Paris Combo
It is Sunday night, I’m at home, I’m tired, I’m STILL SICK, but it’s all ok because of Saturday night.
The weekend started out with not so much a bang as a tinkling crashing sound. I had looked forward to Saturday night and Paris Combo all week, even though I knew that getting out to Feyzin (read- not in Lyon) was going to be tricky and getting back even harder. I knew that I was cooking dinner for 6 or 7 people besides myself beforehand, that the apartment was not yet clean, and that my roommate would clean none of it (or really even clean the bathroom, like he said ten million times he would and did not do until many hours after everyone had left). Friday I felt like I never left work (this feeling actually lasted until Saturday afternoon), gave advice like there was no tomorrow, got disappointed and missed doing something that I had been looking forward to for a long time through no fault of my own. Saturday dawned, and I realized that I just wanted to get through the day that I had thought would be so fun. I had to call TCL, the public transportation system in Lyon, to reserve a bus for that evening. Yes, reserve a bus. The night line only runs out to Feyzin if someone reserves it, and the job fell to me (adding to the feeling that I never left work, compounded with people calling me and asking me how we were getting places). I called people, and stated, I think using the word “fucking” a lot more than usual, that we now HAD to take the bus, no matter what time the show was over. I was mad, tired, not feeling like cooking a huge dinner and ready to just wave a wand and make it all better. There were glimmers of hope. The man who owns the Italian grocery store nearby was impressed by me, the American living in France making risotto who refused to buy pre-grated parmesan or pre-made risotto. I went to the market and bought more of the famous best.goat.cheese.ever. It was colder out, and finally felt like fall. But I was still sans enthusiasm. Then everything set in.
I had told people to come over around 5. I had to make everything and eventually change. Mandee and Maria knew I was stressed and didn’t believe my repeated statements that I didn’t need help and told me they were coming over early to help. Zach, who we’re always afraid we’ll lose and be unable to contact not only called at 3 but showed up 20 minutes later, cheered me up, switched the cd player from my habitual Saint Etienne to Prince, and kept me in wine while I cooked. Mandee showed up later, a bundle of cheerfulness, and promptly joined Zach to become the best sous chefs ever, washing and chopping everything I threw at them while I grated cheese. They were the ones who insisted on using so much garlic, who washed all the mushrooms and who made me laugh. Emily busted through the door yelling, was put in charge of the tea, and filled up my glass all night, even if sometimes it was the wrong color. Maria came in, also without ringing the interphone (apparently the door was open downstairs), bearing wine, bread and pastries and promptly fell into a conversation with Emily about iPods, Joni Mitchell and Elliot Smith. We drank tea, ate the pastries and I continued sautéing. I even got to pass off the chopping of the onions. I couldn’t find the recipe, everyone yelled at me not to use it. Right before I put the rice in, Rachelle wandered in with more wine, using the interphone (answered by Maria). We continued talking, the wine hissed in the pot, Rachelle came and talked to me in the itty bitty kitchen since I couldn’t leave the pot and after two repeats, the Prince came out of the cd player to be replaced with iTunes “shuffle” (shuffle my ass). I asked where Taza was at least 10 times before I realized she was only 5 minutes late and she walked in. She was the first to compliment the food after we all sat down. Having 7 people around the table (and using every chair in the apartment) made me happier than I ever thought it would. All of the stress went away just by sitting there. There was talking, laughing, me realizing I had never changed, Mandee realizing she had left her ticket at home, and general disorder for a few minutes. Babak showed up to meet Maria and wandered around the 4th floor of the building for a while even though I told him I lived on the 6th and I yelled that we all had to leave NOW.
We took metro D all the way to the end, then took a bus into Feyzin, where we wandered around lost for a while before finding l’Epicerie Moderne. Finally there and seated we listened to an opening group and then, after all the waiting, Paris Combo. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. We were up close (actually so that we could sneak out a bit early to catch the bus) and had a great view. This was seriously one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to- Paris Combo is definitely a live group. We ran out to get the reserved bus, and were treated to being the ONLY ones on a huge cushy bus with a hilarious bus driver blasting techno music. Back into town we split into groups and went our various ways, but I couldn’t stop smiling. After yet another night of walking back from Vieux Lyon (and, just maybe, FINALLY taking a decent picture of Fouvière at night, but definitely not of Lyon 2), I came home and saw the apartment, which looked exactly as I thought it would- like a bunch of people had just walked off in the middle of a dinner party. But instead of sending me running screaming at the thought of cleaning, it made me happier because everything felt so lived in. It was messy in the way that 7 people eating in a small apartment with a tiny kitchen is. A happy messy. This morning I was too tired to think about cleaning, so I put on a sweater and a huge scarf and went back to Vieux Lyon to go to two markets and enjoy fall. I did finally clean up, then settled into an afternoon with the surrealists and the MA essay (yes! it still exists!). And that, mes amis, is the story of le weekend.
The weekend started out with not so much a bang as a tinkling crashing sound. I had looked forward to Saturday night and Paris Combo all week, even though I knew that getting out to Feyzin (read- not in Lyon) was going to be tricky and getting back even harder. I knew that I was cooking dinner for 6 or 7 people besides myself beforehand, that the apartment was not yet clean, and that my roommate would clean none of it (or really even clean the bathroom, like he said ten million times he would and did not do until many hours after everyone had left). Friday I felt like I never left work (this feeling actually lasted until Saturday afternoon), gave advice like there was no tomorrow, got disappointed and missed doing something that I had been looking forward to for a long time through no fault of my own. Saturday dawned, and I realized that I just wanted to get through the day that I had thought would be so fun. I had to call TCL, the public transportation system in Lyon, to reserve a bus for that evening. Yes, reserve a bus. The night line only runs out to Feyzin if someone reserves it, and the job fell to me (adding to the feeling that I never left work, compounded with people calling me and asking me how we were getting places). I called people, and stated, I think using the word “fucking” a lot more than usual, that we now HAD to take the bus, no matter what time the show was over. I was mad, tired, not feeling like cooking a huge dinner and ready to just wave a wand and make it all better. There were glimmers of hope. The man who owns the Italian grocery store nearby was impressed by me, the American living in France making risotto who refused to buy pre-grated parmesan or pre-made risotto. I went to the market and bought more of the famous best.goat.cheese.ever. It was colder out, and finally felt like fall. But I was still sans enthusiasm. Then everything set in.
I had told people to come over around 5. I had to make everything and eventually change. Mandee and Maria knew I was stressed and didn’t believe my repeated statements that I didn’t need help and told me they were coming over early to help. Zach, who we’re always afraid we’ll lose and be unable to contact not only called at 3 but showed up 20 minutes later, cheered me up, switched the cd player from my habitual Saint Etienne to Prince, and kept me in wine while I cooked. Mandee showed up later, a bundle of cheerfulness, and promptly joined Zach to become the best sous chefs ever, washing and chopping everything I threw at them while I grated cheese. They were the ones who insisted on using so much garlic, who washed all the mushrooms and who made me laugh. Emily busted through the door yelling, was put in charge of the tea, and filled up my glass all night, even if sometimes it was the wrong color. Maria came in, also without ringing the interphone (apparently the door was open downstairs), bearing wine, bread and pastries and promptly fell into a conversation with Emily about iPods, Joni Mitchell and Elliot Smith. We drank tea, ate the pastries and I continued sautéing. I even got to pass off the chopping of the onions. I couldn’t find the recipe, everyone yelled at me not to use it. Right before I put the rice in, Rachelle wandered in with more wine, using the interphone (answered by Maria). We continued talking, the wine hissed in the pot, Rachelle came and talked to me in the itty bitty kitchen since I couldn’t leave the pot and after two repeats, the Prince came out of the cd player to be replaced with iTunes “shuffle” (shuffle my ass). I asked where Taza was at least 10 times before I realized she was only 5 minutes late and she walked in. She was the first to compliment the food after we all sat down. Having 7 people around the table (and using every chair in the apartment) made me happier than I ever thought it would. All of the stress went away just by sitting there. There was talking, laughing, me realizing I had never changed, Mandee realizing she had left her ticket at home, and general disorder for a few minutes. Babak showed up to meet Maria and wandered around the 4th floor of the building for a while even though I told him I lived on the 6th and I yelled that we all had to leave NOW.
We took metro D all the way to the end, then took a bus into Feyzin, where we wandered around lost for a while before finding l’Epicerie Moderne. Finally there and seated we listened to an opening group and then, after all the waiting, Paris Combo. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. We were up close (actually so that we could sneak out a bit early to catch the bus) and had a great view. This was seriously one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to- Paris Combo is definitely a live group. We ran out to get the reserved bus, and were treated to being the ONLY ones on a huge cushy bus with a hilarious bus driver blasting techno music. Back into town we split into groups and went our various ways, but I couldn’t stop smiling. After yet another night of walking back from Vieux Lyon (and, just maybe, FINALLY taking a decent picture of Fouvière at night, but definitely not of Lyon 2), I came home and saw the apartment, which looked exactly as I thought it would- like a bunch of people had just walked off in the middle of a dinner party. But instead of sending me running screaming at the thought of cleaning, it made me happier because everything felt so lived in. It was messy in the way that 7 people eating in a small apartment with a tiny kitchen is. A happy messy. This morning I was too tired to think about cleaning, so I put on a sweater and a huge scarf and went back to Vieux Lyon to go to two markets and enjoy fall. I did finally clean up, then settled into an afternoon with the surrealists and the MA essay (yes! it still exists!). And that, mes amis, is the story of le weekend.
1 Comments:
I wish I were there. I wish you were here. How is it possible that not having to go to work can be so stressful...oh yeah, because I'm not going since I have a wedding to finish planning. There will be lots of pictures. I promise.
love and hugs
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