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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, 1 November 2005
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.
Monday, 31 October 2005
And So It Begins
I returned to my apartment on Friday evening to find an envelope waiting for me, addressed to Heather and myself. Oh, joy! Our first piece of shared junk mail: a brochure from a marriage photographer. Obviously, this is because we registered our wedding with my mayor's office.
Looks like France is just as cutting-edge as the U.S. as far as the use of public records to generate sales leads. Except, the address label was hand-written.
Thursday, 27 October 2005
I Heart My Hearth
It seems like a lot of landmarks and major events this year have taken place on the 14th of a month. I proposed to Heather on 14 August. That marked the anniversary of when we met (and almost exactly six months after our Valentine's Day weekend in Florence). There was 14 October, when I applied for French citizenship.
So you can imagine that it came as sort of a surprise that yesterday should be such a pivotal day.
Tuesday, 25 October 2005
A Weekend in Nantes
This weekend, my bride-to-be surprised me with a trip. (Actually, my being too clever by half - often too much for my own good - I had sort of figured out the destination a while back. But I pushed it to the back of my mind, and so it remained a surprise.)
Heather took me to Nantes, the French town where I was a student so long ago. We'd been talking for a long time about my showing her the place, especially since it essentially marks the start of my French Experience. So it was a thrill to play tour guide for her - and for myself, since Nantes has changed in some subtle and not-so-subtle ways since my student days.
You can see photos of our trip in my new gallery. At the time I write this, though, things are still in flux. I still have to add titles and descriptions (and more). But sooner is better than never, right?
We got there Saturday afternoon, which meant we missed out on "normal" lunch hour - and with it, my being able to eat at my once-favorite crêperie, La Crêperie Jaune. So instead we had our galettes at another of the many crêperies in the old town area. We did have time during our wanderings to have a great cup of hot chocolate at La Maison des Ancêtres (a new addition since my student days).
Thursday, 20 October 2005
There's No French Word for "Geek" but There Sure Is One for "Snob"
As I've mentioned before, I enjoy certain annual rituals - among them, my pilgrimage to Steve Jobs's Apple Expo keynote. This year marked only the second time since I moved to Paris that I didn't see the keynote. Like the first time, it was because it had been canceled.
For me, Jobs's keynote is the high point of the Expo. With it canceled, I didn't even bother to mingle with the masses of Mac fanatics fans. What, pass up being crushed by the great unwashed (sometimes literally)? I must be crazy!
Sarcasm aside, I did miss going to the Apple Expo this year. Apple has in recent years been distancing itself from trade shows to announce new products, instead preferring to create its own "events."
Neighborhood Watch
So that building down the street from my office - you know, the one I wrote about before - has been undergoing construction for a few months. Abandoned for I don't know how long, then a squat, it's now shaping up to be a very nice-looking building.
The restaurant on the ground floor in the corner was completely gutted (as were the floors above, I would imagine). The new interior is quite nice, lots of wood and stone. It's still the same pizza restaurant as before, but now it looks much nicer. The workers are just getting started on the commercial space next to the restaurant, so that'll be interesting to follow.
The building exterior was cleaned up, French-style: the stone is ground and scrubbed down, pocks and pits are filled in with a similarly colored cement. Best of all, they've removed a very ugly concrete addition (probably a result of some quickie work in the 60's or 70's) on the side of the restaurant. It's now roughly the same texture and color as the rest of the building's stone, the concrete having been stripped away and the underlying stone repaired (within the limits of how much you can repair stone).
The building proper will become logements sociaux, or low-income housing. This is good news, as there were a rash of fires this summer in buildings filled beyond capacity. There was an outcry at the time that the people running Paris were ignoring the needs of the large number of poor (typically immigrants). I'm sure this is a drop in the bucket; but from the looks of this building, Paris certainly isn't ignoring the poor who need housing.
So everyone wins: Low-income families get housing in a pretty nice location; a cheap-looking pizzeria is revamped to the extreme; and a largely vacant building is once again useful, with a very nice-looking exterior. And life in the city moves on...
Wednesday, 19 October 2005
One Giant Leap
This morning, I received a return receipt for an envelope full of papers that I sent last Friday. This little, pink slip of paper is a sort of recognition that I finally took the big step.
Last Friday, 14 October 2005, I applied for French nationality.
They're Not All Like That
As much as I rail on French service (hint: each word is a separate link), I do have good experiences. Yes, I'm far from alone: most French people I know also have bad experiences. But yes, it's also entirely possible to have good ones!
We (as in, Matchbox, my company) have to declare VAT (TVA in French) every nineteenth of the month. We declare sales tax that we've collected (there's a flat tax on all goods and services), and get credit for VAT that that we've paid. But that's hardly fun, or good service, you say. And you'd be right. It's just an inevitability - as sure as death and, um, taxes.
But today's filing reminded my of a nice experience that I had early last December. We'd filed our November VAT declaration, as for any other month. Only as it turns out, I'd forgotten to enclose a check for what we owed that month. How I found out was pretty great: I got a call in the late evening (after 7:00 PM) - hardly the time you'd expect a paper-pushing fonctionnaire to be working.
"Monsieur," my caller said, and approximately words to this effect: "You forgot to enclose a check. I wanted to call you so that you had a chance to pay on time. It'd be a shame if you had to pay penalties."
More Phone Fun
Note to self: Don't buy from The Phone House again (previously: Phone Fun and Phone Fun, Part II). Two weeks waiting for my phone that I ordered online, one week of which was because they misplaced my faxed copy of my ID card and I had to fax it again. Which they required in order to ship my order, despite having happily taken my money the same day that I ordered the phone.
So, let's get that straight: You already took someone's money (mine), but it's ostensibly for their protection (mine) that you require my ID card after the fact? Um, good logic.
Oh, and another note to self: Don't order things on the Internet in France until they join the rest of us in the 21st century. Otherwise, you'll end up spending more time on the phone than if you'd just ordered by phone originally.
Only in France would it be harder to use the Internet than to phone in my order. Oh, that's right: it costs 15 (euro) cents a minute to make phone calls. Gotta milk that for what you can.
At least I finally got my phone last Thursday. It's really, really nice. More on that in some other entry, some other time.
Sunday, 16 October 2005
The Accent Is on "Cool"
Having lived long enough in a non-English-speaking country, I've had my fair share of comments on my accent. It's really interesting to hear what people have to say, though sometimes a little bruising to my ego.
Often, I've heard French people say that I have overtones of a Quebecois accent - which can be good or bad, since some find it charming in a rustic way and others find that accent to be grating or too backwards (as in country boy). Just this Friday, a real estate agent thought I was Canadian because of the way I said "bonjour."
On my good days, I've been able to convince people that I was a native French speaker and that I was slipping in an occasional slip-up on purpose. On my bad days, I sound every bit the drawling American tourist, fumbling for my vocabulary and speaking with broken grammar. If I'm lucky, I might be able to pass myself off as a non-American tourist. Not that the French dislike American tourists any more or less than others, but I think Parisians are tired of the waves of Americans that visit at certain times of the year (justifiably so, since I count myself among them).
But maybe the coolest experience I had with my accent was in the U.S. While rushing to make a tight flight connection at the Detroit airport, I asked a guy in his early twenties if he had the time. He gave it to me, showing his watch at the same time. Then he added, "I like your accent." This from a very American-looking "hip urban style" kid. I, the consummate geek, was cool to someone from the cool crowd.
Neato.
Tuesday, 4 October 2005
Gathering Moss
In this morning's mail I received my latest quittance de loyer, for the month of October. It looked just like all the others before it, except this one was special. This one is number sixty-one.
I've now lived in this apartment for five years. I arrived in Paris in July 2000, but I didn't find a place to live until September. I've been living here ever since.
This marks the longest that I've lived in one place in my life, save for the twelve-plus years with my parents in Rochester. It's a weird feeling, especially since I never planned on staying in this place for so long - certainly not longer than my favorite apartment that I've ever had, which I lived in for three years.
I guess it's fitting that my next place will be with Heather. That, on the other hand, is a situation that I look forward to making permanent.
Wednesday, 28 September 2005
Une vie à deux
Heather and I spent this last weekend looking forward - "forward" as in anticipation, ahead, towards what the future holds for us. We've decided that we'll get married in Paris, since France has been such a large part of our lives - not the least in that we met here. We're also working to make it a bit more of a permanent part of our lives, too.
So on Saturday, we crashed a wedding. Well, "crashed" is maybe not the right word for it because it turns out that all French civil ceremonies are open to the public. But we didn't know this when we woke up early and got dressed in our spiffies. We also didn't know that when the security guard asked us if we were there for the 11:30 or 12:00 wedding and we replied, "umm, 11:30?"
After killing a bit of time in the neighborhood, we returned. I approached the nice assistant (to the officiating vice mayor), who personally showed us the salle de mariage before the next ceremony started.
It was a beautiful room, restored to its 18th century state and full of dark wood, velvet, and ornate decorations. The three large hanging paintings made it seem more like a museum room than a public office. After a few minutes, the assistant escorted us to the registration clerk for our paperwork. The clerk was helpful and had a slightly wacky sense of humor, which made the process seem that much less dry and... officious.
Tuesday, 27 September 2005
Not Just Another (French) Face
There. Take a look at them, the pictures below (click to enlarge).
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See them? That card, my carte de résident, represents five years, two months, nineteen days, and some change. I'm now officially a permanent resident of France.
I was more than a little worried, since my income has declined year-on-year during the five requisite years of renewing my temporary carte de séjour. My employment and financial circumstances were mostly beyond my control, but I still expected for them to put my application for permanent residency in a bad light. The clucking sounds that the fonctionnaire made while I submitted my latest papers, one month ago, did little to encourage me. In fact, I was flat out pessimistic about my chances after that.
Today's visit started with a ten-minute wait while the clerk, who sells official stamps (a centralized proof of payment), attempted to start her cash register. Not exactly an auspicious start. But we joked while she rang up my purchase, and parted with a smile. Yet another friendly face greeted me at the visa office - the same office as I'd visited in August.
A half an hour's "ten minute wait" later, and the clerk who'd received me summoned me into her cubicle. (This was a good sign. My last visit had me paired with a woman who readily admitted that she really would have preferred coffee and the morning off instead of working on cases like mine.) Immediately after I entered her cubicle, the woman had to excuse herself for others at the front desk. But, she said, not to worry. "Everything is fine."
Monday, 26 September 2005
Once Upon a Time
Great news from my side of the pond: I'm engaged.
I proposed to Heather exactly six weeks ago yesterday, and she accepted. Also six weeks ago.
Now for those of you who complain about how long I take to tell a story, that's the short version. For the rest of you, the full story follows the jump.
Tuesday, 26 July 2005
Six Plus One
Sunday was a big day, in more ways than one. Heather and I were on the Champs Elysées to see the finish of the Tour de France. It was her fifth time, and my sixth, to see Lance Armstrong win.
Last year marked his record-breaking six wins (the other top winners were tied at five), so this year was the one that makes his record all the harder to beat. Seven wins, all in a row.
I've seen all but his first one in person, and it's become a sort of anniversary marker for me. July 2000 was my first month living in Paris, and I went to the Champs more out of curiosity than anything. After that, it's become almost a ritual.
What wasn't a part of my original ritual was our schedule: Heather is a serious fan - and not the tallest, either. Those two factors meant that we had to get there early. 7:35 AM early, in fact.
Trick is, the riders didn't start passing by until almost 4:30 PM - half an hour later than the slowest estimated time. Nine hours after we got there. Most of that time was standing.
It's a relatively friendly sport among spectators. Some jostling and plenty of jockeying for good spots (like ours) by latecomers and a bratty 10-year old German boy. Plenty of rain (though never a downpour) in the morning.
Aside from that, it was fun. We met a nice couple who live in Las Vegas, chatted with Aussies and other nearby fans, and got to see world champions in action.
After a day of no eating or drinking, we celebrated Lance's win by going to Breakfast in America, an American-run diner. Nachos, a shake, root beer, and a big burger. Mom was right about rich food giving bad dreams - but it was worth it.
And it was worth waiting all that time to mark another year living in Paris, the last year that Lance will ride - and win - the Tour de France.
(Too tired now, but more soon about our Tour de France 2005 experiences.)
Wednesday, 1 June 2005
Like Two Ships Passing in the Night, Only Not
Just ran into Heather's upstairs neighbor in front of her building. The glare he gave me as he wobbled by on his bike was classic.
Wonder if he's gotten his police summons yet?
Tuesday, 31 May 2005
The French Say "Non"
As you've probably already heard, France said "non" to the European Constitution. I wanted to wait to write about it until I had some concrete numbers, instead of just poll results.
There are lots of reasons for the rejection, and the effects remain to be seen. Those don't interest me so much as the situations that the vote provoked.
Extremists, right and left, were against it - in effect, unifying them. Businesses (who apparently stood to benefit from it) and moderate politicians (often former businesspeople) supported the Constitution. Employees and laborers tended to be much less favorable.
In the end, 54.68% of those French who voted were against the Constitution. 66.45% of Parisians who voted were in favor of it. Interestingly, the arrondissements least in favor of the Constitution were the 13th, 18th, 19th and 20th - typically, more working-class. The most favorable - at 80.03% and 80.52%, respectively - were the 16th and the 7th, home of some very rich people (the 7th is home to the Eiffel Tower, as well).
Monday, 30 May 2005
Small Satisfactions
This weekend went fast - too fast, but I at least got plenty of things done.
My friend Celia is moving out of town, but she's still waiting for things to be finalized. Unfortunately, she gave notice on her apartment three months ago when things seemed to be almost final. So, I'm loaning her my place until she can get that squared away.
Saturday was spent getting my place ready for Celia. It was a good reason to go through some things and get rid of them. It also reminded me of how much more thorough I am when I clean for guests, and not just for myself.
Heather - a recent beneficiary of several pieces of Celia's furniture - and I worked on her place for most of Sunday. We found good spots for everything, and moved around a lot of books, music, movies, and clothes. "It's like I'm finally moved in," she said. "Four years after I got the place!"
Not really a remarkable weekend, but rewarding. Sort of like another one about a month ago.
Tuesday, 17 May 2005
Getting Away From It All
This past weekend, Heather and I joined our friends Oren and Maria at their vacation home in Normandy. It wasn't for any particular reason, just to get away from the routine.
I seem to remember hearing the English use the term "mini break" for the weekend. I like that. It's exactly what we had: a mini break from the routine, from Paris. Which - for all its amazing qualities - does tend to wear you down when you live and work in it daily.
We didn't even have a full weekend away, Heather and I, arriving on Saturday evening and returning to Paris some 24 hours later.
The weather certainly wasn't remarkable: mostly cloudy and scattered rain. "Rain is part of the charm of Normandy," as one person told me. Well, the charm was fortunately broken by beautiful, sunny weather for a good part of Sunday. But you know what? I'd have been fine even if it hadn't been.
There's something about "not particularly special" that made the weekend all the more special. Thanks, Oren and Maria.
Monday, 16 May 2005
Grumble
Today is a Monday, which makes some people grumpy. It's also supposed to be a holiday, which makes even more people grumpy.
"Supposed to be" a holiday, because the Monday following Pentecost was, until this year, a French public holiday. It was revoked (if that's the word) by the government in order to save money in order to pay for retirement funds. Retirement funds for public workers. Many of whom aren't working today.
Of course, in its infinite logic, the government is trying to pass of working today as "solidarity" (for the retired). So, today I'm working "in solidarity" to pay for the retirement of government workers. Who aren't working. Oh, they're also eligible for retirement some five years before private-sector workers.
Anyhoo, that's not the point. The point is, other people besides myself are grumpy. I wasn't grumpy (really!) until I wrote the above explanation.
So, I'm on the metro this morning. Whose conductors, incidentally, were on a work slowdown. Fortunately they were back to the full (holiday) schedule before I arrived at the station. Anyhoo...
So, I'm on the metro. And it misses a stop. It's not like the train kept on going. No, it stopped about five meters late - so that half of the frontmost car, which I was in, found itself in the tunnel. The rest of the car, and train behind it, had access to the platform.
So after what I imagine as an "oh, shit" moment in the driver's cockpit, the doors opened, people gave each other bemused looks, and the buzzer sounded. Then it was off to the next station, and all was normal again.
Looks like I know of at least one (other) person who was grumpy today.
Sunday, 8 May 2005
WTF
A day can start suddenly, and sometimes violently. Today was both.
Heather and I were woken up by her upstairs neighbors, stomping on the floor around 6:30. Two especially loud thumps made it sound like they dropped a large brick on the floor. A third one came a couple of minutes later, and I was upstairs to tell them to know it off.
Heather's had problems with this couple before, and the history is too long to bother getting into. They complain that she makes too much noise - "too much" defined as closing the front door when she gets home from work after midnight. The root of the problem is that they never come down to say anything, preferring to stomp on the floor.
So this time, woken up out of a pretty sound sleep, I decided to be the adult and go upstairs. No answer to the doorbell, so I knocked. No answer to that, so I knocked very loudly.
The situation didn't have time to degenerate - it was immediately bad. Before I said more than that they were making too much noise, the guy was yelling at me through the door. Claimed that I had no right to ask or tell him anything, used the informal "tu," and called me an asshole. So much for being adults.
Just a few minutes into the exchange, and there had already been time for Heather to come up, for me to send her down for the phone (the guy was acting weird), and for her to return.
And then it happened.
Tuesday, 3 May 2005
Culturata
an approximation of the view we had, according to the Paris Opera's online ticketing system
For Heather's birthday, I took her to the ballet last night. We did the same in March (her Christmas present - did I mention that she loves the ballet?), but that was at the modern Opéra Bastille. This time, we saw Rudolf Nureyev's adaptation of Cinderella at the classic - and much more ornate - Palais Garnier.
I guess I'd be hard-pressed to say which I liked better, Cinderella or Sylvia (which we saw in March). Sylvia was a very minimalist show, in costume, decor and the number of the cast. Nureyev's Cinderella was over the top, with a huge cast and a very ambitious set.
Hah - there I go, talking as if I knew anything about ballet, or even enough to critique either show. I bow to Heather's expertise; I can only say that I enjoyed both shows. The motion of the dancers, combined with some superb orchestral music, made me happy to see both shows.
It's times like last night that Heather and I get to realize the full benefit of living in Paris. There are few places where I'd be able to see a top-ranked ballet company in action, simply by hopping on a five-minute train ride from my place.
After the jump are a few snaps that I took with my phone camera. You have the benefit of not seeing the seven-foot tall 13-year-old in a tuxedo, seated directly in front of us.
Wednesday, 23 February 2005
Snow!
the view from my bathroom window
This morning, cold as ever, I woke up to the sight of snow! Big whoop, you might say - especially if you hail from Minnesota, where I spent many a year before moving to Paris.
But the fluffy (or sticky) white stuff is a rare sight here. Rare enough to confound and confuse, annoy and amuse, the few times that it does come around. My inner Minnesotan found it pretty funny to see everyone slipping and sliding, in cars or on foot.
You betcha. Oui.
Tuesday, 15 February 2005
People Suck
Well, considering how long I've lived in major metropolitan areas, I suppose it had to happen sooner or later: Tonight, I got pick-pocketed. Or rather, I almost got pick-pocketed.
It started on my way home from exercise this evening, one of a pair of guys just about jumped on my back, wrapping his arm around me. After I pushed off the drunk, the pair hung around for many meters, hassling me.
I'd had enough of it, and and told them both to shove off. The second guy came much closer like he was going to pick a fight, continually trying to trip me and demanding what his friend ever did to me. (Like any good Parisian, I had insulted the back-jumper.)
Seconds after they'd fallen back, I felt my wallet missing. So with a yell and a sprint, I was back to them. I don't know which one took my wallet, but it fell to the ground just as I got close. I gave the second guy a good smack upside the head (you don't punch unless you really want to fight) and swore a good streak.
Checked the contents, seemed to all be there (but I'm not sure about the cash), then off I was again. Both of them just stood there.
As did several bystanders, none of whom had done a thing.
Fuckers. Every one.
Thursday, 27 January 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, 3 November 2004
Four More Years, putain
It's official, as of a bit over an hour and a half ago: Bush won the 2004 elections.
I can't say that I'm surprised, since I was sure of his victory as long ago as January (I have witnesses). While I was hopeful that Kerry might win against the odds (that is, the ones I gave him), I never wavered in my pessimistic - or perhaps, pragmatic - prediction.
The Democrats have for too long defined themselves in relation to the Republicans - what they do better or nicer or whatever. This ultimately gives the game to the Republicans.
One American official (I forget who) being interviewed on Arte (an excellent arts and news TV channel) last night said that Bush wanted to be President incredibly strongly (obviously, my paraphrase). Neither Kerry nor any of the other potential opposing candidates seemed to have that hunger, that drive.
Until the Democrats are willing to risk making strong positions on their own and backing them up, they will always be on the defensive. Clinton's and Carter's wins are flukes in this context. The U.S. is and will continue to be a Republican nation precisely because they are able set the rules of the game. Not that I hate the Republicans, but rather the religious extremism and self-righteousness that they now represent.
Wednesday, 6 October 2004
Aller-retour
I took taxis to and from an on-site meeting with a potential client. Which, by the by, went very well - much better than I ever had the right to expect.
The driver on the way out was funny. "I hate my job," he said - first in French and then English, as if to ensure that his point was absolutely clear. "It makes me really mad. The traffic makes me mad. And now your destination takes me way out into the middle of nowhere. Which makes me mad." (Some comments he repeated in English, all are my rather liberal translation.)
The half-smile on his lips belied his good humor, though. And in case there was any doubt, he later added (out loud) that he had been joking. I'd never had a doubt: I can definitely tell by now when a Parisian is truly mad. Because if I can't tell, how am I supposed to express the same?
My driver for the return trip tuned in to a comedy-and-music format station (named, oh-so-creatively, Rire et chansons). A short skit played, followed by a song. And, wouldn't you know it, the song was Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit."
Now, this is the point that I'd have expected my driver - on the near side of his 60's, probably (it's hard to tell, some French don't age gracefully) - to have changed the station. But no, he left it on. Not only that, he started humming along. My crusty old taxi driver hummed along to "Smells Like Teen Spirit."
Needless to say, I tipped him extra.
Thursday, 16 September 2004
The Adventures of Claude and Raf, Dogs About Town
the terrible trio
This is a story of Claude and Raf, two stuffed toy dogs that I got from my cousins Katelin and Emily, aged 8 and 9. "Raf" is short for "Rafaël," and plus it sounds a bit like a dog barking. "Claude," of course, sounds a lot like "claw."
I know the names might sound silly to some people, but the dogs think it's cool. Claude, especially. He likes to think he's pretty tough.
Since my cousins live so far away in Pennsylvania, I decided that it would be fun to give them a tour of Paris by taking a bunch of pictures. So a few weeks ago, I sent them copies of the photos along with a version of this very story. Considering their ages, it's not surprising that at times the story gets a little silly.
With Claude and Raf as my companions, and Heather as my able photographer, we went to many of the interesting places in town. It might be fun if you grab a map of Paris and try to trace our path as you follow the pictures. The photos are in the order that we visited the places. Believe it or not, we did everything in one afternoon. Actually, if you look at my red face by the end, you probably will believe that it was all in one afternoon...
So follow along and see this photo tour, starring Claude and Raf! Guest-starring Heather! With special guest appearances by Heather's finger!
Tuesday, 14 September 2004
Phone Fun, Part II
As you could probably guess, the "fun" in the title (as in my last entry with the same name) is purely facetious. Conscious as I am of how many of my recent entries have been negative, I decided to hold off writing anything more about this little escapade until I was well and truly done. Well, done I am (I hope).
I got a call this morning from some guy at the Phone House, letting me know that they'd received my repaired phone. So, 'round about lunchtime I wandered on over. Sure enough, it was repaired - I tested it before paying. Before anything else happened, I left.
Thursday, 9 September 2004
Well, That's Settled Then
McDonald's France, in their untiring efforts to repackage the same food so as to hold their customers in thrall, have set into motion their latest promotional juggernaut. It's called "Road to America 2" (apparently the second appearance of this English-monikered sandwich series).
The five variations on the burger-bun-sauce-cheese staple include State names that evoke the brash and/or frontier mystery that is the United States, such as Arizona, Texas, and New York. Less at home in that list are "Mexico" and "Canada."
This leads me to one of two conclusions: That in my absence, the U.S. has launched successful campaigns on its neighbors in some 21st century Manifest Destiny. Or, more plausibly, that George Bush is trying to make up for lost time, becoming a truly international leader by serving as McDonald's menu consultant.
Monday, 6 September 2004
Self-Discovery
It's amazing how fast you can shower, dress, pack, and make your way through the Paris Métro system when you wake up just half an hour before your train to Geneva leaves.
Sunday, 5 September 2004
The Trunk on the Float Went "Toot, Toot, Toot"
Another of my yearly "markers" is the Fête de Ganesh. A parade through a northern neighborhood of Paris, it's a wonderful reminder of just how cosmopolitan the city can be, on a good day.
Today was made for this kind of parade: bright sun, clear skies, very comfortable temperatures. Perfect conditions for the beautiful, vibrant colors on display and packed crowds that the parade attracts. This is the fifth year that I've gone, with probably the best conditions of the three times that were sunny.
I discovered the parade purely by accident the first year that I lived here. It became one of my first "traditions", and every following year I've assembled different groups to enjoy the spectacle. This year included Heather, of course, and a few other friends. Days and events like this help you to forget how gray and bland Paris can actually become after a time.
Thanks for the mini-vacation, mini elephant dude.
Tuesday, 31 August 2004
Turn, Turn, Turn
As I would have already written (had I actually gotten around to writing about the Tour de France), there are certain events that I go to every year. These serve as markers of a sort, representing how long I've spent living in Paris as well as how I've used that time. Like a birthday, these are little, staggered "New Years" that are scattered throughout the calendar.
Today marked the fourth time that I went to the Apple Expo keynote (it would've been the fifth, had the event in 2001 not been canceled after the 11 September bombings). Usually, this is hosted by Steve Jobs, who - along with his reality distortion field - is the main draw for me. Sure, it's cool to see what nifty new toys Apple has come up with, but Paris almost always takes the back seat to the U.S. and so they're almost always a repeat from some prior event. No, this is much more about seeing the computer industry's one true rock star.
Wednesday, 25 August 2004
Phone Fun
It's raining again; this August has been more like April, as far as "A" months go. In that spirit:
My phone has been in for repairs for over a month. The resident idiots at my local Phone House (a retail chain) sent it to Bouygues Telecom. This despite the fact that I'm an Orange customer, and my phone isn't tied to any particular company; it should have gone to the Phone House service center. Obviously the quintessential "Friday job": the guy who took my phone was leaving for vacation.
Tuesday, 24 August 2004
There's No Such Thing as a French Baker's Dozen
I recently had the opportunity to get a roll of film developed. Normally, I haven't done that in France because I'd heard how expensive it was. Time was pressing, as I meant the photos to be a gift, so I dropped the roll off. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the price wasn't too much more expensive that what I'd expect to pay in the U.S., &euro 11.36 for 24 double prints.
But therein lay the problem: I only paid for 24 photos. My camera, old though it may be, regularly gets 25 images from a roll of 24. Following typical French Cartesian behavior, the last, perfectly good negative - snip! - was cut right in two.
What, you want to pay us for an extra photo? Silly American! You only get the options that we decide you get!
Looks like I'm back to hording my rolls for developing during my visits to the U.S.
Monday, 2 August 2004
Le Squat
Many weeks back, an artists' squat took root in a building down the street from our office. Nothing really remarkable about its arrival, to the extent that I never really gave writing about it more than brief consideration before forgetting about it again. Then, a little over two weeks ago, brawny security guards and metal-wielding (and welding) workers converged on the place like flies.
Squats are an interesting part of life in France, especially Paris. With real estate so overpriced, it's hardly surprising that there are unoccupied spaces - sometimes, whole buildings. Their owners rarely seem to be in much of a rush to do anything about it. And why should they be, considering that many of the owners are insurance companies. These are, after all, people who've built their business on waiting for you to keel over and die.
Of course, in the meantime, people need a place to live. So those who can't afford to rent one of the high-priced spaces will sometimes swoop in and occupy one of the vacant properties. Often, this seems to be done by artists collectives, mixing their own brand of political and social protest for a pragmatic answer to the question of, "where should we create our art?"
Bother
It's been hot and sticky today - 32 degrees at the moment, certainly having peaked at a higher temperature. While it doesn't begin to approach last year's canicule, I still had to leave the office early. ("Early" here defined as "6:30 PM.") I just couldn't focus enough to warrant sticking around any longer.
"Bother," as a favorite prognosticator would have said.
"Ils ont annoncé de la pluie," my neighbors told me as we crossed in our apartment building's stairwell. You've got to love that Cartesian certainty: "They've announced rain." As if such a thing could be programmed, like a football match or a day off.
But little matter: I'll just use this time to catch up a bit in my blog, after having been absent from it for some time. Various reasons and all that, none of which really matter.
I'll let you know how that rain thing worked out.
Thursday, 15 July 2004
The Rockets Glared Red... and Blue, and White, and Green
So, it's been pretty much a lifetime tradition for me to see fireworks every year. I suppose that would hardly be surprising for most people I know. Not because I know them, but because they're American or French or British or Chinese, and the U.S. and France and the U.K. and China (and thereabouts) celebrate big events with fireworks.
Today just happens to mark the storming of the Bastille, and start of the French revolution - ushering in a reign of terror that eventually led, logically, to the installation of an emperor. Um, wait - that doesn't seem right. Oh, there was a bit of representative democracy in there and a king and stuff. Anyhoo, it was a pretty big deal at the time - at least for those who hadn't had their heads chopped off. Now we're all civilized and everything, and it's the Fifth Republic.
Tuesday, 13 July 2004
À que coucou, Johnny
For the first time in my time living in Paris, over four years, I've actually had a brush with a famous person.
See, Paris (and France in general?) is actually pretty respectful of the private lives of celebrities, at least in comparison to the U.S. I'm not talking about notable exceptions like that which caused the death of Princess Diana. No, I'm simply saying that it's possible to find yourself in line behind Johnny Depp, minding his own business at the grocery store just as you are. (This actually happened to a friend of mine.)
Wednesday, 7 July 2004
I Didn't See Bush, But the Flowers Were Pretty
front entryway to the residence, with fountain and flags
Today I had a rare-in-a-lifetime experience: Celebrating Independence Day by going to a reception at the U.S. Ambassador's residence in Paris. (Yes, a bit belatedly - I think that the actual Fourth of July was reserved for the higher-ups.)
Friends Matt and Lauren work at the embassy and were able to swing guest invitations for Heather and myself. Heather, unfortunately, is on a trip and had to miss out. So this entry is for her, as much as for anyone else.
Tuesday, 22 June 2004
Just Like Norman Rockwell Would've Pictured It
It was a swell evening and all, but nothing at this year's Fête de la musique compared to one funny sight that I witnessed at last year's edition.
It was toward the end of the evening, after having meandered through the area around the canal St. Martin. Near place de la République, a barricade stood against the few cars braving the streets packed with music-loving pedestrians. République was hosting the finale band: Simply Red, back from wherever they'd been hiding since the Eighties.
Anyway, the funny thing had nothing to do with bands back from the dead, and everything to do with the average Parisian.
Sounds
The loud grinding, buzzing, humming sounds of construction. The worker gnomes are at it again - this time, not only upstairs but also downstairs from me. I now have that to look forward to as an alarm clock every morning, for some indefinite amount of time. Oh, well.
A shrill rendition of "It's a Small World After All," whistled by Nameless Person in the Street on my way to work. Slightly more pleasant, but wouldn't you know it, his whistle carried over all the other sounds. This unfortunately meant that for the next minute (despite walking in opposite directions, and I walk fast), I was subjected to Disney's piece of finely engineered marketing. I spent most of the rest of the day trying to get it back out of my head.
The whir, buzz, whine and scrape of the dentist's tools. He had to be cruel to be kind: it's been four years since the last time I sat in that kind of reclining chair. I was a little nervous going in - not because I'm afraid of dentists (quite the opposite), but because I'd put it off for so long and was worried to hear that my mouth had gone to rot. Many thanks to Heather, both for finding a good dentist and for going so far as to make an appointment for me - just the jolt I needed to break my cycle of excuses.
Tuesday, 25 May 2004
So It Ends With a Whimper, Not a Bang
So anticlimactic it was, I never even thought to mention how my experience with the worker-thieves came to a close.
One week ago yesterday, after several weeks of halfhearted phone-tag, I ran into the owner of the apartment above mine. Daniel (his name, and much easier to write than repeating some descriptive sentence) had hired a contractor to fix damage in my apartment. Said contractor, in turn, was apparently very let down by what can only be termed a professional betrayal on the part of his workmen (man?).
Anyway, despite the fact that the only real proof that I could present was a list of long-distance phone calls, Daniel got € 50 from the contractor, which he passed on to me. That's almost twice the cost of the calls, but doesn't really cover my frustration or what I had lost (a favorite sweater, a bit over € 15 worth of shiny, never-circulated, first-year-they-existed coins).
Sunday, 23 May 2004
Well, Someone Will Always Have Paris, I Guess
My good friend Valerie is going to move back to the U.S. Half-French and half-American, she had a long-term goal to live in France. Once here, she planned to stay for the rest of her life. So her news - while positive for her career - took me aback.
Well, maybe that's too strong of an expression. See, I need to express surprise without actually feeling surprise.
Useful Non-Verbal Communication Methods, Part One of a Potential Series
As a public service - and for no other reason in particular - I bring you certain gestures that may prove useful when in France. Unlike spoken language, these are efficient and unaffected by any sort of accent - or indeed, the lack of any language skills whatsoever.
Wednesday, 19 May 2004
In France, They Call It "PQ"
Sitting for a moment earlier today, I had little to do for the present moment but contemplate my immediate surroundings. So I scanned what was in front of me - the walls, the floor, the sink - when my eyes fell upon the package below the chrome-and-porcelain assembly before me.
Toilet paper.
Living in a foreign land as this intrepid adventurer does, one will often encounter reminders of how even the most banal objects take on new twists through necessity - be that cultural, linguistic, or other. Such as, for example, mentioned purely by happenstance, not meant to provoke the more sensible natures of those among you - the "you" to whom I refer when referring to my readers - the plastic-shrouded, neatly-rolled, paper products under my intent gaze.
Toilet paper.
Monday, 12 April 2004
Trick or Treat - Gimme Peeps!
This weekend was Easter weekend, with today being a holiday in France. And if the French deem it necessary to require time off after a day of feasting, who am I to argue?
My friend, Ivan, again invited me to his mother's place for Easter dinner. This is the fourth year in a row that I've taken part of this family meal. Easter in France is akin to Thanksgiving in the U.S. in the pantheon of family gatherings, so to say that I'm grateful to be included is the least of it.
This is the first year that I arrived with "respectably short" hair. The change gave us a chance to laugh at the first time that I dropped by for dinner, three years ago.
Picture this: I arrive at Ivan's mom's place for Sunday dinner. He greets me at the door, and introduces me to his mother. Who proceeds to take a short, startled breath.
Ah, well, I figure. A typically conservative French reaction to the tall American, with his long hair and a beard, stepping through her front door. I had taken the time to be presentable - carefully trimming my beard and dressing nicely - but I guess there are some things that don't change.
Then it hits me about the same time that Ivan started laughing - just why it's a big deal, on this day in particular.
"It's Easter Sunday," he tells his mother as she gathers her composure. "So I invited Jesus!"
Thursday, 25 March 2004
Wow, Normally I Wouldn't Have Taken That "11" Thing Literally
Just a short while ago, I was witness to a power struggle between my neighbors. By "power struggle," I mean "shouting match." By "witness," I mean "couldn't avoid hearing shouting match through my door."
Your typical everyday passive-aggressive Parisian has nothing on this bunch.
My next-door neighbors, far from being the most quiet lot, were justifiably pissed off at my upstairs-and-across-the-hall neighbors. Loud music, enough to vibrate the walls, had been blasting out of Team B's stereo for a half an hour or so. This isn't the first time, true 'nuff. In the angry-red corner, Team A was righteously indignant because they apparently had their own evening cut short by their cross-floor rivals last Friday. At a relatively reasonable 1:00 AM, no less.
Wednesday, 17 March 2004
Springtime in Paris
The last couple of days have been beautiful, sunny days. Unusual for Paris at this time of year, the sky is clear and the thermometer hit 20 yesterday and 22 today (68 and 72 in Fahrenheit). Normally it's a choice: you get cloudy skies and warmth, or clear skies and chill.
Needless to say, it's been a treat. The city even smells good, like it was getting ready for some event. (You can hold your snarky comments about stereotypical French bathing habits.)
The air smells warm.
Wednesday, 25 February 2004
Attention: Oh-So-Subtle Metaphor Contained Within
So tonight's Picard meal consisted of colin d'Alaska à la parisienne accompanied by a bowl of steamed brocolis, pois croquants, courgettes grillées et tomates cerises. That all translates to "Alaskan hake in sauce" along with "broccoli, snap peas, grilled zucchini and cherry tomatoes." Readers will notice a certain hake theme turning up in my menus, thanks for playing.
But what, I asked myself while cooking the fish, exactly defined "à la parisienne"? Literally, it means "Parisian-style," but that didn't tell me much. Maybe it was the tomato-and-mushroom cream sauce? Who knows.
Saturday, 14 February 2004
Alarm Clock
I don't live in a quiet neighborhood. In the heart of the garment district, delivery trucks daily block the narrow streets as backed-up traffic stretches for blocks. Parisian drivers are famously impatient, and nothing seems to attract their hands to their horns so much as being surrounded by others who are honking theirs.
The exception is the weekend, a 48-hour interlude of quiet. Aside from having paper-thin walls (almost certainly from a cut-rate job to subdivide a larger apartment into two) and the accompanying voices of my neighbors, I rarely have anything disturb me. The occasional bar-goers returning home late at night or sounds from wide-open windows across the street in summer time - little else reminds me that I'm in the heart of a city of twelve million instead of a sleepy little town.
Saturday, 7 February 2004
Apartment Annoyances
From time to time, some things get to me about the furnished apartment that I rent. Especially at this very moment as I'm simultaneously dealing with several of them. Guess which ones!