SEPTEMBER 2013
2
There’s only so much to say about being in an airplane for eight hours. Air France just isn’t what it used to be -- elegant, spacious, the Concorde. I was in the very last row which was the proverbial sardine can. Next to me, in a three-seat section, was a large, football player-sized guy who was not loving life and had taken over my right side. Fortunately, I was sitting in an aisle seat. The woman in front of me, however, had pushed her seat back as far as it would go. Sitting in the very last row I had nowhere to turn so she was on my lap for all intents and purposes. When I asked her to move up a few inches she said to me “This is an airplane!” The battle of the bitches began and I did what I had to do -- I repeatedly knocked her seat with my knees in short intervals. She was not happy but she had no option to fight me. Ultimately, she had to move her seat when dinner was served. The dinner meal was either herb chicken or pasta with tuna on top but by the time they got to me there was only pasta with tuna - not a great combo. I watched a couple of French movies, started an episode of Friends then switched to The Great Gatsby. Leo DiCaprio is not Robert Redford. It was a rough flight.
I arrived in Paris at 11:30 a.m., flew through customs and easily found the train to the Gare du Nord and arrived by 1:30 p.m. at the Paris apartment where I am staying. A young guy named Manuel is the host of the apartment and his girlfriend, Lucie, was supposed to meet me at 2:30 to deliver the keys. I ttexted her that I would be there early but unbeknownst to me I could neither text nor call her because I had her long french telephone number written incorrectly in my phone. So I waited outside the apartment like a two-bit French whore whose glow had dimmed with age. Finally, Lucie arrives at 3:30, gave me the keys, showed me the apartment and left. The apartment is tiny; it measures only 160 sq ft.
Unfortunately the apartment was not cleaned before I arrived so, much to my chagrin, I was forced to do some cleaning right off the bat. It appears that a person with long brown hair (and falling out to some degree) was the previous occupant.
My next act was to take a nap. I must say, I feel very free.
3
I slept most of the day today -- jet lag is hell or maybe it was the half bottle of wine and sleeping pill I took last night. It’s hard to tell. I'm having just a few of the usual difficulties: opening the two doors to get into the apartment building, opening the door to the apartment, connecting to the WiFi (which they pronounce wee-fee and which I shall be doing as well), finding trash bags and bins, understanding how much to pay cashiers at the supermarket. I realized that I don't know enough food names in the supermarket such that it was easier to buy salami and sliced cheese for a few days. I think I have resolved most of these issues. I did get a little lost tonight from the market but as it turns out all roads lead to my apartment. Good news is - just like DC - I only have to go about six blocks for three supermarkets, two metro stops, cafes, three boulangeries (bread store), charcuterie (pork store) and a McDonald’s that is open until 2 a.m. (but they ran out of coffee before 9 p.m.) Oddly, one of the main supermarkets, Monoprix, is a department store. In addition to food, they sell clothes, tools, pans, dishes, and more. I thought it was sad since, for centuries, France was a country with small, specialized stores and open-air markets. They still have these but the American way of life has saturated most of Europe.
4
I woke up about 2 hours after I went to bed last night; I couldn’t get back to sleep so I stayed up. By 6 am I was starving. McDonald's was supposed to be open at 7 so I left shortly after 7 and, of course, they weren’t open. (FYI, when traveling in a foreign country, McDonald’s has the cleanest bathrooms, they give you ice with a soda, and they have decent sized coffees.) So in order to quench my hunger I bought 2 chocolate croissants and omg were they delicious! Went back to bed at 8 until 3 p.m. As I had to get up and do something I showered and went to my metro, Porte de Bagnolet, to buy metro tickets. I knew that you can buy a ten-pack of tickets for a discount. There are machines that sell the tickets. As I was staring at the machine (which offers English as a language option) some guy who is also buying tickets felt bad for me and explained the process. He spoke in English very quickly and with some accent (yes, English) but I got the idea. The guy leaves so I try to buy tickets. Everything was going smoothly until the machine wouldn’t take my debit card saying there is a technical problem. I try a gain, I get the same response. So I thought well, I just need two tickets and I can pay in cash -- voila, that works. (I bought a ten-pack later on at another station.) I take the metro to the Temple station since I know that that station should be close to the gay area. Right after I get on the metro, this cute young guy gets on and sits next to me. All of a sudden I get that whiff of bad tomato soup. I start to gag. For unknown reasons, some Parisians are still not willing to use deodorant. This was true during my first trip to Paris in 1974 and, sadly, is still true today. I understand the concepts of “au naturel” and avoidance of chemicals on the skin but I have a sensitive gag response so I appreciate the use of aluminum chlorohydrate. Of course the one benefit is that there is far less concern about leaving the house and feeling fresh!
I didn’t have a map (old GPS) with me and my phone needs wee-fee to work here so I take a guess as to the proper direction. I happened upon the LGBT center which has wee-fee and continued to the Marais (the gay and old Jewish district) where the streets are familiar to me. The sidewalks of paris are small and no one wants to let you by. And truth be told, the parisians are rude and will run right into you -- similar to New Yorkers or the women who stop short to look at the windows of Ann Taylor’s on Connecticut Ave in DC.
7
I was up early Saturday to go shopping for some new sneakers. The ones I had were just too far gone and were killing my feet -- heightened awareness after yesterday’s long walk. I had done my research so off I went to GO Sport (French I think) but they did not have my size -- too large for the petite Frenchmen. I asked for a “big and tall” store but to no avail. Next stop Foot Locker (another sign of Imperialism) and I must have tried on ten pair of sneakers, including basketball sneakers. Not one of them fit. I felt like a freak. My feet have been the same size since the sixth grade where all my classmates were in hysterics when I came in with new shoes. Here in Paris, one of the shoe capitals of the world, the glass slipper doesn’t fit. As I start to walk to the gay Marais I saw a Nike store. I had nothing to lose so I went in and the nice salesman, Ahmed, did not pity me but was excited over this challenge. The next thing I know I’m wearing Nike Kevin Durant “Meteorology” sneaks which had just arrived that morning! As I walked toward the Marais I felt like a celebrity -- almost everyone was staring at my pink, black and grey fashion statement (well, presumedly at the sneakers).
I had lunch at a trendy gay cafe called Open Cafe with very cute waiters. On the way back to the apartment I took some pictures that I think typify modern Paris.
and others that are just nutty.
Returned home and had a non-salami and cheese dinner. Then I found TV on Youtube!!!
8
My left foot was hurting, I have a constant headache trying to understand the Parisians, and the supermarkets are all closed on Sunday so I stayed in and watched episodes of Frasier and Keeping Up Appearances on youtube.
I intended to go to Pere Lachaise cemetery this morning to take some pictures of famous dead people. Dead people are much easier to photograph. They don’t complain about anything. However, it was raining all day and I didn’t want to deal with that. I did get to meet Manuel, the apartment host. He came by to pick up some papers -- just another cute twenty-something. So the day was a wash -- so to speak!. Tomorrow I visit Wilde, Chopin, Piaf and Morrison!
12
I went to the Pere Lachaise cemetery on Tuesday but they were out of maps of the famous graves so I had no idea where to go. When I asked the guard when they will have maps again, she said "when they are deliverd!." Gotta love that French irony. I did get to see Oscar Wilde’s grave and some other unique tombs.
Today’s excitement was using the laundromat! I had seen one just a couple blocks away. Fortunately, there was this pleasant Tunisian guy named Riad who helped me through the process. There is a plate on the wall where you deposit the coins and then choose the numbered washer or dryer. It costs about seven dollars for a load of wash which is almost twice the amount at home. Riad and I may meet for coffee this weekend; I don’t think he’s gay but he might be one of those Muslim guys who fools around with men since the women don’t put out :)
14
When people cite that cliche' of having wine, cheese and bread in France my gag response starts screaming like a banshee! And yet, there truly is no joy like a freshly baked loaf straight from the boulangerie with a touch of butter and a touch of strawberry jam. It really is better than sex. For those of you who think you've had all this great sex -- YOU HAVEN'T EATEN THE BREAD!!!
I bought two French Lotto tickets. This could be the day!
11:30 p.m. Not yet the day!
15
Today was a culture day. I went to the Paris Museum of Modern Art. It seemed strange to be looking at Picassos and Matisses but I guess that's because I rarely go to art museums. While I have yet to acquire a taste for cubism, the newer works are pretty wild -- not unlike the pictures that Phoebe Buffay had with arms and legs prodtruding from the canvas (notice the dichotomy of fine art and sitcoms!) I oftem want to go to the Smithsonians, for example, but it seems like so much work to go by myself and I never assume that others would want to go. But here, it seems perfectly normal to spend Sunday afternoon at a museum. Of course, so much of the art was created in Paris and still is -- most of the thirtysomething artists with pieces in MOMA either studied or currently live here.
My other cultural event was to go to Le Cox bar for Sunday happy hour -- a pretty happening place after 6 p.m. I met a couple of Americans from Fort Lauderdale that I spoke to for a while. The Parisian men seem pretty standofish. As I wandered around the Marais I once again saw the stereotypes of the gay neighborhood -- trendy, expensive, frou-frou. The hamburgers in the restaurants were $20! Back in the late 80s the Marais was trendy but still had the feel of a "regular" neighborhood. But like Dupont Circle, the Castro and the south end and West Hollywood, the gay neighborhoods become so trendy and expensive that the young gays move to a cheaper area and create a new neighborhood (although the term 'gay ghetto' is really no longer necessary due to what I guess would be called assimilation).
One more week in the city of lights until I head to the Cote d'azur!
17
Last night I went to a meet and greet about acting classes in taught by a British guy named Peter that I found on the website Meetup.com. It was a young crowd -- mostly under 50. There was this great energy from all these young not-too-jaded actors, many of whom had recently been to the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh or a similar one in Avignon. Most are pursuing creative outlets away from their day jobs. While the classes are taught in English there were a variety of nationalities present and everyone was at least able to converse in English. It was fun so tonight I'm taking a monologue class. The creative energy in acting classes is always stimulating for me.
Now, on a more personal subject -- I am giving in to my fetish of masochism. I have signed up for an open mic night for Thursday. Nothing puts the fear of d-o-g in you like stand-up comedy. I did it years ago in San Francisco and Los Angeles. It is frightening. You are completely alone -- no other actors, no props, no chorus, nothing. If you die, you die alone. Of course, if the audience laughs, there is an incredible high. If they don't, hopefully you will never see these people again. The other benefit of stand-up is that all other types of performing seem easy in comparison.
Went to an acting class which reminded of many of the acting classes I have taken throughout the years - and why I stopped taking acting classes. Nonetheless, it's a good place to meet Parisians who speak English and who are interesting.
As I wander around Paris I see so many handsome young men, many of them gay. Sadly, they see me as an old man even though I don't feel a day over 21! Aging, even with its various benefits, is such a bizarre thing.
19
Yesterday, I finally ventured out to Versailles for decorating ideas and tips. I have to admit it was a little overwhelming. I have no argument with delusions of grandeur but the opulence and enormity of the palace were in the spere of hyperbole. I could easily have lived comfortably in the Hall of Mirrors or the Queen's bedroom. But I think the overriding theme was that the very wealthy have always raped their surroundings, kept people in servitude and often did nothing to make the world better for anyone but themseves. Ultimately, heads were lost over this behavior but like capital punishment, it was not a deterrent to criminal activity. That 1% and I would broaden that to include at least the top 5%, have not only continued criminal activity -- creating low-paying servitude, destroying eco-systems of humans, plants and animal, polluting air and water, seizing land that they have no right to seize -- but have managed to enrich themselves on a scale comparable to Louis XIV! I have no problem with the guillotine being brought back but I think another method is needed for longer-term results.
Tonight I went to an open mic night at a small bar/cafe/performance space and read a piece I had written today entitled "Lawyers, or So You Think." It was a tough audience, mostly poets but I got some positive feedback. So here it is for your amusement.
Lawyers, or So You Think
There is a well-known riddle that goes “What do you call 10,000 lawyers chained together at the bottom of the ocean? The answer is “A start!”
I went to law school at the age of 45 with the motivation that I would frivolously sue Republicans and other conservatives for their disdain and vitriol against gay people and against the poor. Being of Boston Irish descent I neither forgive nor forget. I quickly learned, however, that law school wasn’t for me but I did not want to be the guy who quit law school. So I suffered through the three years. I could have gone to drama school but then I never would learned “the secret.”
What I did learn in law school will shock you. This educational enterprise is part of an intricate, all-encompassing grand plan. Each and every lawyer belongs to a secret society called “Skulls, Bones, Guts and Corpses”, known by the acronym SBGaC and sometimes referred to as the Loyal Order of Masons. This secret society is the one government you’ve heard about that rules the world. It’s all a grand scheme that George Orwell allegedly tried to warn us about.
Many people think that lawyers cannot be trusted and that thinking like a lawyer is akin to having a criminal mind. They have no idea of the enormity of the plan. Lawyers are running the whole game. According to the Congressional Quarterly almost 50% of the U.S. Congress are lawyers Under the guise of a constant logjam, Congress repeatedly confuses people into thinking that they care about the public welfare. This is nothing more than a dabbling in hyperbole. It is no accident that 26 of the 43 men who served as president have been lawyers. While many of them have committed less-than-legal acts they have been given the cover of executive privilege. Of course, everyone on the Supreme Court is an attorney. What other profession could make persons out of corporations? The court regularly defends corporate America and the wealthy because they belong to the infamous 1%. As a matter of fact, the entire 1% are attorneys. This is how the Skulls, Bones, Guts and Corpses, or SBGaC, are taking over the world.
Justice Antonin Scalia, allegedly the most vocal conservative on the court, pretends that he does not want gay people to have civil rights and yet he has a gay son who goes by the code name Priest. The catholic church is completely made up of lawyers -- but as a ruse they call themselves canon lawyers. The catholic church has been part of the global 1% for more than two thousand years. It was they who created the whole plan. BC and AC actually stand for before capitalism and after capitalism. Jesus was the original CEO. He bowdlerized his own sayings to create the best selling book of all time -- the Bible. It was originally called How to Get Rich and Influence People but he knew that a shorter title would be easier to sell. Some of Jesus’ actual proverbs were: ‘It is easier for a rich man to live like he’s in heaven than it is to thread a needle’ and ‘Store all your treasures under the bed because we haven’t yet created the Fed.’ The golden rule was originally, “ Invest in gold and other precious metals, for their value never decreases.” Marketing this book took a lot of advertising since few could read at the time. Jesus was the Jeff Bezos of the year zero. Ironically, his nickname was Jesus Bezos.
What pretenses have lawyers used to encourage respect? For the most part, they make lots and lots of money as corporate attorneys, tax attorneys, or highly-paid defense attorneys. They often work in firms -- another code word meaning franchises. The huge sums of money allow them to control governments around the world. .01% of lawyers work in what they call Public Interest but this is just a means to confuse the skeptics and the naysayers. These lawyers feign not to earn much money but they are bankrolled by the firms.
What can you do about this world takeover? Absolutely nothing. As George Orwell wrote, “and I looked from man to pig and back again and I could see no difference.” 10,000 lawyers chained together at the bottom of the ocean is nothing more than a charade started by lawyers to suggest humility, self-deprecation and a sense of normality.
21
The Red Shoes Dead of Pere Lachaise Cemetery, Paris (Les morts avec chaussures rouges de la cimitiere du Pere Lachaise)
Photogallery pp. 2 - 3 ***
PL1 Intro
PL2a/b/c Oscar Wilde (Writer)
PL3 Gertrude Stein (Writer/Lesbian Socialite)
PL4 Edith Piaf (Singer, Diva)
PL5 Moliere (Actor, Director, Playwright)
PL6 Jim Morrison (Rock Star)
PL7a/b Frederic Chopin (Pianist, Composer)
PL8 Heloise and Abelard (Lovers)
PL9 Gioacchino Rossini (Composer)
PL10 Georges-Eugene Haussmann (Prominent Paris City Planner)
PL11 Jacques-Louis David (Court Painter for Napoleon)
PL12 Marcel Proust (Writer)
22
Today is my last day in Paris until October 28. Tomorrow I am heading to Nice until the 30th and then on to Montpellier for four weeks. I met a friend of my friend Roza whose name is Dinara today for brunch. She is very sweet; we had a very nice time and hopefully will get together in November. The weather is worsening -- cold and starting to rain. I have a little indigestion so I am looking for something like Tums. Oddly, enough, it seems impossible to find antacids in Paris. Finally, I found something for acid reflux -- more like Prevacid. The cost was fifteen euros or twenty dollars. I can't have any more indigestion!
24
Well, yesterday I had one of those annoying traveling adventures -- I missed my train to Nice by 2 minutes! Of course, my ticket which I purchased online, read non-refundable, cannot be exchanged. So after a little cursing of the French people, I resigned myself to forking out the money for another ticket. Well, did I ever curse too soon!!! When I went to the ticket office and related my pathos to one of the ticket agents, he immediately said he would give me another reservation free of charge. He could not have been nicer or more efficient. Love the French again. One bullet has been dodged. On to Nice where I arrived just two hours laters than originally planned. The hotel is just a stone's throw -- alright, a good, butch throw -- from the train station. BUT THEY DON'T HAVE WEE-FEE IN THE ROOMS!!! The only option is to sit in their tiny lobby to connect to wee-fee. So I jump onto booking.com to see what my options are. Poof, nicer hotel available for about the same price WITH WEE-FEE IN ALL ROOMS. Another bullet has been dodged.
25
I finally made it to the beach today and it is stunning. The weather was nice enough that people were sunning and swimming. The beach has pebbles instead of sand but it really doesn't matter - it is still beautiful.
I bought two tickets to the French lotto. Will this be the day???
11:30 p.m. Not yet the day but I won 4 euros ($5.40).
26
The hotel rooms in France are remarkably small. The room I was staying in for the last 3 nights had a double bed and yet I don’t think that 2 people could actually fit in the room. The shower was quite small and if one weighed 250 pounds or more, s/he would not fit into it. Today I moved to another hotel with Wee-Fee in all the rooms. It is very nice -- a three star versus a two star -- and there are two twin beds in my room but it would be tight quarters with two people in the room. If the two people were both over 200 pounds, they wouldn’t fit. Many hotel rooms in the US are much too large for the purpose. There must be a happy medium where French hotel rooms can comfortably accommodate 2 people and American hotels can decrease the size of the hotel room, decrease the size of the hotel and leave less of a nasty ecological footprint. This may well be my next job -- travel and leisure efficiency expert. I will say that the French are pretty careful not to waste things like space, water, trees, food and so on. But they have far less obese citizens than we.
Tonight I ventured out to a club called Le Code Gay Hard ### Club and Cruising Space.*** I thought it might be interesting to see what the Niceans do when in Nice! The club did not open until 10 p.m. so I didn’t leave the hotel until 10:45. Coincidentally, this club is only a six minute walk from my hotel. When you reach the club there is a bright orange neon sign that says Le Code. Like similar clubs there is a doorbell to ring when you arrive. The handsome man without his shirt on lets you in. There is a cover charge of 7 euros ($10). Then the handsome man without his shirt on lets you into to the “foyer.” In the “foyer,” the handsome man without his shirt on gives you a plastic "basket” to put your clothes in -- just like you would at the beach except there are no bathing suits. This is called “natural”. All the men in the club are “natural” even though some people do not look very good in “natural.” Once you give the handsome man without his shirt on your clothes, he gives you an “armband” so that you can get your “crate” when you are ready to leave. The club is very well “unlit.” There are lots of cute “rooms” with various styles of “decor.” In some of the rooms there are “hammocks.” Some men take a “rest” in the “hammocks” while another man might “swing” the “hammock” or make the “hammock” move quickly “back and forth” or slowly “back and forth.” The men who were “swinging” the “hammocks” also had many different “toys” that they shared with the men who were “resting” in the “hammocks.” There were different types of “hammocks” but most were made of “cowskin” with large “bracelets”. Some of the other little “rooms” had different kinds of “seats” and there were “little round glassless windows” in some of the walls. In this club there are many places that you can “tinkle." It seemed like most of the men were in “teams” of 2, 3, or 4 -- kind of like bridge. I think these “teams” have been “playing cards” together for a long time. After about an hour I had watched enough “card games” so I got my “basket” , said good-bye to the handsome man without his shirt on and returned to my hotel.
I hope this story was not too upsetting or even comprehensible for you. Like an inherent parental control, I will continue to warn about any future stories of an adult nature.
27
Today was another culture day. I went to the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art which is just a few minutes walk from the hotel. While I enjoyed many of the exhibits I just know that I have a career in contemporary art. I think the key is thinking about something that you would never, ever, consider to be a work of art, creating such a piece, and then finding a small gallerty to lauch your career. I have included some photos in the photogallery to demonstrate my hypothesis.
I can assure you that I have done the clothes on chair piece in my apartment, on a far more complex and intricate level -- to the extent that the chair could no longer stand up! And they think they know art.
28
I have to say that customer service in the U.S. is superior to that in France. While I am open to the slim possibility that I could be, on that rare occasion, a tiny bit bitchy, my expectations of service here are quite low based on past experiences. Should a waiter be slightly attentive, great; if a supermarket cashier doesn’t bite my head off, great; and if the hotel reception doesn’t completely ignore a request, all the better. Having worked in a hotel for several years, I know that one can easily get fired for not taking care of a guest’s needs. This is not the case here. Yesterday, I requested additional toilet paper and an extra bath towel. Three hours later nothing had come so I went down to the front desk (or rather the only desk). The gentleman acted as if I had never called even though I knew it was he to whom I spoke. He immediately got what I needed but had I not gone to him I would have received nothing. Of course, this could happen in an American hotel but I think there would be some apologizing in that situation. I also notice that in restaurants or bistros the waiters have little interest in waiting on customers. Even getting the check can take a long time -- almost as if they don’t care about being paid. Last night, I went to the supermarket to buy dinner. I picked out a tasty dessert but at the checkout I decided not to buy it. Well, the cashier had rung it up and she was not happy that I changed my mind so instead of taking it off she added another one on and then took the second one off so I was still charged for the first. Also, she was reluctant to give me a receipt. I didn’t realize this error until I got back to the room. I will say that when I returned to the store today, the service rep was quite pleasant and she returned my money immediately. But to keep my blood pressure down, I will just keep lowering my expectations until I clean my hotel room myself, prepare my own restaurant dinner and check myself out at the market.
30
Well, I left Nice today and am in Montpellier which is in the middle of the south of France. There were no train problems as I got my ass to the station early! Once burnt, twice an idiot -- there’s some cliche like that. Travel days are tough. I think it’s because I brought too much luggage which is heavy to carry. There will be a clothing donation before I leave here. So far, since I haven’t had a washing machine, I’ve been wearing the same clothes as long as commonly decent. And believe me, the way the French men refuse to wear deodorant, it would take months of wearing the same clothes before anyone here noticed! This is the first time in my life when I have felt fastidious (like a clean freak). Montpellier seems like a charming city -- and I rarely use the word “charming.”
I am staying in a cute, clean and handy studio apartment. Thank the goddess there is a washer in this apartment. The young woman who owns it is very sweet and speaks English perfectly having spent time in both the U.S. and Australia. A big neg though is that this is a fifth floor walk-up. Yes, you read me right, a fifth floor walk-up. I must have been two sheets to the wind when I read the apartment description. I may very well succumb to a massive coronary right here in Montpellier on those winding stairs to the fifth floor. If that happen thought, make sure I am laid out on my stomach in the coffin. I may well be dead but my ass is going to look incredible! Death notwithstanding, these apartment rentals are so much better than hotels. I wish I had gotten a similar deal in Nice. The hotels are far more expensive, the wee-fee is not great and you can’t cook your own meals! I am here until October 28 when I return to gay Paree -- of course I hope my rich husband is here in gay Montpellieree! I'm not going to be incredibly handsome forever! One disappointment, the beach is a two-hour walk or a 35 minute bus ride. For some reason, I thought it would be closer. Maybe Marseille (on the Med sea) is the city for me! It’s been one month in Napoleon’s country so far and two more to go. I put an ad on Craigslist-Montpellier to tutor English since I’m fluent in that language. Just waiting for some bites.