I am experiencing some francophile rage and indignation and a deep sense of loss. I’ll share. Of course.

It started with Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Paris métro station, that is, and my absolute favorite. I rarely had cause to take the 1 line as far as that, and when I did, I kept telling myself that I would hop off and take some pictures next time. I live here. Plenty of time, right?

Wrong. One day a few months ago, I rolled into FDR and, to my horror, it had been stripped. It sat there cold and naked and shivering. The station had been betrayed and violated. I felt betrayed and violated. Those bastards.

Fortunately, other people did take pictures…

Love that font. (We’re into fonts.) Love the orange with the semi-opaque glass and the shiny metal. Love the seat separators. Love the design.

Now, I’m sure plenty of people thought the FDR station was an abomination when it was created because of its incongruity with the older stations. (Many, including me, thought that of the pyramid at the Louvre and the Beaubourg, although I’ve changed my tune on the pyramid.) The FDR station was done in the distinct style of a specific era. I know enough to recognize its specialness, and guess that it’s from the post WWII era, but I don’t know enough design history to say more than that. Maybe you do? In any case, I love that look. (It would make a fabulous kitchen, wouldn’t it?)

Ever since I got here, two and a half years ago, journalists and talking heads have been whining about how Paris has become “a museum city.” (No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think you get more tourists here than any other city in the world?) And your point is?

Over the last few months, I’ve been taking the métro more than usual and noticing more and more naked stations… Then, not long ago, I started seeing these posters appear in the stations…

…promising a métro that is “simpler, brighter, more beautiful, and new.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Do you think tourists come here for spiffy, shiny, generic new métro stations? Non, merci. Shiny and new and generic we have plenty of (at least where I come from).

The city of Paris is like Jeanne Moreau. Old. Yes, old. To use a euphemism would be an insult. Paris and Jeanne don’t need to worry about their wrinkles because they are both still gorgeous. Mesmerizing. They exude a powerful, irresistible, animal sexual/sensual attraction. Paris is more than a moveable feast. It’s an orgy.

I say leave it alone.

Maybe the city government thinks they’re doing Parisians a favor. After all, a responsible government should put the needs and wants of its citizenry before those of tourists… (But then again, when tourism accounts for a massive chunk of your GDP, you gotta keep that in mind too.) I do actually see lots of advertising for a company called IMMONEUF. Evidently there is quite a market for the Paris equivalent of tract homes and brand-spanking new apartment buildings. I can’t imagine who in their right mind would choose that over the delectable parquet-moulures-cheminée (wood floors, crown molding, fireplace).

I’m afraid what’s happening here is that the City of Paris is tossing all the vintage Chanel out of the Parisian closet and replacing it with Isaac Mizrahi for Target… I’m honestly worried that the renovations they are undertaking today might end up as generic, artistically insignificant and lacking in personality as most of today’s websites are. Coming from a place where lowered standards, homogenization and expediency are the norm, I dread seeing it happen here.

I still have hope, however, that the French flair for style and design, their attention to the tiniest aesthetic detail, their pride in their unique and extraordinary capital will prevail. Will the new métro stations be a pure delight to behold? Or will they simply be utilitarian public transport spaces…

I’ll keep you posted.

I recommend global moxie’s great post on the same, sad topic. I stumbled across it when I was looking for some info on the design of the FDR station. Nice to know I’m not alone.

I am experiencing some francophile rage and indignation and a deep sense of loss. I'll share. Of course. It started with Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Paris métro station, that is, and my absolute favorite. I rarely had cause to take the 1 line as far as that, and when I did, I kept telling myself that I would hop off and take some pictures next time. I live here. Plenty of time, right? Wrong. One day a few months ago, I rolled into FDR and, to my horror, it had been stripped. It sat there cold and naked and shivering. The station had been betrayed and violated. I felt betrayed and violated. Those bastards. Fortunately, other people did take pictures... Love that font. (We're into fonts.) Love the orange with the semi-opaque glass and the shiny metal. Love the seat separators. Love the design. Now, I'm sure plenty of people thought the FDR station was an abomination when it was created because of its incongruity with the older stations. (Many, including me, thought that of the pyramid

Net-phobes and old fogeys are eager to tell you how spending time online is antisocial, how it will alienate you from society and turn you into some kind of weirdo (or that you must be some kind of weirdo to begin with if you have an online life).

Well, there weren’t any phobes or fogeys with me last night as I sat in a Paris wine bar in the Latin Quarter being very sociable with a bright, delightful and adorable young Irishman I met online.

Don’t worry. It’s not what you might think.

Paddy is one of the founders of TheBigWordProject (which I blogged about here and here). While he was planning (I use the term loosely) one of those fabled Euro-youth trips around the continent this summer (the last summer before his final semester in grad school, where he’s getting a master’s in multidisciplinary design), he decided he’d try to meet up with as many “wordies” as he could.

That’s what he and his partner Lee call those of us who’ve bought words on TheBigWordProject. Just to refresh your memory, I bought francophilia, francophile, serendipity (which links to this blog), splendor, and geeks. A few weeks ago, Vincent bought chanson (yes, that’s an “English” word) for his newest music blog, 1mot1chanson. A few of my readers bought words too!

Over a couple of pints of beer, Paddy and I covered lots of ground, both real and virtual. We discussed cultures, politics, entertainment, human behavior, startup stuff… Turns out he’s also a huge Eddie Izzard fan. I told him Pushing Daisies is a must-see, and he said I have to read this book by Dave Gorman. I said the only Irish I knew was Erin go bragh, so he taught me how to say kiss my ass*. I mentioned that I’d noticed that charlatan points to Barack Obama’s website, and he told me president does too. I was glad to hear that.

Sometimes the harpy on my shoulder tells me I should act my age. That it’s inappropriate or even ridiculous to be doing things like laughing over beer with a 23-year-old who’s not my kid about a YouTube video we’d both seen (the one where a Lego Darth Vader acts out Eddie Izzard’s Death Star canteen bit).

But then I squash the harpy.

If I were like many people my age who use the Internet for not much more than e-mail and Amazon, I doubt I’d ever have crossed paths with the interesting, curious, and energetic people of all ages and backgrounds I’ve met in the last few years. If it weren’t for the Internet, I think it might be harder to connect with people who are 25 years older or younger than I am, since our frames of reference would be so different. But the Web is becoming the new great equalizer, spanning age and culture and connecting people like nothing ever has. As Claire Ulrich said in her article Plus belle, ma vie en ligne, the Internet frees you of the physiological, societal and geographical limitations that can hinder human interaction. The Web is tearing down walls faster than governments can build them these days, and that’s a good thing.

*Pog ma hon thoin (Paddy’s correction).

Net-phobes and old fogeys are eager to tell you how spending time online is antisocial, how it will alienate you from society and turn you into some kind of weirdo (or that you must be some kind of weirdo to begin with if you have an online life). Well, there weren't any phobes or fogeys with me last night as I sat in a Paris wine bar in the Latin Quarter being very sociable with a bright, delightful and adorable young Irishman I met online. Don't worry. It's not what you might think. Paddy is one of the founders of TheBigWordProject (which I blogged about here and here). While he was planning (I use the term loosely) one of those fabled Euro-youth trips around the continent this summer (the last summer before his final semester in grad school, where he's getting a master's in multidisciplinary design), he decided he'd try to meet up with as many "wordies" as he could. That's what he and his partner Lee call those of us who've bought words on TheBigWordProject. Just to refresh your memory, I

Andy Warhol said we all get 15 minutes of fame and I just used up about five of mine. If being on an 11-minute show about blogging on the French equivalent of C-SPAN counts as fame, that is.

Caroline Deschamps, the elfin, yet sophisticated MC of Parlons blogs ! on Public Sénat contacted me through frogblog because she was doing a show on the US election and wanted to interview an American expat blogger in Paris. When she found out I was part of a blogging couple, she decided to do a dual interview.

Actually, there is a lot of interesting political programming on Public Sénat in addition to the government-in-action stuff, and among the programs is a show about blogging. It’s not necessarily a topic that translates well to the TV screen, but you’d be amazed at what Caroline does with it.

Caroline showed up a few days later with her friendly and efficient (qualities an American appreciates) crew: Valérie (sound), and Olivier and Michel (cameramen). They proceeded to invade our bedroom with spotlights and cameras and Caroline did her thing.

She stole my comfy chair, but I forgive her because she was truly lovely and she did put me on TV, after all.

I was less nervous than I thought I would be (because I convinced myself in advance that only three people would be watching the show), but my French was still pretty abysmal. The editing is great, though, and Caroline picked my best one-liners (as Vincent pointed out) and allowed Vincent to fill in with his eloquent insights (see my previous post).

Of course, as soon as they left, I thought of a million things I would have liked to have said, but that’s what this blog is for, isn’t it? And I still have 10 minutes of fame left, right? I’ll have to use them wisely.

One of my comments that made it into the show was something I’d written on one of my posts; that if Obama is elected, the US will have a more refined president than France does for the first time. (I’ll probably be deported for that.)

Best of all, Vincent’s Geeks in Love got plenty of screen time. And they were naturals. Very telegenic. They should have their own show if you ask me.

Here, for your viewing pleasure are my five minutes of fame, which start at about the six-minute mark.

Merci encore une fois, Caroline, Valérie, Michel et Olivier !

Andy Warhol said we all get 15 minutes of fame and I just used up about five of mine. If being on an 11-minute show about blogging on the French equivalent of C-SPAN counts as fame, that is. Caroline Deschamps, the elfin, yet sophisticated MC of Parlons blogs ! on Public Sénat contacted me through frogblog because she was doing a show on the US election and wanted to interview an American expat blogger in Paris. When she found out I was part of a blogging couple, she decided to do a dual interview. Actually, there is a lot of interesting political programming on Public Sénat in addition to the government-in-action stuff, and among the programs is a show about blogging. It's not necessarily a topic that translates well to the TV screen, but you'd be amazed at what Caroline does with it. Caroline showed up a few days later with her friendly and efficient (qualities an American appreciates) crew: Valérie (sound), and Olivier and Michel (cameramen). They proceeded to invade our bedroom with spotli