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.

Yesterday was Gay Pride in Paris. Check out Emilie Johnson’s photographs here.

I helped a friend pack a few things before he moved. He lives by the Square des Epinettes, a public garden located in the 17th arrondissement. When I saw the view he can enjoy from his apartment (he lives on the last floor of a 7-story building) I grabbed my camera and shot! As you can see all these buildings have different shapes and sizes and their facades are much more simple than Haussmanian style buildings that were built after these ones.

I went to the Galeries Lafayette looking for a new maillot de bain and wasn’t very motivated after spying this super-sized sexy Parisienne advertising her hard body, perky nénés, and teeny bikini. So I’ve decided to take my business elsewhere: to Le Bon Marché - where bathing suit advertising is discreet and doesn’t make La Mom feel like Le Pig!

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 Charles Lindbergh landed his Spirit of Saint Louis in 1927, becoming the first man to cross the Atlantic single-handed. Over 150,000 people were present to see him arrive, and a delicate and graceful statue marking this event can still be found on site today.

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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 shopping tips en français here (note: Louis Vuitton and the Hermès boutique at 24 Faubourg St Honoré don’t participate in the sales).

Reading an article recently, I was struck by a particular point. I may now have put down blood red roots into French soil, but I will always remain an immigrant. The whole topic of immigration is one that fascinates me, especially how it has shaped Paris throughout history, and forced the city to evolve and develop, and the article dealt with all these subjects. Taking a look at the integration of a Chinese community and the evolution of an inner-city area, the article, published in the influential Triple Canopy online magazine, was written by local journalist Jules Treneer. I decided to speak to him about the article and talk about the subjects he discussed in more depth.

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. But what exactly is the problem here? In this one square mile area (Sedaine-Popincourt), 600 of the 850 shop units are now Chinese owned, and as Treneer points out, all are garish, with “names reminiscent of cheap perfumes: Lady Belle, Show Girls, Miss Coco.” The City Council and local residents believe this domination has killed community life, and a fight-back based around legislation has begun.

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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. The famous literary hangout with trees on the roof is still a place of pilgrimage for tourists wanting to catch a whiff of old-school Saint Germain but it’s also a stopoff for mysteriously beautiful Parisians of both genders and a certain age wearing black trousersuits and shades. Are they highly successful editors, designers, movie producers? 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.

Flore gets a better class of tourists (though perhaps a less interesting class of writers) as it is undoubtedly priced above all but the rich or visitors who are really, really keen on Simone de Beauvoir . Still, it’s worth stopping here once in your life for their home-made hot chocolate (made à l’ancienne with cream, milk and real melted chocolate) served in a silver jug (9 Euros).

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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”.

“Foot” in French means football, or soccer in American English.  It’s not a French word at all, but an English word turned French.  The kids I nanny for often ask me if we can Jouer au foot, or play soccer with the balloon in the hallway.  Sometimes they change the rules up a bit and ask if we can Jouer au foot au main, or play hand soccer.  I tried to explain to them how silly this sounds to me – playing foot with hands.  They giggled a bit, but the true absurdity is lost on them.