Moving on… Hopefully I’ll soon have a couple Tokyo pics to bring
back the mood to now. Unfortunately, I completely omitted to test the
camera on my new keitai before purchasing it and it turns out it has
really crappy lo-light performances… So we’ll have to figure another
way to relate some of the usual late-night debauchery taking place in
my new city of residence…
Never got around to post pics of last year’s Bathroom Project.
Last September, A. helped me redecorate my bathroom walls in the most unoriginal, immature, teenage way we could think of: wacky magazine wallpapering. It took a couple trips to riverside bouquinistes to find all necessary ingredients to that lo-grade art project (that 1978 issue of Spanking International took a lot of crate diving, believe me).
Of course, we knew from the start that our lovingly put-together mural art would have a very limited life expectancy (the walls are being torn down as I write this), but that was part of the fun: it’s all about the ephemeral bathroom art.
Among other funky features of the really cool boutique hotel we stayed
at in Barcelona: a couple recommendations posted on the bathroom wall…
Harold and Loïse, popping by for tea. Here seen demonstrating the,
erm, impressive floor-to-ceiling space of my apartment…
Jacques took us on a guided tour of Paris’ Christmas lights
(as well as some not so christmassy ones)…
Exceptionally, we pushed it to the farther suburban fiefdom of Nicolas
Sarkozy’s best pal ever: Patrick Balkany, mayor of Levalois-Perret (about
10 minutes East of Paris). Definitely worth the trip, if only to see
the deserted city hall of a posh suburban town, turned into something
straight out of Disneyland Electric Parade (which I’m pretty sure
wasn’t the original intent).
Rie, standing in the middle of the Nympheas room at the Orangerie
museum, taking it all in…
On New Year’s Eve, shortly after our dinner party and before heading
out our separate way for the second half of the night, Pierre and I
opted to take a bottle to the roof for countdown (an old tradition).
Thus failing by very little to make New Year’s Day news as the two
drunken idiots who fell down 6 floors to their death a few seconds
into 2008 (another old tradition). The view is still totally worth it,
though.
Who ever said the French didn’t bathe? In Paris, even birds hop in
their bathtub (or nearby rain puddle near the central fountain of the
Luco) at least once a day…
Of course, no Parisian christmas would be complete without the traditional lighting of the candles on Jacques’ authentic Swiss
christmas tree…
Herd of bikes moving through Paris’ winter strike, Steph visiting,
Maya getting us drunk, Marc trying out vélib’…
Jam session at The Cavern, man-about-town Billy and longtime friend Abigail: whom I had not seen in 15 years.
One of the [too] many evenings we spent there lately…
