Spent the past few days looking at the remaining films on the BAFTA shortlist so I can vote fairly. Without doubt my favorite film this year (so far) is Social Network.
I love the editing, the music, the photography, the script…THE TENSION…the performances…especially that they made Zuckerberg borderline Aspergers. It must have been the first American film I ever saw that addresses or hints at class war, that white protestants still abhor/distrust jews, etc. It was such a heterosexual film.
(funny aside..sitting in SHLA last year listening to a bunch of jewish talent agents discussing the dearth of jews in the British film industry)
I remind myself that because of Facebook I met Jake. So modern.
Now he has vanished from the internet…apart from what I write about him here of course…and his job…if he still has it.
As hurt as I am, the more I recover from him the more I want him to have all the riches life has to offer. Just like I used to..when I first met him. Whatever he gets…peace of mind may always be beyond his reach.
His troubled, beautiful head.
Now we live in the same city.
The reality is, it’s a small city so the chances are we will run into one another. Not like living in a huge city like London…mind you I’ve only ever seen Richard Green once in tiny Whitstable since we stopped talking and that was twenty years ago. So, it’s possible but unlikely.
Lots to think about. I am not going to drive my stuff to NYC. I am going to pay to have it moved. Just take everything that’s presently in storage and the beginning of this new art collection. So many exciting new opportunities!
I really don’t want to go back to LA but I suppose that I must.
The past few days in Paris have been so much fun!
Jessie, my very successful actress traveling companion is usually quite frugal but currently inspired to be profligate by her accountant who routinely tells her that she doesn’t spend enough. Remedy: she ends up in Paris and spends a fortune on the Lanvin spring collection and bits from Collette.
On the other hand, I was uncharacteristically reserved having bought a great deal of art and stuff in the UK…anyway; I have far too many clothes.
Lunch at Costes. Our waiter…James. What a dream. EVERYWHERE we turned there were dreamy French men. Yet, as much as you might think…it was good to just look, to appreciate. I didn’t need to own any of them.
Jessie and I met a very handsome, young, aristocratic, redheaded boy who organized a huge dinner for us with his equally handsome, aristocratic friends. One of them told me that I had been ‘stained’ by the United States. Of course…this is perfectly true.
After dinner we took our redhead to The Baron, which, as you are very well aware, is a very cool/exclusive club. Jess, wearing a new Lanvin dress, danced until dawn…literally until dawn. I think the redhead wanted us to seduce him but neither Jess nor I have the kind of relationship that can sustain a threesome.
I woke late on Sunday morning to the Gifford attempted assassination news and I was shocked back into the politics of my adopted home. It made me so angry.
Jess doesn’t really know anything about American politics…why should she?
On Sunday we decided to walk from the Hotel Amour in Pigalle to the Tour Eiffel..we let the dog off leash in the Tuilleries and he scampered after the pigeons whilst we enjoyed the view.
Crossed the Seine at the Assemblee National, walked past the brand new Musée du quai Branly, dedicated to indigenous art from Africa, Asia, Oceania, and the Americas. Commissioned by Jacques Chirac and designed by Jean Nouvel the building is unbelievably gorgeous even though the gardens looked a bit scrappy.
A hop skip and a jump later and there we were at the Eiffel Tower.
I hadn’t realized that there was a small lake almost directly under the tower.
We walked back over the river to the Trocadero and sat in Carette, drank hot chocolate ate delicious macaroons…my favorite being the raspberry. There was so much to see. Young people jumping up and down on the back tire of their bicycles, break dancers from Senegal, all sorts of kids, all very well dressed…kids dancing and singing and providing a lively, entertainment which was both unexpected and free.
We both remarked just how much freer the French are. Free to enjoy their lives. As much as I am loathed to admit it the English are becoming more like the Americans…plagued by petty resentments and very controlling.
I am sure that the French have their problems too but hey, I can’t understand enough to engage with their shit.
Sitting there I was reminded of an incident years ago…with John Jermyn, latterly The Marquis of Bristol. Frustrated by the traffic and eager to get to the other side of the Seine he drove in his Range Rover down that huge flight of steps through the Palais de Chaillot that lead from Trocadero to the Eiffel Tower.
I don’t remember being arrested. I wasn’t driving. I was also in the car when John tried shooting a man from his range Rover on the Place de la Concord. That was scary. John died of aids and heroin.
We walked back up the Champs Elyse and through Place Vendome until we were safely home.
We loved staying at the Hotel Amour. The staff are super cool and very friendly, the food was excellent, I LOVED my little room. They treated the little dog like their very own little dog and there were Kiel’s products in the bathroom.
Unlike my time in France with Jake, Jessie would open her purse and gladly pay her share. In fact, as a most lovely gift, she paid for our chocolate and macaroons at Carette.
The entire trip proved to be a most wonderful surprise.
Sunday night we had a quiet dinner with our smooth skinned red-headed boy. I was in bed at 11…my legs were killing me from having walked so far (nearly 7 miles) and the magical night before at The Baron.