Clueless in Paris, or, Angst in France

Get out those hotdogs and hamburgers, it's Bastille Barbecue Day! It's not supposed to rain on the parade, but you never know. When I was working my office was near the Champs-Elysées and a few days before the parade they'd have a rehearsal. The fighter jets would fly over, so low that it felt like you could almost reach up and touch them.

Went to the Paris Opera the other night. I was afraid it was going to be a 63 euro nap, but it was actually quite nice. I didn't hear anybody snoring like I did when we saw Verdi.

Must away, coffee and comfy chair are calling!


“Opera is where a guy gets stabbed in the back, and instead of dying, he sings.” Robert Burns (Scottish national Poet of Scotland, who wrote lyrics and songs in the Scottish dialect of English. 1759-1796)

I've found something I didn't even know existed -- the bottom of my inbox!

It has been very warm here. Not that I'm complaining. I just wish the trains and the métro were air-conditioned. You feel so slimy when you get out.

I lost my right arrow key. After the coffee fiasco it was being repaired when it flew across the room, never to be seen again. I have a feeling it was eaten by the vacuum cleaner. Now all I have left is this little rubbery thing and I have to jam my fingernail into it in order to get it to work. I'm going to have to replace the keyboard, I fear. It's all full of canary seeds, anyway.

Well, I've reached the bottom of my coffee cup, so I'm off for a refill!


"But they are useless. They can only give you answers."
Pablo Picasso, about computers

As I was sitting here in the coffee-stained comfy chair, writing an email and minding my own business, the canary dared to fling a seed at my computer. I heard it land somewhere on the keyboard. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something? (Probably, "Let me out of this cage, you jerk!") Why don't I just move the cage, you ask? Because I know he'd get lonely if he wasn't next to the comfy chair. I only wish he didn't enjoy throwing seeds at the computer, or taking a bath and shaking his feathers everywhere. Thus, the life of a bird. Any suggestions for a name? Hyacinth?

P.S. I had coffee grains in my coffee this morning. I must be doing something wrong. Hmmm.

“I wish you could make a friend of me, Lizzie. Do you think you could? I have no more of what they call character, my dear, than a canary-bird, but I know I am trustworthy.”
Charles Dickens quotes

I've not been writing much in my LJ because I've been playing around on Facebook. Facebook is fun for all ages! How did I waste my time before I discovered Facebook? Reading? Writing books? Hmmm. I still haven't figured out the point of Twitter.

My ballet performance was uneventful. I downed two Xanax to help with the stage fright, put on that stupid tutu and danced away. I thought I would blank out and forget the steps, as I did during every rehearsal, but my fellow dancers helpfully guided me through the dance, "Go left, go right, over here! Pssst!"

We now have three coffee pots since the beloved Nespresso machine went kaput. We have a so-called "normal" coffee pot, a new Nespresso machine (capsules -- you know, Nespresso, what else?) and a monster espresso machine. All three are shiny red, like Cadillacs. It's simply coffee heaven! Don't ask me why we have three coffee pots. It's like asking somebody, why do you breathe?

Speaking of COFFEE, I spilled an entire cup of the stuff (demitasse, luckily)on my laptop keyboard. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I wiped it off the best I could, turned it upside down and let it dry. Incredibly, it still works, except the right arrow key, but I think that's because there's a canary seed lodged somewhere beneath it. I need to get one of those spray cans and blast all the seeds out of my keyboard. Hint: keep your canary away from your computer!

Until next time,

All the best!

Schlendrian You wicked child, you disobedient girl,
oh! when will I get my way;
give up coffee!

Lieschen Father, don't be so severe!
If I can't drink
my bowl of coffee three times daily,
then in my torment I will shrivel up
like a piece of roast goat.

J.S. Bach, "Coffee Cantata" BMV211

Excuse my French, but fuck a duck, could not get into my account for the longest time due to some dumb form you had to fill out, which refused to let me fill it out. Finally, I exist!

I can't write today as I'm in a bad mood.

I saw this on WikiHow:

"Blind people can not see you, however, they can smell so when interacting with a blind person it is important to shower."

No comment.

“Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around.”
Bill Watterson

Dispatch from the Comfy Chair!

Seven weeks since I last updated this LJ? It can't be. But, that's what it says when I log in. Where has the time gone?

Today is Starbucks Day. I haven't been to Starbucks in ages. Seven weeks, exactly. Just kidding. I've been going to this little French café -- I sometimes go there in the morning to have my petit café and read when the place is empty. There's always a crowd at the bar in the back. It's wonderful to hang out in cafés now that they've banned smoking. Before the law went into effect, the non-smoking area consisted of one table in the corner near the kitchen door.

My canary died sometime during the night. I just noticed a while ago. I didn't hear him moving around the cage like he usually does, cheeping and hopping. Sad. He was kind of scruffy with old age but he did sing a few good songs.

I acquired two diamond doves, Colombo and Dr. Carter. They're in a cage in my office. I'm planning to move them outside in an aviary for the summer, as soon as it warms up. I already have two aviaries (is that a word or am I mixing French and English?). My neighbors love me. Anyway, at the first light of dawn, my doves start hoo-hooing happily! To me, it's beautiful, but my family hates me.

I'm still getting up at four (not on purpose) and writing. Needless to say, I'm getting a lot done! I've tried melatonin but it doesn't work. Sleeping pills work ... but I get up at five feeling groggy. I guess I'm just one of those annoying people who get by on little sleep.

My broken toe has healed nicely, considering that I never went to the doctor and continued to dance on it despite the searing pain. It feels like it's straight. Well, in truth, none of my toes is really straight. My feet are so ugly they'd scare your pants off.

Must away, time for café! I will try to post more often.

“The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep.”
W. C. Fields

I got kicked off the train this morning halfway home. The train stopped at Ermont because "it was late." Yes, that's what came over the speaker. I was able to find the right platform and I didn't have to wait very long for another train, but I was still hopping mad because it was raining and there is no shelter.

We took the train in with my neighbor, who is an interpreter, on her way to a international business meeting of gas station owners, her head full of gas station vocabulary. I was glad I was not on my way there.

Later, I was in the métro and we were all squished together and sweating like pigs, when a shouting match broke out on the other side of the car. A man bellowed, "When the train is crowed we do not sit! We stand to make room for others! It is written right here!" He was right, but, for cripe's sake, he didn't have to scream it!

Still have not seen head or tails of the big parakeet. I guess he was never mine.

“I knew I was going to take the wrong train, so I left early.”
Yogi Berra

It's 3 am and I can't sleep. Not a creature is stirring ... I'm going to feel like hell today! Sitting here writing on Facebook (hi Caitlin!) -- that thing is addicting and I must stop.

Went to ballet last night, we're rehearsing this silly dance, my God, if you could see what we have to wear! It's worse than embarrassing. It's a 1900s bathing suit, and, believe me, you're not missing anything. Did women really go to the beach wearing those things? The costume includes frilly pants, or shorts, or whatever, and frilly cap. Talk about tan lines! The dance is actually quite funny. Well, got to stay limber somehow!

Taking the twins to see the Paris Opera Ballet School's annual performance tonight. I must not forget my aspirin and bottled water. We get home from Paris on 5 p.m. train and we're off to Paris again at 6. That's cutting it close. Please, trains, work tonight. We have seats in a loge, I'm not sure what the English word is for the little private rooms with chairs. I hate those chairs, they're like kitchen chairs with velvet seats, and they get moved around helter-skelter during intermission. I always manage to get my foot caught on one of them. I'm afraid one day, or evening, rather, the chair and I will go tumbling off the balcony. They should not allow those things.

Nothing else to say, so I shall save this entry and send it into cyberspace!

I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society. Henry David Thoreau

Thought I'd write in my LJ -- I haven't written since the beginning of December, I think, before I came down with a bad case of apathy. I think I'm cured of that now. I hope.

Here I am messing around with LJ and Facebook and email, and putting off editing my book because I am damn sick of it! Blah! The blasted thing has looked me in the face for seven years now. Seven years I have been slogging through it every single day, pouring out blood, sweat and tears. 2010 approaches, and I know I won't be finished.

My squawking parakeet flew away. He has a band on his leg, maybe somebody will find him and bring him back.

Must away, going back to the book. Alas!

Oooh, I like this one:

“Apathy is the glove into which evil slips its hand.”
Bodie Thoene

Overheard on the métro, a guy snapping,

"So I didn't shave today! What's the big deal?"

One thing I hate about French salespeople is that, if they are serving another customer, they never say, "I'll be with you in a moment," so you never really know if they've noticed you are waiting or not. They quite literally ignore you. It's very annoying, but that's just the way it is. Not all salespeople are like this, of course. Just most of the ones I've had to deal with in all the years I've lived here! Then you've got the people who come wandering up while you are patiently waiting for your turn, and, the second the salesperson is finished with the first customer, they barge right in front of you. My jaw nearly drops to the floor every time this happens. I need to be more pushy. I need a bigger mouth. Yesterday we went to the pet store to buy goldfish, and we waited twenty minutes -- yes, twenty minutes! -- for the salesgirl to finish serving a customer who seemed to be buying one of every fish in the store, and I'll be damned if a man holding a tree trunk didn't try to cut in front of me!

I'm so tired of my Monday ballet class, which is at a different ballet studio. I only take the class because I've been taking it for years. A habit, I guess. Anyway, I feel like I'm the only person in the class who can count music. I am constantly being told that I'm "late," when I know I'm not. The others ignore the music and dance like they're in a hurry to finish the exercise; they finish before the music and stand there for three counts doing nothing. I don't know why the teacher doesn't say anything. Maybe she can't count music either? All you have to do is to know how to count to eight! Yesterday, after suffering through an hour of this, I got really annoyed, raised my hand and said, "Should I dance on the music or do like the others?" It was rude of me but I couldn't help it, I thought I was going to explode, and you know me, I *never* speak up. So now the girls are mad at me, I can tell, and I feel bad, but I can't disregard the music, I just can't.

I'm finished whining, I've got it out of my system. Getting the Christmas decorations out tonight, if I'm not too lazy. Which I am, of course!

He who hears music, feels his solitude peopled at once. ~ Robert Browning

There isn't much to report on this cold, blustery day. Nothing, except my broken toe is killing me. It has been hurting ever since I bumped it against a stair, just when it was finally starting to heal. I was thinking that maybe I should tape it to a stick or something. I'm always afraid somebody will tread on it in the métro and finish it off. Then I would really yelp.

I had a pleasant surprise today. The people three houses down the street had some decaying onions or something worse in their trash can for weeks. You could smell it when you passed the house, and the odor was so strong and disgusting that you had to hold your breath. They also had an overgrown hedge that whopped me in the face every time I went past, usually it was wet and I got soaked. Nothing like wet leaves in the face to put you in a good mood. I was thinking of trimming the hedge myself, which I have been known to do to other hedges along my route. Well, I'm pleased to inform you that today I -- my nose -- noticed that they had cleaned up the rotting onions and had actually trimmed the hedge!

Today we're going to the Palais Garnier to see the Démonstrations de l'Ecole de danse de l'Opéra de Paris. Should be interesting. After the performance we're going out to lunch with friends, maybe to Pizza Hut, and then, hopefully, a quick trip to Starbucks. Yeah, I know, coffee again, but what can I say?

"I have always noticed that in portraits of really great writers the mouth is always firmly closed." Gertrude Stein

I was up at 4 am this morning so I tuned in to CNN and watched the live coverage of the elections. I’m not surprised Obama won, Harry’s Bar in Paris predicted that Obama would in, and the straw poll at Harry’s Bar usually predicts the winner. I’m so happy Senator Obama won -- today I’m proud to be an American. I’m going to celebrate Obama’s victory with a double-shot cappuccino, unless Starbucks has a special Obama coffee flavour-of-the-day.

Tomorrow they are having another train strike. I have to go into Paris, which means that, on the way back home, I’ll arrive at the train station an hour and a half before the train gets there. What am I going to do for an hour and a half? I could probably walk home in an hour and a half. I guess I'll find a café and have a coffee. I'm sure it's hard to feel sorry for a person who "has" to find a Parisian café and have a coffee. *grin*

Well, I am off to the ballet studio and to help my little friend with her English homework.


The fact that my 15 minutes of fame has extended a little longer than 15 minutes is somewhat surprising to me and completely baffling to my wife.
(Barack Obama)

I went to the Préfecture this morning to pick up my carte de séjour. I was pleasantly surprised when the woman behind the counter told me it was a carte de résident for ten years. I’m so relieved I don’t have to go back there next year -- what a nightmare! While I was waiting this guy got annoyed with one of the clerks behind the counter, probably over missing paperwork. He starting shouting and banging his fist and he and the woman got into a shouting match. I knew how he felt. But, still. I was waiting for him to draw out a gun and shoot the lady, but he just stalked off.

I'm going to take a more advanced ballet class tonight, unless I chicken out. I took a class from this same instructor last Saturday and I thought he was going to kill us. Kill me, at least. He never let us stop for a minute. Usually I stand in the front because I can’t see very well, but this time I stood in the back, out of fear and embarrassment, and of course, didn’t get the steps. My leg muscles seized up from all the stress of it all, I think, and I had trouble with them all in class all week. Dumb way to spend Halloween, eh?

Maybe I’ll have an extra cup of coffee, just in case I need it, then I'm off to take the train.

"I like Paris. My problem is I don't like Parisians." Sir Laurence Olivier

Holey moley, it’s cold. Freezing my a --- bum off. They say it might snow. And to think that last week people were wearing shorts and sandals! I do hope it snows. This weekend is the annual banana tree beheading and wrapping day. I’ve already set the rest of the tender plants in the greenhouse and brought the birds inside. Winter cometh too quickly, methinks.

I have my voice back, much to the annoyance of everyone around me. I can once again shout and rant and mutter and complain. My voice is still a little warbly, and my nose is stuffy, but I no longer feel like Marcel Marceau.

I found a little gray house mouse yesterday. She was behind the trash can; somehow she got trapped in an empty cracker box and was trying to scratch her way out. We set her outside, gave her a piece of camembert and told her to get moving before one of the neighborhood cats came around. She ran in circles around the cheese, then left.

Well, I will end this entry because it’s too cold to type and I’m not going to have any more coffee and I can’t use the computer without a cup of coffee, don’t ask me why. Maybe I'll listen to KFWB and see what's going on with the elections. Did you know that 84% of French people polled want Obama to be the next president?

“Worry is today's mice nibbling on tomorrow's cheese” (Anon)

I’m just getting over laryngitis. It’s frustrating not to be able to talk but most people are more than happy to have me shut up, if only temporarily. My voice is slowly coming back but I sound like a squeaky violin on a chalkboard.

I received a hideous coat in the mail. I ordered it on-line and I’m going to have to send it back. I can’t wear it. It’s simply ... hideous. It’s hairy and curly, like one of those exfoliating bath mitts, and shaped like something Bigfoot would wear. It looks almost alive, like it would walk off on its own when I remove it. What in God’s name possessed me to purchase this thing? That will teach me to pay more attention to the descriptions.

I’m down to two cups of coffee a day, one in the morning and one after lunch. Okay, I admit, the coffee is so strong the spoon stands up in it, but I swear I’m not putting the equivalent of four cups of coffee into those two cups. I don’t count the occasional cup of weak Starbucks coffee, however. Not bad, not bad, for an addict.

"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”
Edgar Allan Poe

I went to Starbucks twice yesterday. The second time I tried a small French espresso. It wasn’t bad, it tasted like regular French espresso, but it wasn’t nearly as good as a nice, big, frothy cappuccino.

Then, as I was walking down the sidewalk a woman passed me on her bicycle, singing loudly, “Oh, my, oh, my, if I had a driver’s licence, it would be much quicker ... oh, my, oh, my ...” There are some nutty people in this city.

So, yesterday was spent at the ballet studio. I took two classes (three hours) and was bushed. That’s why I needed the two coffees. When I got on the train, I entered a compartment that was full of loud laughter, blasting rap music and cigarette smoke, and I panicked, thinking, “Gang members! Knives! Guns! Rape!” I tried to go into the next compartment before I was shot to death, but I could not figure out how to open the door. I was looking all over desperately for the door handle, but I couldn’t find it. Suddenly one of the “gang members” got up and very nicely helped me open the door. I thanked him. That’ll teach me to judge people.

Today there is a nip in the air and I think I'll start moving my exotic potted plants into the greenhouse for their long winter's nap. I need to move my birds back into the house. I'll wait until the first freeze to cut down the banana trees and wrap them up. Then I'll settle down in my comfy chair for the rest of the afternoon and read Zoetrope.


“Beware so long as you live, of judging men by their outward appearance”
Jean de La Fontaine

Today was an uneventful day, another one in a long string of uneventful days. Wake up. Write for an hour and a half. Yogurt for breakfast. Take Chloé to Paris. Go to ballet studio. Home. Work around the house. Back to Paris to get Chloé. Home. Dinner. Bed. Well, obviously, I’m not in bed yet. But I will be, soon.

There’s a transvestite who stations herself on the corner by the Conservatory. This is Pigalle, after all. Chloé is frightened of her. I told her, Chloé, that she, the transvestite, seems like a perfectly nice person, and there is nothing to be afraid of because she apparently has been there for years and all the dancers are used to her. All the neighbors seem to know her as well. I explained to Chloé that we do not make fun of her behind her back. Un peu de tolérance, s’il vous plaît.

Annoying French word of the day: “VALID.” A person who is not disabled. Les personnes valides.


"Lunch kills half of Paris, supper the other half.”
Charles de Montesquieu

No Starbucks yesterday, there was nobody to go with me! So I sat and read for an hour and a half (add to that the hour I spent reading that morning as well), which was not so bad, except that, with all the train travel I’m doing lately, I’m going through so many books that I fear -- I *know* -- I’ll be in the poorhouse soon. Like Erasmus said, first I buy books, and if I have a little money left over I buy food and clothes. Books, ballet and coffee. That sums up my life in three words!

My favorite dance teacher will be absent for two weeks and that depresses me. I don’t know why. He usually never goes away! He isn't supposed to leave us! He’ll be replaced, of course, but it’s just not the same. A lot of people won’t even bother to come if he’s not there. There are usually 40 in the class, and when he isn’t there, sometimes there are only 15 or so. If we’re lucky he’ll be replaced by the handsome new Russian guy who gives class in English!

Since we’re almost in the poorhouse I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to go to California for Christmas. Ah, well. It was just a dream I had. Anyway, we’re having friends and family over for the holidays, as well as the dreaded mother-in-law, so hopefully that will take my mind off California. I’ll play tour guide, which is always fun, take them to all the must-see places, shopping at the Grands Magasins, and then to see the Christmas lights on the Champs-Elysées.

Well, you guessed it. Time to refill my cup of coffee and start the day.

A good book on your shelf is a friend that turns its back on you and remains a friend. Anon.

Tomorrow is the weekly shopping day. I hate going to the grocery store! Cora, our local supermarket, is actually a hypermarket, a French combo Wallmart and Costco. You can buy anything at Cora, from food to offal, cow’s brains and tongues and pig’s feet (yes, I know, that’s food -- but not to me!), to undergarments, shoes, televisions, refrigerators, books, cell phones, CDs, DVDs and jewelry. There's a whole aisle of yogurt, and you can buy a small jar of Skippy peanut butter for 4.50 euros, and even Oreos, in the Saudi section. Cora is so big that when the checker needs a price check on an item, an employee whooshes off on rollerblades, then phones back with the price. Pretty efficient, I’d say. The annoying thing is that they stock the shelves in the morning while you’re shopping, so the aisles are blocked with boxes lying around helter skelter. It’s near impossible to get around them and I’m forever running into them. I don’t know why they don’t stock the shelves before the store opens in the morning. On the other hand, there is always somebody there to help if you need it. Cora also seems to run out of items more often than other stores. I don’t know why this is. Whole shelves will be empty, like in Moscow. But Cora is the only grocery store within walking distance, so what can I say?

Tomorrow is also Starbucks day, and I’m looking forward to my cappuccino. Maybe I should try something else for a change. I tried iced coffee once but it was terrible! It reminded me of, well, of drinking cold coffee. I’ve cut back on my coffee consumption, I truly have, though the other day I did have six cups because I was dragging. Today I had three.

Off to cook chicken!

“I never make a trip to the United States without visiting a supermarket. To me they are more fascinating than any fashion salon.”
Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor