Parislog 20
May 8, 2006

Last Sat. the 29th, I went to a little get together with H* for her friend’s birthday. We went to a club that was on the Canal St. Martin and had outdoor seating so that you could be looking right at the canal. It was very pretty but very cold because the weather had lost its mind again. The good thing was that it helped with not being suffocated by smoke for those of us who didn’t smoke. The place has seriously crazy waiters who kept trying to take our chairs. We had a large group but they were often getting up to go inside to buy a drink. Every time a waiter would come by and try to just take the chairs. The last time the waiter actually said that it was better to be standing while drinking. I mean really. We were paying customers.

May is a great month for workers here because it comes loaded with 3 3-day weekends. One is Labor Day. One is a church holiday. And one is WW II Victory Day. Can’t beat that. Me not knowing about these holidays, I got a nasty shock on the metro. I had to wait three trains to be able to get on one. It was like being in a sardine can. Everyone and I mean everyone was heading out of town for the long weekend or coming into town or something. It was like this every time I used the train. One of the trips was absolutely a nightmare. I had a young British couple right up against me on one side lip locked the whole time, smacking in my ear. In front of me was a couple with a kid and the woman decided to turn around and lean against the pole in the standing area right against my hand. I turned my knuckles into her back to try to get her to get off and she didn’t flinch. And because she was leaning against the whole bar there wasn’t even any place that I could move my hand and still hold on. On a third side, a really short older man actually walked up the aisle of the train pushing through people to come up to me and ask the time. I gave him an estimate rather than look at my watch. He then proceeded to stand there and lean against my chest with his arm and I had to push him off. He gave me a token look of surprise and apology. Riiiiiight.

There was a football game this night between two French cities, Marseilles and Paris. I only knew because F* was watching. Paris won and that was the end of life, as we knew it. You would think that Paris had won a war. They came streaming out into the streets and were shooting off firecrackers and yelling and screaming. This went on for at least an hour or more. Talk about taking it personally. It was as though they themselves had won the game. No wonder they hurt each other in the stadiums.

A* and I tried to go to a neighborhood art event. A bunch of the ateliers agree to open their doors and let people just walk around in their workspace. Problem was that it decided to pour down rain that day. Not much fun for walking around in. Instead we went to a chi-chi place called Angelina’s and had a little nibble. I had their hot chocolate. It was so rich and thick that I literally ate it by the spoonful. It came with the whip cream in a bowl on the side so that you could scoop it on as you pleased. The desserts were equally divine. A* had the house specialty, the Mont-Blanc and I had the Opera bar which was a mix of chocolate and coffee flavors. Yum.

I went to the ATM machine to get money out and was completely lost. I couldn’t figure out which choice to make for the life of me. I gave up and went inside to get money from the teller. Apparently the machine wasn’t working anyway. It is the weirdest thing here. When I go into the bank I feel like I have stepped back about 30 years or more. The print out for your receipt is on a full sheet of paper from a regular printer. Everything is typed in manually. I couldn’t use my bankcard to withdraw money. I had to go up to the apartment and get a check to write at the bank. Then the teller had to call my branch to see if all was good. I guess the computers weren’t working fully. It was weird but I got my money.

Then I went to the library to get my new comics and the computers were down there too. No one thought to just write down the numbers of the books going out. They just all ran around like crazy people and acted as though the sky was falling. A client was mad because he wanted his book. He was yelling. I just stood and waited and watched. I still felt like I had stepped back in time.

My roommate left for two weeks so I get the place to my self for a while and I am so thrilled. I spent the next few days just cleaning everything. He is a typical guy and has typical guy habits. I am not about to be the housekeeper so I don’t do any cleaning unless I see him cleaning something. And I don’t mean his dishes or his laundry. Otherwise, I would be doing all the cleaning. He also eats a lot of garlic so there is always an acrid odor in the house from the smells of garlic breath. After he left and that was gone, I noticed that there was a strong mildew smell and cleaned and cleaned but no help. I finally found where it was coming from but can’t reach it. I keep spraying bleach back there trying to make it go away. Little by little it is getting less. Now when I wake up in the morning the house isn’t full of mildew smell. Yeah!

I heard noises in the street below, looked over the edge of the balcony and there was a knife and scissor sharpener patrolling the street. One of the last of the old street vendors with his cart painted with silhouettes of knives and scissors.

All over Paris, there have been cow sightings. Actually it’s an art installation called Vach’art. Vache means cow in French. It is amusing to run across them as you are out and about doing your errands. A lot of them are boring but I really thought this one was worth a photo.