The Water Castle Gang

I live close to a metro in Paris who's given nomen translates to the metro, "Water Castle." Sounds rather more magnanimous than it English equivalent:  water tower, if you ask me. But even though it's not the most high brow arrondissement,  living near the metro Water Castle totally makes me feel like, on my commute home from work a bar, I might be in for a little gate-sieging.  I mention this only as a means to mention the reoccurring parties we've been throwing at our colocation.

We've had some turnover here at our
flat but we're back up to 9, and as soon as we were, we had a monster party to commemorate it. That's right friends, I am reporting to you live from the aftermath of the third installment of the water castle party. And this one was our biggest yet. We had over 10 nationalities represented and 40 guests all told.

A few highlights: As some of you already know that blond blogger babe from Sweeney Says has recently moved to Paris and thanks to the magics of facebook and twitter, showed up with some new friends from her grad program to our house party!!!1!1!!!!111!!!ONE. So that was awesome. You've all doubtlessly met people from the internet before so you may be expecting that our encounter would be awkward, but really the only thing that was weird for me was the hello. And not because, "oh hi--you're from the internet please don't dump my body in the river," but because we're in Paris...and I'm used to giving cheek kisses...and it's always a really weird with Americans...especially recent Parisian converts.
Worse comes to worse you just hug it out...
I heard somewhere that you can tell a person our age is American IF they know the Fresh Prince of Bell Air theme song...and boy did we ever...

And so I guess that's how I kicked off my day of never-forgetting. Now I've ranted plenty on other people's blogs and I promised myself I wouldn't do a september 11th post but I have to say I am fed up and ashamed of the way the occidental world is framing this event. Somebody's mother compared it to the holocaust on Facebook, called me a "fucking idiot" and said that she had to leave the thread because she was becoming too emotionally involved. I told her she should leave the thread to do a numbers check. But before you think I'm a total unpatrotic asshat I ask you to consider two things:

1. I know all the words to the fresh prince of bell air theme song
2. I still consider 9/11 a tragedy.

However, from a more global perspective it's not the first event of it's kind nor will it be the last. And it's just the sort of arrogance that the media coverage perpetuated which has allowed and even fostered an environment where America's enemies feel justified taking such extreme actions. We do not exist in a vacuums and they didn't attack us because they hate freedom. /Rant

                                                

Game on.

Here are a few images from the night's festivities...

Damn, I kinda feel like these are food pictures...you know what I mean? Like when someone posts a meal they've made and they're extra proud but you look at it and go---that's just piles of stuff on a plate, what's the BFD? Well my first thought is to crame more images of my culinary masterpieces down your throat. Here comes the plane.........mmmmmmmrrrrrrwaaaaaaarrhw!

I'll also bring up the fact that Sebastien had to get up for work at seven and it our flat wasn't at a sleeping volume until around 5:30. But if that doesn't work, I'll focus on the aftermath. All of our dishes were dirty or broken. The kitchen floor looked like someone gave it a creative bath in Wiskey, wine and beer and there were plates of cheese residue everywhere.

Really? who puts their cigarettes out in a measuring cup?!  What, do you hate cookies or something?

I am a drunk fuck and I violently oppose the birth of new cookies

Sometimes after a really killer party you might be tempted to say "I'm never going to drink again"--in-between bouts of throwing up small amounts of water and wishing you were dead, that is. But after a party like this, I walked to the kitchen to make Seba his breakfast and as I was clearing a spot of him so he could he sit down to eat, I heard myself thinking--  I never wanted to host a party again. Now, much like the I-never-want to-drink-again pledge, I really meant-- ok, this is the last big blast for awhile. But hours later when I and a friend started collecting the trash and finding countertops and tables secreted beneath, one of my new coloc came awoke to the sound of glass on glass and joined us in the kitchen. Not only did he help us get things squared away, he then cooked us brunch, with fresh squeezed orange juice and everything! 

And so in conclusion: I'll remind myself and others, as with any territorial beast, at times tribal living offends my senses and sensibilities. 

But then you have a party like this, that ends in a clean up like that--and not only is my sense of community revitalized but my faith in my fellow flatmates is restored. It's a roller coaster; we can't always have good days, but in the end, it's all love.

Well, love, panna cotta and rock and roll, atanyrate.