Although adorable, lovable and sweet, Winnie the Pooh is famously known for his frustrating forgetfulness.  Last night I had two embarrassing Winnie the Pooh moments that involved riding a bike and my bank card.

Since it’s been quite a while since we’ve seen D.J.’s Connected Friend, yesterday evening we bundled up and traversed Paris for an intimate dinner party at Connected Friend’s beautiful Montmartre apartment.  As usual, the meal was wonderful, conversation was lively, and wine was pleeeentiful.  Side note: dinner parties and impromptu coffee dates with D.J.’s French friends are becoming increasingly more enjoyable as my French improves.  Grossly abbreviated English translations are no longer needed (although at one point during the evening a guest pulled up an apparently hi-larious Sponge Bob Squarepants parody on YouTube in what amounted to “ghetto French” that had everyone – except me – literally crying with laughter.  I was provided a one-liner translation of about 10 minutes of video: “They [Patrick the Starfish and Spongebob] are selling shit…” I wonder if one day I’ll be able to understand the Parisian equivalent of Ebonics).

Anyway, we caught the very last metro home at about 1:45 am, arriving at the Mairie d’Issy station at 2:20 am.  Surprisingly, public transportation in Paris stops at about 2 am, leaving us with a slight dilemma; D.J.’s new condo is a short bus ride (and long walk) from the metro station.  Unless he’s totally exhausted, D.J. tends to be a little hyper at night and was ready to make the hike from the station to our place.  He’s also quite tall and has long legs and walks stupid fast – great for him; not so great for high-heeled Vagabondventures.  Walking home with D.J. in -30 degree weather (possible exaggeration in temperature) was not a nice sounding option.

Like most major European cities (and even a few American ones), Paris has an incredibly practical public bike system.  D.J., in his best attempt to accommodate me (read: keep me from whining about walking home in the freezing cold), proposed riding bikes.  Great! Bikes are much faster than walking.  It costs, like, one Euro to rent a bike for 30 minutes but you have to use a bank card.  D.J. whipped out his bank card, pushed a few buttons on the bike kiosk screen and grabbed his bike.  (Before I write this next statement, please remember how quickly…or slowly…my mind works when I’m both tired and cold.) I mimicked D.J., pushing buttons and following electronic prompts until it came time to insert my bank card.  Just like D.J., I whipped my card out of my wallet and shoved it into the machine, after which I immediately forgot my pin code.  I stared blankly at the screen for a few good, long seconds before D.J. asked me what the problem was.  He was already holding his bike, ready to mount and peddle off towards home.  I keyed in what I thought was my pin code only to receive a “code faux” message.  I tried once more, changing the order of the numbers slightly.  “Code faux.”   Before I could make a third attempt, D.J. stopped me by reminding me that the third strike locks me out of my bank account. D’oh!

After floundering around for a few minutes, apologizing to D.J., and cursing myself for somehow forgetting the stupid pin code I use every SINGLE day, I was prepared to make the miserable hike home. The clever Parisian he is, D.J. grabbed my public transport card from me, took out his own bank card again, and somehow managed to rent himself two bikes.  Yay!

Elated, D.J. handed me my bike, jumped on his, and started peddling off.  Ever since D.J. mentioned the “riding bikes” option, I had been silently trying to remind myself what it felt like to ride a bike.  It’s been 10+ years since I even thought about riding a bike.  Wanting to stay close to D.J., I also jumped on my bike and started going.  However, not actually remembering how to ride a bike quickly put a stop to that.  It only took about five seconds for me to realize that I didn’t quiiiite remember what riding a bike was like. Well, it was more the braking that I didn’t remember how to do.  After I nearly smashed myself into a parked car, I leaped clear off the bike because I forgot how to use the stupid hand brake.  D.J. was ahead of me but had stopped riding and was watching me with a look of complete disbelief on his face.

After a quick verbal lesson from D.J., we were off and riding.  I made sure to stay well behind him so he couldn’t see my swerves and shakes.  At some point, I had wanted to roll my coat sleeves down and took just one hand off the handlebars to do so…disasterous. Screams were involved.

Despite it all, I arrived in one piece.  And I even had fun! I forgot how much fun riding a bike is.  Maybe I’ll do it again soon.  Maybe not.  This morning when I went out to buy croissantes for breakfast (I’m so French now, pssssssshhhh), I wrote my pincode on my hand.  Turns out I had all the correct numbers but the order was all kinds ‘a messed up.  Ah well.  Another week in Paris-dise.

Peace out!

Although it is only early Sunday afternoon, I think I’m gonna go ahead and call this weekend a bust. It’s a shame too since we had been so looking forward to a relaxing Saturday and Sunday.  Between catching a cold, a visiting friend, work, school, and all other Monday-to-Friday crap, D.J. and I had more or less been two ships passing in the night since last Sunday.  We did manage to have one evening together late this week until a phone call from his job left us scrambling to get from the sushi restaurant to the apartment so he could fix whatever computer issue was going down in the office.

Yesterday morning, while I trotted off to work for two hours, poor D.J. started what he thought would be a relatively short workday.  12 hours+ later, he was still sitting in front of the computer.  Lucky me, I managed to escape from the apartment for a solo afternoon of wandering around St. Michele.  I stopped in a kebab restaurant for a hit of my new favorite fast food addiction and had a nice chat with the Iranian owner.  Then, I headed down the block to the Institut du Monde Arabe for the first time.  Not only is the building a piece of art, the museum was also pretty decent.  It takes me quite a bit longer to sift through museums when all the signs and diagrams are in French.  The only way I can really, really understand French is to read out loud still.  I look like an illiterate ignoramus on the metro (or anytime I’m in the company of French people, for that matter…) because, in addition to having to hold the newspaper two inches from my eyes (I hate wearing my glasses), I have to speak what I’m reading loud enough to hear myself.  I get a lotta looks. All that to say that it took me such a long time to get through the four floors of artifacts and multimedia presentations that the museum closed before I could finish.  I’ll have to budget an entire day the next time ’round.

Sleep-deprived D.J., who seems to now be more than a little pissed with a colleague or two, is back at it this morning.  My attempt at wandering a second day in a row was relatively brief as I forget that everything in this entire country is closed on Sunday (that wasn’t annoyance you read in my voice; it was merely an observation).  I left about noon, did a tour of Issy les Moulineaux, and was walking back through the front door again by 12:35pm. Despite the loss of a decent-weather weekend, it’s all good because………..

MAXWELL IS COMING!!!!!!

Miami informed me that Maxwell will be live and in concert in Paris November 3!! I almost screamed in McDonald’s when he told me.  As much as I am learning to thoroughly enjoy my new city of residence, I could sure do with a hard shot of Maxwell to teleport me back to DC circa 2001, even if it’s only for one night.  For me, nobody coaxes young memories of Chocolate City and black college flirtation quite like Maxwell.  Unless the show is somehow sold out by the time I get paid this week, nothing’s gonna keep my starry-eyed self from screeching out-of-tune along with Maxwell to “Pretty Wings,” “Bad Habits,” and the rest of <<Black Summer’s Night>>.

If he throws in an old track like “This Woman’s Work” or “Let’s Not Play the Game” for nostalgia’s sake, I might faint.

I’ve included links to several Maxwell classics for your viewing pleasure.  I know you’ll all enjoy.  Have a great Sunday!  Peace!

Michael Jackson is singing to me in the background. “The Way You Make Me Feel” is definitely on my list of top ten favorite songs ever. One of my English students – the Art Director/Chief Animator for a new Universal Pictures CGI movie that’ll be coming out in a year or two – recently told me that his biggest professional nightmare is staring uninspired at a blank sheet of paper with the knowledge that an entire movie is to revolve around whatever he decides to doodle.  That’s how I’m feeling today as I try to write this blog post.  Obviously Vagabondventures.wordpress.com is as important as a multi-million dollar CGI production from legendary movie house Universal Pictures.

It’s “freezing” in my new apartment.  My definition of “freezing” and D.J.’s differ greatly.  This will have to be sorted out in the coming weeks since the temperature in Paris has recently nosedived into the single digits. Ok, ok, ok…single digits in Celcius. Still… If I resign to paying the entire electricity bill, I guess he can’t say anything when I crank up the heat to “tropical.”

Speaking of paying bills, work has been interesting.  Last week I ran across a memo (in French) to all company employees advising them that unfavorable mention of management and/or the company in any blog or web posting will result in immediate contract termination and a fine. As I’m a bit fuzzy on the wordy French details, I’ll sum up my on-the-clock life by saying that I have enjoyed my students thoroughly and am learning a lot about French culture via conversations with various French adults.

That brings me to a sore spot in my new fabulous French life: French people kinda suck sometimes. Slowly, slowly I’m learning how to read between the lines to decipher Parisian mannerisms and (im)polite behavior. I’ve been told that Europeans in general are not nearly as optimistic about life as Americans are but that’s not something one really cares about unless confronted by that reality on a daily basis.  I’ve spent several hours identifying what exactly confuses me about the French and how I can navigate my way through life here without picking up what I consider to be bad habits. Even though I’ve made a list of the French characteristics I could easily do without, I won’t list them here. Instead, I’ll just say that I’m determined to remain myself whilst in Paris.

A classic example of my misunderstanding French culture: I can be quite gregarious sometimes and I like to talk about things in detail; everything including my day, my trip to the store, how much I miss shopping, what my friend said at lunch that made me laugh uncontrollably, etc…every little mundane occurrence can be turned into a 10-minute story.  Anyway, over the past few weeks I had been growing increasingly more annoyed with D.J. because he would routinely interrupt my stories with complex questions and unnecessary comments. He never let me finish even one sentence without butting in and adding his own commentary or assessment of my story thus far.  The culminating moment came when I literally grabbed his hands mid-question and told him to not say a word until I was finished speaking. He was shocked. The next week, I was in class and my French teacher told us an identical story (in reverse) about how, when speaking to an American several years ago, she became SOOOOO offended when the person failed to become “engaged” in her dramatic story.

“I was telling a very exciting story and the person just looked at me! He didn’t make any sounds or say anything while I was talking.  He waited until the end of the story to comment!!”

Most of the students in the class were visibly confused as to why she was upset that someone would have the decency to wait until she was finished speaking to make comment.  Suddenly, it clicked. While Americans might find it incredibly rude to interrupt someone’s story with a question or comment, most French people display their interest in a topic by being “engaged” (i.e. interrupting with exclamations, remarks, questions, etc…while the story is still being told).  Such a small discovery has made life at my house so much more pleasant now.

Thankfully, I’ve got a whole bunch of non-French co-workers and classmates with whom I can vent about cultural calamities and confusion.  All of my co-workers are either married to or dating a French person, which makes for hi-larious relationship and co-habitation tales. In addition to those folks, one of my classmates who hails from Miami keeps me regularly in stitches with stories of his Paris exploits.  Now, Miami is much more social than I am, and he’s quite the night owl at that, so his stories involve nightclubs, music studios, girls (and their parents), and basketball games; obviously, they’re much more entertaining than mine.  I just re-read all of my posts right in a row…I eat a lot of junk food and lead quite a vanilla existence, don’t I? If I get permission, maybe I’ll tell you all some of Miami’s adventures.

One of my own grand adventures has been the new condo.  Because D.J. bought a unit in a brand new building, there are a few small things that have yet to be installed/finalized.  For example, we don’t have a kitchen. This is alright for the time being since we are both out at work and school until relatively late and don’t have much time to cook anyway.  However, this has resulted in near-weekly trips out of the city to Ikea-land.  I looooove Ikea but I don’t love the spats that crop up like clockwork every time D.J. and I are in Ikea trying to pick out a kitchen design.  Because we both lack sufficient vocabulary in each others’ language to adequately defend our often times conflicting choices of counter top color, cabinet finish, sink basin, etc…we end up frustrated and mad at the other person for failing to grasp the nuances of exactly what is being explained. My initial response was to shut up (after all, it’s his house) until D.J., sweet as he is, hissed in retaliation, “But YOU have to live there too, so help me decide on the kitchen!” I convinced myself that it was his way of saying that my input is valued

Whatever the kitchen ends up looking like, it’s got to be built, installed, and functional by the third Thursday of November.  That’s right folks, I’m cooking Thanksgiving dinner!

Other than that, not much has been happening.  I’ve started running again in preparation for the Paris Marathon in April (provided I get my paycheck in time to pay for race registration). D.J. keeps conveniently “forgetting” that he agreed to run it with me.  Therefore, I keep reminding him in the company of his friends so that they get all excited and make a big deal of it.  I’m evil. Muahahaha!

Sorry for the hum-drum-ness. I’ll be sure to write a detailed next post.  Oh! I almost forgot – an old co-worker from waaaaay back in the day is in Paris this week for vacation (by “waaaaay back in the day” I mean back in my days of waitressing on U Street, Washington DC. Yeah. Waaaaaay back).  I’ll be seeing her tonight. Of course, I’ll let you know what happens

Vagabondventures over and out. Peace!

voici un test

Click, clack, click…

It’s Wednesday afternoon, just before 1 pm in Issy les Moulineaux. I’ve finished typing another few paragraphs of the latest children’s story that I’ve been writing since yesterday morning. It’s coming along nicely. Even so, I am in need of my mother’s creative writing expertise.

On most days, in the early morning hours between the time when alarm clock first sounds and D.J. leaves for work, I experience strangely vivid dreams. Usually these dreams are detailed and instructive.  Yesterday I dreamt that I was the wildly successful author of a children’s book series.

I think that in my state of half-consciousness I even mentioned my dream to D.J. while he was putting his shoes on to leave.  Regardless, as soon as I woke up that morning I had an urge to start writing.

Over the past three or four years, I’ve dabbled with the idea of writing a novel.  I’ve even developed my characters, outlines and story plots. While I was living in Bangkok, I started my novel.  Twice.  After I moved back to DC, I had another vivid dream that turned into another unfinished story.  In between DC, Bangkok, and Paris I wrote several short stories when I wasn’t putting together freelance press releases, media pitches, web content, etc…

This time around it’s a children’s book that revolves around a nine-year-old Indian-American girl named Indira and her band of friends. Half of her friends come from her old school and the other half come from the new school she moved to in the middle of the school year. The first episode is called “Happy Birthday, Indira.”

I’m halfway done with the first draft of the first short story. After I finish, I’ll turn it over to my mother for critiques and edits.

I don’t know if it’s even a smart idea for me to try and write a children’s book. I don’t have kids. I don’t frequently come into contact with them. I don’t know what kinds of issues they have. I just remember my own childhood, which was wrought with hypochondriactic crises and severely exaggerated self-inflicted “dilemmas,” not unlike most children/teenagers.  I am a bossy and dramatic, extroverted, Taurian, eldest child princess.  My family has learned to live with my behavior.

I just don’t know if it is enough fodder for a book.

I guess a lot of children’s authors don’t actually have kids. They just have child-like imaginations.

Francaphile just finished a beautifully illustrated book for her niece and nephew back in Ireland. It was a lovely poem about their whirlwind adventures in Paris. She’s banking on the two of them forever treasuring their aunt’s hand-drawn masterpiece and, in turn, supporting her in her old age.  I’ve seen pictures of the book and I think she’s golden.

In a sort-of similar fashion, I dreamt (literally dreamt) of creating some sort of residual income via my uber successful book series for children and living comfortably, not lavishly, into old age.  Three cheers for making this dream a reality.

My family members know better than anyone that my “grand” plans tend to fizzle out within a few months.  But lately I’ve been feeling very committed to writing a bit every day or two. If I can keep that up, I might have enough material for a collection of short stories soon.  Maybe I’ve been feeling so motivated because I have no job (until Monday morning at 8 am) and no paying freelance gigs have come my way recently. Whatever the reason, I’m running with this motivation…let’s see where I end up.

Happy day-after Hump Day!

Hello again dear friends.  I know many (read: all) of you are shocked by my back-to-back blog postings especially since my Running Blog totally fell off in the last six months (eight months? ok, let’s make it a year).  This is just the kind of thing you can expect from me until I get a job and/or start school in September.

What I did today:

Not much. I woke up grumpily around 9:30 this morning to cloudy weather and sprinkles of rain.  Adjusting from DC time to Paris time has been unusually difficult for me.  And mornings are a horror these days, especially ones that begin before 11 am.  Anyway, I woke up, bid D.J. adieu, and proceeded to start a load of laundry.  I then strapped on my well-worn running shoes and hit the pavement.  Ahhhh running, how I’ve missed thee.  I know I’ve said it before but every time I resume my regular jogs following a brief or, in this case, extended interruption, I’m always amazed at how much I enjoy my inconsistent love affair with the sport.

So, I made it to the little park located on an island in the middle of the Seine River that separates me from Paris proper.  It’s about a mile +- around but is full of trees and flowers and a neat modern sculpture in the middle (one my mom would like). I made it around once before deciding I’m a wussy and headed home.

I then took a very long shower, hung the clothes to dry, and got all gussied up to go into town. In my state of half sleep earlier this morning, D.J. told me which metro station to go to for my metro card.  He even made me repeat it before he left. Of course I forgot. I was sure (80%) that the station name started with a “C.” “Concorde” or “Convention.” Unluckily for me, I remembered that I didn’t remember just as the train was pulling away from the station with me on it. Also unlucky for me was the fact that “Convention” and “Concorde” are about 10 stops apart. Oh well, what the heck else do I have to do all day if not ride around on the metro? Absolutely nothing else.

Long story short: I got my weekly metro card but had to pay 5Euros more than if I had gone to the correct stop (shhhhh, don’t tell D.J.).

After roaming around outside the Louvre until my shoes got dusty, I hopped back on the metro. Once back at the apartment, I read an email from an old classmate of my sister’s who is living and studying opera in Paris.  She reminded me that the local prefectures are completely deserted thanks to summer holidays and that I should get all my visa/immigration documents turned in before the week is up.  Feeling the oh-so-familiar ping of a job well done (wink, wink), I shot a sideways glance at the copy of my documents I had cleverly made before sending them off to the government office yesterday. “Ahead of the game,” I thought to myself directly before realizing I had failed to both sign my documents and provide a current address in France. Marvelous. I am not yet sure how I’m sorting this one out but I believe it will include a physical trip to the prefecture tomorrow. But then again, what the heck else do I have to do all day besides make unnecessary trips to and from French government buildings?  Lots, actually. Like find a job. *grin*

Nap time. Over and Out.

Hello dear friends! How I’ve missed you all.

As I’ve become somewhat of a roaming nomad over the past five years, 89% of all my family and friends are currently at least one ocean away from me.  *sigh* I hope to turn this small Internet log into a crafty veil that I can hurl over Asia, the US, South America, Africa, and the rest of the world in the hope of netting my far-away loved ones and pulling them closer to me. *cheer*

I’m in Paris right now. It is approximately 11:40 am on Monday.  I’m sitting alone in D.J.’s apartment thinking about my new life in France.  I have a list of “things” to do today. So far I have yet to attempt any of those “things.”  This past week galloped away from me in a blur of street cafes, movies, restaurants, nighttime walks along the Seine River, and sleeping.

The beginning:

Last Sunday I left my cozy apartment that I shared with my little/big sister in Washington DC.  After spending my last day stateside furiously cleaning my apartment (a favorite pastime of mine) and cramming the last of my shoes into an overstuffed North Face duffel that I was completely resolute would serve as my regulation-sized carryon, a lovely friend clawed her way out of a hangover coffin to briefly rejoin the land of the living and drive me to Dulles.

I had never flown Aer Lingus before but would now highly recommend them to anyone shuttling between the East coast and Western Europe.  I arrived sloppily to the Dulles International Airport Aer Lingus check in counter laden with three very overweight suitcases, my “carryon” duffel and my computer briefcase.  Delighted to find I was the only passanger waiting in line, I wheeled my trolley round the taped lines and up to the desk.  The charming clerk was a early-twenty-something young man who, as I gathered from side conversation, was late for lunch and in a hurry to get to Subway.  Sensing his impatience, I amped up my smile to 1,000 volts. Long story short: with my ridiculous amount of luggage, all weighing in at well over the 25kilo limit, I should have been charged $250 extra.  But I scampered away having only paid $100.

With all the traveling I do, one would think that flying would be a breeze for me.  Not the case.  I have a terribly weak stomach and throw up at the slightest movements.  I am a blast at amusement parks.  Not. So, as I was lined up to get through the pathetic Dulles security, I was saying all my last minute goodbyes while simultaneously popping all the pills I could safely handle in a large enough dose to knock me completely and totally out until Dublin. Partial success.  So attentive they were, the little Aer Lingus air crew gave me a little poke every hour or so least I miss one of their multiple beverage and food services.  These days, servicing passengers food and drinks more than once on a flight is an expensive luxury; however, I was desperate to maintain a stomach void of food, bubbly sodas, or acidic juices and didn’t take advantage of the airline’s brilliant service.

Dublin:

After marching my way from the plane to the terminal, I briefly entered Ireland through their immigration gate only to leave moments later via the customs gate.  Dublin is a short story: four hour layover, unimaginably heavy carryon bag, multiple coffees, sleeping anywhere and everywhere I could, back on the plane.

Paris:

I don’t think I really like Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport.  It always seems like the walking is endless, and the escalator lines in the main terminal look like space ship pods, linking passageways.  I guess this was the idea. Clearing customs was smooth.  Everything went swimmingly until I tried to collect my bags.  1) Four flights on one baggage belt – Dublin, Istanbul, Manchester, someplace else, 2) My bags were all too heavy for my to lift, 3) People in airports are generally very tired, agitated, and unhelpful, hence each of my bags practically carrying me around the belt whilst everyone watched me unmoved. Whatever. Worse things have happened.

Much later than I expected, I pushed my trolley of bags out of the baggage claim area and into a sea of unfamiliar faces. Tired and smelly, I nearly collapsed into D.J.’s outstretched arms. What a wuss I was. Flying is REALLY not that difficult. I used to pop myself back and forther from DC to BKK for God’s sake!  Even with all my whining about the latest voyage, I survived the trip only vomiting once. *yippee*

As for the time in between last Monday and today…I can’t really even remember it myself.  We wandered around Paris everyday, ate a lot of food, drank a lot of coffee, watched a lot of people, slept entirely too much, and enjoyed the beautiful August weather.  forgive me, friends. I am just now adjusting myself from vacation-mode to real life-mode.  It may take me a blog post or two to get it together.  I’ve got to remember to mentally record details of my everyday so I can post it online straight away.  I’m beginning the job search, that should provide many interesting tales.

Short sum up:

Life in Paris hasn’t really begun yet.  I’ve been vacationing for seven days.  The real work is yet to come. I miss all of my friends and family and extend an open invitation for any and all who want to see the City of Love/Lights/Fashion.  I hope to speak to all of you soon! Bisous.

Fini les comptes rendus interminables de la Nouvelle Star 2009 . Virginie Guilhaume bafouille trop pour moi et puis les candidats… On est quand même loin de Julien Doré ! Je n’accroche plus ou plutôt moins. En tout cas, pas assez pour courir toute le début de soirée pour ne pas louper le grand SHOW… pour épier les moments fous, les émotions et les ratés ! On est déjà bien trop loin des auditions.

Ca aurait pu être moi !

A la place je vous propose une expérience encore plus intense : le LATIN DANCE… Expérience inédite et croyez moi, je ne manquerai pas le cours la semaine prochaine !

En grande sportive que je suis, j’agrémente toujours ma semaine de BEAUCOUP de sport. En fait, mon gros problème c’est que je suis une extrémiste et cette année je focalise toute mon énergie (si débordante soit elle) sur le sport… Je vous raconterai ma dernière idée sportive dans un prochain billet d’humeur ! J’ai de la chance ou plutôt j’ai provoqué ma plus grande chance. La petite salle que j’ai trouvé dernièrement est à 100m de Marie Claire. Autant vous dire que si l’envie (si petite soit-elle) me vient d’aller courir dans le parc d’à côté entre midi et deux, j’ai la GRANDE chance de pouvoir me mettre en tenue d’attaque plus que vite ! Vous imaginez ma chance ! Et une bonne nouvelle ne vient jamais seule, les cours y sont plutôt chouettes, ou peut-être sont-ce les profs qui ne nous endorment pas ? A méditer tranquillement un soir d’été accompagnée d’un petit verre… d’eau !

Lundi, c’est Step et Stretching, le mardi c’est Total Body Conditionning (oui moi aussi ca me fait rêver comme nom et j’avoue au début j’ai eu du mal à me dire que le cours pouvait faire du bien !) et Abdos, hanches, fessiers. Le mercredi, je cours avec Dou car il veut s’entraîner pour le marathon de Paris, je vous expliquerais cette anecdote dans un prochain billet tout doux ! Le jeudi, c’est le mieux LIA (comme du Step mais sans le Step, oui je sais ça peut paraître drôle mais ce n’est juste qu’une impression) et Abdos et Culture physique (pour devenir Body BOUDEUSE, mon rêve) mais uniquement quand j’ai le temps car OUI, j’ai aussi une vie sociale trépignante en dehors du boulot et du sport …

Pour en revenir à hier soir… Après ma séance PRESQUE quotidienne d’Abdos… me voilà motivée pour continuer sur ma lancer ! Eugène (c’est le nom du prof) est en retard. De suite, je me dis « C’est un signe, vite rentre chez toi », SAUF QUE je n’ai pas envie de regarder la Nouvelle Star pour m’ennuyer, SAUF QUE il pleut à torrent à ce moment-là et SAUF QUE ma tête n’est pas encore tout à fait vider de la journée pour affronter la tranquillité d’un chez soi ! Alors je reste et Eugène arrive enfin. Le LATIN DANCE m’a libéré ! On a dansé l’Afrique. C’était fort ! On ramasse, on jette en l’air, on se dandine, on déhanche… Bref on bouge à fond. 21h30, je reprends ma bagnole et là je me sens légère, prête à affronter toutes les tranquillités du monde et la surtout la fin de la Nouvelle Star que je ne me sens toujours pas de commenter !

Cours de LATIN DANCE : tous les mardis à la piscine municipale d’Issy les Moulineaux de 20h15 à 21h – possibilité d’acheter des carnets de tickets juste pour ce cours (pour celles et ceux qui ne sont pas fait pour le sport au quotidien !). Club Issy les Moulineaux – 70 boulevard Galliéni – 92130 Issy les Moulineaux – 01 40 93 04 56

A suivre !

Crédit photo : http://www.world-slim.fr

Salut à tous,

Deux infos importantes :

Le 17/02 nous avons match de championnat contre SACEM (match retour contre
notre
ami préféré) chez nous 21h00…merci de rester calmes pendant le match et
surtout de ne pas communiquer avec leur capitaine car j’en ai marre d’aller à la
FSGT pour des conneries !!!

Le LUNDI 23/02 et non le mardi, nous avons match de Coupe de Paris (1/16eme
de
finale) contre AS DE FANCHON B chez eux à 19h30 à Issy les Moulineaux (Parc
Municipal des Sports – 5 av Jean Bouin 92130 ISSY LES MOULINEAUX; Surface :
Synthétique)…je sais l’horaire est foireux mais c’est un match de Coupe et
aucun changement n’est possible!

Depuis toujours, nos liens avec les villes étaient des adresses postales. Ce n’est que depuis peu que de nouveaux liens ce sont crées via les nouvelles technologies : adresse IP, GPS, courriel, … C’est pourquoi certaines villes ont la volonté de rebondir sur cette évolution, et s’insèrent dans le programme d’action « ville 2.0 ». Leur but est de rendre équivalentes les adresses postales et adresses virtuelles, et de, à plus grande échelle, laisser place aux nouvelles technologiques pour gérer la ville. Ainsi, ce seront des lieux d’innovation qui exploiteront les nouvelles technologies afin de gérer les habitants, mais aussi les entreprises, les administrations,…

A l’heure actuelle, ces villes n’existent pas réellement, mais se préparent. Plusieurs questionnements se dégagent donc : Qu’est ce que ces nouvelles technologies vont apporter de nouveau à la ville ? Quels nouveaux acteurs vont émerger ? Cela génèrera t il des tensions ?…

Après tout un travail en 2007, les partenaires du programme « ville 2.0 » se sont fixé 4 objectifs à réaliser courant 2008, visant à rendre plus facile l’accès à la ville pour les habitants (sites permettant des visites virtuelles de la ville, …).

Enfin, une manifestation, dans le cadre du programme « ville 2.0 » est organisée le 8 janvier 2009 à Paris, dans le but de faire connaître l’influence des nouvelles technologies numériques dans le milieu urbain auprès de la population parisienne. La première partie de cette manifestation est réservée aux partenaires et a pour but de présenter le programme d’action « ville 2.0 ». La suite est ouverte à tous. Elle a encore pour but de présenter les différents projets de ce programme d’action, mais aussi de faire visiter une « rue 2.0 » avec de nouveaux bâtiments, vêtements, robots, jeux, … qui pourraient faire parti de ces nouvelles « villes 2.0 ». Enfin, un apéritif festif clos la manifestation.

Morgane Batellier

Copyright LE CUBE

Le cube, crée en 2001 à Issy-les-Moulineaux, est un lieu unique en France consacré aux créations numériques. Il est géré par ART3000, association qui œuvre depuis 1988 en faveur des arts numériques. Ce lieu, ouvert à tous, est à la fois un espace de pratique, de création et de diffusion qui a pour but de démocratiser les pratiques numériques culturelles, et d’aider les nouvelles créations à voir le jour.

Ce lieu, agréable et convivial, est directement pensé dans l’intérêt du public, et cumule à la fois des fonctions de découverte (présentation des nouvelles formes numériques dans le monde entier), d’échange (organisation de rencontres entre professionnels) et d’expérimentation (plate-forme de production pour les artistes).

Mais le Cube n’est pas qu’un espace clos et se déplace dans la ville. C’est donc grâce à cette structure qu’est apparu le « cube festival » où les arts numériques sont mis à l’honneur dans l’espace urbain par l’intermédiaire de concerts, performances, projections, expositions, rencontres, conférences, … Ayant lieu tous les deux ans, la dernière édition, en juin 2008, fut encore une fois un réel succès.

Ce festival expose donc des œuvres interactives dans l’espace urbain (mobiliers interactifs, panneaux d’affichage numériques, …) afin de faire découvrir à la population ces nouvelles technologies qui ne sont pas encore complètement intégrées dans les mœurs. Mais ce festival ne se limite pas à l’exposition d’œuvres interactives, et est très festif par la présence de live visuels et sonores, de projections, d’activités pour le jeune public, …

Enfin, toujours dans une volonté de faire découvrir est d’apprendre à utiliser ces nouvelles technologies numériques, le cube attache une très grande importance aux actions pédagogiques dédiées à la fois aux scolaires, aux associations, au grand public, … 

Pour plus d’infos, le site du cube

Morgane Batellier

Créé en 2000 par André Santini, maire d’Issy-les-Moulineaux et secrétaire d’Etat chargé de la fonction publique, le forum mondial de l’e-démocratie est un véritable carrefour d’échanges sur l’impact des nouvelles technologies de l’information et de la communication sur la vie démocratique.

Nous nous sommes, donc, rendus à l’édition 2008 au palais des arts et des congrès d’Issy-les-Moulinaux  où nous avons rencontré Tiago Peixoto (“The European University Institute“) qui nous a parlé du budget participatif de la ville de Belo Horizonte au Brésil, Serge Sagrhoune (vice président du CLUSIF) qui nous a présenté les risques liés aux technologies sans contacts et Jerôme Coumet (maire du 13ème arrondissement de Paris) que nous avons interviewé sur son service “13 info”.