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!!

Rhino75 in the Coffee Table Studio!!

To mark their 100th (count 'em!) episode, those gorgeous gals Katia and KylieMac invited Micke, myself, Francophoney, Tracey and Pierryck along to the by-now-surely-world-famous coffee table studio to take part in a very special (my italics) podcast. We had a brilliant time discussing such diverse topics as Turkish toilets, foie gras, and saying goodbye à la française, and you can listen to the results HERE.
(P.S. these excellent photos are by the Muffin Man. I'm the one with the whiny voice, playing with the cat)

Ridiculous

So, according to Der Spiegel, French Foreign Minister Bernard Kouchner and his German counterpart are going to lay down an R 'n' B-stylee track on the sidelines of the Franco-German ministers summit in Berlin on Monday. It will be premiered on YouTube and the German Foreign Ministry website. And will probably be the most ridiculous thing you hear next week. Don't forget to come along and buy me a drink on Saturday by the way!!

Bling!!

Apparently, dear reader, they are only making 1,500 of these Napapijri gold puffa jackets!! And you can only buy them in Napapijri stores. So we should be safe - but I thought I'd better warn you just in case...

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Just Jack at the Bataclan

Although he released his debut album in 2002, amazingly (my italics) Just Jack didn't really cross my radar until the beginning of this year. I think the first track I heard was Writer's Block and I couldn't get the hook out of my head. It was soon joined by the rest of the Overtones album and my palms got all sweaty when I heard he was going to be performing at Rock-en-Seine in Paris in August. However, I wasn't as excited by the rest of the festival line-up and, when push came to shove, I wimped out of going. Then I heard he was going to be playing at the Bataclan - mere minutes from Rhino75 Towers - but...it was sold out. Luckily, my saviour appeared on Friday in the shape of R. who said he might have a spare ticket and was I interested? Was I ever!! Let's just say it was lucky I was wearing rubber pants. Which is how I came to be bopping along last night to North London's finest. And he didn't disappoint, fizzing and bouncing all over the stage, accompanied by some great lighting effects and a superb backing singer. I missed the first couple of numbers (grrrr), but for me the highlights were Glory Days, I Talk Too Much and Goth in A Disco (which I hadn't heard before). R. even got to chat to him afterwards and pronounced him to be "a very nice bloke". Last night marked the end of his European tour but catch him next time. Another Rockin' Rhino Recommendation. (Yeah, I KNOW the photo's sh*te, but FEEL the atmosphere :-))

Playing God

WHAT a week it's been, dear reader! First of all, dinner alongside Mia Farrow (that makes her sound like a ship, doesn't it?). Then the rugby - proof, if proof were needed, that sometimes that great English strategy of just "winging it" really is the best option. Grumpy old Chabal, the wild caveman, the supposed (my italics) baby-eater, spent most of his time on the floor, eating the TURF! Pffft. And to cap it all, Ma Rhino was viciously - there is no other adverb - attacked by... errm, a robin, and now has her arm in plaster. As always when emotions are running high, I decided to seek solace in a dark room full of strangers. No, not there - the THEATRE. As luck would have it, my friend Sandrine happens to be playing God at the moment. Literally. The show is called "Si ON n'existait pas" (their caps - for once!). Let me set the scene (ahem, ahem clears throat). ON decides to create a female companion for Adam, her firstborn, mainly to keep him away from the goats. But, unfortunately, Adam and Eve don't fancy each other at all. Enter Lily and .... oh but I'm telling you the plot!!! Go and see it - an original idea, great writing, lots of laughs, and top-notch performances. As a plus, the play also has original music, which you can purchase afterwards. The picture above (by yours truly) is of ON sitting on the bidet, trying to figure out what to do next - if that doesn't speak to us all, I don't know what does. (Click on the photo to see some more of my pics of the show).

Rhino's Round-up

Here's a little round-up of the things I've learned in the past week. Remember, I'm doing all this so you don't have to. Selfless to a fault. ::sigh::

• Wii Sports is actually MUCH more fun than I realised. When people ask, I shall finally be able to say that I played a little tennis at the weekend - I feel this will be good for my image. I'm still rubbish at golf, though, so the keys to the executive washroom remain - tantalisingly - out of reach.

• "99 Francs" is a good example of how an annoying book can actually be made into a very entertaining movie. Thanks in no small part to the talent of Jean Dujardin (a little less deelish here than in other roles, it must be said). Advertising looks such FUN. Plus we're pretty sure we saw Guillaume Canet in the cinema. Yumm.

• Damon Albarn's "Monkey" is, quite simply, wonderful. I know you've probably read that elsewhere already, but it really is. I say that even though my short-sightedness meant I had to keep asking "Who is that woman in white floating from the ceiling?" and "Why does that man have a pig's head?" because I couldn't read the subtitles. Some stunning set-pieces, including an under-the-sea scene featuring a large starfish. No Guillaume Canet though.

• Pramil is my latest restaurant recommendation. I can still taste those raspberries with green tea ice-cream (I mean that in a good way). Bon appétit!!
  

Fabulous Sport

In a bid to restore Britain's national sporting pride, I will tell you that Darren's (he's on the left) new footie show starts on Canal + Sport TODAY at 12:45 p.m. He's even put in a slot called "La Leçon d'anglais" ("The English lesson"). This is his first "solo" venture, plus he's a mate, so get watching if you can (Lecteurs français: à vos télécommandes, s'il vous plaît!!).

Man of the Match

Maybe England should hire this guy for the team next time. I trekked all the way out ot the Stade de France for that? Grrr.

Two Good Reasons to Get Into Jazz

When I tell you, dear reader, that I spent Saturday night in a dark cellar, drinking cocktails and watching four - and sometimes five - men perform on a small stage, you could be forgiven for thinking "Ha, as usual, plus ça change etc." - but NO! Because this time (my italics) it was all in the name of culture. Well, nearly all - these two hotties certainly helped to rekindle my interest in jazz :-) Paris, of course, has a longtime relationship with the genre, with American jazz musicians moving to the City of Light as early as the 1920s. Who can think of St. Germain without the Age of Cool, Chet Baker, Miles Davis? And the scene here is still very much alive and kicking, so I'm not really sure why I don't go and see more. Anyway, this weekend, Pierre's friend Benjamin Le Jean was playing with his group L'Esprit de la Maison at the Caveau des Oubliettes in St. Michel. Not only was the music excellent (click on the link to check out his MySpace) but all the other details were just as they should be - a packed, smoke-filled basement, killer double-rum cocktails, pretty girls, cool guys and three sets that went on until past 2 a.m. (FYI the two sax players in the pic are Samuel Maingaud of L'Esprit de la Maison and guest Benjamin Petit). There was just one tiny - and very French - hitch in the proceedings when Benjamin Petit, after being announced as a special guest, was prevented from actually reaching the stage fora good five minutes by a long line of teens going through the obligatory French kissing goodbye ritual. Hilarious. Just to keep the cultural mix nice 'n' eclectic, dinner earlier was okonomiyaki at Aki (11 bis rue Sainte-Anne, 75002 - highly recommended) All this, plus Raph's birthday picnic in the Parc Montsouris, where I found myself playing "Time's Up!" and trying (unsuccessfully) to mime Marie Trintignant, while drinking champagne out of small bottles. More birthdays coming this week too...stand by...

La French Touch - The Next Generation

I don't know whether you've noticed, dear reader, but your Rhino75 has become something of a music buff of late. Yes, you see, now I mention it...All part of my never-ending (my italics) quest to keep my people ahead of the curve. It's true, it's all about you!! So, hot on the heels of Bearforce1, I bring you the latest artist to embody "la French touch" - Lil'Maaz, with his chart-topping choon "Mange du Kebab" (which can loosely be translated as "Have a kebab!"). Ostensibly a simple Turkish kebab-maker from Paris's 18th arrondissement, Lil'Maaz released this self-penned ditty after being "discovered" by executives from a nearby production company popping in for a lunchtime doner. Hmmm, right. It does feature some corking lyrics though. "Chez nous, il y a des odeurs d'orient qui resteront sur tous tes vêtements" ("We have all the smells of the East that'll stick to your clothes.") Lovely. Anyway, before we all get too complacent and start snickering about French music, according to the evening news on France's most-watched television channel, Lil'Maaz is currently back in the studio recording an English version. Altogether now "Shish .... kebab... shish ...kebab" - you have been warned. (Click on the pic to go to web site and watch the video which is actually quite amusing)

Pictures from an Exhibition

I don't know about you, dear reader, but after a few nights out on the razz, I often wake up with a craving for a little culture. An amuse-bouche (my italics) of art to refresh the mental palate for the daily digest of vodka and frozen ready-meals glamour and wit that is my Parisian life, a brisk rub-down with the (slightly rough) towel of aesthetics to get that grey matter tingling again. Plus, I had to get out of the house, even with a banging hangover, because the cleaning lady was coming. So I thought I'd pop down to the Pompidou Centre and see what was on. First up was "Airs de Paris" which aims "to explore the themes of cities and urban life, taking Paris as the starting point for a centrifugal energy which extends far beyond its origin," it says on the leaflet. This was helpful because, to the untrained eye, it looked like a real hotch-potch of any old stuff with a vague Paris connection. They virtually admit this themselves: "All of the artists presented in 'Airs de Paris' have either lived, worked or created specific projects in the city" but at the same time "Paris has been chosen as the context but it is an open context which brings together both the local and global." So if you've been to Paris and done something that could at a push be interpreted as vaguely urban, you're in!! That said, there was some stuff I liked: Alain Bublex's doctored photos of the Paris ringroad (scroll down the link to see them), Albanian artist Anri Sala's pictures of "dogs that run after Formula One cars," Thomas Hirschhorn's "Outgrowth" installation, featuring 131 printed globes. But the exhibition itself is pretty flabby and, IMHO, not particularly well curated. Sorry. MUCH more enjoyable is the Annette Messager exhibition, also at the Pompidou Centre. It's not necessarily that I understood it any better (I long ago gave up trying to grasp anything but the most obvious symbolism in contemporary art), but it's just more FUN!! The piece I liked best was a room filled with body parts made from fabric that inflated and deflated randomly - there was something rather mesmerising about it. However, one problem I noticed with making a lot of installation art from fabric is that it starts to smell a bit weird after a while. There was one piece ("Anatomie en balance") that was really a bit whiffy and could have done with a good hoovering. Which is almost where I came in, isn't it? Anyway, I'd go and see that one if you get the chance. Rhino75, keepin' it real.

On Yer Bike!!

I'm perplexed, dear reader. Try as I might, I can't understand WHY I'm so annoyed by the Paris bike rental scheme Vélib. Why does the whole thing irritate me so? There's no logical explanation. The dear Mrs. LOG suggested that it might be a reaction to a deep-seated fear that, one day, someone is going to make me get on one and I will have to do some real exercise. She may have a point. Whatever. Although I never felt this way about in-line skating (remember when THAT was fashionable?). Anyway, amazingly even without my backing, Vélib is a huge success. In less than a month, we've gone from crowds of people standing looking puzzled by the bike station just by Rhino75 Towers to a severe Vélib shortage. It's almost impossible to get your hands on one at the weekend, even if you wanted to. Which I don't. Why, it'll soon be easier to get a cab than a bike. Yet, I can't shake the feeling that the whole thing's a huge con, that we're all being taken in somehow, although I don't know in what way or even by whom. I remain convinced that it's the start of a very slippery slope. Harrumph.

Spring Fever: Part Two

It's not just me. Read what the U.K.'s Independent had to say about Spring here.

Spring Fever

Daniel Rose is a charming young man from Chicago who, in addition to knowing all the songs from "Guys and Dolls" (no mean talent in itself), also happens to own and run a restaurant in central Paris called Spring. Having met him a couple of times at parties and, indeed, listened to his theory of the perfect chocolate tart, when the ever-lovely Meg Le Blagueur and Petite Anglaise invited Micke and I to join them for dinner there, well, they didn't need to ask twice. Now, having someone you know cook for you always has a high potential for embarassment and awkwardness and this is multiplied by 10 when you're actually paying. What if he was having an off night? What if my most hated vegetable (endive) featured heavily in every course? Because there isn't a choice. Daniel goes to the market and does the shopping himself every day, taking his cue from whatever's in season, looks good and could feasibly provide two starters, a main course and a pudding. And trust me, he knows what he's doing. I'm no food critic, so I'll spare you any purple prose on the meal itself (though you can see the pics at the top of this post) but it was very, very good. The highlights, for me at least, were a selection of fresh, sweet peas and beans served in a chicken broth and given added richness by the addition of diced foie gras, and the duck -- cooked to perfection and the meatiest magret de canard I've had in nine years here. Simply delicious. Add to this a bottle of white, a bottle of red and a bottle of champers and you've got a very happy Rhino and chums. Of course, I'm being a bit of a tease here because Spring is actually closed from July 22 for the summer, but if you're looking for the perfect way to ease into what the French call la rentrée in September, I'd thoroughly recommend it.

Brian Wilson

The Beach Boys were, obviously, more the music of my parents' generation than my own. In fact, it's fair to say that until the age of 13/14, I was only very dimly aware of them, having been raised on a musical diet of Motown, musicals and MOR pop. Then my Mum married for the second time and her new husband, who'd been a semi-pro musician, moved in, bringing country music, the Beach Boys and a whole collection of guitars with him. To the harmony-obsessed teenager I was, the Beach Boys were a revelation. There was one Greatest Hits album I'd listen to for hours on end, trying - and usually failing - to sing the different vocal lines, feeling the tingle I still get today from some of those soaring chords. Because those arrangements are sheer genius, make no mistake. A sort of crossover between 1950s glee club and the falsetto singing of some of the great Motown vocal groups, it's impossible to sing them as written and NOT sound like the Beach Boys. That's before we even get to the songs - beautiful, strange tunes recounting a world of ice-cream parlours, surfing and T-birds that had already long since disappeared - and indeed had never really made it to my side of the Atlantic. Yet those songs had an immeasurable influence on all the music that followed them. That's why I was so keen to see Brian Wilson at Le Grand Rex last night. In a way, he's like the ultimate musical reference. I can see why some might be disappointed. As Benoît said, it WAS like watching a Beach Boys tribute band only with Brian Wilson. The average age of the audience and, indeed, the band was about 55-60. But to hear "God Only Knows," "In My Room," and "Good Vibrations" sung by the man who wrote them was more enough to transport me to a better place. Sublime.

Noodles & Pearls

Never let it be said, dear reader, that Rhino75 is unadventurous when it comes to the wonderful world of cuisine. While it's true that my fridge is normally full of champagne, gourmet chocolate and rhubarb yoghurt, a man (even a gay one) cannot live on such delicacies alone (unfortunately). Sometimes one needs something just a little bit more, well, substantial. And so when Pierre suggested an initiation to Taiwanese food - specifically beef noodles and tea with tapioca pearls - I jumped at it. ZenZoo is a tiny little place but 100% the real deal, I'm assured by Pierre and a Taiwanese friend who came with us - apart from the prices, which have been brought up in line with the rest of the restaurants in the rue Sainte-Anne area. The beef noodles - only available at the weekend - were fantastic. The meat melted in my mouth, while the broth was spicier and less salty than you'd get with Japanese ramen, for example. Deelish, though I confess the sheer quantity of noodles defeated me. Plus it came with two side-dishes, fried cod and seasoned tofu. The best bit though was the tea. I chickened out of having the tapioca pearls - which I regretted once I'd tasted them. It's a strange idea to get your head round, sweet tea with black wine gums in the bottom that you suck up through a big straw, but I liked it. Most of the people around us were drinking a version with milk, which looked a little off-putting but is probably yummy too. Anyway, if you get a chance to go, I'd definitely recommend the place. They have puddings too, but we were all feeling a bit of a cheesecake craving and so nipped over the road to La Ferme, which didn't disappoint either. A top way to spend an afternoon.

*Flashback*

Cast your mind back, dear reader, a couple of weeks to our Paris Blognic. A day of sun, fun, new and old friends, chocolate tart, cookies, Pimm's etc. etc. "Yes, yes, Rhino, so you had a picnic, big deal, get over it," I hear you cry. But WAIT. That same picnic has now been immortalized (my italics) in the pages of that most illustrious publication, the Financial Times. There, that's shut you up, hasn't it? I DO feel slightly disappointed that any reference to my chocolate tart ended up on the cutting-room floor. But you can't have it all and it's always nice to get a mention in a pink-coloured publication. Many thanks to Karen (aka Mimi Pompom) for writing it. And you can read the article here. An autographed picture of me wearing nothing but this flag is also available upon request.

Sunday in the Park with Jens

Knowing as you do, dear reader, my love of all things Swedish, it will surely come as no surprise to hear that I spent all Sunday afternoon at the Parc de La Villette to catch the free set by Jens Lekman. What I wasn't counting on was actually getting to meet him afterwards and have a chat. Not only a great songwriter (anyone who samples the strings from the Mamas & the Papas version of "Do you Wanna Dance?" instantly has my heart) but a nice guy to boot, who very gamely agreed to let me take his pic with the girls. He's got a new album coming out in September and expects to be doing a gig in Paris sometime in November. Until then, I shall be doing my best to keep his profile up on Last.fm. Another true celebrity encounter (and I didn't have to stalk him round the supermarket this time). Remember, rhino75 - living the dream so you don't have to.

Paris Blognic

Just wanted to say a HUUUUGGEEE "Merci!" to everyone who came and helped make this such a FAB day (for me, anyway!!). And, yes, thank you for asking, my head is STILL bright red - NOT a good look, I know. The weather was perfect, the ladies were exquisite, the men were hot, the tart was chocolate, and the booze was plentiful. So plentiful, in fact, that we last "happy few" actually got locked in the Buttes-Chaumont, leading to some eye-watering - there is no other word - attempts to scale the park railings at midnight...All this, a "Guys & Dolls" medley, and a valiant effort to finish off a three-litre box of wine finally got the better of us all. And special thanks to my best girls and adored buddy Frog who are so much better at this sort of thing than I am. Click on the pic to go to the Blognic Flickr pool and see everyone's photos.