Recipe nº7 : Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder

1 glass of champagne
1 oz. absinthe

Pour the absinthe into a champagne glass and add the bubbly, in the manner of a kir. Drink and try not to vomit.

courtesy of Rachel

OMG numerous fans...please do not incur your wrath upon me! I know my absence has been inexcusable but I am still getting ahold of this whole "blogging" thing (only about 5 years behind schedule, I know). As a lovely lady named Talia once said, and I paraphrase, sometimes people get caught up DOING stuff and don't have time to write about it. I don't want to be one of these people, really. So I'm back.

I'm also giving up on trying to have really cool themes for every one of my posts, because if I keep trying to do that, I will probably have one more. So I'm joining the bandwagon of everyday rants because it sounds like so much fun, it's cathartic, and as I'm beginning to learn from reading others' blogs, utterly fascinating! Like literary reality TV. Well, depending on who's blog you read anyway.

Oops, bathroom break. See? It's REAL LIFE!

So the French life continues...for some reason I only seem to be able to meet and become friends with dirty-ish, pot-smoking, can't quite get it together at almost age 30 guys. That sounds mean. But I think it's because all the clean, clear-eyed, together guys are married with like, 12 babies already. And come to think of it, I did make friends with a super Catholic guy (who was still dirty, ugh. I mean, I didn't LIKE him like him but I still showered to go to the movies!) who turned out to be no fun so maybe I'm better off with the potheads.
De toute façon, it's beginning again, as I get to know my fellow expatriate friend Caitlin's roommates and their friends, who not only are dirty smokers but also form not one but two musical bands, called "Code" and "Modern Folks" (I tell you this now so you can say you read a blog about them way back when). These bands, as I understand it because I have never heard them play other than a few muted emanations from Caitlin's basement, perform songs whose lyrics are entirely in English. This has got me thinking; at first I was skeptical, thinking the would-be poets were apt to make glaring grammatical errors that would ruin the effect. However, the "Modern Folks" leader (who, incidentally, rattled off no fewer than five adjectives to describe their sound, two of them being psychedelic and timeless) Manu has explained to me that the French language does not lend itself to rock lyrics in the same way the English does.
NB: If you are a desperate graduate student in music who happens to speak French, I happen to think this would be a great dissertation topic.
Anyway, Manu and his petit frère Dmitri are quite the characters. I'm tempted to post a photo of them, but I think this would violate several ethical codes. However the two of them recently participated in a band-related photo shoot, hanging a black sheet in the living room, donning rockstar sunglasses and strutting around beneath a multi-colored strobe light. The brothers both share a love for seventies style, hang-in-your-eyes hair that is obviously essential to their personality and sex-appeal.
After enduring (admittedly amusedly) the antics of these two for several months, I finally had to opportunity to spend some time with the other band members. An entire night, in fact, as Caitlin and I were invited to a party in the nearby town of Voiron and were at Manu and Dmitri's mercy for getting home. So we walked into a party of 10 dirty French bandboys plus...us. With no hope of leaving until 2 p.m. the next day, when we would have to be back in Grenoble because (how adorable!) they all had band practice.

My favorite moment of the party: I asked Romain, who plays guitar for both Code and Modern Folks, why he shaved his head. He replied (please allow me to translate and paraphrase), "I hate those guys in bands with their stupid mèche that hangs in front of their eyes, I would never want to be like that." Wow, what a relief, I thought these guys shared M & D's mèche-adorned belief that they were God's gift! I immediately stuttered something to the effect of, "but what about...them?" and he just laughed and said they were the worst. "Especially Dmitri, he plays the drums, and everyone knows that's just a guy who hangs out with musicians." It was beautiful. He even insisted that Caitlin and I go to one of their concerts, something the brothers have never done; they'd rather have us believe that they're going to drown in a sea of panties tossed to them onstage. I will update you on the reality of this supposition.

Another beautiful moment in the night was when they were passing the guitar around, as always happens in the wee hours of the morning at a party where there's a guitar and anyone at all knows how to play...but an already too-long story short, I played a few riffs of "Blackbird" and had them all freaking out like they didn't know Americans could manipulate strings. Unfortunately I wasn't playing my best with long nails and no calluses but to them I was frickin' Eric Clapton. One guy even made several attempts to make out with me throughout the rest of the evening, assuring me that he had noticed me before, it was just my unbelievable guitar prowess that had him drooling. I should learn a few more chords, maybe I can score a date with Chris Martin! Jeez.
Too bad Manu and his mèche weren't there to witness my skeelz.

More to come from the Manu & Dmitri show...my admirer has invited me over (to Caitlin's house!) for apéro on Saturday, there's sure to be more excitement. Better practice that guitar, or on second thought, maybe not.