2014-05 Bozeman

The first day of Spring is upon us, the date when Montanans respectfully ask the Deity to refrain from 2-foot snow dumps until September next. The plea is often ignored. But last week as the east coast was enduring another horrific 6-inch snowmageddon, I sat on the balcony enjoying 60+ degree sunshine. We used to blame the Soviet Union for weather manipulation…someone should check Vlad’s intentions thereabouts.

And I just looked out the window. It’s snowing…

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The Crimean situation has got me to thinking…Idaho has a funny shape and is largely populated by a quirky citizenry. I wonder if a movement to annex might gather some steam (Montanaho?) I plan to ask around. If it works, watch out Wyoming.

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Work on the Paris apartment is apparently proceeding apace, and thus my next geographical transition may be in the works. I am however pixelated by an issue that may visit upon me some significant challenge.

Several weeks ago as I exited the 46 bus I was shocked to see a 4-foot x 3-foot poster in the bus shelter sporting a picture of the Duck Dynasty foursome in full camouflage announcing (in French, of course) the imminent arrival of the series to French TV (no Fox News, but Duck Commander. Go figure).

I may be called upon to explain this phenomenon, as I was 3+ decades ago when I first breached Gaullic shores to be greeted by “Vous êtes américain? Ah oui. Chicago, Al Capone, bang-bang.”

I was hard pressed to explain why I did not have a six-shooter strapped to my hip and queried whether I planned to commit mayhem during my stay. The canard crowd’s introduction to France may well release a new demand for explanation of bizarre North American behavior. Wasn’t easy then and won’t be now.

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MH370 consumes us and illustrates our intolerance of the unknown. The demand for instant clarification (if not gratification) spawns a genuine scramble for illumination. “We just don’t have a clue” doesn’t cut it in a post-NSA environment. Just as we were getting initiated to a “government knows everything” mentality, we must now grapple with a Sargent Schultz (I know nothing) mindset.

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It will, of course, be deemed mean-spirited that I recall the current Administration’s 2009 attempt to “mend international fences”, confronting a planet disdainful of the USA that had allegedly reached a high point reminiscent of the dark days of the Vietnam war. I do wonder if there is a country out there that now has an improved view of Uncle Sam. International BLOG recipients, feel free to chime in.

In that vein, as Uncle Sam transitioned over the last century to Uncle Sugar, a dichotomy persists. On the one hand we are the overbearing, meddling, policeman-of-the planet, while on the other the world seems perplexed when we don’t rush in where they all fear to tread.

It appears that our current President now shares a less than illustrious trait with his predecessor: he can do no right.

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I am beginning to question the wisdom of 3 months in the cradle of gastronomy. I returned from the City of Light with a “baguette belly” that has persisted as deep snow and howling winds have thwarted thrice weekly slogs. But my accommodation in Paris is situated on a wide boulevard with a central pedestrian area that diminishes (but does not eliminate) the possibility of collision with mechanized conveyances.

I am impressed with the number of joggers nowadays on the streets of Paris. Decades ago anyone running was deemed to be a lawbreaker fleeing a scene of carnage or pillage. Now there are even jogging groups in the city, though populated mostly by Scandinavians and North Americans. And the elderly are still inclined to stare at fully clothed streakers.

Bientot...

2014-04 Paris

Two days ago all the English-speaking channels on the apartment TV expired mysteriously, a particularly cruel occurrence as it coincided with the secession of sunshine and the onset of cold drizzle.

But being forced to watch local programming has certainly improved my French.

I was particularly absorbed by an film featuring the ubiquitous aircraft in danger plot where lots of people died (including the cockpit crew)…someone’s Air Force thought about shooting the plane down but decided not to…a flight attendant was groped by sinister character (I thought at first he was trying to highjack the plane but apparently was interested only in touchy-feely)…and the plane, a 747, was landed perfectly by a housewife from Cleveland who was met on the jet way by her daughter who announced she had been accepted at the Sorbonne, or perhaps it was Mt. Holyoke. I like happy endings.

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Now deposed Ukraine President Yanukovych joins Mr. Snowden as a guest of Mr. Putin. Interesting company. And at the moment things are heating up and world leaders are exchanging threats and warnings. Another red line perhaps?

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Last BLOG I commented on the singular nature of Cartesian logic applied by the French (“I am Mickey!”), but it is established fact that the French are masters of multitasking, at least when they want to be. Reminds me of the Month Python dirge

I like traffic lights

I like traffic lights

I like traffic lights

But only when they’re green

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The Barack & Francois show, in full swing as I left home shores 2 weeks ago, was a virtual love fest, calling each other by first names and joking together as they walked. A witticism making the rounds here in France is that “at least now each has one friend on the planet.”

But even as Hollande traverses France trumpeting “Yes We Can” in English (a phrase not heard inside American shores since it resounded so powerfully over 4 years ago yet lost much of its oomph when reality set in), the two world leaders share both philosophy and reality.

Both have faced the stark reality that kvetching from the outside is infinitely more challenging than leading from the inside. In America, certain media (i.e. Fox) have taken to playing side-by-side clips of Senator Obama then and President Obama now.

The contrast is stunning, with the young Senator crucifying the sitting president for trifling with the Constitution in a way that appears incredibly tepid in comparison to his current “pen and phone” line of attack. In 2008 “I am a constitutional scholar and I respect the Constitution and I will not trample it as it is now being defiled.” Oh well, times change.

And in France, the man elected on a hardline Socialist ticket that (among other things) vowed a 100% income tax on those making over $1 million Euros, is causing left-wing apoplexy by cozying up to the business community and proposing measures to make France “more business-friendly.” I suspect the 77% drop in foreign investment last year has helped to focus the Socialist mind.

It seems that “yes we can” has morphed into “gee it seems a bit more complicated than I imagined.”

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Next post will be from the New World...bientot

2014-03 Paris

The French do have a talent for catchy phrases, which they proudly display on buildings with spray paint. One yesterday caught my eye: Je suis Marxist; tendence Groucho.

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Marches are dangerous places. Wide-bodied matrons hauling 2-wheeled shopping carts the size of 50-gallon drums barrel down the narrow lane on their missions of domestic pursuit. But today it is raining, calling the umbrella factor into the mix. With stalls on both side and a center aisle often little more than 2 meters wide, eye protection becomes essential, typically in the form of keeping the head low and eyes downcast, adding a further impediment to the smooth flow of commerce. Gives new meaning to the phrase “sharp stick in the eye.”

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The Parisian transport system is a marvel. Rarely is one more than 2-3 blocks from a Metro station, and when busses, the new tram system that circles the city, and the occasional funicular are added to the mix, walking is often unnecessary, except of course during rush hour when all public conveyances are jammed to stifling proportions, a godsend to perverts and pickpockets alike.

A weekly pass to all of these services costs around $25 and a monthly equivalent about $75. The pass arrives in the form of a Carte d’Orange (color green) currently named Navigo (in purple). It comes with a chip on which one loads weekly or monthly (even annual) credit then holds it next to a reader on the bus or entrance to the Metro. A high-pitched “ding” confirms your validity to be conveyed.

Here it gets tricky. Over time I have noticed a steady deterioration in the proportion of paying public.  Youth, minorities, and those under 60 appear to feel that the nuisance of payment is beneath them. Bus drivers never question these miscreants (more on this downstream), but there are controllers that sweep onto busses or subway cars, covering all exits, demanding proof of compliance.

While few and far between, there is a performance metric here that confounds the process. Last year on the 96 bus that wends a near hour-long voyage from the eastern edge of the city to Montparnasse, a controller approached a well-dressed lady who it appeared was not in possession of valid proof of paid travel. She put forth a spirited defense, about 98% of which was beyond me, but drag on it did, and I purposely stayed beyond my stop to catch the resolution.

The normal result would be for the controller to demand a fine of about 40 Euros. But here the demand and repost continued through the Marais, across the Seine, along the student quarter and into trendy St. Germain de Pres district. When the bus pulled into the terminus at Montparnasse, the lady breezily departed, hotly pursued by the controller, discussion continuing with no apparent result.

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As promised, a discourse on why bus drivers never question the hordes that jump on their conveyance without paying. Simple Cartesian logic: It’s not their job. They are drivers, not ticket takers.

Years ago a story was related to me by an acquaintance of an American manager at the newly opened Disney Park outside Paris. He had hired several Mickeys, Minnies, and Plutos to dress up and mingle with the anticipated throngs. One day he approached an employee and noted that as several Pluto’s were down with the grippe, today he would be Pluto. “But I am Mickey,” the astonished staffer responded. “Well, today you are Pluto, and as you are head to toe in a costume, it’s no matter. “But I am Mickey,” and no amount of threat or persuasion would sway the worker. Simple Cartesian logic. “I am Mickey, not Pluto.” As frustrated as was the manager, more so the employee who could not fathom the request. “How can I be Pluto when I am Mickey?”

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Perhaps Ernest was right (or was it Oscar [Wilde, not the Grouch] who writing in “The Importance of Being Hemmingway” remarked it is easier to write in Paris?

Bientot.

2014-02 The City of Light

Back in the Ile de France, as Johnny Halliday might paraphrase Lennon–McCartney.

Nothing like an 8-hour layover at Chicago’s O’Hare to stimulate the journalistic juices. Airports in general are no fun, although Denver is an exception and some of the smaller, Bozeman & Colorado Springs come to mind, are quite tolerable.

But not O'Hare. There used to be NO place to recharge a laptop or phone, and now there are plenty, but most don't work. Like the menus in Moscow restaurants that offer untold gastronomic delights, but in reality there is only chicken available.

I was almost tempted to drop into downtown until I checked the wind chill.

Had enough of that in Paradise, with minus 35F and a wind chill of minus 46 (that’s minus 200 Celsius for my European followers and near absolute zero on the Kelvin scale). My truck started much to my amazement, albeit amidst bizarre shrieks of protest not previously encountered.

It doesn’t take a heap of airport observation to recognize that personality is a zero sum game. For those few that suffer from multiple personality disorder, there a bunch that have none.

Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin' town that Frank Sinatra called is “kinda town.” Fairly certain he never spent much time in concourse C at O’Hare.

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The Paris apartment may or may not be available in April, depending on whether reconstruction of the 17^th century wall proceeds smoothly. It’s always something. But I have decided to pop over to recon the landscape and offer advice to the workers.

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I wonder if anyone has ever expired from an overdose of cheese. I could be in trouble here. I have always distained the “shop til you drop” mentality, but trudging through the marché ouvert today with enough dairy to cause a cholesterol riot, I twigged that when it comes to nourriture I am as vulnerable as any fashion diva. Bon appétit.

And gluten. Don’t get me started! Gluten et fromage, a marriage made in gastronomic heaven.

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I departed on Valentine’s Day, the day of the year when much love is expressed, often to the exclusion of the other 364. As, perhaps, the throngs who descend on Christian churches each Easter to pay their annual respects to the deity.

And I wonder how many of the X chromosomes give a Valentine gift to the Y’s? Who wrote that rule? But I did get a card from some very special 4-legged friends.

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Revisiting my decades-old haunts for favorites pizza (best on the planet), confit de canard, cous-cous, sole meuniére, etc.

Bientot

2014-01 Pray, MT

The less to be done, the less gets done.

                                                R. Will 2014

 

Soaking in the hot spring, thinking (but doing nothing) about taxes, contemplating sunrises, and bonding with the landlady’s dog and cat consume many hours and the bulk of psychic energy I can comfortably expend. Blogging suffers.

M. Nature continues to confuse and confound. Two weeks ago at the hot spring the temp was -4F, making the barefoot 20-yard walk from the changing room to the small hot pool approximate the longest mile.

I bought snowshoes, and after getting stuck (despite 4-wheel drive) on the dirt road leading to my cabin (which required an excruciating “by-hand” dig out), I acquired 10 60-lb sacks of sand to ballast my truck. Within 24-hours the temp skyrocketed – today it will top 50F – a virtual tropical heat wave for Paradise Valley. Rain is contemplated, RAIN!, a phenomenon normally encountered hereabouts only during the nominal spring/summer/autumn period from  1 July to 12 August.

And as I type, Washington, D. C. is shuttered in anticipation of 6-12” of frozen precip. Go figure. Once again, for the benefit of my eastern neighbors, I reproduce the Rockies snow depth chart:

            >6”      flurries

              6-12” dusting

            12-18” covering

            12-24” snow

            >24”    dump

 

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I can almost hear the groans whenever I venture into political thickets, which currently have grown to tropical rain forest proportions. One telling observation: FOX (no one else of course) has taken to running video clips of Senator Obama then and President Obama now, in his own words, as it were. The contrast is absolutely stunning. Acts of the former Administration then deemed marginally treasonable are now trumped by events of darker color and deeper hue. It’s a bit different to be piloting the craft than lounging in the parlor car sipping champagne.

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Contemplating a trip to the City of Light (not, as often mischaracterized, “lights.”) April (in stark contrast to the song) is perhaps the most miserable month, when invariably M. Nature tosses a few rays of sunshine at the locals then dumps scads of freezing rain and howling wind that morphs hope to despair and turns the surly to churlish on steroids.

And literally as I am typing (I’m really not making this up) an e-mail from a longtime acquaintance informs me that a family member has been banished by his firm to Philadelphia! for 3 months and his apartment is available from May through July. Be still my heart. Film at 11…

2013-23 Santa Fe

Well the weed (not that weed!) is tumbling again.  I have cut myself loose from the Land of Enchantment come EOY 2013 and will be heading back to Paradise Valley, Montana and the Chico Hot Spring soak-a-thon in the new year. New readers or those with a short memory can scroll down to Posts from January-February of this year for a refresher on Pray, MT.

My Santa Fe departure is premature but well advised. The position is “term,” (I had to sign an agreement that they could fire me on 24-hours’ notice), and while they would prefer I stay on, I have developed a framework which others can execute with dispatch, should they so desire. Said another way, the design challenge has been met, now the implementation has begun.

A contributing factor to this decision is a growing awareness that my tenure on the planet rests on the south side of the mountain and the opportunity for contribution is in late autumn with winter breezes turning to gale force.

Unlike many who long for leisure (yet find themselves at loose ends on a rainy Sunday afternoon), I will search for challenge until the engine slows to a sputter. Pray, MT will offer a suitable venue for contemplation as I gaze at the Rockies and renew discussion with disaster response firms.

Interspersed with more high-minded activity over the past decade have been bouts of delivering phone books and selling tickets at a historic railroad operation. I use these as barometers of achievement and accomplishment, and when the current level of satisfaction falls below these thresholds, I take it as a sign that change is appropriate.

And so I bid New Mexico farewell and head north.

 

 

My Montana accommodation will be a cottage 5 miles from Chico Hot Springs, on a small ranch complete with 2 horses, a black lab, Sarah the cat, and several bipeds.

Private trout pond, right-of-way access to the Yellowstone River, Cable TV, Wi-Fi… Mercy me!

I will laze a bit before heading in search of acceptable excitement; the result of which may well be an increase in BLOG frequency, which will be viewed in various shades of light or darkness depending on one’s proclivities.

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Whoa! What’s this nonsense about getting rid of MSNBC’s Martin Bashir over his comments directed at Caribou Barbie? Simply because he spewed vicious, venomous, loathsome statements, not over the top but over the moon? C’mon. Silencing one of the planet’s most contemptible inhabitants? How will the kids ever learn right from wrong?

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Reading a fair amount of WW-II history I came across this quote directed at FDR, “I have no respect for him as a man, but he is the most brilliant politician of this (20^th) century.” I thought this might have some current applicability, but now…

 

 

2013-22 Santa Fe

Those paying attention will note that I have been a tad lazy of late. In some measure because I find that reporting on events I consider weird, bizarre, or just plain screwy, are more and more accepted as normal. But occasionally…

Sitting in a secluded outdoor corner of a favored watering hole, trying to profit from the last rays of summer, I overhear a father say to his cute but squirmy 2-year old “See that man over there? Why don’t you go talk to him?" Removing him/her (obligatory unisex haircut) to the floor, he turns to his yuppie tablemates, obviously far more engaged with them than his progeny.

As the only “man” in the vicinity and the assumed target, I greeted squirmy and tolerate his/her scurrying around my small table and even dodging a few small pebbles scooped from the floor and flung in my direction.

But upon the attempt to climb on my lap I take him/her gently by the hand and return him/her to the familial bosom. With uncharacteristic equanimity (attempting to accommodate a family member distressed that I am sinking into chronic curmudgeonry at an alarming rate), I politely intone, “thank you for sharing, but I raised my own and prefer that you do the same with yours.”

The response, quintessentially predictable from the progressive species that pervades Santa Fe, a snarled “what do you have against children?” The instant realization that nothing I could say would penetrate the thick wooden barricade encasing his brain, I walk away to the glares and rude comments boring into my back.

I know these folks believe it takes a village. Surprisingly my two have survived quite admirably with just two loving and attentive parents.

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Quote of the Week:

Former French Foreign Minister Bernard Kouchner in a radio interview. "Let's be honest, we eavesdrop too. Everyone is listening to everyone else. But we don't have the same means as the United States, which makes us jealous."

So apparently the international outrage stems from the fact that we do it better than everyone else. As the French might say, Tant pis…

Chrystal clear however is the fact that the Administration’s promise to “restore” US credibility around the world has been a colossal failure.

And, an insider joke from my Paris research bureau. “The only person listening to (increasingly unpopular socialist President of France Francois) Hollande is Barack Obama.”

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If you subscribe to the Chinese proverb of wishing to live in “interesting times,” you have your wish in spades, or perhaps in the clubs both sides are using in the misbegotten hope of bludgeoning the other into submission.

Of the several defective genes I carry, seeing both sides of the argument is perhaps the most troublesome, as it often sends all within earshot (readshot?)  into a tizzy. Although I have noticed that my liberal acquaintances are far more affronted than are those who occupy contrarian views.

I take this to be the result of liberal conviction that from the left they are always right, i.e. correct and pure in all things. It must be a great cross to bear struggling through life with the burden of perfection on your back.

Like the Wake Forest professor when asked why there are not more conservative academics, replied “they’re just not bright enough.” Or our President who repeats obsessively that “they just don’t get it,” and seems genuinely perplexed that all the planet’s inhabitants don’t naturally fall into lockstep behind his flawless leadership.

It could just be that liberals are smarter, but wisdom doesn’t equate to intellectual acuity.

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I was not and am not in favor of defunding Obamacare in the manner conservatives attempted, but I cannot get my arms (nor brain) around the illogic that says big business gets a reprieve, thousands of waivers have been dispensed to individual commercial enterprises, and unions are demanding (and will surely get) massive concessions, but we poor schlubs who slog through life trying (for the most part) to do the right thing have to pony up.

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“There are few things more demoralizing than working for people you don’t admire,” a quote from the unlikely lips of Julia Child in the much-trashed “A Covert Affair,” by Jennet Conant. Wonder if I should put this in a frame and hang it on my office wall? Probably not a wise move!

 

A la prochaine...

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