Thursday, August 02, 2007
My Review of Tai Chi (White)
Originally submitted at Onlineshoes.com
Sleek with cunning style is the ASICS Onitsuka Tiger Tai Chi. The smooth leather upper provides durable, long-lasting wear in a low profile shape. Light cushion footbed adds comfort to each step. Meet each challenge with flexibility and grace in Onitsuka Tiger Tai Chi. Product features include: R...
If you want comfort, you'll get comfort!
By Salsa Chamelle from Chicago, IL on 8/2/2007
Sizing: Feels true to size
Width: Feels true to width
Pros: Comfortable, Stable, Stain Resistant, Breathes Well, Durable, Awesome style
Cons: Cannot go wrong
Best Uses: Dance, Travel, Casual Wear
Describe Yourself: Casual, Stylish, Trendy
I bought this pair of Asics as my boyfriend's 22nd birthday present.
Needless to say, he loves me even more now. We are both salsa dancers and these shoes allow him the flexibility to move across the dance floor while looking super hot and trendy at the same time. Now, he can sweep me off my feet any time a song comes on and he does not have to change into dance shoes the way the oldies do! He can wear them with jeans, shorts, just about anything! Day or night. The minimalist design and the hint of color on white does wonders to catch the eye; especially in these days when many other brands try to put more 'bling' than shoe on your foot.
He swears by them, loves them and takes care of them every night.
Looks like I'm getting some competition!
(legalese)
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Phillip Morris, How could you?
My cats, Zoe and Cookie, are going to burn in hell very soon because I'm going to send them there. It seems like they sense that I detest them with every blackened alveolus in my lungs. It is always my things that they will break, my clothes that they will tear and my body that they will attack.
Just the other day I was sleeping on the sofa in the living room when I suddenly heard a quick patter of little paws because, God knows, none of us have been blessed with dainty feet. A second later, before I could open my eyes to see what was going on, the cats ran over my face and tore up my lip, gum and forehead. I woke up bleeding, cursing the wretched cats and wondering if I will get rabies for the New Year.
Remembering that the cats have had their shots I had nothing to worry about except for looking like someone in an abusive relationship. Come to think about it, I am actually in an abusive relationship with my cats; I kick them, they fuck up my face. We're about even until I think of the fact that my parents always take their side and never yells at them when they decide to pummel my face in.
So with a swollen lip and a huge gash on my forehead, I decided to resolve to a better person for the new year in hope that the cats won't sabotage and destroy all that is dear to me; especially my visage.
Speaking of resolutions I have another one at my doorstep which is to quit smoking. Again.
I have tried inumberable times to quit smoking (4 in total) but I've always gone back to my old buddy Phillip Morris. Marlboro's are my favourite because they're thick, heavy and will kill you faster than other brand of cigarettes. Being in Paris I truly missed Marlboro Milds which are a bit menthol and in between the Mediums and the Reds. The Milds are rare and can only be found in the good ol' U.S. of A. An ex-boyfriend introduced them to me in my freshman year and although I hated the boyfriend and chucked every memory of him out of my head and house when we had split, the cigarettes stayed on.
In Paris, I smoked Gauloises . They are a bit gritty. Not so smooth and I do not enjoy them very much. They're only for my nicotine fix. After a while Gauloises didn't have any effect on me anymore. In need of a desperate change, I opted to go for my old pal but the menthol kind. Marlboro Menthols are so minty that you can feel your lungs crystallize. That's not a good thing. Still, they were a welcomed change.
In Dubai, I haven't smoked very much at all. I usually average about half a pack a day. A whole pack in a night if I'm at a club or a party. But here, holed up in an apartment with my parents who are oblivious to my addiction, my cigarette rations number from zero to half a pack. That's because, when I'm in my house, I do not smoke at all for fear of getting caught. I used to stay up until 3 in the morning when I would lean out of the window in my room and blow the smoke towards the evening sky. After that, I would go and have a quick shower, brush my teeth and sleep through a fitful dream. Nowadays, my room has been conquered by feline freaks who have hindered my habit from taking full form.
When I'm out with my friends at night in Dubai, that's when I break out my pack of what non-smokers love to call, 'cancer sticks', and puff away along with my buddies. It's a lot of fun and sometimes I call up my friends to go out just because I need a cigarette or two which is quite sad when I come to think of it.
It's been about a week since I've last gone out with friends. I've gone through a gazillion packs. but, this time, it's packs of chewing gum because when I'm fiending for a nicotine rush and I can't have it (such as during exams and at times like these when I'm stuck at home) I chew gum like cow who chews grass as if there is no tomorrow. Since it takes two weeks to kick the habit I figure that I should just resolve to quit smoking again as I'm already half way there and accomplish something that was just a result of me being too lazy to call up my mates to have a smoke.
Tomorrow I return to Paris where there are smokers galore. I wonder how I will cope with being surrounded by smoke everywhere and all the time. I wonder if I will succumb to my addiction and buy a 5 euro pack of Marlboros and curse myself for not buying two cartons from the Dubai Duty Free like I had planned when I first landed in Dubai. It's all a matter of willpower, that's what people like to say but they probably don't know how hard the feeling of being a nervous wreck can be due to their body's missing a chemical. They probably don't know how relaxing a cigarette can be when they've been stressed out or when their faces have been pulverized by manic cats.
As relaxing as cigarettes may be they've put too big a dent in my pocket for me to go on living in an expensive city such as Paris with the habit. So this year, it will be yoga, pilates or Lays Chips for relaxation as I wave goodbye to Phillip Morris because the only thing I'll be puffing now is my inhaler.
My cats, Zoe and Cookie, are going to burn in hell very soon because I'm going to send them there. It seems like they sense that I detest them with every blackened alveolus in my lungs. It is always my things that they will break, my clothes that they will tear and my body that they will attack.
Just the other day I was sleeping on the sofa in the living room when I suddenly heard a quick patter of little paws because, God knows, none of us have been blessed with dainty feet. A second later, before I could open my eyes to see what was going on, the cats ran over my face and tore up my lip, gum and forehead. I woke up bleeding, cursing the wretched cats and wondering if I will get rabies for the New Year.
Remembering that the cats have had their shots I had nothing to worry about except for looking like someone in an abusive relationship. Come to think about it, I am actually in an abusive relationship with my cats; I kick them, they fuck up my face. We're about even until I think of the fact that my parents always take their side and never yells at them when they decide to pummel my face in.
So with a swollen lip and a huge gash on my forehead, I decided to resolve to a better person for the new year in hope that the cats won't sabotage and destroy all that is dear to me; especially my visage.
Speaking of resolutions I have another one at my doorstep which is to quit smoking. Again.
I have tried inumberable times to quit smoking (4 in total) but I've always gone back to my old buddy Phillip Morris. Marlboro's are my favourite because they're thick, heavy and will kill you faster than other brand of cigarettes. Being in Paris I truly missed Marlboro Milds which are a bit menthol and in between the Mediums and the Reds. The Milds are rare and can only be found in the good ol' U.S. of A. An ex-boyfriend introduced them to me in my freshman year and although I hated the boyfriend and chucked every memory of him out of my head and house when we had split, the cigarettes stayed on.
In Paris, I smoked Gauloises . They are a bit gritty. Not so smooth and I do not enjoy them very much. They're only for my nicotine fix. After a while Gauloises didn't have any effect on me anymore. In need of a desperate change, I opted to go for my old pal but the menthol kind. Marlboro Menthols are so minty that you can feel your lungs crystallize. That's not a good thing. Still, they were a welcomed change.
In Dubai, I haven't smoked very much at all. I usually average about half a pack a day. A whole pack in a night if I'm at a club or a party. But here, holed up in an apartment with my parents who are oblivious to my addiction, my cigarette rations number from zero to half a pack. That's because, when I'm in my house, I do not smoke at all for fear of getting caught. I used to stay up until 3 in the morning when I would lean out of the window in my room and blow the smoke towards the evening sky. After that, I would go and have a quick shower, brush my teeth and sleep through a fitful dream. Nowadays, my room has been conquered by feline freaks who have hindered my habit from taking full form.
When I'm out with my friends at night in Dubai, that's when I break out my pack of what non-smokers love to call, 'cancer sticks', and puff away along with my buddies. It's a lot of fun and sometimes I call up my friends to go out just because I need a cigarette or two which is quite sad when I come to think of it.
It's been about a week since I've last gone out with friends. I've gone through a gazillion packs. but, this time, it's packs of chewing gum because when I'm fiending for a nicotine rush and I can't have it (such as during exams and at times like these when I'm stuck at home) I chew gum like cow who chews grass as if there is no tomorrow. Since it takes two weeks to kick the habit I figure that I should just resolve to quit smoking again as I'm already half way there and accomplish something that was just a result of me being too lazy to call up my mates to have a smoke.
Tomorrow I return to Paris where there are smokers galore. I wonder how I will cope with being surrounded by smoke everywhere and all the time. I wonder if I will succumb to my addiction and buy a 5 euro pack of Marlboros and curse myself for not buying two cartons from the Dubai Duty Free like I had planned when I first landed in Dubai. It's all a matter of willpower, that's what people like to say but they probably don't know how hard the feeling of being a nervous wreck can be due to their body's missing a chemical. They probably don't know how relaxing a cigarette can be when they've been stressed out or when their faces have been pulverized by manic cats.
As relaxing as cigarettes may be they've put too big a dent in my pocket for me to go on living in an expensive city such as Paris with the habit. So this year, it will be yoga, pilates or Lays Chips for relaxation as I wave goodbye to Phillip Morris because the only thing I'll be puffing now is my inhaler.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Home for the holidays!
A much needed break finds me in Dubai for the winter holidays, away from the cold, gray and rain of Paris. Home does wonders for my self-esteem because it plummets even lower when my brother makes fun of my weight, height, acne and IQ. If that's not bad my parents laugh and say, "Oh! Isn't he clever to think up those things!" Then again, what are brothers for? I reiterate by making fun of his weight, height, acne and single status until I realize that I am single too. By the end of the first day I have hit the refridgerator with my mouth wide open.
Okay, so it isn't really that bad and yes, I am exaggerating just a tiny bit to gain sympathy from anyone who is willing to listen. However, I must point out that as a female middle child of an asian family i do always get the short end of the stick which should not be confused with the stick that is used for beating up asian children because I really am too old for that now ( secretly I do believe the cessation is more due to the laws that have recently passed against abusing children but I like to lie to myself once in a while).
An example of why I really hate being caught between my older sister, the genius, and my younger brother, the einstein, is this winter's family reunion. My younger brother had come down from the U.S. a few weeks before I did. My parents arrived at the airport to receive him but because of baggage checks and other inexplicable reasons (please note this is the Dubai International Airport and reasons for delay often cannot be described other than due to the stupidity of the retarded local people who work in positions that actually need some level of intelligence, no lower than a gorilla's, to do). Mom and Dad found themselves waiting for a long time before my brother finally emmerged from the clutches of the evil airport staff and its bumbling goons.
On Christmas Day I arrived in Dubai from Paris and ran towards the exit sign of the airport as fast as I could least the idiotic controllers should delay me by starting to ask ridiculous questions such as, "I can't find your residence visa page (in the passport). Why?" Because you are probably incapable of even killing yourself you pathetic dunce, I would think. Since my family and I do not celebrate the birth of Jesus (or , in my case, any other religious event) I expected my parents to be at the airport with their loving smiles to receive me. Unfortunately, that was not the case and after frantically searching for them in a sea of foreign faces and giving everyone else who got their loved ones, friends or even the hotel guy with the sign for Mrs. Popadum and family, the 'up yours' sign, I succumbed to calling them and saying, "where the hell are you guys?". Turns out they were late.
I don't really mind that they were late because I can understand that my 7AM arrival and Dubai's horrible traffic can impede someone from being punctual. The kicker is that my dad said, "oh, your brother took ages to come so that's why we thought we can come a little late." to which my mom added, "say, your sister will arrive on New Year's day, we better come early too so that we won't be late like we are for Mariam." Being the middle child I am some sort of guinea pig for everything, including time.
At home my status as middle child is lower than my two cats, Zoe and Cookie, who have taken over my bed and I sleep on the couch. I detest my cats because they always zero in on my things to break and my allergies to them don't make me like them anymore. Of course, my brother gets a bed and when I told my mom, "It's me or the cats!" she replied, "well, you aren't here for very long now, are you?" Shocking, isn't it. The cats belong to my brother yet I feed them and clean their litter. My sister loves the cats but she won't do any of the dirty work and my brother does it when he feels like it. Yet, if one day the litter is full or the cats are hungry, it is, "Mariam, why didn't you clean their shit?" I do it grudgingly thinking I don't even like them and my ambition is to throw them off the balcony one day (if it weren't for my mother putting up a grill over the balcony wall) and how interesting that after all that they trust me with the cats. It's a bit like the Emirati families who torture their Indonesian housemaids but make them take care of their babies and being horrified when the housemaid shakes the baby to death.
The only thing that is good about being the middle child is that I can 'rebel' and have no reason for it save the fact that I was born in the middle. There are lots of articles (courtesy of YahooNews) which say that middle children tend to be less intelligent (so it's not really because I slack off in class), they break rules and are more likely to be angry. So when my shrink asks me what ticks me off, why I smoke, party or have homicidal thoughts towards cats, I can blow a puff of smoke in her face and sneer, "because I wasn't born first".
A much needed break finds me in Dubai for the winter holidays, away from the cold, gray and rain of Paris. Home does wonders for my self-esteem because it plummets even lower when my brother makes fun of my weight, height, acne and IQ. If that's not bad my parents laugh and say, "Oh! Isn't he clever to think up those things!" Then again, what are brothers for? I reiterate by making fun of his weight, height, acne and single status until I realize that I am single too. By the end of the first day I have hit the refridgerator with my mouth wide open.
Okay, so it isn't really that bad and yes, I am exaggerating just a tiny bit to gain sympathy from anyone who is willing to listen. However, I must point out that as a female middle child of an asian family i do always get the short end of the stick which should not be confused with the stick that is used for beating up asian children because I really am too old for that now ( secretly I do believe the cessation is more due to the laws that have recently passed against abusing children but I like to lie to myself once in a while).
An example of why I really hate being caught between my older sister, the genius, and my younger brother, the einstein, is this winter's family reunion. My younger brother had come down from the U.S. a few weeks before I did. My parents arrived at the airport to receive him but because of baggage checks and other inexplicable reasons (please note this is the Dubai International Airport and reasons for delay often cannot be described other than due to the stupidity of the retarded local people who work in positions that actually need some level of intelligence, no lower than a gorilla's, to do). Mom and Dad found themselves waiting for a long time before my brother finally emmerged from the clutches of the evil airport staff and its bumbling goons.
On Christmas Day I arrived in Dubai from Paris and ran towards the exit sign of the airport as fast as I could least the idiotic controllers should delay me by starting to ask ridiculous questions such as, "I can't find your residence visa page (in the passport). Why?" Because you are probably incapable of even killing yourself you pathetic dunce, I would think. Since my family and I do not celebrate the birth of Jesus (or , in my case, any other religious event) I expected my parents to be at the airport with their loving smiles to receive me. Unfortunately, that was not the case and after frantically searching for them in a sea of foreign faces and giving everyone else who got their loved ones, friends or even the hotel guy with the sign for Mrs. Popadum and family, the 'up yours' sign, I succumbed to calling them and saying, "where the hell are you guys?". Turns out they were late.
I don't really mind that they were late because I can understand that my 7AM arrival and Dubai's horrible traffic can impede someone from being punctual. The kicker is that my dad said, "oh, your brother took ages to come so that's why we thought we can come a little late." to which my mom added, "say, your sister will arrive on New Year's day, we better come early too so that we won't be late like we are for Mariam." Being the middle child I am some sort of guinea pig for everything, including time.
At home my status as middle child is lower than my two cats, Zoe and Cookie, who have taken over my bed and I sleep on the couch. I detest my cats because they always zero in on my things to break and my allergies to them don't make me like them anymore. Of course, my brother gets a bed and when I told my mom, "It's me or the cats!" she replied, "well, you aren't here for very long now, are you?" Shocking, isn't it. The cats belong to my brother yet I feed them and clean their litter. My sister loves the cats but she won't do any of the dirty work and my brother does it when he feels like it. Yet, if one day the litter is full or the cats are hungry, it is, "Mariam, why didn't you clean their shit?" I do it grudgingly thinking I don't even like them and my ambition is to throw them off the balcony one day (if it weren't for my mother putting up a grill over the balcony wall) and how interesting that after all that they trust me with the cats. It's a bit like the Emirati families who torture their Indonesian housemaids but make them take care of their babies and being horrified when the housemaid shakes the baby to death.
The only thing that is good about being the middle child is that I can 'rebel' and have no reason for it save the fact that I was born in the middle. There are lots of articles (courtesy of YahooNews) which say that middle children tend to be less intelligent (so it's not really because I slack off in class), they break rules and are more likely to be angry. So when my shrink asks me what ticks me off, why I smoke, party or have homicidal thoughts towards cats, I can blow a puff of smoke in her face and sneer, "because I wasn't born first".
Sunday, November 27, 2005
The Killer TV
It really does not pay to be cheap. But when you're in Paris you have to cut corners every once in a while so that you can survive and not end up like the guy pissing into the gutter of the metro or the other guy who was having a nightmare while sleeping on the benches and flailing his crutches about.
Because everything in Paris is expensive, except for their baguettes, I have been quite economical when it comes to doing my laundry because I only wash my clothes once in three weeks and when I have to do them, I go to Jeremy's apartment and use his washing machine and detergent. In return, he only asks that I sew some of his clothes, which I don't mind because it helps kill the time.
I had planned this weekend to be my laundry day and since Jeremy told me he would be out of town celebrating Thanksgiving Day in London (which is fairly odd since when did French people celebrate thanksgiving with English people?) he gave me the keys to his apartment.
Unfortunately, he had forgotten to give me the keys to the front door of his building so I had to wait with my backpack and bag full of clothes for someone to open the door. I looked like a bag-lady and was seriously contemplating just going to a laundromat, which would have cost me 5euros to wash my stuff and more for drying, when a gentleman came in and we both got buzzed in by his friend or something.
Anyway, I went up and did my laundry and while waiting I happened to notice that Jeremy has a DVD of The Virgin Suicides. I made myself at home and proceeded to watch the movie which, I must say, was really quite bad and too much of a 'trying-to-be-something-inexplicable-but-a-work-of-art-but-really-it-is-just-a-lot-of-sex'
movie.
Unfortunately, I was making myself way too at home and decided to smoke a cigarette by the window while watching the 'making of' in the bonus section of the DVD. I cannot stress how I feel like hitting myself on my forehead at times when my cigarette addiction proves to be my downfall. I say this because I had decided to turn the HUGE TV towards the window when it slipped off the tiny TV stand and fell on me. Flashbacks of the TV falling on me when I was 4 and which caused my tiny leg to fracture crossed my mind and I was suddenly caught in a weird squat position of holding the TV with my legs. Luckily, I could hold onto the TV long enough for me to place it on the ground but for all the mana in heaven I could not put the big-ass TV back on the stand. All the wires had snapped out of place and whipped around my face like the snakish hairs of Minerva. At this point, I really, REALLY needed a cigarette. I was making quick calculations as to how much I would owe Jeremy for his TV when I realized that I am incapable of making any mathematical calculations, quick or slow and decided that I should just inhale as much nicotine into my system and pray that I would die of an asthma attack.
But, as usual, my prayers are never answered and I ended up taking a nap.
When I woke up I decided that waiting for my laundry to dry in Jeremy's apartment was way too boring to not try to fix his TV and watch another DvD so I figured out what wires went where and broke one of his 'input-output' jacks. "Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!!!" i kept thinking but that didn't make the thing stick back together. So I decided to just smash it all into the jack and finally got the TV to work albeit with a fuzzy image. Luckily, the DVD machine still worked.
By this time I was way too tired to go home and since my laundry was still wet I decided to stay the night at Jeremy's apartment. This morning, I went home with the half of my clothes which were dry. I sewed up the clothes Jeremy had left out for me. Folded his laundry because I figure that is the least I could do for transferring his heavey TV from the stand to the floor. I took a last look at the monster of a TV and vowed that when I have enough money I will buy a TV that is small enough for me to carry and to hell with a big screen.
I wanted to leave a note for Jeremy to explain his TV's current position but could not find pen and paper since Jeremy seems to have wiped out everything before his departure. So, I will just settle for the humourous reaction and scolding that I will receive Monday morning and pray that he lets me do my laundry at his house again.
It really does not pay to be cheap. But when you're in Paris you have to cut corners every once in a while so that you can survive and not end up like the guy pissing into the gutter of the metro or the other guy who was having a nightmare while sleeping on the benches and flailing his crutches about.
Because everything in Paris is expensive, except for their baguettes, I have been quite economical when it comes to doing my laundry because I only wash my clothes once in three weeks and when I have to do them, I go to Jeremy's apartment and use his washing machine and detergent. In return, he only asks that I sew some of his clothes, which I don't mind because it helps kill the time.
I had planned this weekend to be my laundry day and since Jeremy told me he would be out of town celebrating Thanksgiving Day in London (which is fairly odd since when did French people celebrate thanksgiving with English people?) he gave me the keys to his apartment.
Unfortunately, he had forgotten to give me the keys to the front door of his building so I had to wait with my backpack and bag full of clothes for someone to open the door. I looked like a bag-lady and was seriously contemplating just going to a laundromat, which would have cost me 5euros to wash my stuff and more for drying, when a gentleman came in and we both got buzzed in by his friend or something.
Anyway, I went up and did my laundry and while waiting I happened to notice that Jeremy has a DVD of The Virgin Suicides. I made myself at home and proceeded to watch the movie which, I must say, was really quite bad and too much of a 'trying-to-be-something-inexplicable-but-a-work-of-art-but-really-it-is-just-a-lot-of-sex'
movie.
Unfortunately, I was making myself way too at home and decided to smoke a cigarette by the window while watching the 'making of' in the bonus section of the DVD. I cannot stress how I feel like hitting myself on my forehead at times when my cigarette addiction proves to be my downfall. I say this because I had decided to turn the HUGE TV towards the window when it slipped off the tiny TV stand and fell on me. Flashbacks of the TV falling on me when I was 4 and which caused my tiny leg to fracture crossed my mind and I was suddenly caught in a weird squat position of holding the TV with my legs. Luckily, I could hold onto the TV long enough for me to place it on the ground but for all the mana in heaven I could not put the big-ass TV back on the stand. All the wires had snapped out of place and whipped around my face like the snakish hairs of Minerva. At this point, I really, REALLY needed a cigarette. I was making quick calculations as to how much I would owe Jeremy for his TV when I realized that I am incapable of making any mathematical calculations, quick or slow and decided that I should just inhale as much nicotine into my system and pray that I would die of an asthma attack.
But, as usual, my prayers are never answered and I ended up taking a nap.
When I woke up I decided that waiting for my laundry to dry in Jeremy's apartment was way too boring to not try to fix his TV and watch another DvD so I figured out what wires went where and broke one of his 'input-output' jacks. "Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!!!" i kept thinking but that didn't make the thing stick back together. So I decided to just smash it all into the jack and finally got the TV to work albeit with a fuzzy image. Luckily, the DVD machine still worked.
By this time I was way too tired to go home and since my laundry was still wet I decided to stay the night at Jeremy's apartment. This morning, I went home with the half of my clothes which were dry. I sewed up the clothes Jeremy had left out for me. Folded his laundry because I figure that is the least I could do for transferring his heavey TV from the stand to the floor. I took a last look at the monster of a TV and vowed that when I have enough money I will buy a TV that is small enough for me to carry and to hell with a big screen.
I wanted to leave a note for Jeremy to explain his TV's current position but could not find pen and paper since Jeremy seems to have wiped out everything before his departure. So, I will just settle for the humourous reaction and scolding that I will receive Monday morning and pray that he lets me do my laundry at his house again.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Canard Laque
Today is the best day I have had in Paris. Unfortunately, it wasn't because I was at the Louvre, prayed at the Notre Dame or had gone up to the top of the Tour Eiffel. It was because I went to Paris's Chinatown!
Located at the metro Porte d'Italie, Chinatown is spread over a few metro stops s,ituated in the 13eme arrondisement. It is, by far, the largest in Europe. No kidding. I truly believed I was in Hong Kong until the harsh cold Parisien wind snapped me back to reality. It is amusing to watch Chinese people speak impeccable french while I can hardly pronouce "moderne".
My friend, An, and I had planned to go to Chinatown since last week while watching 'Elizabethtown' (not worth it) when we watched the trailer for "Seven Swords" (will be worth it-opens 30th November. Sorry Harry Potter, you'll have to wait). We both screamed with delight as the swords clanged and the cute chinese actors looked at us with a serious delicious eyes. We swore to go to Chinatown that night and today the dream was fulfilled.
Chinatowns all across the world look alike. A bunch of chinese restaurants and convenient stores are mushed up together with a few patches of grass, a chinese school and always a McDonalds situated at the center of the town with chinese characters inviting the chinese people to skip the rice and go for a big Mac because we all know that McDonald's smushed slab of meat with every chemical added to kill you is better than a plate of friend noodles.
Paris's chinatown is sadder than most chinatowns to look at because it wasn't built to attract tourists. It was built for all the 'boat people' that came abroad for a new life. There are cheap apartments with lots of space and so all around there is construction. Add the on-going work for the Tramway and you have an ugly scenery of barricades.
However, An and I did not let that deter us from oohhing and ahhhing over the smell drifting into the open air from over 150 restaurants int he area. An and I succumbed to our stomachs' growlings and went to one of the restaurants which serve chinese, vietnamese (because An is vietnamese) and thailand (we didn't know any thailand people though) food. Thinking back , we were both probably a little too excited because we ordered half a barbequed duck, vietnamese noodles (they were so good! it's called bao cao ... something), chinese chicken noodles, ha kao, siu mai (dim sum food) and two iced milk-teas.
Halfway through the meal we were beginning to fall off the chairs because we were so full. We had way too much food. If we had left some room we would've gotten dessert but alas, that was not to be. Four hours later, as I write this, I am still suffering the effects of way too much good food which only cost altogether, 32 euros.
I am sure that many people will raise their eyebrows in wonder as to why two asian girls in Paris would want to go to Chinatown and eat chinese food when Paris is well known for their fine cuisine. Truth is, nothing beats chinese food. It is just so much cheaper for more value (isn't that the asian way?). French food is fine but one can only ever order one thing and halfway through eating a rabbit (which is very good by the way) you get sick of it and wish it would just disappear all by itself. Chinese food is always in small proportions and is prepared to be shared. Western cuisine just does not understand the concept of "collective eating".
And that is why An and I love east-asian cuisine; because we can share it.
Today is the best day I have had in Paris. Unfortunately, it wasn't because I was at the Louvre, prayed at the Notre Dame or had gone up to the top of the Tour Eiffel. It was because I went to Paris's Chinatown!
Located at the metro Porte d'Italie, Chinatown is spread over a few metro stops s,ituated in the 13eme arrondisement. It is, by far, the largest in Europe. No kidding. I truly believed I was in Hong Kong until the harsh cold Parisien wind snapped me back to reality. It is amusing to watch Chinese people speak impeccable french while I can hardly pronouce "moderne".
My friend, An, and I had planned to go to Chinatown since last week while watching 'Elizabethtown' (not worth it) when we watched the trailer for "Seven Swords" (will be worth it-opens 30th November. Sorry Harry Potter, you'll have to wait). We both screamed with delight as the swords clanged and the cute chinese actors looked at us with a serious delicious eyes. We swore to go to Chinatown that night and today the dream was fulfilled.
Chinatowns all across the world look alike. A bunch of chinese restaurants and convenient stores are mushed up together with a few patches of grass, a chinese school and always a McDonalds situated at the center of the town with chinese characters inviting the chinese people to skip the rice and go for a big Mac because we all know that McDonald's smushed slab of meat with every chemical added to kill you is better than a plate of friend noodles.
Paris's chinatown is sadder than most chinatowns to look at because it wasn't built to attract tourists. It was built for all the 'boat people' that came abroad for a new life. There are cheap apartments with lots of space and so all around there is construction. Add the on-going work for the Tramway and you have an ugly scenery of barricades.
However, An and I did not let that deter us from oohhing and ahhhing over the smell drifting into the open air from over 150 restaurants int he area. An and I succumbed to our stomachs' growlings and went to one of the restaurants which serve chinese, vietnamese (because An is vietnamese) and thailand (we didn't know any thailand people though) food. Thinking back , we were both probably a little too excited because we ordered half a barbequed duck, vietnamese noodles (they were so good! it's called bao cao ... something), chinese chicken noodles, ha kao, siu mai (dim sum food) and two iced milk-teas.
Halfway through the meal we were beginning to fall off the chairs because we were so full. We had way too much food. If we had left some room we would've gotten dessert but alas, that was not to be. Four hours later, as I write this, I am still suffering the effects of way too much good food which only cost altogether, 32 euros.
I am sure that many people will raise their eyebrows in wonder as to why two asian girls in Paris would want to go to Chinatown and eat chinese food when Paris is well known for their fine cuisine. Truth is, nothing beats chinese food. It is just so much cheaper for more value (isn't that the asian way?). French food is fine but one can only ever order one thing and halfway through eating a rabbit (which is very good by the way) you get sick of it and wish it would just disappear all by itself. Chinese food is always in small proportions and is prepared to be shared. Western cuisine just does not understand the concept of "collective eating".
And that is why An and I love east-asian cuisine; because we can share it.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Assez! Assez!
My parents are the most paranoid people on earth. Mom and Pops tell me, my sister and my brother all the time that while in the USofA we should lay low, keep our mouth shut about politics and not mention that we live in the Arab world. I like the way they make our lives so exciting by making it seem like we are in the Witness Protection Program.
By now, probably everyone knows that Paris has a big problem with the rioters and their burning habits. I keep thinking of all the pollution that this is causing and I am truly worried about our Ozone layer. However, other kids tell me that I should really be thinking about the people who may die from these crazy acts instead. I keep forgetting that there are other people in the world.
Anyway, I had no idea that riots were going on until everyone from America to Timbuktu sent me emails about the protests. At first, I was pretty shocked because in Paris nothing really ever happens. Everyone seems like they are pissed. Or are pissing. Whichever one you see first on the metro. Because I had no access to television, radio, my laptop was down so I only ever checked email and I'm just plain lazy , I wasn't aware of what was going on with my next door neighbour , let alone what was happening in the world. So, the riots were a big surprise.
Later in the week, I finally got online to check some yahoo news (I was more interested to read the Dear Abby page) and I 'ooohhed' and 'ahhed' over the, now, very late news. Soon, Mom and Pops called me to warn me not to take the metro, not to go out after dark and bascially walk everywhere, even if it meant I would die from exhaustion, so that I wouldn't get burnt to death.
I reassured everyone that in Paris nothing was happening and that no one has any idea of the riots because they were (and still are, I think) taking place in the suburbs which are really far away. However, Mom insisted on calling me at 6AM just to tell me "so how is it?" to which I usually replied, "MOM IT's 6AM! NOTHING IS HAPPENING because I"M SLEEPING!" Yes, I do feel guilty after I throw my cellphone 6 metres into the wall.
But all this history do lead to a very good thing because tonight I witnessed my very first protest. While on my laptop talking about boyfriends and drool with Nafisah, I heard people shouting. Earlier that evening I had seen a huge butt-load of cops lined on Boulevard Saint-Michel and knew something was up. So, I ran out with my friend An onto the terrace of my dorm and saw a PILE of people out on the street. So we ran to get our cameras. She on the second floor and me in the basement. However, because I am a moron I forget my key in the computer room so I run all the way up and then had to go all the way down to my room to retrieve my camera. Finally, I run out into the street where the protest has gone past. So I run some more and thanked God that protests move slowly. I found An , we snapped some photos and then got too cold to stay. We had no idea what they were shouting about because our french is so limited. Although, I did get "assez!assez!" (enough! enough!) and Sarkozy (french interrior minister) getting called a pig or so I think. Unfortunately, I run out of film and while walking up there were a bunch of cops and police cars following the protestors. They were the best looking men in uniform I had ever seen! An, with her wonderful digicam, took photos of them while we gushed together and I begged her to send them to me. She promised she would.
Sitting here, I now am thinking up ways of telling my parents about this rather peaceful and uneventual protest story with as much twisted gore as possible while including the beauty of the french police force. I relish in the fact that they will probably faint but then, I feel so blessed.
My parents are the most paranoid people on earth. Mom and Pops tell me, my sister and my brother all the time that while in the USofA we should lay low, keep our mouth shut about politics and not mention that we live in the Arab world. I like the way they make our lives so exciting by making it seem like we are in the Witness Protection Program.
By now, probably everyone knows that Paris has a big problem with the rioters and their burning habits. I keep thinking of all the pollution that this is causing and I am truly worried about our Ozone layer. However, other kids tell me that I should really be thinking about the people who may die from these crazy acts instead. I keep forgetting that there are other people in the world.
Anyway, I had no idea that riots were going on until everyone from America to Timbuktu sent me emails about the protests. At first, I was pretty shocked because in Paris nothing really ever happens. Everyone seems like they are pissed. Or are pissing. Whichever one you see first on the metro. Because I had no access to television, radio, my laptop was down so I only ever checked email and I'm just plain lazy , I wasn't aware of what was going on with my next door neighbour , let alone what was happening in the world. So, the riots were a big surprise.
Later in the week, I finally got online to check some yahoo news (I was more interested to read the Dear Abby page) and I 'ooohhed' and 'ahhed' over the, now, very late news. Soon, Mom and Pops called me to warn me not to take the metro, not to go out after dark and bascially walk everywhere, even if it meant I would die from exhaustion, so that I wouldn't get burnt to death.
I reassured everyone that in Paris nothing was happening and that no one has any idea of the riots because they were (and still are, I think) taking place in the suburbs which are really far away. However, Mom insisted on calling me at 6AM just to tell me "so how is it?" to which I usually replied, "MOM IT's 6AM! NOTHING IS HAPPENING because I"M SLEEPING!" Yes, I do feel guilty after I throw my cellphone 6 metres into the wall.
But all this history do lead to a very good thing because tonight I witnessed my very first protest. While on my laptop talking about boyfriends and drool with Nafisah, I heard people shouting. Earlier that evening I had seen a huge butt-load of cops lined on Boulevard Saint-Michel and knew something was up. So, I ran out with my friend An onto the terrace of my dorm and saw a PILE of people out on the street. So we ran to get our cameras. She on the second floor and me in the basement. However, because I am a moron I forget my key in the computer room so I run all the way up and then had to go all the way down to my room to retrieve my camera. Finally, I run out into the street where the protest has gone past. So I run some more and thanked God that protests move slowly. I found An , we snapped some photos and then got too cold to stay. We had no idea what they were shouting about because our french is so limited. Although, I did get "assez!assez!" (enough! enough!) and Sarkozy (french interrior minister) getting called a pig or so I think. Unfortunately, I run out of film and while walking up there were a bunch of cops and police cars following the protestors. They were the best looking men in uniform I had ever seen! An, with her wonderful digicam, took photos of them while we gushed together and I begged her to send them to me. She promised she would.
Sitting here, I now am thinking up ways of telling my parents about this rather peaceful and uneventual protest story with as much twisted gore as possible while including the beauty of the french police force. I relish in the fact that they will probably faint but then, I feel so blessed.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Lies...
To be perfectly honest, Paris isn't as swinging as I had hoped. It isn't really Paris's fault. Mostly, it's mine. If I hadn't been so hell bent on having a 'rocking good' time then maybe I wouldn't be so let down.
I read an article this morning on www.parisconnections.net on why people gripe about Paris. The article was in English so I could understand it perfectly. The writer wrote that it was because we, foreigners, have idealistic views on Paris and in the end, Paris is just like any other cosmopolitan city with its dirt, cranky people and pollution. Ultimately, we are let down because we don't see anything all that different from the New Yorks, Chicagoes and HongKongs of the world.
Although I agree with what the writer says there is one thing that I must mention for it irks me so. The people in Paris are really as unfriendly as most people say. It is really hard to make friends with Parisien people. It isn't that they're mean. Rude, maybe, but then again, most people are. The problem is that they just aren't open to foreigners. Out of 15 people at a party, you might find one who is patient and willing enough to talk to you in broken french/english. In here, I would like to state that I am talking about normal people and not pedophiles and nymphos who will talk to you for a lifetime if it meant they could touch your boobs.
Sometimes I think it is because I am shy and am not adventurous enough to meet new people. But then I think again and it isn't true. I do try it's just that most Parisiens my age are unresponsive.
However, I must say that one of the reasons why I have been so unsuccessful is due to the fact that this month I have been hanging out a lot with the UIUC girls from the study abroad program. I did have some french guy friends who the aforementioned girls scared away, when I tried to integrate the two parties, due to their ditziness and other 'american' attributes.
So now I sigh and wait for home. I am experiencing the 'dip' in culture shock as they say. I miss home but most of all I miss real friends. I wanted to have a multi-cultural experience here but I've just been shuttling between americans and more americans. Perhaps it would work better if I was alone and not surrounded by so many american girls. All my french teachers advised that but I did not heed them. I think it is better to be by myself for the rest of the time while I am in Paris. I can meet more people this way or at least keep them from getting freaked out by foreigners. Perhaps I will hit up on the comic-book store boy who I randomly started talking with, perhaps I will write to the deaf french guy who hit on me last week. Perhaps.
To be perfectly honest, Paris isn't as swinging as I had hoped. It isn't really Paris's fault. Mostly, it's mine. If I hadn't been so hell bent on having a 'rocking good' time then maybe I wouldn't be so let down.
I read an article this morning on www.parisconnections.net on why people gripe about Paris. The article was in English so I could understand it perfectly. The writer wrote that it was because we, foreigners, have idealistic views on Paris and in the end, Paris is just like any other cosmopolitan city with its dirt, cranky people and pollution. Ultimately, we are let down because we don't see anything all that different from the New Yorks, Chicagoes and HongKongs of the world.
Although I agree with what the writer says there is one thing that I must mention for it irks me so. The people in Paris are really as unfriendly as most people say. It is really hard to make friends with Parisien people. It isn't that they're mean. Rude, maybe, but then again, most people are. The problem is that they just aren't open to foreigners. Out of 15 people at a party, you might find one who is patient and willing enough to talk to you in broken french/english. In here, I would like to state that I am talking about normal people and not pedophiles and nymphos who will talk to you for a lifetime if it meant they could touch your boobs.
Sometimes I think it is because I am shy and am not adventurous enough to meet new people. But then I think again and it isn't true. I do try it's just that most Parisiens my age are unresponsive.
However, I must say that one of the reasons why I have been so unsuccessful is due to the fact that this month I have been hanging out a lot with the UIUC girls from the study abroad program. I did have some french guy friends who the aforementioned girls scared away, when I tried to integrate the two parties, due to their ditziness and other 'american' attributes.
So now I sigh and wait for home. I am experiencing the 'dip' in culture shock as they say. I miss home but most of all I miss real friends. I wanted to have a multi-cultural experience here but I've just been shuttling between americans and more americans. Perhaps it would work better if I was alone and not surrounded by so many american girls. All my french teachers advised that but I did not heed them. I think it is better to be by myself for the rest of the time while I am in Paris. I can meet more people this way or at least keep them from getting freaked out by foreigners. Perhaps I will hit up on the comic-book store boy who I randomly started talking with, perhaps I will write to the deaf french guy who hit on me last week. Perhaps.
