Plus Tard: September 2009

The area south of Porte de Clingancourt (north of Montmartre) where we’ve been living is a “real Paris” (mostly North and West African) neighborhood, and we’ve discovered some interesting spots: 1) Le Nant: A retro-futuristic 1960s Star Trek-style lounge cum old-man bar, featuring a cat with a cancerous mouth tumor and a talkative Serbian truck driver. 2) La Divette de Montmartre: Another crazy bar where the walls and ceiling are covered with vintage picture vinyl – including the Spider-Man Rockomic Book-n-Record. 3) Vélo Vintage: The best bike shop in Paris. Two years ago, we met the owner in an underground parking garage in the 18th arrondisement, where he was selling at that time.

I went to a costume party the other night, and Robin laid an egg. I went as Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, which, for me requires nothing more than walking around with an old-fashioned cigarette filter in my mouth and muttering things about how Nixon was a werewolf.

Some arty highlights: 1) Michael Wolf: I went and saw this exhibition because his work reminds me of what I could possibly imagine my future work someday looking like – in a perfect world filled with huge budgets and helicopters. I added up his sales sheet, and in three weeks he sold 176,000 euros worth of prints. 2) Martin Parr: This guy’s work reminds me a bit of Austin photographer Will Van Overbeek, but Parr’s collection of Saddam Hussein wristwatches was what made the price of admission. 3) Né Dans Le Rue: An excellent graffiti exhibit at the Fondation Cartier. 4) Boris Mikhailov and 5) Jerome Byron.

Also, new work by Branislav Kropilak. And, I love what this guy is doing.

French Flaming Lips fans waiting for Coldplay. (Photo by Jenny Hart)

My second rentrée has been a little sketchier than the first. We couch-hopped for five days before we finally found a temporary rental near Porte de Clingancourt. The neighborhood is surprisingly Hausmannian and offers a range of culinary delights. We’ll be here until the end of the month.

My last moment of import in Paris last May also happened to be my first-ever functional French conversation. Upon rentrée, I have picked up where I left off, talking the crazy talk of an expat with a learning disability.

(Photo by Jenny Hart)

The day we moved into our temporary flat, The Flaming Lips came through town opening for Coldplay at the Parc des Princes, a soccer stadium that holds 60,000. It was a far cry from the first time I saw them at the Oklahoma University Student Union in 1986. We scored some VIP passes from our pal Steven and got to stand stage right during the show. Steven dedicated “Pompeii AM Gotterdammerung” to me, and I took a bow in front of 40,000 confused French people. Later, Dr. Ellenor Shoemaker and Ms. Jenny Hart breathed on Chris Martin. Everyone left happy.

The world’s oldest person died again.