House of Wax

Saw the Wax Tailor concert in the news a few days ago, and it reminded me how lazy I've been about updating the blog. No, not lazy, just really really preoccupied.

Anyway, H and I went to see Wax Tailor at the Grand Rex on the first week of November.  (My first concert experience in Paris was "Stomp" last September, as a first wedding monthsary date.) I'd only seen the Grand Rex once before, we drove by it to avoid traffic, but I always wanted to inspect the building because of the history behind it.  It reminded me of the beautiful rotting structures in old Manila that would never regain their former glory.

THE ICONIC FACADE
Apologies for the bad resolution.
I couldn't bring a camera because we took the scooter.
So unless indicated, these are all cellphone photos.

RELICS OF A BYGONE AGE
This is one of the chandeliers hanging in the foyer,
next to the snack stand. The building was designed by
architect Auguste Bluysen and the Moroccan-inspired interiors
by decorator Maurice Dufrene.

The Grand Rex is the biggest cinema and music theater in Paris, built in the art deco style popular in the 1930s, when it opened. During the Second World War, it was a German soldier's theater.

Roughly translated: German Soldier's Theater. From LIFE Images.

According to H, it was here that the glitzy Parisian fashionista set invented 70s disco glam as popularized by the movie Saturday Night Fever.

 This could be a scene in an RKO movie... I wish I dressed up 40s style :)

The main theater seats 2,750 people. We sat in the 4th row. Back in September, the ticketseller at the FNAC said we were lucky because we got the last 2 seats available, and great seats at that!

Imagine watching a movie with this many people!

We sat so close to the stage... it was a pity I didn't bring a good camera :(

Wax Tailor and his turntables were at the center of the stage,
while around him the Mayfly from Rouen played orchestral trip-hop.
Guest singers came and went, depending on the song.

The interiors are almost unreal. 

This is my attempt at being artsy.
See the shadow of a rapper and a Grecian statue wrestle.
(*snicker*)

The clash between classy and kitschy inside the auditorium hasn't changed much from when it opened in the first half of the last century...

But the faux Venetian interiors, the fake vines and palm trees, and the ceiling with sparkly lights that mimicked stars must have impressed many back in the day.

But what impressed us most was the show. I have some friends (rockstars in their own right) who want to become DJs, and I get it, I want to look cool with half a headphone on my head too. But this man, Wax Tailor, really knows his stuff. He reminded me of The Avalanches when H first let me listen to the CD. And the Mayfly Orchestra really rocked it hard. 

Watch this, it's the encore performance. I think we're in the video, H's cellphone would be in the front, a little on the left, filming.

Do It Yourself

I had a writing deadline that midnight but I just had to do last-minute grocery shopping, put away the laundry, wipe out the dust and vacuum the apartment clean. I also had to make dinner for seven. H was at home but he was busy trying not to implode because of work, so I was left to do everything "on my own." How Les Miserables!

We had invited five people to dinner last Thursday, and it was the first real test for the Ikea table and a friend's wedding gift - two sets of Fjord design cutlery. It was also the first time we got to use the table napkins my mother brought. Yay!

Since it was still my birthday week, I got a present from sailing buddy C (A long-sleeved shirt that's perfect because my winter clothes are in Milan - where I've never been! Long story. Moving on.) and an artsy pair of earrings from Jazel (check out her online shop at http://rockandrule.weebly.com).

On the menu: Pancit, dry menudo, rice (but of course) and yogurt cake. Yes, yogurt cake. Couldn't believe it myself until I had to make it. If you're curious, e-mail me for the recipe.

The yogurt cake --

Flanked by jam and whipped cream... 

which dominated the latter part of the evening's conversation
due to its versatility

We were joined by H's long-time pal C, for whom I made the pancit especially...

and couples Aurel and Jazel (who ran out of adobo)...

and Mimi and Pete (who won brownie points for using all that Tagalog)

Our D-I-Y table held up pretty well, just as well as the D-I-Y food, thankyouverymuch.

When I told H last January that a dining table was the most important thing he could promise me, 

I was also thinking about moments like this - when holding a plate on your lap and drinking copious amounts of alcohol while deftly manipulating Scandanavian cutlery is just too much to expect when you're making juvenile jokes related to food... To me it meant transitioning from single life to married life, while retaining an offensive but charming sense of humor.

It's strange how a piece of furniture can make such a big difference in a bachelor's pad.

But that's just me, of course.

Pale Force!

By the way, the guests didn't leave the house until after midnight, but I still made the Cinderella deadline for the articles. I went back to writing at 30-to-12 but I couldn't help making wisecracks because Pete was getting tipsy. I was drunk as a skunk, but that never hurt Hemingway. 

Tagay!

PiP PiP Hooray - The Melange de Trois

And then, there were three. I'm going to call us the Pinays in Paris or PIPs until it sticks.

Jazel, Me and Mimi.

Photo courtesy of Jazel.

Mimi, Jazel and I finally got together today to shake and bake. We'd been organizing this get-together for so long it was the party planning equivalent of a Lav Diaz movie.

Long story short, they came to the apartment and we all made carrot cake to go with coffee and tea, coincidentally on the day HRH Prince William announced his engagement to whatsername.

So, Prince Harry, this one's for you.

Chim-chim-cheroo Carrot Cake 

(only because that makes it British)

Ingredients

• 3 cups grated carrots
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1 cup raisins
• 3 eggs
• 1 1/2 cups white sugar
• 1 cup vegetable oil
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1 cup crushed pineapple, drained
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 4 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1 cup chopped walnuts

Customized version: I found this recipe on the internet but I think it needs a sugar boost especially since we did not make a frosting. So If you're going to do this like I would next time, add another cup more of brown sugar (that means 2 cups) or use molasses instead, in the place of vegetable oil I would use butter to make it creamier, and I would add another egg (that's 4 eggs in total).

Directions:

1) Mimi grates the carrots and mixes it with the brown sugar
2) JJ crushes the walnuts... violently and with malice

3) I go down to monoprix for milk. This has nothing to do with the cake.
4) I give JJ the bowl of beaten eggs with sugar then I add the oil and vanilla while she continues to beat the mixture. I throw in the flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon and when the mixture is thick, we add in the carrot-sugar melange, pineapples, raisins and walnuts

5) I realize I forgot to preheat the oven. I make like it's not a big deal and turn the oven up to 175° - If I had to do this again next time, I'd set it up to 200°

6) We pour the mixture into the pan and chuck it in the oven for about an hour

Enjoying tea and sympathy stories about the Philippine Embassy. If by sympathy you mean horror.
Photo courtesy of Jazel.

We didn't even wait for the cake to cool down. The two girls had a busy night ahead so we attacked the cake as soon as it was out the oven. Then they took some slices home to their men.

My man arrived earlier than I expected so he got a slice too.

Hits and Misses

I miss cassette tapes.

I miss flipping on to the B-Side.

I miss pressing play and forward at the same time until the next song magically starts playing.

I miss using a pen and spinning the sprocket of the cassette over my head after damaging the forward button.

And I honestly think it sounds better than CD or mp3.

I miss my walkman too.

Surrounded, Alone

This week I got to hold a power tool. H and I went to La Creuse to help out a friend finish his house, and I got to hold a power tool. And I got to hold a power tool!!!

Creuse Control.

On our first afternoon I mixed cement for the walls with my own elbow grease, old-skül style, but the next morning JM (le house-owner) trusted me enough to manage a hand tool ON MY OWN.... it didn't last though, because H got curious and wanted to play with my toy. If you've ever had a little brother, you'd know how hard it is to fend them off when they see you playing with a new toy. What H had at the time was a battery-operated screwdriver, and mine was bigger and decidedly more badass. 

So this here's the instrument of my husband's tool-envy... it's a Peugeot drill with a mixer attachment. 

They used this once to make a big cake. Maybe big enough to fit a stripper.

It was a weekend of discovery: learning to work a drill, digesting new words, and finally unraveling (firsthand) the mystery of how the French modernize century-old structures - a lesson badly needed by politicians with an edifice complex back home in the Philippines.

For a while, the house was basically just 300 year-old stable walls and a few logs sticking out of the ground -- Not much insulation and up to now, not a lot of the sockets work. There was a big storm on the day we drove to JM's, and it battered on for two days. While working on the wall, I saw the tarp between us and the roof flapping violently with every icy gust of wind. The only reason we didn't freeze to death was because the house is heated geo-thermally. But the weather was also great for snoozing - I sneaked out for an after-lunch cat nap once and woke up at five in the afternoon, just in time for aperatifs...

But to be fair, I snoozed after finishing a second wall on my own... For which I totally deserved this cold bottle of beer, chilled in the 5°C garage still full of construction supplies and furniture. It's so manly, I can feel the hair growing on my chest as I type! Figuratively.

The Beer of Prestige!

My H, screwing with some homes.

JM showed me a slideshow of the house's "evolution" from its primal state to what is shaping up to be quite a charming house; and I have to say it looked like a completely nutty scheme to begin with. Borrowing a crane to burrow leagues into the ground for eco-friendly heating was actually one of the more easy parts.


For starters, he and P decided they would take on this project on their own, with well-meaning friends coming over on their free weekends to help out. This gave H a plenty good excuse to play weekend carpenter and work on his musk... This also explains why the house has been under construction FOR TWO YEARS.


But this weekend, things had really begun to come together; and in a few days they can say hello to their new set of stairs. After that it would be harder to keep the inquisitive little boy downstairs away from the exciting world of hammers and nails upstairs.

Gael-force storm.

Since most of us grownups were busy on the upper floor, this little man kept calling me to go down and play. 

And even though I really liked playing carpenter too, I couldn't say no to arguably the cutest four-year old boy alive:

Gael.

He wasn't really crying, he was acting for the camera. 

This was how I bribed him to finish his dinner.

H also got him to call me "Tita" which is "auntie" in Tagalog.

If you saw him for yourself he might also remind you of Michael J Fox, the Family Ties years. A tiny man trying to act a little older than his years, charming his way through everything, not Raeganist yet but then it's too early to tell anyway. His cheek was red because he tumbled off something a day earlier, but he probably charmed his way out of being scolded for that too.

He lives in a house full of adults, having been born more than ten years after his siblings. So if he tries to act like an adult you only have to look around to see why.

Looking for mushrooms in the woods.

We came across this giant cow and he had the balls to feed it grass
and call it "mignon," which is French for "cute."

It was the little monsieur who gave me my birthday present, a recipe notebook from his parents who might have noticed I have latent culinary gifts. 

Watching his favorite movie, "Cars."

I would usually sit with him in his little corner next to the dining area, playing with toy cars or watching DVDs, because with him I didn't need to speak too much French. Most of the words I know are l'imperatif or command words like "stop that" so we could more or less communicate. (And since he spun like a whirlwind most of the time, the word "arrêtes!" came in very handy.)

Although the people my age do try to speak in English for my sake and I try to speak French for theirs, we all get headaches from trying because we both dig ever so deep into our heads for the words. I can hardly count the number of dinner hours I spent just looking at people talking around me. H tries his best to translate because he was in my shoes before, retro-verso, when he was studying in London; but when the conversation is good and arguments become really animated he can't translate as fast.

For three months I've sat through scandalous secrets, foolish conjectures and subversive babble without even realizing. And it still frustrates me that I couldn't jump into the conversation and astonish them with my insight - or lack thereof.  So, like Gael, I am surrounded - but I feel so very, very alone.

TV and Dinners

The Dumonsters celebrated Deepavali with the neighbors last Friday night. All us ladies had glittery bindi stickers on our foreheads, and the men had a red dot of lipstick each. I noticed we were all couples, and by the end of the night some of the glitter had found its way on our men too. 

Forgive the unruly brows. Threading is expensive.

Our host prepared a lovely dinner of Indian and Mauritian food, while behind her flickered a steady stream of Indian music videos on the telly. One even had Sayid of "Lost" fame singing and dancing, or at least we think it's him. I told my husband I had a crush on the actor when I saw him on "The English Patient," and one of our friends said "No way he was there." But yes, he was way there, and I'm at least sure of that.

Thank Lakshmi the other guests had to leave early and finally the plan to dance Bollywood-style was dropped in favor of finishing the booze, and the conversation drifted to obscure French grammar - as it always tends to do around the French. They correct each other all the time.

Anyway, the three-paragraph intro was just to explain why we woke up late, and I had very little time to finish a writing assignment. H was complaining that I was on my computer all the time, so he went to FNAC and got his second PS Move wand or stick or, insert phallic joke here. 

Except for the time when he got a baguette for breakfast and the time he picked up the stick, we both stayed at home the whole day and watched Pirates of the Caribbean, then some Saturday TV specials, including a variety show with topless ladies on the stage. Yowza! This would cause a scandal in the Philippines, but my husband was so... nonchalant. He said "Of course, they're in Crazy Horse."

By evening he was joking with a friend on the phone that they've suddenly gotten old. Many moons ago they would never be caught at home on a saturday night. But I wouldn't go out in this weather either. It was raining like crazy outside the whole day, and the Meteo said it would actually snow in some parts of France. I vote for staying home.

I took some breaks from writing and gave him a goat cheese and tomato pizza for appetizer and then some minutes later he stood up to make salad and prepare dinner. We had raclette, which is basically a kind of cheese you melt and spread over thin slices of sausage, ham, and potatoes. 

By the time I was ready to submit my assignment, he had the raclette/fondue pan out and it was time for dinner.

My 2 favorite kinds of meat :)

We were watching the French version of The Amazing Race.

Coincidentally, the contestants were where we'd like to be next year!

This is the plate for the first round. 

If I showed you the second plate you might think we're gluttons.

I boiled the potatoes. Go me!

His salad.

Our IKEA table!!! Love love love!!!

My cheese boiling.

Sometimes I would keep small bits of cheese in the pan so they'd become crunchy.

MMMMMM.

 And then we moved to the sofa for chocolate mousse and walnuts.

I forgot to take a picture of the walnuts :(

Bon, whatever you're having tonight, bon appetit!

Are You In Seine?

The streets of Paris are beginning to look like new year's in Manila. 

H drove me to the embassy today to get our marriage registration papers. They were due for pickup last Friday but we didn't have time to go so we said we'd do it this week. Well, it's been ten days (12 if you count the weekend) and guess what - it's been resting on a desk the whole time! Apparently someone went on an emergency trip to the Philippines and just left it there to gather dust. They don't know when the person is coming back and there's no one else who could do it. For real?! For real. The consul told me not to expect it next week either.

It bugs me that no one told us we had to post-register at the Philippine Embassy in Paris (not even when H went there with the wedding requirements last May and forked over 75 euros) so therefore we registered late and had to pay an extra 25 euros aside from the 25 euros they charge for the processing. Okay, I'll pay the fine! But when they do things late they're just sorry.

Oooh! A pile of leaves! Reminds me of the embassy.

Word. Up.

I met the ambassador last week at a friend's art exhibit and she gave me her business card. I wish I was the kind of person to pull out cards and just ask for favors, not that I'm sure it would wield results, but you know, just pull some strings and get the rusty gears of bureaucracy turning. But I'm not. But I could, I really could. And I should.

But I can't!

So I'll just have to wait. Just like I have to wait forever to get my last salary from my former employer, whose sticky web of redundantly unnecessary legal procedures is keeping me penniless and living off my good looks until now.

No, honestly, I'm not. Thank you, mom, for giving me emergency money. I love you very much.

You know ma, I went to the Notre Dame yesterday and went inside and remembered how you forced us all to listen to French mass. I even went past the pew we sat on. And the column where I tried to sit my tired ass down while you and Allan checked out the church treasures for an hour and a half.

This is what the Notre Dame looks like now:

They were cleaning the chandeliers.

Three years after my first time inside, this place still leaves me in awe.

But it still bothers me that insensitive visitors just walk anywhere they please 

and talk loudly during mass.

I would still say this even if I wasn't a catholic:

The Notre Dame is still a place of worship, it's not just a museum! 

Take it to Sainte Chapelle. 

When we came last August it was only me, mommy and Allan in the plaza. 
But it was 7am, so what do you expect?

There are a lot of people angling for position here in front for a picture...

Because not a lot of people know the best side of the cathedral is its derriere.

Its flying buttresses are the stuff of gothic legend.

Sending architects into throes of ecstasy.

The South Rose exterior, which features a retelling of the Old Testament in colored glass, 

looks just as spectacular as the inside.

You are looking at the original heart of Paris. No, not the old couple.

This is the tip of Ile de la Cite.
The original settlers built the city here
2,000 years ago.

A temple to Jupiter stood
where the Notre Dame now stands.

It also gave ancient lovers the best views of the sunset over the Seine.

On one side it overlooks the Rive Gauche, or the Left Bank, where great writers, artists and philosophers spent whole afternoons in cafés being all sorts of creative; what with all their drugs and shit. This was the birthplace of bohemianism. If it was the 19th century, and it wasn't so cold, I'd be pitching tent here so their genius could rub off on me.