Pop Goes the Pie

The Pie is Back in Paris

Hyper-mondialization! Everything is topsy-turvy!

I spent my first day in Paris shopping at H&M and watching the new Woody Allen movie, while New York struggled with a transit strike. I had to rely on crepes and cidre and buttered baguettes  to remind me that I was here.

More!

What a lovely surprise to open my pie mail after a week of busy-ness and distraction to find two more windows waiting for me there!

Anja sent me her view of the Copenhagen sky, with books in the foreground (she's writing her thesis) and a very Danish design-like pigeon perched on the sill.

Hors-Sujet (Est-ce un sujet qui se trouve en dehors de lui même, ou plutôt un être qui n'as pas sa place dans le sujet?) sent us the pigeon's eye view of his courtyard.  I love that the trees on the left are still clinging to their fall leaves, while the other has surrendered to winter.

Guillaume Takes the Assignment All the Way Home

Guillaume is unstoppable! This illustrious scholar, Chartiste, media pirate, geek, epoux et papa has now earned the distinction of being the Pie-teacher's pet. Check out his A+ assignment!

There's MORE!

Thanks, Guillaume. You rock!

Lulu's Window

The view from this tall window at Wilma atnd Titi's apartment has always been one of my favorites in the city of lights snoops. Lean out and look left and you'll see an army of decorated rooftops, and the Eiffel Tower on the other side of town; gaze straight ahead and you'll see a cinematic array of other people's apartments across the courtyard that would make  L.B. Jefferies leap out of his wheelchair.

When the boys adopted  Lulu-Cat, it was coming on winter, so the window stayed closed and the kitty played safely in her sixth floor flat. By Spring, however, the air had to be let in, so they opened the windows and constructed a genius makeshift 'gate' in a gallant attempt to prevent little  'lu (by then an impetuous teen)  from stepping out. Of couse, you can't keep a gold medal kitty olympian cooped up with chicken wire, and soon she was not only hopping from ledge to ledge, but paying frequent visits to the neighbors -- whenever, I imagine, they were cooking some variety of poisson   for dinner.

I miss Lulu-Cat and her daddies, and am so glad that my first glimpses of 2006 will be from their fabulous living room window.

Fenetre

Hurray for participatory posts!

Kelly sent this great out-the-window photo all the way from Poligny, France.

I took it a few days ago, she writes, but things look the same. Before the snow, the weather was bitter cold, with wind coming down from the mountains. Now, it's a cozy little chilly blanket laid over the town. Of course, it makes the fact that I brought heels here pretty ridiculous -- between the cobblestone streets and the slushy snow, I'll be wearing boots until March.

Kelly, darling, I say screw the boots. Stay indoors. Put on a big sweater, high heels and fishnets, and eat Nutella with your fingers while gazing out the window. Till March.

Window

firstsnow_2005, originally uploaded by Petite Pie.

Last night I took a break from studying to watch Me and You and Everyone We Know, which was kind of irritating, except for the parts with the kids and the pooping back and forth forever. Even though her particular brand of quirkiness made me squirm, I took a look at Miranda July's site because I think she does what she does in good faith. Spent a long time digging into her interactive web project, Learning to Love You More and remembered how much more rewarding this site was during its brief participatory moment. If I asked you to submit assignments to the Pie blog, would you do it? Probably I have to earn some readers back first.

Anyway, we woke up to SNOW this morning in Brooklyn, but I haven't touched any of it yet. What is the weather like outside your window? Will you describe it in the comments below, or even send me a photo at hideousprog (at) yahoo (dot) com for me to post right here on the site?

Reveal

candid1, originally uploaded by Petite Pie.

Bare breasted, in white socks.

Bird

Spanked

Well the party's over, and by all accounts it was a big success.

As soon as my gremlin brother-not-in-law sends me his photos, I will post a dazzling gallery of faces and food porn. We have some pics of the turkey getting stuffed that I'm not sure I can put up for public viewing. C's dad put it quite clinically: "Regarde la dinde, Pie,"  he exclaimed as Cami held the bird's legs open, "it look like a horse vagina." A vet by profession, he should know.

We ate ourselves sick. We drank many, many bottles of wine. Everyone got along.

So here I am in bed at 3:56 pm the day after. I did not make it to the gym or to my internship at the library. A few hours ago, my mother drove by to drop off the cell phone I'd forgotten at her house, and presented me with a box full of food. Four pints of ice cream. Mashed sweet and white potatoes. Maple-glazed brussels sprouts and brown sugared baby carrots. Miss P's bourbon pecan and pumpkin pies (oh, miss p. your pies bring the boys to the YARD). Hayati's lebanese sweets, which we hid so well they didn't even make it out to the dessert table. All of the nibbliest leftovers are now chez nous, and Judge Judy is on TV and I am alone in the apartment, naked because I only got as far as taking off my pajamas in an effort to get up and out.

In the morning, Mr. A and I will run around the park whilst listening to Madonna, and then I will spend six hours writing one of the four library school papers that are due in the next two weeks. I will pay my bills and get fresh air and return emails and eat cucumber slices.

For now, however, publishing this post is as productive as I can imagine myself to be.

Countdown

It's hard to believe that almost a year ago the Pie and her Cami made Thanksgiving dinner in Paris, stuffing veal sausage up the ass of this obscene French dinde.

This year, the turkey will come from the Park Slope Food Co-op, where hordes of Brooklyn hipsters will file in this weekend, toddlers in tow, to claim their holiday tofurkeys and organic heirloom birds.  The lines will be long. "Cashiers" will be overwhelmed. As always, parents will let their three year olds make all the executive decisions. What kind of stuffing should we have, Dakota? Do you want cornbread stuffing? What kind of greens do you want? Kohlrabi or chard?

We're having the dinner at my mom's house, and C's family will be there, along with a handful of great friends.  This is the first time our parents will meet since we started seeing each other over seven years ago.  Have you ever heard the one about the neurotic, bohemian New Yorker and the refined, epicurean Latin/Europeans brought together over Thanksgiving dinner with their lesbian daughters? Now you have! Add a bottle and a half of wine per person to the mix and I think a good time will be had by all.

What are your Thanksgiving plans? Is anyone still out there?