Thursday, 20 January 2005
"New" Just Isn't What It Used to Be
Happy New Year!
As odd as that may sound now, three full weeks into January, it's actually a French custom to wish people a happy new year after the start of the year. They actually consider it odd when people (Americans, usually) wish each other a happy new year early - even if "early" means saying it to your coworkers as you leave the office on 31 December. It's a very Cartesian thing: either it's the new year, or it isn't.
Following that logic, you have until the end of the month to give people your new-year greetings. Admittedly, though, even by French custom I'm pushing things a bit.
On the other hand, today marks the exact point halfway between the Gregorian new year (1 January) and the Chinese new year (which is 9 February this year, the Year of the Rooster). So we could consider this a whole "new year season," if we were so inclined.
In any case, a new year has started, and I hope it's a good one for you.
It's been some time since I last wrote anything here, for various reasons justifiable and not. But just because I've been silent, doesn't mean that nothing has happened in my life.
I'm planning to catch up, writing new entries about recent events as well as looks back at 2004 (through new entries and links to previous ones). In the meantime, a brief summary of my holidays:
I spent the week immediately before Christmas in Minnesota, briefly visiting friends in the Twin Cities and spending the rest of the time with my family in Rochester. Christmas was low-key, just like I like it (working retail for several years turned me off to the hustle-and-bustle aspects of the holiday).
Heather and I spent New Year's Eve in Paris, hosting a few friends to ring in midnight. The group included my Twin Cities friends Colin and Alison, who were in Paris on their honeymoon - which seems to me like a pretty cool way to celebrate getting hitched. The whole bunch of us headed to the Arc de Triomphe - bottle of champagne in tow - for the actual stroke of midnight. We - and the thousands of others out that night - had a great time. Paris is truly a city made for the night.
As our friend Lauren put it so well, "Here's to celebrating New Year's in Paris! And living here!"
I apparently have been a very good boy, judging from a few events. Heather treated me to a delicious birthday dinner at an Indian-Pakistani restaurant. Normally, spicy food is toned down for the restaurant-going Parisian. Not at this place; I'll definitely be returning.
But lo, to my surprise, another dinner the following night, this time a full-on birthday gathering of friends. I hadn't expected anything after the night before, especially since Heather was insanely busy with her company's year-end account closing. Instead, a group of us had a great meal at my favorite Italian restaurant. (Which - before I found other favorites - was the favorite place to go.)
Amerigo and Nicole, the couple who own the restaurant, are always excellent hosts and love to see me (and vice versa). From the way we all remember it, I've been going there since the place first opened some four years ago. I've literally seen their kids grow up. The restaurant, a homey and unassuming place, is named the Sandalia and is in the 9th. I highly recommend it.
So, a great way to spend my birthday - twice.
And the cherry on the cake (the French variant of "the icing on the cake") is my newest toy that Heather gave me for Christmas: an iPod. Not just any iPod, mind you, but an iPod photo. Very cool. You can be sure I'll be writing about that again sometime soon.
So, welcome to the second half of the first decade of the third millennium. (At least, by some people's reckoning.)
Or, more simply: Happy New Year!
Thursday, 27 January 2005
I'll Bet You Houdini Could've Done It Faster
On the way home from work last night, I noticed something. Or rather, the absence of something. Specifically, a car.
This car in particular had the notable achievement of having been parked in the same spot, continuously, for some five or six months. I had been counting, but I lost track around the time I went on Christmas holiday. In any case, it had been there since last summer.
How could have this been? You may well ask. Good question. It had been booted some time last August or September, but I never saw a ticket after that point. One, I think I saw a towing removal sticker, but it disappeared pretty quickly.
To the best I can figure, the car slipped into that chasm of bureaucracy here known as "no one's responsibility." The police (who, incidentally, have a station just block away) never seemed interested in it. (Of course, they rarely seem interested in anything but talking about what they will have for lunch, what they had for lunch, or what shopping they'll do after lunch, when they stroll around in their groups of three or four.) No one seemed particularly ready to tow it, despite the car's rather prominent role in more than a few of the regular traffic jams in this neighborhood of single-lane roads. And apparently, the owner was in no rush to recover it.
And yet, yesterday morning, a change: the boot mostly pried off but still clinging for dear life. Last night, the car - and the boot - were gone. An outline formed by months of accumulated, packed dirt remained on the ground, the only sign of its seemingly endless presence. I have to admit: after seeing the car practically become embedded in the street, it bugs me that I'll never know exactly how it was removed.
The way this car had almost taken root reminds me of the sentimental sequence you find in some films: Time passes, then accelerates. People, days - then whole seasons - come and go. But some atemporal object endures (a statue, or even a person whose daily routine is to sit in the same spot). And then, it's gone.
Except in the case of this car, it felt more like being condemned to watch Andy Warhol's Empire in a never-ending loop. And instead of sentiment, I have more of a feeling of relief.
Goodbye, annoying car.
A Little Off the Top and Floss Every Day
This Monday, I went to the dentist for my regular checkup. (Yes, my teeth are doing nicely, thank you for asking.) Making the appointment itself was an object lesson in priorities (French vs. American, most notably).
Two weeks ago, I went in to get my hair cut. After paying at the front, I commented that I'd noticed my stylist was tough to get - he must be booked solid, right? Oh, yes - he's always busy.
So, I asked, I suppose I should reserve more than a month in advance (which was how far in advance I'd reserved that very appointment). Yes, yes - that's a good idea. At least a month in advance.
Now it's the next day, Friday the 14th. Having gone to my haircut appointment, I realized that I was about a month late for my canonical six-month dental checkup date. Oops. But I phone the office anyway.
"Hi, I'd like to make an appointment for my regular checkup." "Oh!" came the reply. "I'm so sorry. We're all booked next week. Would the following Monday work all right?" I reassured her that it was, and so it was.
Remember, that was on a Friday: she was essentially apologizing for making me wait five business days. Haircuts, on the other hand, apparently have to be planned far enough out that they become the hypothetical immovable object in your agenda of unstoppable forces.
Sometimes, these kinds of differences just boggle my mind.