We will celebrate this weekend (and take a trip WITHOUT THOSE MEDDLIN' KIDS in September) because ten years is a really, really long time. I wouldn't change a thing; life with Alex has not been dull. Plus, he's adorable.
Tuesday night was Fête de la Musique. Some people think la Fête de la Musique is a helluva party; others gripe and moan about the racket and spend the evening cozied up to their earplugs. I am in the "helluva party" camp, and since it's our last opportunity to experience the all-night music orgy, I was out the door as soon as Alex was in the door.
I went out alone, as I did last year. It's the kind of event I like to do alone -- it allows me to better observe my fellow humans, and dance like a fool without being observed by someone who can remind me of it later.
I watched these guys do classic rock. The street wasn't closed but people kept stopping in the middle of it to listen. There were lots of exciting close calls with fast cars. Someone should tell those people it's not worth it to risk their lives for a so-so rendition of "Brown Sugar."
I watched these people play drums and what appeared to be a rolled up bamboo blind. I should have called bullshit on that one.
Mostly I saw a lot of this at la Fête de la Musique:
I am not the tallest of people.
Musicians tend to passionately love what they're doing, and it moves me to see such passion and love thrown into an instrument, even if the person playing it has no talent whatsoever.
Like these guys --
As I watched trombone man, I heard someone say over my shoulder, "Are you MJ?" I turned to face two women I've never seen before -- it was Lynn from Texas, who reads this here blog, and Theresa from Missouri, who doesn't read it but hopefully does now? Hello ladies! Life is random and strange.
We walked together to see the act playing Place de Furstemberg. Total snoozefest. As Theresa from Missouri put it, it's never a good sign when your audience starts sitting down --
There were musical acts every ten meters (I'm metric now). The later it got, the more crowded it got until I could barely walk anywhere. I had to kind of shimmy up peoples' torsos and swing from one to the next like a monkey. It was a zoo, but a super fun zoo.
Then I saw more of this:
What the hell is everybody looking at? I'll never know.
The best act, by far, was this group, a drum and percussion circle --
They were infectious and fantastic and the crowd was giddy with joy and drunk on rhythm (and beer...there was lots and lots of beer...) The whole scene made me happy to be alive, and happy to be in Paris.
Next June 21st may find me sobbing on my front porch with a bongo and a six-pack.
Great night. Imagine my delight when I returned home afterward and it got even better. While I was out, New York Mom emailed me a link to the following video. I've since watched it 5,742 times and it still hasn't gotten old. Thanks, New York Mom; you are still cracking me up from afar.
(And by the way, don't play this video unless it's OK to say "shit" and drop a few "f" bombs wherever you are.)
Happy Anniversary, my dear Alexandre.
Honey Badger doesn't give a shit,