bad boys

It's raining in Paris. Therefore, a perfectly shitty wheather - some say it's perfect for making love, I was thinking it is perfect for walking the usually busy-touristical streets of Le Marais - the rain has chased away what the night hadn't already stored safely in warm beds and too expensive hotels - and for finding strange characters, homless people, the occasional wrong-doer, hopefully a bad vampire who tries to redeem himself (or itself?)... Ya, right, keep dreaming, little Chat. I myself am feeling adventurous tonight, so I wolfed down a slice of three-types-of-cheese pizza (fromage, fromage and fromage - is it because it's France? on the other hand, a little boy here told me cheese-only pizza isn't real pizza, so there are people who don't try to stamp the national emblem everywhere... just kidding, I try to be neither xenophobe, nor nationalist; and the said little boy doesn't even believe in dragons, so I don't take his opinion very seriously - he is adorable though, thus redeeming himself). Where was I? So, a slice of pizza, a highily toxical, highily commercialized and highily (or so they say) caffeinated brownish drink, some peanut flavoured chips and... grapes. Bad, bad Chat.

Anyway, as I was saying, rain and night combined make me wanna take a refreshing walk in search of vampires or of danger of some sort. Stupid, I know - it is perhaps the nocturnal cover that makes things seem less real (less dangerous?) or maybe my feline nature, prone to - yet again - nocturnal explorations. Meanwhile, still true to this nature of mine, I'm perched safely and comfortably on a bed, just listening to a "bad boy" that wants "to do bad things" with somebody - the guitar riffs are almost as thrilling as the parisian night. Why the fascination with beautiful evil - besides televisual and literay influences, innate penchants for drama and an overly nested existence - no, that's about it ;)

***

I'd begun this message about bad boys two days ago. As a I'm quite moral and righteous these days, I wanted to add a little story to it - some weird but nice neighbours of my boss had asked for a little shampoo. Her husband pretended there was none and offered them in return a bottle of hand soap, stating that they were to return it after use. I must confess that my first reaction was very judgemental - I just realized later on that maybe I should've done something about it, but for watching from the side. To conclude, I had quite a disappointed-in-humanity -(thus-myself) evening and drowned it in evil, evil sweets.

The Chat apologizes for retaining this message, but notes that laziness is in its nature. Bear with it.

Afrikaans

It's a language spoken in South Africa and Namibia and has dutch origins. It's also the only one, so far, in which the word "seekat" exists - it means "octopus". I am so proud of my double origin - feline and molluscian - and I'm not even broaching the ambigous image of the octopus itself, the eight-legged quite intelligent cephalopod.

Links - with no intention of copyright infringement:
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Afrikaans
http://af.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seekat

Well, speaking of exotic animals, the recent update of an old picture of the Chat reminded me of a few days spent in a little Romanian town on the Danube, Braila; it was spring, I think, about seven or eight years ago; it was the first time I bought guitar strings - good ones, even, I've been told - that would later (about five years later) become a gift for a friend's friend. I remember clearly the dust and a bit the heat, the fact that we once travelled on the bus with other members of the Chordata phylum, namely a pig and some chickens 'http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicken; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pig), and the ambiguities of the intra-gender friendships (I mean come on, we hold hands, platonically, I guess, and have in-depth conversations one day and no e-mails the next?! I felt quite... used, which is totally humiliating for Felines. Luckily for me, I seem to respond better to inter-gender relationships...). To wrap up the latest trip down memory lane, I shall clarify that I was participating in a french language national competition and that the results were neither catastrophic, nor satisfying. Just like every other day...

Hélas, inexistent reader of mine, I too wonder were my joie de vivre went. Pe apa Simbetei, as a Romanian saying goes - litteraly, with the waters of Saturday. Hm, it must also be caused by lack of chocolate.

The Chat stretches and lazily closes its long-lashed intensely green eyes. Purrr...

Another Day in Paradise

I don't quote songs because they're famous, although the pattern I seem to follow points in that direction. It just so happens that random, popping-in-my-head fragments of lyrics define better than I could the gist of some of my day. Although lately every day is just another day. I'm tempted to blame it on the rain and grisaille of Paris, but come on... we're talking about Paris here, everything is brighter, better and sweeter, despite the season.

This morning, my most recent and temporary boss did a good deed and drove me to a Préfecture for a working permit. We acquired no such thing, as the bureaucracy is nowhere stronger than in France - or so the natives say. However, my boss managed to lock herself out of her car. And half an hour later, her husband was trying to break into said car, as the key he had brought was bent and thus out of order. I was surprised to see that both the firemen and the police drove past us and didn't stop, although her husband's efforts were quite obvious - he even picked up a metallic bar and tried to pry the door open.

Meanwhile, as the good-for-nothing that I am, I was busy remembering the first time I came to Paris, with a group of fellow students and one of the best teachers the world ignores. We took a - not surprisingly - group walk on the quais de la Seine and never made it to the E-tower. This is my fourth time here and I'm still ignoring this modern and even revolutionary piece of architecture. Maybe I should make a manifesto out of it - declare not that I don't have enough money to climb it (hélas, a thourough view of Paris is just as financially demanding as life here), but that I do not want to do it, considering my architectural and artistical beliefs. Chm chm. Cue bow tie and moth-eaten garnments.

In retrospect, the 1st times are indeed idyllic. Years ago, during my very first visit to this city, it was autumn also, like today, only warmer and with more leaves. I was thinking this morning that I always seem to see this city at its worse, raining and cold - would it be so magnificent, but for the name to cover up ugly buildings and shitty actions? Needless to say, the Paris night is now also warm and with a clear sky, just to spite me. And yes, it is such a beautiful city - but aren't all cats grey at night?

FYI, there are 2 cities in Canada, one in Kiribati, and 23 in all of the United States named after Paris or variations of it (FMI: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_%28disambiguation%29).

Le Chat bows and retires :p

In a hurry

Just begun this new blog because I needed to justify somehow the sad and the funny of my so every-day life (quite a definition there, 'cause usually life isn't made of every day, or days in general).
Anyhow...
Wanted to write down the magnificent message of one of Amy Winehouse's songs, "I can't help you if you won't help yourself". I keep telling myself that, but I am not yet a young millionaire. Nor am I young. Or millionaire for that matter - one should always specify if one is a millionaire or not, thus sparing the others possible blunders. I digress again.
The easiest and most sincere way out - in writing this blog or anything, in living, and in the famous RL - would be to replace every word written or spoken by an "I". But one does seek variety, as well as many many words to speak about oneself and more often than not to oneself only. Therefore... I can't help myself if I won't help myself. Oh and I do intend to help myself to anything I can.... :p

The Chat sharpens its claws... and delicately scratches a spot under its belly.