702. A very long post: I've been tagged and other random things.

Mr. Verb tagged me.

"This is another meme experiment:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write in their own blog about their eight things and include these rules in the post.
4. At the end of the post, the player needs to tag eight people.
5. The players mustn't forget to leave the people they tagged a comment on their blog to let them know that they're tagged for this silly meme."
   

Eight random facts/habits about me:

1. I have a serious sweet tooth, and am considering treatment.

2. I still battle depression (being in Europe has done little to help, not that I thought it would, and not that I didn't foolishly hope it would), and am considering treatment.

3. I take my coffee with 2 huge teaspoons of sugar, and am considering treatment.

4. I've boughten 2 packs of cigerattes in my life. The first pack was when I was 21. My best friend was a smoker, and the first cigarette I shared with her--about a year or so into our friendship-- got me hooked. I bought a pack, brought it home, and smoked the whole thing without stopping for a break. My plan worked: It made me ill and I didn't crave another cigarette. I bought the second pack 2 nights ago. A friend I went to the movies with that night wanted a cigarette and he left his wallet at home. I smoked a cigarette with him, and I had one last night with a beer while I was making dinner. Will I become a smoker? Probably not, but since I've been in Europe I've been far less judgmental about smoking and smokers.

5. The more judgments I drop, the happier I feel.

6. Three of my gorgeous male friends make me think of a line from the Eagle's Hotel California whenever I'm around them: She's got a lot of pretty, pretty boys that she calls "friends". Only, they really are "just" friends. (The third one I have yet to write about--and probably won't, because outside of the fact that he is pretty, he is boring like me. He is Parisian and I met him through a new mutual friend who found me on Facebook.)

7. Speaking of pretty boys... I took a celibacy vow quite some time ago. I'm a hopeless romantic and, like many people, confused sex-drive with love. The vow helps focus the blurred line for me, and that's all I've got to say about that for now.

8. I have a motorcycle license, and I'm not afraid to use it.

I hereby tag these 8 or 9 people, but I will not leave a comment on their blog. Of course, it goes without saying, they are free to participate or not:

Jeff
Mike
Tart
Mariam
Neel
Ken and/or Tom at Marginal Utility
Jeremy
Sara

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Lately I've been feeling uninspired to write. Depression reared its ugly head last week. Still, I've been successful in preventing it from keeping me in bed with the shutters closed and covers pulled tightly over my head.

Last Thursday, I went to an art show at the Grand Palais. This is the first year of Monumenta, a new annual art event that will feature a world renowned artist. Anselm Kiefer is this year's artist.


These metal and plaster "houses" house Kiefer's art within the grandeur and elegance of the newly renovated Grand Palais. I liked the contrast of modern and square shapes within the round classic elegance of the Grand Palais.


Kiefer's work, an old man, and a young female artist.

The next day, Friday the 6th, chance put me at another art show at the Musée National d'Art Moderne, after I ate a picnic lunch at Jardin du Luxembourg:


Various works by various international artists grace this beautiful space.

My meditation teacher from back home emailed me last week with some Paris recommendations. I enthusiastically pass along this recommendation: Institut du Monde Arabe. Everything about this place was wonderful: beginning with the friendly and helpful security men at the front door, ending with a delicious glass of mint tea, and everything in-between (the museum, bookstore, gift shop, rooftop restaurant, and gorgeous architecture). If you missed this place on your last visit to France, be sure to make a large note in your Paris guide for your next trip.

Here are some pictures of the beautiful building designed by France's most famous and notable architect Jean Nouvel:






The photo-sensitive tiles of the building's facade are reflected in the window of the Institut's gift shop. The beach chairs reflected in the glass are set-up for an outdoor cinema event.







The building's photo-sensitive tiles. They look like and operate much like a camera's shutter aperture. A nice detail shot, here.


Children's books written in Arabic. Written and read right-to-left, it should be no surprise that the binding faces to the right as you open the book.

On Saturday I participated in a treasure hunt with a nice group of ex-pats: A New Zealander, a Spaniard, a Istanbulite, a Chicagoan, and a Parisian--he's guilty by association. What fun! It took place in the very nice 3rd Arrondissement.


Barely visible: the 2nd, 4th, 6th, and 8th lines of the final clue. This is a collection of four clues we collected on our treasure hunt adventure. On the other side of the slip, the words were written backwards. The New Zealander figured out that we had to hold the slip up to the sun to read the front and back as a whole, an 8 lined paragraph rather than two separate clues, four lines long.

I solved this clue, but only because I'm from California:


An American bandit might escape here.


Not a clue or a stop on our adventure. Just a pretty flower shop.


Gross! This poster currently hangs in many Metro trains. It seriously annoys me.

I wanted to hate this:

My meditation teacher also recommended Berthillon for the "best ice cream in France." Ridiculously small scoops (believe it or not, this is a double scoop), expensive, and rude service... I couldn't wait to write a blog post about bad French ice cream. I began composing the post as I took this pre-taste picture. (Beautiful architecture, delicious cuisine... too bad their haute couture can't help the French, their bad coffee, or their bad ice cream, a study and critique by Janelle Renée) Unfortunately, it was very tasty. Creamy, dreamy, flavorful, just plain yum. I almost forgot about the cost and surly service by the time I finished my treat. Almost.

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* I must say, if I had no standards it would be easy to have a date every night of the week here in Paris. Scores of random perverts target solo foreign female travelers like mosquitos target warm carbon-exhaling flesh. One scum bag almost succeeded. He walked up to me as if he knew me, and I gave him the benefit of the doubt: he looked like Ali, a man who one of my friends introduced me to back in May. ("So good to see you again!" he said as he approached me. "Ali?" I stupidly replied. "Yes, it is me! How have you been?" he continued.) He asked me to join him for a drink, but I was on my way to meet another friend. When he asked me to meet him the next night, I said "Email me to confirm, please." He said that a confirmation wasn't necessary because it would be the next evening and we were standing in front of the meeting place. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't want to offend him in case he was Ali, but I still had some doubt about his identity. He looked like Ali, but it had been two months since I saw him last. By the next morning, I decided that I didn't feel comfortable enough to meet the guy and when I opened my email to send Ali a message, an email from the real Ali was waiting for me. He wondered if I was back from Italy and would be up to meet for coffee. What a remarkable coincidence! I have some satisfaction knowing that I stood-up the Ali-impersonator liar. God, I hate those scum bags. I now walk around with my iPod and pretend like I don't hear the men trying to get my attention.

Until next time...