France in Your Pants
There’s Something About Serge
Gainsbourg: vie héroïque begins at the beginning but doesn’t end exactly at The End.
I’ve Fallen In Love With A Dead Man
A certain journalist had intended, for all intents and purposes, to compose a resolution-related entry. But then she fell in love, and you know how all hell breaks loose when one does that. She fell in love! With a dead man.
I was a Parisian Waitress
When it came to uncorking wine she was, properly put; purely and positively proper. Last night’s cork ripping in half probably signified something, something significant, something tragic, something dark and ugly and bleak.
Paris Tiltin’: Vodka, Olives & Love on the Rocks
Olives – green, unpitted – are all that’s in the fridge. The vodka – chilled, spiced, Polish, Zubrowka – was in the freezer. Both constituted sustenance for the last 16 hours: the former as nutritional nourishment; the latter as an antidote to a hangover
Extra! Extra! Lumberjacks Invade Paris!
It all started with Louis Garrel. In all of his French actor-inspired glory… wearing a lumberjack coat. A lumberjack coat! On Louis! It was all very upsetting. There had to be an explanation – it was an art film, after all.
The Prettiest Painter in Paris
Julián, if you’re reading this? Besame mucho. Or, well, don’t. It’s your choice. I mean, it’s not like I was really asking you to. I mean, you could if you wanted to, but it’s not like I just put in a formal request or anything.
The Case of the Fascist Fashion Police
She looked exactly the way one would expect someone who considers sunbathers a menace to society to look. Cut from a slightly different cloth – like the one on the next bolt over – she might have become a tax auditor.
To Pee Or Not To Pee?
In another context, it could have been appreciated as a work of art. A dadaist revolt against a dadaist icon.
The Spy Who (Never) Loved Me, Part Deux: I, Spy
She smooths her hands over her dress. She had wanted, as a tribute to the first Mata Hari, to wear something a little sexier, slinkier, more Mata Hari-esque, more va-va-voom!
