A bummer of a week

This has been a pretty awful week, all said and done. The first bad thing was that A. had to go back to New York on Saturday, so that left me in a pretty bad state for a few days. I had been having such a lovely time with him, and the first real vacation of my post-college life, that it was quite a shock to find myself alone again with an overwhelming amount of work to do. Fortunately I woke up Monday morning to an insane anxiety attack about the fact that I only have five or so more months to get all of my French research done, and a billion or so more archives to visit. I guess the good thing is that burying yourself in work at the national library or the Protestant library (which is dark, freezing and something akin to what I would expect to find at Hogwarts - although they would probably have a fire in the fireplace and one could conjure up a cup of tea) leaves little time to be sad.

Everyone knows how I like to make lists as a way of procrastinating from doing actual work, but right now I have so many balls in the air at the moment that the only way I can actually move forward is through lists. I counted all the little square orange pieces of paper on my desk and came up with a total of eighteen different lists. There are grocery lists, lists of things to do this week (2 identical lists, in fact, because I thought I lost the first one, although it was just on the other side of my archives-left-to-visit list), lists of songs I heard on the radio that I need to look up, lists of books for summer teaching, lists of names for my future puppies, etc. Unfortunately my list of archives left to visit is still at a whopping seven, with locations all over France (this does not include any archives outside of France, of which there are several more). The problem is that I hardly have time to read my documents as it is, and certainly am not brimming over with energy to deal with the bureaucracy in store. For example, to get a seat in the reading room at the military archives, one must telephone on a Monday morning between 8 and 8:15 to reserve a spot at least two weeks in advance of when you want to go, and you can only reserve three days at a time. If you want to go back, you have to call the next week. The problem, of course, is that everybody calls at 8:00 on Monday morning so it's a bit like trying to win a radio contest. And this is the only way to get in. I have to attempt this tricky business next Monday.

One of my bright ideas for how to be more productive this year is to get up at 6 am everyday, which will give me many hours of early morning darkness to get more work done (the sun does not seem to rise here until 8:30 or so). My success rate is only about 50%, so I may just have to give up pretty soon. However it does help me get to the archives early, so that I can work a full eight-hour day there (usually I can only manage about six at most). I have to practice this for the days when I have to go through hundreds of boxes in the space of a few weeks in my out of town archives, and must in fact arrive at 8 am and stay until they kick me out.

But of course the biggest bummer of the week is the news of Heath Ledger's death. I am really quite upset about it, and can't even identify why or find any rational reason for it, and everyone I know seems to feel almost exactly the same way. I guess it's the fact that he's the same age as us, and just seemed like such an interesting, fairly approachable personality, and something like the opposite of the antics of Britney Spears. But who knows if that is even the reality.

His death made me think quite a lot about the celebrity gossip mill and media circus surrounding events like this. While I was searching the web (using all of my historical research skills of course) for more information on his life, his exploits, etc, I became incredibly disgusted with myself for doing it. In the end I had to ask myself, if I was Michelle Williams, would I really want everyone in the world digging up every thing I ever said or did - um, no.

I openly admit to a fascination with celebrity gossip and to the fact that I spent way too much time during my exam year reading the gossip blogs. Here in France, I am currently very up to date on the exploits of the future Mrs. Sarkozy, Carla Bruni, and the utterly bizarre fact that Sarko may in fact marry a woman who looks identical to his ex-wife (who divorced him in October) and has dated (and dumped three weeks later) just about every man on earth. But I've always justified this bad habit to myself by saying that I am fascinated by the "cultural study" that it presents. But in fact, I realized that I love historical gossip just as much! The Mitfords, my favorite historical subject of all time, would have been all over the tabloids if they lived right now, but I guess it just doesn't seem as creepy to be obsessed with them since they are nearly all dead (except Debo, the Duchess of Devonshire!). But now that I have realized this, I feel kind of dirty, like a tabloid journalist digging up dirty secrets, even if the secrets I am currently digging up are, according to my grant proposals, globally important, in the end what I am trying to do is to understand why people behave the way they do, and what sorts of exterior factors drive their actions and ideas. It's like we're psychoanalysts with a much bigger bag of tricks than just the inner psyche, but somehow we still spend our time digging pretty deep into people's minds and behaviors.

So here's my question to the historians: are we just the historical paparazzi, or do we actually have important and valid reasons to dig up the secrets of history? And is the current global obsession with celebrity gossip anything new or different at all to what people have always done or been obsessed with?

If you need some cheering up like I do, and would enjoy seeing what our future Newfie Roxie Sparklebaum will behave like, then check out this video. I can imagine that whoever let the first dog into the water got into big trouble!



I hope that the next few weeks will not prove to be so glum for us all!

Lady Di and the sugar substitute

This past Tuesday, A. and I ventured out into Paris to shoot a few scenes that might become part of a larger film/internet project that A. and a few friends are working on for an unnamed sugar substitute product. My friend Susan and her husband Emud, who is a very talented filmmaker, also came along to help. The idea behind the project was to shoot scenes of Aaron blowing all of the money for this film project in Paris, so there were a few ridiculous scenes to shoot (if for some reason this footage is not incorporated into the project, I will post it on my blog as it is very funny). One of these scenes took place at the golden flame on the Pont de l'Alma, which has become the de facto memorial for Princess Diana, since she died in the tunnel underneath it. I had for some reason thought that this flame was put up in her honor, and had declared it very tacky indeed, but have recently been corrected. It is in fact a replica of the flame from the Statue of Liberty and just sort of became the Diana memorial because it was there. This is what it looks like:


Now here in France, Diana is known as "Lady Di" (pronounced Lady DEE), and normally people (by which I mean American tourists) leave flowers and letters all over the flame. However the day that Aaron had randomly chosen to shoot these scenes, Paris had turned into central Wyoming, with wind gusts up to about 50-60 mph, so whatever memorials had been there had long since blown away. This was by far the worst weather I have ever experienced in France, so shooting these scenes became all the more desperately hilarious. While we were waiting for Susan and Emud to arrive, Aaron and I were huddled on a corner, hiding from the wind. The spectacle was something else. Because it was also raining from time to time, everyone had their umbrellas. They would come up from the metro station, feel the moisture, put up their umbrellas, turn the corner, and WHOOSH - there went their umbrellas! Unfortunately we didn't get any pictures of this because we were laughing too hard. I'd have to say that we saw between 10-20 umbrellas destroyed in the space of five minutes. It's worth noting this because it helps set the scene - in order to walk into the wind, everyone had to lean precariously forward to avoid getting blown over backwards. I dropped Aaron's hat that I was holding (you will see that he has wisely switched it for my beret - très classe, as Emud said), and it completely disappeared in seconds, never to be seen again. By the end of the day we were all soaking wet and completely exhausted from the wind. The worst spot was up on the Trocadero, which is where we shot some important Eiffel Tower scenes, and where we had to shout just to hear one another. (In the Trocadero scene, I play an American tourist, who asks a beret-wearing, cigarette-smoking Aaron (in English) to take a picture of me in front of the Eiffel Tower. He blows me off, replying that he doesn't speak English (also in English) and then says something like "Damn tourists").

But back to the Lady Di memorial. In one of these scenes, Aaron is shown giving a moving tribute to Lady Di and wasting the film's money on flowers. This was not really part of the script, however Susan and I were sent on the mission to find some flowers for the scene, and we were in the 8th arrondissement, on the Boulevard George V (of the famous hotel) and all of the designer flagship stores. We searched all over, and even asked a friendly pharmacist where we could find a flower shop. Her directions were less than clear so we headed back down the Boulevard George V and suddenly found a small, unobtrusive flower shop. We walked in and asked the gentleman if we could buy a single rose (all I figured I could afford in that shop). He said that all the roses except the red ones only came in arrangements of ten or more, so I settled on a nice crimson rose. He took it out, tied it with a few branches and then handed it to me, and charged me 7 Euros. Yes that's right - 7 Euros for one stupid rose! (Never buy flowers in the 8th Arrondissement if you can help it). So I bought it, and we took it back to the Lady Di memorial, where Aaron laid it at the base of the flame and had a nice moment with her (I had to keep running in and rescuing the rose before it blew away). Then he walked over and looked down into the tunnel, gazing sadly at the place where she died. That is in fact moisture in his eyes because it was raining on his face (either that or he was cutting onions and making a lasagna... for one).



After this touching scene we headed up to the Trocadero, bravely battling the wind in our faces. We stopped a little ways up to take the requisite picture of us for the family, and of course had to include the 7 euro rose because it happened to be at that moment the most expensive item in the picture, and I wanted to make sure my 7 euros were not wasted. I was laughing hysterically the whole time because the wind kept blowing my hair in my eyes and I kept stabbing myself on the super thorns of this rose. But alas, here we have a nice picture of us, and as CBAM has pointed out, I am nearly smiling, which is in itself a novelty.


Let's just hope now that the sugar substitute people like the footage and we can become rich and famous, and I can turn in my receipt for the rose for "miscellaneous prop expenses" and get reimbursed.

Kommissar Rex

While CBAM has found the joys of the BBC in jolly olde England, I am still stuck in Frogland with only three or four working television channels. All fall I found myself rushing home from the archives to catch the latest daily installment of Verliebt in Berlin (the German version of Ugly Betty dubbed into French - note: I still like our Ugly Betty much better). But alas, the story ended just before Christmas when Lisa dumped Renaud at the altar for David (yes I know you don't care, and I am getting to the point). This of course means that there is little to watch on television before 8 pm, so lately I've just had the tv on in the background and switch channels every once in a while. I'd been flipping past what I assumed to be some sort of German version of Rin Tin Tin until last week when I stopped on it and was strangely compelled by this program. Everyone knows I love an intelligent dog, but the German Shepherd in this program is incredible! My Wikipedia quest turned up that this is in fact an Austrian version of Rin Tin Tin called Kommissar Rex (Rex being the nickname of the dog, whose full name is Reginald von Ravenhorst). Here is a picture of Kommissar Rex with the wurst sandwiches he loves so much:


This dog is so smart! He is always playing tricks on one of the inspectors and loves to steal sausage rolls and other things and replace them with his rubber toys. And of course he always solves the crime. I think this program is so compelling because the quality both of the cinematography and of the crime solving seem to be from the early 1970s (think Quincy or Columbo), yet it was filmed between 1994 and 2004. Compared with the Jerry Bruckheimer smorgasbord one gets every night (every CSI, Cold Case, some FBI show), the inspectors on Kommissar Rex seem pretty crappy. However who needs fancy DNA testers when you have a brilliant dog who can just track the criminal based on his smell! A. is pretty amused at my new fondness for Kommissar Rex, especially since I was researching German Shepherd puppies and new puppy names so that we can add one to our list of future puppies. I think that if I got one, though, he would have to be named "Kommissar Rex".

In other news, A. has been spending his sleepless nights on YouTube and found this insanely brilliant gem:



Soon I will post some pictures of A.'s moving tribute to Princess Diana at the tunnel where she died. He's also wearing my beret in the pictures, although I couldn't get him to wear my mime shirt.

More Paris Piccies

Since A. got here the day after Christmas, I have been dragging him all over the city. We've walked miles and miles and seen lots of pretty lights and nearly every museum in Paris. But here are a few pictures that we managed to take on days when it wasn't raining or being really foggy and cold.

Here we are in front of the Louvre when Aaron still had his enormous mountain man beard. He shaved it off a few days later and now looks 50 years younger!


Here is apparently the new way to view Paris - on a Segway. I'd like to see them battle some crazy Paris drivers though - that would be an interesting showdown!


Here are some strange items we found wandering around the art galleries and antique shops on the Left Bank on New Year's Day. Everything was closed so we window-shopped all day long without people wanting us to buy things. It was quite lovely, although freezing cold. Fortunately this dog is dressed for the weather.



This next photos make up what I like to call the "Notre Dame Collection." We caught it just at sunset, and the light was really beautiful as you can see in the first picture. Unfortunately we didn't quite make it to the other side to get the second picture before the light disappeared. And finally this is what it looks like at night with the spotlight on top of the Eiffel Tower.




And finally a shot of the sparkly Eiffel Tower from the Pantheon during a rainy night. We had just eaten a very large meal of Tibetan food so were sort of groggy, and unfortunately the sparkly lights don't show up very well in photos, but you can just imagine what it must have looked like.


The sun is out today for the first time in several days so hopefully we will find some other fun things to see. I also must get a picture of my new, and very stylish, beret and my newly mullet-free hair (Aaron had to cut it because if you go into a salon in Paris, you will undoubtedly emerge with an even worse mullet).

Hope you all had happy New Year's celebrations!