Hope You Survive New Year 2000

One of Paris' livliest areas: the marché at
Buci in the Latin Quarter.

The Long Shampoo

Paris:- Monday, 6. December 1999:- By the standards of the previous week, last week in Paris was pretty calm. By this I mean I didn't notice much going on.

I was involved with no strikes, no tree plantings, no gallery openings and no ultra-stupendous '2000 In Paris' events.

Although I moved from the suburbs to Paris in July, I am still getting settled in. In practice, I have only one day a week to do this, so it is taking its time.

But with it being December, I have to get my French papers in order before the year's end. I have chosen to write about part of this adventure in one of this week's features, called 'Getting Papered In Paris.'

This led to the idea of doing a feature about the Ile de la Cité a day later, but by yesterday this had become 'The Big Café On the Avenue.'

Another thing I have to do - just like anyone else at the time of the year's major festive event - is get ready for it. Mainly this involves sending out change of address cards so people will know where to send - or not send - Christmas cards.

'Or not send' applies to the French, who do not send anybody Christmas cards. Instead, the French send 'hope you survive New Years' cards and these are on time if they arrive anytime in January.

This is much easier than sending Christmas cards because it involves no 'black mark' against your name so long as they arrive within six weeks of the first of the year.

Trying to get your Christmas cards - from France! - to friends, relatives and business associates before Saturday, 25. December, is a hassle and a strain - which I'm sure everybody knows all about.

I was in a supermarket in Montparnasse trying to find cheapo Bic pens for office use here and I happened to notice that greeting cards cost about 25 francs each. I think they cost this much because, technically, there are no Christmas cards.

Anyhow I only learned the price of them after I had been at a cheapo photocopy place, where I made 40 cards for about 35 francs. The stamps for them will cost several times more than this.

At my news dealer, I ordered a 2000 calendar and a 365 page 2000 logbook. The way it is, the only way I can find out what I've done is to read Metropole, and it doesn't have enough 'between-the-lines' stuff in it. So my New Years' resolution is to keep track of the next year.

I did keep a logbook for many years. It was useful. About 18 months ago it somehow fell into the category of 'one thing too much' to do, so it faded away - and with it, the useful information it contained.

Having the past being a blank is a bit like not having lived it. I now remember what it is that Metropole lacks - it is the ups and downs of life behind the lines. Generally, the magazine is on an even keel no matter what goes on in the background.

For example, the whole business of last week's Carte de Séjour change-of-address, was a time of high anxiety, although I was not completely aware of it.

With this type of thing, 'something can go wrong' and this gets into the subconscious, and it 'invents' problems which lead to outcomes which are total fantasies. I imagined being deported to Ireland, and then not being able to talk the Irish into deporting me to someplace dryer.

This woke me up in a cold sweat.

My budget allows me one item a week for frivolities. My hair was last week's lucky winner. Next week I get to pay for cleaned and ironed shirts, so I can look spiffy at the Café Metropole Club. Sort of, to match this week's haircut.

Now, without my logbook, I can't remember whether it was Tuesday or Wednesday. Whichever day it was, I started it with the intention of doing it, but it slipped my mind until late in the afternoon.

Claudio's hairdressing salon and barbershop is a place of some chaos. There are ladies hanging about reading the free magazines and there are local drop-ins to shoot the breeze, and actual customers have to thread their way through this to find out about the salon's hair-trim possibilities.

Claudio's nifty assistant got me into a black cape-like thing, like the big kung-fu dudes wear. While going down a long hallay to the shampoo station we passed two guitars, so we had to take them out and strum them a bit while I told my 'buying a guitar in Madrid' story.