The first stop was Les Frigos, the once totally underground, now relatively on the radar, art camp in the 13th arrondisement.
Artists used to squat in this abandoned building. Now it’s city owned, well organized and, at least to me, still tres cool. Mel knew of a little soirée there so we popped by, had a cup of champagne outside the vaults where a band was playing, and then made our way back to the 11th arrondisement.
There, we went to the Jon One vernissage. If The Frigos was bringing in the hippies, this party was packed with posers. It was a scene: Twelve-deep at the bar, hordes milling in the street, lots of kiss-kissing. But still, I liked it. The French really are fabulous.
The next stop was Michael’s, as he was having a patriotic party. I got to put some faces to the friends he always talks about, which was nice. It was an international crowd—Greek, Japanese, Austrian, Australian, French, British—but we all toasted our independence with rosé and margaritas and had a moment listening to Jimi Hendrix’s Star Spangled Banner.
But it was Michael Jackson who lit our American spirits during the last stop of the night. Not knowing when to say when, Mel and I went down the street to Andy Wahloo, where we attempted to get our groove on.
(What's up with Mr. Suspenders, by the way??)
We are well matched in our dorkiness.
Ah, how good it is to have a girlfriend in the City of Light.
No comments:
Post a Comment