Diary of an adult runaway

I almost forgot

I don't think I'm alone in feeling ambivalent about Michael Jackson's death, overwhelmed by the coverage, the (sometimes inappropriate) commentary and, of course, the man himself. And then last night I was watching TV and I saw this:

Do you remember the little boy on the left? I do. I grew up with him. Whenever I saw him on TV, he made me want to dance, he emitted such joy and light. And last night I found myself crying for that little boy, wondering where he went, wondering where the time has gone.

There's no denying--and no point in denying--that Thriller was brilliant work. It was the album of my senior class, we were all trying to imitate the dance. But I already had a stronger emotional connection to Off The Wall. The year it was released, my school held a charity dance-a-thon. I can't remember if it was 12 hours or 24, just that I danced through the night. Exhausted, I went to my grandmother's to get some sleep, though not too successfully: she had to keep putting me back to bed because I was sleep-dancing. The only song I remember from the dance-a-thon was Don't Stop Til You Get Enough. Every time I hear it, I'm back there on that steamy night in the building by the river, dancing my skinny 13-year-old ass off. I still think it's his best album. The absolute coolness of Rock With You, the catch in his pure voice as he sings She's Out Of My Life. Yeah, I know--Thriller--but I don't think it ever got any better than this.

MICHAEL JACKSON - DON'T STOP TIL YOU GET ENOUGH
Uploaded by hushhush112. - Explore more music videos.

 

Years later, Can You Feel It gave me the courage to walk into a daunting situation. I played it over and over and away I went. A few years after that, driving along California's Highway 1 headed for San Francisco, I heard Scream and was electrified by its raw power. It was an insight into a life I'd never want to live. As soon as I got to San Francisco, I tracked down the cassette (!!) and played it almost until it fell apart.

So, yeah. I want to know where that little boy went. I don't know the truth of what happened in the adult's life, and regardless of my own beliefs, I hope the boy is now free from pressure and pain. And I hope he's dancing.

A storm brewing

Last night at 7.45:

Good God, they do go on!

As I'm sure I've frequently bitched about pointed out, everyday events can take longer here, simply because of the steps you have to go through. Sometimes I'm pleasantly surprised, sometimes I'm livid, other times I sigh and give them what they want.

For instance, if you want to cancel your mobile contract here, even if you're at the end of the contract, you have to send a letter (usually registered--I think they've got a scam running with the post office) and, well, basically grovel. 

Ok, not really, but that's how it feels. It also feels very flowery. My cultural thinking is, People are busy, get to the point, don't waste their time. Uh, no. Here you tell them what you want, why you should get it, remind them of the various laws concerning deleting your dossier and financial records, remind them of the law that says they have 10 days in which to comply, then once again throw yourself on your sword and pray that they'll take mercy.

I was writing one such letter last night, going by examples some wonderful souls had posted online. The last sentence, however, I changed a little and wanted to run it through a translator to make sure I hadn't made any horrific faux pas. Here's what I had in my letter:

Vous remerciant, par avance d'accueillir favorablement la présente demande, je vous prie d'agréer, Madame, Monsieur, l'expression de ma considération distinguée.

Essentially, it means: Thanking you in advance for your favorable reception of this request; please accept, Madame, Monsieur, this expression of my highest consideration.

The online translator thought for a moment then spat out its response:

Yours faithfully.

Best laugh I've had all day.

I tried, I really did (aka Keris, don't kill me)

Every time I take the Montmartrobus home, I pass a little gem of a store called Generation 1962 (4, rue Tholozé, 75018). And every time I pass it, I stare longingly through the window but never go in. Because. I know Bad Things could happen.

Le sigh.

It's not my fault the place just happens to be opposite my vet's and that I had to buy some cat food the other day and had some free time and wandered past...

This bag alone was worth the price of admission:

And then there's this one:

All for this:

Le massive sigh! It smells great and has a metal frame so it snaps open and stays there, just like those old-style doctor's bags:

And it packs in a shitload of stuff, including (top right) the make-up bag the truly sympa vendeusse threw in:

I must say, delayed gratification can be rather nice. Not that I'd try it too often, because this bag is a joy to use. Orla Kiely, I love you!

I hereby declare...

...2009 the Summer of Hot Pink:

There are some things up with which I shall not put (IOW, Clear Channel: you suck!)

So this has been a week of minor disappointments--although 2 of them were vote-related, so a lot of other people were happy.

#1: Shaun Johnson winning Dancing With The Stars. Not that I don't think she's outstanding and not that her freestyle routine didn't completely fucking rock. It's just that I thought Gilles Marini's entire season performance was better. But I understand, I do, and good on her.

#2: Kris Allen winning American Idol. Again, I like Kris and there were times when I felt a tiny sense of entitlement coming from Adam. Just a shame that the KISS performance was done after the voting was finished, because I thought Adam should have won based on that alone.

(And in the biggest dumb ass moves of all, I stayed away from Facebook and other potential spoiler places while I was downloading then--while watching, about 10 minutes away from the announcement--I logged on to iTunes to download an app and there was the winner. Doh!)

#3: Now this one is really pissing me off. KKSF is my favorite radio station with its smooth jazz format. Since taking it over, Clear Channel has done all it can to stop me from listening from outside the US but I always found a way (ha!). I love to listen to it when writing, when not writing, all the time. I discovered so much new music there and heard a lot of old favorites--Grover Washington Jr, Stevie Wonder, Bill Withers, Dave Kos, Boney James, etc. Their DJs, especially Miranda Wilson, were the coolest this side of Paris's Fipettes. So imagine my shock to launch the player the other day and hear classic rock. Went to the site and yep, without informing listeners but apparently after some "market research," they've changed to The Band. Yeah, thanks but I've already got a favorite classic rock channel, L.A.'s The Earth, and now it appears I'll be going to L.A.'s The Wave for my smooth jazz--and considering they're CBS channels, they don't make you jump through hoops to listen. Judging by the thousands of comments, I'm not the only one departing. Boo, Clear Channel, booooooooooooooooooooooooo!!

As if that wasn't bad enough, the front door to my building is screwed and the digicode doesn't work. Someone's been ... you know, whatever you call it when you leave the deadbolt out, so we could slip in and out. But last night when Sophie and I were leaving for dinner, someone else had put it back into its normal position, which meant if you didn't have a master key (and I don't), you couldn't get back in. The quasi-gardien's apartment was dark, meaning I couldn't get them to let me back in like I had last time we had this problem, but I thought fuck it, no one was getting between me and dinner at Le Temps, I'd just have to throw pebbles at someone's windows if it came down to it. Because it was a glorious night and I wasn't staying in. Here's proof:

My apartment at 9 at night (mine's the one with the door open to the balcony).

I was happy to see these 2 gorgeous girls because it meant that Willy and his family were coming for dinner. In case you missed it, Willy lives above the resto and works at the Starbucks I'd stop at on my way to work, and was always kind enough to let me in if I happened to get there early. Just the nicest guy with the nicest family. Here he is in the duel of the iPhones; we were battling to see who got the first shot--I won!:

So I celebrated with some of Jean Paul's kick-ass foie gras. So good with its homemade bread and onion confit that I had it as an entrée and dessert. Yes, I am serious:

The girls zipped up and down on their scooters for much of the night, while people wandered by:

I'm always doing something weird with my mouth in photos. Regardless, I liked this shot:

I think this was just before he asked me why he hadn't seen me at his Starbucks for the past few weeks and I said "Um, yeah, the new one at Blanche is more convenient for me" and he threw himself back in that way African men have that makes me laugh and cried "Mais non!" Result: I must turn up at his Starbucks on Monday or there will be trouble.

It was still light at 10:

This view in summer always reminds of the Late For The Sky cover:

I decided to brave the door at 10.30 and roped Willy into coming along, just in case we needed some muscle. Happily, the door was rigged open again. Oh, and it hadn't been, no problem: turns out Willy has a master key! Why he has and not, say, La Poste, so they could come in and drop off my packages instead of leaving me a note when they happened to feel like it (and shipping it back to the sender if they didn't feel like it), I don't know. That's just the way things go here.

Oh, and just as well that I downloaded the flashlight app for the iPhone this week, because the power was out in the stairwell, which would explain the digicode. Yep. That's just the way things go here :-)

The perfect way to write

Monday afternoon on a quiet square tucked back from the touristy hubbub, a glass of red, dragonfly watching over me (see pale green store front):

And good news! I'm a finalist in Chicago RWA's Fire & Ice contest. I love this manuscript. I'm not giving up on it :-)

On a brighter note...

Some shots from around the hood:

A shop down the street that always does beautiful displays...and the orange set will only cost 690E!

Pylones is always fun to wander by

At Pigalle. Dancers, or just girls out for fun--or both?

The décor at Alice Pizza (4, rue Dancourt, 75018) may be black and white but the pizza POPS in your mouth--and you can always get some color with the huge, fresh strawberry mojito. I took the Fantasia pizza and there wasn't a scrap left. Great pizza, great waiters, great location.

Signs, signs, everywhere a sign

On the front door to my apartment building:

When coming and going, be smarter than the BURGLARS and properly close the door...but without slamming it! Merci.

On the bus (I forget I don't just live in a quartier [neighborhood] but a republic!):

The power and the purity of the big Cosack voices accompanied by balalaikas et the Montmartre street urchin band (which I find really funny, considering Montmartre was overrun by the Cosacks in the Franco-Prussian War)

At my local caf. The Indian/French owners have a thing for 70's/80's music and have covered the walls with lyrics, sometimes incorrectly (the lyrics for Copacabana read "The heart is but north of Havana" ilo "The hottest spot north of Havana") and sometimes with commentary (check out the Smokie lyrics--and shouldn't that be Smokey?):

At a school at the base of Sacré-Coeur:

In this school Jean Roger Debrais taught the love of his motherland as a member of the young FTPF*. He died for her Decemer 14, 1943 under the bullets of the enemy. He was 20 years old.

*Francs-Tireurs et Partisans Français--the Communist Party resistance movement

At a school probably...100 yards away, on rue Yvonne Le Tac:

To the memory of the students of this school deported between 1942 and 1944 because they were Jewish, innocent victims of the Nazi barbarism and the Vichy government. 

They were exterminated in the death camps.

More than 700 of these children lived in the 18th arrondissement.

Never forget them.

Excuse me while I drool

Late last night early this morning, when I was exhausted from wrangling with my synopsis, when I was battle-weary and bloody from wrestling the bitch of a thing to the floor and stabbing it through its black, treacherous excuse for a heart (irrational synopsis hatred, oh yeah, I haz it!), when I was cursing my heroine for being a loser who doesn't deserve the hero (funny, that's how she feels, too), I decided to take a break indulge in avoidance and go looking for something I'd thought of the other night when I was watching Gonzo: The Life and Work of Hunter S. Thompson (which I highly recommend, of course). 

In it there was a shot of a Rolling Stone issue featuring one of Hunter's articles, and on the cover was Jackson Browne (looking faintly savior-like...hmmm...) That got me thinking about another RS cover of JB, an Annie Leibovitz shot that's one of my favorites. Of course, I took the scenic route and discovered a few things. Such as, writing goddess Susan Wiggs is also a JB fan, to the point that she's forcing her daughter to marry a lookalike. I kid, of course; based on the evidence, no force is required.

After checking out more of Susan's blog (and ordering Just Breathe as my first Kindle read--yes, from outside the US ::taps nose::) and a few review sites and HuffPost and everything else to delay going back to that mongrel synopsis, I found the photo. Now, I think I've said this before: I don't possess the gene that has me rushing to see a co-worker's new baby. I like kids on an individual basis, not just because they happen to have been birthed. And those posters that were popular a while back, with the naked muscle-bound guys holding naked babies? Made me want to gag. I find them coldly manipulative.

But this shot of Jackson & Ethan gets me every time:

 

And seeing that is all it took for me to beat that synopsis into submission and say what I want to say about a 100,000-word book in exactly 5 pages and all is once again right with the world. Party on!