Everyone is talking about the weather. It's just bizarre. One minute it is cold, the next warm. Sunny, but raining. Cold and wet. It doesn't feel like spring. The buds are barely visible, even though normally by this time of year the forsythia are bright yellow and the daffodils are out. It's so cold! I thought these clouds yesterday were so beautiful.
I needed to get my hair cut and a few days ago I had called the hair salon to make an appointment with Janine and Paul, as usual. "Janine n'est pas libre," said the receptionist. It sounded final, as if I had better hang up and go away.
"Well, then what about Manu?" I said. "Is she free? I'll go with Manu."
"Very well, Manu à quinze heures, et ensuite Paul."
I was delighted. I actually prefer Manu, who is more fun to talk to and really does a better job.
I was in another appointment when my cell phone rang. "Call the coiffeur, it's urgent." Alarmed, I called the coiffeur. The receptionist passed the phone to Janine.
"Madame, what is this about your going to Manu? Why didn't you ask for me?"
"But I did, Janine! They said that you were not libre."
"Well, you should have spoken to me. Next time, just have them call me. Would 15h15 arrange you?"
"Euh, that's fine," I said.
"Good," said Janine, satisfied. "A très bientôt!"
This reminded me of the time when my dentist accused me of unfaithfulness. I felt so guilty.
To be fair, Janine has been through a lot with me, from the time I was an hour late because one of my kids put handcuffs on our timorous Hungarian au pair, and we had to take her to the nearest fire station to get them off (which amused the bored firemen no end; they had a special pair of four-foot-high shears for the job), to a time when the concierge had been especially nasty and I fell into Janine's arms sobbing when she innocently asked, "Ça va?"
Afterwards I had to go to the Champs-Elysées. There must have been an important Spaniard in town. They change the flags according to who is visiting.
In the late afternoon I went by a little square in the 16th, where some high school students were hard at work setting up a stage for a planned manif, probably against the CPE. I felt sorry for them when it started pouring down rain right when the manif was supposed to start. There was no one there an hour later.
I also saw a few pro-CPE stickers. Typical that they were in the 16th, I suppose. The latest survey showed that a majority of conservative voters is for the CPE, but that the majority of the country in general is against. Anyway, the CPE is dead, as this newspaper shows. (The casseur with the metal bar is wearing a Burberry scarf.)
Then I saw a poster that interested me even more. An anti-crotte poster. It says, "You won't stand for that in your home? Paris is your home!"
In 16 years in France, I have seen people pick up after a dog... twice.
Haha....I wonder if the anti-crotte campaign will ever affect any change? I think I'd almost be a bit disappointed.
Posted by: Jessica | 26 March 2006 at 01:59
Hi Sedulia !
The Burberry scarf is now part of the "chav" culture.
/*/Elements of the stereotype .../... The stereotypical chav is someone who .../... wears particular clothing, such as .../... fake designer clothing and accessories, in particular the distinctive tartan of Burberry, similar to (and perhaps derived from) the casuals of football supporters./*/
…/…
/*/The "chav" stereotype and image have had an impact on the commercial world .../... The Burberry clothing brand became associated with the chav subculture, and ceased production of its branded baseball cap in an attempt to distance itself from the stereotype. The company pointed out that the chav stereotype is associated with counterfeit versions of the clothing: "They're yesterday's news", stated Stacey Cartrwright, the CEO. "It was mostly counterfeit, and Britain accounts for less than 10% of our sales anyway."/*/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chav
No longer does Burberry grace the well-dressed English matron only, apparently. (smile)
Amerloque, for one, is dying to hear a detailed account of the handcuffed Hungarian au pair being trundled over to the local pompiers to be released ... (smile)
In France, one's relationship to one's coiffeur/coiffeuse is indeed crucial ... Amerloque, too, had the "unfaithfulness" comment from his usual coiffeuse, "Nadia", when she was said to be "indisponible". Apparently in some salons there are "take no prisoners" battles for customers among the staff.
Best,
L'Amerloque
From Sedulia: Yes, stupid me for being a good tipper.
Posted by: L'Amerloque | 26 March 2006 at 10:47
I saw one of those "anti-crottes" posters in Nice about 18 months ago. It's message was "Ramasser - ce n'est pas s'abaisser" (picking up isn't lowering yourself).
I had to snap a picture of it for my friends who had studied in France with me in the early 90s, because it would have been completely unheard of back then. In fact, for our first month in our host city in 1993, we walked past the same pile of crottes for the entire month before rain and foot traffic had finally worn them away - blech.
Posted by: mikey | 26 March 2006 at 19:27
I love your picures of the sky. Very powerful.
Posted by: Pumpkin | 27 March 2006 at 13:56
We're Americans in Paris, and from Madison (where you can be fined heavily for not recycling, picking up poo, etc.--we used to joke that there was a fine for farting) so we do. The other night, Lucy did her business in front of a policeman, and when my husband bent to pick it up, the policeman smiled at him. SMILED! Unbelievable.
But I must admit, my nightmare is slipping on a liquid crotte, after the rain, and landing on my but in all of its glory. Ew.
Posted by: Ronica | 29 March 2006 at 09:35