crooked house

Scaling Buildings in Paris

Those crazy Parisians -- the latest thing is scaling buildings. Well, looking as if you are. This is an art installation by Buenos Aires-based artist Leandro Erlich -- that's a giant mirror and the people are actually climbing all over that facade on the floor. See more photos on My Modern Met.

Three Favourite Cities

Three of the loveliest cities in the world: Paris, San Francisco, and Vancouver, mapped by illustrator Marisa Seguin. (She has prints for sale!)

Take A Look: Roman and London Are Burning, Horrible Histories, Enchanted Hunters, Bird Music, Phantom Towns and More.

Alas, these firescreens featuring Rome and London burning are only prototypes, not yet for sale. Via BB-blog.

Speaking of Rome burning, I ordered a bunch of Horrible Histories, ostensibly for Luke and Sylvie for Christmas. Really, until they're old enough, they're for me. I was inspired by When We Were Romans, one of the library books I picked up a few days ago. I can't recommend When We Were Romans enough -- written from the point of view of a nine-year-old boy, it belongs on my list of the best books that evoke childhood for adults.

Maria Tatar's Enchanted Hunters: The Power of Stories in Childhood sounds excellent. Can't wait to get my hands on a copy. And look! She has a blog. Now if only Harvard would follow Yale's example and offer her children's literature course online. (Must remember to tell David about this new Yale offering: Craig White's Listening to Music.)

I have my eye on Mike Sacks's And Here's the Kicker: Conversations with 21 Top Humor Writers on their Craft, too. It's reviewed favourably here.

Also via BB-blog, check this out:

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

Jarbas Agnelli saw a newspaper photograph of birds on wires and decided to compose music based on the birds' position. Lovely and haunting. I also enjoy Agnelli's short films about his baby daughter, The Mini Adventures of Nina 1, 2, and 3.

This is neat: apparently phantom places, mostly streets but in this case a whole town, sometimes appear on maps. The town of Argleton in Lancashire appears only on Google maps. I can relate to the guy who felt compelled to walk to where it's supposed to be. That's exactly what I'd do:

"I started to weave this amazing fantasy about the place, an alternative universe, a Narnia-like world. I was really fascinated by the appearance of a non-existent place that the internet had the power to make real and give a semi-existence."

When Mr Bayfield reached Argleton – which appears on Google Maps between Aughton and Aughton Park – he found just acres of green, empty fields.

Via Gwenda on twitter.

Also on the topic of maps, take a look at these amazing map cut-outs of New York and Paris.

Sylvie's Paris Outfit

This is the Paris t-shirt I bought for Sylvie for eight bucks at our local grocery store, which offers a line of nice, and nicely cheap, clothing called Joe.  I'm in love with the embroidery on this and will probably frame the entire thing after she outgrows it, which should happen in about two weeks. Click on the photo to see it enlarged.

I'm sure our heavenly vacation in Paris a couple of years ago has something to do with my affection for the shirt. (The vacation was heavenly for many, many reasons and foremost among them is the fact that it was the first time I got several good long sleeps in a row since Luke had been born two years earlier. He stayed home with Grandma. The other main reason is, of course, that Paris is an amazingly beautiful place. I half-expected it to be overrated but I was absolutely blown away by the sheer magnificence of the place.) I bought a tee for Luke there but it certainly wasn't as nice as this one. Maybe I could fund another vacation by buying out the grocery store's entire stock, flying to Paris, and selling the shirts for fifteen euros each to tourists on the street.

Here's the shirt paired with striped pants and her red shoes:

Ooh la la! I'll try to get a shot of Sylvie in it later if I can keep it on her long enough. She's asleep right now, having vomited up what appeared to be a litre of milk on her last ensemble.

Nothing To See Here

The Pompidou Centre in Paris is hosting a new exhibition of nothing.  Called "Voids: A Retrospective," it is apparently a recreation of similar exhibitions spanning 50 years. This one consists of nine empty rooms. I don't know about you, but I'm sure I'd have trouble resisting the urge to lie down on the floor in the middle of one of those empty rooms. Then again, I get the urge to lie down on the floor all the time. I'm lying on the floor right now. And it would be a lot more peaceful -- not to mention artistic -- if there wasn't a whole bunch of Playmobil crap cluttering up the floor next to me. It'd be more comfortable, too.

When I was at the Pompidou Centre, two years ago, I saw a number of dead birds wearing tiny knitted sweaters and some other strangely compelling stuff by Annette Messager. But the view out the window was just as compelling, if not more so.

Part of the view from the escalators.

The rooftop café.

Princesses Against Peas.

These extremely uncomfortable princesses were in the window of a strange little shop just outside the Place des Vosges in Paris summer before last.

This zebra in a tuxedo was also there.

I want to go back. Right now. I want one of these, too:

Also. Right. Now.

I'm thinking of starting an organization called "Princesses Against Peas" -- for those who are feeling particularly cranky, uncomfortable, and difficult to please. You can click on any of the photos to enlarge them.

There Is a Bird on My Head

Back in June, David went to work at the Paris Air Show. Nearing a state of complete exhaustion, I tagged along -- sans Luke.  I hadn't had any kind of real rest since before he was born and all I really wanted was the chance to sleep in. And maybe, when I would finally manage to drag myself out of bed, the leisure to sit quietly with a book and to drink a cup of coffee undisturbed.   But Paris is one of those rare places that actually lives up to, and even possibly surpasses, the hype. I did a lot of sleeping and sitting and drinking coffee, yes, but, inspired by that incredible city and by Edmund White's lovely book, I became a flâneur. (In other words, I did a lot of aimless strolling around.)

In the Tuileries Garden:

I came across this unfortunate fellow:

Oh my god, there is a bird on my head.

Oh my god, there's a bird on my head and I am naked.

Oh my god, there is a bird on my head and I am naked. Plus, there's a big stick up my butt. And I just noticed I'm in the middle of some fancy public garden next to the Louvre. Jeez, this is like those nightmares I used to have in high school. Or something out of a Greek tragedy.