Beyond reasonable authenticity

Yeah, about that.

I saw a man walking on the sidewalk this morning. He had that wraparound to-cover-the-baldness thing. You know what I'm talking about. And he, believe me, had taken it to a whole new place. A place that was definitely beyond all reasonable authenticity. It was LONG and the head under it was BALD. And that hair wrapped way around. And it was plastered to his head with some kind of product. He looked happy with it though. And really, isn't that what matters? Who ever said the inside was supposed to align with the outside and not the other way around? And why did you ever start to believe that?

But when you start to mess around with this stuff, when you question the pragmatics and the bright light with no shadow and the four corners of something that you finally realize is inherently round, what are you left with?

It would seem you are left with only one option. Temporary stillness and an attempt at quiet integrity.

Because, really, how could you possibly hope to direct the flow of what breaks the dam?

Turn it off please

It drives me crazy when both of my kids talk to me at the same time. Parents, is it like that for all of you? I can't seem to filter one or the other out so I usually end up not listening to either one and telling them both to be quiet.

Ah, quiet.

I spent the weekend alone, in a very quiet, very empty house. It was great. Very peaceful. Very relaxing. Very unusual.

Of course, it wasn't as quiet as it could've been. The clamouring in my head was awfully loud and it actually gave me a headache on sunday. Which I cured with coffee and chocolate. Let me be clear: it cured the headache, not the clamouring. Anyone know a cure for clamouring? And don't say yoga, I'm already doing that. Daily.

Sunday morning I went for a walk along the river. It was windy. For a moment, I thought I heard the truth in the wind. It was just a whisper. So faint that it could have just been my own voice. I'll never know.

ohmanohmanohmanohmanohman

I am in the biggest funk ever. Not like depressed funk, just can't get anything done funk. Certainly not creative or inspired enough to blog funk.

In other news, I heard a new expression recently. Il a un hérisson dans la poche. As in 'he has a hedgehog in his pocket.' As in when he reaches in to get out some cash, he gets pricked by one of the little hedgehog prickly things and yanks his hand right back out. As in he's, well, I don't know, what do we say for that? Tight with money. Less creative but it'll work.

Just ignore me.

Something's wrong

This tale also begins in France. One Christmas while visiting, my mother became ill. She had bronchitis and some other itis. I took her to see our family doctor. She paid 21 Euros for the office visit and 15 Euros for the prescribed medications - antibiotics and various symptom-relieving potions.

Now, a similar tale in Missouri.

Husband has come down with strep throat. (I know. Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it.)

We waited 2 hours this morning at a walk-in clinic. We were seen by a charming Nurse Practitioner, who confirmed the strep (but nicely suggested we decline the $40 strep test) and prescribed meds. We were charged $150 for the office visit with said practitioning person. And we paid $27 for the meds at Walmart.

Like I said.

You've got to be kidding me.

No, seriously.

We went to see the allergy doctor today. Just a check-up for Boy1 and me. We are both allergic to some pollens. And I wanted her to check on a few things for Boy2. It's hay fever season here and he's had a stuffy nose for a few weeks.

Well, the good news is that he isn't allergic to any pollens. The bad news is that he's allergic to dust mites, which is going to put a very big cramp in my housework style. But hey, that's life.

The other bad news is much more cramp inducing. He's allergic to EGGS. Why oh why oh why would the son of someone who loves to make meringues and crème brûlée be allergic to eggs?

So now you can all look forward to disgusting recipes with nasty egg substitute.

Bon frickin' appétit.

I'm limping.

I turned on the radio this morning while driving and I heard the tail-end of an interview. The last sentence out of the interviewee's mouth were 'les béquilles de mon âme" - the crutches of my soul. Crutches as in things used to walk when leg is broken.

Soul crutches. Hmm.

I think mine used to be chocolate and coffee. And we know what has happened to those. The chocolate is done and the coffee is down to one a day which, let's face it, is so not doing the job.

So I think all the snot rivers and complaining and funking have all really just been an outward symptom of my inner crutchlessness.

Time to find a new crutch.

Any suggestions?

Borrowing more trouble

But it's not me this time.

I got a newsletter from my co-op last week. Announcing that they would be phasing out over the next month all products made by Sanoflore. Which is a little company that sells organic essential oils, flower waters, and skin care products. Why are they phasing out these products? Because Sanoflore has been bought by L'Oréal. Now I get that L'Oréal is a giant and has historically a bad reputation for animal testing and other unethical practices. But I still think it's kind of premature. Don't you think they should wait for them to screw with the quality or drop the organic label or exploite small farm-owners before they take action? Preemptive strikes are less and less popular these days. Just ask Bush.

Along similar lines, there were demonstrations and strikes last week against the new-but-not-yet-sworn-in-president-of-France, Nicolas Sarkozy. Students in a Paris univeristy were striking against against potential changes in the French university system. Seriously, I'm thinking he should at least be sworn in before they go on strike. Or jeez, maybe they could actually wait until he tries to pass a law or make a decision . But I'm just old-fashioned that way.

Not that I'm judging or anything...

I've done some stupid things in my life.

Bangs, tanning, married men, credit cards, wrong men.

But I think in the land of stupidity there are those of us who just visit and then there are the professionals. People who take it to a whole other level.

For example.

Recently in Belgium, a young, but not young enough for youth to be an excuse, man staged his death in an effort to win back his ex-girlfriend. And this wasn't a little stage. This was a big Broadway stage. She was informed of his death and his wishes for her to take care of the funeral arrangements. Which she did. The casket, the flowers, the music.

At the end of the ceremony, he got up out of the closed coffin and spread his arms open wide for a thank-God-you're-alive hug.

He got a slap and jail time instead.

Nicely done.