Nuit Blanche (all night city-wide party)

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Was in fact a strange and unlikely bet for a good time. Dacnar had the program for the evening, and there were only two things that seemed worthwhile: a child suspended in front of the National Opera, singing from 10:30 to 2am; and the menagerie of chimpazees and camels hiding in corners, posing in frozen plastic, in the Victor Hugo house.

My secret divination is that the Nuit Blanche is a secret Parisien plot, between the government and the cellphone companies to get people to blow out their cellphone budget. It seemed every other person was calling each other to find out where they were, what they were seeing, and if it was worth going to.

Called Voin to find out what the party-panther had in mind. No ideas there…the boy seemed confirmed to stay home. Which makes sense. If every night is a nuit blanche, the beauty of cruising on a bike deep at night, with a small number of conspirators, seeking hidden treats, then the Nuit Blanche is the equivalent of your mommy asking to tag along. Not cool.

But hey, we’re not cool!!! So it’s ok.

Dacnar eventually thought that it would be a good idea to go to the Left Bank, and go swimming at St. Germain. There would be a DJ and disco lights!!! DJ AND DISCO LIGHTS!!! party. I thought it was a pretty dumb idea, but sometimes, when you’re in a couple, you have to have to make allowances. So I swallowed my worries about pool-hair (you know, it gets puffy and stinks of chlorine…guh), and packed my nice bikini.

Aside: despite massive consommation of alcohol and cheese and cream, have managed to stay very trim and little belly not at all visible, so felt safe in bikini.

When we finally found the pool, which took a stupid amount of time, the line up wasn’t that deep. In fact, there wasn’t a lineup. And the people standing around were definitely not cool. Not even college kids would take this on. This was strictly family business. So, so much for it being a cool night out.

The guard warned us that wearing a little swimming cap was obligatory, but that we could pick up one from the vending machine inside for 1.30Eu. Not bad! There was other strange shit in the vending machine, like swimsuits!!! You could buy a lady’s one piece or a man’s speedo for 7Eu. Yay equality. We get more for tha money, for the first time! Goggles, swimming paddles, weights, flotation pads, it was all there! That was the coolest vending machine I’ve ever seen.

Anyways…finally get into the pool…really fun with silly disco lights and everybody doing funny dances and giggling madly. There was a bunch of 16 year old boys dancing to Ricky Nelson and Elvis Presley> it kind of doesn’t get cooler than that!!! Managed to do some laps and had really fun time swimming and watching people while listening to 50s and 60s music. Finally packed and left.

Head off for Palais de Tokyo for the 24hr Michel Foucault party, set up by Thomas Hirschorn, which could have been amazing, but wasn’t so bad. But think about it, it’s a Michel Foucault party…like, totally rock on at 2am to wacko German theorists blah blahing while getting hammered off 1Eu Vodka Michels. Scoobs and the girls were there, looking suitably bored piled on a sofa.

Crowd was very very art cool, which means it was so NOT cool. Hahahahaha Tons of people trying to read small type and look intellectually at gay porno, while neon lights did their best to terrorize already limited ambiance. But, the set up kind of worked. I mean, it was like oldschool 80s underground art aesthetic, with tons of shitty collage and kind of homemade fanzine feel, which, I have to confess, while I find a bit old, still kind of funny.

Anyways, profited from great vodka, and friendly bartenders. And received phonecall from Tibo, visiting from the Fresnoy. He’s this little baby-faced German boy born on an American commune, with Euro-art hair, black blazer, baggy jeans and white sneakers. You KNOW this kind of boy. Still, he’s funny and nice, and it’s always great to have suitable ornamentation. So head off in direction of Buttes-Chaumont Park to find my old favourite accessory, a cute boy. Bwaaaahahahaha

Dacnar really wants to go see the floating child in front of Opera, but realize we are too late, and kind of trapped in the wrong part of town. It’s deadland around the palais…so have to take a hike all the way up to the Arc de Triomphe to catch the White Night Express…

Everybody is waiting at the bus stop. It’s kind of a wack scene. Like this is the real nuit blanche, 20 somethings just packing round a bus stop late at night, hanging out in mass gangs for a bus that might or might not come. People still nursing cellphones, which is surprisingly comforting so you know you’re not in the Twilight Zone.

Bus finally comes, but keeps going round the circle so there’s sudden surge of large scale sprinting across the grand avenue. Finally jump into the bus, but we have no fucking clue if it’s going in the right direction. And, even stranger, everybody, like EVERYBODY, is speaking English. Yeah.

pack into the Gare de l’Est and walk across to the Buttes, which is fine and kind of suitably sexy at night. Bad sound installation giving proper sense of how fucked the night is, in terms of level of spectacle. Find my ornamentation, who proceeds to share my bottle of cheap whiskey. The boy asks a lot about career…but shit, I don’t know any under 25-er in art whose not desperately ambitious. At least he’s honest, and fun. Dacnar is dipping. It’s time to find the blankets and get all warm and comfy. So we walk back to the pad.

Tired, and stupidly full of food. After rushing home, made massive dinner out of curried potatoes and homemade tortellini, with peas and onions. Bastard meal full of evil calories. But too tired…crack…sleep. Not even a sign of the sun. That’s my white night.