Ok, OK, stop kvetching about my indolence. I’m old and lazy and that is not likely to
improve.
Actually I am motivated to BLOG based on an inquiry from an
acquaintance asking if I am still alive. At the moment, yes.
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Update since my last BLOG post: Nothing important.
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Except that I returned to Montana for a month and am now back
in the land of Gaul, recovering from a solid week of gastronomy with a family
member who accompanied me and has now returned to the Rockies.
Spring has sprung in Paris, which means equal parts sunshine
and rain, a requirement for the production of May flowers. I am experiencing
the rain; awaiting the flowers.
My current abode is in the 7th Arrondisement, a bourgeois
neighborhood within easy walking distance of the Invalides and the Eiffel Tower.
A quiet street with a park-like center ideal for running (or in my case
slogging).
My housemate is Taos the cat, a geriatric feline who I have
been instructed to periodically “provoke” into minimal physical activity as
eating and (mostly) sleeping consume the bulk of his existence. My most recent
attempt resulted in him putting the claw upon me with a warning to back off. I
understand his temperament; I’m an old guy too.
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I tried to sign up for a coming 10k run, but was stymied by
the requirement that I produce a medical certificate certifying that I would
not spoil the day by dropping dead along the course.
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Things I have learned:
If it’s raining in Paris you probably
don’t need an umbrella. Duck into a café for a coffee or beer. It will stop
soon. If the sun is shining, you probably do.
Pandora doesn’t work here.
Perhaps the French live in fear of Dolly Parton.
I rest my bones on Ave Bret-toy, not
Ave Bret-tie (fr: Breteuil), a useful factoid to keep taxi drivers from
attempting to ferry you to a suburb 15 km. out of Paris.
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Got caught up in a monster union manif last week. Must have
been 20,000 or so marchers, stretching as far as the eye could see. Weekday
mid-afternoon, and all seemed to be having a grand time with bullhorns and
firecrackers, but none of these folks were working. Probably most on the clock,
just not involved in production.
A common theme was Solidarity
Contra Austerity, with austerity in my dictionary being defined as ”a state of reduced
spending and increased frugality in the financial sector. Austerity measures
generally refer to the measures taken by governments to reduce expenditures in
an attempt to shrink their growing budget deficits.”
So
I gather the union stance is “to hell with deficits, just keep spending.” Pretty
much sums up the position of these folks worldwide. A pity that their children
and grandchildren (and ours) will be picking up the tab, either that or existing
in a collectively universal cardboard box.
But
nothing compared to the 25 or so Code Pink ladies (loose term) I encountered
several days ago. I thought I had left that nut roll behind in North America,
where they wear pink hats and disrupt congressional hearings. But here they
have pink raincoats, pink shoes, pink umbrellas, (pink nickers? [I don't want to know!] etc. They were blocking the
pavement in front of a building, the contents of which had apparently
perpetrated a real or perceived offence. As I politely tried to thread my way,
saying “pardon, pardon,” one of the domestic terrorists raised her umbrella in
a menacing fashion. I split in haste, choosing to pick my battles where there
is a sliver of successful result.
Based
on last weekend’s elections, it appears that at least a quarter of Europe wants
to junk the European Union. Just when I was getting used to the Euro.
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My temporary abode opens onto a lush garden and opposite a
medieval church housing a nunnery. Today white smoke was emanating from a
chimney. I wonder if a new Mother Superior has been elected?
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We are in the midst of Paris’ First (hopefully annual) Craft
Beer Week. Something to keep me occupied (if not wobbly) for a bit. If and
when the spiritual fog clears, I’ll BLOG again.
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