The leaves have changed a time or two

The musical chemistry of Joy Williams & John Paul White is heart-breakingly beautiful; so lovely that you feel wrapped in a secret, a surreptitious and clandestine harmonic blend. This is the kind of music that changes the world, two voices and a guitar between them, it's that simple.

Who doesn't love lucy?

Watching I Love Lucy clips makes staying at home, with nothing but an impaled foot for company, a little more bearable.


Speaking of excellent telly shows, new 2011-2012 line up of American sitcoms include Parks & Recreation, Modern Family & the Office; All out this week! I never tire, of the mockumentaries.

Another day, another fall

 

A couple of days ago, I was trying to turn on the air-conditioner in church before music class, when I fell backwards and managed to impale the sole of my foot on an upturned three-pin plug. A lot of blood and a quick visit to a GP for one stitch later (yes, ONE. As if my life isn't cursed enough that a hundred dollars must be forked out for ONE stitch. How lame is that?) and I'm at home, missing a couple of days of school and wrapping my leg in a plastic bag before showering.

Too much time at home and not enough human contact is driving me insane. On the other hand, I've gotten extremely adept at hopping around the house on one foot. Which must also, drive my downstairs neighbours insane.

I'm so grateful for friends who helped me on that night, and subsequent ones who visited/dropped a text/promised to help me when I get back to school! And of course, family, for putting up with one whiny kid who wheels around in her desk chair and plays a lot of noisy ukulele. 

Some plum pie

Over at Seven Spoons, it's always an adventure for chefs, pâtissiers and  gastronomes. I'm not exactly any of the aforementioned (although I would like to make a profession out of the last one), but you can't help but love the way she weaves simple but beautifully-crafted anecdotes into the food blog. It isn't a drab listing of recipes; it's an entire story that involves family and the community and love and several mistakes and more, till finally arriving at the recipe. It's as if Tara O' Brady has saved the special formula for homemade frothy Indian coffee or that savoury vinaigrette till the very end, to reward her enchanted readers. 


The recipes change with the seasons as well. There are beet salads and hot chocolate for winter, berry 'Eton Mess' for spring and a deathly chocolate-caramel ice-cream concoction for summer. And now we arrive to an autumn of pitted peaches and cherry cobbler. Always an adventure :)

Borrowed time, thick as thieves

In this very moment, I am happy because I...

Woke up at noon and rejoiced in the fact that there was no school today

Had toasted blueberry bagels with cream cheese & grapes for breakfast

made fresh coffee for my dad and wished him a very happy 52nd birthday and hugged him

Played the songs of A Fine Frenzy and Simon&Garfunkel on guitar and remembered why I love music.

Had enough time to revisit a comfort novel, Sunshine by Robin McKinley for the 100th time, and was happy because there was someone in the world writing about vampires in a non-gross, twilight way.

Redecorated my room with record covers and Europe trip relics and other miscellaneous weird stuff.

Am Alive.

Eat

We eat, drink and be merry.


I miss spending a whole day doing nothing in bed, having chocolate fingers & tea for breakfast and reading a near-unhealthy amount of Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar can be hopelessly depressing on an otherwise idyllic Friday afternoon). Instead, I'm reduced to spending nearly four hours a day on public transport shuttling between home and school, packed in with the rest of the grey faces in the 8am rush hour. Assignments are driving me insane! Sometimes I wish I didn't care much.

But enough of that gloomy chatter! There are still many, many things to be grateful for, like a perfectly-cooked peppercorn omelet or great ramen extravaganzas with friends. Moscato in the early afternoon, beautiful strawberry hearts dipped in sugar at midnight.

Food, oh the simple joy in life!

In the mood for Bizarre.

Houdini - Foster the People

Goodnight Goodnight - Hot Hot Heat 

Waves - Yeasayer

Oh La - Ra Ra Riot

40 Day Dream - Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

The Soldiering Life - The Decemberists

The Wake Up Song - The Submarines

Honeybear - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Gold Gun Girls - Metric

The World at Large - Modest Mouse

Dance, dance, dance - Lykke Li

Underground - The Sounds

 California English - Vampire Weekend

And as always... Electric Feel by MGMT.

The European Experience: Part 10

Flea Markets, Bric-à-brac & Knick Knacks

Paris

A world-renown burlesque theater at the foot of a hill, a famous church atop, and stretches and stretches of flea markets nestled behind it. Besides visiting Shakespeare&Company and Laduree Macaroon House, the flea markets of Saint-Ouen behind Sacré-Cœur Basilica stand out the most in my mind.

It was another one of those wandering days; we walked and walked and walked, just soaking in the atmosphere so quintessentially Parisian. No matter, that that day was an uphill trek. We caught our breath outside the church, munched on some savoury crêpes and tuna baguettes for lunch, and listened to breezy live jazz music. The only event that marred the morning was when we were harassed consistently by a horde of African immigrants who wanted to make tourist fare by selling coloured friendship bands. It was rather aggressive, and though Jen & Luki managed to resist the hungry mob, I paid €3 for a sliver of thread (and he had the cheek to ask for €10, mind you!).

After the interlude at Sacré-Cœur, we walked further up in the direction of Saint-Ouen for about an hour, stopping at tiny chocolate pâtisseries and boulangeries. Drifting aimlessly through the tiny street inlets full of beautiful slanted houses and cobbled stone pavement, I didn't realize the gradual change in surroundings. Suddenly, it seemed, we had stepped into the heart of Porte de Clignancourt.

Forget the scenic walks down the River Seine or the thick bohemian air of the Latin Quarter; we have left that side of Paris. Saint Ouen at first glance, is an unruly mass of people, crowded underpasses, and the odd filthy KFC fast food joint standing at street corners. It is the poorer and more real side to the famous city, with large negro families doing their weekly shopping or African immigrants hawking their fake branded goods at roadsides. It is an eye-opener, to say the least, and as we trawled through the noisy crowds it occurs to me that even Paris, in all its elusive magic and grandeur, has its darker sides too.

After getting past the thick band of people, we enter the firsts of the flea markets, which is reminiscent of Singaporean, ah hem, 'pasar malams'. Cheap clothes, boxes of €5 ballet flats and tee-shirt shops. It's not to say that you can't find a couple of treasures (African costume jewelry and bars of lavender-scented Provençal soap, to name a few), but it's the stuff behind all of the fleas we are after; the hectares of Bric-à-brac and antique shops.

It is in places like these where one can get lost, for it's impossible to tell where one stretch of shops end and another begins. They weave into each other like cobwebs, and you can wander into the inner labyrinths of this sprawl, slowly becoming unaware of where you are. The shops are filled with everything, from elaborately gold-leafed teacups to a beautiful leather suitcase nearly encrusted with dust. I remember most clearly, a shop dedicated entirely to the keeping of vintage postcards, photographs and miscellaneous memorabilia, with an almost delicate old man sorting thousands of sheets into small pigeon holes. Double-storey markets like the Marché Vernaison and Marché Antica hold huge collections of art, furniture and 60s records. There you will find the serious furniture and antique item shoppers, and beoccasionally frightened by eccentric shopkeepers who sell eccentric things like (and I kid you not) an elderly couple that sold every kind of 'vintage' farming gear possible. Why miss the chance to own your very own pair of vintage cutting shears, I say!

We didn't buy much from Les Puces due to their exorbitant prices: only a few knick-knacks to bring home and remember Paris by. Still, it isn't the things you bring back, I believe, but the full-hearted experiences and the stories. Saint Ouen, unlike many faux boutiques out there today, is the true definition of the word 'vintage' and has an untouched and unmatchable classiness, even in its forgotten back alleys.