tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28519190890612100142024-02-07T07:07:18.521+01:00today.times.onephotos . music . architecture . paris . coffeejulienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-2297742950812780672013-05-12T14:41:00.001+02:002013-05-12T14:49:29.805+02:00a few views from space<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-46564755506629948872012-12-30T14:00:00.001+01:002012-12-30T14:39:53.236+01:002012: top five gigs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/7836838116/">radiohead rules again</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="margin-top: 0px;">So, who really rocked in 2012? This year was packed with great gigs and festivals so I have had a hard time to cut it down to a top five. Hell, I had enough to make a top ten and then some. Still, lets keep it short, in no particular order:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Grizzly Bear, Brixton Academy, London</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="margin-top: 0px;">Lit by floating glowing jellyfish, Grizzly Bear easily had the best set design of 2012 but don't let this overshadow what was a perfectly executed set. The p</span>erfect harmonies and rich instrumentation made GB's beautiful tunes really shine.
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">M83, Brixton Academy, London</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What could go wrong? Lush electronic music, happy tunes and sexy singers. Well, there was worry all around that the sleepy sounds of the CDs might turn into a sleepy concert (XX ahem?). They managed to avoid this completely by injecting the music with a heavy dose of rock, pop and just pure energy that kept the crowd dancing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For a taste:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/snooze_button/m83-live-set-at-bumpershoot">https://soundcloud.com/snooze_button/m83-live-set-at-bumpershoot</a>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Radiohead, Optimus Alive, Lisbon</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, this is a hard one. Three days of music in sunny Lisbon, including stand out shows by Justice, Mumford and Sons and The Kills. But Radiohead managed to not only outshine all of the other acts, but also provide the best concert I have ever seen of theirs. Having not played in Lisbon for a while they decided to do a best-of concert, playing a mix from all of their albums except Pablo Honey. What really showed is that Thom is having fun, doing his funny dances, singing his heart out and improvising like hell (something that lacked from the In Rainbows tour). Utterly amazing stuff.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tori Amos, Royal Albert Hall, London</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What is this? Tori Amos?? The singer I once adored, but has made it harder and harder to continue to do so with her recent mediocre records, not to mention having already seen her twice and being sorely disappointed. But here, in the setting of the grand Royal Albert Hall, she pulled together a best-of concert backed by the Metropole Orchestra that succeeded in riding that fine line between emotional and overly indulgent. The kind of concert that makes you feel the world is a little more beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Black Keys, Alexander Palace, London</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Best mosh and biggest sound of 2012 goes to the Black Keys. Nothing much more to say: pure fun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Honourable Mentions</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh no, this is where I sneak in a whole lot of other bands instead of just sticking to my top five. Please forgive me:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Justice, Optimus Alive, Lisbon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wonderful masters of sound, bending it to their will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mumford and Sons, Optimus Alive, Lisbon<br />Toe tapping fun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">New Order, Brixton Academy<br />This gig was either ruined or made by the 50 year old 120 kilo men in the front row moshing with no mercy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Other Lives, Oxford<br />I think every year needs an Other Lives concert to keep it real (and beautiful).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Metronomy, Field Day, London</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Amongst quite a few good concerts at Field Day this one and Beirut really stood out as the surprise hits.</span></div>
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julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-6008668765216113402011-12-07T18:27:00.003+01:002011-12-07T19:03:43.178+01:00SW2<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/6456041475/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7167/6456041475_c6ba48c30e.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/6456041475/">the common</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>11 months in London and I am in my third house. I have left the genteel north-west and made it to the soon-to-be-gentrified south-west. It is still possible to be the only white guy on the street, but if there IS another white guy, chances are that he is either gay or Australian (or both). No surprises that I feel more at home here?<br /><br />Then again, when I stumbled upon Brixton a year ago while looking for a house it was also the first place in London that felt to me truly alive. There is a bustle of actual locals moving through the streets, with more fresh food shops than anywhere else I have seen in London and a pub on every corner. You will find smoky meat being cooked in large metal drums and served with bountiful rice and peas, fresh fish for a few pounds, stolen bikes, great pizza and madmen preaching to the converted (with two evangelical churches on every street). </p><p>Though Brixton has a big Tescos I do like that it isn't its social hub.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-40492857380871642422011-11-15T23:29:00.004+01:002011-11-15T23:37:50.803+01:00bars in paris<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4238684942/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2803/4238684942_860df8ed58.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4238684942/">more drinks</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >The North-east</span></b><br /><br /><b>The Kitch Bar</b><br />10, rue Oberkampf, 75011<br />metro: Oberkampf<br />My favourite bar in Paris, this lounge-room sized bar is a place where if you don’t know everyone’s names on arrival, you will before too long. This goes for English speakers too, I have had many a bilingual conversation here. It’s specialities are cocktails and it is worth trying out the Shrek (think mint slurpey), the nesbite (an long island iced tea, plus two alcohols), or the choufleur (a whipped cream caramel shot). Not a place to come for standard American-style cocktails though (stay away from the bloody mary).</p><p><br /><b>Ethnika cafe</b><br />127 Rue Saint-Maur, 75011<br />Metro : parmentier<br />3.50 – 4.50 euro cocktails and flavoured rum shots (where the rum has been sitting in huge glasses with figs, honey, carob, for 12 hours) are the draw cards to this crowded bar, though the downstairs area often has djs. The entire stretch of bars around this one offer a range of cheap drinks and fun places to try out. Oh, and remember to check out the toilet here..</p><p><br /><b>Le Lèche-vin</b><br />13, rue Daval, 75011<br />metro : bastille<br />A bar full of catholic iconography, coupled with the most obscene toilets on earth. The pope will never bless this place.</p><p><br /><b>Ave Maria</b><br />1, Rue Jacquard , 75011 Paris<br />metro: parmentier or oberkampf<br />Similiar to the Lèche-vin, this is a bar/restaurant with a religious feel, though this one embraces all faiths. The food is great, though pricey, with some interesting “fusion” dishes. Further up the hill, past parmentier (and around the Ethnika café) there are hundreds of small bars for you to also try out.</p><p><br /><b>Le 50</b><br />50 Rue de Lancry , 75011<br />Metro : jacques bonsergent<br />A bit in the same style as the Kitch, but this place also has good wine, cheese plates, ginger flavoured beer and a series of rooms at the back for when it gets busy. It draws in a very diverse crowd (from 18 to 80) and each different barman has different taste in music.<br /><br /></p><p><br /><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >The Marais</span></b></p><p><b>The Lizard Lounge</b><br />18 rue Bourg Tibourg 75004<br />metro: hotel de ville or St Paul<br />Owned by some English speakers, this one does tend to be a bit of an ex-pat or tourist haunt, but it has a nice vibe, has a mezzanine with board games, a downstairs bar, and some good standard cocktails.</p><p><br /><b>Les étages</b><br />35 rue Vieille du Temple, 75004<br />metro: hotel de ville or St Paul<br />The barmen and women of this establishment stepped straight out of a world war II French resistance movie and spend more time posing than actually serving drinks, but that’s ok. Famous for strawberry mojitos.</p><p><br /><b>L'Art Brut Bistrot </b><br />78 Rue Quincampoix<br />metro: chatelet or rambuteau<br />One of my favourite wine bars in the centre of paris. It’s got a good selection and is always bustling.<br /><br /><b>Le Connétable </b><br />55 Rue Archives<br />75003 Paris, France<br />metro: rambuteau or arts et metiers<br />It is a bar that never shuts, slowly collecting the dregs and remains of the night, usually a swarm of desperate, smoking men. It is part tavern, part someone’s home, you can smoke on the top floor, and the owners dogs are usually sitting around.<br /><br /><b>Le Duplex </b><br />25 Rue Michel le Comte<br />75003 Paris, France<br />metro: rambuteau or arts et metiers<br />The gay version of the Connétable, it also shuts late (around 5am), and is designed to give you very strong cocktails, then set you up on the one long table where someone will come and say hi to you within a few minutes.<br /><br /><b>Les Souffleurs </b><br />7 Rue Verrerie<br />75004 Paris, France<br />My new favourite gay bar, with friendly bar men, good music and a downstairs with strange video projections and djs. A slightly alternative crowd, the type of people who will end up at the Duplex at 2am (if they haven’t picked up).</p><p>More to come soon!</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-73703678171862680142011-06-25T12:55:00.001+02:002011-06-25T12:55:07.550+02:00and so it is the middle of summer...<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/20684333/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/16/20684333_63706d1863.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/20684333/">sunset while leaving</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Sunset in London: 9:21 pm<br />Sunset in Paris: 9:58 pm<br />Sunset in Oslo..... 10:43 pm :)</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-9157374890350239522011-01-30T04:02:00.002+01:002011-01-30T04:05:27.398+01:00welcome to nw3<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/5399272155/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5297/5399272155_786b3985ff.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/5399272155/">fine food in the east end</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>So, what do you think of London so far? How can I think of London, when my room, my job and the path between these things are different enough that I haven’t even had a though about which city I am in.<br /><br />Gone is my spacious room in a small apartment, exchanged for a tiny room in an enormous apartment. Farwell my empty nights, now re-immersed in house share and long bottles of wine. My groceries must fit into one shelf in the fridge and one shelf in the cupboard, I should probably not play music at full blast at 3 am, and I probably shouldn’t let that dirty dish sit there over night.<br /><br />Goodbye the piling of bodies upon bodies, of lives against lives that is the Parisian apartment house, the Parisian street, the Parisian world. Hello long empty streets, half hour tube rides, listening to my ipod in the dark and the rain, bars being closed at 11, supermarkets open on Sundays.<br /><br />I jumped from years of three to five people firms to a firm that has over one hundred in London alone, and has another three offices worldwide. In Paris coats went up on the rickety coat rack, the toilet had been leaking for months, there was no cleaner or secretary, I went out to buy a kettle, coffee machine and desk light for the office and on certain days I needed to work on a computer brought from home. Hell, I didn’t have a contract for months on end. Hello fully equipped kitchens with dining rooms where everyone eats in canteen style, hello a thirty person admin team, a sixty page office manual, projects in every country on earth, project teams twice the size of my former firms. Oh, the joys of time sheets.<br /><br />As to London? How do we experience a city? Is it what it looks like, how we can go out, how we shop, who we meet, how we move around, the parks, the galleries, the bars? I think London is not a city that reveals itself quickly. Here, with the sun setting at four and constant rain, it is hard to find it pretty. And Soho on a Friday night, with its mix of overcrowding (it’s like Chatelet on a Friday night, and why would I go there?) and bars closing really early is a frustrating wonder. I am waiting for the sun to set later, to be able to walk and walk, or maybe buy a bike. This city is rough and raw and not at all easy, but already I love the difference between where I live (West Hampstead) and where I work (Waterloo). I like that in my firm only 10 people are British and 90 are foreigners and that every European language can be heard. I don’t like that the 10 British members include most of the directors, but that’s another story.<br /><br />I am still in that horrible moment where I can’t help but constantly compare things to Paris. I will need to give London a chance to show me a different way of living, just as Paris showed me an entirely different way of living to Sydney.<br /><br />Now, if you will leave me, Ken gave me a copy of Down and out in Paris and London and I might just be reading it with a smile on my face.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-9447338015269591392011-01-13T00:36:00.002+01:002011-01-13T00:42:18.971+01:00a night with dezeen I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2008/07/lamp-girls-by-marianne-maric-68-12.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 689px;" src="http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2008/07/lamp-girls-by-marianne-maric-68-12.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2008/07/lamp-girls-by-marianne-maric-66.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 338px;" src="http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2008/07/lamp-girls-by-marianne-maric-66.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div><br /></div><div>While looking up some of the old articles on Dezeen I stumbled upon the <a href="http://www.dezeen.com/2008/07/17/lamp-girls-by-marianne-maric/">above project</a> for lamp clothing for women by French photographer and stylist Marianne Maric and this almost Miyakazi like design for a shale shaped hot air balloon hotel called <a href="http://www.dezeen.com/2008/01/10/manned-cloud-by-jean-marie-massaud/">Manned cloud</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2008/01/01-manned-cloud-bdsq.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 450px;" src="http://static.dezeen.com/uploads/2008/01/01-manned-cloud-bdsq.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dezeen is one of my morning-read-while-drinking-coffee sites, along with Questionable Content, XKCD and Cat and Girl (see links to the right). A great place to waste time.</div>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-43359796427418269702011-01-12T00:46:00.001+01:002011-01-12T00:46:38.024+01:00que je change de cap, de capitale<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/5264247049/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5004/5264247049_35e47188d3.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/5264247049/">riding to work, velib included</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>The office was still bustling while I started packing up. It was actually happening: in the middle of a huge competition I was going to be able to keep my long planned four day weekend to London to see the National and Jonsi. There had been nights of stress when I was sure my bosses would tell me it just wasn’t possible as there was too much work to do, but this once things were going to work out ok.<br />I logged onto gmail to send myself a few files just in case I had some time to work on them on the Eurostar and noticed an email in my inbox. I opened it and read it.<br /><br />“Um.” I said to the two workmates at my table. “David Chipperfield’s office just asked if I was in London this weekend for an interview.”<br /><br />“That’s great” Guillaume said, looking up from his work. “Isn’t it?”<br /><br />“Um. Well. Yeah.” I had sent off the CV to David Chipperfield’s office three months earlier and it had somewhat been forgotten amongst the 80 or so CVs I had sent.<br /><br />The irony was that I had been leaving work early to try and pass by my gym and sign up for a years subscription while the rates were still cheap. I was so close to accepting staying in Paris for at least another year.<br /><br />So, I hesitated, and went to meet up with Nat next to the canal instead. The wine was excellent, and I was euphoric due to the prospect of seeing Jonsi and the National (and Nat’s fine company, obviously). Somehow the whole job interview business just seemed like a surreal addition. Nat and I finished off a bottle each, had a wonderful meal, and the next morning I hopped on the Eurostar.<br /><br />Well, the weekend was wonderful; Jonsi was beautiful and the National made me feel warm and fuzzy for weeks after. And on that rainy Monday when London was having a transport strike I did two interviews and got the job. The starting date was going to be almost exactly one year after quitting my last long term job.<br /><br />The next month passed by in a snowy gloom. Work got tough, the competition deadline approached. As usual though, friend’s and alcohol made things bearable. Now that I knew I was going to leave Paris my time left seemed too short. Everything was already seeping into nostalgia: will this be my final trip to the Buttes Chaumont? Will this be my final Shrek at the Kitsch? Soulwaxmas at La Villette, the insane end of year drinks with my work where I still don’t know how I got home (and I am sure I didn’t pay for any of my drinks, but the bar owner took the same metro home as me and he didn’t mention anything, so it’s all ok).<br /><br />Paris also continued to show me its quirks:<br /><br />While taking the metro home late one night a young man hopped on at the station after mine and started a familiar spiel: “hello, my name is Jean, I’m 25 and recently I lost my job and my house. If you have a ticket rest, or...”<br /><br />Meanwhile, a muttering could be heard from the other end of the carriage: “I don’t have a house, I don’t have any money, if you could please...” A much older man, shabbily dressed, completely drunk, was giving the same speech.<br /><br />The younger man stopped and shook his head. “I don’t believe this. Can’t you see I am talking?” He said to the older man. The older man seemed confused. “This is my carriage, go away, go home, everyone can see you are drunk”.<br /><br />People were both laughing and a little uncomfortable that the younger man seemed to be so aggressive to the older. The young man apologised to everyone, and then pulled the older man off the train with him at the next station.<br /><br />A few days later Ray and I would be walking around the gare St Lazarre, freezing to death, and wanting a tea. Ray stared at the prices in horror: 5 euros 20 for a tea? I tried to explain that it was normal for this area, but that didn’t seem to make things better for him. We found a place that sold a pot of tea bag tea for 4 euros 20, and a demi of beer for 4 euros; at least it would take us out of the cold.<br /><br />I was in mid sip of my beer when I noticed a mouse running around the neighbouring table. I was somewhere between amused and a little worried. I called out to the “garcon” and he shrugged, said “so what”, and told me that the mouse was very well behaved. <br /><br />When I came back from new years in Cologne I found myself with two days to get my stuff together for London, and everything started moving so quickly. I hopped on a train, and suddenly I now lived in London. Paris had slipped away without me really realising, and the whole move is still only slowly sinking in.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-31219428454093715582010-08-31T00:45:00.006+02:002010-09-01T14:42:47.781+02:00waiting for arcade fire<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4940904009/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4115/4940904009_f56c9a54d5.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style=" margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4940904009/">bracelets x 3</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">17h57 I am approaching the main stage of Rock en Seine, always with no news from Josh. I note a line of people slicing through the crowd and attach myself to the back of them, receiving a piggy back the front of the sound tent. There the line dissolves and I get stuck between a guy with a Franz Ferdinand t-shirt and his girlfriend, and a really short guy and his even shorter girlfriend. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h07 Beirut starts. Mr Franz’s girlfriend asks “er, did you know that they were so.. well.. like this?” Mr Franz shakes his head. “Well, we will stay till the end, and then we should try to move forward for a good spot for the Ting Tings”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">I tense up. They are possible competition. Are they only here for the Ting Tings, meaning they will leave before Arcade Fire? Or is this an indication that everyone is going to wait around for the next four hours, like me?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h15 Josh still hasn’t arrived, and this is the band he wanted to see. I’m trying to enjoy the ukulele playing. It is mighty fine ukulele playing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h20 A rather bouncy tall Frenchman jumps through the crowd. Mr Shorty and his girlfriend are dancing to Beirut and Mr Bouncy says “you are both sooooooooo cute!” They get embarrassed and stop, but he forces them to continue. He sees his friends just ahead and jumps over to them and hugs them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h22 Mr Bouncy is now standing directly in front of Mr Shorty and his even shorter girlfriend. He notices this, and turns around, saying “to the right, or to the left?” Mr Shorty is confused. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Well, should I stay to the left,” Bouncy continues, “and u can look past me to the right, or vice versa?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Left.” Shorty replies. Bouncy goes to the left, and is still blocking them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Er, not right.” Bouncy goes to the right, allowing Shorty to see but blocking Shortys girlfriend’s view. Meanwhile, Bouncy has pulled out a wine bladder from his bag and is offering wine to Shorty, then to his girlfriend. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He is complaining about how horrible the wine is, and that he had bought the exact same wine yesterday and it was good. But hell, it’s cheap, so he doesn’t care too much.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Josh still hasn’t arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h28 Josh calls. “Can you wave, so I can see where you are?” He asks.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">I wave. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“I can’t see you…” he says. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Why are festivals just a constant reminder of how short I am? I jump up and down waving and eventually he can see me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h34 Josh arrives, just as Mr Bouncy has continued offering wine to everyone, then forced Shorty’s girlfriend to stand in front of him. At around this time, a bunch of what looks like 14 years olds hop by in a line, forcing their way through the crowd quite violently, obviously utterly drunk.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Fuck, they are kids” I say. Josh tries to hear. “Did you say they were dicks?” he asks.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">18h50 Beirut ends. CHAOS IS EVERYWHERE. We drive forward, along with Mr Frandz and his girlfriend, while others are racing away from the stage to god knows what. We managed to get to the metal central part (for those of you who have been to Rock en Seine, well, you know what I mean.) We realise we are roughly at the fourth row or so, and we manage to get enough room to sit. The waiting begins.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">19h10 I decide to head off to get us food, water, alcohol and do a toilet break. Sadly it seems everyone else has decided to do exact the same thing. I stare at the hour long queues with fear.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">19h25 Josh calls, saying he won’t be able to keep my spot for very much longer.. the crowd is very pushy! I have to return, with only water. We will have to manage for the rest of the night foodless and without alcohol.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">19h35 wait, wait, wait.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">19h40 people start standing up on the edges, and we, of the comfortably seated on the metal part, refuse. A wide, jovial Frenchman announces to everyone in a booming voice “People! You need not stand! Do not feel obliged to conform to the tyranny of the standing! For seated, we have the power…” he continues like this for about a minute, and ends to a round of applause. A young guy comes over and says “what is your name, I want to congratulate you on your speech.” The jovial guy stands up to shake the young man’s hand, and the whole crowd boos, calling him a hypocrite. He is so drunk he can’t understand why everyone is booing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">19h50 The Ting Tings start just as the Dicks, I mean Kids, come slicing through the crowd, up to the front next to us.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">19h55 The tallest Dick is putting out his cigarette in the hair of the shortest Dick. Mr Jovial tries to stop them, saying short Dick has such wonderful, wonderful hair and that it was a tragedy to burn it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">20h00 Tall Dick picks up short Dick and puts him on his shoulders. The remaining group of Dicks start undressing short Dick, who is so out of it, he barely notices. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">20h10 Everywhere around us is chaos. We seem to be in a calm group of about 10 people surrounded by a raging, soaring mosh pit. People keep on crowd surfing over us – one hits josh in the head when he isn’t looking – but, for now, we are safe. We seem to have found ourselves in the “jump up and down” crowd, rather than the “run at the person next to you” crowd. As it turns out, all of the people in the calm group would turn out to be Arcade Fire fans…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">20h25 The Ting Tings are really warming up, and though I try to keep the calm people surrounding me (they must have thought I was very kind, often allowing people in front of me, but really, I was maintaining a buffer of people I had singled out as being less violent), a French couple come barging through and it’s all over: “Hey, if we can’t go mad for the Ting Tings, then we can never go mad”, they tell me. The calm collapses.. everything moves in every direction and it is a joyful madness, with lots of elbows hitting heads and feet kicking shins.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">20h40 A particularly mad Frenchman appears next to me and I say a bit too loudly “oh oh”. He hears me and says “Hey, all this mad bouncing about is the best way to get to the front!” When he realizes he can’t actually get any further, he pulls himself up and crowd surfs to the very front.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">20h50 The Ting Tings end. No one is leaving from around where we are. Josh leaves for a toilet break and everyone tries to sit, but there isn’t enough room. We end up sitting on each other.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">21h05 The two girls next to me are trying to sing Arcade Fire songs, but can’t remember parts. I stop myself from helping, and continue reading American Psycho.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">21h15 There is a great vibe in the crowd. The girl next to me starts chatting to me, saying how she can’t understand how I can read in all of the madness. When Josh returns the crowd helps him step over them, making small foot holes so he can reach me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">21h40 There is less and less space. The tension is rising. It is now dark, and we watch as props appear on stage: floodlights, a billboard, a painted screen depicting a highway. People start cheering for every technician who walks on, and starts singing in semi unison “wake up”. The guy next to me REALLY can’t sing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">22h00 The stage goes dark, the opening to “the suburbs” begins, and then, as the seven appear on stage, unexpectedly turns into “Ready to start”. I almost die of excitement and yell at Josh “It’s the one I really like!” He nods. All around me people are singing along. Arcade Fire achieves again what I witnessed in 2007: the biggest Karaoke I have ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The concert continues with beautiful numbers from all three albums. The crowd favourite “No cars go” gets everyone singing and jumping, while “Ocean of Noise” is spectacular, borrowing two trumpet players from Beirut.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The great thing is: everyone seems to be short. I can actually see! My joy is slightly spoilt by a rather grumpy old man to my left who is standing with his elbows jutting out defensively, sticking into the soft of my back. It gets so annoying that I ask him to move them, but he replies that it is my fault for moving about to the music. His glare shows that he has judged me as being a… *gasp* hooligan.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">22h55 The concert is spectacular. I don’t know if it is because I know The Suburbs better than any other album, or if it’s the fact that they are doing weird and wonderful things to the old songs they are playing, but it feels better than last time. I am trying to work out whether I could call it “my best concert ever”, kicking Sigur Ros and Radiohead off their thrones, when it starts to sprinkle. Then to rain. Then to pour.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Arcade fire play for one song under the torrential rains and, due to the direction of the wind, end up being utterly soaked. The technicians come out at the end of the song and say they have to get off stage. Tarpaulins come out while the audience puts on raincoats and jumpers. The old man, now a little behind me, drops a packet of chewing gum as he is putting on his raincoat. I bend down and pick it up and give it to him. His eyes go wide. I think this might be the equivalent of that moment where Jean Valjean turns Javerts moral order on its head. Or maybe not. Either way, the old guy then acts really nice to both Josh and I.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">23h05 The rain continues.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">23h10 Arcade fire comes running out and with a minimal amount of instruments and faltering props and video projects, play Wake up, to which we all, of course, sing and rejoice. The spotlights illuminate the rain as it falls, and it is an utterly breathtaking experience.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">23h15 Arcade Fire bows to the cheering crowd before throwing their drum sticks. The lead singer comes running up to directly in front of where I am. I try to reach out and touch him but he is just a bit too far. Almost, amost…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">23h17 The rain stops. About 5 minutes too late.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">23h20 It becomes somewhat clear that it is over, but even when technicians make official announcements telling everyone to go home, many remain. People are divided between cheering, slightly angry demands for more, and conversations on the lines of “well, what we did see was amazing”. Josh and I leave and make our way to the metro utterly drenched.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rock en Seine ends for 2010.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">[side note, this still holds very true: </span><a href="http://www.questionablecontent.net/view.php?comic=16">http://www.questionablecontent.net/view.php?comic=16</a> ]</p><p></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-31628257748282084232010-08-26T00:50:00.003+02:002010-08-26T00:53:59.920+02:00only a spectator (at the gay games)<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4888803490/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4074/4888803490_27ed28b830.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style=" margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4888803490/">gone bouldering</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>When my friend Steve introduced the concept of the Gay Games to me I think I laughed hard and for quite a while. Was it Gay only? Did they test you on arrival with a "gay test", just to make sure you weren't cheating? If you win, can you then say you are the fastest... gay male runner in the world? Are the Olympics heterosexual only?<br /><br />Well, it was a good excuse to get to meet Steve and to see Cologne (and Zumthor's St Kolumba museum). So I said: what the hell, I'm going.<br /><br />The one long, intense day of competition that I had the opportunity to witness managed to quieten me a little. I had never seen a rock climbing competition and for someone who suffers from vertigo, I think I had to steady myself a little on arrival when I saw just how tall the walls were.<br /><br />The intense concentration, the physical strength and dexterity needed... I was just a little in awe. This was not some pansy's competition.<br /><br />The tone for the competition managed to be both serious - the courses were damn hard - and light-hearted. Everyone chatted between events, there were loud rounds of applause between competitors and a general sense of comradeship.<br /><br />So, I was convinced. The Gay games were not just there for a laugh, for a the circuit parties, a big fuck fest as you may. It was about serious sportsmanship and solidarity between homosexuals and friends/supporters of homosexuals.<br /><br />Then the rock climbing event ended.<br /><br />And we went to see the ballroom dancing and were horrified and amused by the costumes. The Chess and Bridge competitions were also in full swing as well. Oh, and then the circuit parties began. And then the fu... anyways.<br /><br />The vibe in Cologne was spectacular. Temporary stages had been set up everywhere with DJs and concerts, and beer was pouring continuously. It felt like someone's huge house party, and I was happy to have been invited. I had not yet seen a German city in summer and it was a pleasant change to the grey, rainy memories of my visits in October and January to Berlin and Munich.<br /><br />So, awesome week, and congrats to Steve, Nick and Robert for their truck loads of medals.</p><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4890639475/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4119/4890639475_b261dea344.jpg" alt="" style="border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; border-top-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); " /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px; font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4890639475/">bronze and.. bronze.. and silver!</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></p><p>PS more photos: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/72157624717450128/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/72157624717450128/</a></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-64457078714625838672010-06-09T15:26:00.001+02:002010-06-09T15:26:56.123+02:00All those stories about love..<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/2367527068/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2323/2367527068_0db0c898fa.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/2367527068/">Je t'aime, pompidou</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>(be warned, spoilers regarding Twilight and Ni d’adam, ni d’Eve.)<br /><br />My recent reading schedule has been a bit eccentric, perhaps even bi-polar; I persisted through the Twilight series to see what it’s all about, while alternating with “L’Etranger”, by Camus, “Ni d’Adam, ni d’eve” by Nothomb, and now onto “Coming up for air” by Orwell. <br /><br />Obviously, in comparison, Myier’s writing style seemed even more simplistic and poor, but the greatest contrast existed between Myier’s and Nothomb’s depictions of that word, “love”. <br /><br />So, maybe Twilight is essentially written for teenagers and can be seen as a bit of a fairytale filtered through the eyes of Dawson’s Creek. Perhaps I shouldn’t try to read too deeply into it. Even so, I cannot escape the fact that the two main characters, Bella and Edward, don’t have a single thing in common and don’t connect on any level other than sexually. <br /><br />Rather quickly, they start throwing the word “love” around and it becomes an unquestionable justification for their relationship, rather than love being the RESULT of their relationship. All of their doubts about each other are linked to looks and Love, with the two being inseperable.<br /><br />Nothomb, however, has a slightly less fairytale approach. Her autobiographic novel depicts her relationship with a Japanese man, Rinri, while she lived in Tokyo for two years. Rinri is sweet like no man she has ever met, adores her in a tender and rather innocent manner and makes her content, but as she puts it: when he isn’t there, she doesn’t think about him.<br /><br />She has to tackle the fact that she is unsure of her feelings, that perhaps she loves him, but that love isn’t enough. When he proposes to her, she tries to put it off for a few years, too afraid to hurt him, and not wanting to lose what happiness he gives her. However, she quickly realizes she will never marry him; he is simply too nice. She needs a certain amount of “vinegar” in her relationships for them to work. She abandons him without a word of explanation.<br /><br />Obviously the two books are written for different markets, but after reading Nothomb’s book, “Love” as an unquestionable justification for a relationship seems pretty flimsy. Perhaps the superficial nature of Edward and Bella’s relationship is inevitable when you look at the characters: Edward is perfect and hence boring, Bella is nothing but an annoying bundle of nerves. Still, all I could think about when Edward and Bella discussed spending eternity together was that when the lust runs out, fuck they’re going to be in hell.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-55587563629508069952010-06-08T22:12:00.002+02:002010-06-08T22:13:18.245+02:00Hotel LC<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/todaytimesone/4682658961/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4004/4682658961_325887538d.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style=" margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/todaytimesone/4682658961/">Hotel LC</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/todaytimesone/">futurescraps</a>.</span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">We knew that our stay at the hotel LC was going to be a special one. Already, leading up to Sabine’s 30<sup>th</sup> birthday party, all of our reservations had been mixed up in every way possible and an earlier conversation with Mr LC had gone a bit like this:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">“Oh, Mr Gouiric. Yes, yes. I have given you a wonderful room. Not my best, that one is next to the road, but still excellent. Oh, did I receive you cheque? Yes, I did. I can’t find it anymore, but that’s no worry. I am pretty sure I haven’t cashed it. It’s here somewhere. But you understand why I need it? People say they will come, but then they don’t. They’re horrible, people like that. How am I meant to make things work with people like that? You’re not like that at all. You sent me a cheque. So, I will see you on the 29<sup>th</sup>. Oh, the 23<sup>rd</sup>? No, that’s what I meant. I am pretty sure that’s what I have written too. I will see you on the 23<sup>rd</sup>. I’m certain.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">We arrive at his “hotel”, effectively an elaborate bed and breakfast without the breakfast. A door opens in a tall stone wall and we walk into the garden. It is like walking into wonderland; Mr LC has created a maze using hedges over two metres high, faintly written signs tacked onto the hedges indicating which path to take towards the “reception”. We finally arrive at a gate where another sign suggests that we ring the bell.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">We ring it. We wait. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We hear coughing and grumbling.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">Mr LC, a rather overweight, short man, who has difficulty walking, arrives and stares at us suspiciously. We introduce ourselves and he seems confused at all the names. Only mine makes any sense to him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">“Ah, Mr Gouiric, with the cheque.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">He takes us on the grand tour.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">“Here is the pool. It is very warm and right now (7pm) is the best moment to go swimming. After 4pm it is reserved for “naturalists” (nudists). Right now really is the best time for you to all swim. I will keep it open just a bit later, if you want. We get so few young people here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">He shows us the pool, which is completely protected except on one side, where it opens in full view of his dining room.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">Next, are the rooms. What was once a simple, rectangular building has had extensions tacked on in every direction, mostly out of rickety polycarbonate, making wonderful greenhouses within. The thermometer on the wall of my dining area reads 36 degrees.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">Each room had a small outdoor eating space completely surrounded by hedges, a narrow piece of sky visible above. Later, when we would be having breakfast in the days to come, it was like some kind of 19<sup>th</sup> century game. While at our tables, we could hear people in every direction by couldn’t work out where they were exactly. If you just stayed silent, no one knew you were there, listening....<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">Before Mr LC let us go, he showed us the all-terrain-vehicle (four wheeled motor bike) that he said we could use if we wanted. We all got excited about using it to get to the party, but his suggestion that the one girl amongst us could get on the bike straight away and he could take photos dampened our mood. We thanked him and reminded him that we really had to get to the party.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">On departure, two days later, he magically found my cheque, but lost everyone else’s. We haggled over the price of the room (he had originally said 38, then on leaving, told me 46), and we settled on 40, and he threw in a bottle of cider, which I accidentally forgot in the room when we left.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU">Ah, Mr LC, you know how to run a b and b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-48769794687207149882010-06-01T19:58:00.002+02:002010-06-01T20:00:37.789+02:00a pompidou interlude<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4660094761/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4006/4660094761_aa890108f0.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4660094761/">a pompidou interlude</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Thirty-three years after the centre Pompidou was completed in Paris the Metz satellite opened its doors this month to a large round of applause (for it inaugural exhibition) and boos (for everything else).<br /><br />Designed by Mr Paper himself, Shigeru Ban, and Jean de Gastines, it will house exhibitions and portions of the vast Paris collection (the largest collection of modern art in Europe, no doubt only second in the world to MOMA), but amass no collection of its own.<br /><br />The initial renders of the project depicted a building that was already horribly dated, a blast from the 80s that was programatically dull (only a museum, not a bustling hub like the Paris outpost) and overall, a bit of a mess.<br /><br />All reality added was bad detailing, cheap window frames, horrible circulation and an empty entry hall.<br /><br />Ok, lets back up a moment. The design involves a very Shigeru Ban timber lattice thrown over three long narrow galleries stacked on each other. The lattice is actually quite beautiful, and obviously where most of the effort and money went.<br /><br />The actual envelope of the gallery is a mess of cheap materials, exposed services (if this is a nod to the Paris Pompidou centre, then it is a rather offensive one) and a huge office block that looks like cheap public housing.<br /><br />Once inside, you will be wowed by the very tall, but rather awkwardly shaped entry hall, before being shoved through a series of rabbit warren like spaces to try and find the exhibition halls. All circulation occurs either through two lifts, or a fire escape that was obviously never meant to accommodate the public.<br /><br />The only dramatic architectural moment occurs as you rise in the building and start to see some of the gallery spaces intersect within the lattice. An opportunity was lost in not allowing people to walk on and around these volumes except for a few hidden and forgotten balconies.<br /><br />People will argue, and rightfully, that the exhibition spaces themselves are not bad: well lit, good views at either end. But I will argue back: who the hell decided on the contents of this building? A cafe that only opens on the outside? A puny bookshop? No auditorium?<br /><br />The Pompidou Centre in Paris not only works as a piece of architecture, with its glorious circulation (the escalator) and flexible exhibition spaces, it also defines itself as more than a museum: cinemas, two floors of public library, shops, the national sound experimentation centre, etc etc etc<br /><br />The Metz Pompidou centre is nothing more than a museum, the type that was already in existence 200 years ago. It is a lost opportunity in every sense, and is clearly just a reusing of the name "Pompidou" as a type of watered down branding.<br /><br />This will hopefully not be a sign of things to come. I still have high hopes for the two Louvre satellites, by SANAA and Jean Nouvel. Hopefully this will be the one dud in the family.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-39348266827047112452010-04-18T00:20:00.005+02:002010-06-08T20:08:50.746+02:00a little guide to japan<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4526923514/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/4526923514_ffb8193338.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4526923514/">The maker of okonomiyaki</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.
<br />
<br /></span>First it was Jack, then Andrew Tam, and now Mitchell and Ravi. When someone says they are going to Japan I jump up and down excitedly, hoping to give my two cents. Here is the email I sent to them with a bit of editing and some eye candy:
<br />
<br />Both times that I have been in Japan for extended periods of time I bought a one week Japanrail pass and planned my trip around it. It gives you unlimited rail use and becomes very worthwhile for large distances using the Shinkansen.
<br />
<br />My trip's structure went a bit like this:
<br />
<br />1. a few days in tokyo
<br />2. start the one week japanrail pass
<br />3. zoom around japan
<br />4. end up in kansai: kyoto, osaka, nara, which are all easy to get
<br />between and cheap as well
<br />5. buy a return ticket back to tokyo
<br />6. a day or so more in tokyo
<br />
<br />Of course, this works for a Kansai-centric structure, which my last two trips have been.
<br />
<br />My first trip was very architecture orientated (with Ellen and Jose), while my second trip with Josh was designed around four festivals. Both trips were in winter.
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tokyo</span></span>
<br />
<br /><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68480349/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/15/68480349_8aceec94bc.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68480349/">the pretty lights!</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.
<br />
<br />my flickr on tokyo:
<br />http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/1477563/
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></span>You can find my flickr sets on Tokyo <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/72157600073891313/">here</a>, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/1477563/">here </a>and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/1477581/">here</a>.
<br />
<br />Won't say too much here. Tokyo is tokyo... The insane underground train system (be warned, it closes at 1am), the 24hour stores and bars, the millions of different districts, each with their own flavour.
<br />
<br />Shinjuku (photo above): futuristic Tokyo, skyscrapers and run down yakitori stores near the train line, 5 storey toy shops! Nightlife in every direction, small bars tucked away on several floors.
<br />
<br />There is also the twin towered government building which I went to when little to see the view. Might be worth a trip, but have never been back.
<br />
<br />Ginza: the high design, classy shopping strip, or it once was... now it is:
<br />
<br />Harajuku: where all the young shop, and where all of the architects of the world build (hertzog, sejima, ito)
<br />
<br /><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68484736/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/35/68484736_83c683b061.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68484736/">harajuku</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68485155/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/9/68485155_8e57322903.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68485155/">prada: distance</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Harajuku is actually a rough region that starts at Harajuku station (near the Meiji shrine) and is sometimes counted as a part of Shibuya. Not only is it one of the main shopping districts, on Sundays the "fruits" (named after the magazine that documented them) come out to play near the Meiji Shrine. Though apparently not what they once used to be, the "fruits" are a bunch of adolescents that have fun dressing up and are happy for you to snap away at them.</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68482916/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/15/68482916_61d7226a43.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68482916/">japanese starbucks uniform</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>This being said, people having fun in strange costumes is in no way limited to Harajuku, and I think the best dressed people I saw in my trip were actually in Osaka.</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/458109981/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/207/458109981_d3a58facc7.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/458109981/">buddas</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div>
<br />Ueno: the fucking amazing national museum (in particular the Horyu-ji treasure hall, above) with the cemetery behind it, a truly haunting place on a misty day as the prayer sticks rattle in the wind and the ravens fly around.
<br />
<br />Asakusa: <span style="font-style: italic;">The</span> tourist destination for Tokyo, with its temple, market street and abandoned fair park. Every trip I've done to Japan since a little kid has always involved this temple but it is actually nothing special, just conveniently placed. Great sushi can be found in the side streets, and down the road towards the river is Stark's Poo building.
<br />
<br /><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68486612/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/15/68486612_9ace7bacff.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a>
<br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/68486612/">5 x tuna</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div>
<br />The fish markets: The most awesome place in Tokyo. Get up super early and see everyone at work. Huge frozen tunas come in by plane and ship and slowly get processed, until you can eat it at one of the numerous excellent little restaurants at the centre.
<br />
<br />Shibuya: More shopping and a host of love hotels.. Check them out on google maps, and go walking. We found the oddest sex shops and teenagers running around trying to find a cheap bed.
<br />
<br />Roppongi: Bars, shopping... It's been too long since I've been here (didn't go the last trip). I think it is meant to be the hipper place to go to drink.
<br />
<br />PS There is the <a href="http://www.ghibli-museum.jp/en/">Studio Ghibli Museum</a> at Mataka. I felt that, unlike Miyazaki's films, this theme park was more or children than adults and was a little disappoint.
<br />
<br />To be continued....
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mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:11pt;" lang="EN-US"></span></p></div><p></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-38100532242241112822010-04-05T12:56:00.003+02:002010-04-05T13:34:01.756+02:00must consume... sushi!<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadzebra/3833869536/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3448/3833869536_a0fc993c2c.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadzebra/3833869536/">reflecting on life...</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/deadzebra/">dead zebra, inc</a>.</span></div><p>You can tell procrastination is in full swing when I'm shopping for things online that I absolutely don't need, but want ever so much anyway (and trying to work out how I can fit it into the weekly budget).</p><p>This delicious piece of cuteness is the red <a href="http://www.o-no-co.com/products.php">O-No! Sushi</a>! by Andrew Bell, with some really great photos <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadzebra/">here</a>. I actually found O-No! a little while back and had all but forgotten about it until Nico started mentioning something about Finding Nemo sushi on Facebook.</p><p>Poor old O-No! Is being cut up and served with soy sauce, and he is delicious! This designer toy obviously comes from someone with a great sense of humour, who really stuck to the concept, from the great expression on the toy's face (I am worried, but still staying calm) to its packaging.<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2801/4114378084_4916f312e9.jpg" alt="" /><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deadzebra/4114378084/">toy_onosushi-red1</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/deadzebra/">dead zebra, inc</a>.</span></div>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-39435027037092097862010-03-27T23:35:00.001+01:002010-03-27T23:35:44.980+01:00sickeningly sweet<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4467582581/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2757/4467582581_7912fecf0a.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4467582581/">sickeningly sweet</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>So, every year there is the visit to the St Louis Abbey. And every year, the daffodils spread just a bit further, their yellow claws grabbing the surrounding hills. Four years ago there was one hill and one valley which made you go "wow, that's a lot of flowers". Now there are three, or four, or... actually, no one knows where it ends anymore. Soon, daffodils will appear on highways, in swamps, in the cat's water bowl, in your shoes laid out at night as you sleep. At first it will seem cute, but then you realise they are everywhere, that their invasion is complete and you never saw it happening. That is when you will cry.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-52448834080319602772010-03-26T10:37:00.005+01:002010-03-26T10:54:19.160+01:00room with a view<a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.archidose.org/Mar10/22/dose.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWwBbTjK3pZhWhPrkKephF_XyPbGjLFOjQ2PqKp23Fr1ggj2GoA63gmd89-MBnBw_3mbtd-gVFrckgg2-zLR9JpVf4QF46ggnEmETSydxXNpmmvwDo1XDnuUVoHSLElW77WUtV_Z1GBxz-/s400/image04.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 500px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452874525080023010" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">This is a bit of an unusual post, but then this is quite an unusual building. I have been subscribed to <a href="http://www.archidose.org/Mar10/22/dose.html">archidose</a> for as long as I remember and sometimes their weekly building is something truly unexpected, like this hotel in a village close to Naples. The photos of the project include an <a href="http://www.archidose.org/Mar10/22/dose-image05.html">animated gif</a> that shows the bed in action... great stuff.</span>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-10715034614172470982010-02-03T17:01:00.002+01:002010-02-03T17:03:39.379+01:00bye bye bookItem lost: A book.<br />Where: Eurostar, London to Paris.<br /><br />Paris lost property: Phone the hotline. Auto response asking to send a written letter to such and such address and that it can take 3 weeks. Go to the station. The lost property office gives me a (secret) number to call. Number called: they don't have it. Maybe London does?<br /><br />London lost property: Sent an email, got a reply within 10 minutes.<br /><br />(sadly they don't have it, but that is besides the point).<br /><br />Paris: great croissants, but horribly insane.julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-53543784507371866472010-01-29T13:07:00.003+01:002010-01-29T13:38:07.768+01:00food, coffee and other things<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/2289035021/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2047/2289035021_d746f3e01e.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.8em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/2289035021/">dourdan04</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Sorry Zen, but I am going to have to bring you in for this one. Yesterday, Zen told me about a café in London that made the best coffee "in Europe" (and hence, perhaps the world?) and I realised my tastes were way too fickle to be able to say where I had had my best coffee.</p><p>When I was working in Paris I could often have three espressos in a day, all from the same cafe downstairs. On arrival at work, at around 11am, and after lunch. The 11am coffee was the best tasting, without any competition. It was the coffee that I didn't NEED, the coffee that was nearly always in the sun, the coffee that was a real pause.</p><p>I find coffee is fragile.. tell someone that a café is the best in the world and it becomes harder to like the coffee. Expectations become too high, and you start over analysing: is this coffee really all that great?</p><p>In a recent trip to Rome and Naples all of the small cafes we found suprised us with a consistently good, rich, short coffee. So we go to the cafe next to the pantheon that is meant to have the best coffee in Rome, fight a million tourists to get bench space and well... I couldn't work out what was so special about it.</p><p>Two days ago I stumbled upon a small café near the British museum that was horribly cute and served quite good coffee. The day after, I meet Kate in the same area. After an initial bad coffee in a cafe directly next to the museum (if excellent coffee is sometimes hard to distinguish, horrible coffee is universal), I suggest we have a second coffee at the same cute place. Now, on my second visit, realising I had suggested this place to someone else, I found myself more critical of the coffee and well, it no longer cut it.</p><p>The real transcendal coffees are great coffees that are unexpected. My best coffee memories: Arrival in paris after 3 weeks in the usa, arrival in barcelona after two weeks in germany, a midnight coffee in a town near florence, that place in naples that we thought was touristy and crap but ended up having such a rich blend....</p><p>The same goes for food, to some extent.</p><p>Where have I eaten the most amazing meals? My aunts place in Dourdan and my cousins place in Normandy. Not only are they good cooks who seek out excellent ingredients, there is a certain ritual involved. Away from the stress of Paris, you wake up and the food is already slowly cooking. The morning is full of smells and anticipation. A ray of sunlight comes out and everyone quickly moves the table outside. An aperitif, and now you can no longer stand it. It smells so good and you are so hungry! And the food tastes twice as good for it.</p><p>My favourite restaurants in Paris when I arrived no longer excite me. I have taken their quality of food as a norm and now only taste it when they have stuffed up a dish. Tastes change, expected quality changes. I do not eat the same things in Paris as Sydney, I will no doubt eat different things in London. Since I have been in London I have already eaten twice in china town and fuck I am loving it.<br /></p><p>As I am currently reading "the story of art" which manages to summarise centuries of thought across an entire continent in around 5 pages, I can not help but compare movements in art to food and drink: Food and drink, where even a few hundred kilometres means an entire new cuisine, where the best cheese comes form a certain slope in a certain town at a certain time of year. Where these complexities are overlaid by your own tastes, your own state of mind. Food, the most subtle and complex of arts.</p><p>Now, you will have to excuse me. I think I have worked up an appetite.<br /></p><p>(PS. As I have already had three Londoners talk to me about this one café since I have been here, lets see if people can guess which one Zen was talking about....)<br /></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-8822792251993401092010-01-02T01:54:00.002+01:002010-01-02T01:59:58.000+01:00and then it was the 1Os<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/2048507582/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2106/2048507582_3dff72c374.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/2048507582/">they said it would snow (but it didnt)</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>If you move often enough, and far enough, you start mistaking time for space. Sydney was this period of my life, Paris was this, London will be this. Then you start comparing the places, and if you compare for too long, you never live anywhere, nor experience anything. Paris is not X times Sydney minus Y times London. Sydney is not Paris, is not London. Should any be put into continual reference of the other, they both become cheap, and you become utterly boring.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-79538590689009944562009-12-06T12:11:00.003+01:002009-12-06T14:56:21.484+01:00a rainy day in paris<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4162024989/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2616/4162024989_4d1132428f.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4162024989/">the tuileries, with eiffle tower</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>The sun barely rose. Another set of antique markets, selling overpriced Pastis glasses and cracked power ranger figurines, is going on downstairs.<br /></p><p>Suddenly, my heart starts racing: I need to find Christmas presents! Insane crowds, a biting wind, rain. I go into a toy store and there are children crying everywhere, while parents ponder the age suitability of everything around them. Do I want my gift wrapped? Do I want batteries (for batteries are not included)? I escape outside...<br /></p><p>Then, to the English bookstores to see if they have a certain something I am thinking of getting someone. They don't. What they do have is Marmite in large quantities, tourists and even more crying children.</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4162024635/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2793/4162024635_2969d00bd9.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4162024635/">christmas decorations</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Outside, the city has gone festive. Huge puddles on the street reflect christmas lights and jogging yuppies. A huge group of tourists are climbing over each other to get into a patisserie store. The weather finally gets to me and I make my way home, having bought only two presents.</p><p>Thank god for amazon.co.uk (and .fr).</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-72216897215269262532009-11-01T19:55:00.023+01:002009-11-01T20:05:37.812+01:00mushrooms in november<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064607473/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2598/4064607473_363a69f9be.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064607473/">finding two at once!</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>So, it is your first weekend in 9 weeks - what do you do with it? a) party like hell and drink till dawn or b) decide to take a train an hour south of Paris to your family's town to go walking in the woods and listen to great-aunts complain about their failing health.</p><p>Why, b of course! Below: Josh taking in all the autumness..<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064606657/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2754/4064606657_2e5d35088c.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064606657/">autumn again</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>It turns out that the mixture of rain and warmish weather we have been having means there are mushrooms everywhere! Behold, two mushroom villages:<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065345862/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2582/4065345862_e79eb90c9b.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065345862/">sun on mushiness</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><br /><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064601613/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3242/4064601613_9c513a061b.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064601613/">the mushroom village</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div> <p>After half an hour of looking we finally stumble upon our first edible mushroom.. woo!<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065354346/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3535/4065354346_a7ea5ac8f6.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065354346/">our first edible find (after half an hour)</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>And then a whole lot more... it made for a great lunch!<br /></p> <div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065355134/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2738/4065355134_3be2c92161.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065355134/">our lunch</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><br /><p>Then we found a whole lot of mushrooms we thought were edible (see our full bags) but when we got home and looked them up online we were less sure...<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064602683/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2429/4064602683_224efae462.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064602683/">walking back with bags full..</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>These, obviously, were not edible..<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065351654/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2684/4065351654_c90401a875.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4065351654/">red and scary</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Though something tried on this one..<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064605439/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3491/4064605439_5eb5ce949b.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4064605439/">something ate it</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Join me next week, when I try to find a topic even MORE exciting than mushrooms!<br /></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-11473503774121161322009-10-28T23:18:00.003+01:002009-10-28T23:41:10.275+01:00sweet october<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4054058378/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2532/4054058378_a5f068787a.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4054058378/">the grand palais</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>It seems that for the last few months when people ask me how I am going I would just blurt out a rant about my work. Well, it wasn't all work (though it kind of seems like it). The 25th of septembre was the first SFR electro night at the grand palais. I was mostly there to see the set up in the stunning grand palais, but the headline act of birdy nam nam was an added bonus.<br /></p><p>I arrived a little too early and had to wait around while a few young djs played and the SFR adds were broadcasted everywhere. Finally, birdy came on... the show was good, but the crowd wasn't. A bunch of teenagers with too much money, getting drunk on a friday night and getting into fights and just generally being stupid. Two guys were fighting and one of the asks: what band is this? They were f**king front row and they didn't even care what band it was.</p><p>At one point, a girl ran up onto stage and started dancing before the security guards could take her down. That was kinda fun:<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053321551/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2561/4053321551_a12f27b0bb.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053321551/">an uninvited visitor I</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Then the teenagers started breaking the barriers between us and the stage and the security guards propper them up, one by one, as the night progressed. This resulted in a solid barrier, worthy of any drunk 18 year old, but sadly it also meant the security guards were trapped in their own web...</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053325167/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3516/4053325167_ec66d9292c.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053325167/">chaos...</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>There was also a moment where a photographer came out for birdy and made for some kinda cool photos against the rainbow background..</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053324123/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2732/4053324123_0e8bdd00ab.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053324123/">the photographer I</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>After birdy, I decided I would stand a bit further back in the crowd to see <span class="Plain">Etienne de Crécy and his 3 x 3 boxes. The visuals they acheieved by such a simple device were a joy to behold...</span> </p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053325883/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3520/4053325883_84096fb38c.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053325883/">cube: white</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>That night it was Josh's birthday, but he was in Istanbul. When he came back it was the white night, which has given us fond memories over the years.<br /></p><p>This year there was a huge disco ball hung over the luxembourg gardens which lit up all of the clouds over paris but the queue to get close it was over an hour long, so we opted out.</p><p>We headed towards Notre Dame and did as the locals did.. we jumped the queue and got in under 10 minutes:</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4054070224/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3268/4054070224_93d9da3933.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4054070224/">sacred crystals I</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>All of the side chapels had been filled with, er, crystals. Deep.<br /></p><p>Just outside, the bridge linking the two islands had a rather cool sound and light display on it:<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053329229/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3533/4053329229_fc74202a22.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053329229/">neon bridge II</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>This was a bit more my thing, blending the boundaries between architecture and art (the set up was designed as a mobile clubbing setting..).</p><p>Other highlights of the otherwise slightly dark last month was seeing Patrick Wolf again, where he vowed to become the male britney (though currrently with only 3 costume changes):<br /></p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053326221/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2496/4053326221_713d91af72.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053326221/">wolf rocking</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>Oh, and if you should be passing by the pompidou, the "elles" exhibition is still on... An exhibition the size of a football field done only by female artists:</p><div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053315769/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2595/4053315769_29464e89cb.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/4053315769/">toothpicks III</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-71549821879636833112009-10-11T23:26:00.002+02:002009-10-11T23:28:50.355+02:00possessions<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/todaytimesone/4002491864/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2597/4002491864_70eca751af.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/todaytimesone/4002491864/">bookshelf</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/todaytimesone/">todaytimesone</a>.</span></div><p>A few weeks ago I received an email from my parents: they are going to do a bit of work on the bottom half of the house to make it into a separate apartment that can be rented out. Sounds great, except that the bottom half of the house is where my room and all my junk is, compiled pretty much since I was born.<br /><br />Even before they sent the email, my parents had started by throwing out a bunch of children's books that they assumed we couldn't possibly want:<br /><br />mother: no, no, there was nothing important<br />me: did you through out the Henry the squirrel book?<br />mother: *silence*<br />me: err....<br />mother: how can you possibly remember that book!<br /><br />So I insisted they take photos of the books before throwing them out so I could say yes or no. So I received the first batch today, and it forced me to ask myself a few questions: When will I be back in Australia, what is the point of owning these books if I don't go back, or even if I DO go back? Will I even read the ones I haven't read?<br /><br />Every house I live in becomes an accumulation of STUFF, and it seems the STUFF just gets dragged around by you, never truly being sorted or properly thrown away, half forgotten and filling every corner.</p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851919089061210014.post-40161122988903402972009-07-19T17:01:00.004+02:002009-07-19T17:10:23.600+02:00untitled n°1<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/3734667971/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3486/3734667971_23401e969f.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/3734667971/">untitled n°1</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/darkcorners/">julienpaul</a>.</span></div><p>So, I finally gave in and bought <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/darkcorners/sets/72157621560614015/">three photos</a> from one of my favourite shops in the marais that specialises in found photos, including a lot of polaroids. This photo is apparently from the 50s or 60s, most probably at one of the gates of Paris. The shop owner insisted that it was particularly rare due the quality of its colour. Apparently colour snap shots from this era often turn red.<br /><br />Both of their expressions seem so familiar, 60 years on. It almost feels like a snapshot into our own memories...</p><p>(Anonymous photo bought at: ¨PHOTOGRAPHIE - 35-37 rue charlot 75003 PARIS")<br /></p>julienghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01472197284414973386noreply@blogger.com0