I Think We’re Well Past Counting the Number of Glasses of Champagne I’ve Had By This Point: Spring Break in France, Part Three

So last Thursday, after visiting Château d’Yquem, Mother, SPARKY and I began our seven hour car ride to the Champagne region.  Have I mentioned how much I love having an iPod and a Kindle?

We made a slight detour about halfway there while in the Loire Valley to visit the town of Chenonceau, home of the UNESCO World Heritage Site Château de Chenonceau.  It was a breathtaking home, with a kitchen I’d want even without all of the modern appliances because the wood-burning bread oven is all I need to be happy!

What I think impressed me the most about the Château, however, was the fact that fireplaces were actually in use and it had the feel of an actual home with few ropes to keep you five feet from the item.  I wish other places did that because it makes you feel as if you’re in someone’s home and not a museum.  Beneath is a photo of the Gallery, which spans the width of the river upon which the Château sits:

The gardens are also breathtaking, both the formal and informal.  The formal gardens look like what you’d expect any château to have while the informal garden, which is really a vegetable and flower garden, was more impressive in my opinion.  While it is very formal, with everything labeled and in perfect rows, there are some parts where the grounds staff seems to be somewhat creative:

There were also tulips planted for everywhere, which created this amazing rainbow of colors:

These flowers are actually used in floral arrangements inside the rooms of the Château, which is really interesting because it adds to the sense that this is someone’s home and not just a museum.

Now, as if any of our homes look like that unless it’s photo shoot day, but still, it’s a nice touch.

The Formal Gardens:

Before leaving, I got this photo looking down the main drive to the Château:

If only that driveway weren’t dirt.

Even though it is kind of a schlep to get there, I really enjoyed myself and again, that’s really because you feel as though you’re not in a museum, but really in someone’s home that is open for the garden tour.

We finally left as everything was closing and continued driving toward our destination in Vinay.  Again, I’m so glad I have a Kindle and an iPod.  I made it about nine chapters of my book, “I am Charlotte Simmons,” by the time we arrived in Éparnay for dinner.  I’ll discuss that book at another time; even though it’s about things that aren’t new to a college student like myself, reading about them seems to make them sound shocking.

Our hotel in Vinay left me with mixed emotions.  On one hand, the staff was very courteous and made our stay lovely, but at the same time, for what we were paying, I was kind of shocked about the hotel itself.  We stayed at the Relais & Châteaux Hostellerie La Briqueterie and for a company that prides itself on being a luxury brand, the hotel was old and looked more than ready for a renovation.  That said, we weren’t there to see the hotel since I didn’t see a champagne vineyard in the backyard.

In case y’all don’t know, there isn’t a town called Champagne.  Rather, it is a region about three hours from Paris that is the only place in the world where sparkling wine can actually be called Champagne.  Unlike Bordeaux where the vineyards are where everything takes place, the grapes used to produce champagne come from vineyards that are spread throughout the region and so bottling takes place mostly in the towns of either Épernay or Reims.  What visitors to the region see are the caves, which is where the champagne is stored in the bottle while it matures.  It may not sound that interesting until you realize you’re staring at 2,000 bottles of champagne just sitting there in one alcove and then you get a sense of just how amazing it is.

Our tour on Friday was in Épernay and it was to the biggest Champagne house in the region, Moët & Chandon, one of the cornerstone companies in Bernard Arnault’s LVMH.  Also located at the Moët & Chandon house is Dom Perignon, which what we thought we were signed up to see.  Apparently, we were wrong.

You don’t see the production in person at the Champagne houses; instead, a video, this one narrated by the actress Scarlett Johansson and is actually available to watch on their website, tells you a brief history of the house and then of the production of the champagne before ending with a lengthy spiel about how the house’s champagne is so luxurious, it’s associated with the most luxurious events and people; it stands for luxury.  Y’all, we know that if you just want to half-ass it with champagne, you buy someone a bottle of Moët and that if you want to actually go all out for someone, you go for the LVMH brands of either Dom Perignon or my favorite, Krug, which isn’t open to the public.

After the video ended, we proceeded down into the caves to see where the bottles are being aged before being sent around the world to be sold.  All those magnums!  To say I had a an out-of-body experience down there would be a gross understatement.  Let me be perfectly open with y’all and say that in my mind, this is what Heaven looks like.

While on the Moët tour, I did get to see something I’ve wanted to see since first learning about it since November, a Nabuchadnezzar, which is the largest size bottle of Champagne, roughly equivalent to twenty ordinary bottles of champagne.  SPARKY said no.

After downing a few glasses of Moët, the traditional Impérial and then the Rosé Impérial, which I had never before tasted and rather enjoyed, we entered gift shop.  Now, I went into this whole tour planning on purchasing a bottle of Andy Warhol-inspired POP ART 2002 Vintage because I just loved the idea and the colors on those labels were so outrageous that I just had to have one.  Then I realized that I had purchased so many other bottles of wine that I was fast-approaching a limit of some sort and decided that the set of six glasses with the Dom Pérignon logos from each of the six pop art colors would be just fine.

So, after my purchase, we said goodbye to the statue of M. Pérignon and headed a block down the road to lunch at La Grillade.

(The man who stole my heart over 300 years ago by inventing champagne, the monk Dom Pérignon)

La Grillade was so much fun.  First of all, the chef and owner, M. Christophe Bernard does a little bit of everything; he’s part chef, part server, part bartender, part schmoozer and just plain fun.  It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and y’all would think it’s because maybe the food isn’t so good so he has to do something to get you to have a good time, but in reality, the food was divine!  If memory, and my stomach, serves me correctly, I had duck, which was prepared in the fire place in the dining room and then an ice cream sundae, which was so good!  I know, it’s sad, but the chef recommended it to me personally, so how could I say no?  Since we were in the Champagne region, I decided that only champagne would be drunk so why not have a glass with lunch after just having two at the tasting?  We’re on vacation!  To show that I’m clearly not the only one with that brilliant idea, the mantle of the fireplace in the dining room has eleven very tall vases filled with corks and the name of each month of the year on them.  On the prep table for the dishes cooked in the fireplace, was April’s vase, already on its way to being filled up just two days into the new month:

So glad I could help fill it up!

After lunch, we drove to the nearby city of Reims, which has more than just a history with Champagne.  Reims is actually home to one of the best preserved gothic cathedrals in the world, the UNESCO World Heritage Site Notre-Dame de Reims.  What I found more interesting than its gothic architecture, which doesn’t really do a lot for me, was that this was the cathedral where the Kings of France came to be crowned.  This makes sense though, because if you have to spend all day in one of those get-ups with that two-foot-tall wig on your head, you would need some champagne just to celebrate not blowing over in a breeze!  Just across from the cathedral was a champagne store where I finally got to see a sabre in person!  If only it weren’t 34,000€!  The store’s owner, after I explained to him in French that SPARKY thinks its dangerous and blah, blah, blah something about glass getting in the bottle, me swallowing glass and dying, the owner, who looked not unlike the Agatha Christie-created detective Hercule Poirot, proceeded to explain to me, who then translated for SPARKY, that the pressure inside the bottle is so powerful that when you do in fact break the top off, the pressure forces all of that glass out away from the bottle, making it impossible to re-enter the bottle.  That’s all I needed to hear!  While there, we bought a demi-bottle of Krug since it’s my favorite champagne and it wasn’t possible to tour this trip (it’s only open to actual Krug lovers, which SPARKY and Mother are not; plus, you have to buy a lot of it in order to be considered a Krug lover, which I don’t, yet).  Dinner that night was back in Épernay at Bistrot le 7, located at 7, rue des Berceaux (how fitting).  I think we all had the sole, but the duck tar-tar before hand was excellent.  The evening was a lot of fun and it’s not pretentious, but simple.

Saturday morning arrived and it was onward to Reims to visit Taittinger and Veuve Cliquot before returning to Paris for one final night.  Now, I’m not a Taittinger man myself.  I prefer Veuve, Bollinger, Dom, and mon amour, Krug, but Mother planned this so I just went along with it.  Like Moët, there was a video, but no Scarlett Johansson and a much larger group of people, with children and the parents from Larchmont, so of course they thought their little shits were the greatest things since sliced bread.  Though I do hope those idiot parents realize that their children need to be a lot smarter than they are if the goal is even a mediocre prep school in the city, so sorry.  The visit in the Caves was interesting, but the champagne didn’t do a whole lot for me.  It was just so-so.  I blame the kids.

Between tour, we had a phenomenal last lunch in France at Le Jardin Brasserie on the grounds of Les Crayères hotel.  It was warm enough to sit outdoors, which the restaurant had every single patron doing, and look out onto a private world that makes you forget you’re in a major French city.  Wait, that might have just been the champagne talking.  Mother and I had the Cod, which was so good (oh the butter) with a side of parmesan cheese-coated frites and haricot-verte while SPARKY I think had the salmon, which he said he liked; he eats so quickly that no one has a chance to try anything.  Oh, and of course there was another glass of champagne pour moi!

Following lunch, we headed just down the road to visit the Veuve herself.  Veuve Cliquot is a huge part of why I even wanted to visit the Champagne region.  At the end of last year, I read Tilar Mazzeo’s biography of Barbe-Nicole Ponsardin Cliquot and the champagne house she created with her husband before his death and how she turned it into the multi-million dollar empire it has become today.  “The Widow Cliquot” was what brought me to Reims and I was determined to get the most out of this visit.  the caves, which Mother decided she didn’t need to see, where the grandest of them all, beginning with a grand staircase that was under-lit in Veuve Cliquot orange:

Okay, so maybe it isn’t quite Titanic, but I bet Kate Winslet would have walked down these steps to see Leo.

Even the floors have the Veuve’s seal on them:

Okay, that’s a little gauche, but I’ll let it slide.

Unlike the other houses, which seemed a bit stuffy, Veuve Cliquot was a bit more animated with everything done at the house somehow making its way back to being related to the Veuve.  Even this new tunnel that was dug in 2005 has a painting of the Veuve facing it so that every employee there can be reminded of all of her hard work and brilliant ideas:

I’d call this a tunnel of love, but it leads to booze, which is more important.

The tour of the caves ended with some rather unique features though.

I still have no words to describe this hot mess and I’ve had a week to think about it!

The stairway back up to the tasting room was done in a really neat way because they have listed on every step the years that there have been Vintages champagnes.  I found a 1989 so I guess now I need to get a bottle!

The champagne we tasted at Veuve Cliquot was also unlike the champagne we had at the two other houses since this was not the regular blend, but instead a glass of the 2004 La Grande Dame.  It was the perfect end to the perfect tour.  I bought a towel to wrap around my bottles at home.

One petrol station visit later and it was au revoir, Reims, au revoir, Champagne and bonjour, Paris!  Since we had to be at the airport early in the morning on Sunday, we stayed at the airport Hyatt, which despite being very nice, didn’t even give you free wireless, which I found to be a bit tacky.  But as if I had time to check my email.  Paris awaited so we dropped off our bags and headed back into the city for one last night.  I must say that SPARKY did a good job of driving in Paris, considering that those wild freaks on the motorcycles zip through and don’t pay any attention to anyone or anything in their way.  We headed to Bon Marché’s new food hall, La Grande Epicerie de Paris, which may have been a trip highlight for me!  Dozens of different types of sea salts (they even had citrus-infused sea salt), pâtes galore, desserts, the largest white asparagus any of us had ever seen, and then I saw my love; my favorite chocolate in the world, Cailler.  The first Swiss chocolate company may today be owned by Nestlé, but it’s almost never seen outside the Swiss border so for me, this was such a treat!  Naturally, I bought some.  The food hall may not have the same beauty as Harrod’s infamous one, but it has the feel of a place where you can actually go and see real Parisians buying groceries to make dinner for that night.  It’s not prissy and overdone, but simple and well-designed to suit the needs of the 21st Century shopper.  Even if you don’t have anywhere to cook the food, just walk through and observe all the delicious food that the FDA won’t let us import!

As it was getting late, we headed to get dinner at La Cigale Récamier, which is known for its soufflés.  We only had one for dessert, but it was divine.  After dinner, we barely made it out of the parking garage since our car was so damn big and proceeded to leave Paris.  This is where SPARKY showed his true stupidity.  So while parked at a traffic light, I could see that he had a better view of the Eiffel Tower than I did and so I asked him to take the photo for me with his iPhone.  This is what he gives me:

This isn’t a joke at all and when I asked him why he took a photo of a Paris traffic light, SPARKY honestly said, “Well it was lit up!”  What’s worse is that I know he’s been to the top of the Eiffel Tour before because I schlepped him up there when I was nine!  HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU MISTAKE THE EIFFEL TOUR?

At least he got the Arc de Triomphe right:

When we arrived at the Avis return area, it was closed and we had quite a difficult time returning the car, but we finally did, only to be nearly locked inside one of the terminals, which was closing for the night.  Then, the hotel’s shuttle was nearly twenty minutes late arriving at the airport and so we didn’t get to sleep until very early Sunday morning because everything had to fit in the suitcases!

After a few hours of sleep, Mother, SPARKY, seven bags, and I boarded the shuttle back to Charles de Gualle.  I got them checked in for their flight, said farewell, hopped the shuttle to Terminal 2G, and flew back to Italy exhausted, 5lbs heavier, hemorrhaging money like never before, and very, very happy!

This trip, more than all the others I’ve ever taken in my life, was probably the most rewarding because for the first time abroad, I wasn’t treated like an American visiting France because I used all of the French I learned over the course of the seven years I spent studying it and surprised not only myself, but SPARKY, Mother and a whole lot of French people, who all said that my accent was perfect (which is good to hear, especially since I spent four years getting that to where it is now).  In all honesty, being told that I had a perfect accent and spoke French beautifully by French citizens was without a doubt the highest compliment I have ever received.

Do I think the trip was worth it?  You bet.  Any regrets?  Yes, I should have gotten the bigger box of macarons at Ladurée and the other pair of Tod’s I tried on.  Would I do it all over again tomorrow?  Oh yes indeed.

Of all the friends I had when we sat around my kitchen table that night and talked about what we were going to do when we turned Twenty-one, I’m now the only one who actually carried it out and being able to say that is something I’ll always cherish.  I wouldn’t call this the trip of a lifetime because I’d already been to Paris before this, but it was certainly my favorite trip I’ve taken because for once, I was able to show my parents something that interests me and introduce them to a part of France they would have otherwise never visited.  Yes, we didn’t go to Spain, but that’s okay, because I don’t remember enough Spanish to get by and while it will be some time before we take another family trip to Europe, we’ll get there eventually, just as long as it comes after we see Asia, which is up next.

Until next time…

-JD

I Figured Out How to Last Five Days on Spring Break with Both Parents: Wine and Champagne Tastings the Whole Time: Spring Break in France, Part Two

While Mother is beyond tolerable for multiple days at a time, SPARKY, like a child, needs activities to kept busy.  So, I decided that for the five fun-filled days he was coming to France, we’d fulfill a dream I had when I was Fifteen.  While all my other friends were talking about hammered and going to Vegas and whatnot for their Twenty-First birthdays, I was already then talking about drinking my way through Bordeaux.  SPARKY’s activity was to be the designated driver for five days and so on Tuesday morning, his plane touched down at CDG and he boarded the TGV right at the airport so he could be whisked off to Bordeaux.  Mother and I arrived an hour or so later and as torture for not schlepping my Mac to France with me (because as if I needed it), Mother insisted that I help her with a speech she had to give when she returned to America.  I fell asleep after twenty minutes into the train ride.

SPARKY and his international GPS (I’m old-fashioned so I still prefer the Michelin Map, not the annoying bitch who butchers the French language) met us at the train station in the rental car that they gave us simply because the guy at Avis took half a look at him and instantly saw the American flag blowing in the wind with «Yankee Doodle» playing in the background.  I know this because no European buys a car with cup holders!

Four turns around the same damn traffic circle later, we began our trip.  We stayed at a hotel that’s actually located on a vineyard,which was interesting.  Château Smith Haut Lafitte‘s hotel, Les Sources de Caudalie was a lovely property, but the staff could have been a bit more accommodating with regard to reservations and booking vineyard tours.  Instead of even trying to book vineyard tours for us, they simply passed us off to the very sweet Mary Dardenne of Decanter Tours, who helped us get into three tours for Winesday: Château Palmer, Château Kirwan and Château Pichon-Longueville Baron.  We were unable to visit the super diva First Growth Chateaux (Margaux, Latour, Lafite, Mouton-Rothschild, and Haut-Brion) because we arrived within days of the buyers so everything was booked solid.  So instead, we did two-Third Growths before ending our day with a Second Growth.  Dinner Tuesday night was at the hotel’s restaurant, La Table du Lavoir, which was kind of amazing (order the foie gras and then the duck) and the space itself was simply gorgeous.  It’s very rustic and French, but you can see very modern, almost Asian influences all around.  Wednesday rolled around and oh if I wan’t giddy like a Seventh Grade boy seeing girls for the first time in a way that wasn’t disgusting because they’re girls!

Château Palmer was our only tour that wasn’t private and here I am (actually knowledgeable (slightly) about the Bordeaux wines and whatnot) standing next Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.  While Tweedle Dumb just took photos/played with his iPhone the whole time, Tweedle Dee always prefeced every stupid question by saying, «Don’t be embarrassed» to me.  Guess what mother, SAYING, «Don’t be embarrassed» IS MORE EMBARRASSING THAN ANY ONE OF YOUR QUESTIONS!  Sorry, I figured this was the only place I could really embarrass her just as she embarrassed me for five days in Bordeaux and then later in the Champagne region.  Personally, Palmer was just so-so.  Maybe the fact that it was barely 11h0 when we started drinking that made it just so-so, but regardless, I wasn’t impressed enough to buy a bottle.  Plus, 70€ for a Third Growth is a bit outrageous.  You can see Margaux out your cellar’s window, mazel.  You’re not Margaux so don’t try.  From there, we drove down rather bumpy roads before arriving at Château Kirwan, which was the smallest operation of the three.  Apparently though, there was some sort of scheduling error so they didn’t really have us down for touring, but they gave us one anyway.  Kirwan was much more… down to earth and less fussy than the others.  Plus, it was there that I snapped this amazing photo:

The man in the photo is inserting the cork into the bottle manually because Kirwan’s so small that they don’t have their own bottling facility since it’s quite expensive.  But, because of what’s happening this week, bottles of the 2010 wine must be ready for tasting and so they’re able to bottle a few using rather old techniques.  Since they didn’t charge us for the tour because of the scheduling mishap, and because the wine was actually quite good, I bought a half-bottle.  Unfortunately, SPARKY didn’t listen to me and left the bubble wrap and tape home so that bottle broke and got all over his suitcase and clothing, but don’t feel bad for him because it’s his own damn fault for not bringing the bubble wrap and tape.

At this point, Mother was basically drunk (cheap date) and SPARKY, our designated driver, was hungry so it was time for lunch, which was at Café Lavinal in Pauillac.  This very 30’s bistro complete with a zinc bar was the place to be for lunch in Bordeaux (very close to Château Latour and Pichon-Longueville Baron).  The food is simple and amazing; I had duck and the best mashed potatoes I have ever eaten and yes, I realize that I ate a lot of duck on this trip, but it was so good so quit judging.  However, SPARKY, despite me explaining it to him five times, didn’t understand that in Europe, you can’t get a cup of coffee, let alone after breakfast.  If you want a café, you get it AFTER lunch and don’t be surprised that they don’t give you what you want.  It’s espresso, period!  He still doesn’t get it.  Also, I was shocked that Mother and SPARKY were shocked that I was ordering wine with lunch.  Hello, we’re in Bordeaux and I’m stuck with a walking billboard for America and Mother so of course I need to keep drinking!

On our way to our final tour of the day, Château Pichon-Longueville Baron, we passed what is without question the best thing ever:

I call it «Booze de France» in honor of the Tour de France for which it was designed.  I’d love to see that get tested drugs and alcohol during the Tour de France!  Château Pichon-Longueville Baron was without a doubt my favorite of the three tours.  First of all, we had the nicest tour guide who really taught us more than the other two tour guides did.  We got to go out into the vineyard and see the first buds of grapes, witness the blending of the grapes firsthand (the final batch too), see the bottling room, and most importantly, we got to drink the most of all the tours (four glasses) so hell yes I bought some!  Plus, while the château itself is very old, it is flanked on either side by these two very modern buildings with the cellar beneath a pool that is in the middle of the tree buildings:

After our lovely tour of Pichon-Longueville Baron, we stopped at the chocolate store Mademoiselle de Margaux where Mother and I bought some chocolates (she’s nice and bought gifts; I’m not and plan to eat it myself)  before heading to see the city of Bordeaux itself, which is undergoing a sort of renaissance as it attempts to compete with the world-renound vineyards that lie just outside the city limits in the region that bears its name.

Now, maybe it was the rain or maybe it was the fact that I had already consumed about ten full glasses of wine throughout the course of the day, but Bordeaux just seemed a bit dull.  It had the architectural majesty of Paris but lacked the energy.  Not to fret though, we managed to find a delicious, and well-reviewd/very expensive restaurant at which to dine for the evening.  La Tupina was so much fun.  Our waitress and I had a full conversation in French about what we had done that day while Mother and Sparky just sat there, hopelessly lost in translation.  Plus, she really went out of her way to see that we had a memorable meal, which we did.  SPARKY had the roast chicken fried in duck fat in a fireplace with stuffing and french Fries, which was heavenly while Mother had the best braised shoulder of lamb I’ve ever had.  I, on the other hand, went with the very traditional and local dish of fresh pasta with foie gras and mushrooms.  Served in the same ceramic dish in which it was cooked, this dish actually rocked my world, and I feel that term is highly juvenile too.  Everywhere we went, we seemed surrounded by serious oenophiles which just made it that much more amazing for me since this was something I had wanted to for the past six years, and even more so this past year as I’ve been reading so much about wine and Bordeaux.

Thursday left us time for just one tour before high-tailing it to the Champagne region, but it was as close to wine heaven as I got this trip.  Château d’Yquem is one of the only white wines produced in Bordeaux and its sweet, honey flavor makes it one of my all-time favorite wines.  Basically, if it were a red wine, it would in fact be a First Growth.  SPARKY, of course, had to reduce the number of years until I have my first ulcer by about a decade when he asked our guide about Burgundy wines!  Amazingly, this was about as far from his dumbest moment of the trip as y’all can get.  Now unlike the other three vineyards we saw on Wednesday which are either family-owned or part family-owned but the family have a direct relationship with the vineyard even today, d’Yquem is partly owned by the destroyer of the very definition of luxury himself, Bernard Arnault and his company, Louis Vuitton-Möet-Hennessey and it had a much more corporate and serious feel to it.  Now, having educated myself a little on the wines of Bordeaux, I was prepared for the insane price tags that come with the world’s best wine; Tweedles Dee and Dumb weren’t the least bit prepared and let it show by going insane upon learning that a single bottle of Château d’Yquem sells for about $700.  That explains why d’Yquem served us the smallest amount of wine.

Before starting our seven-hour drive to the Champagne region, we stopped to try and get lunch near d’Yquem, but everyone seemed to be closed in the tiny little town nearby, but next to the Tourist Office, I saw the best vending machine ever made:

Let’s take a closer look:

That’s right,this is a Baguette Vending Machine!  The only vending machine that could come close to topping this is that one that dispense gold, but even that is a bit too much if you asked me.  I’m just curious as to how the baguette tastes after being in a vending machine for at least a full day.  That’s all for tonight, but tomorrow we’ll wrap up my amazing  journey through France by making an unexpected detour to visit the world-famous Château de Chenonceau, going down into the caves of multiple champagne houses and finally ending with the dumbest thing SPARKY has ever done.  Night y’all.

-JD

Very, very happy to be in Bordeaux!

It’s Okay That You Just Ate That Much Food Made With Butter, You’re on Vacation in France… Yeah, Not Ten Days of It: Spring Break in France, Part One

When I arrived in Siena, my Italian roommate, Andrea, told me that everyone goes home weighing at least ten pounds more.  I thought that by maintaining my fruit-filled lifestyle combined with bi/tri-weekly running I would be able to keep this from happening.  Well, it turns out that this freak method worked until I left the Prada Boot and flew to France.  If buttermania herself Paula Deen weren’t such a complete hick/utter embarrassment to America by being a perfect example of why we’re looked down upon as nothing but fat freaks, fluent in  French, and able to probably fit into a normal airplane seat, she’d probably be living in France permanently because it’s got to be the only country in the world in which its citizens use as much butter as she does on a daily basis.  Now, while I’m beginning my first diet (there’s a word I never thought I’d ever have to equate with myself) in an attempt to shed the five pounds I managed to gain in France in only ten days, allow me to tell y’all how Spring Break 2011 went.

So in order to make my 10h10 flight from Florence to Paris, I had to wake up at the LOVELY hour of 4h30 since I’m slow in the morning and because my bus to Florence left at 6h20 (first one of the day), followed by another bus to the airport (longest twenty minutes of my life).  Then, I checked the Italian with the bag and proceeded to spend the next ten days acting as an unpaid translator for Mother and our own Clark W. Griswold (yes, SPARKY came).  Landing at Charles de Gaulle, I rather hoped I’d get to see the stunning Terminal 2E or 2F, but no, instead, I, along with all the other Air France passengers arriving from EU-zone nations that don’t require passport control, were taken to the bizarre-looking Terminal 2G.  To be honest, it looks like a make-shift building that was constructed with the intent to be torn down in a week.  The windows are tinted pink, blue or yellow; it’s just a freaky place.  Oh, and did I mention you have to take a bus to get to the rest of the airport?  Of course, I was actually in a surprisingly good mood considering that I had only managed to get two and a half hours of sleep and just spent nearly six hours getting to Paris.  I was in this surprisingly good mood obviously because I was in Paris!  I was so excited that I nearly screamed when I saw the Arc de Triomphe!  It looks great eleven years after I last saw it.

So Mother had told me that she was thinking about taking a taxi to our hotel, which even our hotel’s concierge said was a stupid thing to do since it would cost at least 65€.  Thankfully, she took my advice and after enjoying the perks of the Air France Arrivals lounge, boarded a «Les Cars-Air France» bus headed to the city.  I arrived a few hours later and met her in front of our absolutely charming hotel.  Instead of going for one of the horribly over-priced hotels like the George V (not that I didn’t want to stay there, but I can wait until I can expense the 1,500€ a night room), we stayed at a little place in the 3rd Arrondissement about which Jean told us called Pavillon de la Reine.  Aside from being in such a charming part of Paris that is separated from the freaky, touristy/overpriced parts of the city, the hotel staff and everyone was just so friendly.  Even the lady at breakfast was so sweet and remembered the way Mother took her coffee after only one day!

So that Friday was spent largely just strolling around the 5th.  Since we’re fast-approaching Easter, all the chocolate stores are displaying some version of eggs, but nothing compared to the stunning window display that Patrick Roger had in his boutiques all over Paris:

Now as if I could pass that up so 7€ later, I was in heaven!  If only all brown eggs could be real egg shells (oops, I ate it) that are filled with chocolate praline!  We also saw the new Hermès near Bon Marché, which I must say is stunning and showcases the Hermès furniture collection so well, but like the Prada in SoHo, you don’t go there to buy anything.  The window display was also quite amazing:

Now imagine having that as a child!  Dinner Friday night wasn’t memorable, but Saturday, oh Saturday.

So, upon realizing that we slept through our alarms and didn’t wake up until 11h13, my first and only instant reaction was to say, «Oh my gosh!  We missed breakfast!» (it’s all about the important things in life)  Thankfully, the hotel sent it up at no extra charge!  So before I explain what happened that day, let me preface this by saying that I sold SPARKY on this trip by promising him that there would be little to no shopping.  Oops!  So I haven’t done any sort of self-indulging that I usually do at least once a month and that hasn’t happened since January and so I was desperate to blow my money and fast and as if my mother’s going to object.  So anyone who knows me well enough knows that I am in love with my light-brown leather Tod’s Brooklyn Moccasins to the point that I have bought a new pair each year for the past four years almost as they only last a year of hell with me.  Well, that was until  they stopped making them and I couldn’t get any new pairs at any of the outlets.  I was so desperate that I even tried to go retail for once!  Alas, my current pair’s time expired in August and they’re barely holding up today.  Well, I didn’t get a new pair of those, but mother (only child, just remember that; also, imagine if I had been the Caroline they were originally hoping for!) got me my first pair of suede shoes.  Sadly, they’re not blue, but they’re a variant of the Chuka shoe, which is favored by polo players (as if I’m one of those bros).  Because of the extreme wear and tear I put on my shoes, I opted for the Brooklyn-style of those as well because it has a rubber sole and lasts a lot longer.

Then, as Jean would say, we went across the street to attend Mass.  Where do we go to pray?  That’s easy, the Hermès flagship store.  Now, this was probably the WORST decision of my life to enter this store considering the forest fire burning in my wallet.  After buying Grace a little something for her birthday (she bought me shoes that say Screw You on them so it’s the least I could do), I bought the one thing I went in knowing I was going to buy, a new bow tie, which is green and just so not something I would ordinarily buy.  Then, I told Mother that I just wanted to LOOK at belts and that there was no way in hell I could justify spending so much money on something that expensive at this time in my life.  Well… the buckle matches my watch band’s buckle and it looked so nice in the display and even nicer around my waist, then the sales lady was so sweet and she and Mother thought it looked so nice on me, and then Mother said the one thing that just sold me, «It’s so gorgeous and you have to get it.»  Thank you, Mother for offering your credit card?  «Oh no, you’re paying for that one.»  I get that it’s outrageous for a parent to spoil a child with an Hermès belt (which I didn’t originally plan to buy), but when the parent goes on about how gorgeous it is, well you kind of expect they’d at least contribute to its purchase.  I’m now paying SPARKY in installments for my 22nd Birthday Present to myself.  I still can’t justify buying it, but I did.  Grace, who never tells me I shouldn’t buy something unless it’s truly hideous, said that I was at the Hermès flagship and that I needed to buy something worthy of saying I got something there.  I love that she can always tell me why it’s okay!  Thankfully, it doesn’t have that big H on it like everyone who just buys that belt because it’s the cheapest one they sell.  You should only buy that one if you don’t take it seriously, which only a few people I know can do.

When we emerged from the cathedral with our wallets much lighter thanks to our very generous confession plate donations, it was pouring down rain, which was unexpected for Saturday.  So, as always, I had to put our purchases’s well-being ahead of my own and get soaked while running to the nearest taxi stand.  We got side-tracked at the best place though, Ladurée.  Since it was pouring down rain and cabs were not available at all, we figured what’s wrong with lunching at 17h0.  However, there was a line to get in and the incompetent moron manning the door refused to extend the awnings so the patrons wouldn’t continue to be soaked to death because, «They’re only for the sun.»  This lead us to buy overpriced umbrellas at the news stand and the following photo to be taken by Mother because it was apparently funny:

Thanks, mommy!  Love you so much!  Y’all can’t see this, but my ENTIRE back was drenched!

Lunch at Ladurée was heavenly!  Mother had the Smoked Salmon Sandwich while I opted for the Ladurée Club Sandwich, which were both out of this world.  That entire meal was such a daze that for one of the few times in my life, I don’t know what I had to eat for dessert!  Don’t worry, though, I didn’t leave empty-handed:

The box went back to America empty.  It was so ornate that I just couldn’t bear to throw it out.  Saturday night was supposed to be spent dining at Les Papilles, a little bistro in the 5th, but there was a slight problem because the new food trend in Paris seems to be having menus that change nightly depending on what’s fresh that day and well, it was the one thing Mother won’t eat: pork.  Saturday night’s dinner was at a little café and again, not memorable.

Sunday, the one day of the week when the stores are closed and we can’t do any more damage.  We began cultural day by going to the most culturally important place in Paris: the flee market!  Unlike normal flee markets, the Paris one is more of a giant antique furniture hub and well, we figured that considering past success (our dining room chandelier) we’ve had there, why not go back.  It was almost depressing to see the limited quality and the high amount of tourist traffic there now.  Apparently, people need to hire guides to take them in search of the perfect antiques.  I guess Mother counts as a guide since she does hold a degree from RISD, but at least I didn’t have to pay her an hourly rate to show me things she’d schlep me to see anyway.  So we left and headed over to the 6th for as about as American of a meal as I will have until May.  Welcome to Ralph’s, the very hyped restaurant opened by Ralph Lauren this past year in his new, breathtaking store on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.  The space was stunning.  So Ralph Lauren, with the paintings and the animal heads and the hints of the English country manner that grace the New York flagship Rhinelander Mansion.  The staff was so attentive and friendly.  Yet, that wasn’t enough to help the food.  It was good, not great, just good.  Personally, I wouldn’t make a special trip to eat there because the food is nothing like that at Lifshitz’s Rugby Café in Georgetown, which is where they make the BEST hamburgers!

We left Ralph Lauren and headed for the Musée d’Orsay, which we prefer so much more than the Louvre, which has just too much to see.  Besides, I’ve seen the Joconde before so no need to wait in that freak crowd to see it again.  Note, if you’re a student studying abroad in Europe, show your Visa/Student ID from your European school and you can get in for free.  Mother had to pay 8€ for herself.  After the museum closed, we ended up across the street at the most surprisingly interesting museum.  It was the Musée de la Légion d’Honneur and I urge everyone to visit it!  First off, it’s free to everyone so no one can complain that it’s too expensive.  Then, in addition to seeing the medals that French Heads of State have had made for them over the centuries (Kings, Napoleon, etc…) but also the hundreds of medals that France has received from the Heads of State of other countries, which was truly fascinating.  Mother and I are both sad we didn’t have time to see the whole museum as they were closing, but it was certainly a highlight of the trip.

So Mother wanted to see some hotel that used to be Napoleon’s brother’s home or something like that and we looked at the map and it looked walkable.  It was the longest mile and a half of my life!  Plus, we ran into Mr. Jefferson:

Look at that pose!

Sunday night brought the best meal of the trip, courtesy of our concierge, Jonathan, an English ex-pat now living in Paris.  He sent us to one of his favorite little places after I explained we didn’t need English menus and he dropped the tacky restaurants that they send tourists.  This restaurant was called Fish la Boissonnerie and it’s located in the 6th.  In keeping with the new movement in food in Paris, it too only offers what’s fresh that day, but it was the best cod I’ve ever had in my entire life.  We couldn’t stop talking about that meal for the rest of the trip!  If you’re going to Paris, TRUST ME ON THIS ONE!  GO!  You will not be disappointed.  Now, I will be disappointed if I can’t get a reservation next time I’m in Paris because of all the publicity I’m giving it, but I’m not too worried.

Monday meant it was our final day in Paris so we started off going to the Galerie Vivienne, which is this neat little arcade that just has boutiques and small cafés.  It was very relaxing to say the least.  I snapped this photo while there:

Then, I saw this:

In case y’all don’t know, Le Grand Colbert is where Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton reconnect at the end of Something’s Gotta Give, which is one of my all-tiem favorite movies!

Following that fun stop, we moved on to lunch at Baccarat’s Cristal Room.  Don’t go for lunch.  The food, aside from being insanely expensive, is too heavy for lunch and much better suited for dinner.  The space, though, is out of this world.  Where there should be ornate portraits now rest empty picture frames that go from floor to ceiling with the bare brick behind them exposed, the Baccarat everything, the attentive staff; don’t get me wrong, it was delicious, but just too rich!  We saw the museum there and then the shop (didn’t buy anything) before doing a marathon shopping dash for Mother.  We celebrated a great trip to Paris by having drinks at George V’s bar and then a visit to the speciality food store, Hédiard.  Dinner was at this fun seafood restaurant two blocks from our hotel named Le bar à Huîtres.  My platter of clams camed was served with dry ice in the middle.  It was so much fun.  Also, they had olive oil that is in a perfume bottle and you spritz it on your food.  That was the highlight of the night, me spritzing my food with olive oil.

That’s all for tonight, but tomorrow, y’all can find out what happened once our trip went from classy to SPARKY in just a matter of hours because our very own Clark Griswold arrived and if he doesn’t look like an American!  Until then…

-JD

Spring Fever Struck Early in Siena, But Not For Me (What a Surprise)

So while out on my run this past Wednesday in the fortezza, it was kind of hard to notice that there were all these extremely sexually active teenagers doing everything but actually having physical sex.  Now I know that American PDA is quite tame when compared with that of the more openly romantic Europeans, but this was on a completely different level!  I saw a couple with the guy seated on a bench and his girlfriend practically in a sex position with her legs locked around his body and their lips not separating for what seemed like hours.  I could see them for a large part of my run around the fortezza (which I circle six times each run) and I only counted two times when they actually “came up for air.”  Then there was this other slightly younger couple that moved around with him always pulling a Justin Bieber hair flip:

On my third loop around the fortezza, this couple was literally dry-humping on the grass!  In total, I believe I counted at least twelve couples out and it’s not even spring yet!  Seriously, this is worse than Rollins, where those kids have spring fever everyday of the year.

Speaking of things that are blossoming, the number of tourists visiting Siena seems to have increased since the start of this month, which I guess is expected since Siena’s famous Palio is in the summer and it’s kind of dead during the winter months.  So inevitably, this means more people following an idiot waving an unopened umbrella in the air being paid more than he/she deserves to take a group of picture-taking obsessive tourists to see where they filmed part of the Quantum of Solace:

This is the same place where 007 drove that gorgeous Aston Martin DBS V12 at the end of that fantastic opening scene:

Anyway, this week coming up includes a midterm and many more phone calls to vineyards in Bordeaux and the Champagne region of France because instead of making reservations to tour the vineyards, our hotel in Bordeaux, a place kind of known only for its wine, has simply suggested we pay 600€ per person to do some over-priced guided tour.  Personally, I’d rather spend 1,800€ on Pétrus, Latour, Mouton, and Haut-Brion instead.  Then in the Champagne region, I’m just trying to see if Krug and Bollinger will be kind enough to even let me in since they don’t mention anything on their websites about tours.  Alors, a bientôt.

-JD

Justin Turned Twenty-One, I Went to a Bull Riding Competition and Andrew Admitted to Enjoying Boston Market… At Least We Get a Fresh Start with Fall

So this week has been very busy.  To begin, I saw Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, and while it’s not the same as the original, I personally enjoyed it.  Yes, Uncle Gordie isn’t as fantastic as he was in the original (I do see him as role model), but the story of Jacob Moore, played by Shia «le Bœuf Bourguignon,» actually showed that there is still loyalty left on Wall Street.  This «let’s root for the optimist who wants to save the world with some new energy solution» idea ended though as soon as Uncle Gordie came back into action.  Oh this man is good!  Anyone who steals $100 million that was left to their daughter in order to get back to the top of the financial ladder is a winner in my book.  I would use this opportunity now to post Grace’s reaction to the movie, but someone got out of going.  It was her loss because the theatre was all conservative white guys who were well-dressed.  In other words, Grace missed meeting husbands two, three, four, five, and six.  Husband number one wasn’t there because well, it was past his bedtime since he’s got to be at least 80 and on oxygen to even be considered.  Interestingly, when alcoholic, drug-addict Charlie Sheen reprised his role of Bud Fox during a cameo appearance at a charity event at the Met, my fellow theatre goers booed Sheen’s character for sending a truly great man to prison for eight years.

By the way, in case anyone is looking for birthday presents for me, the grey check tie that «le Bœuf Bourguignon» wore in one scene; I have to have that tie.  I’m assuming (I may be wrong, but I hope I’m not) that it’s from Hermès, but it’s just so nice.  Also, I know that while no one actually has pocket squares these days, I feel that it’s time to bring them back (hence, I bought one this summer at Century 21) .  In my final summary of Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, I’d like to reiterate what A.O. Scott wrote in his review of the movie for the Times with regard to how Stone portrays Manhattan.  Scott writes that «Manhattan has rarely looked so persuasively gorgeous. Mr. Stone and the director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto, turn the city into a dazzling jewel box — sometimes literally, as when the camera, gliding through a gala soiree, surveys the sparkly, dangly earrings of the women in attendance, alighting finally on the plain and tasteful pearl studs Ms. Mulligan is wearing.»  Personally, I have to agree; the city was shown so beautifully (they even showed a great shot of my favorite building on the park, The St. Urban on 89th and CPW) and did anyone else find it interesting that the office where Jake Moore works is across the street from the infamous Lipstick building; you know, the same building where Bernie had his offices?

Moving along, so as y’all know, Grace, Annie and I saw Easy A on Thursday.  It was strange.  Personally, I thought it was too over-the-top fictional.  I mean, let’s be honest, no one is going to pick a girl up for a date in a John Deer.  Everyone else with whom I’ve spoken regarding this film had nothing but praise for it, and while it was funny, I just got bored pretty quickly.  Interesting note, this was the first movie in a while in which Stanley Tucci did not sport the turquoise ring he usually does in his movies.  I actually found the scenes with Tucci and Patricia Clarkson were the most entertaining people in the movie because of their great chemistry and hysterical lines.

On Saturday, Grace, Annie, Sarah, and I tailgated before and during the UVa-VMI game, which we won, with fried chicken, ham biscuits, and a wedge of brie, because that’s Grace’s new cheese apparently.  It was so hot hat I had to keep my linen blazer on simply to hide the sweat on my back (lovely mental image, I know).  Meanwhile, Grace and I are standing there watching the game and two rednecks ask what is with the formal dress.  Now, having been brought up/self-taught to NEVER acknowledge crazy people simply because there’s a good chance they will either kill you, rape you, hold you for ransom, or ask you twenty questions in hick.  We got stuck with the hick questions.  Grace, who was raised the opposite way and ALWAYS opens up to anyone within earshot, begins explaining the traditions of UVa to which hick one responds «so it’s the corperations takin’ over the sckool.»  Well Grace then continues when this clearly 35 and ready to get with a college girl moron asks where the action is going to be later in the evening before eventually offering him a sip of whiskey from her flask.  THEN and ONLY THEN does she realize that hick one and hick two are psychopaths and that we need to get the hell out of there.  I meanwhile, am just trying to not get shot.  Worse, they had chewing tobacco, which is probably the lowest one can get.  After we bid adieu to hicks from Texas, by way of Virginia Beach, Grace then claims she talked to the hillbillies and offered them some of her Jack Daniels because she thought it would make them a bit more normal.  Yeah, I’m never taking her on a subway.  Grace, the lesson I hope you learned from this experience is that if someone looks a bit awkward, avoid eye contact, feign deafness, give a one-word response and then burry your head in your iPhone/BlackBerry, or simply walk away.

That evening, the four of us then headed to the Professional Bull Riders Charlottesville Invitational.  This is not a joke, and I have photos and a video to prove that I was there.  But, before we get inside, the cheap seats are gone so while deciding if it’s worth paying $40 a ticket to see some morons ride a bull, this soldier just walks up to us and gives us three tickets and won’t even let us pay him for them.  It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done.  We don’t know who you were, but thank you.  This place was such a freakshow that I took quite a few photos, and two videos, which I’ll post later this week (as soon as I figure out how iMovie on my iPod Touch works).

So following the bull riding competition, the girls decided that we should go to a bar.  It was unlike any bar I’ve ever been to before.  Instead of civilized behavior, it was a sea of alcoholics, which is always nice until some idiot decides to knock over a pitcher of beer (which I don’t drink because I find the taste revolting) and have it land close to you so that it spills all over you.  It was a lovely end to the day.

So Andrew finally wore his Hunter boots for the first time, despite buying them months ago.  I wore mine as well today because of the rain.  Even more interesting than that is that Andrew, who has eaten some of the finest food in the world, actually loves the fine cuisine of Boston Market.  Personally, I like my rotisserie chickens to come from Costco.  Andrew and I also realized something today as we walked the grounds of our respective schools: people wear sandals, particularly Rainbows (which I own a pair) during the rain.  Why would someone in their right mind wear a pair of sandals in the rain?  He can’t answer this, I can’t answer this; we’re completely at a loss for an explanation.  Here’s my real question: who wants to have brown feet?

Going back to the Hunter boots for a second, I have to just say that whenever I wear them, people look at me as though I’m diseased; what, it’s okay for women to wear boots in the rain but if a guy does it, I’m being looked at as if I committed some sort of crime?  Here’s the deal, I payed more than I probably should have for my shoes and since they have no insulation whatsoever and are made of leather, there is no way in hell that I’m going to wear them in the rain because not only do I want them to get one step closer to being ruined partly because they don’t currently produce the style of shoe I have, but because I don’t want my foot to get soaking wet and turn brown.  So if anyone throws me one of those damn   looks again for wearing boots, let’s just say that bad things might happen.

So Justin finally turned twenty-one on Sunday.  Since I can’t legally buy him alcohol, I instead sent him  a check so that he could buy himself the bottle of Hendrick’s Gin that he wanted for himself.  Justin also mentioned to me that he has peppermint soap.  Don’t ask how this was brought up, but he added that it has a numbing effect on certain areas (I wasn’t supposed to write that, but I couldn’t help myself).

Interestingly, did anyone know that in France, the two animals that are considered to be emotional support animals are a dog and a monkey.  That’s right, a monkey is an emotional support animal.  Jean told me this because Lily, her emotional support animal, is to travel to France with her in November, however she must first obtain approval because a cat has been replaced by a monkey on the list of what is an approved animal by the French government.  Honestly, this is absurd even for the French.  In  a semi-related story, I was informed this weekend that Annie’s new favorite obsession, Sasquatch porn, has been added to Urbandictionary.com by Annie herself.  If you too fear that your computer will attract this fetish by simply clicking the above link, here is the definition she posted:

Kinky pornographic material that involves a girl (or boy) venturing into the forest in search of the mysterious hair covered mongoloid, and they do it in the forest.

Isn’t that just lovely?

In addition to everything else bizarre that happened this past week, I had to venture into uncharted territory in my grocery store as well when I had to purchase a Swiffer.  I should have taken a photo to explain why I had such an issue with buying this thing because they give you so many choices and accessories that you simply don’t know what it is you need to buy.  Even better, I’m standing there with about four other guys I’ve never met, but in the same predicament as I was, just staring at this section of the cleaning aisle with no clue in hell.  No one knew what to do and for about twenty minutes, we just stood in silence staring until one guy cracked and called his girlfriend for help; she was no help to us because she told her boyfriend to forget about it and that she’d do it for him.  Thanks a lot!  Finally, I gave in and called my mother to see what I needed to buy.  In my defense, I’ve never purchased one of these before and I almost never go down the cleaning aisle in a grocery store.

On Monday evening, I went to see my friend, Sydney, at her dorm, which is the Italian House on grounds to make pasta, hence I didn’t get to post last night.  It was fun and I cooked the pasta last night as well and while it didn’t taste as good as the stuff in the box does, it wasn’t half bad.  Then the building’s fire alarm went off and I was stuck outside in a drizzle for twenty minutes while the fire department took forever to get here and then search the building.  On a positive note, I met my neighbors and they seem nice!  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to meet the sex maniac who lives above me.  Last week, Cialis, as I call him/her, got it own four times in less than six hours.  I know this because the bed makes noises every time.  I’ve decided that the next time Cialis decides to «get it on» with four different people (you can hear the door open and close), I’m going to knock on Cialis’s door with a borrowed copy of the Bible and a rosary and just say that Jesus is watching.  I’m also going to suggest that Cialis take his/her anger out in a way that doesn’t involve him/her banging on the floor when walking, because it’s getting beyond annoying.

Well, as y’all can see, it’s been a busy week and while this one is going to be busy as well, it’s going to be mostly academics, so until next time…

-JD

Good Golly Little Richard, You Need to Calm Down! Ever Try Xanax?

Yes, I’m going after Little Richard this morning.  Why?  Well, it’s because when my 9h0 class on Monday started, my fellow classmates and I were greeted with the following clip well before some of us were mentally awake:

I actually own this song and think it’s beyond hysterical to listen to because of Little Richard’s sheer insanity.  Now, one would think that this would be the pinnacle of my day; think again.  Only a few hours after the Little Richard “incident,” I learned that people actually enjoy living in the plethora of gated communities that seem to cover the state of Florida.  You see, I find the homogeneousness of these places to be a version of hell because there’s no sense of personal — that says that this is your house.  Frankly, I can’t seem to figure out why anyone would want to live in a place where the only options you get are whether the garage is on the right side of the house or the left, which of the  five floor plans you’d like and what kind of mailbox you want.  Now, what really gave the scare was when one of my classmates in my Cultural Landscapes of America course said that she prefers a neighborhood where all the houses are the same because, «I like being able to go to my friend’s house and not have to ask where the bathroom is».  It was at that very moment that I began to see devil horns emerge from the heads of all but three other people in the class; the tails and pitch forks followed shortly after.

Sadly, there was no football game here at school this weekend, which was made even more depressing because not only did we lose the game 14-17, but we lost to a school whose mascot is a trojan horse, and since we’re college students, we know that we’re not all thinking about the American Express logo (okay, maybe a few of us are… Andrew).  That’s right, we lost to a school whose mascot is a condom logo.  Plus, I was swamped in work this weekend and didn’t even get to do a whole lot other than study.

Grace meanwhile has met a gentleman from New York who enjoys tai chi (which could mean that he has anger management issues) and has amassed a collection of knots that he keeps in his apartment.  I’ve never met this guy before, but let’s be honest, this guy has knot-fetish, murder written all over him.  Grace is also now partaking in a new form of exercise which I didn’t know actually constituted as a form of exercise: burlesque.  So I guess it turns out that the Moulin Rouge was just France’s answer to the YMCA.  That explains this clip so much better then:

Justin is still riding his bike with that stupid fanny-pack attached to his waist.  Today (it is Tuesday), he plans to ride his bike up to Orleans in a few hours.  It’s a thirty+ mile ride, which he knows I think is too far too soon, but I’ll just remind him of that when he’s in the ER.

At least Andrew managed to do something interesting; he attended a screening of The Social Network, the new movie by Aaron Sorkin about the creation of Facebook by then-Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg and his fellow Harvard brothers (I’m told they do things differently inside the brick-walled with wrought-iron gates grounds of Harvard).  My only question for Zuckerberg is simple: WHEN THE HELL DID YOU FIND THE TIME TO CREATE FACEBOOK WHILE ALSO GETTING ALL OF YOUR WORK DONE?  Anyway, while I didn’t speak to Andrew after the movie ended, I’m sure he’ll tell me all about it just as soon as the sun comes up.

In what I would consider to be much more important cinema news, the movie for which I have waited over a year finally opens on Friday and I can’t go because it’s Kol Nidre and I know that mother won’t let me go to see the sequel to what is probably my favorite movie of all time, Wall Street.  Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps just has to open on a Jewish holiday, doesn’t it?  Is this some sort of conspiracy to keep me hearing Michael Douglas retell the line that is the first quote I have listed on my profile page on Facebook?

Y’all have no idea how excited I am that this movie is finally coming out.  It’s my summer blockbuster since there was nothing decent to see this summer.

Okay, clearly this lack of sleep concept is causing me to ramble in ways I’ve never rambled before, so in closing, I’d like to wish my friend Rachel a very happy and most likely intoxicated Twenty-First Birthday!  Also, I’ll post Andrew’s reaction to The Social Network and an updated photo of my basil eggs in the daylight.  Until next time…

-JD

My Contacts Were Stolen in Detroit… Go Figure!

Yes, that’s right, I had to go a whole weekend without a contact lens because it “was stolen” by a trash can.  It was not good.  Now before I explain how that whole mess happened, allow me to explain how my life has gone since Derby Day.  First, someone had to move out of a dorm without help from anyone (I still moved faster than everyone else on my floor).  Then, following three glorious hours of peace and no quiet as I belted out and yapped on the phone, Larry arrived on Jacksonville for the drive home to Virginia.  Y’all, hell is probably more exciting than spending eight hours in a car with this a version of Kruschev.  When we pulled into Savannah, a certain Yankee boy was afraid to be adventerous and go for the gator or anything  exoctic but our restaurant, The Alligator Soul, was still amazing.  I had the red snaper while Lady Madonna had the scallops.  Now, here’s the thing: I literally felt my heart start to slow down a little more with every bite I took.  That was fine because my mouth was literally having that great orgy Madame kept talking about all semester in French class (and for the record, what you do after the orgy is eat a couple drunken maraschino cherry).  Then, on Wednesday morning, I’m all ready to go see Miss Paula and little Fidel throws a mini diva fit and Miss Paula is no more for me.  Savannah was so much fun though and I’m definitely going back, with Susan so we can see the butter Versailles that is Chez Deen and the neighboring l’hôpital Deen, as well as tour the Gulfstream factory.  Plus, we’ll leave Hugo Chavez home so we can also see the grand homes of Savannah and, knowing Susan, visit every single antique gallery in town without having an annoying little squealer in the background.

Now, the rest of the drive on Wednesday was… interesting and basically silent.  In other words, it was just a normal ride with the Medusa.  The small talk was unusually small this time, which probably has to do with the fact that we’ve run out of small talk after three other trips to or from Florida.  By the way, for Fathers Day, I’m thinking of giving him Flomax so that we don’t have to stop every hour for our little leaky focet to relieve himself.

Thursday was spent not unpacking but traveling some more; this time, it was to New York.  Then on Friday, Andrew and I did breakfast at Balthazar, a little shopping (it never hurt anyone) and a lot of looking for new eye glasses pour moi because mes lunnettes are from the Second Grade and made by Nintendo (this is not a joke so home boy clearly deserves a new pair).  Well, I found the replacements and y’all, they’re gorgeous and made by Morganthal Frederics, one of the most expensive eye glass manufacteurs period.  That said, they were so nice and I loved them.  Plus, $1,395 doesn’t sound so bad before lunch and just after breakfast.  The photo below is me wearing the color they had; I’d get them in black. Then, after Andrew shopped at Thom Browne (where he better not buy those shorts!), we went to the Taschen book store where I got my mother a Mother’s Day present. From there, we saw Donald Trump’s hideous Trump SoHo, which I hope gets knocked down very quickly. And then, I had an interview at my bible’s ofice: New York Magazine.  Oh, it was so amazing and even if they don’t hire me as a summer intern, just to be in the office where my weekly guide to life is put together was an experience that I will never forget.  To celebrate my interview, Andrew and I lunched (yes, I’m using the verb form of lunch) at the Cipriani Downtown in SoHo before he threw me onto the subway bound for Penn Station.  I then took a train to Baltimore to catch a flight to Detroit (I’m still alive!  It’s a miracle!) to see my older cousin, Holly, graduate from law school.  It was FREEZING and RAINING!  That said, mazel buppie!  I have to pause to thank Andrew, who managed to not only keep me on time on Friday, but he actually kept me calm before the interview.

Okay, so I landed in Detroit (eww) many hours behind schedule, as did the rest of the family, only someone (hi) had no luggage as Madonna took it with him to Detroit for me.  Therefore, sockless (thank you, Florida) and exhausted moi lands in Detroit, where it is so cold, y’all have no idea.  I lost my contact lens and didn’t have anymore in my toiletry case so looked like a pirate without the patch all weekend (those glasses are BAD).  Meanwhile, we get to Ann Arbor, a place I don’t recommend visiting, and dined at a “lovely” pizza joint (I didn’t eat) before collapsing on the old mattress of the University of Michigan’s hotel.  Now, here’s the problem some college towns like Ann Arbor: the major attraction after the school is a deli!  That’s right, I went from Cipriani’s to a deli on steroids in a state I thought was in Central Time (I was tired).  That said, it was a lovely, and by lovely, I mean beyond boring, graduation ceremony because let’s be honest, after you hear your kid’s name called, why do you want to stay?  I mean, we heard all the bad speeches and we don’t care about anyone else’s kids.  Actually, there was one moment that was funny.  So for graduate school graduations, some people like to bring their small children up on stage.  Well, this time, someone brought her HUSBAND on stage.  That was honestly the best part of the whole graduation!  Afterwards, I was so tired that I took a lovely nap in the van (yes, we rented a van so we could all fit in together; I hate suburbia) and missed the tour of Ann Arbor, but I’m told that I didn’t miss much.  The celebratory dinner Saturday night was great (the duck was cooked perfectly) and I got back to the room just in time to see everyone’s golden girl, Betty White, host SNL!

Sunday was interesting as we did brunch with my cousin Holly’s law school friends and while usually eating with lawyers scares me because it usually means we’re being billed $400 an hour and we have to pay for their lunch, this was a fun brunch, partly because most of them were still in school and therefore couldn’t bill me yet.  I had my second heart attack on a plate of the week thanks to my waffles smothered in so much unhealthy food that I think Dr. Oz’s heart condition radar must have gone into overdrive.  Speaking of him, I’m in withdrawal because I can’t find the Wendy Williams Show back home in Virginia and I stumbled upon his show and some woman is asked if she has a heart condition and she replies “No, but seeing you makes my heart race!”  Anyway, we then finally got home and this week has consisted of me trying to unpack and return to normalcy.  My digestive system is glad I’d laid off the butter because I don’t think it could handle much more butter or lard.

Grace and Lisa are done (as soon as Lisa finishes her Spanish paper) and Lisa got back sometime this week while Grace, who has been plagued by freak nightmares the last few nights, has continued to postpone her return and has upset her sister, Annie, and me with this decision.  She was supposed to be leaving Tuesday night, which turned into Wednesday, which turned into Thursday, which has now turned into Friday, just in time to miss me.  Lisa did really well in school this past semester and if she ever finishes some stupid Spanish paper that she let me read (I understood it, which is a miracle in itself), she’ll be done period.  I should say that I’m already grateful to have these two right now because both are helping search for a new apartment in Charlottesville because that’s right, I’m leaving Florida and the damn heat behind and saying HOLA to UVa! HOW Y’ALL DOIN’?  Don’t worry, Justin will continue to keep us informed with his soon-to-be-created segment on the blog entitled “The Rollins Report.”  All I can say is that this should be interesting and I can only imagine how long this won’t last.

Okay, I’m starting to wrap this up because I have to be driving to Baltimore in a few hours in time for the 135th Running of the Preakness Stakes.  My money is not on that toothless hick (okay, $2 to win is but that’s it), Calvin Borel and Super Saver, but instead on Lookin’ at Lucky once again because I think he can do it.  Don’t forget to tune into NBC at I believe 16h30 for the race coverage to start.  My follow-up report should be on here by Sunday.  Until next time…

-The newest Wahoo, JD

My glasses will probably be a lot less than these.  Plus, they’ll be in black.

PS: I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO TELL Y’ALL ABOUT THE CRAZIES ON MY PLANE TO DETROIT!  I sat next to a grandmother and her grandchildren and they went to the National Prayer Day or something like that in DC and the granddaughter had a very interesting piece of “literature” to read on the plane: The Justin Bieber Story.  If that wasn’t bad enough, grandma said that “Jesus” was the reason the plane took off and landed safely.  Really?  Was Jesus also the reason we were delayed an hour and half and the reason I lost a contact lens and the reason my iPod died on me somewhere over Ohio?  I’m just sayin’.

Brittany: The Only Reason I’m Looking Forward to my French Final

So, I’m aware that I promised to have blogged by Wednesday but I underestimated the amount of free time I had to blog. That said, I will be blogging tomorrow, after my French Literature final. I’m actually looking forward to this final, not because I can’t wait to write pages about a mere forty lines of a story I’m sure I don’t understand even though I’ve read all seven options three times now (in French and English, just to be sure I know what they’re saying), but tomorrow is the last time I will have to be within five feet of Brittany. I have not mentioned this lovely person before because frankly, she annoys the bejesus out of me.  It’s bad enough that my French teacher thinks I’m an idiot (I’m sorry I don’t have the mental capacity to take an hour to read one page), but then this moron always agrees, adding her usual hand gestures that only a four year old who has never been in contact with normal people would make.  Now, I could just say she’s from Canada because let’s be honest, they do some special things up there (really, your currency is the Loonie?  I’d add something to that, but I feel Robin Williams does a better job (see below)).  However, I can’t blame Canada for all of this wackjob’s problems because my friend Tasleem is from Canada and she’s not meshuge!  I mean, who walks around with a jar of honey in their bag?  And no, she didn’t just buy it because it was half empty.

Wow, I feel so much better already after getting that out of my system.  As I told my friend, José, who happens to be a part of my freak show French class, seeing as this will be the last time we see Brittany, I think a proper goodbye is in order.  José reminded me that Brittany is newly engaged and that her man might take me.  My response was simple: Brittany’s “man” is probably a “hybrid” so basically, Buddy, my pathetic “guard dog” who instead of protecting our valuables in a robbery will most likely lick the burglars and then lead them to all of our good stuff, could take this “hybrid” on his own.  And the last time Buddy tried to take on anything, it was a three-legged Yorkshire Terrier and it scared him to the point that he sprinted back to the house.  So with that, I must add that I will be blogging at some point within the next 24 hours and I’m excited because Lisa emailed me her King Lear paper, which was the first big paper as an English Major that little Victoria got back with a big fat A on it and being the proud illegal guardian that I am, I will be sharing it with y’all then along with my Kentucky Derby predictions.  So, until then…

-JD

My guard dog who could take Brittany's "hybrid" fiancée