Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mom Puts Out Fresh Towels, Wipes Counter
I was in a cleaning frenzy over the weekend because company was coming. But this was no ordinary company - this was an esteemed journalist from a British newspaper.
I know I go about these things all wrong. Instead of cleaning the toilet, like the good half-Italian girl I am, I should be filling the tank with exotic fish. Why fret about the unkempt backyard - someone around here must have a few llamas we could rent?
Screw trying to look presentable - I should be popping on a turban, shoving a cigarette in a long holder, dabbing rouge onto my cheeks and pouring a tumbler of Scotch.
I mean, this guy has interviewed Hunter Thompson, Depardieu, Budd Schulberg. Eric is always entertaining but I am surely the most boring, disappointing interview around. I can't stop being a mom, making sure everyone's got a cup of juice or something. This is no way to build a myth!
I know I go about these things all wrong. Instead of cleaning the toilet, like the good half-Italian girl I am, I should be filling the tank with exotic fish. Why fret about the unkempt backyard - someone around here must have a few llamas we could rent?
Screw trying to look presentable - I should be popping on a turban, shoving a cigarette in a long holder, dabbing rouge onto my cheeks and pouring a tumbler of Scotch.
I mean, this guy has interviewed Hunter Thompson, Depardieu, Budd Schulberg. Eric is always entertaining but I am surely the most boring, disappointing interview around. I can't stop being a mom, making sure everyone's got a cup of juice or something. This is no way to build a myth!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
These Eyes
Still riding high from my folder triumph, I decided to tackle another pressing problem: my lousy eyesight. Over two years ago I was able to walk into an optician here, get my eyes tested and pick out a pair of glasses.
My eyes have gotten worse so a few months back I called the same optician to book an appointment. At first I thought she was telling me that I was now too old for her to look at my eyes. I eventually understood that my eyes were too bad to be properly examined there and I needed to call an ophtalmologue for an examination. Seems the first time I'd been given the French equivalent of a "get out of jail free" card - but not this time.
I got out the phone book and called a few doctors and they all said they'd be happy to see me - in eight to ten months. Apparently the doctors who accept insurance are always booked up many months in advance.
I don't think I can make it through another summer without prescription sunglasses, preferably varifocals so I can walk and drive and read road signs and maps without having to keep switching glasses. I thought of trying to wait until we go to England or the US where in any mall or city street Specsavers employees practically tackle you as you pass by to try and fit you with new glasses - but that's still two months away.
I drove to a bigger town to try to trick my way into being seen by an optician. What with the economic crisis hitting France I figured if the prospect of the sale of two pairs of glasses was right there on the doorstep, they'd probably bend the rules a little.
"Non, NON, Madame - c'est la loi!" It's the law. Coming from this optician who was about thirty it made me feel especially sleazy. It was different when the "authorities" - cops, bankers, doctors, etc all looked like grizzled veterans to me. I feel extra sheepish when slapped on the wrist by somebody a few decades younger.
But apparently there are back alley ophtalmologues around, who'll see anyone on short notice, without involving insurance. Which is fine since insurance doesn't cover eyeglasses anyway. The young optician discreetly handed me a slip of paper with a name and address and I went along in person and booked an appointment for Tuesday.
The hits just keep on coming.
My eyes have gotten worse so a few months back I called the same optician to book an appointment. At first I thought she was telling me that I was now too old for her to look at my eyes. I eventually understood that my eyes were too bad to be properly examined there and I needed to call an ophtalmologue for an examination. Seems the first time I'd been given the French equivalent of a "get out of jail free" card - but not this time.
I got out the phone book and called a few doctors and they all said they'd be happy to see me - in eight to ten months. Apparently the doctors who accept insurance are always booked up many months in advance.
I don't think I can make it through another summer without prescription sunglasses, preferably varifocals so I can walk and drive and read road signs and maps without having to keep switching glasses. I thought of trying to wait until we go to England or the US where in any mall or city street Specsavers employees practically tackle you as you pass by to try and fit you with new glasses - but that's still two months away.
I drove to a bigger town to try to trick my way into being seen by an optician. What with the economic crisis hitting France I figured if the prospect of the sale of two pairs of glasses was right there on the doorstep, they'd probably bend the rules a little.
"Non, NON, Madame - c'est la loi!" It's the law. Coming from this optician who was about thirty it made me feel especially sleazy. It was different when the "authorities" - cops, bankers, doctors, etc all looked like grizzled veterans to me. I feel extra sheepish when slapped on the wrist by somebody a few decades younger.
But apparently there are back alley ophtalmologues around, who'll see anyone on short notice, without involving insurance. Which is fine since insurance doesn't cover eyeglasses anyway. The young optician discreetly handed me a slip of paper with a name and address and I went along in person and booked an appointment for Tuesday.
The hits just keep on coming.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Barely Legal
I scored a major triumph today - I managed to find hanging file folders that fit a rolling file cabinet a friend gave me.
Pretty sad, right? Other people are out solving crimes, curing diseases, creating beauty, while I search for office supplies.
I took this cabinet on good faith, "I could sure use something like that!" What with my seemingly unending IRS battle, the paperwork has been piling up all over the place.
Who knew that "legal size" is unheard of outside of the U.S.A.? And I thought I was something of an office supply and filing expert. How many ridiculous tests have I taken at temp agencies to prove my ability to put the letter D after C? Hell, I wrote a song called "File Clerk Blues" way back when! Sad to think I wouldn't even be qualified to do my first day job any more...
Because in all of the office supply stores in France, there is no "legal size". But before I could determine that, I had to learn what you call a hanging folder. Dossier suspendu! I love the French language.
After exhausting the French possibilities, I ended up on a UK website looking for the right size dossier suspendu or whatever they're called by the British. Again, no "legal size" - just a system of A4, A3 etc that confounds me. I kept running across this type of folder called "foolscap" and I imagined some character out of Dickens blowing dust off odd parchment folders made of the bone from a sheeps skull.
I finally did a search on the internet for the meaning of "foolscap" and whether "legal size" translates into any other kind of folder in any land. I would love the job, if there was one, of the person who reads the Google queries, those desperate pleas for some kind of understanding of the most basic elements of human life. I know from being able to see my website statistics that more than one person out there comes to my site by searching "how to have sex in the ass" - and that query's probably on the sophisticated side, in the grand scheme of Google quests.
It turned out that "foolscap" was supposedly the same size as the US legal size so I took the plunge and ordered.
The order arrived today and I was skeptical, but they are exactly the right size. Foolscap, dossier suspendu, suspended files. They are glorious! Now I can get back to doing what I do best: putting P after O...
Pretty sad, right? Other people are out solving crimes, curing diseases, creating beauty, while I search for office supplies.
I took this cabinet on good faith, "I could sure use something like that!" What with my seemingly unending IRS battle, the paperwork has been piling up all over the place.
Who knew that "legal size" is unheard of outside of the U.S.A.? And I thought I was something of an office supply and filing expert. How many ridiculous tests have I taken at temp agencies to prove my ability to put the letter D after C? Hell, I wrote a song called "File Clerk Blues" way back when! Sad to think I wouldn't even be qualified to do my first day job any more...
Because in all of the office supply stores in France, there is no "legal size". But before I could determine that, I had to learn what you call a hanging folder. Dossier suspendu! I love the French language.
After exhausting the French possibilities, I ended up on a UK website looking for the right size dossier suspendu or whatever they're called by the British. Again, no "legal size" - just a system of A4, A3 etc that confounds me. I kept running across this type of folder called "foolscap" and I imagined some character out of Dickens blowing dust off odd parchment folders made of the bone from a sheeps skull.
I finally did a search on the internet for the meaning of "foolscap" and whether "legal size" translates into any other kind of folder in any land. I would love the job, if there was one, of the person who reads the Google queries, those desperate pleas for some kind of understanding of the most basic elements of human life. I know from being able to see my website statistics that more than one person out there comes to my site by searching "how to have sex in the ass" - and that query's probably on the sophisticated side, in the grand scheme of Google quests.
It turned out that "foolscap" was supposedly the same size as the US legal size so I took the plunge and ordered.
The order arrived today and I was skeptical, but they are exactly the right size. Foolscap, dossier suspendu, suspended files. They are glorious! Now I can get back to doing what I do best: putting P after O...
Monday, May 4, 2009
Spanish Snaps
We're on our way
The Wonderful World of...Dune de Pyla
French Trailer Trash?
Biarritz
Espadrille
Guggenheim Bilbao 9 AM
Madrid Cafe
Thursday, April 30, 2009
My Pledge
I have one goal for the rest of this trip - to not set foot in another Carrefour!
I managed to mail a package from the post office in one on Tuesday - a guy had ordered our album and I'd been traveling around with his CD in my bag for over a week. I finally figured out the word for post in Spanish. The thing is, the guy lived in Madrid, and there I was in Madrid. Not a big deal, but the postal agent insisted that I put a return address on there. After much discussion (in French - I'm so used to being slightly moronic in my second language it is always easier to try to get to the Spanish word that way) we decided I could use my hotel address in Madrid. I was so thrilled with completing a transaction, it wasn't until I walked away that I thought "what is this guy going to think?" Unless he knows that we were playing in his town on the weekend, he's going to be scratching his head in disbelief, amazed that we actually personally travel to each town where someone has ordered a CD, check into a hotel and then find a post office to mail it - probably to save on postage.
On towards Valencia and on towards another Carrefour - we checked into a humble campground by the sea north of the town for a night in the ambulance. The website said they had a restaurant but it was "closed, today only, the shop too". A likely story. I was a little freaked out as in the dusk the place looked like a West Virginia trailer park. I saw caravans parked so close together, with all the lights out, and I asked Eric if they were maybe homes for people who picked oranges nearby, who had to go to bed very early in order to get up at dawn? He pointed out that they were just stored there.
With no shop and no restaurant, we asked the reception if there were any cafes nearby. They handed us a map, and circled the Carrefour.
This one was even more annoying than the one to the east of Madrid, which was worse than the one to the north of Madrid. But we got what we needed to have dinner and breakfast in the campground. Which was really charming in the morning light. As we'd traipsed through the dark to find the restrooms I'd whined "I don't like camping!" but in the end I enjoyed it - there was the sea, showers outdoors in the sunshine and the restaurant was open for lunch and pretty good.
I think I had a harder time sleeping in our luxury hotel last night in Valencia, after a difficult show where the sound was so challenging we never felt like we got things off the ground. And promoters who were so preoccupied they sent us off on our own for dinner after the show, pleading that they were "tired, and have to get up early the next morning to book some more concerts." I thought Spain was rock and roll party animals and cocaine all night?! It was only eleven PM! Who are the middle-aged ones around here?
I managed to mail a package from the post office in one on Tuesday - a guy had ordered our album and I'd been traveling around with his CD in my bag for over a week. I finally figured out the word for post in Spanish. The thing is, the guy lived in Madrid, and there I was in Madrid. Not a big deal, but the postal agent insisted that I put a return address on there. After much discussion (in French - I'm so used to being slightly moronic in my second language it is always easier to try to get to the Spanish word that way) we decided I could use my hotel address in Madrid. I was so thrilled with completing a transaction, it wasn't until I walked away that I thought "what is this guy going to think?" Unless he knows that we were playing in his town on the weekend, he's going to be scratching his head in disbelief, amazed that we actually personally travel to each town where someone has ordered a CD, check into a hotel and then find a post office to mail it - probably to save on postage.
On towards Valencia and on towards another Carrefour - we checked into a humble campground by the sea north of the town for a night in the ambulance. The website said they had a restaurant but it was "closed, today only, the shop too". A likely story. I was a little freaked out as in the dusk the place looked like a West Virginia trailer park. I saw caravans parked so close together, with all the lights out, and I asked Eric if they were maybe homes for people who picked oranges nearby, who had to go to bed very early in order to get up at dawn? He pointed out that they were just stored there.
With no shop and no restaurant, we asked the reception if there were any cafes nearby. They handed us a map, and circled the Carrefour.
This one was even more annoying than the one to the east of Madrid, which was worse than the one to the north of Madrid. But we got what we needed to have dinner and breakfast in the campground. Which was really charming in the morning light. As we'd traipsed through the dark to find the restrooms I'd whined "I don't like camping!" but in the end I enjoyed it - there was the sea, showers outdoors in the sunshine and the restaurant was open for lunch and pretty good.
I think I had a harder time sleeping in our luxury hotel last night in Valencia, after a difficult show where the sound was so challenging we never felt like we got things off the ground. And promoters who were so preoccupied they sent us off on our own for dinner after the show, pleading that they were "tired, and have to get up early the next morning to book some more concerts." I thought Spain was rock and roll party animals and cocaine all night?! It was only eleven PM! Who are the middle-aged ones around here?
Monday, April 27, 2009
What A Difference A Meal Makes
We found the Spanish equivalent of steak frites yesterday and suddenly Madrid is the most wonderful place on earth! The promoter is a true gentleman, the audience is one of the best in the world, the soundmen all look like Javier Bardem, the women are as beautiful and charming as Penelope Cruz (except for the security guard where we're keeping our van).
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