Someone recommended, I don’t remember whom, that it would be a good idea to write about what I do all day. I suspect that whoever suggested this was in fact saying that they know I don’t do anything and I’d better start proving that I’ve got something going. So this is my day.
As I mentioned, Kelly is off to Fez today for school. She and her fellow female classmates at the American University of Paris are, more than likely, on their way to being sold into white slavery and will undoubtedly end up in an arid land serving coffee to a Sultan in a Princess Leah slave outfit. We had our tearful goodbyes and I asked her to send money if the Sultan should happen to throw her a buck or two and then she was off. Emotionally drained, I immediately went back to sleep. After my fitful rest I went to the post office to mail out the short stories that I had been working on. I’m hesitant to say this, but I have never waited in a line at a Paris post office. I’m certain that I am jinxing myself by saying this but, once again, I was immediately sent to the front counter and was patiently waited upon by an incredible friendly French fellow who delighted in my butchering his language. My letters to New York and Barcelona were ready to go within 2 minutes and I was back on the street.
I passed an American TV star but could not think of his name- he was heading into the crepe restaurant on Francs Bourgeois. This is the second time that I’ve seen famous people and yet they look only faintly familiar to me- it’s important that I watch more American television.
The last time Kelly went out of town I shaved my beard into a goatee- as you will remember, the female readers were quick to write that they absolutely love goatees on men and that that fashion will NEVER get old. What else could I do now that Kelly is gone? I went to the BHV and bought a cheap hat to go with my goatee. My green hat, which looks like a beret but isn’t, was lost in Granada (probably pilfered by a Carcassonian on vacation).
After I bought a hat at the same place that sells lamps and electrical outlets, I did something I have never done before in my life. I wrote a fan letter to an author*. I finished “Our Paris” by Edmund White and loved it. One of my all time favorite books is also by him called “The Flaneur.” I've written abou tthis book before, reading “The Flaneur” reminds me of an exchange I had with my father, who is a sculptor. We were walking though an exhibit of Degas sculptures and I said, “Seeing these makes me want to take up sculpting.” My father replied, “Seeing these makes me want to quit” That’s how I feel when I read people like Edmund White- I will never be able to get there in my writing and it’s a little disheartening. Anyway a few hours later, still wearing my hat, of course, Edmund White responds to my email. He suggested a bookstore that he likes near my neighborhood and asked what I’m doing in Paris. I don’t mean to brag but that’s a pretty good day.
Still basking in the glow of my email and hat I began making a compilation CD for my niece in Brussels- I’m more than a little concerned at the crap she listens to so I’m doing my duties as an Uncle and pulling together some good music- but keeping it somewhat modern. So pleased was I with the CD I burned one for my sister and father-in-law.
So, as you can see, I’m keeping most busy and life is pretty grand. I will miss Kelly but of God feels she should be a white slave than who am I to disagree.
* I did write a fan letter to Brooke Shields when I was a young lad (17 years old- God I wish I had been younger) but that was before she wrote her book it was more in response to her excellent work in The Blue Lagoon....and I was 17.