Paris, Saturday, 16 September -
After kind of sleeping in until two this afternoon I have been out and about with the vague idea of getting some info in case I really feel like doing an events column for Metropole. I used to do one every week but last spring I stopped and now everyone asks me what's happening in Paris.
Worse. Time Out had a section in English in Pariscope but they stopped it because it cost too much, they said. Nova had already thrown in the sponge. And just a little while ago Zurban ceased. Hip and wired I guess that leaves Lylo, which does all the music every two weeks. Lylo is free too. You can find it everywhere if your eyes are sharp. It's the size of a postcard, handy for carrying in a pocket.
It's a lot work doing an events calendar, especially for no pay. I go to FNAC by Saint-Lazare and scoop up flyers and brochures I find in the ticket sales area. There was a mob of folks there today buying iPods, wide-screen TVs, digital cameras, DVDs, regular books and gizmos, the kind of stuff FNAC sells.
From there I go down past Printemps to Haussmann, on the way to the Tourist Office beside the Opéra. I had crossed the boulevard before I saw the 'Willkommen' sign in Printemps' window, so I went back to see what it was about. Risked my life I mean, crossing that street on a Saturday afternoon.
Here's Printemps in September, back-to-school time, using its prime show windows to advertise 'Cabaret,' which will be playing at the Folies Bergère, starting in late October. 'LIVE!' it says. "Le Grand Classique de Broadway" "Succes mondial!" Having four or five Printemps windows, the windows are like billboards in a better location than Times Square - all those suburbanites coming from Saint-Lazare.
I guess just by-the-by they are promoting their own lingerie. The idea gave their window dressers some license to be naughty. Yeah, yeah, it's what Paris needs - scenes from Berlin pick-up bars. As if we don't have enough tits and bootie in our faces all the time.
Well, hell, look at me. There I was going along, half asleep, minding my own little inconsequential business, and all of a sudden right in the middle of downtown, two steps from the Opéra, here's this thinly disguised peep show. Why is it I can never remember what to say when people ask me why I live in Paris?
Frisson, man! It's the damn frisson all the time.