive to the train.


12.55 Messages start in (order) French, Dutch (Flemish?), German and English.


13.33 Food service begins. Yay for first class! Get 'tude from the server 'cause I don't understand his question and he has to speak to me in English. FYI: I pige the question, I just don't understand why he asked me "Would [lunch] bother you?"


13.59 Rain starts to pound on the window. It's going to be a wonderful excursion.


14.14 Train begins to pull into the station. ‘Tude-y server handed out little chocolates and the rain appears to have let up.


14.35 After consulting about six different maps/plans (the first one I look at is a night bus map and I don't figure that out until my fifth map) I board the #2 train bound for Simonis, where I plan to transfer to the #1 bound for Roi Baudouin (getting off at Heysel).


14.40 I take mental note that from the train car, Brussels looks to be far more diverse than I would have expected. (But I also got on the subway near a train station – I wonder if that has something to do with the diversity.)


14.48 The board indicating how far away all trains heading to the station I’m at are (and how close some are that have come and gone) lights to indicate the train that was at a station one minute away is "now" in my station and at that instant the train pulls in. I wonder if that board is ever inaccurate.


15.07 Train briefly pulls out into the open air and the Atomium (my quarry) (built for the 1958 World's Fair) flashes by in an instant before we plunge back underground. So awesome.


15.11 I step out into fresh Brussels air for the first time. It's wet. It smells like fries. And American rock music is glaring. Evidently this is a theme park.


15.22 I am lost at Heysel. I can see the Atomium, but I cannot see how to get there.


16.10 A new feeling: resentment of all the Belgian school kids (or kids field tripping to Brussels) who get to overnight in the Kids' Sphere.


16.19 Speaking of kids, a cute little Arabic boy pushes the "stop" button on the escalator just as I get off. His mother and I exchange a look. Mine says, "Cuyeurt!" and hers says, "::sighs:: he's done this before."


16.43 There is a quartet of Spaniards behind me. At first I liked them because while none of them (2 guys and 2 girls) is especially attractive, they are all nicely dressed (compared to the rest of the crowd). BUT they keep bumping into me (absolutely no sense of personal space) and bit by bit they have started to edge ahead of me in the "line" for the elevator to the top. Grrrr!


16.46 Ah, the view from the top – achieved by taking what was the world's fastest elevator in 1958.


17.01 To the Pavilion of Temporary Happiness! (Constructed entirely out of beer crates, celebrating/mourning the trappings and bric-a-brac of the 1958 World's Fair, modernity and hope for the future.)


17.26 (after finally making it through the line for the world's fastest elevator in 1958, NOW) To the Pavilion of Temporary Happiness!


17.46 (too much time in the gift shop, and NOW NOW) to the Pavilion of Temporary Happiness!


18.13 I am in the craziest coolest room ever, in the Pavilion of Temporary Happiness. It's the size of a large master bedroom and is all black, but on all of the walls and ceiling are being projected the images of a movie. With sound and translations on the walls depending on the language of the speaker at any given time. It’s a documentary in five dimensions about the '58 World's Fair. What's crazy is that some of the images go into the others in a really cool and choreographed way.

-------

18.21 Nothing temporary about the happiness here. I could spend all day exploring the fair grounds, but now its time to explore the city (i.e., eat some gauffres). To La Grand Place!

18.29 I am almost back to the subway and I realize I didn't go to Mini-Europe. So no pics of me on the cusp of destroying puny European monuments. Next time I'm in Bruparck.


19.03 Shakespeare saves me again:
the Sun sets in the west.Hôtel de Ville,here I come!

19.08 Spot superheroes (?) on the steps of the Bourse (?).

19.12 Never been so happy to spot a gay bar. Someone needs to bleed the lizard. And oh, they are playing the Macarena!

19.16 Now satisfied, I sit with a glass of Leffe watching gay men celebrate a wall full of girls dance and lip synch to
Celine and that hippy the hop song.

19.23 I pass the third lace shop in not nearly as many blocks.

19.35 I turn down a passage and suddenly the sun is blotted out by awning warfare – each restaurant vying for out door space on a street barely four people wide. And I feel like I am walking in a circle around the Grand Place. Surely it’s here somewhere. Hmmm...

19.51 After almost giving up and going to dinner... Success.

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20.00 Shrieks of pleasure and red and yellow face painted mobs are pouring out onto the street – looks like Belgium (or someone) won the match.

20.09 I ask a senior citizen couple the way to the Musée Royale (where I have chosen to have dinner). The husband starts to speak, pointing where I need to go, as the sound of an accordion wafts through the air. His red-haired wife slaps his pointer finger down, tells him he has no idea what he's talking about, and proceeds to give me the very same directions.

20.19 She had said to climb to the top of the big staircase. "What big staircase I asked?" Oh, that big staircase. It's a biiiiiig staircase.

20.53 I have just finished soaking up the Place Royale and am in the Museum Brasserie. If the food is un tiers as good as the decor, I'm in business.

21.08 I just ordered North Sea shrimp croquettes with fried parsley to start, with roasted farm-raised chicken cooked in Westmalle beer as my main dish. Of my choices, the server assured me that they are the most "classic" but also less commonly found. After taking more pics of the resto, I sip my glass of the house aperitif (champagne and lime) (third glass of champagne in two days) (yesterday at Spoon for lunch, the partner ordered champagne to start followed by white wine. Ahh, working in Paris) and the question occurs to me: at what point did I stop being carded? Yeah, I know I’m +5yrs legal now, but whatevs. Just curious. Maybe this is just how Europe do.

21.14 This may be the most fantastic (and salty!) butter I have ever ever ever had.

21.22 At 21.21 I ordered a glass of a Chilean chardonnay from one server. It just arrived, brought by an entirely different server. Provide quick service much?!

21.28 FRITES! How could I have forgotten to order them? Consider the problem rectified. Meanwhile, also consider that fried parsley is weird and has lost all of the refreshing spice that makes parsley so lovely.

21.35 Other than the staff (which seems to be half white, half North African), I think I'm the only easily discernibly non white person in the whole of the Museum Brasserie. So much for all that lush diversity.

21.54 Three landmark conclusions: 1) after tasting the butter, shrimp, fries and chicken, I feel comfortable in unequivocally stating that the Belgians are NOT afraid to salt their food; and 2) chicken should always be cooked in Westmalle beer; and finally 3) I am pretty sure I've had sex in Paris with the guy sitting next to me's identical twin.

22.00 Whoever claimed that European portions are smaller than American ones clearly included a footnote: "This claim does not apply to Belgium." Only through sheer will power am I going to get through dessert (I have not eaten in 8hrs and I'm still leaving large amounts on my plate), luckily I have +7hrs to walk it off.

22.06 Quel horreur! I can't have dessert because I have to skedaddle to one of the gay saunas before it closes at midnight. I am not in Brussels to get laid, but I would super duper love a shower before I continue on with my adventure. Guess I’ll have to get my gauffre on the street like everybelgian else.

22.18 I am in the bathroom washing my hands and it hits me: I haven't paid for the metro yet. I bought a ticket. But, having ridden it twice so far, I haven't encountered a machine or anything asking me for said ticket. I've just walked onto platforms and gotten onto trains. Huh.

22.27 I hop in the taxi that the Brasserie called for me and I am on my way to gay la-la (aka "Macho Sauna" on rue Marché au Charbon)

23.54 I am a HOTTIE in Brussels, apparently. I walked into the club and was quickly involved with a threesome in the sauna, a foursome in the steam room, and had to put a hot but crazy power bottom in his place for just being super uncool. Now I'm leaving, having been invited to a party.

01.03 So the party is a bunch of hot guys sexing, smoking and other-ing. But I'm D.A.R.E.-ing, so just watching. Well, mostly just watching. But still D.A.R.E.-ing. W00t, Brussels.

02.21 I tell Loic, the forever-tan French-Arabic guy who's throwing the party (and who invited me) that I need to get a street waffle before I go/it's too late. There goes my sex party cred.

02.23 Loic, in his typical French animated fashion, is mimicking me tip-tapping this log.

03.34 The party having ended, Loic took me on a quick tour of the city. We hit everything I'd already seen. Man, Brussels is tiny! And he's letting me crash for a few hours before I have to leave for my train. On the tour I decided not to take the waffles that were available. I'll look again in the morning. Evidently I am just an easy 10min walk from the train station.

04.40 Thoughts: Loic, you're crazy hot, but I'm more tired than you are hot. Lights out, buddy!

04.58 Ok, now lights out.

06.45 The alarm that Loic graciously (it is his Sunday morning, too, after all) set for me goes off. I feel like I didn't get any sleep at all (he's a French ronfleur [I am making that word up]).

07.03 Loic breaks my heart when he tells me the only gauffres available at this hour will be in the train station, not on the street. Someone should have been clearer last night (read: 3hrs ago).

07.06 Ah, the cool, crisp, breath-condensing Brussels morning!

07.22 I stumble onto the setting up of a marché aux puces. Looks mostly like a lot of uneven deals on off brand tube socks.

07.35 I contemplate getting a waffle at Häagen Dazs (lame, I know, but I gotta get something!), when I decide to check the time. "Schweet," I think, "20min. Wait, what time is my train?" With horror I realize that my 07.55 departure time is actually 07.43. Walk. Faster.

07.42 I board the train.

07.44 The train departs.

And that was Brussels.



promulgated by SWS2.1 at 15:30.
1 comments

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Thursday, June 05, 2008

|And that's why you keep keep waiting for the express train.|

Justin arrived today. He'll be here for a week. Part of this week is leaving for a villa in the south of France (Grau d'Agde, if you are familiar) for the weekend this afternoon (may I remind you that it's only Thursday).

Due to baggage issues and a tornado watch, his plane left late. And he had some trouble managing the journey from CDG to my APT. As a result, I did not leave for work until 10.55 this morning (I'm supposed to arrive between 9 and 10, ideally).

With the exception of the randomly excited bout of work that I had the past few days (so much work that I came in over the weekend, and worked for 15 hours on Monday), I have sat here, hour after hour, day after day doing nothing and not being sought by anybody.

And then, somewhere between Rue de Paresseux (laziness) and the Pont de Languissant (lackadaisical), on the day that I'm leaving early for a luxurious weekend, my blackberry buzzed with an email (from the managing partner): "SWS2.1, I've been vainly trying to reach you all morning. Are you in the office?"

C'mon!


promulgated by SWS2.1 at 09:27.
0 comments

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Tuesday, June 03, 2008

|Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Dubai is NOW the most extraordinary city in the world!|

Or so the Dubai Department of Tourism would have you believe, according to the ad I saw this morning on CNN.

I feel like I would find the ad less absurd if it had stated that "Dubai is the most extraordinary city in the world." That's the kind of unqualified superlative one expects from a tourism board. But that "now"...

That "now" suggests that the The Most Extraordinary City in the World Committee assessed Dubai's bid for the title and found it lacking. But then Dubai put its nose to the grindstone and corrected all of its deficiencies and, upon reassessment, the TMECWC gladly bestowed its most coveted (and singular) title upon the Emirate capital.

Or that at the most recent All World City Conference there was a motion to name Dubai as The Most Extraordinary City in the World and after a heated debate that lasted into the night, Dubai emerged from the electoral fray victorious.

Dubai better watch it's back, because I think Podgorica is already gearing up to take its place.


promulgated by SWS2.1 at 11:54.
0 comments

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|And Now I Feel Like a Lawyer|

(Not that I should or should have before given that I'm actually not.)

I just wrote "Exhibit A" on a document.


promulgated by SWS2.1 at 04:24.
0 comments

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Monday, June 02, 2008

|"Well, that's not REALLY country music, now is it?"|

I do not understand this obsession people have with claiming something as "really" this or that. I can't pretend to not be a fan of labels and I can certainly be accused of being overly persnicketty when it comes to categorization and classification, but sometimes it seems so unnecessary.

For example: I like white chocolate. I don't dislike dark, milk, or semi-sweet chocolates. It's just that I do not like them as much. I also fully acknowledge that "white chocolate" may perhaps be a misnomer, since there is not normally any chocolate in white chocolate. Nevertheless, more often than makes any sense, I will encounter someone who asks rhetorically, "How can you like white chocolate? It isn't even chocolate!"

It's almost as if they are upset with white chocolate itself for fronting as chocolate chocolate. Upset for the plight all of those pitiable rhubes who were duped into thinking they were about to savour the essence of the cacao, instead of just sugar and vegetable fat.

Listen here: white chocolate's confectionery wonderfulness is not impugned by someone ages ago having decided that for long-forgotten (though maybe easily guessed) reasons it was similar enough to chocolate to be so named.

And the same goes for so-called "country pop." The other day I was at lunch with some associates and some SA's at Pomze (a restaurant devoted to the glory that is the apple). I don't recall how or why it came up, but at some point I mentioned being a country fan. I specifically referred to Chris Cagle. To which one of the SA's (who I do like, despite her inspiring this rant), who hails from the Lonestar replied, "Well that's not really country music, now is it?"

Calling it "country" doesn't get my rocks off. I don't get paid a royalty by CMA or Sony each time I refer to Carrie Underwood or Josh Turner as "country." Other than conversational ease, I get nothing from referring to a certain class of the music that I listen to as country.

The point was that I like that artist -- the particular song strikes a particular chord (no pun intended) within me (albeit for reasons passing understanding).

It may not really be country music (though I dare you to define the category). And it may not really be chocolate (though I dare you to define that, too). But here's a better question: That does not really matter, now does it?


promulgated by SWS2.1 at 10:14.
1 comments

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Sunday, June 01, 2008

|Pimp My Cupcake, Please!|

As my friends will attest, I [heart] cupcakes. I probably make cupcakes 1.5x a month. I love cupcakes so much that back in the early spring I even had an all cupcake and muffin dinner party (the menu: [to start] caramel covered teacakes, gruyere sage and onion mini muffins, [main] asparagus and smoked salmon jumbo muffins, [sides] couscous minicakes, corn cupcakes with pesto cream cheese frosting, [dessert] florentine cupcakes and black mission fig gelato bonbons). If only I'd had my camera then!

But cupcakes aren't as globally appreciated as I think they ought to be. And they are not to be found in Paris.

Or so I thought.

One lazy Friday (two Fridays ago) I googled "paris cupcakes." And then googled "paris cupcakes -hilton." The second search string and a few clicks later I was at La Cocotte and signing up for their "Pimp My Cupcake" atelier (which took place this past Friday). This marvelous little cookbook librairie is run by four women -- I only met two of them at the atelier and they were cool, young, nice and fun.

I was a little disappointed (though I'd suspected this would be the case) that we didn't actually make cupcakes. But Rachel (one of the librariennes [screw not making up words in French!]) made cupcakes (or faery cakes, as she called them [she's English]) in front of us, giving tips and making notes. And besides my cupcake assortment, I also walked away with a two new recipes: one for a vanilla cupcake and the other for a dulce de leche frosting.






And a book on the art of macarons, my favorite confection of all time.
And a box of the most amazing homemade shortbread I've ever had in my entire life.

So the moral of the story is that cupcakes are not to be found in Paris, unless you bake them yourself. Or have someone awesome bake them for you and provide all the fixins necessary to take them from just cup-sized cakes to cupcakes.


promulgated by SWS2.1 at 17:41.
0 comments

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|And not just because I've been pro-Mandy since Candy.|

I feel dirty in admitting this, but I kinda like it.



Not sure how I feel about the "No to Top 40s" admission coming from Mandz, though. Still, if she can "admit" that, I can admit enjoying this song.

No pun intended, but I feel like I'd enjoy walking leisurely in the rain to this cover with some sort of special someone or other.


promulgated by SWS2.1 at 04:19.
0 comments

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|Septimus Warren Smith 2.1|

I went to an Ivy League undergrad.
I go to a top NYC law school.
I date men (well...).
I live in Bed-Stuy.
I don't need more to say,
just more room to say it.
Etc.

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