Latest Entries »

Parisian Street Art

So in Paris there is street art every where these aren’t the best or the funniest but I like and I thought I’d throw them up cause I am being lazy and don’t feel much like writing. Enjoy

The political

The pop culture 

The combination political and pop culture

Okay so the last one is from Spain not Paris and is official not street art but I like it – the walking with a sombrero on lane!

Showing bras?

Just a quickie here but on my morning run around I noticed what appears to be the new female sporting dress phenomena… running in shirts that display your sports bra! Odd, I think but I spouse we should all follow the fashions on display here in Paris. Seriously how are sports bras in anyway something ya want to display?

Rants by the Elderly on Public Transport

From the Southern to the Northern hemisphere it appears that the elderly have had enough! Riding the tram in Melbourne, the train in Sydney and the Metro in Paris – old people are giving out to one and all.  (small side issue for those not from Ireland or not familiar with the Irish; “Giving out” means telling off, getting angry with, giving a dressing down and so on).

So it was a sunny but cold mid-morning in Melbourne – I was catching the tram into the CBD on the day a famous american lady was in town, yeah it was Oprah. The tram started to fill, a chick about my age and her mate got on and one takes a seat in the spot reserved for the elderly. A few stops later I see an older lady getting on. I jump up to offer her my seat, as there are none free. She refuses and instead asks the woman sitting in the seat reserved for the elderly to get up. The sceen plays out:

Younger woman: “No I’m not getting up that girl has offered her seat”.

Older woman:  “That’s not the point this seat is for the elderly”.

YW: “Well there is a seat there for you. I’m sitting here talking with my friend” (friend goes bright red).

OW: “Get up! You’re in the seat for the elderly do you have no manners?” And so on and so on – the younger woman didn’t move and the older woman stood right in front of her glaring the whole way into town.

In Sydney – its school holidays, its hot on a train into Bondi. Teenagers (young ones) jump on. Sit down start chatting – the chatting gets a bit louder boys are on the bottom carriage trying to flirt with the girls – the girls are laughing. A few comments back and forth some jumping around from seat to seat to get a better view of the boys without going downstairs. Then an old man gets up and starts yelling at these girls – clam down this is a public train not a pick up joint! (Even I was a little scared). After that he goes back and sits down.

Now in Paris on the metro crowded no room – a young boy gets up to offer his seat to an older (even if very well made up) woman. She says something in French obviouosly which I figure must have been “Awh what you think I am too old to stand!”The whole carriage then stares at the floor. AKWARD!

So I think situations two and three are very very very bad form on the part of the elderly and situation one is just silly altogether – but it got me thinking – at what age are you entitled to not give a toss and start giving out to random strangers on public transport? Is it ever okay?

Also where do we come up with these random age entitlments – 16 sex, 18 drink and voting. And then there  are the cut off dates  25 no longer a young person, 26 no more free entry to French muséums, 28 for the Rose of Tralee (like how I worked that in there Chole?).  It just seems odd. I get you need age limits and cutt of points but shouldn’t they be based or linked to something?

So I will be starting a campagin to get the age that you can enter the Rose Tralee raised to the year before you can become President of Ireland. you can get run for President from the age of 35 so it therefore seems logical that you shuold be able to become the Rose up until 34. That way you get your year in a Rose and then BOOM run for President. Unless of course your not from Ireland or dont want to be President. I know your thinking bass why do you care and people its because the Rose comp finals are a week long with 32 gals from around the world all getting brought together in Tralee. (Got it figured out yet?) Ladies WE ALL ENTER THE SAME YEAR AND ITS A WEEK LONG PARTY TOGETHER NOT ON OUR DIME!!!!!

So as soon as I figure out how to up load to google doc I’ll put up a letter explaining the silliness of age limits to the Rose Committee and I expect everyones full support in bombarding them with signed letters!

More to come shortly

So first thing first spring has sprung in Paris and the Parisians are actually happy! Well as happy as they get because it is not cool or chic to smile too much, as was so kindly pointed out to me by a ‘charming’ Frenchman. Note I smile too much.  But seriously why not smile life is good, the sun is shining and I am not living in Afghanistan!

In any event the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming and the French men are embracing lycra like I have never seen men embrace lycra before. It is perhaps testimony to the fact that French men are SO secure in their own appearance that they feel free to wear lycra from head to toe.  Seriously everywhere you look there are skinny Frenchmen bopping around in skin-tight shorts, tops, singles … Funnily enough it’s a side of Paris not often shared with the rest of the world, god alone knows why; I mean who doesn’t find men clad in lycra appealing? (sarcasm people read it here). I’ll try snap a few prime examples for you over the next few days.

In any event it’s great that spring has arrived! We all must carry our crosses, if Frenchies in lycra is mine; well for sunshine and warmth it is a price I can live with.

In my great attempt to get ready for summer I have decided to once again attempt to get fit and tort! Ha! But seriously I went to the gym with a mate. After the zumba debacle (i.e being asked to leave the class because I couldn’t contain my laughter at a woman instructing a class to shake those sexy shoulders and ride the pony) I figured a pump class would be a safe bet, what can possibly go wrong in a weights class right?! Well, my Australian gendersized view of the world came to the fore, because back home there is no way in hell any self-respecting straight man would do a pump class, which sidebar I should explain is like a girly aerobics class with weights. Here in Paris, more men than women were doing the class AND it was being instructed by a crazy little fellow, who I thought looked like a slightly overgrown Umpa Lumpa, you know from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He even had the orange ting, yes fake tan go wild!

So the class begins, it’s a hideous Lady Ga Ga song to open with, Umpa Lumpa instructor man starts sing-a-long into his microphone! Now I am not one to judge, especially for a man for singalongs  but, I did find it highly amusing so I started to laugh, quite a hard task when you’re doing squats with a bar of weights I must say. Umpa took this as an indication to sing more, and so it continued throughout the class. Umpa also threw in a few whistles and woop woops at random intervals, but at least he was having fun. During the class he learned that my mate and I were English speakers so he tried to be inclusive and started using some English phrases. I have a feeling MTV was where umpa learnt his English cause when we were doing squats and leg work he kept yelling “And drop that arse”which instantly had me in hysterics. His other phrase for when we were doing chest presses “and push your boobs”, I mean come on, seriously how  is that even possible? ….  Anyway all good things must end and to close we had to do sit ups to “hot stepper”, great song I mean now who wouldn’t singalong? So I did, Umpa clearly interpreted this as I sign of me wanting more attention, an impression French guys seem to jump to quite regularly (though never when you actually want them to tres bizarre). So he came over to me and we did a bit of a duet while I was struggling to hold back the fit of laughter that wanted to burst out of me. And then perhaps the best ‘worst pickup line’ I have ever heard. After my friend has informed Umpa that I am Australian …. “You look great like a kangaroo in headlights”.

There are two options here, as I see it, either Umpa has never seen a kangaroo in headlights and for some unknown reason thinks kangaroos who are about to get smashed by a car and cause considerable damage to themselves and the car and possibly the driver of said car look in any way good; or Umpa’s English has room for improvement and he maybe doesn’t know what great means. But in any event it made for the most memorable gym class I have ever had.

Until next time

Bass is back on the blogging train and I am starting off with a rant ……… 

I must say  life in Paris is treating me well, I really can’t complain (though clearly that is what I am about to do).

I have a great apartment, chilled out landlords, easy ’employers’ (though they don’t pay me so are they really employers?) and a social life that is keeping me full of champagne. Generally, life is good.

I also have only been here a short time and still find everything French trés amusing: I find their ability to walk straight into another person and not even flinch because clearly the other person should have known to get out of the way, a funny little oddity; the ruffeling the big puffy hair on the metro while on the phone saying BAHHHHHHHHHHH for twelve seconds makes me chuckle; not starting work until 10am and not really working at work, well who would complain about that; the service at bars, restaurants, cafes teaches patients, a quality I need; and the astronomical price of everything, well come on its Paris what did you expect.  There is one exception to all this however, the relentless, incessant, all-encompassing, dirty, stinky, filthy habit of  smoking EVERYWHERE and ALL the TIME. 

Seriously kids did no one tell the French smoking kills ya! (I know France is still in the top ten for life expectancy anyway but that surely is to do with their chilled out attitude to work and not smoking).

I know that the generalisation is that the Parisians in particular do not give a flying *@#%  about anyone or anything, but they actually are  a polite lot. They will bowl you over on the street but call you Mademoiselles while doing it and while they do treat ‘the law’ as mere suggestions to generally be followed but only when its convenient to do so they do respect the ban on smoking inside (more than can be said for the Dutch) BUT yes I am still irritated by the Frenchies and their obsessive compulsive need to smoke.

Because of the ban on inside smoking this means EVERY French person smokes at EVERY opportunity they can when OUTSIDE. City air in Europe is quite bad enough without adding stinky ciggie smoke to it. Seriously the instant I step out of my apartment building and on to the street bam! A wall of toxic cigaret smoke. And sure it is fine for the people who enjoy smoking, who get a little buzz from it, whose appetites are suppressed by it and who look so chic puffing on those little cancer sticks (cause we all know the French start smoking to look cool). However for those of us who do not choose to smoke, whose eyes, noise and throat are irritated by secondary smoke, who don’t want to smell like stale ash, who enjoy having taste buds, white teeth and clear finger nails and who are haunted by memories of anti-smoking televation adverts  then the complete occupation of Parisian air by cigaret smoke is horrendous.

What is more irritating is the complete disregard any Parisians you don’t know you personally has for your own space. I mean they blow their smoke directly into your face! they turn away from their friends (who are all also smoking) and exhale right at you! I mean, I chew gum, a habit I know a lot of people find disgusting. But I don’t go around spitting my gum into people’s mouths or sticking it on their face. If I did I am sure I would be quickly dealt with by the charming French police, who are as nice and open-minded as those found in central Australia with just slightly better uniforms. Also I know hygiene and cleanliness is not something Paris is famous for but come on people take a little pride in the place and at least put you ciggie butts in the bin! THE WORLD IS NOT YOUR ASH TRAY! 

So basically nothing will stop the French smoking as they must stay thin and look cool, but please please please shove your secondary smoke into other smokers faces and not mine, take your butts and put them in the rubbish so that your streets actually look like they have footpaths and not long communal ashtrays and leave some spaces outside free for those of  us who want to breathe the car exhaust polluted air that Paris has on offer without smoke to do so!

Revival

Yes I’ve been slack I know but here we go the rivial is now under way…. 

I have been struggling to make it through the day here are a few things that helped

Way cool sonic gallery it is from the radiolab which is fast becoming one of my favourite spots to pass some time inside.

I got sent this little gem by a slightly bigger gem.  

So I promise there is more to come shortly

Wowzah! Bass is in Paris! And man is it fun.  

So this city is great but you all new that before so here is the unknown truth… The French and indeed the Parisians are FRIENDLY!!!!!! Yes you read that right, I have only come across really nice, helpful and curious folk here in Paris. And there were most definitely moments when I was at my sunshiny best. Looking for a place in this city is HARD! Imagine being interviewed by possible in-laws who work for the tax office and secret police at the same time and you come close to understanding what being interviewed by a French landlord is like. However now that I have a home I am really getting to know Paris. I totally wish I had a hidden camera in my pocket to capture some of the sights I see walking around this AMAZING city. But I will try to paint them with words.

On my morning jog (which usually turns into a walk and gawk session as I repeatedly get surprised by just how cool the Eiffel Tower and the old buildings around it look) there is a man who power walks around the Champ de Mars. Nothing too unusual about that but what this man wears, oh la la! Picture this Cathy Freeman like licra full length bodysuit on a dude!(Admittedly he has a figure resembling Kate Moss but we’ll just leave that aside for now). But it gets better, his little bodysuit, has a hood which is sometimes up sometimes down I guess depending on what lap he is on and then on his feet – wait for it- BRIGHT FLURO ORANGE runners with FLURO GREEN AND BLUE PATCHES!!!! No you didn’t know they made shoes like that and Carey Bradshaw would most definitely own a pair of runners if they came like that in the 00’s. Statement jogging is all I can say.

Man number two is a lad I like to refer to as BoyMan. BoyMan walks around the 5th, the university end of town. I am guessing that he is either studying history, wants to be a writer or is doing accountancy and looking for some means of asserting his individuality. Now BoyMan 20 if a day. However his attire is perhaps best described as from a time gone by, which time, well it’s a walking montage really. BoyMan has brown tweed pants that would have been very fashionable in the 1930s with the well to do on. But they are clearly too big so he has the pulled up harry-high-pants style to just below his upper chest. They are held there by racy red suspenders. There will never be a bad word said against suspenders on this blog. Under the suspenders are a shirt that would have made any good pirate of the 16-17 hundreds proud. White as white can be with enough frills too make a birds nest; The shirt of course is undone till it hits the pants to show off the three hairs BoyMan has on his chest. There is then the teaching professors jacket with the sude elbow patches. There is some small piece of cloth tide around his neck, red to match the suspenders and the hankie he has tucked into his jacket breast pocket. On his head, there is that hat the men who yodel in the Alps wear, yes with matching red feathers on it. He has a trench coat slung over his arm and a satchel bag sitting on his hip. He is trying to stride but this legs were to short and he just looked like he was doing a bad impersonation of the goose step.

That is probably enough to start with… until next time, dress well folks.

Rugby in Paris Scottish Style

Scotland vs France six nations

I’m not blogging what happened here – kids figure out the rest for yourselves 🙂

So what are they selling here? I cracked up anyways. Enjoy!!!

 

What kind of Christmas present is on offer?

Sydney Faces

So am busy having too much fun to write at the mo but I thought that this sydney face had to up!

You never know what you'll encounter in Sydney!

Hope 2011 is going well

Oh prizes for whoever guesses what he is trying to impersonate