Neighborhood politics

I knew I didn’t belong in this neighborhood…

Segosarko

I’d fit in better in the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, or the ninth, or perhaps even in the 1st, the 8th, the 15th, the 16th, and the 17th: these ten out of the twenty Parisian arrondissements preferred Sarko to Ségo on Sunday.  And in the 12th, Royal won by a measly 0,08 %!

In my view, the desirability of real estate can pretty much be summed up in the local politics, and now that I’m scoping out new digs, I’m pleased to see that the only neighborhoods in which I’d live have had the soundness of mind to vote UMP. 

My own views notwithstanding, it does seem clear that this town is pretty evenly divided along (predictable) political lines.  So, who will the Parisians choose on the 6th? Whose town is this, really?

It pains me to come out as a supporter of the French Right, particularly as, when I cross the Atlantic, I consider myself to be pretty soundly on the Left.  I’m not sure Sarkozy is the ideal president, but he’s certainly better qualified for the position than Royal.  And if anyone is going to bring France out of its economic quagmire, you’d better believe it won’t be the Socialists!

Personally, I think the person France really needs right now is Vaclav Havel.  And I believe he’s available. Write-in vote, anyone?

 

Take me back to Manhattan!

Nyer
Safely arrived in New York, after one of the bumpiest flights of my life; I wouldn’t have minded too badly but for the stench of the other passengers’ sick and the worrying knot in my stomach about Baxter being knocked around in his kennel in the hold. (Usually he flies with me in a small bag at my feet, but American Airlines does not permit dogs in the cabin.  They are the only airline to forbid this, by the way.).

No big plans while we’re on Long Island, but things will get more interesting when we get to Manhattan Thursday morning: I’ve a hair appointment, lunch with my agent, tickets to the second installment of The Coast of Utopia, and– this is where you come in– I’m having a little gathering on Friday night.  If you’re in New York and you’d like to come by, email me and I’ll send you the details. Venez nombreux!

Take me back to old Northport

SoundWhen people ask where I’m from, I answer, "New York."

Why be any more specific than that, when I did spend all of my adult life in New York City, before moving to Paris? Admitting I grew up on Long Island usually results in all sorts of generalizations about myself and my family that don’t fit us at all; all people seem to know about Long Island is big hair, thick accents, no taste, Iced Tea, and Amy Fisher.   

But what people don’t know about Long Island is the North Shore and the Long Island Sound, the old fishing towns, the ports, the colonial-era houses, the tranquil sailboats all in a line.   It looks more like New England, or like the Atlantic coast of France, than anything else.  It is wooded, and verdant, and sprawls over hills from which, on a clear day, you can see across the Sound to Connecticut.  This is where I grew up: looking northward, out to the water, five minutes from the beach at Sunken Meadow. 

This afternoon N and I are boarding a plane to New York, and on the other end will be my parents, trying not to embarrass me with too much emotion but gathering me into their arms as if they could never let go again.  And then we’ll climb into my father’s SUV, get on the Long Island Expressway, get off at exit 53, and there on Jericho Turnpike will be the Friendly’s where I used to go with friends after school music concerts, and then we will be home.

I found a song, recently, by a singer called Mindy Smith: "Long Island Shores," and listening to it the other day on the Metro made me very, very glad to be going, reminding me of what I did love about where I grew up:

Oh my soul craves to go home
to long island shores again
take me back to old north Walk?
to breathe in the harbor wind.

I’ll be leaving Tennessee on the first plane
Sunday gone to my family reunion
There my father preached at the church
on the corner of Old Nichols Road
He raised four children in a green house
we are all well and now we are all grown

Well– I’ll be leaving old Paris on the last plane Sunday, just going home for a week.  Old Nichols Road is not far from where I grew up.  At the end of a week I’ll  bid my parents goodbye, once more, until I see them in August.  All the back and forth is trying on the heart.  But that’s the way it is, I guess.

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Literary miscellany

Hemdiet
Ernest Hemingway and Marlene Dietrich? If you can imagine it, Papa and The Kraut were in love for 30 years, according to these newly released letters.

When Henry James went to Paris in 1875 it changed his life forever. There, he found inspiration, camaraderie, and, according to The New Yorker’s review of Peter Brooks’s new book, just didn’t "get" Impressionism.   Read a sample chapter here.

More in the mood to listen than to read? Listen to this NPR show on the historical context of Pride and Prejudice.

On a more local level:

I love this site, run by a friend of a friend:

It’s International What’s Your Favorite Book Title? Week! Or at least, it is here at Maitresse. Mine, I think, has to be Sexing the Cherry. What’s yours?

THIS JUST IN: "Generation YouTube" (god help us all) has been liberated from the obligation of reading boring books: William Wordsworth’s celebrated poem, "Daffodils," has been made Web 2.0 compatible. and is now available in rap form.

"Wordsworth’s Daffodils poem has remained unchanged for 200 years," a spokeswoman for the Cumbria tourist board told the Guardian. "To keep it alive for another two centuries we want to engage the YouTube generation who go for
modern music and amusing video footage on the web."

Read the full article here– the translation from poem to rap includes the modification of the line "I wandered lonely as a cloud" to "I wandered lonely along as if I was a cloud."  Need I go on?

I mean, it’s a joke, right? The fact that it’s being rapped by some kind of rodent indicates we’re not to take any of it seriously?

This is almost as good as Ségolène Royal proposing hip hop should be taught in schools.

Real Estate Blues

Paris is not the most salubrious of cities.  Still, I’ve spent enough time in Parisian apartments to know you can find a decent place in a decent neighborhood for a decent price– if you look hard enough.

Thing is, there isn’t always time to look hard enough, and when I took my current apartment last June I did so in three days, in between trips to the US and the UK.  Fast forward ten months, and I’m at my wits’ end.

Today the third cockroach in two months to bravely walk across my living room floor met his doom, and I decided I need to move.  Stat. I’m giving immediate notice to my landlords and I’m out of here.   This apartment has the smallest kitchen known to man, there is a serious and encroaching mold problem, the toilet smells no matter how thoroughly I clean it, the rent is too high, there is no cave or gardien, the building itself is in pretty shitty condition, last week a thief talked his way into my apartment saying he was there to inspect the pipes and then he didn’t look at a single pipe (I called the police the moment he left), and there are very sketchy people who stink of alcohol hanging around all the time on my street and down the block from me.  Decidedly, bohemia is not for me, and I am not ashamed to admit it. 

I regret that it had to turn out this way, because I do like the way I’ve made this place my own, and though the rent is high, I have a lot of space (and furniture to fill it).  The chances of finding something this spacious within my budget are low.  I’ve liked having my own place, but it does feel isolating sometimes, and I often wish there were someone else around for Baxter when I spend the night at N’s apartment.  So I would certainly consider having a roommate again.

If you know of anyone with an apartment to rent, or someone looking for a roommate, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.  My email is on the sidebar.

Thanks,

Maitresse

The Tudors: Usurpers and TV Stars

Henry
It’s been a bit of a busy week, and my blog, as usual, has suffered neglect. Last weekend we were in Brest, visiting some of N’s family; then the first half of the week was spent planning my seder, which I held on Tuesday (more on that later); since Tuesday I’ve been teaching, doing the dishes, and trying to catch up on my reading and writing. 

And, as is wont to happen when I have too much to do and not enough time or energy to do it, I’ve turned off and tuned in: I’ve been watching television.  I realize this is counterproductive, but a girl is allowed to space out every now and again, no? This past week, in the void left by "Grey’s Anatomy," I watched the first two episodes of "The Tudors,"  tipped off by Bookpacker.

English history, political intrigue, lots of sex, and the perennial glowering particular to Jonathan Rhys-Meyers? Sounds like a recipe for success.  But, sadly, its faults significantly outweigh its strong points.  It’s good entertainment, of course, and a half-rate history lesson is better than no history lesson at all.  At the very least, the crafty Cardinal Wolsey has been picked up out of the history books, dusted off, and brought to sinister, conniving life by Sam Neill.  Showtime subscribers will now know who he was, and that France once had a king called François I.  That’s reward in itself.  Plus it’s kind of cool to see the 7year-old future Queen "Bloody" Mary of England push the 10 year-old Dauphin of France to the ground when he refuses to kiss her.

The major flaw which almost makes the show unwatchable is, however, the writing.  It’s pretty consistently lousy– so much so that a decent line here or there has the ring of genius when it sallies forth from the chorus of clunkers.  Particularly groan-inducing are the scenes with Sir Thomas More.  For example, in the first episode, good Sir Thomas sounds like one of those Introducing Philosophy books: "As a liberal humanist, I am against war."

Or take this little history lesson tucked in between schemes with Cardinal Wolsey: "I’ve received a gift from the Duke of Urbino," Henry mentions to More, shortly after More makes the prediction that one day it will be
"ordinary enough and nothing strange" for a girl to be educated. "A book called The Prince by a Florentine, Niccolo Machiavelli," Henry tosses off.
"Yes I know it," More answers gravely.  "It’s about political opportunism."
Henry laughs an evil–yet sensitive– laugh. "It’s true," he avers. "It’s not like your book, Utopia. It’s less– utopian."

So if you slept through history in high school, now’s your chance to catch up.  If you didn’t sleep through high school– well, like I said, "Grey’s Anatomy" is taking a short hiatus, and a girl’s got to watch something when she’s too tired to read.  Watch the first two episodes here.