rue-madame's Diaryland
Diary
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Samedi gris
So the weather has officially turned. It�s almost cold out, with tons of rain. And of course, I have neither a proper rain coat nor an umbrella. The stupid part is that on one of my Sales shopping expeditions last week, I walked past the umbrellas and thought to myself that I ought to buy one, just to have one �au cas ou.� And of course the �cas� she is here, and I am SOL. Yesterday I even ventured into Burberry�s, lured by the prospect of Sales, and inside there was zip. Not even a decent fucking raincoat. Well, ok, they only had long khaki double-breasted ones, and I don�t like those. Anyway, the Burberry plaid has been declared officially out, and it�s a good thing. Second coffee is on the stove, and I am contemplating what to do with today. I don�t have yoga because the new summer schedule is in effect and there are no classes on Saturdays. Did I mention that when I was out with Fred the other night, he was totally laughing that I do yoga AND eat steak? I don�t see anything wrong with it--it�s all about finding balance, and when I was vegan, I was completely out of whack. I was tired and grouchy and soft. Of course, I was the typical lazy vegan, the one who orders mashed potatoes at restaurants, knowing full well that they are probably chock-full of butter and milk. But wanting to eat and not make a fuss, I would just play dumb. Then, one winter in France, I had an epiphany in the form of poulet roti/frites and it was one long, slippery slope back into meat-eating. And I have not regretted it since. I just bought some books at an English bookstore on rue Princesse: a Jay McInerney title from the cheapy pile (10 FF!,) a collection of short stories edited by Nick Hornby (I can�t help it, I liked High Fidelity,) and a Michael Chabon title. I�m almost done with the McInerney. I sped through it like a cheap tabloid. I have a hard time discerning whether he is any good. Brett Easton Ellis gives me the same trouble. I am normally quick to form opinions, but in the case of both of those writers, I get distracted because their subjects are always the same: dissaffected youth, bored urbanites, New York, L.A. I am more excited about the Chabon book than anything. It�s just an appetizer before I plunk down the francs for �Kavalier and Clay,� his latest which is only available in hardcover. As soon as my friend Nadia gets back from her Montpellier vacation, we will begin trading books in French. Not really a book club, though. I belonged to one of those in San Francisco, and it was ridiculous. We never talked about the books! All we ever did was get together, eat and drink, trade gossip and rumors, then at the end we would pose with a thumbs-up sign or a thumbs-down sign for a Polaroid. I remember 3 thumbs-down (The Ciderhouse Rules, some Ivan Klima book, Behind the Scenes at the Museum,) and one very big thumb-up (Martin Dressler by Steven Millhauser.) OK, coffee�s done and I�m going to drink it while it�s hot.
10:36 a.m. - 2001-07-07
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