The water table

 This pedestrian tunnel beneath the train tracks is, apparently, below the level of the water table post-rainfall.

Huzzah for water pressure!

This post's theme word is spuddle (v intr), "to work feebly". Through gradual work, the water will spuddle until it is level.

Free-range standing sink

 I was out on a walk and noticed this free-range sink, hooked up to the exterior of a building:

Just so you know, you can't park here.

This post's theme word is extrality (n), "exemption from local laws: the privilege of living in a foreign country, but subject only to the home country’s jurisdiction." The sink enjoyed extrality rights and the lawn hoses were jealous.

Things I miss about Europe

Things I miss about Europe (month 1, withdrawal edition).

Accents, and the mental work of untangling them.
Beautiful and old architecture.
Having the best baguette in Paris available, at my doorstep, baked fresh thrice daily.
Free blank-faced eye contact in public, with no requisite smile or interaction.
The added level of mental friction and difficulty of doing everything in another language. Things here seem easy (which is not to say straightforward or simple).
Being able to attribute any social misstep to my incurable Americanness.
Freshly-imported Italian delicacies.
Everyone expects to go to public parks to socialize, so parks are frequent and pleasant.
Inexpensive Swiss chocolate.
Being in a time zone ahead of GMT, so: always living in the future.
Children speaking foreign languages with perfect accents.
Reliable, fast, inexpensive internet connectivity.
An electrical wiring standard which does not threaten electrocution at every plug/unplug.
Cheese.
All my friends.

Those last two rank very closely. I'm not sure which is the more acute pang of separation. (Just kidding. It's cheese, of course.)


This post's theme word is escutcheon,

1. "an ornamental or protective plate surrounding a keyhole, light switch, door handle, etc."
2. used in the phrase: blot on one's escutcheon (a stain on one's reputation).
3. "a shield or shield-shaped surface bearing a coat of arms."

The buildings look naked without the usual crust of escutcheons to mark their history, ownership, and affiliation.

Sky in mirrored skyscrapers

It feels vertiginously large and expansive.

The sky above the city is fantastic.


This post's theme word is mullion, "a vertical piece of stone/metal/wood/etc., dividing a window or other opening." Just check out those minimalist mullions on the skyscrapers!

Leave-taking

An era comes to a close with the end of the month. It's weird to experience a life event with the full awareness that, in the mythology of my life, it is significant. It feels like graduation. It feels like being a character in a novel. It puts me a bit on edge (what if a climactic supermonster is about to invade the city?) with a countercurrent of calm (ah, at last my life momentarily makes narrative sense).

I am anticipatorily sad, for in the future I will miss the view and the light and the fresh bread and the sphere-induced jump-start on the day (relative to North Americans) and many, many other things.

The neighborhood has been lovely.

The bakery is magnificent. I had a farewell croissant this morning.

But this is not a sunset on the most interesting, exciting period of my life so far. Because my life becomes ever more interesting and exciting as I progress!

This is, however, a sunset on the Seine, under the Pont des Arts, with the Louvre across the river and a glorious cloudbank illuminating everything like a Renaissance painting.

This post's theme word is attorn, "to turn over rent, goods, etc. to another," or "to agree to be a tenant of a new landlord of the same property." I do not attorn, I simply move.

A fair prospect from La Defense

While in a post-exercise fugue state of relaxation, I wandered into this dystopian-movie-style skyscraper vista. All very clean, and complemented by the luminous sky.

 

For those unfamiliar with the local skyline, that rectangular arch is La Defense, a business district outside of Paris.

In the Paris-ward direction, there is a reflecting pool with a sculpture installation of what look like giant children's toys, each ornamented with a blinking light. All the lights shift colors in a coordinated pattern, but slightly out-of-sync with each other.

 

The photos don't capture it properly. What appears as a uniform grey-blueness across the pictures was actually pretty calming and visually interesting.


This post's theme word is polysemous, "having many meanings." The sculpture is surely polysemous.

Views from Opéra Bastille

During intermission, the top exterior-facing balcony of the Opéra Bastille building provides wonderful views across Paris, through the wall of transparent glass windows forming the Bastille-facing façade of the building.

Stereotypical Parisian buildings and rooftops, stretching to the horizon.

In the sun-facing direction, the sunset-tending light provides a high contrast and high drama.

The sunset-lit angel atop the pillar at the center of Bastille.

The Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame visible.

This post's theme word is campanology, "the art or study of bell-ringing or making bells." A visual survey of the Parisian skyline displays the products of several eras of campanology.

Sonic screwdriver science

I was surprised to see this giant bronze woman holding a sonic screwdriver, wielding it quite fiercely at a (bronze) parchment in front of the Hôtel de Ville.

From this angle, it really really looks like a sonic screwdriver. I just couldn't come up with anything else it could be. The seated, naked, generic statue lady didn't have a lot of context clues. The Wikipedia page was not a huge amount of help, since the building is coated in statues.

On further examination from another angle, she is wielding a compass and considering some... academic thing... on that parchment. Her partner statue was wielding a pen on paper, which gives enough of a clue to sift through the photos and uncover that she is La Science, science embodied.

My high school draw-this-with-a-compass puzzle-solving practice might pay off when I take up modeling.

I'm glad to see that, at least in science-abstraction statuary, the gender imbalance is working in my favor.

This post's theme word is armsceye (or armseye), "an opening in a garment for attaching a sleeve." Science is not bothered by petty details of armsceye; she has long since transcended clothing altogether.

Paris Lego store

There now exists a Lego store in Paris. The two things that delighted my constructor-child's heart were: (1) it is possible to buy Lego bricks in bulk, by volume. The wall of bricks-by-volume is sorted by color. It's fantastic.

Item (2) was the impressive collection of models on display. But of course, the Lego store would have incredible window displays. Of particular note were the reconstructions of Paris landmarks.

Notre Dame was reconstructed in recognizable detail, although to my disappointment there are not any gargoyle-shaped pieces. Not even custom-made ones!

Overall the model is very lovely, although at current Lego prices it probably involves several thousand dollars' worth of pieces.

There were also (of course) Eiffel Towers, but I appreciated the reconstruction of the friezes and statues on the Arc de Triomphe.

This post's theme word is skosh, "a small amount, a little bit." How much for a handful or skosh of bright green bricks?

Sainte Chapelle

I revisited the royal chapel today with my favorite PhD tour guide. The usual flair for historical detail and neat technical observations was continued. My photos from inside the chapel were too blurry to convey its awe-inspiring, towering sheets of intricate stained glass, rising up to the heavens, but the outside stonework detailing was also nice.

Stonework on a lower wall panel, exterior of Sainte Chapelle.

And extremely French. They love that fleur-de-lis, it's on everything.

This post's theme word is hagiarchy, "a government by holy persons." The lifelong grooming of a royal saint should not be confused with a hagiarchy; this instance was certainly a helicopter-parent-iarchy.

Rodin museum

The weather today was clear and cool, an invitation to emotionally open up, to start anticipating spring, to remember that not all shirts have long sleeves. I went to the Rodin Museum, which was plentifully supplied with gorgeous midafternoon light in its luxurious windows.

Behold: the real estate mere mortals will never inhabit.

It was beautiful. The art was pretty nice, too.

This post's theme word is septentrional, "northern." The septentrional prospect from Rodin's house is less impressive, as the gardins lie to the south.

Musée d'Orsay en fête

I saw a concert at the Musée d'Orsay last night as part of a weekend-long celebration. The music was a nice selection --- all in French, even the librettos usually performed in Italian --- and the frission of being in the museum after hours, of nestling in amongst the statuary to listen to music, was very pleasant. The acoustics fulfilled exactly the expectations of a refitted train station; the soaring ceiling, so open to light and space for visually-experienced art, simply sucked up a lot of the sound. What sound remained was bounced around in off-beat echoes. Also, some of the stage lights were pointed directly at the crowd, I guess so that the glare-induced headaches would distract from the echoing cavern.

An interesting experience.

An unconventional use atop an unconventional use of a train station.

HT: R, who found this event, suggested attendance, and accompanied me. We had fun.

This post's theme word is lyceum, "a lecture hall or an institution that provides public lectures, discussions, concerts, etc." Each lyceum has its own acoustic profile, suitable to certain activities above others.

Parisian winter, hot and cold

Let's take a moment to appreciate Parisian winter. It is mid-January, and currently raining. Paris is warm and tropical --- compare with the northeast habitable parts of North America, where winter certainly goes below freezing, and includes snow, blizzards, scraping ice off the car, shoveling the driveway, bundling up outside. This comparative heat has the side effect that Parisian residences are not properly insulated for cold weather. Those beautiful, wide-swinging windows have no storms, and are often just a single pane of glass.

The consequence? Paris winter feels cold.

Especially in my poverty garret, with no apartment to insulate me above, the heat escapes with a ferocity that can be felt on the skin: stand still, and the window side of your body will be noticeably colder. The thermometer registers 50-55F (10-12C) as the resting temperature, which is a little too cold to be really comfortable. The available heating option is electric, which is (1) not very efficient, and (2) expensive. Combine these with (3) it takes about 3 hours to heat up, and only 1 hour to lose the heat, and the result is what a positive attitude might term "a quaint return to historical realities". I read about radiant heating. I sometimes wear a hat indoors.

I have used insulating tape to firmly close the gaps around the window frames, and block the most egregious and palpable wind-whistling suspects. But there's only so much this stopgap measure can gain me. The walls are cold, about which I can't really do anything. I can see how thin they are, there's no air buffer in there, or any real insulation. They keep birds out.

This past week the temperature has dropped below freezing, unusual for Paris. I am thankful for whatever heat is being radiated through the walls and floor from my neighbors, and kept me this handful of degrees above the outdoor temperature. Cooking helps heat up the tiny space, too, as does simply inhabiting it. By far the cheapest way to heat the space is to purchase chemical energy stored in digestion-accessible calories, eat it, and generate the heat using my body.

But inhabiting the space has other side-effects. It adds both heat and humidity to the air, and when the temperature drops outside, this forms condensation.

Morning condensation.

I awake, I steel myself to emerge from my sleeping cocoon, and I squeegee my sleeping breath off the windows. This is Paris in January. Subjectively I am experiencing more cold than I ever did in North America. I remember fondly the days when I lived in a city which had a legal mandate for the minimum winter temperature landlords must provide. One day I'll look back on the bread and cheese paradise of my current life, and be nostalgic for window-squeegeeing.

This post's theme word is nesh, "afraid of the cold." Uninsulated attics are not for the nesh.

An utterly perfect day

The day is clear and crisp, like an autumnal day, full of promise and energy.

The sky is full of clouds that are worthy of a fresco.

The light is diffuse, bright, soft, forgiving.

The weather, location, pressure, local cuisine --- it is all in wonderful synergy today. I feel ready to have my portrait painted, or to head an army and invade a neighboring country. I could levy a new tax, or break with the Pope. But probably this is a surfeit of reading historical novels.


This post's theme word is mondegreen, "a word or phrase resulting from mishearing a word or phrase, especially in song lyrics." Today is a perfect day to dance through the streets and belt pop mondegreens, leaving a wake of bemused locals.

Cue the pipe organ

The nighttime lighting on this church's gothic façade is dramatic. It nearly evokes lightning from the sky, except that it was cold and clear tonight, and simply pleasant all-around.

The Paroisse Saint-Eustache, near Les Halles.

I imagine the gargoyles frolicking in this junglegym long after all humans have gone to sleep.


This post's theme word is marmoreal, "resembling marble or a marble statue, as in smoothness, whiteness, hardness, coldness, or aloofness." The marmoreal rooftop inhabitants unfold their slow, alien lives just above our heads.

Friday night I: Palais Garnier

I live a life of sumptuous luxury. (Alternating with canny poverty, so that it all averages out.) Last night was a brief dart into the extravagant, rococo Palace Garnier to see a double-feature opera, Bluebeard's Cast-Bleue and La Voix humaine.

Palace Garnier's entrance hall is a masterwork of frothy carvings and trompe l'oeil paintings imitating the same.

Built for the opera, as a stage and centerpiece to impress audiences, with the surrounding blocks and roads shaped to make way for it, Palace Garnier is extremely palatial, though it was never a royal home. The lights are now electric but give a decent impression of dim, warm gas-lights.

This is the zone where fancy alcohol is offered beforehand and during intermission. I think the Phantom of the Opera lives in this wing somewhere.

The curtains are real, but there are also painted-on curtains. Real windows, and painted. Real arches, and fake. The sky is real, but the ceiling blocks it with a painted sky; it is always sunny, with fluffy clouds, inside the opera hall. Real cherubs, real half-naked or all-naked nymphs, flitting around the ceiling like birds trapped in a train station. I took some mandatory blurry, ill-lit selfies [not pictured here].

Nimble, pert women --- mostly naked, some bewinged --- crowd about the corners of the ceiling, as if searching for the source of the heavenly music.

If rococo ever makes a comeback, I will gladly count myself among its devoted followers. Modern buildings' off-white walls and grey architectural features, the devotion to sheer flat surfaces and huge reflective windows, forces far too much introspection and beggars the imagination, offering no fodder for daydreams. Much better to beggar the purse, I think, in gilding intricate details so hidden in the ceiling that they are invisible from the floor.

An aura of elegance and refinement is subtly and unsubtly reinforced by the Louis XIV-style gilding of anything stationary.

The music was lush and vibrant, although it did not match the rococo theater, and the set and direction was minimalist, stark, and unsettling. Even in the nosebleed seats, where knees and shoulders are jostled together and there are no aisles, it was a wondrous spectacle to behold. (Plus, we were close enough to the ceiling to count the feathers on cherubs' wings and wonder if the sconce-supporting nude maidens' metal arms ever tire.)


This post's theme word is cosset, "to fondle, caress, pet, indulge, pamper." The cossetting dark embraced the audience of the opera house.

Parc Martin Luther King

The contrasting sharp lines of the crisp sidewalk and the crane-filled horizon are nicely offset by the autumnal gradient of trees.

This is the Parc Martin Luther King, with a postmodern dystopian style. I half-expect to see Aeon Flux swinging from crane to crane, leaping and sliding in slickly high-speed cartoon spy style.


This post's theme word is obambulate, "to walk about." I obambulated in my quest to visit every fontaine pétillante (potable carbonated water fountain) in Paris.

Science-fictional chase scene setting

This tunnel near my office is illuminated with pillar-streetlights outlined by sculptural elements. They are vaguely reminiscent of DNA helices, if they had been used as design elements in a subterranean tunnel used in a chase scene in one of Tom Cruise's science-fictional movies.

The sidewalk side is ominous, but the car side is not better, with headlights sweeping across the ceiling and wall features.


This post's theme word is cimmerian, "very dark or gloomy." Go over the bridge, not underneath --- too cimmerian, with its hints of trolls, gremlins, and totalitarian government police forces chasing Mr. Cruise.

Métro Arts et Métiers

Arts et Métiers not only has the coolest museum, it has the coolest subway stop. It's like the inside of a Jules Verne novel.

Apologies if this is a repeat, it's just so cool that I want to tell people about it.


This post's theme word is numismatics, "the study or collection of coins, currency, notes, and similar objects like medals." The steampunk submarine was numismatically decorated, with copper fittings offset by framed pennies.

City on fire[works]

I'm culturally immersed, is what I am, and so often things happen around me which I find unusual, surprising, unexpected, and notable. Take, for example, the loud explosive sounds I heard tonight, whose source I identified as some fireworks being set off a few blocks away.

... and the lunatics yelling at the moon, it's the end of the world, yes!

The light was visible just over the rooftops, in luminous bursts. I think the fireworks must have been low ones --- maybe just very bright, loud firecrackers --- being set off in the park, or perhaps in some permissive building's courtyard.

No idea why. October 10th? Was it a celebration of sports, or history, or current events? Educate me or guess in the comments below.


This post's theme word is auscultate, "to listen to the sounds made by internal organs to aid in diagnosis." My experience in civil auscultation suggested a group party.