School Library

Just wanna say it's freaking cold, even though I'm just by the radiator - and by the window, it's true. My nose and my hands are cold and it's just another distraction from reading and writing, besides the fanfic :( ah bof, I love it anyways... back to reality.

When I was little and had my own room (oh yeah, the world is a big big place, but Paris isn't, so here one has to share in order to keep warm and dry), I used to ask my mother to leave a light on in the hall - after a while, I think she let it on even without my asking. The door to my room was tall and had a rectangular window just under the ceiling, through which light would pour into the room. The glass was blurry, but the light was there, and helped chase the monsters it created with the semi-darkness.

Nonetheless, I spent years bundled up in the covers before going to sleep because I was relunctant to leave even a small part of my body open to nocturnal, invisible attacks. I did leave my nose out, as it never occured to the child I was then that it is a more fragile and important limb than the toes.

You know, sometimes I don't like my mother. When she used to imply that I am no longer that child (loving, openly affectionate) because I don't like to hug and kiss her and have her do the same to me, for instance. I feel somehow that cut a bit my connection to who I was back then. And the small glimpses I still have of the past make me want to know that child better. But I can't, I am no longer him or her and I forgot so much about those times long gone. I remember sad things only, as if happines never was. But that's impossible. I don't remember the truth.

The Chat is chasing the warm

Always

Although the following ramblings constitute the first post of 2011, I should specify I wrote them in December.

I saw the sweetest thing the other day, while hunting for chocolat bio in a supermarket in Le Marais - a guy in his late twenties perhaps grabbed a pack of menstrual pads from a very famous mark. He was all alone, from what I could tell (no girlfriend-buffer when paying at the checkout), and so he's either a transsexual or a very nice boyfriend (I obviously went with option no 2, being the helpless romantic all cats are, deep deep down... somewhere... when nobody's looking... Yeah.). Am I too jaded if I consider such a gesture hors du commun?

A few days later...
I'm listening to Kings of Leon. More jaded than ever, albeit melancholically hopeful. I've received a few messages from family'n'friends, holidays and all - I've yet to respond, but this simple fact (man, who hasn't seen or forgotten "You've Got Mail"? one of the must movies , between Ryan, Hanks and the ever eluding, but existent - somewhere - perfect love...), of being the recipient of some mail, gives me this warm feeling spreading from my stomach upwards.

So now I'm responding with equally good wishes and merry stuff - I usually give them the holy three, good health, love and joy; as far as Lenu is concerned, the first thing that comes to mind and should be intended for her is love, I'm wishing her all the in the world, as it is the one thing she looked for and never found, I'm afraid. Gosh, I'm so cheerless, I'm gonna hafta agree with Waits'n'Murphy on Xmas spirit - "The bottle is empty
The sleigh has a flat
The stripper in my bed is ugly and fat
Her tassels are tangled and what's worse
My jingle won't jangle "

And to keep up with stolen lines, a quote from Le Placard by Francis Veber, no copyright infringement intended.

Belone : Le chat est parti.
Pignon : Où ça ?
Belone : Je sais pas, il m´a pas laissé d´adresse !
(cf. http://www.replikultes.net/films/fiches/528/le_placard/informations/#content)

So yeah, The Chat is gone without leaving an adress... but Paris isn't so big. If one walks long enough, one can end up in the same streets.

Long time, no writing

Ah well, that's to be expected from me. I'm such a procrastinator, and a lazy, lazy one at that. I love to sleep and I love to waste time and day-dream and do nothing with my life, despite all declarations to the contrary.

Anyhow, it may be that tomorrow is a day for celebration, some would say, or just this lost moment of time, or an auditive scene I witnessed yesterday - whatever it is, it has me writing a bit again.

So yeah, yesterday... I was sent to retrieve a stepladder from my boss' neighbour. The neighbour - a lady in her forties, maybe, who lives with her mother and perhaps her son or sons - was quite polite and helpful, ready to lend the said object to my often charming boss (that is, when she doesn't scream her head off over something I or someone else did or did not do). Which didn't go over well with the mother - just when the lady neighbour was ready to pass me stepladder, a squeaky, though loud voice claim it beacause the owner of the voice wanted to hang curtains. There were sounds of a little fight, more screams, more claims on the stepladder and the reiterated affirmation of the wish to hung curtains. Then there could be heard the noises of little steps hurrying away with what was likely the object of all these negociations. I was asked to return in a quarter of an hour and blessed with an endearment term by the nice neighbour lady.

Of course I have a series of stupid, excessively romantic, impossbile notions for my life. Of course I'll wake up the same tomorrow. Why bother and why oh why keep on hoping. It's an impulse just as inexplicable and irresistible as, say, the soulmates one finds in books only. Wishful, dreamy, farway look to be inserted here.

It's ugly in Paris today. Grey and muted. Not very cold. Just another day after another day before another day.

The Chat mutters to itself - "Trop peu d'argent, trop de gueule". A statement future generations will spend many a night meditating upon.

bad boys

It's raining in Paris. Therefore, a perfectly shitty wheather - some say it's perfect for making love, I was thinking it is perfect for walking the usually busy-touristical streets of Le Marais - the rain has chased away what the night hadn't already stored safely in warm beds and too expensive hotels - and for finding strange characters, homless people, the occasional wrong-doer, hopefully a bad vampire who tries to redeem himself (or itself?)... Ya, right, keep dreaming, little Chat. I myself am feeling adventurous tonight, so I wolfed down a slice of three-types-of-cheese pizza (fromage, fromage and fromage - is it because it's France? on the other hand, a little boy here told me cheese-only pizza isn't real pizza, so there are people who don't try to stamp the national emblem everywhere... just kidding, I try to be neither xenophobe, nor nationalist; and the said little boy doesn't even believe in dragons, so I don't take his opinion very seriously - he is adorable though, thus redeeming himself). Where was I? So, a slice of pizza, a highily toxical, highily commercialized and highily (or so they say) caffeinated brownish drink, some peanut flavoured chips and... grapes. Bad, bad Chat.

Anyway, as I was saying, rain and night combined make me wanna take a refreshing walk in search of vampires or of danger of some sort. Stupid, I know - it is perhaps the nocturnal cover that makes things seem less real (less dangerous?) or maybe my feline nature, prone to - yet again - nocturnal explorations. Meanwhile, still true to this nature of mine, I'm perched safely and comfortably on a bed, just listening to a "bad boy" that wants "to do bad things" with somebody - the guitar riffs are almost as thrilling as the parisian night. Why the fascination with beautiful evil - besides televisual and literay influences, innate penchants for drama and an overly nested existence - no, that's about it ;)

***

I'd begun this message about bad boys two days ago. As a I'm quite moral and righteous these days, I wanted to add a little story to it - some weird but nice neighbours of my boss had asked for a little shampoo. Her husband pretended there was none and offered them in return a bottle of hand soap, stating that they were to return it after use. I must confess that my first reaction was very judgemental - I just realized later on that maybe I should've done something about it, but for watching from the side. To conclude, I had quite a disappointed-in-humanity -(thus-myself) evening and drowned it in evil, evil sweets.

The Chat apologizes for retaining this message, but notes that laziness is in its nature. Bear with it.

Another Day in Paradise

I don't quote songs because they're famous, although the pattern I seem to follow points in that direction. It just so happens that random, popping-in-my-head fragments of lyrics define better than I could the gist of some of my day. Although lately every day is just another day. I'm tempted to blame it on the rain and grisaille of Paris, but come on... we're talking about Paris here, everything is brighter, better and sweeter, despite the season.

This morning, my most recent and temporary boss did a good deed and drove me to a Préfecture for a working permit. We acquired no such thing, as the bureaucracy is nowhere stronger than in France - or so the natives say. However, my boss managed to lock herself out of her car. And half an hour later, her husband was trying to break into said car, as the key he had brought was bent and thus out of order. I was surprised to see that both the firemen and the police drove past us and didn't stop, although her husband's efforts were quite obvious - he even picked up a metallic bar and tried to pry the door open.

Meanwhile, as the good-for-nothing that I am, I was busy remembering the first time I came to Paris, with a group of fellow students and one of the best teachers the world ignores. We took a - not surprisingly - group walk on the quais de la Seine and never made it to the E-tower. This is my fourth time here and I'm still ignoring this modern and even revolutionary piece of architecture. Maybe I should make a manifesto out of it - declare not that I don't have enough money to climb it (hélas, a thourough view of Paris is just as financially demanding as life here), but that I do not want to do it, considering my architectural and artistical beliefs. Chm chm. Cue bow tie and moth-eaten garnments.

In retrospect, the 1st times are indeed idyllic. Years ago, during my very first visit to this city, it was autumn also, like today, only warmer and with more leaves. I was thinking this morning that I always seem to see this city at its worse, raining and cold - would it be so magnificent, but for the name to cover up ugly buildings and shitty actions? Needless to say, the Paris night is now also warm and with a clear sky, just to spite me. And yes, it is such a beautiful city - but aren't all cats grey at night?

FYI, there are 2 cities in Canada, one in Kiribati, and 23 in all of the United States named after Paris or variations of it (FMI: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_%28disambiguation%29).

Le Chat bows and retires :p