Tommy's Post: Pigalle Pigs Alley

Heather is amazing. In Paris, she indulged my internet needs and walked for close to 2 hours on 2 separate days through Pigalle, looking for thee Pigalle. She braved the cold, the sex shops, the strip clubs, the prostitutes and Chinese tourists all for me, yung Dennis. 

Needless to say, we didn't find Pigalle. We found the cold desire of broken men and absolutely no hoodies with the black box logo, nothing! Just depressing sex.

I think I was depressed for like 1 day straight. Even Proust doesn't know the depression of failed shopping.

Anyways, it's now April and I'm in Joburg. Pigalle and Nike are collaborating on something...

I don't know... It's all hush hush but apparently it has something to do with the Nike Air Force 1, which is cool I guess.

What I want to know is when will Pigalle collab with Fabric of The Heart?

For your enjoyment, here are pictures of terrible people wearing Pigalle.

Kitke Dreaming!

I took this photo in the Marais district in Paris. I really love kitke being the good Jewish (emphasis on the "ish") girl that I am. 

It is only slightly sad that the overwhelming majority of my holiday photos are of bread and this gent. 

The creepy/amazing guy in the background was purely coincidental (lady luck shines on us all the time) and we've named him, Pyotr. 

Come visit us anytime Pyotr. 

Paris: The Things I Saw

Besides being a feast for my belly, Paris was also a feast for my eyes. 

I saw all the things that you are supposed to see. I also saw some of the things that I suspect you aren't. A stable of prostitutes (yes, that is the correct collective noun) doesn't exactly scream Gay Paree. Neither does a homeless man playing a Ninetendo DS. 

It seems as though everyone in Paris smokes and has a dog. I came back wanting a doggy of my own so badly that I've been trawling pug rescue sites late at night. These sites have some cuties but also some hounds that look as though they've been rescued from the clutches of Satan. My yet to be found pug will be baptized Princess Cheesecake and we will go on dates to Zoo Lake and stuff. I have it all planned out. 

Back to Paris, we also had the joy of seeing the Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera exhibition at the Musée de l'Orangerie. 

This was my favourite Rivera:

Seeing beautiful things up close, close enough to see the paint strokes is an amazing thing. The true nature of anything (people, art, life) is revealed up close, beautiful or ugly, I feel as though up close you'll know for sure. 

Let's Begin!

Happiest 2014! We're back babes! Dry your eyes and dance!

It's a bit late for a new year's hello but since the Parisian party we celebrated New Year's Eve at didn't even do a countdown, I feel a bit out of touch.

Homies did not give a hot damn about that countdown business.

This out of touch feeling was compounded by the fact that while everyone was returning to work (askies) and getting on the cursed resolutions bandwagon, Tommy and I were eating and drinking our way through the French capital with much glee, fuckery and remorse after excessive consumption. It was a three week long bacchanal that caused me to return a bit plump-y and useless but I loved it! We also managed to visit a whole bunch of museums so my brain is also plump-y with inspiration and wonder.

Paris is a wonderful place for people like me who become evangelical about tasty food. 

I can still remember with vivid, almost pornographic detail a grape that I ate three years ago... 

I am going to try to recreate some of the yummies that I had the pleasure of inhaling so that the good times can roll on throughout 2014. Hopefully I will not be rolling around too.

Anyhoo, we're glad to be back home, there's truly no place as great as this.

Everything is going to be amazing and there's gonna be a whole lotta posts coming up this week so come back and love us. 

Dezemba!

Five years ago (holy crap) on my gap year I went to Paris. It was my first holiday alone and my first holiday that I had paid for myself. I'm a proud daughter of Beyonce, y'know.

People in magazines always say that travel is an investment and it can sound a bit bougie and trite but it really is. Those days in Paris are some of my happiest days yet. Actually, my heart still does the moonwalk when I think about it.

It isn't about the actual attractions and sights, which are great; but the feeling, the freedom and the fuck-yeah-nobody-knows-me joy. 

On top of that, traveling alone is the binary joy of feeling like a god and a lunatic at the same time, that's Nietz by the way. The god-like part comes with doing whaddevadafuq you want. Of course you can, technically, always do want you want but lame things like money and work kinda ruin that. So y'know, I indulged my impulses, looking after Number One was the name of the game, you dig? Henry Miller wrote that everyday we slaughter our finest impulses, but not on holiday Mr. Miller, if you're doing it right of course.

The lunatic part included me being giddy with joy at the mere sight of a boulangerie, beyzus that word?! Say it three times and it sounds like a magic spell. Also, I was a bit cray because for my entire holiday I hardly spoke to anyone and if I did, I didn't know what I was saying and it appeared neither did they. Also, once you return from your voyage, people at home don't care, they really, really don't... Oh the Arc De Triomphe, that's nice... This can lead to thoughts like: did it really happen? And why does everyone hate me? 

Basically, holidays are so much more than just new Facebook photos and expensive shopping trips. I hate how The Man tries to paint travel as a luxury, experiencing yourself via a new environment is something that everyone should enjoy often. EasyJet save us all! 

But back to the point, in less than two weeks Tommy and I will be in Paris! I have a sneaking suspicious that this is going to be my favorite holiday ever-ever. I have come to this conclusion for several reasons: 

1. IT'S FUCKING PARIS!

2. Tom.

3. PARIS GODDAMN!

“He who contemplates the depths of Paris is seized with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic. Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime.” 

Victor Hugo

Everything Starts Somewhere

When I was little I thought that I had to build my life up, up, up into the sky so that God would see me all the way down here. 

The Friday Triple

Paris Fashion Week
source: harpersbazaar.com

Love this. 

BBC Human Planet
source: bbc.co.uk

Watch this. 

http://www.thiis.co.za/music/to-the-basement-people/   Read this. Right now. 

A Room with a View

Aaaah, the jealousy I feel is too much!

I'm Hulk-green right now.

I'm sure I would be a better person if this was my view everyday.