Doris has not got much play lately despite appearing as a statue come to life, so I thought I would share a couple of her latest escapades, this along with my new avatar.
Yes, this may be me from now on. It's possible I have turned into a cat in France. But that's not the main point today.
We're here to see what's up with Doris, intergalactic traveler and super intelligent alien.
A few days ago, after a particularly engaging story about French Banking (to readers especially eager for updates: no, we have not received our new bank cards yet. I will keep you posted with hourly updates), I posted a series of pictures featuring Doris the super intelligent alien in some old altered paintings and photographs.
You probably don't remember these pictures.
You were still thinking about the banking stuff. After the banking story it would make sense that everything else was just noise.
And why not? I mean, wow.
But also, I don't know, I liked a couple of the Doris pictures, but I don't think they were really the ones I meant to post. You see, I have these other Doris and or alien ruins around town pictures. I'm not entirely sure how compelling they are, but I think they might be more compelling at least than the ones I displayed here before. And they kind of show off my city, which is important.
So I think today's pictures are the ones that I meant to post.
And if they aren't what I meant to post?
I'm sure I'll find something soon that I might have meant to post. At which point we'll post that, and then we'll see.
In my long experience here...
If you wait long enough everything is either forgotten or always meant to be.
Usually both.
I have been working with much of my spare time on various photo projects, but finding a coherent way to present them here is usually too much for me. So I tell you about my French bank instead.
Wait, you haven't heard about my French bank yet?
Oh my god, you are in for such a treat!
But I don't want to overwhelm you with fascination, so we'll just start with a little banking anecdote for today. How's that?
We've had our french bank card for awhile, and don't really use it, but we wanted to try it out at a doctor's office for reasons having to do with our in-process French health cards which, I know you would love to hear about now, but will have to wait for another day. We tried out the bank card in paying at the doctor, but we botched it! We forgot that it had a complicated unchangeable pin and so we got locked out of our card completely while guessing our pin. So we used another card, but...
Now what?
Do we go online? Do we call customer service?
No!
No no no no no. This is France.
And I can't tell if this is wonderful or agonizing, but in trying to vibe with my new country let's go with the "wonderful" interpretation.
Here's what you do here:
You go into your bank and see your banker.
So we walked over to our bank, which really is a five or ten minute walk from home, and made an appointment with our banker for later that afternoon.
That afternoon we went back to see our banker. It's all very professional, and personal, but not at all personal, and feels a lot like what I imagined life was like in the 1930's, or maybe the 1950's. We have our own banker! Our banker told us that our bank card was now ruined forever and we needed to get a new one. We decided to get one for each of us. Then we sat in her office for awhile while she typed a lot on her computer, ordering, in what appeared to be a very complex process, two cards. We both got codes sent to our phones which we read to her. Then there was more typing and then? Voila, we were done! New cards ordered, pleasantries all around, and off we went.
Since we were out about the town as many as eight minutes away from home we went and got a happy hour drink.
Our cards will arrive in a week.
I'm not sure that story turned out as fascinating as I hoped. So here are some pictures of Doris the super intelligent alien in highly altered old paintings:
My cough is much better thank you. It still happens, mostly in a bursting chain, but it is so mild compared to the sleepless week of coughing that I almost enjoy it now. Like after the library I worked at was so visciously busy and relentless for years, and then got quieter simultaneously with our getting a giant automated check in machine. Everything just felt light forever.
It all still feels a little light.
I am floating...
Summer is coming and I am committed to taking my family out for coffees and leisurely drinks in lovely shady courtyards and even sometimes at the slightly pricier beachside restaurants until I have used up all my month's money. In the warmer weather I often have large beers. Today we had a camembert with thyme and honey.
We continue to look to move from this lovely town that's not quite right. Montpellier awaits, which is maybe the right place, but the process is slow. Apartment hunting in France is very difficult. The prices are mostly not bad, but nice apartments, which one can casually see in the multitudes while walking around ("I'd like to live there, and there, and there, and there!") are strangely rare when it comes to the actually available listings. I guess it makes sense. If you had a lovely one bedroom apartment in a 17th century building with patio windows overlooking some postcard looking square in the middle of everything you need, why would you ever leave?
Wouldn't you just die and be buried there?
The answer is yes, apparently.
We went to Biot the other day, which is another of those medeival hill towns I don't get tired of but my darling wife does a little. It was an easy 9 out of 10 on the Seussian scale. I guess I can see my wife's point: they're all so ridiculously quaint in similar ways. But for me it always makes me lose my mind completely. My brain madly races. "Can we live here?" I ask. Sure, there's practically nowhere to buy food, and everyday would just be spent in the glorious town square cafe, and walking the same enchanting maze, but when I see the charming colors and winding ways my analytical abilities and common sense fall apart.
I just want to live somewhere ridiculously pretty!
It's all in reach.
I didn't take any real, arty pictures of Biot, just a few quick ones from the cafe in the square where we lingered with increasing length over our coffees. So naturally I had to clerkmanifesto the pictures up so they gave off the proper feeling.
And I added Doris.
I loved the statues in Montpellier! They weren't like Rome's in that sense of being the greatest statues in the history of mankind, but they were charming. Oh how charming they were! Putti riding lions and unicorns? I mean, seriously? And there were a lot of these sorts of statues. Most of the sweet little squares of Montpellier centered on or featured some kind of statue. It was delightful. Who doesn't want to see unicorns when wandering their city? And putti? And lions with putti?
Here are some unfiltered pictures of some of the statuary of Montpellier to show you what I'm talking about. After you acquaint yourself with these we'll procede to what I am up to today.
