MONTREAL: Day One-ish

Wednesday night we get there late, 10 pm-ish. The aerobus shuttle man is talkative and points out the sights as we drive to our destination: La Maison du Patriote. The city passes by out the window, orange lights on deserted pavement, tall anonymous buildings like those in every other city, and soon we’re driving on cobblestones, feeling like we’d gone back to colonial times. We realize our hostel is in this quaint part of town and smile at each other in glee.

The driver deposits us on the steps of an old stone building with a cheery yellow awning. There is no indication anywhere that this is La Maison du Patriote except for the 169 on the door which matches the address I’ve written down. I attempt to ring the doorbell by pressing 2 different buttons next to the door. Nothing happens.

I’m a little worried at this point, as the driver has left and we are alone on an empty street. Luckily, I have the phone number written down; we call, and soon a tall Indian guy lets us in. He’s young, I think to myself, and cute. He’s not the owner though, we find out. Instead, he’s a guest—one of the many friendly guests we’ll meet over the next few days. The owners are gone already for the night, but the Indian guy, Aura, tells us to give them a call to confirm we’re supposed to be there.

I call the number and reach a groggy-sounding Naima. She tells us to sleep there for the night (she doesn’t remember us, I think, worried) and that we can sort it out in the morning. After the call, Aura asks us what happened, and we tell him we’re staying. I’m sure our demeanor is tenative and suspicious. We feel like uninvited guests in this cozy home.

And it is cozy, decorated with bright, warm colors and Ikea furnishings. Both Suzanne and I had expected something different: colder, perhaps, more sanitary like a line of hospital cots with their medicinal smell and rigidly correct distance between. No, instead, after coming in, we climb a flight of creaky wooden stairs up to the main floor with golden yellow walls, private rooms, and kitchen. Then we climb another flight to reach the loft which has lamps hanging from the rafters and glowing from inside the curtained ‘rooms.’ We choose randomly and push aside the curtains to reveal air mattresses with pillow, sheet, blanket, and towel folded neatly on top.

At this point, we are hungry, not having eaten since before our flight at 7:50 PM. We leave our luggage to stake our beds and head downstairs. I ask Aura if he knows any open restaurants in the area. He suggests one restaurant around the corner which looked to him like a late night place. Suzanne and I set off, breath fogging in the cold air, only to find it closed.

We walk back to the hostel and decide we are far too hungry to just settle down for the night. It is 11 at this time, but we are certain we’ll find something open, and we do, in the form of Café Papillon. The sign says it is open until 12 AM and we see people sitting inside, both generally good indicators. We are stopped once inside, however, by the hostess/waitress, who says something quickly in French, while shaking her head.

Perhaps our disappointment is all too evident, as the waitress asks us in English, “Did you want something quick?”

“Yes, yes, just a crepe or something,” I answer in a rush. She nods, grabs two menus, and motions for us to follow her. We are seated by the window, near the lone other couple in the main dining area. The boisterous laughter of a group dinner is heard behind us, the result, I think, of free flowing wine and good company.

We order escargots and a Papillon crepe, which is, as we find out, a combination of bananas, strawberries, and delicious chocolate sauce. The food is mediocre overall—in fact, the restaurant reminds us of a Perkins. Everything from the dark green carpet to the falsely homey décor resonantes of average America, but we don’t mind because we know we’ll be having wonderful food in the future days.

After paying the check (with credit card, as we have not exchanged any money yet), we head back to the hostel a few doors down. Aura is still up and we chat for a bit. He’s a graduate student at one of the New York state universities and only here until tomorrow, sadly.

Then it’s off to bed. The shared bathroom upstairs has no hot water, and so I wash my shivering face quickly and crawl into bed. I sleep surprisingly well, out like a light until the next morning.

To be continued...

Each time I watch Love Actually, I like it a little more.

I love the scenes leading up to the Prime Minister and tea girl's kiss. The flashes, each flash showing their faces closer.. the moment when he's behind her, and you can tell he wants her...

I think I enjoy the thought of things more than the execution.

Another sign you're a blogholic: when you blog right after getting home from a fabulous trip...

So much has happened--I had an amazing time in Montreal with Suzanne and we are definitely going back. The people, the French-ness, the food, the music, the everything!

Staying at a hostel contributed a lot to the experience. I didn't feel at all like I do in New York: afraid to talk to someone for fear they'll respond in monosyllables. Instead, I felt completely at ease and comfortable with striking up conversations randomly. Totally met a bunch of cool people through the hostel, and even just walking around lost!

I should probably sleep or something. I'll write more later. I promise.

Leaving for Montreal in about two hours.. excited. Happy. Wet (rainy outside jeans wet at bottom ick).

First trip done independently--enjoying ability to make own decisions and not having to follow strict schedule as set forth by father. Am going to see the sights, shop, eat.

Watching Chris Cox Megamix of Britney's 'hits'. Was much more attractive in 'Drive Me Crazy' and 'Lucky' days. After, had crazy belly of iron and false curves.

Beyonce is fabulous.

See you all Sunday!

Je rêverai toujours de vous...

Sometimes it's the small things that really matter.

Each little moment, every little gesture went straight to her heart.

She's always had a thing for the subtle.

Watching Love Actually with roomies and others I love after our pre-Thanksgiving feast... oh goodness. I am full. Full from chicken, chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, buffalo wings, string bean casserole, yams, pumpkin cheesecake, and oh god I'm going to go into a food coma soon.

Anyway, this week-end was absolutely wonderful. Wonderful. I've missed having Dan round, the darling. We spent 5 hours total waiting in line for MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) and browsing through the entire collection. I believe I saw every single piece of art there. Towards the end, it was like, "I'm tired. Van Gogh's Starry Night? Okay. Moving on..."

We ate at Cafe 2 in MoMA. Tiny portions for the prices, but the tiramisu is definitely worth the 5 dollars. Definitely. They were heavier with the cream than with the liquor, which I enjoyed v. much. And I found out that the cafes and restaurant in MoMA are being run by Danny Meyer's company! Danny Meyer is the owner of Union Square Cafe, one of the best restaurants in the city.

Also saw one of my favorite artist's works.. well many of my favorite artists, but one of my newly favorite artists--Pierre Bonnard. My favorite work of his can be seen here. So we saw The Breakfast Room, and I was drawn to it immediately.

Shopped up around Midtown. Went into Cartier (for me) and H&M (for Dan). He tried on numerous shirts and blazers, but the Karl Lagerfeld one was the best fit, especially with pink shirt. Very Jude Law as Alfie-esque.

Can't wait to visit him in DC. And do more touristy things next he comes.

I'm sleppsy.

I'm feeling good (even though my nose is bleeding like crazy and I have to be at work soon)...

Typing with one hand is hard.

Any way, my darling Dan is coming this week-end! He's never been to New York, so I'm excited to take him round. It seems all I ever do is play tour guide... MoMA is reopening Saturday, and I can't think of anyone better to go with than Dan who so clearly appreciates art. And my suitemates and I are doing a Thanksgiving meal Sunday, complete with chicken and garlic mashed potatoes and biscuits and so much more!

Then next week is MONTREAL!

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Isn't it funny, all that we miss out on because we weren't adventurous enough?

Isn't it funny, how much we can be hurt by being impetuous?

I really don't want much more than the shallow, but sometimes people think I'm digging deeper when I'm not. Silly miscommunications.

Also I think it is hilarious when your hair is curly and grungy and flying all over and you're in your comfy pants (=ugly) and comfy shoes (=ugly) and you get three old men hitting on you ("Ni hao ma?" "Pretty girl!") within 5 blocks.

What is up with that?!

This is a little late in posting, but I think it's important.

Iris Chang found dead of self-inflicted gunshot wound.

I remember when I first read The Rape of Nanking, I was positively horrified. I couldn't believe the Japanese government had done something like this, these brutal killings and rapes, without so much as a peep from anyone. I mean, I didn't even know about it until I read this book. For a long time, I hated the Japanese, and was depressed that I couldn't do anything about it.

Eventually I came to realize that countries commit these sorts of atrocities all the time, all over the world. As awful as what they did was, if I continued to hate the Japanese then I would have to hate every country. I still believe what they did was wrong. And I still believe that they need to own up to it (last I heard, there was no mention of it in Japanese textbooks).

It's easy to see why Ms. Chang killed herself if she immersed herself in this sort of gruesome history every day.

I have a love hate relationship with IM.

Lately I hate IM.

Pourquoi? you ask. Number 1: it is difficult to differentiate between when someone is doesn't want to talk to you and when someone just never checks to see who is signing on their buddy list. Number 2: things can be taken in various ways on IM and therefore a compliment can seem an insult and vice versa. Number 3: the rules change from person to person.

Mostly, I hate myself for taking things so personally.

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Having a poo day. Want to curl up and sleep, or have old friends care (did I imagine everything?), or experience something wonderful and amazing, or have an epiphany, or just care about anything--where is my passion, my drive, my ambition? Haven't seen it round here lately.

Every day I feel like I am just slogging through, rushing to get to the end, only to realize there is nothing at the end other than another day.

Was I always like this? Looking to the far, far future with no regards to the present or past?

This probably either looks pretentious or depressing or insert negative adjective here but you know what? I'm tired about caring who sees what on this website. So many times I've minced around things, and left things vague because I didn't want to regret anything I said. But that sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn't it?

Ryan Cabrera needs a haircut. Pronto.

There is a certain girl who sits next to me in Economics. She wears brand names—Burberry laptop case, Miu Miu shoes, various trendy brands of clothes and jeans. She’s pretty, in that perfectly streaked blonde and sharp featured manner, and seems to have quite a few male friends. The sexual orientation of the friends might be in question, but the fact remains that she has them, even though she has the most annoying whine of a voice and talks about mundane things.

An example of a conversation:

She comes in with an Au Bon Pain cup of soup and squeezes past me to sit down. “Omigosh I was at Au Bon Pain and they were like telling me that like I couldn’t get a cup of hot hot soup and I was like okaaaay… why would I want soup that isn’t hot hot but is just warm? I mean seriously, who wants warm soup?” Pause for the obligatory chuckles and laughs. “But finally I got this girl to like heat my soup up more and now it’s so perfect like I wanted.”

“I totally want some Au Bon Pain soup right now cause it’s so freezing in here,” a male friend says.

“I know that’s why I got it cause like I knew I would be like cold cause it’s always like sooooo cold in here,” she replies and the conversation continues in the same sort of vein. And all this said in her raspy whine.

I wondered why she bothers me, and then I realized the sad fact that I see myself talking like that and obviously I don’t want to be able to see myself doing so.

Lately I’ve been annoyed at people talking on cellphones because the part of the conversation I hear sounds so… repetitive and idiotic. The same platitudes and words of assurance or advice are used over and over. What has happened to the art of conversation? I used to think, when I was younger, that I would magically know what to say, and how to say it once I reached college (mainly based off such television shows as Felicity &c.). This has turned out to be far from true. For me, talking to girls has always been easier. We can rely on the time-tested topics of love lives, shopping, and good ole fashioned catty gossip. But guys?

I’m not one of those people who can stand silences. I enjoy them only when the person I am talking to doesn’t shut up or when it is a truly comfortable silence (which is rarely experienced). This is a problem, I think, because with guys, it appears they need the silences to digest and think things over while girls think things over out loud. Therefore I fear I cover the silences with questions or random thoughts, which doesn’t bode well as it doesn’t allow the guys to digest (?). And I’ve never been able to joke around with the guys, or truly be interested in sports, or just talk to them really.

Life is definitely not like a well-scripted television show.

Oh my goodness. I am exhausted.

I have just returned from the Glamour Women of the Year Awards. Yes, yes, I accepted my award, cried a little, and gave a graceful speech.

Har, no. More like, I was there as a seatfiller and saw the most celebrities I've ever seen in one place. I am going to list them all so that I won't forget and so you can be positively green with jealousy: Pierce Brosnan & Keely Shaye Smith, Steven Spielberg & Kate Capshaw, Tom Hanks & Rita Wilson, Alexandra Kerry, Kelly Ripa, Katie Holmes, Susan Sarandon, Ethan Hawke, Judy Blume, Carolina Herrera, Anne Hathaway, Katie Couric, Aisha Tyler, Keri Russell, Alicia Keys, Nathalie Cole, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Carly Patterson, Jessica Capshaw, Kate Winslet, Jon Stewart, Sam Donaldson, Lisa Ling, and even Iman!

Whooo. How did they all look in real life? Just like they do on television, of course, except some of the women look positively frail, i.e. Kelly Ripa and Keri Russell. Aisha Tyler was so so tall in comparison. And Ethan Hawke needed a haircut. Katie Holmes seemed nervous while giving her presentation speech--her slump was as noticeable as ever. Kate Winslet looked gorgeous: healthy and glowing and she exclaimed during her acceptance speech, "I can't help myself. Women have cellulite! Women have wrinkles!" and went on to say that we shouldn't be afraid of growing older and having flaws. I agree.

Susan Sarandon also looked gorgeous in her fifties-style green satin dress. Don't worry, I'll give you a link to pictures from the night so you can see for yourself. Alicia Keys--damn that girl can sing! She gave a performance in the beginning, looking all beautiful in her gown that hugged her curves and hair pulled back simply. She cried during her acceptance speech, saying that though she doesn't usually cry at awards shows, she did at this one because it felt so genuine. She then promptly proceeded to leave after accepting her award. I could tell, because her seat was three rows in front of mine and she definitely didn't come back. Carly Patterson was very nervous during her speech and started crying when thanking her family.

Jon Stewart--sigh. I am in love with that man. He gave a funny speech about his boss, who won an award. He joked about how the Rapture was coming, and that the righteous would go to heaven, leaving the Democrats in control of the government. Quite hilarious. Much shorter than you'd expect him to be though. At one point, before the show started, I was literally walking behind Steven Spielberg and it felt so odd, that he was really standing in front of me. You almost expect there to be a glass screen between you and him, but there isn't. Kate Capshaw, his wife, looked.. odd. I don't think there is a better word to describe her appearance. Like she'd had work done, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly. Tom Hanks looked exactly like Tom Hanks. And the woman who sat next to me kept telling me how nice he was in real life.

I got to sit in the same seat throughout the show which was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I had a pretty good seat, about ten rows back in the center, and also because I didn't have to keep moving around. Curse because I couldn't keep moving around in hopes of sitting next to a celebrity and whatnot. But man. It was so strange, and surreal now that I think back on it, though at the time it felt perfectly normal to be seeing Pierce Brosnan pass by with his wife, and Aisha Tyler talking on her cellphone. I can't believe it happened.

This all took place at the Museum of Natural History, apparently the first time they've done it there. And also the first time it's going to be televised, so if you go to the Glamour website, you can look up when it's going to show in your neighborhood. And if you want to see photos from the night, try HERE.

There were also lots of other women honored for various things--like Helen Thomas for her political reporting, Alice Coles for her tireless campaigning for a better neighborhood with clean running water, etc.--they made me feel so unaccomplished and yet so hopeful and inspired at the same time. I really need to get off my arse and do something with my life. But what will it be?

It's getting late and I'm tired. Maybe I'll share more later.

New layout. Obviously. Lately I've been feelin' the warm colors, so here's the orange. Let me know if it hurts your eyes.

The photos change every time you refresh. All of them were taken by me. I'll give a little run through--

The one of a guy looking over his shoulder is Gustavo Kuerten and was taken at the US Open. Good memories--you can read about it here.

The snake was captured on my camera when Suzanne and I visited the Central Park zoo last year (you can find the post under 22 February). I've always liked snakes--people say they're slimy but they're not--they feel all slithery and dry and cool.

The many glowing candles were taken in Paris, in Notre Dame. Though I don't care for organized religion, per se, I like churches. I ignore the morbid art usually, and breathe in the hush and echoes. And I've always had a thing for candles.

The Indian woman is Karina Kapoor, a Bollywood film star we saw filming around Paris. She had these gorgeous green eyes. I caught her in a pensive moment, sitting down.

The flower is from Monet's garden. If you don't know already, I've been a fan of Monet's ever since I was little and reading
Linnea in Monet's Garden. When I had the chance to visit the artist's garden, I was positively ecstatic and snapped as many flowers as possible.

The fireworks are circa senior summer in Chicago, when we visited Ayesha in her new house. We had such fun... the memories.

And the last one is obviously me.

I've finally splurged on something, after 8 months of working. It was a good bargain, too, cause Maliha's mom gets a nice discount around this time of year.

First of all, I have to say that I love Michael Kors. I started loving his stuff when I smelled Michael in an issue of Talk magazine (which has since folded), his perfume for women. Then I noticed his runway clothes, and loved those as well. So understandably, I was excited when I heard he would be making an affordable line of clothing and accessories.

This collection happens to be sold at Macy's. We went to shop at Macy's on Saturday, Maliha, Cynthia, and I. I was basically looking for a cashmere sweater or a handbag. And we were going to try on evening gowns, a favorite pasttime of most girls, I think. I couldn't find any cashmere sweater I liked, so I ended up wandering around the purse section near the end of our time there. I was drawn to the Michael Kors collection--there were so many purses that I liked!

I couldn't help myself. I tried on several purses to see how they looked, but I really liked the Aviator tote, as I'd been looking for a large bag anyway. I don't know if it was the nice saleslady, or the fact that I hadn't bought anything while Maliha and Cynthia had already purchased makeup and clothes and perfume, or just that I loved the bag so much, but I bought it.

It ended up being a good thing, because I only paid around two hundred for it, as opposed to three. And got a free Macy's tote bag, too!

Okay, I'm sure most of you will see this as an unnecessary extravagance, but a good purse will last for a long time, so I'm making an investment. And I really love it. It makes me feel so... luxurious when I'm carrying it around. It may not be Louis Vuitton or Burberry or Hermes, but it's perfect for me.

There's something to be said for being so forgettable that the salesclerk asks you what you'd like to order immediately after you've already ordered and paid and are standing there closing your wallet.

True story, people, true story. I went to Beard Papa's yesterday for a cheese stick (har, that sounds disgusting but really it's just a stick of deliciousity goodness cheesecake) and after the clerk had greeted me with their famously cheerful, "Welcome to Beard Papa's!", I ordered a cheesestick. She told me it was a dollar, and I dug out my wallet, handed the dollar over to her, and as I'm standing there trying to put my wallet away, she asks me, "What would you like to order?"

I stood there for a moment, confused. Had I been daydreaming so heavily that I actually imagined the entire episode of me handing over the dollar? I didn't think I was that tired, but just in case, I said, "I want a cheesestick," then kind of nodded to confirm that I'd already done so.

But then she actually rung it up again and asked me for a dollar! Eventually the whole mess was sorted out, with her smiling a silly smile and me questioning if the Beard Papa cheer comes from something other than natural enthusiasm.

So depressed was I yesterday. Or rather, subdued. That seemed to be the general mood of New Yorkers. Quiet in disbelief, or acceptance, I don't know. For me, it was more of a disbelief, that the entire year should culminate in this: a Bush victory.

Instead of doing homework last night, I watched Muriel's Wedding with Suzanne, which is quite fabulous if I do say so myself. The Australian accents were a bit hard to understand at first, but once you get in the flow, it gets easier. Then we watched Jeopardy. And America's Next Top Model. And Regency House Party--which is another one of those PBS modern-people-go-back-in-time sort of shows and lovely as well... if you like Pride and Prejudice, and the Regency Period in general, you should be watching it. The premise is (as obvious from the title) a house party with eligible singles looking to make a match. The first episode was scandalous already--they're repeating it Sunday so I don't want to spoil anything for the one person who might take up my suggestion. Just watch it.

So basically I tried to forget about the election by numbing myself with television. It worked for the duration I was staring at the television and stuffing my face, but now.. but now.. here it is again.

At least I've got a busy week-end lined up. And a busy Monday. Busy with what? Don't worry, I'll fill you in on Monday night. Or Tuesday morning.

Recently formed habits die hard, as I've been finding out. You think you've got it conquered, and then there it is again, ready to bite you in the arse.. I say this partly because my mother is here and though I love her dearly, she can't help but straighten and sort and clean until I'm exhausted just from watching her (and attempting to save what I want to keep).

It's been quite the long week-end. I realized again how I much I enjoy alone time. That's the introvert in me, I guess. I gather some of my energy just sitting there, not having to expend outwards toward other people. Also why I'm a book person--you don't have to worry about what they think of you and even get a lovely story out of 'em.

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Oh dear, election day tomorrow. I've already placed my vote in the hands of the mailing gods, so all I can do is sit and watch as our next four years are decided for us. It's going to be a squeaker.