The Ryndex

apologised. They came in with smiles on their faces, and I said “no, it’s not going very well. I was very disturbed with the way things went the last time.” and then I explained why it bothered me.

They were taken aback, as if they hadn’t really thought about it from my perspective. Madame took my hands and said that it certainly wasn’t intentional, and she could see how it could be upsetting from my point of view. Then she went on about how great I was, and how I took such good care of their apartment and how they wished things had turned out differently. They promised to be more sensitive to my interests in the future.

It could have all been an cynical act, of course, but I doubt it. It seemed sincere, and it very likely was.

Maybe it just sounds like I’m caving further and rationalizing — but I’m much happier today. I told them exactly what I had a problem with, and they responded appropriately.

The moral of this story is that being prepared to launch a confrontation is more important than actually having it. You might be surprised. I feel much better about myself today.

Anyway, prospective apartment number two is by Gare de l’Est, in the tenth arrondissement. It’s about 60% of the size of my current apartment, but 350€ a month less. The entrance is frankly grotty and the bathroom is extremely small and somewhat dingy (and no full-size tub). The rest of the apartment is in perfect condition, with new tile floor and fresh paint and visible wood beams. It comes with kitchen appliances (which is ideal), but the fridge is also kind of dingy. There’s a space for either a dishwasher or a washing machine. A bit of exterior storage and some storage cupboards inside. No closets, of course.

The main living space is divided into the kitchen area, an office area and the living room (all quite small). There are two double glazed windows that look out into the street.

The area is very animated, with a lot of little commerce (butcher, cheese, epiceries). Compared to my current neighbourhood, it’s less calm and said to be less safe. On my walk through the area, however, I noticed a lot of families. It’s also two blocks from the Canal St-Martin (where Amelie skips stones over the locks) and a healthy walking distance from Montmartre.

The metro connections are roughly equivalent to what I have today, but I would be trading ten minutes of walking for ten additional RER minutes.

I dunno — should I hold out for a larger apartment closer to the south? I had a good feeling about this one, but it certainly wasn’t perfect. It would be exciting to change my lifestyle so much, but I’m not convinced it would be an improvement. It’s also perfect timing — it’s open at the end of January when I need to move, and there’s nobody in competition for it. I need to make a decision soon, so let me know exactly what to do and why.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

Friday night, I had an unpleasant surprise. I got home to meet with the landlord of my apartment. It was supposed to be a simple exchange of envelopes and mail.

I wasn’t happy about the eviction, of course. I’ve probably already mentioned it, but when I was negotiating my work contract this summer, I confirmed (verbally) with them that there wasn’t any problem staying past November. I understand that their situation has changed.

There were plenty of good feelings when I took the apartment. They bought extra towels to leave with me until my stuff arrived from Canada. I went to their apartment to deliver their mail and pay the rent, and they had me for breakfast (with pastries).

So, I gave them the benefit of the doubt. There was a family crisis, and they needed the apartment back. They were initially quite brusque, but I could chalk that up to their own pressure. They had originally asked me to vacate by mid-December, but changed their mind to the end of January — for the benefit of everyone, of course. I could cope, because I am super.

On Friday, at the appointed hour, however, the son-in-law knocks at my door, and wonders if the others have arrived yet. This was my first indication that they had planned a surprise apartment inspection. I told the son-in-law that I wasn’t very pleased about that, and he assured me that it wasn’t an “inspection”, they just wanted to take a good look at the apartment, measure the walls, see if there was any damage to be repaired and confirm which furniture was staying and going.

He ended up waiting downstairs for the others to arrive. I should have simply refused to let them enter, and asked for another meeting. Instead, when the gang had assembled (the son-in-law, the daughter and the landlord), I let them in to poke around my apartment.

M. Leduc asked me to pay this year’s television tax with next month’s rent (about 120€ annually). The first year, I had paid the tax because I didn’t quite understand how it worked. The next year, I said that they needed to have it cancelled with the authorities because I don’t have a television, but I paid it because it was too late for that year. This year, I have a television (I’m storing it for a friend who will be taking it home after Christmas).

In front of my television, I told M. Leduc that I didn’t have any intention of paying it this year, because I don’t really have a television.

I also said that I wasn’t very happy with how things were going. He started telling me the story about how his daughter and son-in-law just couldn’t afford their current apartment at 2800€ a month, because of all the financial and personal problems they were having. I was embarrassed; they were standing right there while this old man was explaining how they couldn’t afford to maintain their lifestyle and therefore needed to move into his apartment.

I was noncommittal about leaving at the end of January. I never actually agreed to it until the last minute. Under the pressure of a direct question and three pairs of eyes (who agreed that it would be very convenient for me to leave), I said “oui”.

I am an easily manipulated puppet. Normally, I effectively avoid conflict in good ways — diplomatic, reasonable and polite. When that fails, I avoid conflict by not standing up for myself, which makes me feel terrible. This sucks.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

So Rob and Adele are visiting. They are both photographers travelling Europe for months on end, taking pictures of hotels. They are used to handling very nice equipment worth a lot of money.

I’m giving a pre-Christmas dinner party at my place, and invite them to join us as last-minute guest stars. I give them hell for arriving exactly on time. How rude — I wasn’t expecting the first guest for another fifteen minutes!

So I pick up Rob’s camera and remark how heavy it is. I pass him my little digital camera to see the difference (he humours me, as if he hasn’t held a bazillion crappy consumer digital cameras in his life). But, whoops, butterfingers! It drops and lands on the floor with a loud crack, consistent with my crappy carpeting.

I gasp in horror, and their professional photographer eyes bug.

Of course, it was my old and irreparable camera, with the salt-water corroded CCD.

I laugh and laugh and laugh. Man, I’m SUCH a dick.

Anyway, they had brought a lovely St. Emilion Bordeaux that was far too good for the aperatif — it far out-classed the new Beaujolais that I had. The entrée was raviolis that I had purchased from an Italian epicerie and outrageously claimed as my own handiwork, followed by quiche and andouille furnished by Antonio and Anna. Then it was roast beef accompanied by broccoli and fine British Columbia Merlots, followed by cheeses (nothing special because the fromagerie down the street was closed). Sylvain had brought a delicious home-made apple pie that I outrageously claimed as my own handiwork. Then coffee. I had picked up some Porto for the digestif, but we never actually got around to it.

Also, I finished watching Logan’s Run this weekend. It sucked, and not in that way that makes it rewatchable. Excepting the retro-future jet-pack set design, of course.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

We had a rough start to our trip, because we had unwisely chosen to pick up our rental car on a holiday. Anticipating the increased demand, Hertz decided to open their agency two hours later than the officially posted hours. So we started out on the route to the South of Brittany well into our precious daylight hours.

Read more…

Tin Foiled Travel

Roger raised some good points — boorishness and price. I don’t have to deal with the former, since I’ve yet to receive a telephone call on the infernal talking-device.

As for initial capital costs, I stole the phone from the lab. Well, technically, I went to the head of our unit and graciously offered to conduct “personal field trials” in order to brainstorm new mobile services in an “authentic user milieu”.

Ongoing costs are limited to the mobile subscription. I looked at the major operators in Paris (Orange, SFR and Bouygues) and compared their plans. I went with Bouygues Telecom, because I like their name.

Bweeg bweeg bweeg. BWEEEEEEEG! Earth dwellers, this is Lieutenant Bweeg of the Intergalaxia Invasion Force. Put down your weapons immediately and your planet will be spared. Resist, and you will be vaporized by our Plasmatrogic Hyperbolators. Bweeg out.

Phonetics are everything.

The plan is tolerable for prepaid: about 50 euro cents a minute, local SMS at 10 centimes, foreign SMS at 30 centimes, some sort of “listen to ads for free minutes” deal, and eventually GPRS at 1.5 centimes a kilo-octet. That’s nearly 10,000€ to download the equivalent of a CD! Or 0.03€ for the average email.

Anyway, the day after I subscribe, the entire network goes down in a spectacular crash. At first, I just thought the coverage was super crappy, but it turns out that it’s all over the news. Free gifts for every subscriber!

Did you know… given the excellent competition in Canadian long distance plans and the European “caller pays” aspect, it’s more expensive for my neighbour to call me than for someone in Canada? In fact, if I wanted to call my neighbour on her mobile phone from my fixed line, the per-minute rate would be cheaper for a Canadian friend to set us up a three-way call.

Also, did you know… a good time to call me would be 7:05am in my morning on weekdays. We can chat for ten minutes while I’m walking to the bus!

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

No, I’m not talking about my dull apartment in Montparnasse — it was fun to play Left Bank bohemian, but I’m back to my senses.

I’m talking about my new apartment. It’s in a 19th century Haussman block in the 16th arrondissement, just south of one of the chic’est areas of Paris. Shall I give you the tour?

You enter through the wrought-iron and glass door into the foyer. You can either go into the private interior courtyard, or continue to the stone staircase. I suggest you take the delicate wrought-iron elevator that has been retrofitted into the staircase.

On the fourth floor, you’ll find the heavy wood door that leads into my new apartment. Yes, it is a sturdy door, isn’t it? I think you’ll find that it’s original to the building.

The inside of the apartment has been renovated, of course. It used to be a three bedroom suite, but they cut it up into a large single bedroom with huge salon. The ceilings are high, with plaster mouldings. The hallway is large enough to use as an office, and the bedroom and salon have large windows looking over the busy street. It’s surprising how soundproof they are!

The salle de bain is off the bedroom, and completely modernized, with smartly tiled walls. There’s sufficient room to install the laundry machine in here, I imagine. There’s also extremely large closets. Closets in Paris, who would imagine? I won’t be needing those anymore, of course.

The kitchen is also modernized, with a smaller window looking over the interior courtyard. It’s unfurnished, so I’ll have to purchase appliances.

Did I forget to mention the fireplace in the salon? In working condition, it is.

It’s slightly smaller than that other hovel, by ten square metres or so, but all the individual rooms are larger. It’s also slightly more expensive, say twenty or thirty euros a month more. And I shall have to buy some new furnishings (such as a fridge, a sofa and a dishwasher). But I think it’s an amazing find.

Oh, I forgot to mention — I would either have to buy a car or add forty minutes to my commute to work, each way. So I’m not going to take it. Haha, you bastard guests are probably going to have to visit my twenty square metre hovel in the sticks.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

Yes, in fact, it is.

It’s my first mobile phone. It has quad-band GPRS, so it should work in Canada and Europe (although I doubt I’ll activate roaming).

It has a very nice and bright colour screen, which is bigger than the screen on your mobile phone. The screen is touch sensitive, and there are four ways to enter data using the stylus: Palm Graffiti (in which I am fluent), two sorts of Microsoft recognition, one which permits writing anywhere on the screen, and an onscreen keyboard. It also comes with a snap-on thumb keyboard which is surprisingly easy to use, and far superior to the stylus methods, especially on the bus.

Your mobile phone requires one hundred taps on the number pad in order to send a ten character text message. I can play games on the bus, send and receive email. I am a modern nomad, always moving and always connected!

I also have Bluetooth and Wi-Fi radio interfaces, so I can use it to browse the internet at high bandwidth at home or in Starbucks. I can install Skype on it, and use it to make free calls over the Internet. Can your phone do that?

If you don’t know the answer, let me help you out: no, your phone cannot.

My mobile phone is nicer than yours, unless you have the same mobile phone in which case it is equivalent.

If you have the same mobile phone but with more memory and the integrated camera, then remember that I’m being kicked out of my home for Christmas, my home phone and internet has been cut off, and thanks for rubbing it in, you jerk.

Tin Foiled Technology

I had a dream last night. The antique floral wallpaper that my landlord had used to cover the extensive water damage and wall rot had fallen away, and little beasts were crawling out. I was smashing them with my large collection of tasteful shoes. Some of them were wormy scorpions the size of my hand, and they cut through my trusty Blundstones.

What does it mean? In short, I’m being evicted. It’s complicated, and I don’t want to go into it.

Except to say that it’s a great apartment and the landlord’s daughter wants it. By December 15th, which probably has something to do with the habitation tax in Paris.

I’m looking into my options, but it seems evident that I’ll be looking for a new apartment. I might as well do it before going back to Canada… but I’m going to see if we can come to an agreement that satisfies everyone.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

Hello, Mr. Hotshot and Ms. Hotpants — just a random update from your friendly France correspondant.

On November 3rd, 2004, eleven states banned gay marriage. To me, this was far more surprising than other results that day. On November 5th, 2004, gay marriage was legalized in Saskatchewan, making it the 7th province/territory in Canada where homosexual marriage was permitted. It’s not the agriculture or the small towns that make an unsophisticated and unenlightened red state.

Canada also banned gay marriage at a federal level on June 8, 1999 (and will be reappearing at the federal level in fall, 2005). In practice, however, 85% of the Canadian population is free to marry whom they choose today thanks to provincial legislation.

I like Americans, and I hope that their turnaround time for this current setback in civil rights will be even quicker than ours.

Also, on December 29th, 2004, I will be taking a long voyage to temperate climes. On January 5th, 2004, I will be abandoning these climes.

From November 11th, 2004 to November 14th, 2004, around Brittany I will be toodling. Although I will have my GPRS/Wi-Fi enabled iPaq with me, I still don’t have the appropriate SIM card.

When I return, I will see many new and interesting blog entries on all of your sites, or I will know the reason why.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah

So, my friends are assigning me open-ended essay questions now. Well, I owe you and I love you dearly, so I did the footwork.

What does the modern European think of Napoleon? Include opinions from the French and non-French, especially any filthy commies.

The first response is that he was obviously a great warrior. He was undoubtably a military genius. The French are not really apologetic about putting Europe to flame and blood, but either consider it to be against their morals or just in bad taste.

It’s generally acknowledged that he conquered and accomplished a lot during his lifetime, and not everything he did was necessarily bad (which is a twisty French way of saying that he did some good as well). Some of the best French institutions were founded under his influence, including the Napoleonic code, a rational and enlightened codified civil legal system that serves as the fundamental basis for civil law in many countries today (including Quebec). If he was a tyrant, he wasn’t ruling entirely by whim.

Despite having himself declared Emperor and installing his family across Europe, he was one of the great administrators of the principles of the Enlightenment — a grand promoter of science and justice.

Tin Foiled BlahBlahBlah