Remember how I got bumped from my flight from France to Berlin last weekend and was rewarded with a €350 AirFrance voucher for my trouble? Well:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/30/business/30bump.html?pagewanted=1&ei=5087%0A&em&en=cb453ca4b2d9ed62&ex=1180670400
Speaking of the voucher, though, Harry and I are going to use it for a long weekend somewhere. We've narrowed our options down to Vienna, Turin, Lisbon, Barcelona, and Copenhagen. Any suggestions?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
career ambitions
So I'm considering going to culinary school after I graduate from Columbia.
Seriously.
I want to become a professional patissière. (Translation: pastry cook.)
What's that? You want to know why? Well, okay then!
I love to bake. You know this about me. Or you don't, and are therefore not really my friend at all. Anyway, I've been baking for AmCath - for rehearsals and brunches and stuff - since February. A few weeks ago, Kate, one of our altos, approached me and asked me to bake for her retirement party. Of course, she said, she would pay for the ingredients and labor. Excellent! I gave her a list of about 8 different cakes and pastries that would go well with the ice cream and champagne she was planning on serving; unfortunately, she decided to only have 4 of them. So. I spent all of Saturday afternoon and evening grocery shopping and baking. It was AMAZING - I had so much fun doing it! Okay, after the 6th batch my arm was starting to hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feel-the-burn kind of hurt.
The following was served at the party, which nearly 70 people attended: chocolate cake (with a chocolate glaze, duh), chocolate chip cake, vanilla sponge cake with cream and strawberries, and lemon poppyseed bread. (I had also suggested some sort of fruit pie or crumble, scones, banana bread, and pistachio cake, but she wasn't interested.) I hovered by the foood table for an hour, greedily watching people eat, until Harry told me I was creeping out the guests and tore me away. I couldn't help it, though: it was so satisfying to see people enjoying what I had made!
Anyway, the point is, I walked away from the party with €30 and the desire to learn how to bake, properly, and to do it all the time. So there.
Seriously.
I want to become a professional patissière. (Translation: pastry cook.)
What's that? You want to know why? Well, okay then!
I love to bake. You know this about me. Or you don't, and are therefore not really my friend at all. Anyway, I've been baking for AmCath - for rehearsals and brunches and stuff - since February. A few weeks ago, Kate, one of our altos, approached me and asked me to bake for her retirement party. Of course, she said, she would pay for the ingredients and labor. Excellent! I gave her a list of about 8 different cakes and pastries that would go well with the ice cream and champagne she was planning on serving; unfortunately, she decided to only have 4 of them. So. I spent all of Saturday afternoon and evening grocery shopping and baking. It was AMAZING - I had so much fun doing it! Okay, after the 6th batch my arm was starting to hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feel-the-burn kind of hurt.
The following was served at the party, which nearly 70 people attended: chocolate cake (with a chocolate glaze, duh), chocolate chip cake, vanilla sponge cake with cream and strawberries, and lemon poppyseed bread. (I had also suggested some sort of fruit pie or crumble, scones, banana bread, and pistachio cake, but she wasn't interested.) I hovered by the foood table for an hour, greedily watching people eat, until Harry told me I was creeping out the guests and tore me away. I couldn't help it, though: it was so satisfying to see people enjoying what I had made!
Anyway, the point is, I walked away from the party with €30 and the desire to learn how to bake, properly, and to do it all the time. So there.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
happy [belated] mother's day.
[Warning: introspective post. Do not read if you're anti-introspection.]
I used to be a lot like Dad. When I was younger, people used to comment in equal numbers that I looked like either Mom or Dad; my temperament, however, was absolutely Dad. We were both stubborn in the same way, driven in the same way, and angry in the same way.
I'm not sure when or why this changed, but I've been realizing recently how much like Mom I've become. I don't mean physically, although once I hit puberty everyone agreed that I looked like Mom (and not just because of the boobs and hips thing). You know the expression "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" I'm not entirely sure this apple has actually fallen from the Mommy tree.
From the way I react to people and situations, through my values and morals, to my habits and rituals, I am my mother. I'm writing about this now because, although my awakening has been happening for the past few months, it was thrown into relief over the past week; primarily because Harry and I have been dogsitting for the past week, but also because I just moved into a new apartment. The dog thing is pretty simple. Even though it's technically Harry who's dogsitting, and he's wonderful about it, when I've been there I've been the one who gets up in the morning to take her out for a walk, the one who defends her when she's been bad, the one who has a hard time not feeding her people food, the one who calls her pet names, etc. Moving into the apartment has been another eye-opening thing; specifically, this morning I had to stop myself from taking my cup of coffee (black, obviously, because that's how Mom drinks it) into the bathroom and leaving it on the counter to get cold while I showered, which is what Mom does. These two examples fall into the "habits and rituals" category, and as children learn from their parents, I suppose it's not surprising that I am copying what my mother would do in these situations. However, it's not just in this area that I look to my mother for what to do. I'm not entirely comfortable giving examples of the other two categories, because that's way too personal to put online, but if you know me and Mom, you know that there's a good chance we would deal with a problem the same way, we would give to our friends and family the same way, and we would value the same things in the people around us.
Even though I can no longer call my mom ever day (damn international phone rates!), she's absolutely here with me, in Paris, all the time. She's not looking down on me, like someone who has died; she's HERE here, inside me. I can't escape her.
I'm so glad.
I used to be a lot like Dad. When I was younger, people used to comment in equal numbers that I looked like either Mom or Dad; my temperament, however, was absolutely Dad. We were both stubborn in the same way, driven in the same way, and angry in the same way.
I'm not sure when or why this changed, but I've been realizing recently how much like Mom I've become. I don't mean physically, although once I hit puberty everyone agreed that I looked like Mom (and not just because of the boobs and hips thing). You know the expression "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" I'm not entirely sure this apple has actually fallen from the Mommy tree.
From the way I react to people and situations, through my values and morals, to my habits and rituals, I am my mother. I'm writing about this now because, although my awakening has been happening for the past few months, it was thrown into relief over the past week; primarily because Harry and I have been dogsitting for the past week, but also because I just moved into a new apartment. The dog thing is pretty simple. Even though it's technically Harry who's dogsitting, and he's wonderful about it, when I've been there I've been the one who gets up in the morning to take her out for a walk, the one who defends her when she's been bad, the one who has a hard time not feeding her people food, the one who calls her pet names, etc. Moving into the apartment has been another eye-opening thing; specifically, this morning I had to stop myself from taking my cup of coffee (black, obviously, because that's how Mom drinks it) into the bathroom and leaving it on the counter to get cold while I showered, which is what Mom does. These two examples fall into the "habits and rituals" category, and as children learn from their parents, I suppose it's not surprising that I am copying what my mother would do in these situations. However, it's not just in this area that I look to my mother for what to do. I'm not entirely comfortable giving examples of the other two categories, because that's way too personal to put online, but if you know me and Mom, you know that there's a good chance we would deal with a problem the same way, we would give to our friends and family the same way, and we would value the same things in the people around us.
Even though I can no longer call my mom ever day (damn international phone rates!), she's absolutely here with me, in Paris, all the time. She's not looking down on me, like someone who has died; she's HERE here, inside me. I can't escape her.
I'm so glad.
Monday, May 21, 2007
pendrer la crémaillère
ATTN: only read if you love me. And by "love" I mean "send me things through the post."
Since I'm moving on Thursday (woohoo!) I have a new mailing address. It is:
Betsy Remes chez Mme Dubreucque
10, rue Saulnier
75009 Paris, FRANCE
Since I'm moving on Thursday (woohoo!) I have a new mailing address. It is:
Betsy Remes chez Mme Dubreucque
10, rue Saulnier
75009 Paris, FRANCE
the Pee-er
There's a new baby in my life. Her name is Olympia. I call her the Pee-er.
I bet everyone but Mom is totally confused. "The Pee-er? A baby? What?"
She's a dog, silly! Harry is housesitting for some friends while they're out of town, and they have a 10month old puppy that they're still housebreaking. Hence the nickname "the Pee-er." She's a total sweetheart. They don't know what breed she is; she's black and looks like a lab except that shes a little smaller and a lot skinnier. (She was sitting on my lap - okay, trying to sit on my lap by spilling off - but is now curled up between the small of my back and the back of the armchair. She's making it pretty difficult to type, so any errors are her fault.) Harry and I have already fallen into playing good cop/bad cop: he yelled at her when she tried to jump up to the table to steal breakfast and she ran between my legs to hide. Obviously, I told him off for yelling at her, but I have a funny feeling this is the way it's going be be for the next week, especially as I only work part-time while he's full, so I'll see her more often. She really is a sweetheart. She makes me miss my other baby - the Grunter!
I bet everyone but Mom is totally confused. "The Pee-er? A baby? What?"
She's a dog, silly! Harry is housesitting for some friends while they're out of town, and they have a 10month old puppy that they're still housebreaking. Hence the nickname "the Pee-er." She's a total sweetheart. They don't know what breed she is; she's black and looks like a lab except that shes a little smaller and a lot skinnier. (She was sitting on my lap - okay, trying to sit on my lap by spilling off - but is now curled up between the small of my back and the back of the armchair. She's making it pretty difficult to type, so any errors are her fault.) Harry and I have already fallen into playing good cop/bad cop: he yelled at her when she tried to jump up to the table to steal breakfast and she ran between my legs to hide. Obviously, I told him off for yelling at her, but I have a funny feeling this is the way it's going be be for the next week, especially as I only work part-time while he's full, so I'll see her more often. She really is a sweetheart. She makes me miss my other baby - the Grunter!
ach ja
Last night I got back from a weekend in Berlin with the grand Rosenblums. It was an adventure from start to finish.
I left my house at the buttcrack of dawn (okay, 8am) to take the RER to Charles de Gaulle. Realized 15 minutes into the train ride that I had forgotten my passport. Had to bribe Nellie, who was asleep, to bring it to the station so I wouldn't miss my flight. I ended up making to to the airport with an hour to spare - only to discover that they had overbooked my flight by 20 seats. I was bumped to a flight that was taking off at the same time for Stuttgart. Okay, not so bad, right? I mean, at least I didn't have to connect through Cairo to get to Berlin. The layover in Stuttgart was 2.5 hours, but everything was smooth and I assumed the adventure was over when we finally landed in Berlin, 4 hours after I was originally scheduled to. Not so much - my luggage had been left in Paris. So that was a bummer. (It all ended well, though; my luggage arrived at the hotel a couple hours later, and Air France gave me a flight voucher. Biarriz, here I come!)
I missed the day's activities with Nana and Pappy (that's Dr. and Mrs. Rosenblum to you), but managed to join them for the opera that night. We saw Der Rosenkavalier at the Komische Opera. It was... unconventional. Musically, it was superb; I'm not a huge fan of Strauss (or the Romantics in general), but the singers were all excellent. The last duet between Sophia and Octavian was so beautiful it made my heart melt. The director made some interesting staging decisions: each act took place in a different century, with different period costumes, and the set in the last act was completely turned upside down. Interesting.
On Saturday we breakfasted together, and then, as Nana and Pappy had been in Berlin since Tuesday and had done all the museums already, split up. I think they just wandered around; I went to Museum Island. Spent nearly two hours in the Bode Museum, which houses medieval and renaissance art. It was incredible. It felt really good, too, to be able to analyze everything properly after having taken this medieval art class; I loved passing a sculpture and immediately noticing the contrapostal position of the figures or the style of the folds in a robe. I felt terribly educated. I then triped over to the Pergamonmuseum, where I just went through their three-room highlights tour. Then, while waiting for Nana and Pappy to meet me for lunch, I went through a street fair next to the river and bought a lovely menorah for 10 euros. In the afternoon, Nana and I did a little shopping (note: H&M is different in every city!). Before dinner, the three of us walked to the Brandenburg Gate and the Holocaust Memorial. It was incredibly moving; theres a stretch of land covered with gray stelea, over 2000 of them, all of different hights. It's so stark and bleak and beautiful. I had a little trouble with some of the underground exhibits. The museum beneath the stelea began with a timeline of WWII's genocide, and moved onto diary entries from victims and a room with artifact from different families that were killed in concentration camps. Tha hardest bit was the next room, where a voice read the names and dates of murdered Jews as their information flashed on the walls. It takes over 6 years to get through everyone.
Obviously, we went to dinner - right next to the Brandenburg Gate - rather somberly. The restaurant was really good, though; it was in Max Lieberman's old house, which was cool, and the food was delish.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we all went to the Jewish museum. I found it pretty disappointing. Every piece of every collection led to the Holocaust. I'm not saying we should forget what happened, but it's kind of irresponsible for a museum to focus exhibits on a specific goal; German Jewry existed for 2000 years before the genocide of World War II, and we need to learn about it's triumps and glories as well as the persecutions it withstood. After that, Pappy and I hit a roadside stand for some curryworst, sausage covered with ketchup and curry powder. The stands are everywhere, and I was told I HAD to try it, but it was pretty uneventful. As I had to finish a paper for a class, I headed to a Starbucks to work in the sun for a few hours before going to the airport.
(I love museums and sightseeing and everything, but my favorite part about a new city is just wandering and then people-watching at a cafe.)
The adventure ended with an unexciting flight that was delayed for 30 minutes. Woohoo. It was really wonderful to see the grand Rosenblums, though (really; I'm not just saying that because I know you're reading this, Nana); I practically live with them while I'm at school, so it was lovely to catch up.
I left my house at the buttcrack of dawn (okay, 8am) to take the RER to Charles de Gaulle. Realized 15 minutes into the train ride that I had forgotten my passport. Had to bribe Nellie, who was asleep, to bring it to the station so I wouldn't miss my flight. I ended up making to to the airport with an hour to spare - only to discover that they had overbooked my flight by 20 seats. I was bumped to a flight that was taking off at the same time for Stuttgart. Okay, not so bad, right? I mean, at least I didn't have to connect through Cairo to get to Berlin. The layover in Stuttgart was 2.5 hours, but everything was smooth and I assumed the adventure was over when we finally landed in Berlin, 4 hours after I was originally scheduled to. Not so much - my luggage had been left in Paris. So that was a bummer. (It all ended well, though; my luggage arrived at the hotel a couple hours later, and Air France gave me a flight voucher. Biarriz, here I come!)
I missed the day's activities with Nana and Pappy (that's Dr. and Mrs. Rosenblum to you), but managed to join them for the opera that night. We saw Der Rosenkavalier at the Komische Opera. It was... unconventional. Musically, it was superb; I'm not a huge fan of Strauss (or the Romantics in general), but the singers were all excellent. The last duet between Sophia and Octavian was so beautiful it made my heart melt. The director made some interesting staging decisions: each act took place in a different century, with different period costumes, and the set in the last act was completely turned upside down. Interesting.
On Saturday we breakfasted together, and then, as Nana and Pappy had been in Berlin since Tuesday and had done all the museums already, split up. I think they just wandered around; I went to Museum Island. Spent nearly two hours in the Bode Museum, which houses medieval and renaissance art. It was incredible. It felt really good, too, to be able to analyze everything properly after having taken this medieval art class; I loved passing a sculpture and immediately noticing the contrapostal position of the figures or the style of the folds in a robe. I felt terribly educated. I then triped over to the Pergamonmuseum, where I just went through their three-room highlights tour. Then, while waiting for Nana and Pappy to meet me for lunch, I went through a street fair next to the river and bought a lovely menorah for 10 euros. In the afternoon, Nana and I did a little shopping (note: H&M is different in every city!). Before dinner, the three of us walked to the Brandenburg Gate and the Holocaust Memorial. It was incredibly moving; theres a stretch of land covered with gray stelea, over 2000 of them, all of different hights. It's so stark and bleak and beautiful. I had a little trouble with some of the underground exhibits. The museum beneath the stelea began with a timeline of WWII's genocide, and moved onto diary entries from victims and a room with artifact from different families that were killed in concentration camps. Tha hardest bit was the next room, where a voice read the names and dates of murdered Jews as their information flashed on the walls. It takes over 6 years to get through everyone.
Obviously, we went to dinner - right next to the Brandenburg Gate - rather somberly. The restaurant was really good, though; it was in Max Lieberman's old house, which was cool, and the food was delish.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we all went to the Jewish museum. I found it pretty disappointing. Every piece of every collection led to the Holocaust. I'm not saying we should forget what happened, but it's kind of irresponsible for a museum to focus exhibits on a specific goal; German Jewry existed for 2000 years before the genocide of World War II, and we need to learn about it's triumps and glories as well as the persecutions it withstood. After that, Pappy and I hit a roadside stand for some curryworst, sausage covered with ketchup and curry powder. The stands are everywhere, and I was told I HAD to try it, but it was pretty uneventful. As I had to finish a paper for a class, I headed to a Starbucks to work in the sun for a few hours before going to the airport.
(I love museums and sightseeing and everything, but my favorite part about a new city is just wandering and then people-watching at a cafe.)
The adventure ended with an unexciting flight that was delayed for 30 minutes. Woohoo. It was really wonderful to see the grand Rosenblums, though (really; I'm not just saying that because I know you're reading this, Nana); I practically live with them while I'm at school, so it was lovely to catch up.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
mi casa es su casa!
I mean that sincerely, but in the broadest sense of the phrase. Like, my casa is my casa, and I'm not going to share it, but COME TO PARIS AND VISIT ME from May 24-July 17! I have, in fact, an extra bed. Très exciting.
Anyway, here's a map of my new area: http://www10.ratp.info/Proxi/proxi.php?exec=proxi&cmd=LexicoAdresse&Profil=RATP
Please note that there are six (6) synagogues in the quartier. Also, rue Cadet (the bit between rue Lafayette and rue Faubourg Montmartre) is an open air market, pretty much. ALSO, there are tons of ethnic restaurants around that I discovered while getting lost after meeting with my landlady last week. Très exciting.
I went to the Paris Choral Society's performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis last night. Apparently, by just emailing Ned for an audition when I first arrived, I missed out on the fact that there's a whole world out there of Parisian musicmaking. Don't get me wrong, I love AmCath and I don't want to sing in the PCS (I don't like rehearsing one piece for months and months and months, performing it once, and then putting it away), but... who knew? Anyway, it's Ned's group, and some of the AmCath kids - inluding Harry - are in it, so I played the supportive girl/friend, and went. Ho no, I didn't pay for my ticket; I volunteered to usher, and so got in for free. It was a good performance. It was, really. It's an exhausting work to do, and most of the PCS are amateur singers, but they gave it their all and so woohoo to them. Afterwards a bunch of us went out to some swanky 8th arrondissement bar, drank way too expensive martinis, and gossiped. I love choir people.
Anyway, here's a map of my new area: http://www10.ratp.info/Proxi/proxi.php?exec=proxi&cmd=LexicoAdresse&Profil=RATP
Please note that there are six (6) synagogues in the quartier. Also, rue Cadet (the bit between rue Lafayette and rue Faubourg Montmartre) is an open air market, pretty much. ALSO, there are tons of ethnic restaurants around that I discovered while getting lost after meeting with my landlady last week. Très exciting.
I went to the Paris Choral Society's performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis last night. Apparently, by just emailing Ned for an audition when I first arrived, I missed out on the fact that there's a whole world out there of Parisian musicmaking. Don't get me wrong, I love AmCath and I don't want to sing in the PCS (I don't like rehearsing one piece for months and months and months, performing it once, and then putting it away), but... who knew? Anyway, it's Ned's group, and some of the AmCath kids - inluding Harry - are in it, so I played the supportive girl/friend, and went. Ho no, I didn't pay for my ticket; I volunteered to usher, and so got in for free. It was a good performance. It was, really. It's an exhausting work to do, and most of the PCS are amateur singers, but they gave it their all and so woohoo to them. Afterwards a bunch of us went out to some swanky 8th arrondissement bar, drank way too expensive martinis, and gossiped. I love choir people.
Monday, May 14, 2007
more editing
I just deleted one of the posts I put up yesterday afteroon. If you didn't read it, you didn't miss much; basically, my apartment has lost power, sprung leaks, and been denied hot water, all in the last three weeks. If you did, sorry to have subjected you to my ranting.
The whole thing pretty much should have been summed up as such: I can't wait until May 24th, when I move into my new place.
The whole thing pretty much should have been summed up as such: I can't wait until May 24th, when I move into my new place.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
editing
I said we were doing the Mathias "God is gone up." I was wrong, duh; it's the Finzi "God is gone up," and we did the Mathias "Let the people praise thee." Oops.
Speaking of AmCath, though, I was like a microtone flat throughout the entire service, which wouldn't be that bad except that I was standing in front of Edmund, who's an amazing musician and probably absolutely noticed. I tried to think of a way to joke about it too him - " Oh, I hate having flat days, don't you?" - but didn't think I could pull it off. Of course he's forgotten about it by now, but I'm stil embarassed. Poo.
Speaking of AmCath, though, I was like a microtone flat throughout the entire service, which wouldn't be that bad except that I was standing in front of Edmund, who's an amazing musician and probably absolutely noticed. I tried to think of a way to joke about it too him - " Oh, I hate having flat days, don't you?" - but didn't think I could pull it off. Of course he's forgotten about it by now, but I'm stil embarassed. Poo.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Armelle, Art History, and Americans
a) Armelle. She's the little girl I tutor in English. I'm kind of obsessed with her. She's seven, and smart and very playful. We don't get as much done as her father would like, but we have a really good time. (I think she's kind of obsessed with me, too.) Today we spent quite a bit of time talking about what it means to be part of a global community. She told me that she thinks the world should be linguistically divided in two: half the world should speak French, the other half English, and that the two sides should never trespass on each other. I tried to explain to her that it was important for countries and regions and whatever to keep their languages because language is tied to culture and tradition, and that if we didn't share our cultures and traditions we'd all be the same. She replied that we'd all get along better if we were the same, and then said that when she's president, she's going to make a law that says that you can only speak French in France. "All the Americans who don't speak French - poof! - out!" She said. "This is OUR country. Poof! But you can stay, Betsie." (She spells my name like that.) "Your French gets better every time we have a lesson, so you can stay." Aw. Thanks.
b) If you need proof that I'm a baller, here it is: I had this huge medieval art dossier due on Thursday, and I really needed an extra day or two to finish it. After the exam on Wednesday, I went up to the professor and pointed out that the syllabus says it's due Friday. She asked if I needed the day, and I replied that it would absolutely help. She looked slightly taken aback (Betsy? Needing extra time? Not being on top of her game? Impossible!), but told me that she'd rather an excellent paper than one that was merely finished, and that I could take the week. Excellent!
c) No Finzi next week - the soprano exodus kind of xnayed that. But tomorrow we'll be doing the Mathais "God has gone up" and a really really pretty Nestor chant thing. In other singing news, though, I just got the music for this summer's tour with Bruce. Good stuff - a lot of Howells and Sowerby and Neswick (duh) and some Darke. Holla! Can't wait to look over it all.
b) If you need proof that I'm a baller, here it is: I had this huge medieval art dossier due on Thursday, and I really needed an extra day or two to finish it. After the exam on Wednesday, I went up to the professor and pointed out that the syllabus says it's due Friday. She asked if I needed the day, and I replied that it would absolutely help. She looked slightly taken aback (Betsy? Needing extra time? Not being on top of her game? Impossible!), but told me that she'd rather an excellent paper than one that was merely finished, and that I could take the week. Excellent!
c) No Finzi next week - the soprano exodus kind of xnayed that. But tomorrow we'll be doing the Mathais "God has gone up" and a really really pretty Nestor chant thing. In other singing news, though, I just got the music for this summer's tour with Bruce. Good stuff - a lot of Howells and Sowerby and Neswick (duh) and some Darke. Holla! Can't wait to look over it all.
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