Sunday Dinner with Jim Haynes

A few weeks ago we went to a Sunday dinner at Jim Haynes' studio in the 14th arrondissement. For the uninitiated, Haynes is one of those rare people who lived and loved in the 60s and 70s and who did not afterwards buy a station wagon and a ranch home in the 'burbs. Instead, he spent his time doing more important things, like meeting beautiful lovers while globe-trotting, creating a World Passport issued by a World Government that a friend used to get out prison in Bangkok, and writing his manifesto, Workers of the World, Unite and Stop Working: A Reply to Marxism.

Every Sunday, Haynes hosts dinner for 50 – 80 people, not necessarily his closest friends, making sure that all the guests feel included and are having a good time meeting others. The concept is simple: call or email for a reservation and arrive promptly at 8 pm. Please do not bring wine or flowers, although a donation of 25 euros is requested (more is okay too, but so is less).

The night we went, Diego and I met an Irish journalist, a couple of American expats living in Spain but traveling through France, long-term British expats, a couple of writers (including an erotica writer from Miami and a Finnish writer attending the book fair), a few students, and some native Parisians.

In DC, Diego and I often attended events where we did not know the other guests, but these events were typically full of lawyer-lobbyist-politico-diplomats. In contrast, at Haynes' dinner and in Paris generally, we meet lots of people who don't spend the evening dropping names that are supposed to sound impressive, who don't ask about your job when they first meet you, and who like to talk about ideas and experiences unrelated to their careers.

Now that we've been here a while, I find it jarring to meet other Americans and have them ask me the quintessential cocktail question, "So, what do you do?" It's a question that really will only elicit an uninspired response on my part, and is often followed by unimaginative barbs about my profession. My all-time favorite is "But you seem too nice to be a lawyer!" As if being nice is necessarily a good thing! Besides, if we get a paper cut, do we not bleed too? I think from now on, I'll start using answering that question with "Nothing too dodgy," a response Diego used when he first moved back to the US.

At any rate, I've totally digressed from the point of this post. Basically, if you are looking for an interesting adventure next Sunday night in Paris and don't want to have to answer typical networking cocktail questions, give Jim Haynes a call.

Anglophone beggars

I've noticed one phenomenon here in Paris for several months now.
It seems that just about every time I find myself at some touristy spot, like the Champs-Elysees, I'll be approached by a gypsy-looking woman and asked "do you speak English?".
The first few times I answered "yes", imagining that this was some poor tourist lost in the urban jungle, only to have a little note (written in English) shoved under my nose with some generic sob story about being a refugee from Bosnia (I feel like telling them to update their conflicts: Bosnia is SO last decade) so gimme, gimme, gimme.

Naturally, whenever they ask me the question now I answer "non" with all the Gallic disdain I can muster...and the funny thing is: they walk away. They only beg from you if you speak English. Francophones (as well, I suppose, as speakers of Ukranian and Lingala) are not expected to contribute to the allegedly-Bosnian-purported-refugee-of-a-war-that-ended-years-ago fund. This mystifies me. First of all, if you're going to beg in France, shouldn't you learn how to do it in French? Second, It really isn't that hard to outstretch your palm and look pathetic. Most people will get what you're on about. I've been begged in many different languages before and I knew exactly what was going on even if I couldn't make out the specifics that were being said. I even learned how to beg in Hindi after a trip to India. (Goreh, panj rupieh, no mama, no papa or something along those lines).

Yet it seems these ladies specifically target speakers of English and deliberately leave all others alone. This simply doesn't make sense to me. Why ignore all the potentially rich non-anglophone pickings? There must be more to this story than meets the eye. Nature abhors a vacuum, so it must be filled with an official Diego® conspiracy theory. Et voila, here is the first Diego® conspiracy theory to be posted on this blog (and don't go spreading it without paying me royalties, now):

The gypsy ladies have an arrangement with the cops. The cops leave them alone so long as they don't harass any of the local taxpayers. Stick to the tourists and we won't take you out back and beat you. Today for the first time I saw "les flics" (the cops) rounding up a bunch of them on the Champs-Elysees and clearing them from the area. I can only conclude that they must have been begging "En français". Consider: the local taxpayers are more likely to complain if they are being hassled on the streets. The police will be expected to do something about it. Tourists are unlikely to complain about it, so as long as the townies are left alone, "everybody is happy" in a Tony Soprano sort of way. Maybe the cops even get a share of the take, who knows? Badda bing, it's a beautiful ting.

I'm cooler than you because I know Le Chat's cousin

Recently, our friends Will and Erica were in town. Walking around the neighborhood with them, they noticed a piece of graffitti on a building just down the road from us which features a cute, grinning cat. I had never noticed it before, but now I see it all around Paris. Here's a picture of the one at Place Jules Joffrin:



Last weekend another friend, Angela, was visiting. We were at Gare du Nord and she noticed a girl carrying a big cardboard cutout of the cute, grinning cat. I went up to the girl and asked her what was the deal with the cat and she said her cousin was the cat's creator. Indeed, her cutout cardboard cat was autographed "Le Chat est mon cousin".

I was excited, kind of like if I had just met some minor celebrity: the cousin of a prolific graffiti artist.

Hey, I don't get out much.

But I know Le Chat's cousin and you don't, so there.

But from now on, I will carry around my camera and try to capture any "Le Chat" spottings to post on this blog. Watch this space!!

P.S. I just saw this website that talks about "Monsieur Chat"