People, I finally got to meet my very first famous author last night. Actually, that's not entirely true. I've met a few before back when I was in college, but this lady that I met last night is super famous all over Europe, and has some fame in the U.S. Her name is Catherine Millet. Google her ya'll. She's also known as "Madame Sex" because even though she's the editor of a huge art magazine in France called "Art Press" and a respected Art Critic, she wrote this book a few years back called "The Sexual Life of Catherine M", which is supposedly some of the dirties, and yet unerotic/mechanical, hardcore porn ever written by a woman. I haven't read this book yet, but I'm certainly going to now.
Anyway, my day started out uneventfully enough with me having to take a little trip to the Russian Author's Organization to get some paperwork signed or approved. I didn't really understand what was happening, or who I was supposed to see there. The place was filled with millions of doors that all looked the same, and were all filled with what looked like the same woman. I was looking for some woman named Ekaterina. I had to talk to four frumpy, irritated Ekaterinas before I was directed to the one that I actually needed. I came out of that place feeling like I just spent 30 minutes in the movie "Brazil".
Eventually, I made into the office, where I was promptly informed by bosslady that I was to accompany her that evening to Uber-boss's house for dinner with Catherine Millet, in the capacity of translator/conversation filler. I immediately got my ass on the internets and found out everything that I could about Millet. Around 4 p.m. we went to pick up Millet and her husband and drive them to Uber-boss's sweet crib. Uber-boss ended up being about 40 minutes late to a dinner that he was supposed to be hosting. Instead, when we got to his place, we were greeted by a disheveled Russian cook/housekeeper named Lena. When I say disheveled, I mean that someone had stuffed her rather short and wide physique into a ridiculous french maid outfit. Uber-boss sure is classy!
Dinner was made up of four courses (as usual, because this is how Russian people roll with their food), during which I had a very pleasant time conversing with Millet, her husband, and bosslady. Then rolls in Uber-boss. This is when the evening gets a bit dicy for me. Dude immediately sits down, unshaven and clearly not really treating this as a momentous occasion, and begins stuffing himself with food. He also kept his hand on my shoulder for, what I perceived, to be an inappropriately long time. Now, I'm a patient girl, but I'd gone without a cigarette for a very long time at this point, and had to go have a smoke. I tried to discreetly excuse myself from the table because I remembered Uber-boss's sentiments towards smoking. Of course all attempts to go unnoticed failed. As I walked out of the diningroom, Uber-boss was yelling something along the lines of "God damn dilettant!"
When I returned, calmer, but not unaprehensive, upon sitting back down at the table, I was greeted with the following question from Uber-boss (in English so that Millet and husband could understand):
"Polena, why you not tell us, why do you start to smoke?"
Millet, having a sense of humor, promptly suggested that I stand on a chair in the middle of the room in order to answer this questions with the appropriate amount of pomp. I responded with something along the lines of "started smoking at 14 to be cool like my older friends." Next question (in Russian):
"But Polena, do you realize how many men you have missed out on as a result of your smoking?"
I translated this to Millet. Not missing a beat her response was "Ah, I understand, zis man whants to marry you, yes?" I said that no, he doesn't want to marry me, he's just mean. At this point, I fully understand that Uber-boss has picked this very inappropriate moment to hit on me/publicly humiliate me in a ridiculously thinly veiled guise. This is how the conversation actually went:
Uber-boss: "Polena, why you not tell us, why do you start to smoke?"
(Polena, why do you smoke when you know that I hate smokers
and would never take a smoker as a lover?)
Me: "I started smoking at 14 because all my friends smoked and I wanted to be cool like
them"
(I totally don't understand that you're hitting on me)
Uber-boss: "But Polena, do you realize how many men you have missed out on as a result of
your smoking?"
(I am not adding you to my harem until you quit smoking.)
Me: "If a man asked me to quit smoking or else he would leave me, I probably would,
but no man has ever asked me to do this, so I don't think that there's really a
problem."
(I understand that you are hitting on me, but I have no intention of quitting
smoking for you)
Uber-boss: "Come on, stop fucking around and answer the question seriously"
(Seriously, quit smoking immediately so that you can be my new concubine)
Me: to Millet's husband " Have you ever left a woman or not been with a woman
just because she was a smoker?"
Millet's H: "No, of course not. I smoke cigars myself."
Me: "So, I think that this should answer your question. I smoke, and I prefer men
that smoke because then there's no problem. And I wouldn't want to be with a
man that doesn't want me just because I'm a smoker"
(Fuck you Uber-boss!)
The conversation ended on this note. Fuck! Now I'm probably going to get fired, but all in all the evening was really fun.
Anyway, my day started out uneventfully enough with me having to take a little trip to the Russian Author's Organization to get some paperwork signed or approved. I didn't really understand what was happening, or who I was supposed to see there. The place was filled with millions of doors that all looked the same, and were all filled with what looked like the same woman. I was looking for some woman named Ekaterina. I had to talk to four frumpy, irritated Ekaterinas before I was directed to the one that I actually needed. I came out of that place feeling like I just spent 30 minutes in the movie "Brazil".
Eventually, I made into the office, where I was promptly informed by bosslady that I was to accompany her that evening to Uber-boss's house for dinner with Catherine Millet, in the capacity of translator/conversation filler. I immediately got my ass on the internets and found out everything that I could about Millet. Around 4 p.m. we went to pick up Millet and her husband and drive them to Uber-boss's sweet crib. Uber-boss ended up being about 40 minutes late to a dinner that he was supposed to be hosting. Instead, when we got to his place, we were greeted by a disheveled Russian cook/housekeeper named Lena. When I say disheveled, I mean that someone had stuffed her rather short and wide physique into a ridiculous french maid outfit. Uber-boss sure is classy!
Dinner was made up of four courses (as usual, because this is how Russian people roll with their food), during which I had a very pleasant time conversing with Millet, her husband, and bosslady. Then rolls in Uber-boss. This is when the evening gets a bit dicy for me. Dude immediately sits down, unshaven and clearly not really treating this as a momentous occasion, and begins stuffing himself with food. He also kept his hand on my shoulder for, what I perceived, to be an inappropriately long time. Now, I'm a patient girl, but I'd gone without a cigarette for a very long time at this point, and had to go have a smoke. I tried to discreetly excuse myself from the table because I remembered Uber-boss's sentiments towards smoking. Of course all attempts to go unnoticed failed. As I walked out of the diningroom, Uber-boss was yelling something along the lines of "God damn dilettant!"
When I returned, calmer, but not unaprehensive, upon sitting back down at the table, I was greeted with the following question from Uber-boss (in English so that Millet and husband could understand):
"Polena, why you not tell us, why do you start to smoke?"
Millet, having a sense of humor, promptly suggested that I stand on a chair in the middle of the room in order to answer this questions with the appropriate amount of pomp. I responded with something along the lines of "started smoking at 14 to be cool like my older friends." Next question (in Russian):
"But Polena, do you realize how many men you have missed out on as a result of your smoking?"
I translated this to Millet. Not missing a beat her response was "Ah, I understand, zis man whants to marry you, yes?" I said that no, he doesn't want to marry me, he's just mean. At this point, I fully understand that Uber-boss has picked this very inappropriate moment to hit on me/publicly humiliate me in a ridiculously thinly veiled guise. This is how the conversation actually went:
Uber-boss: "Polena, why you not tell us, why do you start to smoke?"
(Polena, why do you smoke when you know that I hate smokers
and would never take a smoker as a lover?)
Me: "I started smoking at 14 because all my friends smoked and I wanted to be cool like
them"
(I totally don't understand that you're hitting on me)
Uber-boss: "But Polena, do you realize how many men you have missed out on as a result of
your smoking?"
(I am not adding you to my harem until you quit smoking.)
Me: "If a man asked me to quit smoking or else he would leave me, I probably would,
but no man has ever asked me to do this, so I don't think that there's really a
problem."
(I understand that you are hitting on me, but I have no intention of quitting
smoking for you)
Uber-boss: "Come on, stop fucking around and answer the question seriously"
(Seriously, quit smoking immediately so that you can be my new concubine)
Me: to Millet's husband " Have you ever left a woman or not been with a woman
just because she was a smoker?"
Millet's H: "No, of course not. I smoke cigars myself."
Me: "So, I think that this should answer your question. I smoke, and I prefer men
that smoke because then there's no problem. And I wouldn't want to be with a
man that doesn't want me just because I'm a smoker"
(Fuck you Uber-boss!)
The conversation ended on this note. Fuck! Now I'm probably going to get fired, but all in all the evening was really fun.
5 comments:
Polena, I'm afraid it is inappropriate that I should be the best audience for your blog. You obviously have closer friends, also more your own age. But I seem to have something to say about all your posts, and take them quite personally, forgive me.
Not only have I seen Brazil and not exactly what you're talking about, I have also read Millet's book. In fact I own it. Alright, my husband owns it. Not that either one of us were so enthusiastic. And if you do read it, keep in mind that the art world is really not at all like that, insofar as we know. Perhaps we are just naive and sheltered. And oviously not Rrench.
As for men and smoking: one of my problems when in NY in recent past is that I go long periods of time without smoking, and not only because of the legal situation. I guess that's love for you.
BTW, what dd you think of Madame Catherine herself?
I thought that Millet was a really sweet, intelligent,elegant, witty, 60+ lady. I had a perfectly nice time with both her and her husband.
It's not inappropriate for you to comment on the blog. No one else does it, so I appreciate it. Yeah, I'll have to check the book out.
when I referenced Brazil, I was really only referring to that part where someone's life gets completely fucked up because a fly gets in the cog of beaurocracy.
I know. (re Brazil).
In principle, a good happen, support the views of the author
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