Fat Asian Baby

Well fuck me if it isn't another one of those everywhere-closing holidays again. Jesus. Everybody loves the Jesus. But quite frankly, if he isn't donning his purple lycra jumpsuit, it just isn't all that exciting for me.

Reading this in today's Page Six reminded the Fat Asian Baby of my scheme to stake out the Britney Spears concert this Sunday. Although it's sold out, V. and I are going to try and convince security that we're Brit's friends from LA. My plan is to figure out where she is hanging out afterwards, manufacture some encounter, and then either a) kick her in the shins and then run away or b) give her a big wet one on the lips in the hopes of making it into Page Six. Too bad somebody already took my second idea (and that somebody already happens to be somebody relatively famous).

The Fat Asian Baby has been having some rather fertile dreams lately. Let's just say that they have included a rather crazy threesome, some other random sex, a runaway friend, and unwipeable shit. And they're all outrageously vivid. It's almost like tripping except without all the unhealthy bits and flashbacks.

Last night V. and I went to this tiny little cinema near my apartment that has great movies and was randomly showing Sophie's Choice. Yes, that Sophie's Choice, a movie that is at least 20 years old but for some reason this theater has decided to bring back once or twice a week. (They seem to do this sort of thing quite often. Glancing at Pariscope, I see quite a few movies playing that have long since left the theatres Stateside). I have to say, after having been to the tiny velour palace, I have no idea how they stay afloat as we were about 40% of the audience and the tickets were only about $7 each. V. claims that theatres get subsidies from the government and individuals even make donations to help defray operating costs and what not. I guess that's like the opera or philharmonic in the states? Weird At any rate, I am grateful that the French are serious about their cinema. And if you haven't seen it already, I highly recommend renting Sophie's Choice.

There is something seriously wrong with the Fat Asian Baby, and we could be reaching crisis level. Exhibit A: Yesterday I attended a conference on World Hegemony and the Anglo-American Legacy hosted by the American University of Paris. Rather than contemplating hegemony or whatever it is I was supposed to be thinking about, I spent about 85% of the time wondering what it would be like to fuck each of the panelists, who, mind you, were all over the age of fifty, if not sixty, graying or gray, and well, shall we say, nerdy?
Somebody please stage an intervention.

What I Learned This Weekend And Probably Learned In The Past But Already Forgot:
If you start your night with wine, it is generally not a good idea to follow it with whiskey, beer, beer, whiskey, beer, beer, beer, beer, and then champagne straight out of the bottle.

Mmmm. More Fat Asian Babies. Apparently we're the new black.
Check this one out.
By the way, last week I saw a black dude in a wheelchair who was also a midget and had no legs and all I could think was, hotdamn! I got nothing on you, son.

Outstanding. Asians and Fast Food conspiring to take over the world. Check out this article from the New York Times about I-am-Asian.com.

Apparently today is some sort of Holiday. I'm really not quite sure exactly what's going on, to be perfectly honest. All I know is that I finally was going to do something productive today like visit some museums and lo and behold, every fucking where is closed. I have no idea what the deal is. The first Monday after I arrived (less than two weeks ago) was also some sort of everywhere-closing holiday as well. And since today is a Thursday and nearly the weekend, chances are quite good that many places will be closed straight through till Monday. I guess the French don't like to work much either. If it isn't a holiday, it's another extended vacation. Perhaps I should consider moving here permanently...
Actually, I might also mention that the streets are more or less deserted as well. Maybe it's not another holiday afterall, and I simply missed the memo about fleeing the city today due to high levels nuclear radiation.

Everybody hold onto your panties! I've got quite the news announcement. Apparently the mothership herself, the Queen Bee, Miss Britney Spears will be performing right here in Paris in 10 days! The Fat Asian Baby had better hightail it over to Bercy. Perhaps Brit Brit will be so kind as to share the secrets of Kabbalah with me. Sigh. I should only be so lucky. In the meantime, I will pursue other routes to enlightenment. Like drinking an entire bottle of wine by myself.

Dammit! In my absence, everyone seems to have updated and generally spiffed up their blog templates, some including pictures (ahem, ViaGina, Midwestgrrl). I feel as though I'm being left in the dust because I'm too lazy or too cheap to sit here and try and better myself. Gaah!

A note to the manufacturers of that anti-cellulite product advertised so prominently in all the Parisian pharmacies with the picture of a woman peeling super-cottage cheesey skin off her thigh to reveal (gasp!) a model-toned thigh underneath: Please stop. It's disgusting.

Many of you have experessed the misguided belief that because I am Asian and therefore relatively hairless and odor-free, I am also acne-free. Well, dear friends, I assure you this rumor is far from the truth. Today I am sporting a huge zit on my nose, or more properly, something red and festering and sore brewing beneath the surface of my skin, the magnititude of which, if it ever chooses to erupt, will practically warrant its own name.
So there.

This morning, as I was washing the dishes from breakfast (mmmm eggs) and laying them out to dry on the burners of the electric stove, i fleetingly wondered if perhaps it was not a good idea to use the electric stove as a drying rack. But then I realized that if God had intended for me not to dry my dishes on the electric stove, God would have made certain that whoever designed my apartment left counter space exceeding the square footage of my left hand on which to set up a proper drying rack and as long as I avoid simultaneously using the electric stove for both of its uses, it's probably okay.

Wow! It's amazing how out of it you become when you're, uh, out of it. I just stopped by a href="http://www.gawker.com">Gawker for the first time in ages and saw some mention of a mysterious Graydongate. Please somebody fill me in on the dirtydirty of this latest media scandal that 4 Times Square appears to be mired in (if Gawker editor, Choire Sicha, is to be believed, that is).

Can you imagine trying to explain The Simple Life to someone (J., an american no less) who has no idea who the superlative Paris Hilton?? Impossible. The Fat Asian Baby can only imagine that it is akin to the difficulties of yore that the Earth does in fact orbit the Sun and not vice versa.

Quite frequently, the Fat Asian Baby finds herself leaning out the window smoking a cigarette (I am officially prohibited from smoking cigarettes in the apartment proper and probably should be going downstairs and outside to smoke because the owner recently put down new carpet, which, i might point out, is less carpet than it is an extended straw welcome mat that prevents walking around the apartment sans shoes unless you are the type to delight in unsolicited and not altogether pleasant foot exfoliating massages). At any rate, my window directly faces the many-windowed facade of the building across the street. During the many hours (cumulatively) that I have spent smoking, I have witnessed numerous vignettes from the lives of the people who live in the building across the street. Unfortuantely, I have been forced to suppress any Rear Window fantasies I might have as, I assure you all, their lives are disturbingly devoid of any sex (let alone kinky sex), murder, intrigue, or anything remotely more fascinating than plant watering and laundry drying. C'mon people, step it up. Don't you realize that I don't even have a television.
Feh.

Actually, having now spent several days surrounded by nothing but German, I find it isn't really ugly per se, just really fucking weird. Berlin is a strange but fairly cool place. Aside from the crappy weather (J. assures me it's cloudy and overcast at least 4 months out of the year though strangely everyone on the street is suspiciously tan...Fat Asian Baby wonders if there isn't a booming underground tanning salon industry in Berlin that is invisible to the naked eye but flourishing quite happily nonetheless), the atmosphere is quite nice. Unfortunately, I was unable to partake of any sausage during my visit, but rest assured, gentle readers, Fat Asian Baby did indulge in much German beer. Much.
Burp.

While walking to the internet cafe, I just saw a man sitting on a bench who was the spitting image of Bono if Bono was an aging, destitute French man who'd smoked one too many cigarettes in his day and was a bit more brunette. Not a pretty sight my friends. But I consider myself a more enriched person for it. What can I say?
Tomorrow I am off to visit J. in Berlin, despite my many reservations about German. I flew to France on a major German airline and was quite disconcerted by the experience. I feel terribly guilty about all this, but because my only exposure to the German language thus far in my life has been through Holocaust era movies, I can't help but feel that whenever they are announcing something official in German over the plane intercom system or the flight attendants come by and bark something in German that they're directing me to the soap factory furnaces when in all likelihood, they're really just asking me if I'd like another muffin. Ahh well.

...and soon, I'm gonna be rocking the denim and denim and not even notice that something is horribly awry.

By the way, I must apologize for the general state of suckiness of the blog lately. What can I say, it's hard to maintain a blog when you're paying by the minute for internet access. Bear with me, dear friends, I shall be back in full form when I return state side. Until then, you can just, um, enjoy my stupid rantings.

Ok, so the Fat Asian Baby was pondering foot pain over the weekend, trying to figure out just why exactly my feet feel like death from excessive walking in heels while my fellow Parisians seem to have no such difficulty tromping around in heels all day long. In times like these, the Fat Asian Baby must remind herself that because she is Asian, her feet are like the soft petals of a delicate flower, meant only for binding and such.
Right.

I might also mention that I've been smoking like it's my job, which I guess it basically is. I wonder how long until my lungs fall out.

I might also also mention that it's hailing outside...for the second time since I've been here. Verrrrry strange.

The Fat Asian Baby must remember to amputate feet as soon as feasibly possible. I walked around a bunch today in three inch heels. Stupid stupid bitch. I also stood outside the Louvre for about fifteen minutes scratching my head at the intolerably long line.
Every day since I've been here, at least three people feel the need to ask me for directions somewhere. And these are three French people, mind you, not tourists. I still can't figure out why. Today I sent some poor woman looking for a florist over towards the Rue Mouffetard where I am quite certain, there are no florists. Poor soul. But seriously, do I really look like I have any clue what the hell is going on?? Even in New York, people know better than to ask me stuff.

A few profound words about these French keyboards: What the fuck???

Well jeeeeeeeeeeeezus! I finally made it to Paris. And let me just say for the record that this would all be a lot easier if I could like, I dunno, actually speak French. The most basic interactions with the concierge are extremely trying. I think I can make myself understood, generally speaking, but then when people try to answer my questions they're usually met with a somewhat blank stare. Ahh well. Things are going well, albeit slowly. I got my nifty french cell phone set up and the electricity hooked up and have eaten like 3 tuna sandwich or salad combinations. Apparently the choice here is either tuna or some form of pork/ham/ham bits product.
Just so I didn't get too homesick, ambiguator sent me this charming tidbit about my favorite pop tart, as they say in the New York Post:
further confirmation that britney is stupid.
abstract:
britney spears got a new tattoo on her neck,
hebrew symbols which she thought said "new year" or "new age"
but turn out to be jibberish.
apparently, her devotion to the Kaballah has not yet taught her that
tattoos are illegal under Jewish law...

link

Ok kiddies, I'm off to Paris. I may not resurface for a matter of days, but rest assured, I will be back.

So I was thrilled to pieces to see this article in Sunday's Times. I'm so pleased that these very important and often underappreciated artists are finally getting the attention they deserve in mainstream media. I myself am trying to pursue a career as a BET video ho (why else did you think the Fat Asian Baby was relocating to Atlanta, grad school? Ha!) but need to work on my measurements. It is painfully obviously that I need more junk in my trunk and less junk, well, pretty much everywhere else. Must remember to consult a plastic surgeon when I get back from Paris.
Speaking of which, I received my brand new international cell phone in the mail today. It is a low budget Nokia which was apparently manufactured by Nokia Asia because the description on the front reads: "Let you relaxed wander between two frequencies. " On the back when discussing features, Nokia Asia boasts that this model will allow "in 3 kinds put game," "function have reach 6 kinds of Asian languages," and "newest put the type interface of infrared ray." While I'm not sure what this all means, it sure sounds cool.