Sunday, February 14, 2010

Philosopher parties and Feist sightings

It's Sunday...and the sun is shining. I'm just finishing breakfast before I head out into the city, so unfamiliar in this bright light. This weekend has been fantastic. Saturday was a bit of a write off spent in bed, drinking coffee, eating food all day and watching a Woody Allen movie marathon. Pas mal!

Friday night's party with Parisian philosophers proved to be quite amusing, ridiculous, hilarious and generally just fun. Picture this: tearing through the evening streets on the back of a motorbike until we reach an apartment in the 13th. Enter the room, and there are stylish, interesting looking people milling around, books everywhere, an older man in a wheelchair (who was a pretty well known writer/philospher before suffering some kind of stroke and now cannot speak a word), champagne, wine, food everywhere, people smoking, laughing. It's someone's birthday, my roommate's niece, but I'm being grilled by his other niece. Within 3 minutes she knew my whole life, I don't even know her name. She eventually warms up to me, and keeps her eye on my champagne glass, making sure it was filled, mixing me drinks, offering me food, etc., the rest of the night. Great hostess.

I stand around as slowly but surely all the guests take their turns introducing, kissing cheeks, oh where's your accent from? Fast forward to late night, where a group of guests, honestly caricatures from some French film, each more hilarious and quirky than the next, surround me, having realized that I look remarkably like...Feist. Ohhh sing us a song! We have a celebrity in our midst! Etc etc. The drinks were flowing, the conversation was flowing, and eventually I had to call it a night...or early morning, and head home.

I have a souvenir from the night, or actually two: one, a book written by one the philosophers I met at the party titled "Dispositifs/Dislocations"; it's apparently impossible to understand - a mixture of poetry, the analysis famous works of art, literature, and music (the guy is apparently a complete genius)...but I'm going to take a stab at it. The other souvenir is the incessant phone calls I'm receiving from a French professor (also a hybrid shark/wolf, dangerous and sleazy) that I naively gave my number to earlier in the night, while trying to be nice. Sigh. Ah well, he'll get the picture.

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