Diary of an adult runaway

What, you mean she didn't even get a root out of it?

I shall leave you to guess which one of my fellow ex-pats dropped this gem on Saturday night, but yes, that was pretty much the tone for the evening. Which is another way of saying “You all fucking rock and thank you for the birthday gifts and cakes and I wish we had more time to spend together.” Sending out a special hoorah to Ewan, for making me laugh and laugh—and for teaching me a new way of insulting people with my hands. Always appreciated. 

Been a little slack, fighting off a cold, so I haven’t got the people photos formatted yet, but on Sunday, after a very long and delicious breakfast (although not as delicious as the Doc’s wings and the Macs’ fondue), we traipsed down from Gudmont to Joinville (the one in the Haute-Marne, not the Paris suburb) (I know! Who knew I was going so fucking far?? Not me!! But I totally loved it), for a personal guided tour of the city sights by the ultra-fab Ludivine.

Notre Dame church (dates from the 13^th century, if I heard correctly):

 

And angels we have heard on high:

 

How very French: a gilded skull & crossbones and a sign that dogs are interdit:

 

Old graves, new skylights:

 

Someone’s not happy:

 

The cemetery chapel:

A canal walk in the rain:

(I would have taken beaucoup more shots, but the iPhone died on me, Still, I continue to be impressed by its quality.)

One of the things that gets me about France is how many things there are to see and do in even the smallest towns. Not that I’d want to live in one full-time, I don’t know what they actually do then, but I’ve decided that I’m winning the lottery, buying the building that houses the Joinville Tourist Information Center, having summer parties in the paved courtyard (that’s enclosed by a lovely iron fence the cats are too fat to escape through but could deliver a solid walloping to any passing dog) then buying the decaying building kitty-corner and putting in a café/bookstore on the ground floor (that will deliver coffees to me when I raise a flag in my office window) then turning the top 2 (or 3?) floors into accommodation for guests (and you’re all welcome!) Just putting that out there.

 

Ok, Universe, do your stuff!

Everything is beautiful (in its own way)

During my morning writing session today, I stopped to take a look out the window then just put my pen and notebook away. Because there before me was such beauty. There was a woman in a pink beret with a big diamante “F” pinned to it. (Fabienne? Francine? Fionula? Fanny ?) A teenage boy with a big curly, ringleader moustache painted on his face. (School play? Wishful thinking? Fun?) A little girl in tan riding boots lagging on her way to school while her mother berated her. People with that TGIF look. People with that “Thank God, coffee!!” look. Fashionistas with massive D&G sunnies and fake Vuitton sacs. A very short woman wearing black jeans splattered with glitter. A large woman with a cane and a salsa red velvet hat. Scarves, scarves, scarves—all sizes, varieties and colors. Too many cigarettes. People running to catch the bus. One man having an animated conversation with himself (I checked; no Bluetooth). Men smoothing down their comb-overs. People checking themselves out in the mirror that is Starbucks’ window. Doing a double-take when they realized I was checking them out, too.

Normally, I maintain eye contact of less than a nano-second. Today, I maintained contact for the time it took them to pass by and was surprised by the amount of people who reciprocated. On more than one occasion, we slid into slow smiles—a moment when we were recognizing a stranger as a fellow human being. It made me recall a blog I read in the days following September 11th, when residents of a Brooklyn apartment building came home to find someone had stuck little green post-its to their doors proclaiming “I love you.” I wanted to do the same to these people, run up and stick the notes on their chests then escape into the crowd.

Then I found this video on Amy’s blog, which just summed it all up. It made me cry with joy:

Favorite moments: the Korean DMZ, the surprise Indian dancing, the guy spinning his wheelchair in Santa Monica. But it's all just beautiful.

Other things that bring me joy:

Rob Ryan no longer has this multi-colored piece in his Etsy store, but there are many others to choose from.

I took 2 days off this week and spent both mornings lazing. Much to the cats’ delight, they like nothing more than a good lie in, as you can see from Kody’s expression (oh yeah: update! I was so successful in my bid to settle down his tummy that it took him 4 days to get back in the tray. Just thought you’d like to know. Turkey rocks.):

The view from my lounging position:

Then Pumpkin got a little tired of it all and did his “I don’t want to bother you, but could you please get your lazy ass out of bed and feed me, if it’s not too much trouble?” look:

Tonight will be a night of joy. The delightful Miss Jenny and I will be co-celebrating our birthdays at my favorite new haunt, La Fée Verte. Then tomorrow I’m being secreted out to the French countryside for what will no doubt be a raucous weekend of ex-pat hysterics, witnessed by good French children who will be horrified at what their mothers get up to. There will be Antipo and Ms Mac and Jenn C and Doc and who else? Katia? Will there be Katia? And maybe a Kylie? Please? I’ve been good!

Oh…wait a minute…no I haven’t.

Wheeeeeeee!!!

So yesterday, I did 2 things I've never done before. 1, I finished writing 50,000 words (220 ms pages) in a month, making me a NaNoWriMo 2008 winner. And 2, I went to dinner with a French friend and spoke only French--OMG!!!!

Let me tell you, #1 was a lot easier than #2. Except I took Elizabeth to Les Temps, where the ambience is relaxed, especially after the shot of vodka Jean Paul delivered with the salmon crêpes. Although they've lived in the same neighborhood for almost 20 years, last night was the first time Elizabeth and Madeleine have ever spoken, but they were tutoyering (using informal French) within minutes, much to their mutual surprise. (Me, I tu people I've just met and vous those I've known for years, so I'm obviously no guide.)

After dinner, Elizabeth took me to see her apartment. We've lived kitty corner for almost 4 years (and strangely, only ever seen each other on the Montmartrobus or at the bus stop) but I thought her building was your average charming Montmartre former farmhouse turned apartments. Except you go through that building and out into a massive terraced courtyard surrounded by charming apartment buildings with Sacré-Coeur looming beyond. And no noise. No noise. It's like being in the countryside.

Lovely night but I left holding back tears because Elizabeth's husband died in the summer and she can't afford the rent so she's moving in a few weeks. She gave me a little gift and it was just so sweet. I love my neighborhood.

And my neighborhood loves me! Yes it does! I woke up this morning and it was SNOOOOWING!! So I got dressed ASAP and ran out to catch some on my tongue. As soon as I descended to the flatlands, the snow turned into rain, thus reinforcing my belief that the butte of Montmartre is the most magical place in all of Paris.

Some of that magic is flowing through the Nano book. There's snow in that, too, it's set in Maine at Christmas. Of course it's first draft but it's just working. There's stuff to be added and lots of research to do (why, God, why must I insist on giving my characters professions I know nothing about?) and there's one chapter that sucks so I just went past it because I need the stuff that comes after it to be able to balance it, but apart from that I'm rapt.

And let me tell you my secret. No internet at home, which also means no TV. When it went out for some stupid France Telecom technical reason, I decided to let it stay out for November. Amazing the amount of writing you can get done when you're forced to write your own TV show. The plan is to keep motoring on and hopefully get the first draft finished by Christmas, when work gives us 1, 2, 3....11 days off!! That's right, 11.

Fingers crossed, it will snow the whole time :-)

Friday!

The road to RWA

I did a quick updatebefore National, promising photos of our trek from L.A. to SF the following week. So, I was out by about 1 or 3 weeks, but good things come to those who wait. Or, should I say, massive amounts of shit comes to those who wait. Because I've finally downloaded everything so here's hoping your bandwidth holds up.

This first shot comes about 2 days before we headed north, when we were at the fine dining establishment of Bob's Big Boy (Tamara: are you serious? Me: hell yes, it's Americana, baby! Tamara: sigh.) We'd just gotten through laughing at the server--who told us he wasn't flirting with us, really, coz he was as queer as an Easter basket--when I looked across the road and spotted this:

Indeed! No wonder he worked there. And to keep the entendres going, check this out:

Yes, it's a cattery, no Dolly Parton in sight. 

The trip began with a last breakfast in Topanga, at Mimosa Café. A-yup, the same one featured in my ms Learning How To Stay, so when that sells and you buy your own copy (or 4--perfect for every gift-giving occasion), then you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. As you can see from this shot, I'm not the only writer in the hood:

We snuck (sneaked? wah?) out the back because there was a pirate I was avoiding out front, plus the little zen garden is pretty:

 

Why I love Topanga: all is possible:

Rolling into Santa Barbara:

Um...okay...

Officer! Some bastard stole my bright shiny red Mustang and is parading it down Main Street...oh, wait...that's not mine:

The plan was to stop off at Los Olivos so I could check out some stuff for a manuscript but we ran out of time and so here's some vinyard somewhere near there:

But we did have to stop at a Wal-Mart along the way and get me a new suitcase to fit in all the crap great stuff I'd acquired along the way (68 cent aqua plastic margarita glasses at Target, anyone? ANYONE? Yes, I thought so, too) and whilst there I came across the coolest thing EVA!! It's this shower wrap, soft terry, bright stripes, Velcro closing. The kind of things college kids half my age flit around sorority houses in. (Tamara: You're not serious, are you? Me: Fuck yeah! Americana, baby! And it's only 10 bucks! Tamara: Sigh. Me: <g>)

I'd told Laura we'd make it to SF about 6 but it soon became evident we wouldn't, not when I insisted on pulling into Jack In The Box and asking them for an antenna topper, the one with the hat. Like the dude in all the billboards we'd been passing:

I was shocked and outraged to learn they didn't have them, that this was an ADVERTISING GIMMICK, though was mollified (read: fell into line like a good consumer) when she lobbed me a Jack in a construction helmet. Tamara asked if there might be more Village People Jacks back there, perhaps an Indian, but that didn't go down too well and so we had to make our escape. Roared into San Francisco singing J-Lo and spent half an hour trying to find the B&B, the same one I'd stayed at in '91 and '93 and could still remember the smell of--and the address of, though I couldn't remember the cross streets and we didn't have a map.  "If we could just find the fucking mission" I said. "We're IN the Mission," Tamara said. "Yeah, no, I mean the actual MISSION. WAIT! THERE'S THE BASILICA! TURN! TURN!"

Needless to say, we were hyper by the time we met Laura. Dumped the bags, hauled her into the car and raced off over the hills and across the bridge to the Headlands. The last time I'd been there, Keriand I chased a skunk around before it lifted its tail and we backed off. This time, no skunks, lots of tourists. Late-night run to the Safeway for a toothbrush then it was time to crash.

Next morning: sightseeing! Past the freaks on Market Street (again: I love SF) until we got to the cablecar turnaround and one freak in particular caught my attention. Isn't he beautiful? Those cat ears, that feline smile. I heart Cat Man!:

Then something else caught my eye and I popped out of line to see if I was right. At first I thought it was a copycat, then I saw the Jesus tattoos and knew it was the real deal.

"The Naked Cowboy is walking down the street," I said.

"What?!" Laura said.

"The. fucking. Naked. Cowboy. is. walking. down. Powell. Street."

And so he was:

He came with his own camera crew and cop. I later learned he'd been arrested for illegal busking in Union Square a few days before and had swanned into City Hall wearing a fur coat and his tighty whities. An older woman got her photo taken with him and had just (at his urging) put her hand on his ass when her daughter tried to get her attention. "She's busy, honey," he said. You go on with your bad self, NC!

We caught the cable car down to Ghirardelli Square, where a children's orchestra was playing. The kids were super excited and serious and sweet:

And there were cupcakes! Kara's, to be exact:

It was torture choosing, but I settled on a Raspberry Dazzle:

See the guy in blue on the sidewalk? That's Rhymin' Simon and I first came across him in '95 and he's still here and he's still funny:

And I remember this guy from 2002. His schtick is to hide behind the bushes then shake them and yell and scare the hell out of people then everyone laughs. See the people across the street? They're waiting for the next victim:

 

Me: (getting camera all set up to take a shot) Him: If you're gonna take my photo, leave a few bucks, would you? If I took a photo of your bush, that's the least I'd do. Me: (couldn't talk, doubled over in laughter)

The Boudin Bakery at the wharf:

A trolley car on the F Market line:

The obligatory sea lions shot:

Remember that basilica I was yelling about? Yeah, here it is:

And here's the mission. Mission Dolores, to be more specific:

The next morning at breakfast, we met Heather Anne, who just happened to be going to National, too. I'd gone all gimpy after hiking around the day before, so HA and Laura teamed up for some more sightseeing while I sat in Borders and wrote and checked out the scenery. I saw Paula Roe go by then Jan Durkin then a whole heap of women looking wide-eyed and a little scared of the big, bad city, and I thought "Yep, I'll see you at the conference" and I did. I also saw this:

Wow. I remember when Union Square used to have actual, you know, grass.

HA and Laura collected me for lunch (Lori's Diner--decent food but couldn't be a real diner coz there was no photo of Elvis, scammers!) then I led them on a merry journey to one of my favorite spots, Telegraph Hill. This is where my latest ms is set and I wanted to check some things for myself, even though I completely lucked out and found the email of the occupants of the house where my heroine lives and they've totally been helping me out. On the way, we met this beautiful, beautiful dog who was waiting at the bus stop for his mom to get home from work (much rejoicing when she did) and a sweet puppy who wanted to play but needed a little support:

Coit Tower:

The view from the Filbert Street steps:

This deck is just begging for me to move in and populate it with plants and cats and 69-cent plastic margarita glasses:

Sweet cottage, won’t you be mine?:

Oh, wait, won’t you be mine?:     

The road boardwalk to Cora’s house:

Cora lives here on the 2^nd floor. Holden lives on the 3^rd. They get up to no good all over the place:

This one's for Keris. It's the closest I could get to the parrots, the cheeky sods:

The outside of our B&B:

The kitchen, which has not changed in 15 years, swear to God. The only thing I could find that had changed in the entire house were the tiles in the upstairs bathroom. Even the "Please conserve water" sign was the same one from 15 years ago, from a dot-matrix printer. I love that it hasn't changed, though of course in my head I've won the lottery and have already planned which walls I'm knocking down (the one between the front living room and the upstairs bedroom; the one between 2 of the downstairs bedroom to make a master suite) and where my writing area will be (in the back living room). I'm keeping all the wood trim:

The next day, my mind was churning with story ideas. Knowing what an absolute bitch I can be totally AM when I have the writing bug biting me, I left HA and Laura to their own devices again, did some laundry then headed off to write. I wandered through the Castro: 

 

The requisite Painted Ladies shots:

 

Heh:

    

I thought I’d catch the bus to the Haight. I was at the stop with 2 teens, a boy and a girl, and their grandma.

Grandma to girl: Stop laughing to yourself, you sound weird.

Girl: I’m not laughing at myself, I’m laughing at those white girls. 

Me: snort

Girl: Oh, sorry, sorry! 

Boy: Oh, she’s sorry! (hitting her) 

Me: Seriously. It was funny. Now I’m laughing at them.
 
The bus came along and up the hill we went, past several promising cafés, so I decided I’d stay in the area--Upper Castro/Eureka Valley. I got off just in time.
 
Weird guy (sitting beside grandma from bus stop): mutter mutter

Grandma: Why are you talking to me like that?

Weird guy: Who says I’m talking to YOU, you old bag?

Boy: You better not TALK to my grandma like that or I’ma whoop your ass!

Girl: Yeah, step off!

Weird guy: Shut up!

Nice guy: Driver, there’s some asshole harassing 2 women back here.
 
I made my way back toward the café, past a drunk guy who said “You just missed 'em! 3 boxers! Ran right by here!” Needless to say, there were no boxers to be seen, of either the human or dog variety. Okay, dude. Found the café, Queen Malika, which turned out to be a little creperie run by a nice French guy. Had a scrummy turkey crepe then got down to business. I wrote. And wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote, then looked up and noticed the great view. Pink and blue! And a massive front room that overlooks the street and a door that leads straight to great coffee. Oh, pretty little cottage, won't you be mine?:

I drifted down the hill in that wonderful daze that a good writing binge leaves me in. Somewhere along the way I saw a gay guy in his car, looking quite natty à la Tim Gunn, but less structured. He leaned out the window and called "I love your outfit!"

Me: Thank you! I was just thinking the same about you!

God I love this town.

This story ends where all good stories do, with avocado cactus enchiladas and most excellent margaritas at the Velvet Cantina. Dear bartender, I'll say it once more: you fucking rock!

And the fun continues

Went to see Juno today and was totally charmed. It avoided all the usual stereotypes, was well-acted, well-written, just the kind of film I love. It was a toss-up between that and Sweeney Todd, which I still really want to see. Just not today. Hit the bookstore before and after, and came away with some good scores. Heaven is a massive English-language bookstore, though you've gotta watch out for those cinnamon dolce lattes lurking at every turn.

On Tuesday, I'm going to do something completely cool. Or, as the woman on the ticket line said, "You guys are going to have an awesome day!" It's something I've always wanted to do, which is what makes the 5am hit-the-road time okay bearable. Only 3 people can do it each day and we're probably going to be exhausted at the end but it'll al be worth it. Photos soon!

;-)