Paris Lit Up – Open Mic – 13 June
Another evening of sizzling performances took place on Thursday evening, a third round now becoming the norm because there are just too many people. Rock. Emily gave the role of photographer to the enthusiastic USC students, and was pleasantly surprised when she checked the results the next morning. Only one crotch shot. She’d expected worse, thanks guys.
The party got started around 8.45… with a suicidal Yann “goodbye cruel world”, but he promised it was in a happy way. Jackson blew those bad thoughts away with his guitar and “the taste of you in the wintertime”. Bailey – yes, like the alcohol – watched clouds turn to sherbet, and Ruth did a jellyfish eulogy on Omaha beach.
“Jenna is cheap” Emily announced proudly to a mildly shocked audience. “No, I am” she confirmed. New girl Katia read us some lyrics by her band The Highest Turtle, followed by the most seamless link of the evening:
Host: “Ok guys, so what month is it?”Crowd: “Um. June.”
Host: “That’s ironic*… Because now it’s August!!”
August: “Good one.”
Thankfully our lovely Nina brought some maturity to the stage with her flies in the jar, followed by Thomas the kid, makin it till dawn, teaching us U.S. spelling and the meaning of boonies (“it’s like Belgium”) Gus, who admitted that he’d only come for hot American girls, found his number 42 and was seduced by the PLU stage. We smelt a future regular.[singlepic id=1836 w=320 h=240 float=center]
After what was supposed to be a fifteen-minute pause but which is always inevitably more, the Bird and Will came to the stage to tell us about Belleville Park Pages, a new bi-monthly publication for all those talented writers out there. Great idea! And for only 2 euros? A bargain. Check out their Facebook page for more info (or email firstname.lastname@example.org).
- Collective ahhh moment of the evening: “my heart stopped beating when I met you” (Sam)
- Collective snort of glad my mum didn’t hear that laughter: Max, his parents, les misérables and his three one-night stands. We’re guessing he went home alone.
Melissa calmed us down and made us thoughtful with tiny mountains before Candice told us a harrowing tale of playground mafia antics: “she was the kind of girl who could drain a juice-box, if you know what I mean.”
Two, three pickup sticks, Emily M’s brother is perfect, damn him.
“Barbie SUCKS”. Yes she does, Megan. Adam and Eve can p*ss off.
It was time for the controversial third round, and Troy had swung by to drag his face in the gravel. Kate made it back from Seamus Heaney, bringing us some potatoes as a keepsake. New girl Sonia should very definitely not be hired by the Bahamian tourist board, Will gave a final kick to the mustang, and Pallavi’s insomnia took her on the 24h subway in New York (not recommended). James, visiting Paris for the weekend with his partner, just happened to stumble into Culture Rapide, and treated us to some Myra Brooks Welch. Finally, Emily rounded up the evening with La Danse de Matisse, and realised someone had been buying her drinks. She still doesn’t know who.
Next week, same time, same place.
*There is absolutely no irony here.