What do you do when you find yourself in a mirrored elevator all alone? Do you just push the button for your floor and stand and wait… like a normal person?
I don’t.
I talk to myself.
I make faces.
And, yes, I’ve totally been caught. And, no, I don’t always manage to slickly get out of it. Sometimes I have to stand there in the elevator next to the person who caught me red handed (and afterward, red-faced,) and pretend that I’m not mortified.
But then I ask myself the following question…
…and I get over it. I laugh.
Anyway, in other less-embarrassing news, I’m flying to Serbia. I’m going to record a couple songs with a Serbian pop star.
Can’t wait to tell you about it.
In the meantime, here are some fun Parisian finds in the book world…
Well the truth is he’s been around for a while–Europe’s been smitten for years–I just wasn’t aware of his existence. Well, that’s not entirely true… there was this awesome song I loved that they played in one of my dance classes in LA a couple of years ago where this guy started practically squeak-singing… but I could never figure out who sang it. Years later I have figured out who it is!
He’s quite the international man of music, and a quirky character to boot. Born to a Lebanese mama and an American daddy, he grew up in Paris and London, all the while cultivating the life experience necessary to foster his gift of pithy/peculiar songwriting and his vocal high pitchery.
Plus he’s cute.
Enjoy.
-Annie
P.S. By the way, apparently evening walks in Paris is one of his secret pleasures…
We all have our own Maurice Sendak stories… He changed almost everyone‘s life–as a child and/or a parent.
Maurice was very much a part of my early life– his books of course, but also a great influence on my artwork. (One of my best high school paintings was an attempt on Max and the Wild Things swinging through the trees.) Also, though, he was the costume and set designer for Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Nutcracker. You know how much I love ballet, and his quirky artistry just made it an extraordinary production.
The passing of Maurice Sendak is a sad reminder that all good things must pass at some point. Other good things come, of course… but it’s hard to believe that the famous monster maker was in fact mortal.
“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, ‘Dear Jim: I loved your card.’ Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, ‘Jim loved your card so much he ate it.’ That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”
In honor of Maurice, I thought I’d inspire you to be a little wild.
Annie’s 5 Ways to Go to a Little Wild (Keep in mind who’s writing this list…)
Start wearing aprons when you’re not in the kitchen. As a fashion accessory or frilly little tool belt. Forget the fanny pack, get an apron with pockets. Check out this lady, she’s ready for something wild!
Spend the day making and throwing paper airplanes. Check out these flashy ones!
Create your own language! Here’s how. I did. Calik fan ubinup!
Oh, and for your enjoyment–it’s no secret that I’ve got a crush on our president–here’s Obama reading “Where the Wild Things Are.” This might just be my bedtime video for the next week.
There are those who shudder when they realize that they’re acting exactly like their mothers… and then there’s me.
I actively strive to be like my mother.
Man, whenever I inadvertently behave in any way, shape, or form like her, I celebrate and thank God for heredity.
Unfortunately the recipe for being my mother is entirely intangible. I know several ingredients–patience, perspicacity, efficiency, easygoingness, grace–but the sum of all her parts is just impossible to duplicate.
But I can make her cookies.
Though true to Ann Form I’ve slightly altered the recipe… but then, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be me. And me I am. Plus, I’m in France… so I had to do a little sleuthing around to find comparable ingredients. In my research I came across something truly sweet and fantastic. It’s called Vergeoise Brune, and it will change your life. Much like brown sugar, it’s a dark brown color with a rich, full bodied flavor. However Vergeoise Brune is derived from beet syrup.
Beets!
Meaning… dude, it’s healthy.
Carol’s (plus Annie-added richifying) Chocolate Chip Cookies
Preheat oven to 375.
Ingredients:
2 1/4 cup flour (I use cake flour. Ha!)
1 teasp. baking soda
1 teasp. salt
Sift or stir together and set aside.
1 cup shortening or butter, or shortening and butter mixed. (Cream it, baby.)
3/4 cup granulated sugar (Here’s where I substitute more brown sugar or Vergeoise…. half and half–you still need a little white sugar.)
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 teasp. vanilla
Beat until creamy.
2 eggs, beat in, one at a time. (My mom and I like to crack them in to a separate dish before putting them in so if there are shells it’s not a big ol’ mess in your batter.)
Gradually stir in the flour mixture.
Add 12 oz. package semi-sweet or bitter-sweet chocolate chips (2 cups) (Plus! Break up a dark chocolate bar into chunks and throw it in, too. You’ll love it. Trust me.)
Bake on ungreased cookie sheet at 375 for 8-ish minutes. (For the chewiest, yummiest cookies, take ‘em out when they have hardened around the edges, yet still look undone in the middle. If you wait until the middle looks done you’ll get hard cookies after they cool.)
God’s in me when I dance. God, making Spring Out of his thoughts And building worlds By wishing. God Laughing at his own Queer fancies, Standing awed, And sobbing; Musing, Dreaming, Throbbing; Commanding; Creating— God’s in me When I dance.
Ballet might be one of life’s finest pleasure.
At least for me.
Its simplicity. Its precision.
I love to dance myself, and ballet especially just intoxicates me.
Recently one of my bestly besties was in Paris, and among our many exciting outings was a sublime night at Opera Bastille to see the ballet, La Bayadère.
It wasn’t that it was a delightful ballet–which is was. It wasn’t the size and grandeur of the theatre–though grand and impressive it was…
No, it was the fact that somehow my fabulous friend had gotten tickets in the front row. It was that we could hear the humming of the orchestra conductor. It was that could see the veins on the dancers’ hands, hear the breaths of the clarinetist and the pat pat of the point shoes on the stage.
It was one of my favorite Paris moments so far.
And… I went home jetéing and gave my closet a full ballet performance.
There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man. ~Winston Churchill
You might call us Parisians “city slickers.”
We have lovely parks and gardens, of course, but when it comes to wildlife… well, you find it more so in the human form–say, in the metro–than in animal form.
Which is why it was such a treat to frolic among the horses yesterday. I am currently involved in a short film and our lead actress needs to be able to saddle up for the project, so our team squeezed into a Mini Cooper, and zipped out of town for the day.
The result was a glorious day spent communing with nature; tromping around, sitting on fences, horse hugs, muddy boots, fresh air, and friendly dogs.
So overdue. So beautiful. So refreshing.
-Annie
A lovely horse is always an experience…. It is an emotional experience of the kind that is spoiled by words.
As most of you know, in addition to being a blogger, I am a recording artist. And yesterday morning I posted the above video to YouTube. It’s my latest project–the result of months and months and months of creative work on my part and on the part of my amazing team.
It’s edgy. It’s tongue-in-cheek. It’s a little envelope-pushing in its concept and approach…. but good, clean fun.
Anyway, yesterday, as I sat in my obligatory French class at the Sorbonne, twirling my pen between my index and middle finger, reveling in a world of quiet academia… a funny thing happened. As my professor pulpiteered in his passionate and melodious manner, “Louis XIV est le souverain Européen dont le règne a été le plus long…“, I noticed on my phone that my email inbox was just blowing up. Somehow, in the last few hours, my music video had just taken off, and the comments were starting to pour in. One after the other. Bam, bam, bam, bam.
Reading comments about my cover of a rap song, my mind went off to LA, and recording, and future concepts for videos, and…
“…après une régence, c’est son arrière-petit-fils qui règnera à sa suite, sous le nom de Louis le quinzième…”
Switching my focus back to Louis XIV was like changing the channel from heavy metal to baroque. Suddenly the silence of the Sorbonne seemed deafening.
It was then that I understood superposition. You know, quantum mechanics? Being in two places a once?
I mean…
Louis XIV?
YouTube?
The worlds couldn’t be further away.
And yet, I was simultaneously a part of both. A strange melange of industry and French scholarship.
If you haven’t already, I’d be honored and delighted if you’d share the video. So far it’s up over 4,300 hits in two days, so let’s just say I’m delirious.
-Annie
P.S. The video is almost all a cappella. There is very minimal production—the sound was essentially created using layers and layers of harmonies and vocal beatboxing.
As I type, I am currently confident and cozy in my own fave Madewell high-waisted denim skinnys–they’re something of a revelation. Soft, yet formfitting, and just the right amount of “wear” already worn in.
So when I saw that Madewell’s latest denim collection was fantastically shot here in Paris, well… naturally I just couldn’t help but squeal a little.
I just love the thick French braided updo, and the easy, breezy “not trying” quality that totally reflects the fashion climate here of panache and nonchalance.
Plus, check out this Spring fashion feature they did with French record label owner, Caroline de Maigret. Just… effortlessly chic, quoi.
Someone with whom I am totally going to need to network once my latest video surfaces.
Sometimes I fear for the future generation. Will they appreciate the nerdy things that I like? Or will they be perpetually glued to their techno devices iPadding, Facebooking, and Taylor Swifting with no sign of Carroll, Shakespeare, or Brontë?
