Shit Bartenders Say

For anyone that loves cocktails and resultantly, regularly sounds like a wanker. Great video.

Too Much Information

Today was my first official day of work for 2012. For the past five days I have done nothing other than read books, eat fruit and lie on Melbourne’s inner-city beaches working on my tan. Aside from a few days spent in Turkey and the odd weekend in Europe, I feel like it was the first time I switched myself off since long before I moved to France. It was a triumph of early nights, early mornings, no emails and book after movie after book.

But today it was back to emails, back to curating news, writing interviews, proposing features, updating social media, organising calendars et al. In short, overloaded multitasking whilst attempting to concentrate and not be lured into the mass of unnecessary information that is the internet.

Today was interesting to me because it was the first day back at work since I have officially been “off” Facebook. A decision I made early in December because of the sheer amount of time I seemed to be wasting on the bottomless pit of ‘I blinked’ information. I have frequently shared information akin to ‘I blinked’ so I am in no way excluding myself from that observation, I just decided that if I blink and anyone really needs to know about it, I will inform them myself.

Melbourne: No Bookings

In a bid to somewhat justify the expense of eating out every night for the past two months, I’ve decided to share some of my thoughts on Melbourne’s restaurant scene – the one I complained that I missed so much whilst I was away.

It turns out I was justified in my grief, and there is many a shack turning out some great dishes, at reasonable prices, with little carry-on or fanfare. The prices seem quite incredulous coming from Paris (Hi Illona Staller), but the quality is high and the wages of staff probably higher too. The wine is expensive and the cheese isn’t raw, but all that is to be expected.

The thing that I have found reasonably horrifying upon my return, is the hype. And the wide spread virus commonly known as a ‘no bookings’ policy, useful only for further perpetuating said ridiculous hype.

Quotable: Balzac

The Parisian is interested in everything and, in nothing…

Intoxicated as he is with something new from one day to the next, the Parisian, regardless of age, lives like a child.

He complains of everything, tolerates everything, mocks everything, forgets everything, desires everything, tastes everything, feels everything passionately, drops everything casually

his kings, his conquests, his glory, his idol, whether made of bronze or glass

A Bientôt Paris

Nothing like a crisis to kickstart your blogging ability.

After over a year of living here, I thought I’d pretty much been through a lifetime’s worth of uncertainty and that everything was starting to fall into place. However yesterday, as I rode my Velib down Boulevard Saint-Michel, with the sun shining brightly and Paris looking early morning stunning, I thought to myself things have been a bit too smooth lately, something must go wrong soon.

And right on cue, 11am, shit happened.

So now I find myself two days away from leaving again for Melbourne. Something I am moderately mentally prepared for, but simultaneously terrified of, as whilst applications have been lodged and my heart says stay in Paris, nothing is currently given, and realistically I have no idea what the next few months hold.

A Lack of Updates

I couldn’t write it. Not in real time. It’s like commenting on a football game. There is too much detail, too much noise. I’d come up against a truth of travel writing: you need distance, and you need to know how it ends.

Every journey happens twice. First in your experience, and then as you remember it, and it’s the remembrance that is the most profound. Travel really only comes together as a coherent plot once you stop doing it.

- AA Gill for Gourmet Traveller, July 2011

Quoteable

Un dessert sans fromage est une belle à qui il manque un oeil - Brillat Savarin

 

 

 

Boys Should be Boys

Recently there has been an influx of  luxury brands entering the childrenswear market.

Ralph Lauren have been doing it for fashion ions, Stella McCartney did it with with GAP. Burberry made its mark when Katie Holmes put Suri Cruise in their signature tartan for a day in the park. Gucci hired Jennifer Lopez’s infant twins as duel brand ambassadors. Chloé, Marc Jacobs, Fendi and Dior all do it, Lanvin recently joined the fray.

The only person I have heard publicly confirm their disinterest is Balenciaga CEO, Isabelle Guichot. She seems to have the idea that designer fashion, which wishes to be taken seriously, should probably leave childrenswear to the aforementioned GAP. She revealed the brand had investigated it, but felt there was no credible link between Balenciaga’s heritage and designing clothes for kids, therefore they decided not to pursue it.

Smart woman? I think so. But maybe all the poorer for it.

Givenchy Haute Couture Fall 2011

What fashion was all about. What fashion should be all about.

Another incredible collection by Riccardo Tisci

Florence

Everyone warned me I would fall in love. And I did.

Perfect in all it’s imperfections.

Sign O The Times

There are few things in the world that make me happier than amazing music. Whether it’s The Strokes on my iPod to kick start the day, Mark Ronson dropping Creep in the middle of a hectic DJ set, or Al Green literally taking my breath away, with a rendition of How Can You Mend a Broken Heart, I cannot live without good music.

I have been incredibly lucky in Paris. I’ve seen Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings (twice), Mark Ronson & The Business International (twice), Aloe Blacc, The Misshapes, DJ Vadim, J Rocc, 2manydj’s, Cassius (I didn’t know at the time) and Tricky, from what I can remember. And all in just 11 months.

This month I’ve got Q-Tip, A-Trak, DJ Craze, Chromeo, Death from Above 1979, The Kills, Arctic Monkeys and many other fillers as it is almost festival season! But most importantly, last night I saw Prince. In a stadium with tens of thousands of my closest friends. And to be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen something so amazing.

11 Months and Counting

Today I would like to wish myself and Paris a happy eleven month anniversary. It’s been emotional, to quote the musings of Vinnie Jones in Lock Stock, but if there is anything I am certain of, I appreciate Melbourne more than I ever thought possible, but after all my hard work, I’m not quite ready to leave the City of Love.

Last time we spoke, it was on the subject of dating, more specific on the diaster zone that is my attempts at dating. You’ll be pleased to hear nothing has changed. You could pretty much collect all the clips of awkward encounters, on the entire series of Sex and the City, and that would paint an accurate picture of where I’m at in the love stakes. I used to not want to share this kind of information on a blog, but after being single for three-ish years, I’m pretty comfortable with who I am and I care less and less about what other people think.

Potentially the reason I’m so good at dating.

Soph and the City

 

I apologise to you if I don’t seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation people like to call dating.

Vince Vaughn said it best.

And after just one week of dipping my toes into the Parisian dating pool, I’ve again realised why I prefer dry land.

I’m not sure if times have changed and men have mentally regressed as a population – or if I have become less comprimising, more demanding and unwilling to date infants – but there is a significant disparity between the behaviour I expect from a suitor and the displays I’ve recently been witness to.

Call me old fashioned, but the fundamental principle of dating is where you go on a date with a girl because you like her and want to impress her. This has apparently gone out the window. It would appear now that men just organise dates with women to talk about themselves, fill in gaps in their schedule or get themselves a decent meal.

Dijon

The capital of Burgundy, the home of Maille mustard, symbolised by an Owl and crawling with gothic churches. A sleepy weekend way to escape the drama that is Paris

Men, No Different to Shoes

Recently there has been a flurry of activity by the men of Paris. It seems Spring has brought them out from wherever they were hiding and they are so overjoyed at the sight of women that they ask you out on the street. This is generally a pretty decent place to pick someone up, but I thought it was noteable as it was not yet 9am and he turned his Velib around to follow me to work. On that note, I’ve officially entered the twilight-zone we call ‘dating’.

Seinfeld likened this hallmark money machine to trying on different people and seeing if they fit (if this was the case one could return unwanted items with the flash of a receipt – imagine). But despite it’s comedic connotations, I think it’s an unintentionally apt description – realistically, dating is no different to putting together an outfit – you want something that suits you, fits you and makes you look and feel great.

You also learn that ill fitting items and impulse purchases often leave you feeling fat and/or stupid.