Cleanliness, and Lack Thereof -- with a cameo by Conor Oberst
There were a lot of topics I was thinking about blogging about, and I realized they all had to do with cleanliness, mostly. So there's your theme. THEMED!
Today, I waged war on the apartment, which, for some reason (either my particular landlady or the European custom) was not cleaned before I moved in. Until now I'd been sort of cleaning things as I could with whatever products and materials were available to me. Today, I went to Monoprix and went sort of crazy on the cleaning supplies. I got back and vacuumed with our strangely-shaped and relatively inefficient vacuum cleaner. Then I Swiffered. And then I Swiffered again. I cleaned the bathroom(s) and the kitchen, and every available surface, really. It made me feel a lot better about my life, but the apartment is still not up to my usual cleanliness standards. I'll continue the campaign tomorrow, maybe.
Maria cooked some delicious risotto with sundried tomatoes and mushrooms and chicken, and made a salad with blueberries and pears and white raisins with a vinaigrette she constructed. It was delicious. I'm glad we've begun cooking semi-regularly. Eating at restaurants of any quality is really expensive, here, and eating food sold on the sidewalk leaves me feeling miserable over the lack of available vegetables.
Tonight, our washing machine decided to revolt, and now refuses to wash our clothes. It will complete its entire cycle -- or, claim to complete it -- but then our clothes will come out partially dry and partially sopping wet, and also covered in detergent. It's not okay. We tried various settings, and none of them are working. I didn't bring enough clothes to just not do laundry, so pretty soon I guess I'm going to learn what it's like to do all my laundry by hand.
On the topic of "things that are weird in France": garbage collection. For some reason our trash is collected in the middle of the night. I think this is probably because, to do it, they drive these bizarrely small (but what does that really mean, in Europe?) garbage trucks along a lot of roads that are pedestrian-only and full of people during the day. Still, it's strange to see the collectors out working when everyone else is either drinking on the sidewalk or on the way to the next venue.
Also? Street sweeping. The street sweepers come a lot later than the garbage collectors -- like two and three in the morning. They do have street sweeping machines, but they also have guys with hoses who come down the street and sort of hose it down. I'm not sure whether this is effective at all, since the streets are often liberally sprinkled with dog poop and often smell of urine.
The dogs are a problem in this city. I kind of think that, if you live in a city with no grass, no yards, and no trees, you probably don't need to be keeping a dog. I guess most of the dogs I see around belong to the homeless people -- there are a lot more homeless people here than I've ever really been exposed to on a regular basis, and they all seem to keep large dogs, probably for protection as much as companionship. So many large, unleashed dogs are kind of frightening to me, but the good news is that they all seem much better behaved than most dogs I've been exposed to in America.
So onto the unrelated topic, which I'm putting here just so I remember it, 'cause I thought it was funny. I had a hell of a time getting to sleep last night. Maybe it was the pot of coffee I drank between 11 pm and midnight (I'm not used to actually being affected by caffeine, so I didn't really think about it) but when the house got quiet around 3 am, and I tried to go to sleep, I had zero luck. I couldn't stop thinking about Ben Gibbard lyrics and guitar chords and French idioms and any number of other things. 7:30 am rolled around and I got up to get a drink of orange juice. I think I fell asleep after that, but it was a pretty miserable night, and a pretty miserable morning, as I listened to all of my neighbors clack down the stairs in their business shoes to their real lives.
When I finally did sleep, I dreamed I had left Bordeaux to see Conor Oberst play a solo show (a real one, not with the Mystic Valley Band) in Omaha, NE at the Slowdown. It was very confusing to me, even in the dream, that I had left France to go to Nebraska -- but I just sort of chalked it up to my willingness to travel long distances to see Conor shows. I remember feeling relieved at all the familiarity of the States (which maybe isn't a great sign for my subconscious to give me).
Anyway, halfway through the set, which was attended by maybe 20 or so people, the management at the Slowdown got frustrated that the attendance was so small and that Conor was playing an unplugged acoustic set, and kicked him off the stage. And while I was trying to complain to the management, Conor walks up and tells me not to worry about it, that there was this other venue in Omaha he was going to check out. He told me where it was, and left.
I went out to my car -- or at least I tried to. It was gone. I couldn't find my car. I desperately needed to get to the impromptu, open-mic-night concert Conor Oberst was about to play in his hometown and couldn't find my car. Probably this was a subconscious way of mourning the sale of my Audi, but it made for a frustrating morning after a frustrating sleepless night.
I woke up shortly after noon and begrudgingly began my day. I got very little done, and left the apartment only a few times, most notably for an 11 pm walk around the city -- Place des Quinconces, Place de la Bourse, Place Gambetta, Place Pey-Berland, and home again.
Today, I waged war on the apartment, which, for some reason (either my particular landlady or the European custom) was not cleaned before I moved in. Until now I'd been sort of cleaning things as I could with whatever products and materials were available to me. Today, I went to Monoprix and went sort of crazy on the cleaning supplies. I got back and vacuumed with our strangely-shaped and relatively inefficient vacuum cleaner. Then I Swiffered. And then I Swiffered again. I cleaned the bathroom(s) and the kitchen, and every available surface, really. It made me feel a lot better about my life, but the apartment is still not up to my usual cleanliness standards. I'll continue the campaign tomorrow, maybe.
Maria cooked some delicious risotto with sundried tomatoes and mushrooms and chicken, and made a salad with blueberries and pears and white raisins with a vinaigrette she constructed. It was delicious. I'm glad we've begun cooking semi-regularly. Eating at restaurants of any quality is really expensive, here, and eating food sold on the sidewalk leaves me feeling miserable over the lack of available vegetables.
Tonight, our washing machine decided to revolt, and now refuses to wash our clothes. It will complete its entire cycle -- or, claim to complete it -- but then our clothes will come out partially dry and partially sopping wet, and also covered in detergent. It's not okay. We tried various settings, and none of them are working. I didn't bring enough clothes to just not do laundry, so pretty soon I guess I'm going to learn what it's like to do all my laundry by hand.
On the topic of "things that are weird in France": garbage collection. For some reason our trash is collected in the middle of the night. I think this is probably because, to do it, they drive these bizarrely small (but what does that really mean, in Europe?) garbage trucks along a lot of roads that are pedestrian-only and full of people during the day. Still, it's strange to see the collectors out working when everyone else is either drinking on the sidewalk or on the way to the next venue.
Also? Street sweeping. The street sweepers come a lot later than the garbage collectors -- like two and three in the morning. They do have street sweeping machines, but they also have guys with hoses who come down the street and sort of hose it down. I'm not sure whether this is effective at all, since the streets are often liberally sprinkled with dog poop and often smell of urine.
The dogs are a problem in this city. I kind of think that, if you live in a city with no grass, no yards, and no trees, you probably don't need to be keeping a dog. I guess most of the dogs I see around belong to the homeless people -- there are a lot more homeless people here than I've ever really been exposed to on a regular basis, and they all seem to keep large dogs, probably for protection as much as companionship. So many large, unleashed dogs are kind of frightening to me, but the good news is that they all seem much better behaved than most dogs I've been exposed to in America.
So onto the unrelated topic, which I'm putting here just so I remember it, 'cause I thought it was funny. I had a hell of a time getting to sleep last night. Maybe it was the pot of coffee I drank between 11 pm and midnight (I'm not used to actually being affected by caffeine, so I didn't really think about it) but when the house got quiet around 3 am, and I tried to go to sleep, I had zero luck. I couldn't stop thinking about Ben Gibbard lyrics and guitar chords and French idioms and any number of other things. 7:30 am rolled around and I got up to get a drink of orange juice. I think I fell asleep after that, but it was a pretty miserable night, and a pretty miserable morning, as I listened to all of my neighbors clack down the stairs in their business shoes to their real lives.
When I finally did sleep, I dreamed I had left Bordeaux to see Conor Oberst play a solo show (a real one, not with the Mystic Valley Band) in Omaha, NE at the Slowdown. It was very confusing to me, even in the dream, that I had left France to go to Nebraska -- but I just sort of chalked it up to my willingness to travel long distances to see Conor shows. I remember feeling relieved at all the familiarity of the States (which maybe isn't a great sign for my subconscious to give me).
Anyway, halfway through the set, which was attended by maybe 20 or so people, the management at the Slowdown got frustrated that the attendance was so small and that Conor was playing an unplugged acoustic set, and kicked him off the stage. And while I was trying to complain to the management, Conor walks up and tells me not to worry about it, that there was this other venue in Omaha he was going to check out. He told me where it was, and left.
I went out to my car -- or at least I tried to. It was gone. I couldn't find my car. I desperately needed to get to the impromptu, open-mic-night concert Conor Oberst was about to play in his hometown and couldn't find my car. Probably this was a subconscious way of mourning the sale of my Audi, but it made for a frustrating morning after a frustrating sleepless night.
I woke up shortly after noon and begrudgingly began my day. I got very little done, and left the apartment only a few times, most notably for an 11 pm walk around the city -- Place des Quinconces, Place de la Bourse, Place Gambetta, Place Pey-Berland, and home again.
I called about the Audi yesterday. She is fantastic and tooling around. She has not failed her owner one time (carrying on the tradition). She is getting bathed and polished regularly. Her new owner is quite proud of her and is treating her well. I am sorry that you miss her, but she is being loved.
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