as the world turns

i had a very french beginning to my weekend. tonight, many of the graighties and i were at a bbq themed bar in murray hill, so that wasn't too french (maybe it's the french conception of america? true story: in it's a small world at disneyland paris, the america section has a lot of guys in cowboy hats and then a random football player standing in a mini endzone, and that's the representation for the good old us of a. yipee kay yie yay.) and tomorrow will be all pride festivities all day (while we're dealing in stereotypes, that's also perhaps appropriate since everyone knows that ALL french people are gay AND anti-american. oh, but i'm sorry, that's obviously redundant.) but thursday and friday were jeudi et vendredi.

last night we saw la vie en rose at the paris theatre on 58th & 5th. i started the night with soupe a l'oignon and the contents of three bread basket refills at rue 57. it really was just like when i lived in paris-- except then, it took me six months to gain those thirty pounds, instead of one meal.

at any weight, you should probably see la vie en rose. more precisely, you should probably see marion cotillard play edith piaf. i'm not a movie person, and definitely not a movie critic, because i'm pretty easily pleased and even more easily entertained, but her performance was unreal. i have been describing it as distractingly good. you know, one of those performances where you have to stop watching at moments and be in awe that you're watching an actor. the review in the daily mail said it much more eloquently than i could ever hope to do (obviously): "Unfortunately, Cotillard's performance seems to squeeze the life out of everyone else around her." so...allez! if just to see gerard depardieu seem inconsequential.

the movie is fractured as a stylistic choice, in an [unsuccessful] attempt to symbolize her kalidescope life. what is supposed to be surreal just ends up distracting. what that does do, however, is give me an excellent seguay into my own surreal, french experience: the hermes party to celebrate the opening of their wall street store.

i dont know why or how i ended up there, because who really knows. what i do know is this: guests were greeted with champagne as we walked under a wooden pegasus with a 20' wingspan suspended above the atrium among hanging white lights and against a wall of evergreens. behind the pines, the beautiful (i really mean AMAZING) space of the cunard building opened up, replete with painted dome, rotating dance floor, several top-shelf open bars, a raw bar, a charcuterie station, and about 20 imported french cheeses. if you were there and only counted 19, it's because i ate all the camembert before you could get to it. (speaking of which: NO!) but i havent gotten to the surreal part yet: an enchanted garden with topiaries made of profiteroles, strawberries, and macaroons? and men in tuxes on stilts, wearing horseheads and bowing to you from 20 feet in the air, white-gloved hands held like hooves?

no cinematographer needed: from the rotating dance floor through my champagne goggles, i was living my own kalidescope.