Anyways...

On Friday night we went and saw Big Fish, since I pretty much hated the book I wasn’t too thrilled about seeing the movie, but the movie was OK. We had originally gone to the theatre hoping to be able to catch Hidalgo in VO but no luck, I guess we could have seen it in French but I hate to pay what amounts to about $10 per person for a movie I’m not going to understand. The Impaqt crew would say that that’s exactly what we should have done, but that’s a lot of money for something I’m not going to get a lot of and S would get even less out of. So we opted for the only VO movie playing and that was Big Fish.

Then dinner at Le Carpaccio, a favorite restaurant of mine, where I apparently ordered a plate of thinly sliced raw beef with a side of salad and wedges of pizza crust. What I actually ordered was Le Carpaccio de Bœuf, of course not knowing what a ‘carpaccio’ was. I got three plates, one with the beef topped with a pesto sauce, slices of parmesan cheese and olives, one with shredded lettuce and one with wedges of plain pizza crust type bread stuff. If anyone knows how I was supposed to assemble this meal let me know. I ate the raw beef and cheese, nibbled on the bread and ignored the green leafy stuff. All in all it was not bad if eaten with a glass of wine or two.

Next we popped into Killarney’s for a bedtime pint of beer, ok a ½ pint and chatted with the barmaids, Lucy and Colette; two lovely young women (WHO ARE IRISH), both English speakers. A nice French woman hearing us speak English introduced herself as Nicolette (? I think) and her husband Fred. She shared with us – in French – her adventures in the US when she spent a couple of weeks traveling the country by greyhound. She had gone from Miami to Las Vegas and ended back up on the east coast somewhere. She had loved the US and found Americans friendly and able to understand her limited English. Score one point for helpful Americans.

We finished our beers, S had Guinness and I had a Beamish Red, and headed for home.

On Saturday we were meant to be meeting up with Mags back at the pub for the France v. England rugby match. We arrived at the pub around 8ish for the 9pm match. We were only two of four customers in the place at that point but by 8:30 the place was packed. At around 8:45 I got a text message from Mags saying she wasn’t going to make it but that we should enjoy the game. No problem Mags, I was mostly there for the beer anyway.

We had staked out two stools near the door and in front of the bigger of the TV’s. Not knowing a darned thing about rugby the highlight of the evening for me, besides the 3 full pints of beer I drank in the hour before the game started, was when I had to use the bathroom and when the two national anthems were sung.

The bathroom experience was one of those things that tell you you’re not in Kansas anymore. I had spent the day hydrating myself for the evening ahead to try and head of a hangover and so after my first pint my bladder was full and I HAD to go. I asked Lucy where the bathroom was and she pointed to a door at the back of the bar. I opened the door to find another door right behind the first, opened the second door and started to walk in when I noticed a man standing just inside and to the left. He was peeing, and there is apparently no door to the urinal. I quickly backed out the doors and waited for him to exit. When he left I went in and noticed that if I had just passed him by, the women’s bathroom was just up and on the right. Apparently I was showing my American prudishness, what I should have done is just ignore the man and keep going on to my little closet, it’s what any French woman would have done. Ah well, live and learn.

Then we come to the singing of the anthems. First the British anthem was sung on TV, and one lonely man stood up in the bar and sang along loudly, and a bit drunkenly. The French in the bar were respectfully quiet. Then when the French anthem was sung everybody else in the bar stood up and began to sing. It was a very moving moment and I felt a bit left out of the singing.

Once the game started I was pretty much lost, it seemed a bit like football but a whole lot rougher. Someone could get hurt playing this game. All these large men dog piling on each other, no pads, no ‘downs’ to stop the play.

(It reminded me of a game we used to play in elementary school, we called it ‘Smear the Queer’ [I was a young innocent catholic school girl and had no idea the name of the game could be bad OK, all I knew was that that was what the game was called.] Basically jump on the person with the ball and take it away from them.)

Some of those rugby players had thighs bigger around than I am and that’s saying a lot. The game moved quickly though and France opened the scoring with what appeared to be a field goal or something, they got three points for it whatever it was. Then France scored again, a ‘goal’ this time, if that’s what you call it, which gave them an additional five points. The noise level in the bar began to rise considerably.

Shortly after that we headed home. Why? Because people in bars smoke like fiends and the French doubly so. My eyes were starting to tear up from the smoke and I was starting to sneeze. When I looked at S his eyes were getting red too; it was time to go. Final score ended up being something like 24 to 21 for France.

Today is a milestone in the Missy in France Blog. I keep my Blog as a word document. I add each new post to this document so I have a copy of it and then post on line from there. Today’s post began on page 100 of this document and that’s page 100 of a document that is typed single spaced and with only ½ inch margins all the way around. Who knew I could write so much.

Paris Day Two (& Three)

Did not fall off the face of the earth, had some internet issues with Wanadoo (my ISP) and had a hell of a time working them out as every time I call for assistance they don't speak English and my 'computer french' is limited. All conversations ended with me yelling at them and them telling me to get someone who speaks French to call them back. It was not pretty! But finally fixed the issue MYSELF last night. So now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

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Back in the late 80's early 90's, don't ask me to pinpoint an exact time because I'm not good at that, I was a single mom attending college on a grant. I had no real plan, just to get through the ordeal with good grades. The state of California had a plan though, it was called general education and in their infinite wisdom decreed that as part of my studies I should take an art history class. Art History, that was a class that was over in that cluster of buildings on campus that I would never have gone near on my own. The first day of this class, like the first day of every class I've ever taken where I was given the choice, I sat in the back of the classroom. Well, classroom in this case being a giant auditorium with theatre seating. The first day seemed to portend exactly how huge a mistake this would be. There was seating for about 300 in this auditorium and there were probably 20 of us in the class. Once again, I took a class from one of those teachers that nobody liked, because I hadn't bothered to ask anyone before signing up for this particular section of the class. The class covered the basics. Early 3rd through late 17th or 18th century art; sculpture, painting, some minor crafts and sticking to mostly Greek, roman, Italian, French works. The format of the class was guaranteed to put you to sleep. We sat in our chairs while the teacher, who I think I actually saw maybe three times during the semester, sat up in the projection booth and flashed slides up on the giant screen. He would then describe the piece, the artist, the medium and why this was important. If the person was a well known master we would cover three or four of his works if not we would cover the one work of note for the artist and why this represented a watershed moment in art. Tests consisted of a slide being flashed up on the screen while we scribbled down everything we remembered about it. You can see how this teacher would be so incredibly popular. This is a class in which I would undoubtedly sit in the back and read something else for half of the 1 ¾ hours twice a week I was forced to attend. A blow off class if there ever was one. I actually had a strategy for these classes which involved studying the teacher and figuring out exactly how little I needed to do to get by. But I never needed the strategy in this class, from the first slide to the last, every class, until the end of the semester, I was transfixed. I would blow off other classes but never this one. Never before had I realized that there was a progression, a study, well, an art to art. It was like puzzle pieces fitting all together nicely in their places. In a class that was guaranteed to put you to sleep, I sat in the darkness of that theatre and scribbled notes furiously. I loved every minute of the class, though not every artist or medium. But it was an introduction into a world that was foreign to me. I still have the text book for that class. Yes there was a book. It opened my eyes to a fact that I’ve always known about music too. That they can teach you the notes, colors, techniques, strokes, styles, theory and rhythms, but unless you have a talent and a passion for it, it’s not something everyone can do. So there I was on Sunday, in the Louvre, seeing up close what I had seen in pictures in a book. Here was all the color, style and form I’d read about, the names, the works. I cried. Yeah, well, not like you didn’t see that coming. I cried. I’m standing in front of the Mona Lisa with a crowd of Japanese tourists and just dabbing at my puddling eyes. Go ahead, get in a good laugh. Walking down that long ass gallery in the Danon wing, of 13th thru 18th century Italian paintings and having snippets of lecture come back to me. It was incredible. Giant canvases, depicting, well lets face it, ‘mother and child’ and ‘the death of Christ’ were almost compulsory themes for these guys. I’m walking down a quarter mile gallery of different variations on the same theme. But the history, the size of them, the colors, and the history (did I say that already) it was awesome. I have to apologize to S because of how I’ve ridiculed his love of ‘piles of rubble’. To him those piles of rubble that mean nothing to me are a representation of a rich history. These were my piles of rubble. As far as collections the Louvre is not so much of a big deal. The big draw of the Louvre is its historical significance to the French as a building and their pride and joy as a museum. But really the collections are sparse, though there is enough there to give you a little taste of everything. On Sunday I learned that as much as I love those paintings, my real love is sculpture. I could’ve spent hours in the galleries of Greek antiquities and French sculptures. I got to see the ‘Venus de Milo’ and ‘Winged Victory’. I got to see ‘The Captives’. I got pictures! Unlike those stuffy uptight people at the Guggenheim, at the Louvre you can take pictures til your hearts content. Flash pictures too. I got a picture of the Mona Lisa, or rather S did. (That’s why you bring really tall people with you to these things, so they can get photos over the heads of all the other tourists.) The Mona Lisa is not such a big deal. Well first of all she’s a rather small painting and secondly she’s hanging on the wall and there’s a box around her with polarized glass. The glass in front of the painting is tinted so that the sun cannot damage her and so that you cannot actually tell the true colors of the painting. And if you take photos you can’t use flash or you get nothing but flashback for a picture and if you don’t use flash the picture is too dark to see and if you set the shutter speed slower and open the aperture big enough to get a good shot you need three or four people around you to block the other tourists or they move you and you get nothing but blur. So, the conclusion is, go see the painting, but forget trying to get a decent picture of her. Yes, I did have my usual difficulty with the size of the building. There were moments that I made S head for the exits. But once there, went back for more. If somebody finds a cure for that, please let me know. I wish I could get past it but I can’t. It’s like a generalized and bizarre form of my claustrophobia. Anyway, it was a great morning. We headed next to Notre Dame. Another ‘short’ walk up the seine this time. Notre Dame was anti-climactic. It’s a big church, ok cathedral. Alright it is the heart of Paris and it is a marvel of medieval engineering. The interior is so vast that it can hold up to 6000 worshippers. One of the best features inside is the 7800-pipe organ. For a small fee and a lengthy wait in line you can climb up to the 387 steps of the north tower which will bring you to the west façade and some of the scariest gargoyles you’ll ever see. One curiosity you can see outside of the cathedral is ‘point zero’. ‘Point Zero des routes de France’ is a bronze star set in the pavement of the square in front of the church. Distances from Paris to every part of France are measured from this star. Small line of tourists there, all wanting to get their pictures taken at point zero. Really the outside gothic features are far more interesting than anything inside, I think. Well, except for maybe the windows that are best viewed from the inside. We got there in time for mass but ½ way through I needed to wander. Yes, you see, while the mass is going on in the middle, tourists are quietly (supposedly) milling around the exterior, it’s very distracting. Plus the cathedral is in the middle of some massive renovations (See previous notes about off season sightseeing) and the interior and exterior are mostly hidden behind tarps and scaffolding. But you get the general idea. The area across the Sein from Notre Dame though is a maze of tiny streets and buildings full of shops and restaurants. Even for a Sunday, when almost everything is closed, the place was bustling. Loads of special shops, all sorts of artisanal wears, some quite pricey. Definitely not your typical souvenirs, though we did buy the obligatory Eiffel tower key chains. We had lunch in this cool little café where I had the best Crème Brule of my life, bar none! It was absolutely perfect. As we wandered back to our hotel for a rest and to regroup it began to rain on us. Now as narrow as these streets are you figure you just walk in the lee of the buildings to stay dry right, wrong. It was actually raining straight down and there was no place to hide from it. It was weird like some suddenly weird twilight zone episode or something. It starts raining and it’s like we have wandered away from all the shops and all the people. We can’t duck into any shops because there aren’t any or they’ve all rolled up the welcome mats and there’s no place to go. We suddenly find ourselves alone in this deserted maze of streets. We walk for a bit and then squeeze into a doorway for a bit, walk a bit and find an awning to shelter under. By the time we reached the hotel we were both soaked. My wool coat weighed about 50 lbs. We hung up our wet things and curled up on the bed for a nap. Two days of walking for miles was beginning to take its toll. Now, why were we walking everywhere you might ask. Well, it’s simple see, we drove to Paris so we had a car, but parking is at such a premium that once we managed to find a place to park (1/2 mile from the hotel) we decided to leave the car there. Driving to sights would have meant a struggle to try and park the damned car everywhere we went. Taxis are available but scarce and expensive. They do have some great bus tour company’s like they did in Barcelona but we had our own agenda. Besides this was only the first visit to Paris and we were just scoping stuff out. On Sunday night, after our nap, S wanted to go back to the Eiffel tower to see it at night all lit up. Me, I was one giant sore muscle from neck to toes. Also if I went with him, I’d be sitting in the cold while he took the elevators to the top for photos. We decided he would just go without me, go check that the car was still there, then head to the tower. 15 minutes into his absence it began to pour down rain again and a few minutes later S came in. He had gotten to the car and back and no farther. A while later it stopped raining again and he decided to go for it. Upon his triumphant return an hour and a half later, he confirmed that I would have hated it. Hundred’s of people standing in Disneyland style lines waiting for the lifts, then crammed in like cattle for the ride to the first level and then line up and wait for the next lift to the top level and repeat for the ride back down again. He did, however, manage to get some fabulous night shots of Paris and of the Eiffel Tower. Many of the shots from the top are a bit blurry though due to winds that must have topped 40 mph up there. Between that and shivering with cold it was difficult for him to get a steady shot. We had no real plans for Monday except that we didn’t want have to drive back in a fired up hurry on Sunday night so we stayed the extra day. I wanted to stroll down the Champs Élysées and the Rue de Rivoli and be a lèche-vitrine, a ‘window licker’, um window shopper. Then I had the idea for the great passport adventure. You see S was out of passport pages, yes your passport comes with 24 pages with 4 squares per page for stamps and his was full. We had investigated a couple of weeks back what he needed to do to get more pages. Basically it was fill out forms, drop of forms and passport to the consulate in Toulouse, they would forward it to the embassy in Paris, who would add pages and return it to the consulate. This process would take three weeks. But suddenly we found ourselves in Paris on a Monday and wouldn’t it be easier to get it done there in an hour? As it turned out the embassy was just on the other side of the Louvre. We drove there, parked a couple of blocks away and S walked to the Embassy. I had to stay with the car as we’d already checked out of the hotel and ‘the Precious’ and S’s laptop and our luggage were now in the trunk of the car. S was out of there in an hour and a half with new pages sewn into his passport and I had an opportunity to window shop since we ended up parking right on Rue de Rivoli, how convenient was that, I could peek in windows and keep one eye on the car. Paris in the springtime, what could be more fun! We’ll have to come back next month though for the tulips and to do a walking tour when it’s warmer. I would also love to go just a bit north west of Paris to Giverny to Musee Claude Monet, his home where he painted the water lilies. I bought a ‘Lonely Planet’ guide to Paris and there are tons of things in there to do and see. Come see us, we’ll do Paris, but bring comfortable walking shoes. Below is a large (sorry Blogger) photo gallery. You will not see too much of Missy as she absolutely hates to have her picture taken, but S is in some...hmm...well he's in some I previously posted and in some I have yet to post. I have tons of pictures but I’ll try and spread them out over the next day or so.

This is the really LONG gallery in the Denon wing. It contains 13th - 18th Century Italian Paintings. Walking shoes at the ready.

This is one of the French sculpture 'gardens' in the Richelieu wing. It's actually a courtyard with a glass roof.

This is in the Greek antiquities room in the Sully wing. I'm not sure what this is called but I love it.

A view of the whole room. Some great sculptures in here.

Aphrodite or better known as the Venus de Milo.

This is the main entrance to the Louvre. It has huge lines, but we know a secret entrance with no lines at all.

The 'Hotel de Ville' or the Mairie of Paris. Basically city hall.

A not very interesting picture of Notre Dame. I have others of detail and stuff, but for later.

The Eiffel at night. S took one of the whole thing from below, but I like this one better.

Looking across the Seine from the first level of the Eiffel.

Paris Day One

We’re in Paris!! We’re in Paris!!

We must have walked for at least 5, but probably closer to 6 miles, this afternoon. Arrived in beautiful Paris at about 2:30, found the hotel, found a place to park about ½ mile away, checked in and started our walking tour right away.

Our hotel is across the Seine from the Louvre, so we began our walking tour of all the must see sights with the Louvre. The Louvre closes at 5:00 pm so we grabbed info for Sunday planning and kept walking straight toward the Arc de Triomphe. When we started in that direction both the Arc and the Eiffel tower seemed deceptively close. Boy were we wrong.

We went through the ‘Jardin des Tuileries’, across Place de la Concorde where the Egyptian Obelisque stands with its gold top. Down the Avenue des Champs Élysées where some of the best and most expensive shops in Paris are. So little time so much to see. I did see a coat I loved made of Python for 2200.00€. I also saw a beautiful little dress for miss Ava Lynn, it was only 340€ so no, not this time.

Then on to the Arc de Triomphe where you are not allowed to cross the street to it you have to go by underground tunnel and pay to go up to the arc and you can also go up to the top of the Arc. Of course totally innocently we went up the stairs that are meant for going back down to the tunnel and ended up not paying. It was not until we were leaving that we noticed the signs. Oh well. We didn’t go up to the top, too many friggin stairs. Also didn’t feel bad about not paying since most of the Arc is shrouded by scaffolding. You’ll notice that a lot of our photos will be of stuff with scaffolding around it. Typical of off season tourist places.

Then hike back to the river and get back across the Seine, about another mile walk, to the Tour Eiffel. Then back toward the hotel along the Seine. We wanted to take a river dinner cruise but they didn’t start until 7:30 or 8:00 and we would have had to wait for about an hour and then you are on the river until 11:00. It was too much after a 6 ½ hour drive and 5+ miles of walking. We opted for heading back to the hotel and finding a place to eat near there.

I just kept saying “We’re in Paris! Hey S, we’re in Paris.” I kept saying that until just after the Eiffel Tower, when my feet made their discomfort known and my legs also began to complain, plus I was hungry and it was getting dark and cold. Yeah, right about then I was just a tad bit cranky, though S might describe the mood as significantly more black.

Making it back to our little hotel and our even littler room was the high point of the evening for me. I was way past cranky by then. I yelled at S that if he slowed our progress by stopping to take one more picture I was going to kill him. I’m not fun when I’m hungry ask any of my friends (or maybe ex-friends?). Our room is so little it’s the size of say my old bedroom at home but squeeze in a bathroom and closet into that room too. Our room is tiny and our hotel is tiny, but who the heck cares, WE ARE IN PARIS!

Dinner was around the corner at a little trendy looking bistro. It was good, but nothing special, just food to ‘un-crank’ Missy.

Tomorrow we’ll do the Louvre and Notre Dame. S wants to attend mass at 12:45 at Notre Dame. We’ll see. Anyway, time for bed and I know that I’ll sleep like the dead. So will S if he doesn’t quit trying to cheer me up. We’re in #*&@#% Paris!

Anyway, below are some photos from the day.

Sean in Front of the Louvre.

The main entrance to the Louvre.

The gates of the Jardin des Tuileries with the Obelisque and the Arc de Triomphe off in the distance.

The Louis Vitton store. Need I say more.

Sean in front of the Arc de Triomphe. Notice scaffolding and people up on top.

Looking back from the Arc toward the Louvre. Yeah that's the Louvre, waaayyy down there.

This is obviously the Eiffel Tower, this is taken from the park across the river.

Off To Paris

Off to Paris bright and early this AM. Back late Monday. Cell Phones on and fully charged. We've got cameras and plenty of batteries.

St. Patrick’s Day Re-cap

Who knew there were so many Irish in Toulouse. We arrived at The Killarney Bar right around 9:00 pm as instructed by Maggie. We drove past it once, down the one way/one lane road and then circled for parking. By the time we parked and walked back to the bar, we arrived to find a crowd of about 15 or 20 people standing outside on the sidewalk. The bar was packed; luckily there was a window where you could get your pints without having to go inside.

We purchased our 40cl ‘pints’ and settled in against a car that was parked right in front of the bar. I worried at first that we shouldn’t lean on someone’s car but as the night wore on and others leaned on, climbed over, stacked drinks and empties (and peed on) this car, I relaxed a bit. I began to think that maybe if you park in front of an Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day you’re just asking for trouble.

Mags came out, between serving drinks, to become the social director for the evening. She first introduced us to Claire and her husband José. I’d met Claire before at an ImpaQt lunch. She is great and I can understand her French perfectly. José speaks English though and so we were able to converse easily with him. He works in marketing for an aeronautics company. They have traveled to the US several times and they really like the Miami area.

People just kept on coming the whole time and before long, the road in front of the bar was jam- packed with people. There was lots of English being spoken around us; British, Irish, South African and American accents. When a car came down the street, it had quite the time, as first it had to get the attention of the ‘street people’ and then everyone had to squish up against the walls and cars and each other to make room for said car.

Around 10:00, pretty early in the festivities, Mags, who was helping out in the bar, came out and announced loudly “We’re out of glasses lads” so everyone banded together to scrounge for all the empties so they could be washed and redistributed. Actually we were all hoping they’d be washed before being redistributed, but what the heck after a couple of beers who cares.

One oddity for the evening was that there seemed to be something intriguing down the street; I observed many men going down in small groups or alone. They seemed to be quite interested in the corner of two buildings and seemed to be closely examining the brick work there; I mean really closely examining the brick work. It was hard to see from where I was what they were looking at because it was a pretty shadowy corner but there also seemed to be quite a bit of water draining from that corner into the street. Hmm.

There was an Irish sounding band playing inside the pub, not that I ever actually saw them. We could hear it quite well at first but after some time their music was drowned out. The funniest thing was watching the door to the pub. 3 people would come out and 5 people would go in, 5 people would go out 9 people would go in. At that rate don’t you reach a point of maximum saturation pretty quickly? Could there possibly be any breathing room in there? It was a bit chilly outside but all you had to do was stand near the door to the bar, that was being propped open by a barstool, to benefit from the waves of heat pouring out of there. Maggie didn’t seem to have a problem coming and going from inside though; she kept the group outside well supplied with beer and sandwiches. S tried to reach the interior bar at one point but had to turn back after only a few meters. Too many sweaty bodies (or was that beer soaked) and too little oxygen. It was truly impressive watching Mags negotiate that bar with a tray full of drinks; with those skills she doesn’t need a day job.

We were then introduced to some ImpaQt ‘graduates’ Sylvie and her husband Wilfried. Sylvie works for Pierre Farbe (?) which is a large company in Toulouse that does, I don’t know what, but I’ve met a lot of people who work there through ImpaQt. I don’t think I caught were Wilfried worked; only that he had had the presence of mind to take Thursday morning off. Smart man.

We also met Marie, who along with her husband Roger, own The Killarney Bar. She also spoke perfect English and was telling us about how cheap it really is to fly to Dublin. It’s one of those must do type of things for this adventure, S being Irish and all. We were informed Aer Lingus now has 4 direct flights a week from Toulouse to Dublin.

We also got to meet Mags other half, Vincent. He’s a tall, broad shouldered gent that would be right at home on a rugby field, oh wait, he is right at home on a rugby field. Quite good looking too in that big, manly, rugged sort of way (if you like that sort of thing I mean ;) )

It was suggested by Sylvie, just before we left, to try and make Maggie have a dinner party or something for all of us. So we could have a bit more conversation time in a more conversation conducive environment.

We knew it was time to leave when a very drunk, very young Irish lad stood on the barstool that was propping the door open, sloshing stout on everyone within 3 feet of said stool from the two glasses he was holding, and shouted with deepest and most heart felt conviction “I fucking love you!” It would have been very sweet if he had been aiming the comment at a girlfriend or something but he seemed to be adressing no one and everyone and got the rowdiest response from a group of guys across the street. It was 11:00 pm and the night was young, I hope he found a girl to go home with.

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I post below the two best pictures of the evening. Rule number one of celebratory picture taking is – Don’t ask drunken strangers to take pictures of the group for you. Hence out of the 7 pictures taken only these two are good.

Friends of Mags, José and Claire and a happy Sean

Claire, Mags and Missy

Is It Just Me?

Stop me if I've said this before, I’m having a weird 'de ja’blog' feeling.

I'm not a terribly spontaneous person, you know us control freaks can't afford to be. We plan and make lists and organize the shit out of everything before jumping into our perfectly created spontaneity. It's how we work.

This afternoon though, I decided to just hop into the car and run over to the mall and see if I could find a map of Europe.

Sad and shameful as it is to admit this, I'm geographically challenged. I live in France so that one is easy to point to on a map. I also know where my closest neighbor is, Spain is south. Then Britain's that island thing over there, Ireland is the other island thing over there, Italy is shaped like a boot, Portugal is attached to Spain and Greece is all those little islands. Honestly though, could not pick Germany, Holland, Sweden or Switzerland out of a line up if they were wearing name tags. Facing this inadequacy head on as we anal types are apt to do, I thought I’d buy one of those big wall maps of the world and one of Europe and put them up on my office wall and brush up on my geography a little bit each day. Heaven forbid I should wind up in Algeria and not know where I am on the globe. Or worse when S travels, I know where he is, but not where he actually IS.

So anyway, hop into the car, and get about 4 or 5 miles, oops sorry, kilometers down the road and suddenly realize that I left my cell phone plugged in at home. And furthermore I left my pocket PC in its cradle too. IF something should happen I have no phone nor do I know S’s cell phone number or anyone else’s for that matter to call for assistance or just amusement. All of my info is in that damned palm top PC. I was electronically NAKED! I cannot tell you how close I came to just pulling a U-turn at the next circle and heading home. It was damned near a panic attack because I was unplugged!

Well, I mean I got a hold of myself and went on to the mall, but for a moment there it was pretty touch and go. Then when I thought about it, feeling a little ashamed, I realized that though all of this electronic gadgetry is relatively new, I don’t honestly recall what I did before I had all of my friends and family with me at the touch of a button. I don’t remember how it felt not to have a cell phone safety net, or to have to actually REMEMBER pertinent information.

I’m cured of spontaneity. I’ll never do that again, it’s too dangerous!

We don’t have to wait for ‘skynet’ to become self aware and kill us all (Terminator) we’re already screwed by the machines.

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I know that you are all waiting to hear about the St. Patrick’s Day party and I promise to post that tomorrow. I have a couple of pictures to share but they’re on S’s camera and it’s with him at work today. Suffice it to say that we had a BLAST!

Apologies

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Alright then, I know, I know, St. Patrick’s Day is not about the beer. Ok, I apologize for that. Here is what I was able to unearth about the much maligned and misunderstood St. Patrick. The History Channel has a bit of info about the man behind the myth. It appears that through some convoluted happenings St. Patrick came to Ireland around 430 AD as the second bishop to Ireland. Of course there weren’t really many Christians in Ireland at the time, but he saw to that straight away. He spent 30 years converting people and adapting the Catholic religion so that it would be more user friendly to the Celts who had a nature based religion. He used the shamrock as a way of explaining the trinity and celebrated Easter with bonfires, he is also credited with the Celtic cross, adding the sun symbol to it since the Celts worshipped the sun. Among other things he is credited with raising the dead and the ever famous sermon on a hilltop that drove the snakes from Ireland. There you have it folks, almost everything you ever wanted to know about St. Patrick.

For your further amusement I include a link to the schedule of festival events occurring in Dublin from March 11th thru 17th. The link is to a PDF file so be patient it takes a little while to download and you have to have Adobe Acrobat Reader.

Alright since I’m in apology mode here is a good one from the past. On September 19th I gave you all a link to La Poste and challenged anyone who cared to, to figure out the site. I recently had need to mail something ‘return receipt requested’ and being the anal control freak that I am, I was not going down to the post office without knowing exactly what I needed to say. So I went to the web site and READ it, and you won’t believe what I found, buried deep in the website there is actually a French/English dictionary of terms. I know I was blown away. So here it is my formal apology for disparaging the site without truly checking it out. Oh, you want the link to the dictionary? Now, what kind of friend would I be if I just handed you the answers?

Sally: I'm a journalist. I work at the News. Harry: Great. And you're with Joe. That's great -- You guys have been together - what? - three weeks? Sally: A month. How do you know? Harry: You take someone to the airport, it's clearly the beginning of the relationship. That's why I have never taken anyone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship. Sally: Why? Harry: Because eventually things move on and you don't take someone to the airport, and I never wanted anyone to be able to say to me, 'how come you never take me to the airport anymore?'

So, yeah, S does a lot of international travel. And when he has flown to Hungary or Turkey or Romania or South Africa or even locally to Lyon, I've always driven him to the airport. It's no big deal I’m not really doing anything and it saves him about 20 minutes on each end of his trip and also it saves him parking fees. On Tuesday, however, when S was flying to Lyon just for the day, I begged off and didn’t drive him.

Well, the thing about S’s flights is that they always seem to leave at 6:45 in the morning, which means he has to be there by 5:45, which means we have to leave the house by 5:30, which means that I have to be up at 5:00. So yeah I’m lazy and I just figured that for one quick day I could opt out. I know what S was thinking though “After only 12+/- years the ‘beginning’ is over”. Sorry babe.

The Point of No Return

Ok, well the thing is that I think that Chris may have been channeling S today. I think I mentioned Chris before, from Impaqt? Yeah, let’s say that first impressions can be deceiving. See back on December 22nd I think I described Chris as appearing to be straight laced to the extreme (compared to Maggie). But getting to know Chris you find that this is just not true, don’t let those snazzy suits fool you. He looks all professional and serious, but in reality he is quite the cut up and he’s a fountain of great information.

Today, Chris was my coach for French and he had an assignment for me (this is where he was channeling S) ; my mission should I decide to accept it was to go to a ‘shop’ and return an item. The item was a ‘windscreen’ wiper for his car. We did the usual; prepare the vocab, role play etc. until I felt I was ready. I say he was channeling S because S hates to return anything. To the point that if the item didn’t cost that much he’ll keep it and go purchase the correct item. Otherwise the item and receipt get handed to Missy and she is required to return or exchange it. What is the big deal go in and return the damned thing, people do it every day. I’m sure, however, that this was not the case with Chris, he just needed to return something and thought it would be the perfect opportunity for me to do something a bit different that required different phrases than what I’d been using. Right.

Mag, has invited us to join her and some friends at an Irish pub on Wednesday night for St. Patrick’s Day. I’m sure that Darby O’Gill and The Little People won’t be playing but there’ll be plenty of beer…I wonder if it will be green beer?

Green beer reminds me of how I’ll miss the Chicago River in all its green splendor (wait isn’t it always green?) this year and I’ll miss that great parade. Will have to drink enough beer to make me forget.

Chris was trying to explain to Mag today that there is an evolutionary reason why there are no snakes or moles in Ireland. The theory is that Ireland broke of from the British Isle, and that when this happened the snakes and moles were on the wrong side of the break. Contrary to the belief that St. Patrick rid Ireland of all the snakes. Is that why the Irish celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? There’s history involved? Who knew, and I thought it was just an excuse to drink beer!

Vindication? Proof?

Business Week and others have cottoned on to what I’ve suspected for some time. GWB has a learning disorder. I think he has a personality disorder too, but that has yet to be ‘concretely’ proven. Spread the word folks we have only 235+/- days till we can rid ourselves of the mental midget.

I'm not opposed to all of GW’s policies per say (just almost all of them), what I object to is the way he is perceived abroad and how he weakens the way our country is perceived every time he opens his damn mouth. He's an embarrassment!

This is my opinion, I know, it's rather like buying a car by what it looks like and not what's under the hood. But is it too much to ask to have a president who is amazingly brilliant AND charismatic AND who doesn't stick his foot in his mouth every time he opens it. I'm not saying that Kerry is a dream come true, but I'm willing to gamble on him, rather than repeat the republican nightmare we are currently living with. I also live in fear of how much more economic damage the idiot can do if given four more years of free reign over this country's delicate finances. Sometimes I’m truly frightened by where the economy is headed.

There I’ve said my peace.

Wait one more thing; I’m not prejudiced against people with learning disabilities. But if that is truly the case then own up to it. At least we could admire how difficult it has been to achieve what he has achieved and be relieved that he’s not as stupid as he sounds.

Ok, now I’m done.

Books and Observations

So, picked S up at the airport at noonish on Friday. Poor guy, he’s exhausted so here we are at home on a Saturday, no Paris or Madrid for us. Did I mention that Madrid was the original plan for this weekend. Yikes. But S is swamped with work. Between time off for language and all the travel, the rest of the job is piling up. So, I’m sitting in bed blogging and watching Harry Potter on DVD and S is working. I’m not too terribly disappointed though. It’s the perfect day to sit in bed, watch movies, blog and have tea and biscuits.

(S read my blog about the Walkers shortbread and he picked some up for me at the airport in Amsterdam on his way home. Isn’t he grand!)

It is the perfect day for laziness, because after a few very warm and very sunny days, it is once again cold and raining. God you gotta love spring.

So after a breakfast of French toast and coffee in bed (S procrastinating) he is now fixing me some tea and biscuits. (S procrastinating) What more could a girl want. I could get used to this life.

All I’ve got for you today is more book reviews.

My brother recommended The Partly Cloudy Patriot By Sarah Vowell and I loved it. Mind you not a book for any of our Republican friends. There are some great family anecdotes about her parents and her twin sister. The twin part was hilarious. Sarah Vowell is actually a political/historical buff. The book contains a ‘letter’ to President Clinton with recommendations on the best contents for his presidential library and advise on how to handle the scandel. There is also a ‘letter’ to Al Gore telling him what the focus of his campaign should have been. The book was written just after GWB stole the election in 2000 and she and a group of friends find themselves at the inauguration. She also has a great love for President Lincoln and there are several great stories about his life and writings. The book is filled with great political commentary and humor I highly recommend it. Even better though is the Audio Book version because she performs it herself and she has a memorable voice.

Once again indulging my love for children’s books and feeling a void in that department after the three Artemis Fowl books, I read the Philip Pullman His Dark Materials trilogy. The series starts with The Golden Compass which is absolutely fabulous, full of courage and good vs. evil conflicts and magic. The next two books however The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass did not, in my opinion, live up to the first book. By the end of the third book you’re left feeling cheated. There is enough going on the story to really cover 5 books and some of it is left unexplained and skeletal. Snippets of story, characters introduced but left un-built. I was a little disappointed with the last book especially. There appears to be too much action and not enough detail. I read all three books however so I could get to the final conclusion which also leaves you a bit flat but at least it is plausible and real.

Between that and French I’ve fallen behind on my Newsweek reading and will attempt to read three weeks worth this weekend. Not that I’m terribly behind on news since I do get to watch ABC nightly news (albeit a day behind) on the computer. I would prefer NBC news but they don’t offer the full nightly program on-line like ABC does. But I like to read the financial perspectives and in depth articles about the world and its leaders.

Meanwhile, here the almond tree blossoms are constantly blowing through the air creating a fragrant ‘snow’ storm. The cherry trees are heavier than ever with buds but seem to be waiting for the opportune moment to show off. Maybe they’re waiting for the almonds to be done with their grandstanding completely so that they can make a far more beautiful and undistracted display of their own. Whatever the case I am impatiently waiting for the cherry tree that is right in front of my bedroom window to get on with it already. The tree itself is large and beautiful in its winter austerity so I know that its spring time display will be breath taking. I’ll snap a photo as soon as it decides the time is right.

G

Right then, I suppose some of you would be demanding an apology for yesterdays post. I’d delete the entire thing but that would be untrue so it stays. Really, I’ll apologize for the profanity but not the sentiment, though even the profanity carries a certain truth of the situation. So ok then, where does that leave us? At not apologizing?

Fine, fine, apologies all around then, whatever.

I’m feeling the tiniest bit better today, and no I’m not drunk. But honestly my mates at Impaqt have said that it’s a familiar experience for many transplants to this inhospitable land. I even had one lovely French woman say that it’s the same for the non-transplants. Short of saying it’s a typical French experience, we’ll say it’s a common French experience. Dealing with bureaucratic nit wits that is.

I’m meant to be taking French at Impaqt but I’m having a smashing time learning ‘British’ also.

(Am considering taking up smoking just so I can say “Hey Maggie, can I bum a fag?”)

Oh and sorry, don’t want to leave Maggie out; I’m also acquiring a fair Irish accent. The trouble is that I’ve always picked up peoples accents quite readily and I find that by the end of the day with these ladies I’m talking much like them. I think it’s hilarious and fun and just hope that they don’t think I’m being cheeky.

Currently sitting here drinking some lovely hot English afternoon tea and dipping my shortbread biscuit into said tea until it’s just barely soft, just as Maggie told me to do. It’s a brilliant way to spend the early evening. The tea and biscuits were a ‘prezy’ from Maggie, who brought them back for me from her London weekend.

(I’ve not actually discovered exactly what Maggie did in London on her weekend [she says it was a vacation] but I’m sure it involved watching the Irish rugby team on tv in a pub and consuming no small amount of beer.)

But anyway, the biscuits are my absolute favorites, Walkers shortbread. Walkers shortbread that I would have called cookies, but which I’m assured by Maggie are in fact biscuits. Unfortunately I am currently struggling with trying to not eat every single one of them in one sitting. I’ll try to ration them a bit over the next few days. However, those of you who know me know that I don’t do ‘rationing’ very well and that I’ll likely eat them all within the next hour.

Well, I’m meant to be working on a listening activity and I should probably get on with it. Will have tea and shortbread for dinner while I listen. S sends greeting from Romania and apologizes for his lack of fresh posts, but between language lessons and the never ending work there isn’t enough time in the week. We are trying to get to Paris this weekend but much depends on how knackered he is after this trip.

Just wanted to put up a quick post to assure all that I am not drunk (very anyway), I’m not leaving France in a huff (yet anyway) and that I’m no quitter.

NC-17 - No Kidding - You were warned!

Seriously, do not read any further if you will be offended by swearing. This Blog is meant to be informative but it is also my own personal outlet. This post is considered a RANT and I strongly urge you to not read it if you'll be offended by swearing and to cover the children's eyes or ask them to leave the room while you read. So there it is the disclaimer. You've been warned.

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As of today I officially hate the fucking French. I hate their fucking bureaucratic hoops, I hate their fucking questioning faces, I hate pretty damned much everything about them.

I have had it up to here with their you-have-to-do-'A'-to-get-'B'-but-you-can't-get-'B'-until-you've-got-'A'-let's-screw-with-the-stupid-Americans CRAP. So much so that I'm ready to admit fucking defeat and pack my bags and go home. They have made me cry in frustration for the last time.

One more 'What-the-fuck-are-you-saying' stare, one more 'That's-not-what-you-need' comment, just one more 'I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about' rolling eyed look and I swear to friggin god I'm going to initiate the fucking assholes into something we 'stupid Americans' like calling GOING POSTAL!!

I spent an hour with Chris at Impaqt this morning preparing phrases for the Mairie. I need to send the translator a certified copy of my drivers license (since I don't want to send him the actual drivers license for fear of the fucking French post losing it.) He will work off of the copy to make the official translation which is just one small piece of what I need to fucking EXCHANGE my drivers license for the venerated-better-be-made-of-fucking-gold-for-all-the-trouble-it's-costing god damn French drivers license.

Chris says all you have to do is go to the Mairie with your license and ask for a 'copie conforme' and they'll copy it and stamp it with an official seal saying that it's an actual copy of the original.

Sounds easy enough, I go to the Mairie show her my IL drivers license ask for the 'copie conforme' and first get the 'What-the-fuck-are-you-saying' stare, I repeat my request and then get the 'I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about' rolling eyed look. I explain that I need the copy to send to the translator for my drivers license and the cow behind the counter gives me her best down-the-nose-disdainful look and says that they don't do that and she doesn't know anyone who does.

I'm not crazy here, several people have told me that A) This is what I need and B) The Mairie is the place to get it done.

I’m at my wits end, I quit, and there I’ve said it. I fucking give up. It’s not worth it. I don’t like these assholes near enough to make all this crap worth staying in their friggin country.

I’m going to have some wine now. Don’t call me for the next few days because S is leaving the country again tomorrow and I intend to stay drunk until Friday when I pick him back up.

Be Supportive

Trying to continue with the "Table experiment" so I'm posting some photos that J took on the trip to Bilbao. You all will just have to bear with me while I play with tables and what can be done with them. I figure it's your job as supportive readers.

Beach of San Sebastian, Spain	Entrance to Guggenheim
Inside Guggenheim looking up at Missy.	Looking up from front.
Looking up from the back deck.	Rich walking between the walls.

See, now that wasn't so terrible was it. It didn't hardly hurt at all did it?

What Gives?

Opened windows on Saturday morning to find the world was white. Yes, it had snowed over night. About an inch of snow that melted fast in the early morning sunlight. The weather is typically spring like I suppose. Completely unpredictable.

Three weeks ago:

Monday	59°/42°	Scattered Clouds
Tuesday	62°/44°	Scattered Clouds
Wednesday	62°/44°	Clear
Thursday	68°/51°	Clear
Friday	68°/50°	Scattered Clouds

This week:

Monday	41°/24°	Partly Cloudy
Tuesday	48°/28°	Partly Cloudy
Wednesday	51°/39°	Scattered Clouds
Thursday	48°/42°	Clear
Friday	53°/42°	Overcast