London dog

One thing I loved about London, dogs are permitted on public transportation.



There are some restrictions but, in general, if you can carry your dog up and down the escalators and they are well behaved, then they can ride.



This fellow was having a great time. I'm not sure all the passengers were amused but some were, including me.



That is all.

Hemp Expo

I snapped this photo the other day from the bike trail near Central Point. Good old Oregon! In case you're wondering, I'm for legalizing all drugs. Legalize, tax and regulate.

Good old Oregon. Always in the forefront.

It's not a moral issue although people who are unrealistic and/or uninformed and/or proud and/or churchy busybodies and/or flat out stupid still, against all evidence to the contrary, insist on thinking so. Drug use is not going away. Prohibition just does not work. Never has. Never will! It makes matters worse. Ask any prison guard. Corrupt governments (insert gov. of choice here), cartels, mafias, drug dealers and street gangs of every size and description FUCKING LOVE prohibition because guarantees astronomical profits. So, happy expo!

Coming soon.... FRANK!

We are back in So. Oregon for a few days then heading to Portland for the Big Event. "Baby" Leo is about to get a new brother. He and cousin Thea are very intrigued by it all.

Counting on autopay

I hassled most of the morning sorting out my utility bills. Most are autopay but my records were in the rears. That was bad enough, then there's the Gardnerville trash bill. The city of G'ville doesn't trust autopay. Way too fandangled for them. Customers have to use the most arcane system known to humankind .... memory. Yes. Yes. I have a reminder on my phone but I didn't have cell service in London or Paris so I forgot I even brought the damn thing, the battery died and my reminder along with it.

But before we left, remembering I have a horrible memory, I paid the trash bill in advance. But I forgot that, didn't I? So then I paid it again at the end of June. It's only due every three months but I forgot that too, so then I had credit. But  I didn't realize it. So, this morning, not having an amount to go by, I paid the bill again and added extra for good measure. Then, well then I panicked even further, thought I'd paid the wrong entity, and called the office.

Good ol' Marie answered. She and I have talked many times since the idiots down at city hall nixed autopay. I am now paid up into next year. I hope I remember that. And btw, Marie is always very nice, friendly, helpful...in case any of you retrograde nincompoops are reading this.

So M. Lee sent me this happy little video this morning which I would like to dedicate to Marie.

Another torn page

I posted a new excerpt at my poetry blog, anna sadhorse. I realize calling it an excerpt is pretty vague. Excerpt from what? At this point, it's nothing more than a page torn from the little black notebook I always carry. I hesitate to call it a poem. Maybe it's a bit from the autobiography I plan to write someday.

Curiosity lands!!!

Woo-hoo!
Hey Seven O'clock!
Hey Minerva!
We just flew to Mars!

Morning on rue Ordener?

A crow woke me this morning. Unwilling to open my eyes, I lay in bed trying to sort out where I was. Crows, lots of them, live in nearby Montmartre Cemetery but I could not remember any hanging out on rue Ordener.

The very watchful crows of Monmartre cemetery

In 1882, Monsieur Ruggieri of the world famous Lacroix-Ruggieri, masters in the art of pyrotechnics, aka the "Painters of Heaven", exploded fireworks in a vacant lot on rue Ordener. In 1911, the world's first robbery using a car occurred on rue Ordener. During the 1950s, former French president Nicolas Sarkozy grew up at 100 rue Ordener.

Our very gracious belle amie, Karen.
Dinner party on rue Ordener.
Paris but not champagne.

The highly respected Professor of Singing Madame Charlot, lived at 189 rue Ordener until her death in 2004. Her apartment was only two doors away from ours and our belle ami Karen currently lives on rue Ordener just one block in the other direction. There is also a fresco over 200 meters long on rue Ordener and, sadly, a madwoman has made her home on a concrete slab along rue Ordener for at least the last 10 years. People give her all kinds of things, money, cigarettes, food, reading material etc., but she refuses efforts to get her off the street so there she lives. That's Paris.

Madwoman of rue Ordener

But crows on rue Ordener? While undoubtedly they do drop by from time to time, gradually the fact that I had seen no crows on rue Ordener began to sink in and, eyes still closed, I considered the possibility that perhaps I was no longer in Paris but in Nevada. That woke me up. The crow was Minerva and that, although I've been gone for over two months, the ever-vigilant 7 o'clock Magpie knew I returned yesterday and alerted her friends. They were all in the Bird Park this morning at daybreak enjoying the tasty breakfast of puppy chow and peanuts I left out last night. She knew I'd be back. I am flattered.

7 o'clock Magpie wielding this morning's apple

(Google Translate does a fine job of translating pages, should you be so inclined to explore the links)

Good-bye Paris

Gotta go.

The madness of it all

I'm in a tailspin. We return to the States next Tuesday and are jamming and cramming in all that we can of what's left on the table. Yesterday's visit to the Palace of Versailles necessitated me staying up late last night brushing up on Marie Antoinette. I must say, my opinion of the her has changed. Clearly, in spite of the totally over the top, outrageous wealth and privilege she enjoyed, the lady was framed during the Reign of Terror. Even her 10 year-old son died a horrible death alone in a dark, filthy dungeon. At least Robespierre, the teabagger type lawyer/politician and one of the instigators of the Reign of Terror, eventually fell into the jaws of the guillotine. It was pure poetic justice that this coward's unsuccessful suicide attempt simply shattered his jaw. For a lawyer, not being able to have the last word is worse than death. The bastard's head was chopped off the next day by the same guillotine that decapitated Marie Antoinette.

Today we go to the Musée d'Orsay. I'm going crazy without downtime. We're out breakfast to bed. I'm drowning in photos. I can't catch a breath. I know. Luxury problem. March me to the guillotine. I'm not asking for sympathy. I'm just howling before launching into action. It's embarrassing. What can I say? It will pass. And, of course, I'm grateful for this fabulous opportunity, even though I've been lock step with my dear, (very) covertly insatiable mother-not-in-law and my darling beloved for two fucking months. Soon enough, my world will shrink back to the Bird Park and I will be writing about who came by for breakfast but today it's off to the d'Orsay. Wednesday is their late night so, of course, we'll be out late again.

Thankfully, there is a small reprieve on our departure so I actually have a bit of time to sit down here and write. Lucky all around. I really needed a little time off. I'll cut my fingernails on the way to the bus.

Photos du jour

PARIS STREET SCENES

Woman and flowers by Quai du Valmy

Homeless guys watching TV under bridge over the Seine.

Mimes along Quai de Valmy

Father and son bazar on Boulevard Barbès.
The son is out of sight but the father is seated inside.

Mannequins on Boulevard Barbès

Five-thousand six hundred and fifty-three

That's how many photos I've taken on this trip so far. 

Honey, you've got a problem.

Well, it's an estimate really because that number

Jesus!

does not include the ones I've deleted.

Get some help. Vous êtes lunatique, ma chérie!

Five thousand is not that many.

Home of forty to fifty-thousand books

There are way more books at the Abbey in the Latin Quarter.

Open mic night

The SpokenWordParis open poetry mic at Au Chat Noir last Monday was really excellent. I'm always an outsider at these things but I read whenever I can wherever I go and, in my opinion, the quality of writing at this event was among the best of any I've participated in. And the presentations were good. Even the poems read in other languages were interesting. And unlike London's Poetry Unplugged,which makes people pay a suck ass cover charge to read, SpokenWord Paris is free for all.

So, if you find yourself in Paris looking for a place to read, or listen, to poetry I highly recommend this event. Not only was the work excellent, but people were friendly and unpretentious. Our friend Karen enjoyed the evening, as did M. Lee which is saying something. Generally, to hear him talk, you'd think a rat had gnawed his earlobe off at one of these things.

I love this guy

May 19, 2012

European tour

I'm leaving in a few minutes for Au Chat Noir for the Spoken Word Paris open mic. It just occurred to me that tonight, combined with the five minute read I did at the Poetry Cafe in London, and now plus the five minutes tonight, in the world of poetry, this amounts to an official European tour. Okay then.

Free day

We finally saw the Paris everyone comes to see because yesterday was free day at the Louvre. It was jammed. The queue into the pyramid was about a mile long most of the day but, just so you know, there is another entrance. Through the underground mall. We walked right in. We did not go to see the Mona Lisa. We'll do that when it's less crowded. But we did see the "Old Guy" aka the Statue 'Ain Ghazal. My new favorite. A very cool guy, oldest in the Louvre, 9000 years old, on loan to the Museum for 30 years. Sorry. Out of time. Pictures to follow. M. Lee is about to assemble us for our trip to the Île de la Cité. Gotta go.

Venus de Milo

I googled Google images for Paris just now. They are nearly all of the Eiffel Tower. Of course, I photographed it anyway.

Night on rue Ordener

Last night outside my window.

Scènes de rue du jour

Forgive me if the French titles annoy you. I'm not trying to be chic. I was too lazy to study any French before we left the US, so this is my way of groping around the local vernacular. We haven't made it to the Paris pictured on postcards yet but, with no further adieu, I give you the street scenes of the day.

Graffiti art dog on rue Ordener

Most of the dogs I've seen in both London and Paris are small and, yes, in Paris I have already, in four short days, seen many French poodles. None in London. So this lovely Shepherd was a unique site.

Art connoisseur dog on rue Caulaincourt

Divan rouge de la rue Caulaincourt

Red couch on rue Caulaincourt

La lampe très rose à Paris

The very pink lamp in Paris

Paris

Once again, no measuring cups or spoons. Our London flat didn't have them either but we assumed Greg and Shareen just didn't cook at home. Their kitchen had all the amenities except measuring devices. But it's the same here. Is this a Euro thing? This is a great flat, four fire places, high ceilings, lots of huge windows, bright decor, hard wood floors, tiny balconies for potted plants. The kitchen is tiny but clever, Ikea style,  but no measuring cups or spoons. And no water glasses (plenty of wine glasses). A French thing? Already M. Lee is in deep withdrawal from London, "The best of all possible worlds", while Paris is "a pinched purgatory" so no measuring spoons is insult to injury. Plus, his mom went out early this morning for a nice fresh loaf of bread but nothing was open. We were shocked to see that business close so early and open so late. And to top it off, unlike London stunning multicultural cuisine, Paris seems to be a one-horse town for vegetarians.

My Paris corner

But hey! It's Paris and I'm half French. I'm feeling right at home. I woke up in a great mood. For whatever reason, my hands are much more limber here. In London I woke up with wooden claws affixed to the ends of my wrists. And I have set up a nice little corner base of operations which has a great view of the flat. A pigeon is roosting next door. And I saw a woman feeding birds in the train station. That would be a £500 fine in Trafalgar Square. Luckily, I did not get caught slipping the occasional bread crumb to the occasional bird. I realized, being forced into stealth mode, that pigeons take eye-contact to be an invitation to lunch.

So today, we're going out now in search of a natural food market. We had camembert cheese sandwiches for lunch. Such a desperate luxury.

Bonne journée Henri, mon petit ami en dépit de tout cela. (translation)




More Henri, if you can bare it.

Tooting Bec to Paris

Fond farewells in Tooting Bec.

Minerva, Ellie, Monkey Dude & Swami in Tooting Bec

We've come to regret bringing bikes on this trip.

Leaving London. Moving is a nightmare.

Home for the next five weeks.

In Europe, what we in the US call the 1st floor is called ground,
the 2nd is the 1st, the 3rd is the 2nd etc.

Elevator to the 3rd (or 4th) floor

John, this one's for you.

This is only half of the cheese selection at the grocery store

Lonesome George, RIP

So sorry, Lonesome George.

I really hate to see you go. Forever.

Swami

Swami at Tower of London

Poetry Unplugged

I finally got around to reading at Poetry Unplugged, the weekly open mic night at the Poetry Society's Poetry Cafe. Very good group. Friendly. Enthusiastic. Ten years running. London is a poetry friendly place. Once again, I think it's the difference in history. England has a grand history with some very great poetry while the US, well, we just don't have much history at all so, when it comes to poetry, not much to refer to or venerate. And West Coast poetry, especially Beat poetry which I inherited, was a lot about discovering there even was a world beyond America and protesting America's ignorance of it. Anyway, sadly not much time to write these days, even this blog. Time to hit the Tube, which does by the way, include poetry. Thank you London.

Napoleon's toothbrush

Napoleon and his beloved red toothbrush

In the way that ordinary items sometimes do if they happen to survive just long enough, one of Napoleon's toothbrushes has taken on a life of its own. But it is not in France. Like so many items of historical interest, it is in a British museum, in this case the Wellcome Collection where we were the other day. They call themselves "a free destination for the incurably curious" and that they are. It's a fabulous place.

As you might guess, in real life Napoleon preferred a silver handle.

Sadly, our time in London is quickly coming to an end though the trip is not over yet. Next Wednesday we move on to Paris for five weeks. I'm really going to miss London but at least the weather outlook is much better there than here. Small compensation but I'll take it.