A Cut Above
June 30th, 2009
There is a cute salon by my flat that I regularly pass on my way to the metro called Francois B on Rue des Acacias, and I thought it was a good sign that I usually liked the cuts I saw coming out of the salon. With a special price for those under 26 (only 29 Euros compared to the regular 58 for long hair), I decided to book myself an appointment and give it a go. I feel like I need to share my experience with everyone I know, because from start to finish it was painless and dare I say fun? And the best part is that I came out with exactly what I asked for… simple, not too short, nothing crazy, and please, please, please, no mullet. The man who owns the salon, Francois, who trained with Frederic Fekkai, was the one who gave me my cut after I was shampooed and conditioned by one of his assistants. He joked with my about my French and showed me the special “etoile technique” which he boasts you won’t find in the States. I was in and out in about 30 minutes, no fuss, no stress, and passed a good time indeed.
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The end of the French school year is fast approaching. The last official day of classes is Thursday, July 2. (Presumably, it’s Tuesday the 29th for the little ones who don’t go to school on Wednesday.) Thus time is running out to snap a few pics of French school children. For some reason, I had expected them to all wear uniforms but the students in public schools in my area don’t. Neither do these kids, who attend a private school in the 7th arrondissement, but they do sport smocks: pink for the girls and black or dark blue for the boys. Speaking as a parent who has fought in vain against stains from paint, magic markers, and lunch, I’d say it’s not a bad idea.

I helped a friend pack a few things before he moved. He lives by the
I went to the Galeries Lafayette looking for a new
For professional reasons I found myself last week at the Paris Air Show at Le Bourget in the northern suburbs of Paris, and although my brief was to concentrate on state of the art technology, I did manage to find some time to investigate the distinctive, historic architecture of the airport. It was my first visit to the site, but I can safely say that it is it is well worth the short trip from the capital for anybody who is interested in designs of the 1920s and 30s. For over fifty years, Le Bourget was the principal airport of Paris.
It was a place that saw the birth of aviation and the stationing of airborne troops during the 1914-18 war. The first passenger flights began around 1919, linking Paris to London, Brussels and Amsterdam, with around 6000 taking such flights in 1920. It was also the site of aviation advances and exploits, and was the place that
Les Soldes can’t come soon enough for Parisian shoppers, who will be out in full force at dawn today to get the best deals at all of the fashionable (and mess fashionable) boutiques around town. If you’re smart, you’ll have tried everything on a few days beforehand so that you can just grab it and pay on the day of the sales. In any case, be sure to have a plan, an itinerary (the pricier the store, the earlier you should go), wear a bag you can wear over your shoulder so you don’t have to put it down, and dress so that if you do have to try something on you can do it without going into the changing rooms (which will be packed). More
Reading an article recently
The article deals ostensibly with the problem of monoactivité, namely the fact that a Chinese immigrant community has purchased a whole series of shop units across several streets in the 11th arrondissement and transformed them into wholesale textile plots.
I hardly dare write about this place. Is it just a (very expensive and effective) tourist trap or is it still the real deal? Like all landmark cafés, its present day worth is hotly disputed.
They sure as hell aren’t writers (unless the editor’s paying) but there’s certainly an air of (moneyed) intellectual glamour wafting about the place.
Doing a little Métro reading this morning (over someone else’s shoulder), I spied this headline: Sea, Foot and Sun: Miami est la paradise des footballeurs. Now, I know the French love using, not only English words in all things hip, but also full-on English sentences. The trouble I’m having, however, is this word “foot”.




