Hannah is the Queen of the Scene.

Here is a video from the Kitsune Maison show from late February. It is for all of those who ever doubted the awesomeness of my d.a.n.c.e.ing skills. For all of you blind people, I am the one in white with brown hair going crazy during We Have Band. 

Xavier de Rosnay: A Cock Tease

Continuing in the trend of describing wicked awesome shows that I have seen in Paris and could never see at home, I shall now pass on to the Thursday night I spent with the Justice’s better, hotter, more brilliant half- Xavier de Rosnay (sorry Gaspard, but we all know it is true).  My man played with Dj Pone of Birdy Nam Nam most of the night, with guest appearances by So-Me, Busy P and others who I don’t know well enough to comment on. Out of all the DJs I have seen here, from the big names like Feadz and Errol Alkan to the smaller ones whose names I don’t even know, Rosnay is far and away the best. He has the audience eating out of his hands the moment he puts on his gigantic headphones and places his fingers on the soundboard. No one is more of a master of the build up and breaks than Rosnay, he is, you see, a giant cock tease.  The perfect example of this would be the splicing in of “We Are Your Friends” with “D.A.N.C.E” I have attached below. 

Minutes before he plays the damn song, and believe me it feels like an eternity if you are on the floor, he spliced it in, getting the crowed all sorts of crazy. Then he brings the music down to a few pulsings, dropping the beat almost entirely—with a screaming audience begging for him to just give it up already, he just let’s us wait. If you are lucky enough to catch his face while all this is happening you will see him twisted with giddiness, eating up all the energy that he is creating. He builds and builds, giving us all time to get more excited, allowing the energy and pressure to build until we are almost going to explode, till we cannot handle it anymore, then, the music breaks and the crowd releases in an orgy of screaming and movement. I have a feeling that Xavier de Rosnay is very good in bed. 

The Thin LIne Between Flirting and Sexual Harassment: or French Men v. The Rest of Humanity

In the United States, for the most part, all you have to do is be relatively cold to someone trying to pick you up and they will leave you alone. If they don’t get the message from your eye rolls, they will leave when you say “no.” For my part I think it is because of our awesome legal system, American boys can smell a law suite cooking from a mile away. Chalk it up to the lack of a legal culture that smiles upon law suites for anything and everything, but this is not at all so in France. It doesn’t stop at the “salut les filles, on peut venir avec vous” and the hungry, leering faces that follow you down the street as the sun sets, but follows you into bars and clubs and tries to anonymously touch your ass and expects impromptu make out sessions as you walk up the stairs. At first it surprises you. Sure the catcalls are creepy, but they still make you feel hot.  You realize quickly that the normal habits do not work here at all, that more is required, that you have to say no, flat out and you have to be mean and cold wherever you go. There are, of course, some people who are either too drunk or too small of pricks to take no for an answer. There are some that simply cannot imagine why you would not want to fuck them right on the dance floor, even if you say you have a boyfriend, or you flash them the ring you wear and say you are married. 

They lunge at you on stairways and look confused why you slap them away, they try and talk you up when you are on the bus and call you a slut when you don't respond, they never bother you if you are with a man. I find it incredibly sad that a woman cannot travel alone in the city, even in the nice parts, without a man and feel vulnerable. You want a girls night? Well, be prepared to have you ass touched as you wait for the metro and random horny boys see if tonight they can get lucky. You would think it was a town of fucking sailors. 

Dear French Men, you are not special, women are not all whores,  and no means no.

Things I’ve Noticed Part 3: The Half Way Point—That Stalking Little Bitch

As the relentless little bitch known as “being halfway done” gets closer and closer, threatening to beat me down with a blunt instrument (like emotion?) I have been forced to think about what I have learned and more importantly, what I have noticed.

If you smile and speak with an accent you can get almost anything you want.

If you want to perfect the look of death, spend a few months in Paris. You cannot go outside of your apartment without using the death glare at least once.

Bangs are the hot new now. Get thick blunt bangs immediately.

My mother knows me very well, she seems have to predicted almost everything that has come to pass in my brief time here. This means my mom is clairvoyant or I am extremely predictable.

French classrooms, or at least classrooms at Grandes Ecoles are deliberately uncomfortable. They force you in a plain room for two hours, with very few windows, insufferable heat, no Internet and hard wooden chairs that make your ass fall asleep after about ten minutes.

Do not say anything bad about Descartes, ever. If you do, prepare to be hated, stoned to death, or met with shock.

 I have discovered the secret to a Parisian accent:

-           One must use the word “mec” as often as possible. Sometimes just saying it for no reason.

-           One must end practically every sentence with “quoi” and use it in the most accusatory manner as possible.

-            One must mumble the vast majority of their words (except, of course, “mec” and “quoi”).

-           “Je m’en fou” is perhaps the most common phrase among the Parisian youth. When you have nothing to say, just say, “je m’en fou” and you will fit in just fine.

-           Bah must be said in an exasperated manner, even if there is nothing that is exasperating or annoying about the situation you are in.

 

I do not know if I can say enough how much I love Paris, but I am getting homesick. Studying at Science Po has made me even more fiercely American—no matter how much my International Relations professor likes saying what an awful country we are. I miss being funny and sarcastic and being thought of as intelligent when I speak, not as cute. I have worked very hard to create a life for myself in Paris, and as the finish of my trip starts becoming a little bit more of a reality I have to wonder to myself if that was a good idea. Though I know I will be leaving with a phenomenal experience under my belt, I also will be wrecked. My goal coming here was to make the sort of relationships that my parents made when they were in school, the kind of friends that will last me a lifetime and that I will always be able to come back to. I think I am in the process of doing this, but my knee jerk instinct to protect myself from pain is telling me that this is a bad idea. Is it better to have a whimsical trip and live with surface and fleeting relationships—but not feel any pain when I leave or to create deeper, meaningful relationships and be a giant blubbering wreck when I leave? Then again, I can take the timeless wisdom of the classic film Risky Business and just say, “what the fuck.”

 

It's an Ed Banger Life

During my extended break I would sit in my pajamas listening to records and concocting the dream life that I would have in Paris. For those of you who were never shown—I decided the trailer for the Justice tour documentary A Cross the Universe was actually about my life in Paris. 

Friday night I went with some others to see Mr. Flash and Vicarious Bliss (two Ed Rec DJs) play at La Fleche D’Or. They played everything I want DJs at home to play, Joy Division “Love Will Tear Us Apart” into Justice “Phantom II (Soulwax Re-Edit)” and SebatstiAn, The Strokes. I danced like the mad woman that I am.

At one point in time I noticed that people back behind the gate separating me from the DJ booth were speaking English and started talking with them. They asked where I was from to which I responded “Colorado” and, wouldn’t you know it, they were too. Turns out that in a tiny venue in Paris I happened to find the four CU students in the room. First, let me say that it is surprisingly nice to run into people who are from your home when you are away; you have the immediate bond of home.  Second, there is no denying it now, the people that are having the most fun, partying the hardest, chances are they are a CU student. A turn out one of them is working for Ed Rec (what?!) and told me to grab one other person and come behind the stage. He pointed to a room across the stage and told us to go over there. Walking over there was a familiar looking guy with short curly hair, I smiled at him and he smiled back, yeah I got smiled at by Gaspard Auge. Walking into the backstage room I was confronted by the sight of So-Me and SebastiAn. I always thought about what I would do in this situation, which mainly involved me jumping Gaspard or Sebastian’s bones. Let me tell you how hard that is to do when you are face to face with them, as exemplified by the fact that I could only smile at Gaspard. The fantasies go out the window when you are actually in the position (even a little bit) to realize them… Alas, maybe next time I will be drunk enough and not with my boy. Yes, I do expect there to be a next time. 

I hope to find photos online soon...

The Occupation

When I tell people that I currently am enrolled at Sciences Po Paris they respond by saying something along the lines of, "Wow, you must be smart/an asshole." Seriously, that is the almost uniform response-- when people find out I am cool (which, of course, I am) I tend to hear, "wow, I can't believe you go to Sciences Po." Does this bother me? No, I fucking love it. Being infamous is fantastic. Turns out that the hatred of Sciences Po doesn't only stop at, "everyone who goes to this school is an asshole," but, "we should totally shut this piece of shit down." That's right, my school got "occupied" by the invading forces of about 200 students from other Paris Universities who apparently think we are a symbol of the economic segregation (or something like that) in society. 

So far the greve peoples has not affected classes, and the moment it does I might have to turn all Richard Nixon on these kids asses. It just reminds me of the days of the pointless protests at Boulder High-- if you are protesting or striking something that can be fixed, that is a legitimate problem in your society, more power to you. If you are being petulant about how some schools are better than others than please back up and let me go to class. Yes, there is social and economic inequality in every society, and I am not sure how the French are doing but in most places the government needs to do more. But is it really necessary to protest a school being a symbol? Or are you just jealous that we still have classes and are going to graduate on time. 

For those interested people who can read in french the link to an article is here.

Settling in or Living Without and Oven is Easy

Mark it down folks, I have an apartment that I have lived in for a week! It is on Rue Saint Jacques right above a jazz bar called Café Universal. Maggie noted when were signing the lease that there is a Colorado license plate in the window of the café, I take this to be a good omen. The pictures are on facebook in case you want to be a creepy voyeur and see where I sleep. (this is where I eat...)

I live maybe five minutes away from Jardin du Luxembourg and five away from Rue Moufftard. I had a flash back to the summer that I spent here with my mom and sister when I was walking on Moufftard today and shopping for some pommes (des fruits are now only known by their French names, I forgot all fruits names in English) and avocats. I can’t wait for the cerises to be in season, eating cerises and walking down Rue le Bon remains one of my favorite memories.

Though I cannot necessarily say that my French is getting better, my English seems to be slowly disappearing. It happens very frequently that I can’t find the work I am looking for or can only think of what I want in French. For someone who takes great pride in her vocabulary, this is a very disturbing phenomenon. I am getting more of a sense of humor in French, I still do not have the ability to crack jokes, but I can understand at least some of them…. I have taken to watching MTV dubbed in French (yes, I do have a tv with basic cable) the voices are very clear and my Super Sweet Sixteen is entertainingly disgusting in every language!