Paris Attacks

In a previous post I wrote about my same-day reaction to the Charlie Hebdo shootings, a jumbled vomit of emotions and questions and critiques comparing it to my feelings on 9/11 back in elementary school. This time is certainly different: Friday’s first incident killed 18 people at a restaurant two blocks from my old apartment and the concert hall is just across the street from my friend’s place where I spent many Friday nights. Even though I’m the farthest from France that I’ve ever been, I felt a much more visceral fear this time for the safety of my friends.  Thanks to social media I could contact those closest to me, and through facebook’s “marked as safe” option got notifications for the well-being of acquaintances, those I’ve lost touch with, and randos I don’t even remember who live in that amazing city I used to call home.

Morning after, courtesy of my old roomie Coban.
Check out his work here.

I realized that I’m a bit too liberal with accepting facebook friend requests but I also saw that my network in France is pretty vast, and the fact that no one I knew was, or had someone close to them (as far as I know of), physically hurt from the attacks is a real blessing. Of course the emotional, psychological trauma some of them experienced, having all public transportation shut down, hearing gunshots and explosions, not knowing where to go, is one that must cling like a virus, one that cannot simply be shaken off. I pray that you can quickly resume living life, not out of fear but with awareness, and go back to devouring all the beauty and culture that Paris has to offer.

It makes me extremely uncomfortable that WW3 seems to be unraveling before our eyes: Terrorist raids being conducted in cities like Toulouse (where I lived for 2 years.) The news (the propaganda?) tells us that one of the attackers snuck in as a refugee through Greece, and borders must be closed off (of course Greece is the Karen of Europe).  Bombing in Syria has moved from aggressive to full on assault, and it all feels wayyyy too politically convenient to be as simple as the dark empire versus the rest of the galaxy.  But the more we nuke the shit out of our enemies the more hate that is unfurled, and it continues on and on exponentially in a downward spiral of revenge and revenge and this is when the line between reality and fiction like a Brave New World gets extremely blurry. History repeats itself. I keep making the same fucking mistakes, like drunk eating cookies every Saturday night. How can I expect the entire world to change, when I can’t even prevent a Sunday morning stomachache?

The best solution I see, a long term one, maybe too long and vast but at least a noble one, is to continue efforts to provide education EVERYWHERE in the world. That means in Somalia, in Pakistan. In Southeast Asia. Africa. Syria. In rural America. In south side Chicago.  In districts that give up on students with special needs, or families that cannot afford school lunches. One of these is IN REACH. Even if we are not the ones to make or take decisions on bombing a nation, sharing the value of education, the ability to think, assess, learn and grow, open opportunities, meet like-minded people, meet those with opposing views, and make judgments based on reason rather than just emotion will all heighten the level of acceptance, or rather tolerance, around the world. I mean isn’t that was “peace” really is? Tolerating those who are different from us? We don’t all need to be friends. I still hold a grudge against that girl from Saturday who stepped on me with her stilettos. But the ability to open our ears and eyes and mind and digesting information and view things from multiple angles is a skill that needs to be learned and developed, AT a young age, and around others. IN SCHOOLS. In extracurricular activities. In communities. With teachers that care, who make enough money to build curriculums and are not in constant fear of losing their jobs, or in certain parts of the world, their lives. The definition of evil is an attack on a school, because that is attacking the right to learn and become a human being with depth, which is fundamental to all religions.

So let us make it a priority to preserve schools, to protect students, and to value education. If these are priorities on our minds, there WILL be a positive shift. Again, it all feels so out of reach, even in my hometown where students are taught first how to fill in multiple choice bubbles before learning how to raise their hands. But affecting change doesn’t always have to be on a global, national, or district level. Find a kid, a peer, a mentor, maybe not a Packers fan but someone to discuss the epidemic of insufficient education. It starts with awareness, a positive outlook, and an extended hand. Let’s value our teachers, and make more of them. And also become students. Schools don’t have to be in classrooms. And tolerance CAN be taught.   

Brangelina!

People keep saying, “just you wait, you’re going to become so LA.” What does that even mean? I’m pretty sure it’s getting my hair cut at an angle, dying the tips blonde, losing a million pounds, starting conversations with cross streets, and ordering avocado toast for every Sunday brunch. Well guess WHAT? I prefer butter, bitches.

But I’m proud to say that I have had my fair share of “sooo LA” moments that only a socal gal could shout “trey!” about:

-  I attended a rooftop movie screening right next to the horrific Scientology building.

-  I spent a Saturday getting paid to bowl as an extra in some reality show.

-  I hiked a bunch of stairs for “fun.”

-  I ordered a $15 whiskey at the Bungalow

-  I was the least attractive person at the Bungalow.

-  I attended a “networking” event. Yikes.

-  I got asked for a business card (what are those?)

-  I went to the beach in November (IS winter coming?)  

-  I rode the bus next to a chihuahua (and he got the damn window seat!)

-  I started a bunch of sentences with the word “I.”

Chinese Theatre 

This past Thursday, though, was the LA-iest moment of all LA moments. No, not tacos (though we’re on the same page, bro)… I witnessed BRANGELINA on a red carpet! That’s right, beautiful Brad, angelic Angie, and I was fortunate enough to shove a phone in front of their beautiful faces and yell at them to look over (just kidding, I respectfully waved).  My lovely Parisian friend who works at the French Consulate had an extra ticket to see Jolie’s film at the AFI (American Film Institute) Festival. Movie screenings in general get me gaga but when it involves big stars and the promise of free snacks at the after party? You bet I’m coming hungry.

What are celebrities like up close? Well with these two… freakin’ flawless. Brad looked so young, as if he traveled back in time to when he couldn’t act. And Angelina… I mean face, legs, hair, lips, arms (and brain of course) but BOOBS! Wow I couldn’t stop staring. I know she had that breast cancer scare not too long ago but I didn’t realize they’d look like THAT as a result. In the end I was a bit disappointed that Brangie didn’t hire me on the spot to babysit their kids, but whatever. It's just a dude and a chick who happen to have perfect bone structure and wear clothes worth more than my parents’ home. NDB.

Look at me!

Angelina’s “By the Sea,” which she wrote, directed and starred in, is something I’d recommend if you’re looking to not have a great time. The story follows a depressed American couple on a trip along the French Riviera… and it follows them for an

excruciatingly long time. It’s a shame that Brad spoke French for half of the film because we couldn't understand a word of it. I wonder if the characters’ unhappiness reflects the couples’ misery in real life. But then there’s the boobs, and boy did they look great, Angie! My friend made me promise never to write anything that dull and I go, “have you read my blog?”

But afterwards we got to cross the street to the Roosevelt Hotel for the after party, and holy moly there was SO MUCH FOOD. I stood in the midst of French conversation and so politely contained myself to nibbling on finger foods but there were people literally piling plates upon plates with pasta, salmon, pot pie, prime rib and swooshing it all down with glasses of fine wine and martinis. I mean we do this kind of stuffing-our-faces ritual in suburban Illinois, but in Hollywood? Shameless! You should have seen the looks on the French people’s faces. If you ask me, though, we don’t discriminate here in America: a buffet is a buffet, no matter the zip code.

get your party pants on

The Frenchies got to talking politics so I moseyed my way over to the dessert table, eyeing the crowds for potential prey to use my flirting skills on. But people just remained huddled in flocks around the big VIP tables labeled “Universal,” “Audi” and repeated this routine I’ve seen quite a bit out here: 1) hand shake, 2) feigned interest, 3) forced laugh, and finally 4) exchanging contact info. I know it because I've done it too. But here, in this hotel... I don’t know what was stronger between the smell of beef stroganoff and the superficiality. But parties mean business, and I suppose each glass of wine can help you get one step closer to your dreams.

I instead found a catering guy with a plate of sliders and we talked about parking, another one of those “so LA” things I can add to my list. I’m glad he didn’t ask me about the movie, or for a business card. Though maybe I should invest in some. What do you think, Trey?