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Saturday, 22 March 2008


It’s snowing in London. That sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. I thought it only snows in Europe when you’re headed toward a ski resort, but guess I was wrong. Been a minute since I blogged, bet you were thinking I’d settled into a proper English lifestyle, dating some third-rate party girl, gracing page six of News Of The World every couple weeks, and didn’t have much time for online love. You were wrong. It’s still the same old Julian, working, writing, watching movies, waiting for who knows what. The more I live here, the more I am aware of the fickleness that is London. Life here reflects the weather. One minute it’s all doom and gloom, Heavens brooding like an angry kid, and then the Sun blasts through, drowning everything. At times I feel like a cockroach running for the drain when the apartment lights get flicked. People are prone to strange emotional outbursts here, unpredictability characterizes this town. I walk down the street trailing young thugs caught up in iPods, intermittently vouging while rapping, urban whirling dervishes. Eastern European construction workers bump into me constantly. I finally realized they aren’t trying to start trouble, that’s just how they walk, I might as well be a lamppost. Last week I saw a car towing another car with a yellow rope. It’s surreal, medieval and magical all at once. Something about how all the women wear boots makes me scared, like they’re prepared for something I’m not. Next week I’ll be back in New York and that’s a good thing. A weeklong reprieve will put my nostalgia into perspective. Maybe hot dog vendors don’t sing in tune. Maybe cabbies aren’t omniscient oracles. Maybe pretty city girls don’t grow on bars. I feel like Atreyu standing on the edge of a great adventure. Could be cause I’m working on a cover of The Never Ending Story by Limahl. I’m easily influenced.

Saturday, 1 March 2008

Un Jour A Paris

I’m back on the Eurostar, my second trip in little more than twenty-four hours (as per my newsletter if you get it – I know the sequence of these things can be confusing, like looking at timeline plot holes in Back To The Future II). On the way down to Paris, I was facing forward, but now I’m flying backwards through the French countryside. My life this past year has been like watching a movie on super speed rewind or fast-forward, can’t tell which direction. I can’t tell if I’ve experienced it all before or if it’s brand new, not unlike Guy Pierce in Memento, The Time Machine, or 60% of characters he plays. There are landmarks – Eiffel Tower means Paris, Big Ben means London, Katz’s Delicatessen means New York, the inside of a car means L.A. and pretty much everywhere else (for those of you keeping track that’s 5 countries, more than 15 states, 4 centers of culture, and something like 8 recording studios). I could have stayed in Paris till Tuesday with my friend Florence Curet, the queen of English-to-French subtitles (she translated Raiders Of The Lost Ark into French for chrissake). But I felt an urgency to get back to London, like I left the hot pot on. This urgency led to a near breakdown on an A&R man’s phone in the Virgin France office. My emotions are like a time bomb – yours would be too if you’d dealt with customs officers as much as I have. Yesterday on the whole was a bit of a nightmare: got booted from the Sebastian Tellier show @ the Pompidou Centre for being American, and was denied a Louis Vitton Fashion Week party. It’s enough to make a baby Rockstar cry. Thank god for Florence. She took me out, got me a belly fully of wine, and treated me this morning to a breakfast complete with Croissants and Eggs cooked in this bizarre French way. The bread is so good in Paris, it tastes like water. I know that sounds strange but think about it. Have to say I’m relived to be headed home. Sleeping in my own bed is one of few luxuries I have (please don’t think dirty thoughts), along with pouring myself into Facebook. I can’t stop, I dunno what’s wrong with me. My mind craves mindlessness. I am determined to review every movie I’ve ever seen on this frickin’ Flixster thing, as if watching all these movies wasn’t bad enough. Warning: under no circumstances are you to go see Jumper with Hayden Christiansen and Samuel L. Jackson! I liken it to operating heavy machinery on anti-psychotics. It’s all fun and games till someone loses their brain, which is very much what I’m after these days.