Tuesday, 1 November 2005
Snygging
My friend Jenny came down from Stockholm with her friend Therese for a weekend getaway, sort of an extended girl's night out. It was great to see her and catch up; it's been three years since we last saw each other in person. Also, I found out that both of them are regular readers of my blog - which almost doubles my last readership count. Heh.
Jenny and I worked together at Icon Medialab; Therese is a friend of hers who I met when I went to Stockholm for Midsommar in 2002. Midsommar, being the longest day of the year, is especially interesting when the darkest hour is around three in the morning but doesn't get much darker than twilight.
Wow, three years ago. You can imagine we had a lot to talk about. Jenny and her boyfriend Jon have an extremely cute little boy, Nils, now a year old. No photos of Nils, but I have one of us three at Fajitas, a Tex-Mex place, and another one of Therese and Jenny finishing their Tequila Slammers.
Good times, even before the tequila.
(Snygging - besides being one of the three words I know in Swedish - means "cute." In light of the photo of the three of us and mention of Nils, it's about the closest to a theme as this entry has.)
Boo!
Yesterday was Halloween - which in France (lacking the history that led to the holiday in the U.S.) is a commercially driven holiday, much like Valentine's Day. But the bonus here is, November first is a holiday (All Saints). Great if you go to a Halloween party, since the next day is guaranteed to be a (recovery) day off.
I ended up not going to any parties this year, but I did see kids of all ages dressed in costumes on my way to see Corpse Bride. There was a small group of very cute kids, the oldest being no more than five or six, going door-to-door on Montorgueil, a market street near my apartment. (Heather is right, French spoken by little kids can be adorable.) As young as they were, they obviously had the same priorities of any American kid, noisily planning how to maximize their butin.
Halloween is my favorite celebration (my favorite holiday being Thanksgiving). Children get to rule the world, if only for a day. And adults get to become someone (or something) else, playing what-if and briefly escaping their normal lives.
America can certainly be considered immature but to me, Halloween represents the best of what Americans can offer the world: youthful playfulness, and the hope (and desire) to be anything you wish. I'm looking forward to being able to share the day with kids of my own.
Wednesday, 2 November 2005
Jack and Meg Paint the Town Red
Living for the moment, slacking off, procrastinating - whatever you want to call it, I never did get around to writing about the concert that Heather and I saw two and a half weeks ago, Sunday, 16 October.
That concert was the White Stripes, and it was pretty decent. Their stripped-down sound carried well to a live show. Though you could only see Jack and Meg White on stage, it was pretty apparent that there was at least one, maybe two people, off-stage. Despite its being contrived to keep the illusion of only two band members on stage, at least using real off-stage musicians was truer to their keep-it-real sound. I for one definitely prefer that option to the alternative of using prerecorded backing tracks.
I really like how the White Stripes have gone back to certain rock fundamentals: shorter songs (typically around three minutes), clever lyrics and catchy tunes, a willingness to mix sounds (blues and country sounds seep in), a stripped-down approach to recording in an over-engineered world. In all these ways, their concert was a success.
My technical criticism was that much of the time the levels were kept so loud that the sound was clipped. I blame the person manning the soundboard, but also on whoever provided the speakers. The Zénith (the same place as where we saw the Chemical Brothers) isn't far from being the biggest auditorium in the world, but you should be prepared to give decent sound. Whatever, someone finally brought the levels down enough so that the last third of the show was enjoyable (and understandable).
While it was great to hear the band play a lot of my favorites live, I was actually pretty disappointed with the show on the whole. The group played for less than an hour and a quarter - the main set plus a single encore, including the five-minute break between them. Despite the short length of their typical song, they have more than enough for a second encore (or longer main set). I wasn't looking for the White Stripes to exhaust themselves (or their catalog), but I felt a bit shortchanged - especially since they didn't play my favorite, "Fell in Love With a Girl."
I think some of my disappointment also stems from my getting too old to go to concerts. Having to wait for over two hours after we got in the doors wasn't my idea of fun. In keeping with what seems to be typical French management, there was no hint of the actual show time or who the opening band would be - or even that there would be one (I'm open to being corrected if this is normal elsewhere). That meant getting in immediately, half an hour before the ticket time but with an hour and a half to wait after ticket time. Plus - again as seems to be typical with my concert experiences in France - the opening act sucked (though not as bad as the one who opened for Röyksopp).
I'm glad I finally got to see the White Stripes live, especially after having missed them in February 2004. But I'm not sure they were really worth the ticket price. As I wrote above, I really like their return to more basic rock values - especially in light of the current industry norms. But I think I'd have enjoyed the show even more had their values come across in how the show was performed, not just what they played for it.
Thursday, 3 November 2005
Oh Bathroom, You Ought to Be in Pictures
My apartment's bathroom is rather, er, unique. Cramped to the extreme, the shower is immediately in front of the toilet, which crouches next to the sink. There's only just enough room to sidle between standing in front of the sink to standing in front of the toilet, and then spin around in that place.
Did I mention the deep-brown sink bowl, or the Margaritaville motif on the tiling? No? Well, then you must have heard about the Astroturf on the bathroom floor. Really. I have witnesses.
This room hardly sounds like a candidate for movie stardom, and yet there it is.
My apartment straddles the building in such a way that one side looks out to the street, and the other opens up to the courtyard. In France, this would be called a double exposition but it doesn't really mean anything since I don't have a view on either side.
The street side can be rather noisy - especially in the neighborhood that I'm in, with a narrow street and delivery trucks stopping all day. At night there's more than the average amount of traffic because it's a good shortcut, avoiding major streets with many stoplights. The courtyard, in contrast, is calm and pretty much never changes.
So you can imagine that it was with some surprise that around the middle of last week, I returned from work to find the scaffolding. By the next day, it had climbed past my apartment and all the way to the top. By end of the week, it was obviously ready for workers to use it.
All this runs right past my bathroom window.
Because of the long weekend (Tuesday was a holiday, so most everyone took off Monday), no one was scampering along the grid of metal tubes outside my window. All was quiet yesterday, too. But I steeled myself, and adjusted my schedule to wake up early. Sure enough: this morning, at 8:30 AM (eight thirty!), I heard the oncoming workers climbing.
This was a scene straight out of one of those B-grade horror flicks: Trapped in a tiny room, with no way to hide. (My apartment owner - in his infinite wisdom - apparently hadn't seen the need to add curtains to cover the window.)
And naked.
Now, I'm absolutely positive that I wouldn't be as titillating to the average movie-going audience as some nubile 17-year-old girl. But I can assure you with the utmost confidence that I was not looking forward to being eyed by the wildlife clambering up the monkey bars as I stepped out of my shower.
Fortunately for all concerened, I succeeded in getting out of there before anyone made it to my floor. The rest of my morning getting-ready-for-work routine was spent darting in and out of my bathroom, timed to avoid the workers outside my window. Oh, these next few weeks are going to be so much fun!
But wait! You weren't expecting a double-billing, but you're going to get one anyway: How about a twist on a teenage comedy?
In normal times (or as best conditions may be said to be "normal"), my bathroom window looks out onto the courtyard. Upon which other neighboring apartment windows look. And their occupants, as well.
Not a biggie, right? Well maybe you forgot that I don't have any curtains on my window. And I certainly didn't mention that, when standing upright in front of my toilet to do... what I do when standing upright in front of my toilet, my head is unavoidably positioned right in front of said bathroom window.
You can just imagine the ensuing hilarity. The entire courtyard population within view of that window must have seen me looking out at one time or another in the last five years. I do believe I've become some sort of an imagined Peeping Tom bogeyman, sheerly by answering the call of nature as my neighbors do what they do.
The greatest irony in all this is that mine is the only bathroom window - all the other courtyard windows look into kitchens, hallways, etc. So, I'm really the only "vulnerable" one.
Ha ha ha, haha. Ah, good times, good times. (I've gotta get out of this place.)
Tuesday, 8 November 2005
Safe and Sound (As Can Be)
I've had a few people express worry about how I'm doing, what with the riots going on. Let me reassure you, I'm just fine. I don't live or work near where they started (and where the riots are at their most intense).
As grave as the riots are, I think that the media has probably made it worse for U.S. viewers. In part, out of not making it clear how Paris is laid out - which is understandable, since their goal isn't to cover who is "safe." In part, because they're playing catch-up. This is a problem that has been simmering for some time, and even then there was apparently little international coverage until late last week.
What I don't like in some of the reports is a certain undertone of smugness. The U.S. is hardly one to present itself as a good example for race relations. I also worry that some of the reports are bringing political baggage besides this smugness. France is often used as a scapegoat for waning international support of U.S. policies, and I'm sure more than a couple of people feel that it's getting a deserved comeuppance for not kowtowing to U.S. pressures. Get real.
Racism in France is an unspoken thing. Literally, in a way, since freedom of speech doesn't legally exist for hate speech. But ideals aside, it exists and in a far quieter form than what the typical American might understand. For better or for worse, accusations of racism are very public in the U.S. and get regular coverage. Better, since it raises awareness; worse, since there wouldn't be so much if racism didn't exist (or, in some cases, used by the accuser).
The BBC has an interesting article written by John Simpson. This reporter is notable because he's known for his coverage - and presence - in highly volatile areas, such as the Tiananmen Square uprising or in Baghdad during the first Gulf War. Read it for a good summary, but remember that it is far from complete.
This is a keg that France has created, both willfully and unwittingly. With so many recent immigrants live in what amount to suburban ghettos, it's not surprising that the riots have hit hard and stayed in specific areas. Even though many teens from these areas regularly come to Paris, the most remarkable thing that I've noticed is how quiet they are. Hardly surprising, if you consider that even they want to escape from the events surrounding them.
Even if the riots stop soon, it's unlikely that the root issues will be resolved in any foreseeable future. But unless you hear otherwise, it's safe to assume that I'm doing well. Worry instead for the people who have no option and are trapped in the middle of this whole situation.
Wednesday, 9 November 2005
Lesson Learned
Two experiences today: one brief, the other extended.
One: Walking to the post office, I overtook a woman, her daughter, and the woman's dog. The dog was a cute little Jack Russell, who despite his diminutive size was keeping pace with the woman. The latter, dressed in furs and high heels, was nonetheless walking at quite a clip. Even I, a fast walker, didn't pass by nearly as fast as I normally would.
In fact, my opportunity only came when the woman stopped. The dog's lead wrapped around the woman's daughter, she scolded her child. This little girl, probably no older than seven (though I'm a bad judge of age) had been struggling for some distance to keep up with her mother. The task was made no easier by her school backpack.
Please, let that never be me, I thought as I passed by. Obviously, this woman has some screwed up priorities. Maybe they were late, I don't know. But somehow I came away with the impression that her daughter was a burden, and why couldn't she be more like my obedient dog, anyway?
Who's in so much of a rush that they they don't keep a child's pace, and yet can stop to scold her? It's so easy to think of the woman as having a typically French attitude, the way they value their dogs. But just as I'm sure not all French people are like her, I'm pretty certain that there are many more like her around the world.
Flash to this evening, our latest pre-Cana course. Tonight's topic was children, and raising them with Catholic beliefs (hardly a surprise, considering this is an official church course). I'm not very religious, but I have really enjoyed this course - tonight's class the most of all.
It's great to have a chance to gather with other to-be-married couples, to get a chance to listen and learn from a pair of experienced couples (21 and 24 years of marriage, or thereabouts). I also really like Father Ephrim, who has some excellent anecdotes.
The short experience is the long explanation, and vice-versa. And I'm pretty confident that I won't be like that woman with her dog and child. As long as I can enjoy a class like tonight's, there's always hope. Maybe I'll even do as well as my parents did with me.
Thursday, 10 November 2005
In France, Construction is Spelled E-x-a-s-p-e-r-a-t-i-o-n
Just a very quick entry because I have lots to do. But I'm so upset about this, I couldn't not write.
Last night, I came home to a chilly apartment. Turns out the reason is, the workers in the courtyard had punched a hole clear through the wall.
More than just a hole, in fact. If it weren't for some "decorative" slats in my kitchen (ugly as sin, but we won't get into my landlord's taste), I'd have a huge gap leading directly outside. Not to mention the new "ventilation" that I have above my kitchen sink.
My landlord pleaded ignorance when I called him this morning, and I guess I believe him. He and his wife take a very hands-off approach to management (i.e. they're happy that I always pay on time, and they don't say much of anything). But, as an apartment owner in the building, he surely received at least one letter updating him - and that's even if he decided that he wouldn't attend the voting session that legally has to be held for work of this scale to be done.
Bien sûr, none of this could have been done during the warmer months. November, with its short days and plummeting temperatures, is much better suited for removing what little insulation my apartment has.
Scared the Living F--- Out of Me
If you want to see a great thriller/horror flick, go see The Descent. No link, no details (except to disambiguate by saying that it's the film with the women spelunkers).
I don't want you reading any spoilers. Just go see it.
It's been almost two hours, and I'm still shaken. Having seen more than my share of horror flicks, that's really unusual. Great stuff.