Today in the Paris Metro

An elderly Chinese man approached me and started speaking to me in Mandarin. Since I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, I shook my head and said “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Chinese”. He gave me a confused look, then went off with a huff.

In hindsight, probably shouldn’t have responded in Mandarin. My bad.

Baking in Paris : Melting Butter

Unlike American butter, French butter tends to explode when you put it in the microwave. I have no idea why. Perhaps it’s offended by the idea of using microwaves to speed up the melting process. Anyway, this is quite an unpleasant situation for any baker (or patissier as the French call them) who will need melted butter for a variety of baked goods including cookies and madeleines. To counter this problem, I’ve devised a workaround: Prepare a little more butter than the recipe requires. That way you can compensate for the amount that will burst out of the microwave-safe bowl. I’ve used this several times here and it always seems to work. I’m brilliant like that.

Things that the French force me to eat

Yes, living in France proves to be quite difficult, as there’s always some new boulangerie or brasserie that I am compelled to try out, despite my dislike for food and other rather trivial matters, like breathing. Highly overrated. Anyway, here are some pictures of the absolutely horrible things that I have no choice but to consume, because everyone’s so overdramatic about how important eating is or something.

A Challenge (Contest Time!)

Guess what this is (usage, brand/maker). The first one to guess correctly AND post the answer as a comment will get one!

Secret mystery item!

The French Language Continues to Blow My Mind

Yesterday, I noticed a sign that had the expression “de luxe”, or “of luxury” on it. Then I put the two words together. DELUXE! Man, the things that I learn in Paris.

Photoshop Fun!

The shop is actually Frey Wille, but I just couldn’t help but switch the last letters of each word. Teehee.

A question about love

Question: How do you hold on to someone who’s already drifted away beyond your reach?
My answer: A harpoon gun.

Coffees and Stories

I had this idea while sitting in a café and writing that there are some amazing similarities between coffee and stories. I’m almost certain that no one’s ever thought of this before, since no one ever drinks coffee AND writes at the same time, right? So, here goes.

Coffees and stories, like any two objects when put together and scrutinized for any sort of common features, have a lot of things in common. For example, there are good stories and there are bad stories, just like coffee. And some coffees start off quite nicely but gradually worsen as they cool off and leave a sour aftertaste when you finish them, just like some stories. And if you put enough sugar and milk into a story, it will become edible, just like coffee!*

*At this point in my contemplations, I pondered what a story would taste like with milk and sugar. I was tempted to try it with a short story that my friend had sent me, but then I realized that if I were to eat a story, I might get paper cuts. Paper cuts in the mouth. In the inside of my mouth. I became preoccupied with the horrors of having paper cuts in my mouth, so I forgot about whatever I was thinking about.

So yeah, coffee and stories. I’m sure there’s something there. Unfortunately, all I can think about right now are sugarcoated stories dipped in milk. I’m sure there’s a edible product somewhere called a story, right?

Quotes From The First Season of Mad Men

This doesn’t really have anything to do with Paris, except for the fact that Don Draper is awesome. Which still has nothing to do with Paris.

Remember how I used to write things?

Well, after an unannounced month-and-a-half long hiatus during which I did some soul-searching and decided that soul-searching is a rather stupid excuse for not doing anything productive, I have decided to resume my usual routine of writing whatever comes to mind and posting it on the Internets. Because that’s the thing the kids do these days.

But first, let me tell you about my current whereabouts. I am in Paris. Maybe I’ll talk about that sometime.

Okay, I’ll talk about it now. So I am currently studying abroad in Paris, and my daily routine looks something like this:

7AM: Wake up to enjoy the brisk Parisian morning

8AM: Wake up again to enjoy the brisk Parisian morning again

9AM: Wake up to actually do something other than enjoy the brisk Parisian morning

Sometime after 9AM: Go to a Parisian café and sit back with a mostly unsatisfactory espresso (more on that later) and a Moleskine notebook and strike a writing pose that is reminiscent of the great American expat writers like Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Kerouac.

Sometime after striking initial “great American expat writer” pose: Write about my feelings like a little girl.

Two hours later: Go to class. Oh, and eat a baguette sandwich along the way like a Parisian étudiant.

After class, around 18-ish (oh yes, they don’t believe in AM/PM here): Go back to my room, eat dinner, do some homework(?).

22H-0AM-ish: NIGHT OUT IN PARIS! PARTAY!

0-3AM: Emotionally hemorrhage all over my online friends whilst drunken and soul-cripplingly depressed. I’m very sorry, Skype Test Call. I owe you.

Rinse with a fine French wine and repeat.

So yes, I will be writing mostly about my Parisian experiences now. Or not. Depends on how I feel. Because my feelings are important.