It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Central Park 12/14/13

Meanwhile in sunny Southern California my house is getting ready for the Holidays as the spirit moves me to be creative.

Santa Claus and reindeer have joined the gifts from the sea on my coffee table.

Cabbage, Red Coffee Beans and Red Roses from Trader Joe's Become a Christmas Bouquet

A few crabapples in the floral arrangement and some reindeer and toy soldiers join fireplace mantel for the holidays.

The tree, cupid and some greens and berries adorn the hearth.

Poinsettias and Bows accompany the Menorah on the Buffet

And after all this fun stuff, a little late night writing.   My monitor propped up by several coffee table books, the little speakers plugged into my Ipod and I'm ready for another kind of creative endeavor.

Battend down for the night, Herman Miller and I await the muse to tap my shoulder.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Paris - Day Six - French Lingerie and Restaurant Allard - (Post dated 11/22 /11 sitting in Drafts, never published.)

After our late night dining last night, we slept in on Wednesday.  Welcoming nicer weather and having a very relaxing morning catching up with e-mails and other things, D expressed a desire to get serious about finding some nice French lingerie this day.

Keeping in mind that we had dinner reservations at 8:00 p.m. and that we were getting a late start, we made a few stops and finally found ourselves at Emilia Cosy.

Welcomed by a very charming, English speaking French woman, D had finally found some things she liked and picked out two pretty sets by (panties and bra) by Chantal Thomass.  While I loved her choices, I felt the outfits would not be complete without garter belt and stockings.  Men love them and while the more practical D was hesitant at first, I talked her into trying them on.

When I offered to buy them for her, that cinched the deal.  She paid for one set and I for the other, stockings and garter belt included.

With that settled, the very savvy shop owner turns to me and says in her very charming way, "And you, madam?"

Well, what is a girl (at heart) to do but pick out a black netting and silk  bustier that I later learned was from the Tourbillon Nocturne line and one of the more expensive pieces to boot.  However, it turned out to be a perfect fit and I had to admit it was very sexy.  "Not too bad for a woman of ___, is it ?" I said to the owner.   To my gratification, she looked floored and said..."Well madam, I congratulate you because you look wonderful.  You should never tell anyone your age!"

After those flattering words, I was forced to purchase the bloody thing, not to mention the matching, very frilly knickers (well really a thong).  We walked out the door with our purchases all boxed up in pretty boxes and tissue, lighter in spirit and heavier in debt.  I never told D, but when I got home I ordered the matching thigh high stockings.  One must present a complete picture, after all.

We stopped by a few other stores, where D bought a cute nightgown and then noticing the time, headed back to our apartment to freshen up and catch a cab to our dinner reservations at Allard.

D had dined at Allard on her previous trip to Paris several years before with a man she was dating," and liked it.  It was small and usually crowded, but very French and she thought I would like it.  On that trip,   a "celebrity" acquaintance was also dining there with her French boyfriend.  She figured that gave the restaurant a little more cachet!

Well, by the time we were ready to go, we stood in front of our building trying to flag down a taxi, but to no avail.  We stood there almost 10 minutes and even though it was cold, we were warmly dressed and started walking....all the while keeping our eye out for a vacant taxi.  She remembered vaguely where it was and had the name of the street, but we were walking so rapidly (in high heeled boots no less) that we got a little turned around and arrived at the restaurant breathless and almost 25 minutes late.

The entrance to the restaurant is a narrow corridor facing a half wall where you can peer into the kitchen.   The reseveration stand was to the left and a very French gentlemen (who we later figured out was one of the owners) was attending it.  After taking care of several persons, we finally got to him and apologized for our tardiness.   He looked us up and down, looked at our reservation and said "Come this way."

We were seated in the room to the left (there is another dining area to the right and we squeezed  into a small space on the wall where we had an excellent view, she of half the room and I of the other.    I moved my chair a little in order not to bump heads with the person sitting behind me and thanked the fates that the French were not as sticky about time as the Americans.  I ordered a short campari and soda and some flat water and D had a Martini.

As we picked up our menu's, I smiled at the party about five inches to our left (yes, the tables were that close together).   They were a party of three, a fifty something couple and a twenty something young guy.  I also noticed that across from us on the wall was a party of three Frenchmen and two Japanese males, who seemed to be having a very nice time, although I recognized the sceneario...the Frenchmen were playing hosts to the CEO and perhaps the second in command of a Japanese company and ending a day of negotiations with a lavish dinner.  I'd been party to a few of those with my husband many years before and they are easy to recognize.

I picked out the CEO easily.  He was the fifty something male who had shed his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.  He had a very nice face with long salt and pepper hair pulled back in a stylish ponytail.  he was slim with good athletic looking shoulders.  They were all drinking champagne and working on appetizers...when Mr. CEO looked up and our eyes met.

By now I started relaxing and looked over the wine list.  I took a chance and picked out a Corton Grand Cru (Burgundy), which the waiter praised as a very good selection.  The wine list was extensive and this wine was moderately priced at $104 euros.   After tasting it, I was glad I had paid attention to our lovely French waiter at Raoul's in Soho,  who gave  D and I a very thorough but friendly dissertation on the differences between French and California wines and what to look for in the French ones.  I'm not a wine snob, but I like a smooth wine that goes down easily without it bothering you later on.   With wine, as with a few other things, you really do get what you pay for most of the time, even though the mark up in most restaurants is quite substantial.

I love it when I take a gamble and it turns out well.  The wine was delicious.

As D and I tackled the menu, our three "almost dinner partners to the left" did likewise.  We discovered they were American and had little idea what to order.  What became obvious was that it was a case of parents visiting their son, who was working in France.  The young man's French was not very good but he tried to guide them a little.  In the meantime, D and I decided on our choices and were discussing the day's events, when their appetizers arrived.  They seemed a little confused by their order, but good naturedly dug into their salads.   The husband was drinking a cocktail and the mother and son, wine.

D and I talked about our day and purchases and how she planned to spring the lingerie on her new man. They had been dating for 2 1/2 months and I suggested she cook for him, open up a bottle of wine and then after dinner, excuse herself and model her purchases for him.

I happen to look up and noticed that the CEO of the lively table  (who I will call Toranaga-san...after a character in one of  my favorite James Clavell novels) was again looking at me with fairly intense interest.  Our eyes met and I demurely lowered my lashes and turned back to my conversation with D.  Next time I looked his way, he was still looking at me with the same intensity.

Ours was table to the right, but separated and pushed against the wall with view of Toranaga-san's banquette table. 

"So that's how it's going to be?" I smiled inwardly.  We were going to play the oldest game in the book.  I was game if he was.   Not skipping a beat, I continued talking to D as our first course arrived.

Not a little time and many looks later, I noticed that someone else was tuned in to our little flirtation.  The father of our threesome next to us, who had, by this time had several drinks, seemed a little agitated and started complaining about something to his wife.  It had to do with the prices and what he was eating.

D and I were engrossed in conversation and our respective entrees but we both took note of the building tension next to us.   At the same time Toranaga-san's dinner companions were becoming aware that their guest was not paying much attention to what they were saying because his attention was mostly focused elsewhere,  as one by one they turned around and smiled knowingly in my direction.  How I wish I could have been a fly (with linguistic skills, obviously)  on that table to hear how this French/Japanese conversation was going.

It was delicious!

What I did get from the knowing smile on the Frenchmens' faces, was that, at that point they gave up trying to sell Mr. Toranaga on whatever they were trying to sell him, and promptly ordered another bottle of very expensive wine, leaving him to his pleasure as they welcomed another course in their banquet and basked in the comeraderie of their fellow males in a subject that unifies males of all nationalities.

By this time, D and I were both starting to feel embarrassment for the female "almost table mate" to our left (D's right).  It was apparent by now that her husband, who had imbibed a little too much alcohol, was getting very vocal about a few things, namely the prices of the items on the menu, the food they had ordered and just his general dissatisfaction with his life, as he watched our little comedy unfold.  Suddenly  he blurts out to his unsuspecting son, that he and his wife had been living apart for some time  and that this trip to visit him is all a charade.

Now really embarrassed for the poor woman, who had been trying to put up a good front for the son and remain dignified at this very awkward moment, the man turns to me, a perfect stranger,  and says "Well, it's the truth....why hide it anymore?"

I literally wanted to pull an invisible lever and send the man to hell for his boorishness.  How dare he presume we were interested in his little drama and make us witness to the mortification of his family?    The wife promptly buried her head in eating her food and the son smiled at us apologetically, trying to steer the conversation in another direction to spare his mother.

D and I closed our ears,  leaving them to work out their problems and continued with our own conversation, which had drifted to her new boyfriend's 24 year old ex, who still constantly texted him.  My motherly advise to her was not to be insecure over the situation.   After all, it was he who came after her in the first place and as they got closer and more secure in the relationship, the situation would remedy itself.  I firmly believe that once D had stated her initial objection to the practice, to keep doing so would only make her look needy... and, to me, I think there is nothing that chases a man away faster than a "needy, clingy, insecure woman."

Model your sexy lingerie.

Meanwhile, Mr. Toranaga and I, more discreetly, but no less eloquently, continued our visual game of chess with each other....his bold looks were matched by my now humorous ones...in acknowledgement that his dinner partners were in on our little game of mutual admiration.

Funny, when something like this happens it makes one wonder a big philosophical why?    All we know is that someone who has caught our attention responds to us immediately on a very primal level.  The more logical explanation we give ourselves is that we are two human beings, attracted by something in the other that needs to be marked or acknowledge in some way.   No matter the reason, if done with a sense of humor and a certain amount of discretion, it is a mostly harmless, delicious thing to engage in.

One very enjoyable dinner and bottle of wine later, I noticed our Frenchmen were settling up the bill at about the same time we had asked for our own.  It was then, I decided to visit the ladies room for a quick touch up before we hit the road.  The Powder Room was in the other wing of the restaurant and I had to traverse the narrow hallway to get to it.    As I was returning  down the narrow corridor to our own little dining room,  our party of Frenchmen and Mr. Toranaga and his translator or second in command, were coming the other way towards the door in the center.

Unsure of what to do, I was forestalled by him as he stopped and literally "growled" two sentences to me in Japanese, then bowed deeply and smiled at me.  The Frenchmen were grinning and  I simply tilted my head to the side, acknowledged him with a smile and bowed my head and lowered my eyes in a return salute, a cap to our evening's foray into the mystery of attraction.

One last look at each other and they continued on there way and I on mine.

As I sat down and signed the check, D took the opportunity to visit the ladies room and I sat with a smile on my face, having a premonition that Toronaga-san and his hosts were now headed to some expensive gentlemen's club where the 2nd act of the evenings flirtation would play out...probably some place in Pigalle, and wishing I understood Japanese so I would know what he had said to me.

As I thought of this, I was taken back in time to me being a month shy of my 15th birthday and on vacation with my parents in Cuba and thinking that not much had changed between this exchange and the youthful earnestness of the then twenty-something boys clamoring for attention.   Their display of ardor could only be played out with intense looks,  the surreptitious touching of damp hands and, the sensuality of the dance floor during the slow melodies, where those same bodies, hard and urgent, conveyed their feelings under the watchful eyes of the crowd and the older couples who were there to make sure propriety was observed.

What was apparent to us all back then, because it was so blatantly observed and kidded about by their friends, was that that same ardor would be given release elsewhere, in their case, the red light district of our small town.

As I did then, though blissfully unawares that it was what I was doing, I had given myself over to live happily in those delicious, secretive moments that come much too rarely between humans and need to be acknowledged when you are in them.

Tonight, while so much else was going on around us... Mr. Toranaga-san and I gave ourselves over to our mutual admiration, recognizing that the art of flirtation is good for the soul as well as the body...two people who touch each other, without ever touching.

Allard

I walked out of the restaurant that night feeling serene and beautiful and embraced by the enchantment of the city of love, so very secure in my powers as a woman and reminded that youth has nothing on age....where the dance between the sexes is concerned.  Another place, another time, we might have taken it further, but this was Paris and a crowded restaurant with much company...and Mr. Toranaga-san was probably a very married father of three....who tonight was letting his imagination work its magic and perhaps recapturing a moment of his youth when the possibilities of these types of encounters were endless.

D and I had the restaurant call us a taxi and we returned to our "home away from home"... tired, but content, after spending another wonderful day in the City of Lights, where to me, the sin would be not seizing the moment and going with it.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

There are no coincidences...only six degrees of separation maybe...

...and I am beginning to think this is very true.  No sooner did I mention a certain lovely younger judge in my previous post, then the next day I saw him as I was driving out of my street.  He doesn't live in this area.  What was he doing here?  There is only one way in and one way out where I live.  Interesting?

That spurred me to google him again and be mortified to find that this lovely hottie I had exchanged a very surprising  but extremely lusty flirtation with a few years ago was only ten years older than my own daughter.  Oh God...but he was so willing at the time he went out of his way to tell me he "wasn't married" when it was totally unnecessary for me to know it.

And to make it even more serendipitous, when I looked him up again, remembering a charitable organization he is deeply committed to,  I discovered that among the three recipients that were honored at last years fall gala is the name of the "older" prominent surgeon who kissed me in the neck several times and called me "incredibly hot and sexy" at a certain Jazz club a little over a week ago and gave me his card.  I got chills reading this.   It was just too coincidental....it's such a big world out there and yet...

Is the universe playing a joke on me, especially when last year I considered going to said Gala in order to get a peek at the unforgettable judge in his natural environment?

And to take it further, the entertainers at said Gala is a group that I play often, especially the song called "All This Love" which, whenever I hear it, I have to undulate to the melody...and its slow, sensual Latin beat.

Life is so bloody interesting, isn't it?  I can hardly wait to see what comes next in this comedy called living because in the middle of all the chaos there is a plan and a purpose we are not privy to.    The universe rules and life has me thinking that old adage "youth is entirely wasted on the young" may have some validity to it!  The woman I am now would have made mince meat out of the girl I used to be in the area of love and sex.   And she was pretty well loved by quite a few incredible and sexy males (starting in kindergarten and I have the photos to back it up.)  One day I shall write about it.  For now, I am thankful every day for who I am and that I have never had a wish to be anyone else (except for the occasional wish to be a masseuse to certain beautiful male celebs I've admired).  I do have good hands and a third eye and they both go a long ways into understanding the messages they see and feel.

I suppose some would categorize me as a "dirty old women" at this stage of the game, but they would have to be privy to my birth records to say it!  I also think the Maitre d at a certain Italian hot spot in West Hollywood would argue the case while he was speaking to S, T. and I last night ( he is an old friend of S, but he also knows me as I frequent the restaurant) and his eyes were mostly on my chest (and a very modest cleavage it is too) and blushing the whole time. God, I do hope I get to go round again...because I still have a lot of living to do and one lifetime is not enough!

It is midnight and I just finished eating (a lovely pork loin stuffed with prunes I cooked up on the spur of the moment and a tender sweet potato and some salad and two glasses of a very nice Santa Barbara Pinot Noir).  I have "All this Love (is Waiting for You)" playing and I am sitting at my kitchen counter thinking I should go to bed soon if I am to get up and get into town early enough to enjoy the great L.A. weather and meet up with my friends for a few parties at the Pacific Design Center tomorrow.  I also have a DVF gift certificate burning a hole in my pocket and I need to check in with her store.

My friend S is another night owl, but I'll see him sometime tomorrow too.  We get along famously and he's so easy to be with....and so straightforward.  We all need that kind of friend.  We talk about everything. He's a life long bachelor and loves women.  He thinks he knows everything there is to know about them, but he's learning from me that he doesn't (perhaps because I am secure enough to be honest too) and I'm loving every minute of surprise I spring on him.  I will post some of his personal observations on certain  common "recreational" (as in sex enhancement) substances later this week when I have some free time.   In the meantime...

...life is good...even when it's bumpy...and I am eternally grateful for all it's blessings.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Speaking of Dancing

Last Thursday I went to a jazz club on Sunset to hear a little Latin Jazz.  I've seen this group play several times before and they are great.  My friend T and I decide to grab a bite there too and I ordered a bottle of wine, as the show would not start for another half hour or so.  I had just gotten my taxes out to my accountant and I was in the mood to celebrate.

Once the group started playing it immediately awakened my ever present "dancing spirit" and it was difficult for me to sit still.  After about the third tune, I noticed a couple in a booth across the room got up and were dancing.  I stood it as long as I could and about half way through the song I couldn't take it anymore and got up went and stood near a wall facing the stage and did my "thing."  Getting it out of my system, I quickly sat down once the music stopped.  Apparently I had attracted the attention of the people at the table next to us, which was a party of about 6-7 people, because once the music started again, this "older," smartly dressed man came up to me and asked me to dance.

I never turn down the opportunity to dance and jumped up at the chance.  The guy could dance, but we danced apart, each doing our thing....and doing my "thing" I was....eyes closed...lost in the music, arms up in the air, body swaying...hips in sync with the bongos....  I was busy expressing my "inner" dancer....when I was rudely awakened by my dance partner kissing the side of my neck and asking me if I knew how incredibly hot and incredibly sexy I was.   I barely opened an eye, placed my hand on his chest and gave him a friendly little shove.   By this time another two couples ventured by the same wall and were dancing....and I continued...lost in my self expressive way and gliding on the floor in my 3 inch heels and my favorite DVF fitted silk dress....when my partner again started kissing my neck anew and again singing my praises in a repeat of the same words.

Unperturbed and thinking he was a few sheets to the wind maybe...I gave him another gentle, but firm, push (pretty much the same treatment I'd given over-amorous young men in my youth).  Surely he would get the hint?  Finally he took my hands and we did a few moves together and then the song ended and he took me back to the table and taking my hand..says to my friend..."Thank you for giving me the pleasure of dancing with your beautiful and incredibly sexy friend" and as he went back to his friends, I suddenly turned to T and said   "Why the hell is he thanking you?  Does he think we're Lesbians?"  She started giggling and I gave her a dirty look.

Well, a few seconds later, I noticed he was paying the bill for the entire table of guests (male and female) and he comes up to me, leans over my shoulder and asks me if I have a card.  I said I didn't and he puts his on the table and tells me he would very much like to take me to dinner and if I wanted to go to please call him.  I smiled but don't even remember what I said.

After T and I left the club, she called our friend S. and he told us he had just gotten home from dinner with a group of friends and had had too much Sake, but asked us to come over.   T said he sounded a little fuzzy and I was in the mood for coffee and desert, so we stopped at the Coffee Bean on Sunset near Palm and I got a large latte and some almond croissants for me and cupcakes and a large chocolate latte for him.  At his apartment, the three of us spent another hour talking and then I headed for home but not before S told me he liked my dress as I went out the door.

When I got home, I pulled out the card and looked at it.   Turns out my  sticky admirer is a very serious, prominent Beverly Hills surgeon (Stanford grad) who has a worldwide reputation in his field.  After having a good laugh, unable to reconcile his ardor with the serious field he was in, I e-mailed both T and S about it and S kiddingly answered that I better make friends with him in case any of us was ever a candidate for the delicate surgery this man does.  At that point I was thinking that I was awfully glad that I hadn't knocked the guy down with my gentle shoves and all I could think of is that it is hard to judge a book by its cover...the man had had a few drinks perhaps...and probably thought the same of me...so it was easy to take the liberties...the kind a smart female takes as flattery, without too much importance and the kind one just swats away like a moth that gets too close.

The next day, out of curiosity,   I pulled out the card again and did a little research....and had the thought  that my tax accountant (who lives in a very pricy part of town overlooking the ocean and had called me about taking me to lunch ) probably knows the guy.  I was grinning and thinking how curious it would be if there was a connection. All I will say is that it is a very small world and one should never make snap judgements.   All I thought at the moment he came up to me was that it was an "old guy" (because I see myself as eternally young) and he was asking me to dance and I would have danced with King Kong...if he had asked....just to get out there and do something I love doing so much.

I was also very gratified that night,  when another couple came by our table and the male told me that I was a "great" dancer and that their side of the room had all been commenting....SO, needless to say....I had come home, one very content and very swelled headed, hot (and sexy) lady... and wondering whether the "old" guy still had some life in him?   I do remembering looking in the mirror after removing my make up....and saying to  myself..."You are no spring chicken, luve....so who are you calling old?"

Almost a week later his card is sitting next to my computer.  I keep thinking maybe I'll talk to my accountant and see if he knows him, after all,  one can never have too many friends...  But I recognize that the problem with me is that,  at my core, I am still that young girl....lost in her dreams...and  again waiting for the ONE man "with the right heat" who will knock ME off my feet (on the dance floor or not) to walk into my life.

The cynic in me doesn't believe he exists anymore....but my heart just doesn't want to believe it.  It's happened before so why not!  I still think of a lovely, younger judge that made my heart (and other body parts) do funny things.   I was a fool to let that one slip by.  How many times can one do that before fate says....that's all you get, lady!  Don't be greedy!  You've already had your lifetime quota!

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

DWTS - Another Hot Male Contestant...

...who I hope can dance.

I've watched the show before for two reasons....Christian De La Fuente, Giles Marini and I'm contemplating watching a few of them for contestant William Levy (a fellow Cuban) who I hope can dance as well and come off as sexy as the above mentioned.

The other two were very sensual and loose (pelvic wise) in their moves and Mr. Levy has the looks and the sex appeal.   Now lets see if he has the moves.

It is in his blood so I predict a whole slew of women that normally don't tune in will be watching and, of course, Cheryl Burke's his dance partner....so if he can do a fox trot as well as a mambo or a cha cha cha, then watch for him to be up there in the ratings.

Now if Gerard Butler would just donate a little of his lovely mane to the nice looking, but somewhat follically-challenged Cuban actor...

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

2012 Academy Awards (Oscars)

Yahooooo!  All my personal picks for awards won tonight and I congratulate all of them (see some of my reviews on this blog).

If you haven't seen The Artist, go see it!   Congratulations to Michel Hazanavicius!

Best actor winner Jean DuJardin is so charming and sexy.... I love his smile and his crooked teeth!  My sister and daughter agree...he is very charming.

Also congrats to Woody Allen for penning the lovely Midnight in Paris.

Meryl's Streep's speech was bittersweet, when she said she knew it was the last time she would be up there....although I'm not so sure.  The Meryl Streep's and Helen Mirren's of the world still have a lot of life left in them.   Look at Christopher Plummer tonight!  Bless him!

My very favorite parts of the show were the vignettes of varioius actors themselves talking about movies.  It really made the show special...listening to what they "feel" makes a good movie and how much of themselves they put into it and then wait and hope....These touches made it personal and really engaged the audience.

Lastly....my congratulations to Brian Grazer for personalizing the show this way and making it more  watchable and to Billy Crystal for the clever opening skit.

A few of my favorite dresses for the night were worn by Cameron Diaz, Gwenneth Paltrow (with the cape), Angelina Joliem(just because she always looks so pretty), Stacy Keibler and Milla Jovovich.  Penelope Anne Miller's dress was lovely too.  I'm sure there are others and I'll add postscripts as I remember them.

The Artist's costume designer and Meryl Streep's make up artist won and those were also two I picked.

I have always loved the fashions of the 20's...the low waist with the bias cut skirts...and the long necklaces.   I hope these will make a comeback because of the movie.

Congratulations too to Harvey Weinstein for picking winners.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

In Honor of Fashion Week...

... I am going to share a few beauty tips.   I will keep it short and simple.

FROWNIES:  They are an excellent and a very old Hollywood way of keeping frown lines at bay without resorting to Botox.   If you do use Bo for those two little lines between your brows or if you have a lot of lines on your forehead, Frownies help to keep your use of Bo to a minimum or a once a year thing.

I learned about Frownies from the lovely Rene Russo, who named them as one of her beauty essentials and to my surprise, the bloody things work.    They are small, thin pieces of skin tone cardboard with adhesive that you simply dampen and apply to certain areas of your face that reminds it not to "squint."  In other words, it trains the muscles.

As always, I tweak things around to suit myself.  My personal tweak of the "frownies" is that I cut them down and round off the edges and instead of using water to dampen them, I use two drops of CELLEX C Advanced C Serum (I love the stuff).    It works magic to minimize those lines.

My daughter D now uses them and I have given them as gifts to female friends and family.  They work as well on men who are man enough and vain enough to want to stay youthful or look good for their partners or for their careers.   D's new boyfriend is a rugged, nice looking 45 year old, who swims with sharks, surfs, dives, etc....and is also concerned with looking good, so I expect at some point to find him wearing a little frownie...along with all the other things she is teaching him about staying healthy and looking good through diet and other natural modalities.  She learned at her mother's knee and it is a private joke between us now that he told her (upon meeting me this fall) that I was "really well preserved" for my age.   I laughed like a loon and told her to tell him that he made me sound like I was "pickled in formaldahyde."  Trust me, I really don't look "preserved."

Frownies?  They really work.  I wouldn't steer you wrong.   I get mine through drugstore.com, but I am sure any big, good beauty supply store may carry them, though both products will be cheaper online than through a beauty supply.  And if you want to pack a bigger punch to this beauty regimen, plunk down the $$ for a bottle of Cellex C or any other vitamin C serum to wet them down with.   If you do use Botox you may be able to kiss it goodbye after a while.  There are two topical things that help build collagen, one is vitamin C and the other is retinol.

Frownies:  Around $13 to $14 online

Cellex C - Advance C Serum:  Between $80 and $125 (the lower range is obtainable on-line-shop around) and at two drops a night it will last quite a while.   This is one thing I do splurge on and I also use it under my moisturizer (to protect my skin from sun damage) and also fortify my night creams with it.

I am a frustrated chemist, so I concoct my own creams using a simple base and adding my own ingredients.  You would be surprised how much and how cheap you can get the basics like Hyaluronic acid, liquid zinc, niacin, green tea extract (for caffeine), DMAE, Ester C and glycolic and lactic acids at high concentrations, etc.... and just about anything else that are the ingredients in some of the most expensive creams on the market.  It is especially good when you want to treat the skin on your body as well as you do your face and it would be too expensive to do so.

If you have sun damage, ask your dermatologist to give you a 0.1% retin A cream.  They usually prescribe .05% but  0.1% is stronger and better.  You can use this to fortify other creams too!

As for the Frownies... Thanks Rene Russo!   Good things are meant to be shared and passed on to others.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Artist - Everything we go to the movies for!

I finally got to see The Artist last night and today I still have a warm fuzzy feeling every time I think about it.  I LOVED this movie!  As pure entertainment....it shines brightly...an homage to all the old Hollywood movies our parents loved and some we sharpened our own teeth on.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I grew up in love with movies.  Movies were a portal to another world where we could be anything we wanted to be and where falling in love with a handsome stranger was as close as your nearest movie theater.  For those of us with wild imaginations and passionate temperaments couched behind shy exteriors,  movies were simply... our magic!

What "The Artist" does or did for me, was take me back to those simpler more innocent times where we did believe in "ever after" and that it really was possible that the dividing line between rain and sunshine was a matter of inches.

I revisited the little girl clothed in a hand-me-down full dress, tap shoes (probably from The Goodwill Store),  who danced in puddles, twirling her umbrella and belting out "I'm singing in the rain...." on her way home from school.   It also made me realize that some things never change because I still walk around with some "song" in my head and when it rains and I hold an umbrella, I still want to be Gene Kelly....or a female version of him...anyway...and break out in a dance. That little girl is still very much alive and I think she is the one who keeps me young on the outside...and last night,  watching the movie, I would have given anything to be "Peppy" Miller and dance the way she did...so light on her feet and so absolutely adorable as she batted her eyes at the equally adorable George Valentin.

I saw the movie with two friends, the male liked it the female was so-so about it and I guess I couldn't believe that they didn't "love" it like I did.  Didn't relate to it, I guess.

The performances in the movie were so good!   Talk about communicating with your eyes, your smiles, your body....   I fell in love with Jean Dujardin's crooked smile and Berenice Bejo's expressive eyes.  John Goodman was almost a Harvey Weinstein kind of guy and he was terrific in the role as the Studio Boss, as was James Cromwell in the role as the faithful driver.  And who could forget Uggie the dog as hero and faithful companion to Dujardin's Valentin, as his prospects dim with the coming of the talkies.

Of course, if you are a movie junkie, you will recognize some of the music, particularly the Edward Herrmann score for Vertigo that plays towards the end of the movie and for which Kim Novak said she felt was a "rape" of something that was created for her.   While hearing it does take you out of the movie momentarily, you immediately jump back in because it works so well in the scenes and situation and it is so lovely and intended to be an homage to the late great Herrmann's work.

Written and directed by Michel Hazanavicius, The Artist is a big winner and whether it wins the Oscar or not....it is tops in my book.   Harvey Weinstein sure knows how to pick them!

I unreservedly give this movie a thumbs up or five stars...or whatever one gives a movie...because it enchanted me and I am still carrying that fuzzy feeling around and tuning in to Turner Classic Movies to see what other nostalgic movie I can find.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Meryl Streep's Iron Lady ...

...blew me away.  What a fantastic performance by one of my favorite actresses.

I thought Viola Davis was wonderful and deserved the Oscar for her performance in The Help, but that was before I saw Iron Lady last night.  The lovely Viola is a Streep fan and will forgive the demotion to second place.

The movie was intense, sad and quiet good.  As the older Margaret Thatcher, the actress was mesmerizing.  The ravages of age were sadly poignant, really.   The problem with Streep is that you forget how good she is until you see her again and then you realize that she makes it look so easy you also forget she isn't the person she is portraying.   I honestly think this is one of her best performances.

Hats off to the make up crew who worked on the film.  They are to be commended for their excellence in aging the characters, quite unlike those that did J. Edger, where some of the aging make-up was over the top.  Granted Streep and Broadbent are already older, but even the dentures she wore looked authentic.

If you are a fan of Streep, go see the movie.  I thought it was excellent and though I disagreed with a lot of Thatcher's politics, she was a tough old gal, but more so, I think, because she had to prove that she had as big, if not bigger, balls then the men around her in the political arena.  That that proving might have been detrimental to her in the long run is an interesting question. Strangely enough, her spouse was a more mild mannered type, who cheered her on most of the time and they seemed to get along famously.

I was pleasantly surprise how much I enjoyed the movie, though many find fault with the story. This was "one" view of MT, shown through the vulnerability in her later years.  I am sure there is a wealth of material for a few more stories, but this view didn't please everyone.  There are many who feel it is a disrespect to show her thus because she is still alive.  Despite that, I thought it was an even handed attempt to show the woman behind the iron.

I originally set out to see The Artist but didn't get there in time for the performance, so we opted for The Iron Lady.   I'm so glad we did.

The supporting performances, especially Jim Broadbent, were very good.  Alexandra Roach, the actress who played the young Thatcher, was also very credible in the role.

If she doesn't win the Academy Award this year, I will be very disappointed.  For me she was "that" good.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Return of Downton Abbey

One of the good things about the new year is the return of Downton Abbey on Masterpiece Classic starting tomorrow, January 8th. on PBS.   It was one of my favorite shows last year and I'm glad to see it is back for a second season and glad to hear it's been signed on for a third.

Between all the big budget movies with their 3D and their "superheroes, " extraterrestrials,  zombies and vampires and reality TV,  the world is ready for some more some adult drama and the backstairs intrigue between the classes of the venerable Masterpiece upstairs-downstairs variety.   Although this has been a good year for films in terms of their quality scattered among the more silly fare like Transformers and Green Lanterns that appeal to the younger male audience, it is still nice to welcome back the well made and well acted stalwarts that make one look forward to watching the tube again.

Julian Fellowes has done a crackerjack job as writer and creator of Downton Abbey.  It still amazes me that the charming actor who played the often pompous, but unintentionally humorous and kind hearted Kilwillie,  best friend and neighbor of Hector McDonald, Laird of Glenbogle on Monarch of the Glen, is the same fellow who has written so many period favorites such as Gosford Park and Young Vicitoria, as well as the screenplays for Vanity Fair and The Tourist.

Last year I watched all six seasons of Monarch of the Glen in the evenings while I did my treadmill.   It become something I looked forward to every night, as I grew more fond of the quirky inhabitants of the fictitious Glenbogle Estate in the Scottish Highlands and some nights would find me sitting through two episodes, eagerly awaiting my next netflix envelope every few days to retreat to another world and spend time with what seemed like some old friends.

Our friends across the pond have a knack for writing intelligent and entertaining drama and they are not afraid of dialogue and don't pander to the lowest common denominator as some moviemakers in the states sometimes do.

I recently had a "professional" critique a script.   I actually paid someone to  tell me it was good and then proceed to tear into it in the most brutal way, even telling me I should change my villain in the piece.  One of my favorite critiques though was him saying that I needed to "dumb" it down for American audiences and asking me if I thought I was writing for Masterpiece Theater because I dared to use the word "supplant" in the context of "supplanting someone in a person's affections."   The character who spoke the words was an artist and an educated and literate person so why would he not use such a word?

Needless to say, I found this one critique a  huge compliment rather than a put down of my skills.

So Sunday night will find me tuning in to Downton Abbey.

Even though I have a very eclectic taste in films, if you took a peek at my Netflix queue  you would find a lot of old Masterpiece Theater and BBC dramas scattered throughout.  I find myself looking forward to those particular ones and lately find they are the only ones that rarely disappoint.

And nary a car chase or demolition derby in the bunch!  Hallelujah!


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

A Lovely Late Evening with Jane Monheit

Friday night I finally made it to Catalina Bar and Grill to see Jane Monheit.   After picking up some dinner and a bottle of wine from Joan's On Third and a few goodies for New Year's eve I put on ice in the cooler in the back of my car, I headed over to a friend's apartment where we caught up on the last few weeks of our lives over a roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, spicy snap peas and several dips and crostini.  After a few glasses of wine we headed down Sunset for the 10:00 show.

I've been a fan of Monheit for about 10 years and always told myself I was going to catch one of her shows and Friday night she didn't disappoint.  She has a lovely voice and backed up by a pianist, a bass and her husband on the drums, she put on a very entertaining show.  She covers a lot of the old standards from some of my favorite composers, but the killer for me was when she sang "Over the Rainbow."   She sings a very slow and melancholy version that breaks your heart to hear.  It did me in the first time I heard her sing it on one of her first CD's and her  version of it is what made me a fan those many years ago.

Several years ago, when my sister A's health started deteriorating, whenever I had to take her to the doctor or somewhere in the car, she would sit in the passenger side.   I would fasten her seatbelt and hold her hand because she had developed a fear of riding in the car.  Anyone who had known A in her prime would know she loved speed.  When she was in my car and I would drive fast or go down a hill, she would smile and show her pleasure by shouting out "wheeeee."   Now, with the advancing Alzheimer's, any motion or sudden moves terrified her and that joyous "wheeeee" had turned to fearful whimpers.  The one thing that would calm her down was me putting on the CD and skipping to Monheit singing "Over the Rainbow."   She and I softly sang it together with Monheit while I drove.   She felt the message of that song on a deep level and the tears would roll down her cheeks.

Well A can no longer form words.  She looks at me and tries, but they don't come out.  She's locked in her own world and only music brings her out a little and what's left of her long term memory registers a sad kind of recognition.  In the car, when I would play it, I knew she was thinking that she had always been trapped in her "borderline Down's syndrome"  mind and body and that she was never going to fly over the rainbow like she dreamed doing.  The thing was that she knew I knew it...even though I would always tell her that she and I would see the world together.  She well understood she had to live with mom.  She was mom's constant companion after Dad died and the two had never separated.  But to A, I was her salvation, her ticket to the world she might have lived had she not had her handicap.   She wanted to live with me and live my life.

So it was so bittersweet, that lovely version, sung Friday night, with the same melancholy cadence I remembered...and the memories it evoked for me of my sister through the progression of her illness broke my heart all over again.   We all want to fly away from our troubles and over the rainbow is where the dreamers go.

I talked to Ms. Monheit after the show.  I didn't take a photograph or ask for an autograph (although I did buy a new CD).   I just had to share that little thing with her and she genuinly seemed pleased I did.   I only took a small moment, but it meant so much to her that her voice had reached out and really touched both my sister and myself.

Music is a universal language and at its best it enriches us and helps us make indelible little moments special.   Music allows us to relive those moments long after they are gone.  We fall in love to music, we remember our losses over music, we celebrate life through music and each song creates a feeling within us that takes us to a certain place or a certain person.  Music makes us dance with joy at the celebration of being alive and still able to go with the "vibrations" that make us feel alive!

Those in the arts can sometimes be annoyed by cloying fans, but Monheit's sincerity was palpable when she spoke with me and I had a "need" to let her know that she had shared something very personal with both of us in the form of her voice and her interpretation of the song.

Monheit sings in a very sensual and personal manner.  She is able to interpret a song as she "feels" it and when you see her in person you "get" why it comes across in the the audio alone.  That is the best thing I can say about a singer.   Good voices are sometimes a dime a dozen and it seems like everyone "screams" a lot these days to reach the higher octaves.  She has lovely control, but it is her nuance and her own style with the songs that make them special.

If you haven't heard of her, look her up.  If you get to see her, she's a treat.   Her musicians are right there with her on the journey she takes.   I've put the new CD in my rotation of five in the car. I will download it to my iPod.  I've got so much to download into my *iPod, but for now I will enjoy her singing everytime I get in my car.   And every time I hear that particular song, those bittersweet moments I shared with my sister A when we both sang along with Jane Monheit will always live in my heart.

Thanks Jane!

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate


*There is an especially lovely song on the new CD that has become an instant favorite because it touches me.   Below is a link to the very evocative "piano only" duet with Peter Eldridge"It's Only Smoke."


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEf4TVLmSqw


Over the Rainbow


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EP_5veYs1vE

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and Blessed Holidays

From my house to yours, a blessed and wonderful holiday season, surrounded by those you love  and warmed by the fire of your hearths.
                                                                                                Zoni

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

J. Edgar, Shame (some spoilers here) and Brad and Angie

Much as I liked Coriolanus (still working on my review), Ray Fiennes wonderful adaptation of the Shakespearean classic and all the performances in it, including Gerard Butler's very natural turn as Tullus Aufidius, as well as the Gerry's very good performance as Sam Childers in Machine Gun Preacher, after seeing Leo DeCaprio in J. Edger and especially Michael Fassbender in Shame, I have to admit that this is one hell of a tough year to have to compete for the too few movie awards.  There are quite a few good films out there and I am trying to catch a few of them.

J. Edgar

I went to see J. Edgar last week and have to give it up for Clint Eastwood as a director, for the kind of movies he makes and the intelligence he exhibits as a filmmaker.  The screenplay by Dustin Lance Black, who penned one of my favorites of a few seasons ago (Milk), was excellent and Eastwood, a darling of screenwriters for not fucking up their scripts, did a masterful job bringing it to the screen.  The final ingredients were, of course, some fine performances, especially by Leo DeCap, who again proves that he can tackle the tough roles and bring them to life with great skill and verve, but not to exclude some good supporting players in Armie Hammer, Dame Judi Dench, and the always good Naomi Watts.

This is a movie where story counts and the movie makers make the most of of the good script in telling it.  The cinematography and costumes add a great deal, but for me it all goes back to a good story, a savvy director and terrific actors and this movie has all three ingredients that line up to make it a strong award contender.  I highly recommend it.

Perhaps this is Leo's year?  Always the bridesmaid, but never the bride, he has consistently chalked up some impressive performances and his J. Edgar is no exception.  Oscar is surely taking note?

Shame

Last night I went to see Shame.  There are two words that came to mind as the ending credits for this film went up on the black screen in a very quiet theater.  The first one was "gutsy."  The second, "wow!"

As opposed to a meticulous detail to get the story right in J. Edger, Shame, although just as meticulous in presenting its theme of sexual addiction, was an exercise in "in your face" filmmaking.  It grabbed you from the moment you went in, with it's starkness,  and it didn't let you go until the final tortured scene.   For me, I think this was due to the gutsiness of the director to go deeper and deeper into obsession and addiction and his apparent symbiosis with his lead actor to put it out there with little or no frills, such as the usual, and to me, important back story to fill in the blanks.   Steve McQueen lets his actors and the camera do the talking and here the payoff is one very bleak, but fascinating story that makes you, or at least it did me, go "wow!"

After seeing Michael Fassbender in a few films (300, Inglourious Basterds, some BBC work, and now in just about every movie coming out), this is one fearless and talented actor.  From the first scene to the last, he gives an impeccable performance as the sexually tortured Brandon.

*Since going through puberty at 10 and my first orgasm too many years later, when I lost my virginity to the player who was to be my lover for the next five years, that electrical current, unlike any other, that starts in your brain and travels down your body to your genitals, that most pleasurable of sensations that leaves you limp and satisfied and craving the next one,  has fascinated me.  That's how the first time was for me.  I guess I was one of the lucky ones, as I was crazy about the man who was responsible for it and (as he was later to tell me) he had met his sexual and emotional match.

Not being sure exactly what to expect, other than the obvious, what shocked me back then was the fact that sexual climax (for me at least) completely took over my brain where I  had expected it to be more confined to other parts of my body.  It was an inexplicable thing, that euphoric fuzziness, almost like you are going to faint from the pleasure as your whole body convulses, the kind of pleasure that begs for a repeat....because addiction (as well as sexual excitement) starts in the brain.

This is what made me think that that is what a sexual addict like Brandon is striving to sate and recreate in the obsessive pursuit of sexual gratification at all hours of the day, that euphoric fuzziness that obliterates everything else and takes over your body, even if for just a few moments.

But it can't be just that, that drives a man like Brandon.  There is a hole (no pun intended here) somewhere in his existence, that can't be filled up with anything else, a kind of vacuous nothingness that his life is and he can't face, that has to be filled up with  mindless ejaculation, the only game interesting him, exchanging glances with his prey on the subway and progressing to wherever his need for gratification leads him.   And in this movie, where it leads him...well... some of it isn't pretty.

If you go to this movie, expecting to be titillated by lots of full frontal, you may be surprised how naturally it is presented here.  The nudity in this movie is essential to its telling and Fassbender (and even Mulligan) seems so comfortable in his skin that it is his face that becomes the magnet here, so eloquent in going from flirt, to conqueror over and over and over, until all you see is the tiredness and the desperateness for that next click in his brain that may obliterate whatever it is he is afraid to face...the emptiness perhaps, his eyes looking more tired, his climaxes becoming more grimace than pleasure, a desperateness that makes you cringe...the silence palpable in the theater as the audience (each in his own thoughts) feels his pain and self loathing.  

Michael Fassbender's performance blew me away, literally.  It was raw, unvarnished and perfect.  Carey Mulligan, as his sister Sissy, also gave a fearless, earthy performance and her rendition of New York, New York was poignantly lovely and, its slow, almost sad,  execution became an anthem for these two damaged siblings whose past is left for us in the audience to fill in, but our hearts ache for them and whatever has brought them to the place where  seeking a closeness and a connection with something or someone, each in their own manner.... he, unable to love anyone else because he can't love himself... and she, perhaps for the same reason, but at least willing to reach out to her brother, but again, both seeking their redemption in self-destruction and ultimately, a self loathing rush to oblivion.

Steve McQueen has done a masterful job bringing this movie to life and the bleak tones of the cinematography is his partner in setting the tone and theme for this very compact film.  

I recommend this movie highly, but not for the silly minded, even though I will have to add as an afterthought that any actor considering doing full frontal might be a little intimidated after seeing this movie.   Mr. Fassbender is obviously blessed in a few areas, but not the least in his acting ability, because in this movie, it IS the acting and the actor's facial expressions that carry the day and the attention of all but the most puerile.

Brad, Angie and other Trivia for the night.

I saw Shame at ArcLight in Hollywood, where I was supposed to meet some friends.   As I was going down the stairs after parking, I almost ran smack into Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie getting ready to make their grand entrance to the red carpet for the premiere of her movie, In the Land of Milk and Honey.  

I was surprised, as I was unaware of this event going on, and delighted, as well to get to see them up close, as they both looked quite lovely, especially the regal Angie, in a stunning, dark navy dress.   I smiled and continued to the forecourt of the theater, where the photographers were lined up behind the ropes and the fans behind other ropes, all trying to get a glimpse of their idols.   

Once in the theater lobby, I waited around, for my friends were stuck in the traffic on Sunset.  While they were moving people around, I was very happy not to be hassled by the security, perhaps because I looked like I belonged (I was wearing a dress and heels as we were going to dinner afterwards to celebrate my friend's birthday) and because I was not gawking (I do not gawk).  While everyone else was trying to take pictures with their phones,  I was happy to exchange a few glances with Mr. Pitt, perhaps because I was one of the few in the lobby not preoccupied with them, and really most anxious that we might miss the movie if my friends arrived too late.  Or perhaps because I looked familiar (I do have a double out there).  Either way, it was very nice.

Anyway, once my friends got there, we embraced and headed for the theaters and made it just in time before the lights went down.   I have to give thanks to the young man at the ticket counter, who let me have their tickets on good faith (they had  two free vouchers) so that we could sit together, and trusted me to bring back the vouchers for him once they arrived.  

After the movie we ate at Cleo's at the Redbury,  where the food is good, even if the acoustics are horrible.   We got a booth and, once several tables full of  very young women (who all looked the same...dresses up to their asses, high heels they could barely walk in, and yelling instead of speaking) left, it was very pleasant and we could discuss our impressions of the movie.  M and I also had fun discussing our recent trips to Paris and, to my credit and his liking of me, I was able to convince the strict vegetarian that he "must" visit a certain taxidermy shop on his next visit.

After toasting our friend T, who had just returned from another grueling trip to Shanghai, for her birthday and  discussing the merits of a house in Palm Springs' old movie colony that M is thinking of purchasing, we made plans to go out to dinner again soon before heading to the valet.

I still have several movies to catch up with before awards season starts, so I anticipate a few trips to the ArcLight, though probably not so hectic and exciting as this one.

All in all, another great night in La La Land.

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

*My apologies if this is too much personal information for some, but as a writer and even as a person, I can't intellectualize the feelings of the character without digging deep to understand his motivation.  I am a person who tends to empathize a great deal and if that means tapping into my own experiences of something for some kind of understanding, than I need to go there and do.

Paris - Day Five - Oscar Wilde, Exotic Animals and L'Ami Jean

Tuesday, true to predictions, was a rainy day in Paris.  It drizzled on an off and we were prepared with our umbrellas.  Today we were going to the Musee d' Orsay where I wanted to see the exhibit titled Beaute, Morale et Volupte dans L'Angleterre D'Oscar Wilde (Beauty, Morality and Voluptuousness in Oscar Wilde's England).

We got there in the early afternoon and there was a very long line, despite the rain.    A lot of good people watching in the large courtyard in front of the Musee.  There were two guys selling (and wearing)     umbrella hats out front and I was reminded of a story Gerard Butler once told on Jay Leno about his father, owning an umbrella store and wearing one of the things around town.

After an hour of waiting in line, we finally got in and were able to see the exhibit.

It was very good, the main theme being that with so much Victorian Era (and residual Calvinist) conservatism and functionality in the arts, this repression ushered in a sort of backlash led by the, painters, artists and style icons of the period.   The thrust of it in art, furniture, etc....was beauty for beauty's sake, without regard to functionality, which to some, implied a certain decadence.  The era ushered in many portraits of beautiful women, some scantily clad, lounging around playfully and the use of color, vibrant, their features showing a youthful, maidenly,  yet voluptuous sensuality.  The furniture followed the same form over functionality credo and we see some eastern influences in their designs.

One sweet little moment was watching a crowd of elderly tourists (female heavy) feasting their eyes on the pen and ink drawings of Aubrey Beardsley Erotica with its depictions of penises everywhere.  That was the one wall you could not even get near.  Being familiar with them, D and I found it very humorous observing these elderly ladies, their noses barely inches from the art, almost as if they could sniff the subjects.  Aside from the big grin on my face, all I could think was "hooray for decadence!"

Some Examples of Aubrey Beardsley Erotica

After several hours of browsing this exhibit and a few others, we opened our umbrellas and headed for our next destination, Deyrolles.

For those of you not familiar with the famous Paris taxidermy shop, this is a "must see" when you are in Paris.   It is one of the most amazing places I have ever been to.  One could spend several hours just browsing through this jungle of exotic creatures, from the largest to the smallest, all featured in a charming, old wood plank floor environment that invites one to stroll from one room to the other.

The storefront window displays a few of the animals, but the downstairs is a small room featuring whimsical gardening and horticultural tools, postcards, catalogues, etc... and when you walk in you think you are in the wrong place.   But beware,  once you round the bend of the stairs going up to the second floor, because what meets you there is a wonderland unlike any other and better than any natural history museum I've ever been to.

           The front window at Deyrolles is but a small appetizer to the wonders inside and upstairs.

Here is a link that will help you learn a little about this French wonderland, since there is no photography allowed once inside the establishment.


http://www.deyrolle.com/magazine/

More links to Deyrolles:


http://www.pbase.com/al309/paris1


http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/15/arts/design/15taxi.html


Several hours later, with the perfect little bat skeletons still in my mind,  we left the shop as they were setting up for some kind of cocktail party that night, the cases of bubbly and catering starting to arrive.  That made us remember we had seen some of the animals at another such party scene, except it was in 1920's France as shown in Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" and wondered if it was filmed in the shop.  Will have to check it out now and see the movie a third time to verify the memory.

By that time it was getting late and we took the metro back to our apartment to freshen up a little for our 10:00 p.m. dinner reservation at Chez L'Ami Jean.

Small but cozy Bistro.

Still raining, we entered the small restaurant to find it was very crowded.  We took off our coats and the lady behind the bar hung them up.  There was a group of four people leaving (American) who took forever and were very loud in trying to locate their umbrellas among the many.  I hung on to mine (it was a nice wood handled one that belonged to the Apartment) while they were in the process and the French lady, after 10 minutes of them blocking the entrance, looks at me and rolls her eyes a little before coming forward to help them out the door.

Breathing a sigh of relief,  I finally put my umbrella down and we waited a few minutes for them to clear us a place at one of the communal tables.  It was a very cozy arrangement, as a lot of the smaller Bistros are and, if you know what to expect (we did), the food takes center stage and the general, serious enjoyment of it by all concerned is part of the experience.

After getting a recommendation and some tasting samples, we ordered a nice bottle of red to go with the heartiness of the Basque food before trying to navigate the incomprehensible menu.  To help us along, we were brought some thick crusty bread and olive oil.

Between my not so extensive French and D's better (she studied French at the Sorbonne for a six week summer course while in college - my idea, which she is now grateful to me for) and a little help from our non English speaking waiter, we ordered several appetizers to include some charcuterie and cheese, plus a salad.   I ordered a pork stew entree and D ordered a white fish.  While they were both delicious, her fish was full of small bones and whenever she got a mouthful, I would see this look come over her face, which made me laugh.

The evening was very enjoyable and we relaxed in the warm, convivial atmosphere.   As people left, I was quite content to see my (the apartment) umbrella, which I was keeping my eye on, was still there, nice wooden handle visible among the cheaper fold up portables.

Some serious eating going on at Chez L'Ami Jean

By the time dessert rolled around, we ordered some berry tart and the specialty of the house, the creamy rice pudding.  When they brought it out, we were surprised how large a bowl it came in, served with foamy cream on the side and some candied nuts.    While the tart was yummy, the rice pudding was "to die for."

I hadn't tasted rice pudding that good in ages.   My maternal grandmother, whose father was Basque, was an excellent cook, but this one even beat hers.   It was heavenly, and although we were full, we made a very valiant attempt to eat it all.  As I am writing this, my taste buds are salivating at the thought of it.

"To die for" creamy rice pudding with sides.

When we were finally able to pry ourselves away from the table.  We had the waiter call a taxi for us and when he signaled it was there, we scrambled to find our coats and grab our umbrellas before heading out into the rain.

When we got back to the apartment, as I was closing the umbrella (with the nice wood handle), I got the shock of my life to discover that it had the name of a famous hotel on the canopy, while the apartment one had been plain black.  

I started laughing again, after all my wasted effort and worrying, it looked like someone else, somewhere, like me, was holding a nice umbrella with a wooden handle and wondering where their fine hotel logo went.

So far, with all the eating, I weighed myself on the bathroom scale, only to discover that, with all the walking we were doing, I had lost a pound and half. D was not far behind in that regard. That is the beauty of living in a city.  One can indulge in food (fresh, well cooked food, to be fair) to one's heart's content and, if one has a good metabolism and loves to walk, it doesn't show a bit, except on the contentment on one's face while indulging. 

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate 

Photographs of Chez L'Ami Jean (Basque Restaurant) courtesy of yelp.com