Attraction

Today. Conversations so stimulating my mind is awhirl with ideas. I love that I am surrounded by people who see so much potential in every day.

That is not happenstance, I am proud to say.

Chemistry

I'm on a bit of a coaching high tonight. Two very invigorating sessions today. There is power in that. And inspiration.

Sometimes you can just feel the connection, the synchronicity, the rhythm. You can't plan it. Like I used to say when I was a sports writer, you can't recruit chemistry. It just happens and if you're smart you just sit back and revel in it.

As I sit here watching a Seinfeld rerun, the point is really driven home. What a perfect example of chemistry. The members of that cast could convey more with an expression or gesture than many can do with words.

When a combo is right, it's right.

New line

I keep thinking of this guy who was on Dr. Phil's show last week. He was this band dude who didn't want to grow up; he lives with his girlfriend and they have a child and she's concerned he'll never come around. Hence, her reason for writing to Dr. Phil.

Anyway, when pressed by the good doctor about why he won't accept responsibility, this guy says, because responsibility "harshes my mellow." I love this. Dr. Phil looked at him like he had three heads and asked, "What does that mean?"

But it's pretty clear what it means, isn't it?

"Could you turn off the vacuum, honey? It's harshing my mellow."

"Please turn off all cellphones before the meditation. Let's not harsh anybody's mellow."

"I'm trying to relax and your jabbering is really harshing my mellow."

I'm so stealing it ...

Sticker shock

So I'm sitting in the car with my father. He's driving. We're stopped at a light. He's telling a story. I'm in the passenger seat. I see a bumper sticker on the SUV in front of us. There is a picture of George Bush and it says, "The only Bush I trust is my own."

Well, I'm not a big fan of the president, but now I'm sitting there mortified because, well, I'm with my father. Yikes. So I keep looking at him as he's telling the story, pretending not to see the sticker on the car in front. And we keep creeping down the highway and stopping at lights. And I keep looking away.

I'm a big advocate of free speech. Not one of its better moments.

Pleasure principle

So I'm web surfing about something completely unrelated to Paris. Just doing some basic professional research. And I come across a recent post written by someone named Erika Schickel on a website called "lime.com" and it says this:

I have just returned from a week in Paris. After spending a week eating, drinking and consuming mass quantities of art and culture, I returned to the States slimmer, clear-skinned, and brimming with a sense of history, proportion and an inner calm I haven't attained without meditation in years. What is this magic? What is it that makes French (and most of European) society so balanced, so reasonable, so healthy?

This amazes me because I have spent the better part of the last three days thinking the very same thing. How did I eat so well and so much, lose weight, feel better? People keep telling me it's because I walked a lot. Well, duh, I walk a lot in my daily life here. I don't own a car. I live a completely urban life between my home in Hoboken, N.J. and my work in Manhattan. I eat pretty well, am very much aware of labels on food, try not to eat too much processed food. Now I'm re-examining everything, from my coffee habit to why I don't eat more dessert.

More from Erika:

A stroll down any street in Paris will demonstrate how closely the French are living to the food chain. Markets display gorgeous vegetables, glorious cuts of meat, rainbows of seafood, and arrays of glistening olives. Farmer's markets sprout up all over the city and people can easily pick up ingredients for dinner. 75% of French meals are prepared and eaten at home. Nobody is counting calories or drinking skim milk ... Pleasure is an essential part of French culture. They embrace it in the sensible manner that comes from being comfortable with it. There is no such thing as "guilty pleasure" in Paris; they don't need to scarf down a container of Chunky Monkey in the middle of the night when no one is looking.

Yes, oh yes. There is wisdom here.

Tuning in

I may be the only person in the nation not watching American Idol right now. Just never got into it. I have enough "appointment" TV in my life, a point that was aptly driven home while I was in Paris without a TV. How weird it was to be so still. Good for me, ultimately, but still weird.

On the plane ride home, I watched the tube almost non-stop. Loved the movie Last Holiday with Queen Latifah. It's a must-see for a life coach. She had a scrapbook filled with possibilities that she turned into realities because she thought she was dying. Very funny, creative way to get an intense message across. I also saw King Kong and episodes of old TV series -- Streets of San Francisco, Loveboat and Family Ties.

Sensory overload that was oh so welcome.

Cafe scene

For just a few euros I bought a little painting. It's the size of a postcard, so I mean little. A middle-aged woman was just sitting there on the sidewalk near the Louvre with a tiny paintbrush working on a piece while selling an array of others.

The one I bought is a cafe scene in bright, tropical colors. The name of the cafe as it is scrawled across the top is Chez L'Artiste. (Could I possibly resist that name? Please.) It already has a pleasant spot nestled among my books, a place of subtle prominence.

A sweet souvenir.

Nailed

So I'm getting a kick out of all the religious questioning and backlash swirling around right now. There's the hoopla over The DaVinci Code, of course. And now I see Madonna has depicted herself in a crucifixion on her latest tour. I so dig her and her big mouth. Express yourself, baby.

This all comes at a time when I just visited arguably the most famous museum in the world, the Louvre, and had such a funny experience. While I appreciated the beauty and grandeur of much of the art, after a while I started chuckling at the recurring themes. I mean, if you wanted to play a cruel joke on someone, you could send them to the Louvre and tell them to make a right at the painting of Jesus on the cross. They'd be walking around in circles all day. One after another, painting after painting depicting suffering and solemnity. For me, it's a much more religious experience to stare at Monet's rendition of a garden or a bridge. I'd prefer to leave the obsession with suffering to the artists gracing the Louvre walls and, well, to Mel Gibson.

Even inside Notre Dame, an architectural and historic masterpiece, I started to feel like enough is enough. I think the minister at church helped me understand that inadvertently in her message yesterday. She talked about Ernest Holmes (author of Science of Mind) and how he didn't tell people where he was buried because he didn't want a shrine there. The idea is to live by his philosophy, not worship it or him. Now there's a thought foreign to the Vatican.

I'm all about demystifying the hoopla.

Real food

Today it's about the food. The quality and pure goodness of the food.

Highlights:

-- Hmmmmm. How to do justice to the hot chocolate in words. A tip from a salesgirl led me to Cafe Angelina on Rue de Rivoli. "The best chocolat chaud in all of Paris," she said. How does one pass that up? The atmosphere was lovely, very classy without being stodgy. I got a seat near the window, ordered a salad first. Then, my reason for being there. It came in a little white pitcher. It was thick and rich. There was an accompanying bowl of whipped cream (or as the French say, chantilly). The next thing I knew I was talking to myself, exclaiming the joys of the taste experience out loud. I came away thinking I may never have hot chocolate again. Exquisite.

-- Continental breakfast. As one who eats very little bread in "real" life, it was truly foreign for me to see how much bread is served with the food there. But I couldn't have imagined how easily I would dig in after ordering a continental breakfast and finding this array before me -- a pot of tea; a glass of orange juice so fresh squeezed I was picking out the pits; a basket containing six slices of bread, a roll and a croissant the size of Texas; and the topper, five big jars on a tray with treats to slather on all the bread (strawberry preserves, apricot preserves, Nutella, peanut butter, and some sort of vanilla spread. Oh, and did I mention butter?). Pure insanity. I had brought my journal to write while I ate, but decided this presentation deserved my full attention. Bring it.

-- Loup. That's Loup de Mer or "wolf of the sea." It's a type of European sea bass that apparently has quite a voracious appetite. Superbly prepared, accompanied by fresh zucchini, tomatoes, mushrooms and lots of fresh herbs and lemon.

-- A meal I adored for its simplicity: a baguette, a fresh cucumber, cherry tomatoes that looked like they'd been polished for a photo shoot, a jar of black olive and mustard tapenade, and a bottle of water. A nice grassy spot great for people watching and reading a good book. Very relaxing.

I could go on. Several excellent salads. Gelato arranged like a tulip on a cone. An Italian meal in the smallest restaurant in Paris. Pure insanity.

And I lost weight on the trip. Lots of walking. Go figure.

Awe

Paris. I hardly know where to begin. Perhaps it is logical to start with what awed me. (It is worth noting that I'm not using the word "awed" lightly. I mean it in the true sense of the word.)

My awe list:

1. The Jardin des Tuileries -- Nothing could have prepared me for its splendor. I am grateful to have found this on my very first day in Paris, meaning I could return a handful more times. There is a large fountain in the middle surrounded by chairs. They're green metal chairs and look pretty ordinary, but when you sit in them you realize they are angled in a way that your butt sinks into them and relaxation just takes over. I did some reading and writing there almost every day. The sprawling gardens and, of course, the Louvre made for a dramatic and slightly surreal backdrop. I was transported.

2. Olympia by Manet -- I went to the Musee D'Orsay with Olympia on my mind after reading that this particular painting was there. I have a print of it in my bedroom and I was intrigued. Once in the door of the museum, I went on a hunt all over the ground floor. Where is she? Then, where the hell is she? I finally asked and was pointed to a room I thought I'd already covered. So I entered it skeptically, only to turn the corner and stop dead in my tracks. Holy mackerel. Olympia is a prostitute lounging naked (except for a pair of mules) on a bed. The painting is famous mostly because of her frank gaze and unabashed nudity. It was worth the hunt. Not to mention all the fabulous Impressionist paintings in the permanent collection there. (There's a Renoir that almost made the awe list).

3. Winged Victory of Samothrace -- I knew absolutely nothing about this piece of art except as mentioned in passing when people talk about things to see in the Louvre (along with the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, etc.). I am now completely fascinated by it in every sense. Its story, its presence. I walked into the Denon section of the Louvre, armed with the requisite map, en route to the Mona Lisa and some Botticellis. I saw a flight of stairs and couldn't believe the vision at the top. My eyes filled with tears instantly. She is magnificent, even armless and headless, with her wings extended and her garments blowing in the wind. How does one achieve that in stone? People were jockeying for position to take pictures and this is one of those times in life where I differ from most, I think. How in the world can you expect to capture that in a photo? That image will never leave my mind. Never.

I did a bit of research and found out that it is a marble sculpture of the Greek goddess Nike (victory), so it is also known as Nike of Samothrace. It was discovered in Greece in 1863 and is thought to be from 220 to 190 B.C. The artist is unknown, but the supposition is that it was commissioned to celebrate a naval victory. According to Wikipedia, "The statue stands on the prow of a ship, representing the goddess as she descended from the skies to the triumphant fleet." It is 10.7 feet high, including the wings. So beautifully displayed. A sight to behold.

Stay tuned for more on Paris ...

Home

Paris was great.

I'm home.

I'm wiped out.

I'm home.

More to come.

I'm home.

Au revoir

So it's off to France tomorrow. It's here. Way cool.

I will strive to be organic in engaging my writing and maybe even blogging while there. If the mood hits and I'm near an Internet cafe, I'll drop in and dash off some thoughts. Otherwise, I'll have lots to say when I get back.

Let the fun begin.

Beautiful contrast

Today I was in a Catholic church for the first time in a while. It was for a funeral mass. How familiar yet strange it seemed.

After hearing a message at a New Thought church yesterday about being friendlier to oneself and not so self-critical, it was quite a contrast to be in Catholic surroundings. What stopped me in my tracks was the part of the Mass where this prayer is recited -- "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you ..."

I must have said that prayer a gazillion times over the course of my life. And only today did it give me pause. Duh. Of course I'm "worthy." What have I done that would make me not worthy? It was so ingrained, this mindset, that I never really stopped to digest it or understand it. It just became rote. But now I say, how is it possible we come into this world with "original" sin? You know what? I'm not buying it. Why should I possibly believe we start our lives with a strike against us?

Beneath all the grandeur is guilt. Beneath all the pomp is pompousness.

How uplifting.

Here I come

I'm reading The Cafes of Paris ... A Guide that a friend gave me last year. It's a wonderful book, with a nice balance of historical perspective and current information. There are quotes at the start of each chapter. My favorites:

The most friendly observer cannot ignore the fact that the consuming ambition of the Parisian is to pose ... He prefers it even to dawdling on the boulevards or making epigrams ... And nowhere can he strike an attitude with more effect than in the cafe. -- Henry Shelley

There is only one trait that marks the writer. He is always watching. It's a kind of trick of the mind and he is born with it. -- Morley Callaghan

Take-off is Wednesday night. Wow.

Passages

A dear friend lost her father last night. It struck me today how many people I know from my generation who have lost a parent in the last year or two.

What can prepare you, really?

Mom-ents

I love that sometimes it only takes this to lure my mother into enthusiastic conversation:

"Mom, I bought some asparagus at a good price today."

"Ooooooh. What are you gonna do with it?" she croons.

"Steam it and cut it into small pieces to put in salads over the next few days. In a balsamic vinaigrette."

"Wouldn't you rather grill it or sautee it in olive oil? It gets so flavorful that way."

"Actually, what I'd prefer to do is cut it into small pieces and put it in salads. It brings salads to a whole new level of good," I say.

"Yeah, that does sound good," she concedes.

I treasure her. And sometimes I even win.

Bonus

House (Part II) had me on the edge of my seat tonight. That show makes me think about the medical field in a whole new way. It's very radical at times. And it's interesting how different personality types in the field handle stress, challenge and bedside manner.

From an entertainment standpoint, the casting is superb. It all just works rather seamlessly. Kudos to a team of fine artists.

A great diversion on a Wednesday night.

Whoa

House was intense tonight. That show is crazy good. Makes me want to have a conversation with the writer.

Continues tomorrow ...

Wonder of wonders

Today I'm wondering:

-- How in the world America got to the place where people need a "side" of breadsticks with their extra-cheese pizza. Could we have any more doughy carbs in one sitting?

-- How the Vatican thinks it's beneficial to encourage the boycott of a movie that -- oh horror of horrors -- expresses an alternate viewpoint. The DaVinci Code is threatening to Catholicism? Mamma mia, guys. Take a chill pill. It's thought-provoking entertainment. You have now assured that every Catholic on the planet -- you know, all those people not using birth control -- will flock to the flick. Duh.

-- How I'm ever going to get enough sleep on Sunday nights now that I know Medium is on Lifetime at 11 p.m. Man, is that compelling. In last night's episode she saw murders taking place seven years from now. Fascinating.

Just wondering. That's all for now.