These just seem to get longer and longer

As we're closing in on about 10 days from departure one would presume that our itinerary has gathered moss it has been set in stone so long. One would be wrong. That's all right. Many people also think we landed on the moon and that the world is not controlled by the Freemasons. I guess these people have never seen Capricorn One or The Da Vinci Code and are no doubt all the better for it. I think I have digressed again.

So, no. The specifics are still being ironed out by our resident Magellan, Andy. Hence last night's phone convo about exactly when should we leave Paris. Of course, the snide American response would be immediately so the Germans can have it back.

I'm actually very much looking forward to spending as much time as we can there. Of course, I'd also like to spend more time out in the country proper seeing all the places I see on TV every year with the Tour de France and in all those movies that lack explosions and bore most. Sadly, this just ain't a months long trip. On the bright side, it has provided the realization that a longer, exclusively France trip simply must be scheduled. Preferably when I have a firmer grasp on the native language thereof and can therefore fire back the appropriate rude remark when necessary. And also scheduled around the above mentioned super duper bicycle race. This would be where the kids say, "Hint, hint". Or for the comedy geeks, Eric Idle gives the ol' "nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more." Targets of said hint/nudge know who they am.

Anyway...

Minor details such as a posh hotel for me to lay my head in Paris and arriving/departing the city are still influx. It now appears that we'll basically have all day Sunday in Paris to do whatever. Admittedly not that much time but we zoomed by most of the big names there 10 years ago on a literal 3 hour tour so in some regards we're retracing steps. One of the highlights of that particular excursion being stepping off our tour bus in front of the Eiffel Tower, standing there long enough to snap the picture that all tourists are legally required to and immediately getting back on the bus.

The other highpoint being there's a mall in the Louvre. I found this fact très amusant: the epitome of french culture would have something as déclassé and American on its premises. I did my part in buying a hamburger in its food court. Vive le France.

Aside from a couple of places MB said we MUST see, I think our day is pretty open just to roam. Andy will be more interested in the history and the bitchin' architecture; I'll probably try to find some record stores. I imagine dear old Dad will just wander aimlessly until he falls asleep in some cafe, is mistaken for a street urchin and hauled off to the Parisian pokey where he will be beaten somewhat painlessly and pointlessly with baguettes and forced to smell cheese for having a son who continues to spout cultural clichés even though he's far more cultured and erudite than that it would appear. Alas, erudition will never trump cheap jokes. Thankfully. Compare Mad Magazine readership/cultural relevance to that of The New Yorker. QED.

More digression.

We will leave Paris on Monday probably around lunch but possibly earlier. Or maybe later. But we will leave on Monday of this I am sure. I think. Thus giving us at least some portion of Monday in London to do the requisite stuff and the remaining 3 days to venture to various points of interest (to us but not to you, dear reader) around England's green and pleasant land.

Aside from the day trip to Paris, our previous trip was exclusively in the UK and longer to boot.
Actually, most of the must-sees have already been seen. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure this trip is necessary anymore. Maybe we should just stay home, look at pictures of that trip and watch BBC America on the telly. It would be way cheaper and oh, what memories we would then have...

Remember that time when we were looking at the picture of those sheep in Scotland and you got up to get a refreshing beverage? Or when we saw that episode of Newsnight and Jeremy Paxman asked that politician those hard-hitting questions?

Truly memories that would last a lifetime. Travel is overrated.

Plus, I can eat at McDonald's just as easy here as I can there.

Who doesn't like fashion?

Not really sure why but it occurred to me a little after 8 last night that exactly 2 weeks from then I'd be somewhere over the Atlantic. Assuming the flight gods and other powers that be at Hartsfield, Charles de Gaulle and all points in between decide to run everything on schedule. Admittedly, that's somewhat of a leap. Meanwhile, this time last week I was making my way through the concourse at Logan in Boston. All this is long-winded way of saying nothing much.

Other than I'm suddenly quite the jet setter, of course.

In fairness, aside from the annual trips to Disney World, I've done more traveling the past 3 months than I have the previous 3 years. Financial considerations be damned, I'm hopeful that a new leaf/page/chapter or whichever cliché one prefers has been turned over/turned/begun or however one's chosen cliché is achieved, i.e. it's a great big world that is more than occasionally interesting, I'd like to see more of it. Let's hop to it.

As mentioned previously, flying is something I'd rather not do but I've come to accept it as a necessary evil. That doesn't mean I don't have my own rituals/quirks/compulsions before, during and after. I do; none of which I will go into here, there or anywhere. As one who's borderline OCD, suffice to say I ramp things up during the stressful moments. Beyond that, the whole flight is spent trying to forget that I'm 30K feet off the ground in a giant missile piloted by someone who may or may not have rituals/quirks/compulsions of his/her own that I may not be all that keen on. Hence, the near constant distraction of groovy tunes as soon as permission is granted from the all-mighty cockpit.

One aspect of air travel that has improved since last flying is the addition of noise-cancelling headphones. For those unaware, flying is somewhat noisy: a constant drone of white noise, engine noise and general clatter resulting from +/-150 people being in a v. enclosed space. This makes listening to anything other than one's neighbor's conversation or various internal/external rumblings a tad difficult. Provided, of course, one tends not to exclusively listen to Black Sabbath or prefer the volume thereof somewhat north of eleven. Both of these options are absolutely wonderful and highly recommended occasionally, perhaps even frequently, but even the most ardent, unrepentant noisenik needs a respite.

Hence, the new plugs.

Not entirely sure how they work nor do I particularly care. I just know they do. Completely. As in one hears next to nothing in between songs. John Cage would be proud.

I no longer need to use all my faculties to subdue the urge to tell the cabin to silence.

"Shush! It is very difficult to appreciate the intricacies of Robert Fripp's cross-picking technique with you cretins running on about how funny last night's Two and a Half Men was. A notion in and of itself that I find highly suspect I hasten to add. Jon Cryer would be better off sticking to bad 80's movies whilst Charlie Sheen with his hookers and blow." My internal monologues being as pretentious as they are long-winded, natch.

Oh, no. Now I can fully appreciate Mr. Fripp's blistering white hot rock guitar god skill at an otherwise noisy 30K feet as easily as I could in an anechoic chamber. Huzzah.

Of course, it is a bit disconcerting at first when the usual airplane noise is removed. One gets accustomed to such sounds and their almost calming reassuring that everything is A-OK.

"We're still in the air cause they're now talking about how George Clooney must know a lot about politics cause he's in movies and stuff. Plus he's sooooo dreamy." Yes, I'm always seated near females 18-34.

To hear next to nothing does not bring this reassurance. Instead...

"OMG, the engines have stopped and we're just gliding ever so gently, peacefully, um...DOWN. I can't believe I'm the only one who notices this. Why did I take this trip? Travel is stupid. I'm scared of people in general and strangers in particular; I certainly didn't need to see more of them."

Thankfully, in times of stress, however brief, the human brain goes into overdrive and those synapses fire just a little quicker bringing the above monologue about 1/10 of a second before its more rational conclusion.

"We're still aloft moron and everything's A-OK. It's just your super snazzy headphones doing their job. What's next on the ipod? Ooh. D.O.A. by Bloodrock. Goody."

How to properly return phone calls

A nice side effect of the Boston trip has been that my back has been hurting since Sunday. Not sure if it was due to hurriedly walking up what we presume was Chestnut Hill after the BC game with my 30 lbs pack trying its best to pound me into the ground. Or maybe it was just walking the seemingly 82 miles the previous day with a slightly lighter pack. Or maybe it was jarred on the not-as-bumpy-as-expected flight home. Or perhaps some enemy in the far reaches of nowhere (I'm very unpopular there) is sadistically shoving pins into a voodoo doll likeness of me. Beats me. I just know that every morning this week I've felt nearly 3 x my 34 years. Aging at this rate, I suspect I'll be moaning about bathroom problems and how I've been abandoned by my children by the end of the week. I know you, dear reader, can hardly wait.

Because of my back I haven't been able to run this week. Luckily my marathon training doesn't start for another couple of weeks. For the third year in a row, I'm doing the Disney marathon, January 11, 2009 because it's fun and I'm stupid. (I suspect that will become the focus of my blog post-trip) For marathon preparation I use an 18-week training schedule. If you'll do the math (go ahead, I'll wait), you'll find January 11 is not yet 18 weeks away but I started building my mileage up the past few weeks to get ahead. Therefore, I wouldn't think a few extra days off will set me back. I'd already decided I wasn't going to start the 'real' training until after we get back. Still, running has become such a part of my routine that I feel sedimentary if I miss more than a couple of days.

However.

The lack of running has opened up a bit more time for French and ipod ripping. I suspect the effect will be minimal but it makes me feel good at least. And feeling is what's important or so life in the modern world would have me believe.

I'm currently halfway through the 2nd of the 3 Rosetta Stone levels. I really didn't figure I would have time to work through all of them and was prepared to focus just on level 1. At my current rate, however, I should finish up right before we leave. That's probably good since it will not give me too much time to start the inevitable forgetting of all I have learned.

So in addition to telling the kind French man/woman my name and that I am cold, I can also ask directions to the hardware store which will no doubt be extremely useful to three Americans simply looking for the Arc de Triomphe. It's just as well that I probably wouldn't understand said directions. I assume that's covered in lesson 4 along with the proper syntax for how evil/awful Home Depot is and its responsibility for the collapse of goodwill among most would-be DIY-ers.

I could be wrong.

Laziness pt. 1

I think the above is what I'll call posts that are primarily pictures. Until I change my mind. Therefore here's exactly one picture from Boston. Perhaps they'll be more when Andy sends them to me. Perhaps not.

Your beloved correspondent in front of a Dunkin' Donuts cleverly disguised as a record store.

Celebrity sighting: Fred Newman

Survived the Boston trip and actually rather enjoyed it. True, the weather was a bit hotter than I expected. However, given the choice of humidity or sitting in the rain for a few hours on Saturday from TS Hanna, I'll go with the humidity if it means an otherwise pleasant day.

Officially the trip was for the Tech-Boston College game, which Tech won 19-16 (yay) but my real purpose was to knock another record store off my list, Twisted Village. Yes, I actually keep such lists; Aquarius Records in San Francisco being #'s 1-5 on it in case you were wondering. Not to get sentimental or sound old, but record shopping is something I fear young whippersnappers will never get to appreciate. Much like total silence. Or patience.

While TV stocks hardly anything most of this audience would be interested in unless you're hip to the joys of noise, prog, avant-garde, free jazz and all manner of terribly interesting sounds---"It's not a place for us squares." sayeth Andy---I could have spent all day in that tiny basement store. Football's dumb and I'd much rather hear discussion on the merits of the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band or whether Kim Fowley's a creep than yet another blowhard debating whether the triple option is going to work.

Sometimes anyway.

Seriously, when you live (by choice) in the middle of nowhere and are into hopelessly obscure music that most sensible people would/do run screaming from, it's nice to find sympathetic ears and leave the world to the "squares" if just for a bit.

Andy snapped my picture digging through the racks, perhaps as a joke, but I quite like it; it's me in my element. The thought of lugging vinyl to a football game and then back on to a plane meant I stuck with cds; I still found enough to sate and provide TV with September's rent. For this daily bread, they were no doubt grateful. Through his amazing powers of persuasion, Andy was able to get my Dad to follow him across the street to Harvard and the awesomely old football stadium therein whilst I bought records. That site held as much interest to me as Twisted Village did them, if somewhat less noisy.

From the I-should-have-been-informed-earlier-dept., I learned that Harvard Stadium is "one of only three stadiums designated a national landmark" and "the world's first massive reinforced-concrete structure". It was all I could do to keep from jumping in front of a bus.

Nevertheless, Andy was blown away to be breathing in the rarefied air of such Harvard football greats as...um...uh...and the dude what pressure washes the stands. Oh yeah, they won the Ivy League last year. That and $2.50 will get the Crimson a cup of coffee at one of the myriad local Dunkin' Donuts. Awesome.

Afterwards, relaxing with a water (me)--Bostonians apparently prefer their beverages lukewarm, that whole refrigeration thing being best left to preserving meats or Kennedy jokes--ginger ale (Andy) and nothing (our Dad) we plotted our next move. It seemed as though our little hearts could scarcely take more excitement. Risk-takers that we are though we hit the Freedom Trail after a brief subway ride and took in most, not all, of the historic sites along the way. The trail, that is, not the subway. Aside from the aforementioned Dunkin' Donuts and some old concrete/steel there's very little in the underground that Lonely Planet recommends.

It's just a guess but I think we walked about 82 miles total. Interesting and gave us a chance to see quite a bit of the city including 352 Italian eateries in a 5-block radius. I kept my earphones in and my ipod on shuffle most of the time; you know how city sounds frighten me.

We also saw: the Old North Church, Paul Revere's house, a cemetery, tourists, the horse's ass on Paul Revere's statue, actual Bostonians doing actual Bostonians things mostly involving ipods, cell phones or blackberrys, more churches that probably have historical significance but whose markers required to much of an effort by me to read, a dude enjoying a smoke (as one does) after shooting some hoops, the laundromat where Paul Revere washed his pantaloons, some cars, trucks and things that go, breakdancers, a guy/girl duo doing a completely unnecessary and far too intense version of the already gawful "Love the One You're With", a Ferrari with a parking ticket, a Maserati with a parking ticket, the Old Courthouse which is brought to you now by Ruth's Chris Steakhouse.

Oh, and Andy was mistaken for a Pakistani by an insane, but friendly, street person who welcomed us to his country.

We did not see: the British, Paul Revere's outhouse, the Samuel Adams brewery, Bunker Hill, circus performers with any dignity, the left hand on the St. Francis statue, a massacre, Brad Whitford, the harbour, a Kennedy, Independence Hall, Ted Danson, a strangler, the old Boston Garden, the new Boston Garden (apparently we did, since the old was practically built on the new and the new was that big arena I saw in the distance and conveniently forgot) or the only Celtic that matters, Robert "The Chief" Parrish. Bummer.

Generally, I've found the demeanour of denizens of northern cities (NYC, Philadelphia in particular) to range from disinterested to downright rude and probably other "D" words, but I was rather impressed by Bostonians. I did not find that they talk funny nor was I told I talked funny, of course I had headphones in 90% of the time and said nothing the other 10%. We were only honked at by one cab and to the best of my knowledge the victim of no fingers, middle or otherwise or shook fists. My experience was that overall Bostonians are (whisper it) nice. I hope they don't get kicked out of the north for my saying so.

It's a great place to throw a revolution.

I still hate the Sox.

P.S. I really did see Fred Newman at Logan Airport. This made a great trip more greater.

Coming up on tonight's Mannix

Various people, some who actually read this thing, keep asking if I'm getting excited, etc. about the trip. Well, yeah, but it generally doesn't change from day to day. Not content with just being the above's prime offender, the esteemed probate judge asks at least once a week if I'm packed. We're still three weeks out, mind. This line of questioning from her started, oh, about two minutes after I announced everything bringing her inquiry total to somewhere near 228. In fairness, she's already packed for a trip that has yet to planned. Just in case, you know. I guess trip questions are better than the other one she asks me frequently: Well, do you hear wedding bells? Erm...moving on.

While I'm not quite as giddy as a school boy (eh, Chris), there is some level of anticipation for the trip. If 10 is Disney World and 1 is the dentist, I guess I'm about a 3. Maybe 3.5. OK, fine. 4. I keed.

Since I'm an optimistic pessimist, maybe even a pessimistic optimist on good days, I tend to dwell on the facts. The facts be thus: I've got three more weeks before being thrown to a French populace, numbed with an ennui that even the exploits of Sarkozy's wife cannot trump, all to ready to laugh at my feeble Americanisms. Urgh.

Therefore, I have gone into overdrive, swerving my mental moped onto the linguistic autobahn. Cultural mixed metaphors be damned.

Previously, I've either been ripping my record collection to my ipod or Rosetta Stone-ing. Generally a couple of hours on both daily. Fun. This would probably suck if I had much of a life. I don't. As Marisol (the fake name of my real gf) can attest. Now, whilst ipod ripping, I have my head buried in my old French textbook and notes or, thanks to MB, have the Learn French By Podcast, um, podcast going on in my headphones. Equally fun.

Regarding the latter, the gulp factor has been quite high i.e., gulp, they sure do talk fast. Having tossed delusions of fluency long ago, I'm stoked if I can pick up enough words to get the gist of a sentence. Details such as whether one loves/hates one's subject are irrelevant to me. I'm sure they are to the speaker as well. As for the former, it's been quite comforting to know that I can remember the exact circumstances 15 years ago under which an insignificant doodle in the margin of my notebook was created. Less comforting, however, is that these memories have taken the space of real, actual, useful French grammar in my brain. Figures.

Tomorrow brings a warm-up of sorts for my transatlantic flight; we'll be heading to Boston for the Tech game. Fortunately so will TS Hannah. While my fear of flying is not so great as to prohibit me from doing it, I much prefer the railway. Alas, the magnificence of several tons of metal snaking through a picturesque countryside was defeated by speed, convenience and economics. Hard to rationalize paying more to get there slower.

Unless you're the U.S. government.

C'est la vie.

Consider mediation

A pleasant holiday weekend passed into the books yesterday. Little progress was made in the way of either of my major projects before the trip (French and ripping to my ipod) but life was decent enough still. Got the chance to see the W's on Sunday night which was an unexpected treat. I was surprised to learn that Bonnie has fallen in with a crowd of exiles from various countries including...France.

Weird.

I suspect I will not get the opportunity to use this to my advantage before we leave but, like the sun, I appreciate knowing it's there. Of course as has been stated previously, unless they wanted to talk about getting a new ladder because theirs is broken I don't know what we could talk about.

Actually, I'm doing OK with French on a basic level. The problem is getting the mental processing down to an acceptable time for a conversation. In my American experience, most exchanges are short and to the point because we're very busy people living very busy lives. I suspect my would be French friends are no different.

Here's a sample exchange. Enjoy.

"Would you like a hamburger? Yes, I would. Hamburgers are awesome."

I don't have to think: Okay, a hamburger. That's a bun with something that at one point was probably a cow in between. Yes, I do like them. Quite a bit.

My current level of French would stretch this 5 second exchange into roughly 5 minutes and into a matter that would require assistance from the United Nations. Par example, assume each sentence is another 10 seconds or so.

"Voudriez-vous un hamurger?"

Hmm. Let's see. Voudriez that's sounds like voudrais which means 'would like'. Hamurger, a guess that's hamburger. Hopefully. So I guess I'm being asked, Would...I...like...a...hamburger.

Why yes. Yes, I believe I would like a hamburger.

"Oui." Phew. Hand it over, Jacques and don't forget the freedom fries.

"Pourquoi voulez-vous en hamurger?

Huh? I wasn't expecting the Spanish inquisition which I guess nobody ever really does. I think that's one of their chief tactics.

Pourquoi. That means why. I guess I'm being asked why do I want a hamburger. An odd question but since I'm a stranger in a strange land I should probably play by their rules. Americans get a bad enough rap as it is.

Um...how do I answer. Let's see because is...parce que. I'll just repeat hamurger and put a le on it so it will sound French. I've no idea what awesome is so I'll just use the English. They'll understand.

Therefore...

"Parce que les hamurgers sont awesome (stupéfiants)!"

Unfortunately, Jacques left five minutes ago muttering about Americans, their big cars and little brains.

And scene.

Figuring using a day off to catch up on sleep or incidentals was pointless, I spent the earliest part of Labor Day running a 10K up Cobb Parkway. And I do mean up; these were probably the longest, steepest hills I've run. It went well. Though it wasn't anywhere close to a personal best, I was quite pleased with my 58 minute time and finished strong while most of the sensible world slept.

Overall it was a good event and well organized. I think the whole shebang was called the US 10K though I'm not certain. Nor am I sure what the race benefited. Perhaps us. Kids, world peace and/or the environment probably too. Definitely something to make us all feel good about being good people. Whatever, I enjoyed reflecting on this good feeling as I rode the diesel powered shuttle back to the starting line whilst enjoying some refreshing bottled water. Yay, us.