The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Triple-Choc Cookies, originally uploaded by rhino75.

Tummy troubles, computer problems, sending bits of my phone flying to opposite corners of the room, trapping my hand underneath the sofa, Raphie leaving StarAc' - it's been a miserable few days. So, now I've (fingers crossed) sorted out most of this list (I don't think Raphie's going to change her mind), it's time to pick up my prescription from Dr. Feelgood. First of all, bake Nigella's triple-choc cookies (and fill flat with yummy smell). Second, pour a large Jack and Coke. Third, settle down to a double bill of "Shrek 2" and "Shortbus". I feel better already.

Propping up the Bar

Design contre Design:catbar, originally uploaded by rhino75.

Wandering round the Grand Palais last night, clutching an empty champagne flute and in search of a bar, I came across this beauty. JUST the thing for Rhino75 Towers this Christmas, don'tcha think, dear reader? And Kitty would love it. There was also this rather saucy chair and a bed in the form of a uterus - you don't get many of those in the Ikea catalogue methinks. They're all part of a small exhibition called "Design Contre Design" which I wasn't expecting to see at all but was actually rather fun. I was there, naturally, for the big guns Courbet show. Have you noticed that no sooner do I mention that I love Courbet on this blog than the Grand Palais comes up with this exhibition - it's almost (my italics) spooky. I was familiar with many of the portraits but had never seen his landscapes before - a revelation, particularly the seascapes (check out La Vague) - or the hunting scenes. Such a wide range and yet you could see all the signs, particularly in the landscapes, of the Impressionists to come. Loved it. And I got to stand next to Bernard Tapie. While eating a bite-sized risotto. But I digress. Off to Brighton AGAIN this weekend to help sis celebrate her birthday and watch a bit more X-Factor. Hurrah!!

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Happy Thanksgiving, dear reader!! As you can see, in my neverending (and, frankly, exhausting) quest to keep ahead of the curve, I've already had my Thanksgiving dinner: chestnut soup, sweet potato and cheesy biscuits, stuffed pork (little bit edgy, but I've already peaked on turkey this month) with all the trimmings, deeeeeeelicious French cheeses, pecan pie and persimmon pudding. And a couple of bottles of wine each. By the end of the evening, I felt thoroughly (my italics) American (no mean achievement) and went around telling everyone I was going to "bust their ass" and asking if they were "talking to me? You talking to me?." Marvellous. Actually, I should confess that it was my very first Thanksgiving dinner EVER, but I'm never one to look a four-course meal in the mouth, am I? Many thanks to Laura and Braden, the only friends I have with enough plates, knives and forks to contemplate organizing something like this (and without whom I'm sure I'd be a good 10kg lighter) and, of course, my fellow cooks/guests, for a top evening.
P.S. Rhino's TOP TV PICK OF THE WEEK: "Dirt" with Courtney Cox. LOVIN' it.

Clapperboard Queen

Showbiz, dear reader. I just CAN'T keep away from it, try as I might. Just when I think I've finally left behind the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd, for good, Lady Luck lifts her fickle finger and pokes me back into the limelight. I'd just settled down in the Swedish Centre cafe with a mug of coffee and a pastry filled with what the Swedes delightfully refer to as "Grandma's cough" when the phone rang. My phone, I mean, not theirs. It was Toby. "Listen," he said. "Do you mind if we meet for coffee round the corner instead? I've got to do something with some musketeers, but it won't take long..." Which is how I found myself with French actor Jean-Christophe Bouvet, a Jack Russell and four musketeers (the Lames du Marais), shooting a film about Marie-Antoinette's dog. We all mucked in and it was great fun but I still have absolutely no idea (my italics) what it was all about. Afterwards, we did indeed go for that coffee with Jean-Christophe and his charming assistant Florian and had a rather wide-ranging discussion about working with Rip Torn, Tecktonic dance moves and Aussiebum undies. All that and then out for dinner to celebrate the birthday of another rising star... "Fabulous" doesn't even START to cover it...(P.S. coming soon, pics and more from Micke's MUTHA of all Gay Karaoke nights)

Monet's Cooker

Now, where was I? Oh yes, so...with Ma Rhino in town this weekend, I decided to do something a little more cultural than 14 vodka and tonics at the Perle followed by gay karaoke and head OUTSIDE PARIS (my italics, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath) to visit Giverny, the village where the daddy of all Impressionists Claude Monet spent much of his life. Have you been? If not, here's a tip. DON'T GO IF IT'S POURING WITH RAIN. While it's not that bad travelling for the best part of an hour on a packed train then a packed coach to blunder around an artist's garden in a cagoule, I'm sure the whole thing is MUCH more enjoyable with a little sunshine. That said, the gardens were delightful, even through my misted, rain-streaked specs. But it was the house I liked best. I was particularly taken by Monet's cooker (or "stove") which was this huge Aga-like contraption. You could just imagine him getting up in the morning and standing there making some slightly blurred scrambled turkey eggs and Aga toast (made with that contraption shaped like a wire tennis racket aka "the best toast in the world"). With a breakfast like that inside you, who could fail to be creative?? I'm not sure what that tap is for on the right-hand side though. And Monet's bed looked a bit lumpy, but I'm sure these days that Ikea deliver, even to Giverny. I may move there, just for that cooker. The other highlight of the weekend was the Caribbean carnival at Bastille. Terrific fun, an explosion of music, dancing and colour. Just like Pride really, only with more women and better costumes and dancing. Miaow.

Evening at the Petit Palais

As "my regulars" know, alcohol and art is one of my favourite cocktails. So when I received an invitation to a champagne-fuelled private view of the permanent collection at the Petit Palais, well, they didn't have to ask me twice. Plus, to be honest, it's a museum I've never visited before. I've popped in to its bigger brother the Grand Palais more times than I care to remember but never actually made it across the road. My mistake. It's FAB. And the excellent thing about this kind of evening is that everywhere you turn, they've put a bar, so I was able to watch the sun go down in the garden while sipping a glass of bubbly. It was great to see some of my favourite Courbet - did you know that he was actually one of the first artists to work with a knife rather than a brush? Just like on "Paint Along with Nancy" - and the wonderful, wonderful "Grimaces et misères" by Pelez (yes, yes, I like my art miserable, I know). And, of course, the Impressionists, for those who like that sort of thing - in fact, I like it well enough, but have just seen too much too many times. An exquisite evening, from which I emerged feeling elegant, sophisticated, and a little bit wobbly. (For the full-size versions of the photos, click here).

Hang Out with My Friends!!!

While I'm busy tagging and untagging pictures of myself on Facebook and furiously listening to music on Last.fm, some of my friends are actually out there DOING stuff. Cool stuff, too. So if you're in Paris over the next few days, you should go along and watch them.



First up is the ever-lovely Nardac, whose band Blutschwester (check out their MySpace) will be playing this evening at 21h00 in the 20th arrondissement. If you can't make it along to La Féline (6 rue Victor Letalle, 75020) tonight, they're doing another gig June 13th at Le Cave de Zorba (137 rue Faubourg du Temple, 75011), plus one in Amsterdam on June 8th. Here's a pic of her in action, sorry, sorry, I meant HERE'S some pics of the band from their gig in January.





Now, Saturday may be a write-off, but by Monday you should be raring to go again. Which is good news because the equally lovely and talented Sandrine is going to be performing in "Cabarets Furieuses" - I suppose it's like a series of sketches, really. Anyway, I've helped her learn her lines for a couple of them and they're really good, sharp, quirky and a bit offbeat. Plus, she's a terrific actress.
They're performing at the "Mélo d'Amélie" (4 rue Marie Stuart, 75002) at 20h30 on June 4th, or if you can't make it then, again on June 24th at 20h00 (that's the one I'm going to).
P.S. I shall, of course, be doing my own little piece of performance art this weekend i.e. the traditional Saturday night trolley-dash round the Monoprix food hall just before it closes. Something of a Marais institution, it normally starts around 19h45, but please remember, it's NOT suitable for small children and there are no subtitles for the hearing-impaired. Come early, come often.

Parallel Lives

Manners maketh the man, they claim, but in this Wallpaper* day and age, dear reader, we know that it's really all about lifestyle. Show me THE BRANDS. Working, as I do, in ***showbiz***, a lot of people are - quite rightly - slightly intimidated by the glamorous life I lead. Imagine my surprise and delight, therefore, to discover that I am not alone. The FABULOUSLY monikered Cheyenne Westphal (did they pull those names out of a hat?) writes in the Telegraph about her week as chairman of contemporary art for Sothebys. It will surely come as no surprise to hear that, for me, it was like looking in a mirror (my italics). Take Friday, for example. Cheyenne was supposed to be on her way to New York and I'm sure that - karmically speaking - so was I. Instead, however, she goes to a £10,000-a-ticket fund-raiser and hangs out with Madonna and Prince. Now, this is where Cheyenne could learn a trick or two from yours truly. I didn't end up going to New York either but instead stayed in with a cheezy crust pizza and listened to Madonna and Prince. Saving: £10,000. Which she should put towards a new pair of specs because she says Prince "hasn't changed a bit" since 1989?? In nearly 20 years?? Even that stuff they're selling in Boots can't do that. (Note to self: too much Andy Warhol damages the eyes) But I digress. Saturday is more of the same. We both get up early. Cheyenne flies to New York, has a shower and spends two hours looking at an auction preview. I too have a shower (skip the flight, though, thereby saving time - another tip for you there, Cheyenne) and spend two hours looking for my TopShop sunnies, which I KNOW I had when I came back from Sweden. And probably at the very same moment that she was entertaining clients with Tobias Meyer in a bar with fantastic views over Central Park, I was sitting on a sarong on the Ile de la Cité with Micke and new chums eating smelly cheese, marshmallow bears and fake tartelettes Diego and waving at the tourist boats. Granted Cheyenne only had one glass of champagne, while I had a bottle and a half of Cabernet Franprix, but I'm sure the effect was the same. And it goes on: Monday, she has her favourite dish of caviar with cheese on toast, I too have cheese on toast for supper etc. etc. The only thing that worries me slightly is that AT NO POINT does she mention Starbucks or karaoke - and yet I know they're both figuring pretty prominently on my agenda this week. She probably just forgot that bit. Nobody's perfect.