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End of week Shenanigans: kraftwerk's "Tour d' France" doesn't get the love it should


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I woke up Monday morning and got a text from my friend: "can you go to France on Wednesday?"

I still love the A380 and think it's the best commercial plane created.

Imagine DR's excitement when he got his itinenerary which had him sitting on the upper deck. Never sat there before. It's supposed to be better because the upper deck holds about 300 fewer people so there's not as much commotion or old Asian folk walking laps somewhere over Greenland. That's always bothered me. Sit the hell down already!

My seat, Air France, 94L was against the shitter, but I didn't care. I was an upper decker and I could take being dumped in the last seat.

Upon check-in, I really kissed the ass of the desk agent. If the flight's not full - and my pre-flight investigation told me it was not - l, the agent can make you're life a lot better. In life, I found it a good idea and common sense to treat everyone, especially service people, with utmost respect and kindness. They must deal with alot of a-holes in a day, so why not be nice? Sure enough, she was kind enough to block the seat next to me. So I had the row to myself, a handful of klonipin, my noise canceling headphones and the newish Morrissey autobiography.

Nick Cave, who I know by look and name but I could not tell you one of his songs, waited in security with me. For a bit, I thought he was an emigre from 1970s Iran. He had an Argo thing going for him. I remember living in London and he had just released a book that was a minor hit in the UK called "And the Ass Saw the Angel" or something like that. This is how I recognized someone who should've been unrecognizable.

It was a good flight. Even dozed off a few times which almost never happens for me.

I was eager to get out of southern California. The heat has been to g'damn much and don't get me started on the lack of humidity. I was over it about two months ago. It wasn't fun or easy telling Date Chick I wanted to head over to France for a few days, but as ever, she took it with grace and excitement on my behalf.

I landed with my friend in Paris where we went straight to the studio where he's doing the final color for the movie he's making. It's co-produced with Luc Besson, and there are alot of producerss invlolved so it's taking some time to finish. We finally left the studio around 9pm and stayed in a very nice hotel, which i feel a little guilty about since we were only there about 10 hours. A very expensive shower, essentially. I love Paris. Might be my favorite city in the world so i hated leaving it the next day, but this is where it gets good:

Besson made a movie about Joan of Arc some years ago in the French countryside, not far from where American troops beat back the nazis after D-day. Impressed with the area, Besson expanded the original building he filmed at and added several buildings, built in the same French country Tudor style. The buildings include soundstages and screening rooms for playback so audio and other mixes can be corrected while making a movie. Because it's so remote, several bungalows were built, including mine. Room #29, which also goes by the name Jacinthe. There is no wifi which is odd, but I think that's on purpose: you either need to be working on the film or should be walking the grounds, which include a gym and sauna.

We arrived and watched a playback of the movie. But first, we had to drive out of paris and closer to where the French go about their remoteness, hopefully with the occasional memory of what our grandfathers or uncles or great grandfathers did to keep them living in their counrtysides.

Maybe it was just my antenna being raised, but I imagined American troops hiding in abandoned homes, or taking coverage behind trees as they filtered out the nazis, moving toward the liberation of Paris, boot print by boot print.

At certain turns on the winding road, you see large crucifixes. Have they been here for hundreds of years? Or were they put their to memorialize the fallen who liberated a country that should still be flying under a swastika? I don't know.

We sat down to a delicious lunch, placed before us on old wooden tables with mid-matched but perfectly patina'd chairs. Check placemats, a big basket of bread and large carafe of wine in the middle of the table. France on a weekday lunch break. And we make fun of these people? Stinky cheese and a plate of confections for desert. And then, a little cup of coffee arrives without you asking. I love timing.

I gotta go to dinner now, so more later....

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Returned tonight to SoCal in a klonipin stupor.  Great trip, or was it just 'okay' and I found bits of intrigue to further the Shenanigan lifestyle.  Lots to write about as the mind uncloudies itself.

 

One thing for sure, the American Cemetery at Normandy will force you to reconsider what you've accomplished today, by comparison with those buried so far from home.

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