Les Coucougnettes

Upon returning to Paris I was presented from my friend Adrien with this box of sweets. They're called Les Coucougnettes, which is French slang for "testicles" or "balls."

Hmm. Interesting.

 These little almond... balls... were quite good indeed. A dusting of sugar on the outside of its gelatinous shell, with chocolate and a little crunchy almond in the middle.

On the wrapper outside the decorative tin was a poem by Alain Lalaude which reads (according to Google Translate),

"Women, although they sometimes have it all, I believe, need little help of their fingers to pick these two precious things!

The two men are good for them to be radiant, prefer to lose the hair rather than joyous, welcoming their wildest wishes of merry songs!

Jingle, jump, waltz, small roubignolles, cuddle, cuddle, after the dance, pamper, pet, virtuous roupettes!

The noble Vert-Galant, the symbol you are, be at all times famous balls, lips a delight for lovers of love!"

There may be something missing in that translation but I think you get the gist.

Expat Tip:

Nailpolish is not guaranteed to survive a transatlantic flight in the mail.

This causes the danger of being reminded, whenever you look at ANYTHING you bought in the States, of the beautifully electric pink color your nails will not be.

Grow, And Blossom

I am proud to say I have a personal essay newly published on The Huffington Post. Click here to read it.

Now And Then

This is the best picture of the present and future I have ever seen.


Great candid photo by Loraine.

The Joys of IcelandAir

I have a new obsession: IcelandAir. I flew from NYC through Reykjavik to Paris last week, and the experience made me not only love Iceland Air, but also want to visit Iceland!

Not only was every single employee kind, polite, and helpful from the airport check-in to the flight attendants, but the flight itself was packed with attractive Icelanders (Icers?) and well-behaved children. Also, the seats were actually comfortable and each headrest had a bit of Iceland trivia on it.



The pillows (oh, they give you pillows and plush, warm blankets on overnight flights) are printed with Icelandic lullabyes and their translations! How adorable is that!


The pre-flight boarding music is Bjork.


The Reykjavik airport was small, smelled like rain and looked like a better version of Ikea. Also, the employees motor around the airport on little motorized scooters.






I'm digging the squiggliness of Icelandic letters.




I'm going Icelandic all the way from now on.

What A French Airport Ladies' Room Looks Like

Pas mal!

Voyage Classique

Trees Against Walls: A Week In NYC

What I Do

I know everybody and their mother on the blogosphere has been posting things like this, but this is the only one I've seen that I'm like, "EXACTLY!"


Courtesy of the awesome blog Prête-Moi Paris!

Bevel/Fake Bevel

Sometimes...

You just need to do a cartwheel.


Still got that 4-year-old gymnast in me.

Business Card

Brazilian Brass

One Thursday night Lizzy and I went to L'alimentation Générale to see L'Orchestra Voadora et Les Vilains Chicots.

Most of the time this was my view:


But, concert connoisseur that I am, I wriggled my way to the front enough to get a good view of the band and to fall head over heels in love with the suspenders-and-glasses-wearing trumpet player (my heart pounds just typing that).


It was, against all Parisian concert traditions, a wild and boisterous, dancing good time. At one point the band got everybody down on the ground in a boogie-squat (OFFICIAL TERM from here on out!):


And I was amused by this refined lady who adamantly refused to boogie-squat.


Lord, let me never be that refined.

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