A Fine Time

In the rain in the Quartier Latin, it is best to be
inside a café.

Having Real Buffalo Grass

Paris:- Monday, 28. January 2002:- There isn't much to tell you about the weather this week because it is being fairly normal, even if it is a tad warm 'for this time of year.' When there is a bit of wind or when there is a bit of rain, nobody is complaining.

This is in Paris of course. This is not away off up in the Alps, where it is not snowing much, and it is too warm in the daytime too. This means there are serious issues with avalanches in places where the skiing is only slightly better than rotten.

Parisians who might be thinking of going to the Alps early in February, to air out their kids' heads for a couple of weeks, might be complaining about the weather, but not where they are now.

And, you should believe this - the sun even makes brief appearances occasionally. It was very bright this morning. Even though it didn't look like it would last, I didn't feel like coming back inside and writing this.

And at café time, hours later, it was bright again. This is how it is. There's no point staying in or out all day because of a little rain every hour or so. With the breezes, a hat will take care of it better than an umbrella.

The forecast is looking like Wednesday will be the best day this week. But if you want guaranteed rain you might have to go out to the Normandy coast. Say hello to an oyster for me if you go out there.

'Café Life'

One reader has taken the time to look around the 'net for an almanac for me, but nothing like its equivalent for France has been turned up. I don't care for looking around the 'net but I don't mind doing it on my feet, so I was doing this again, a bit unintentionally last week.

I gave up when the bookstore guru, with the huge online database, suggested I try the bookstore I tried last week. This is the one that sent me to the one I was in this week.

On giving up, on leaving the shop, out of five or six choices, I decided to walk along the Quai des Grands Augustins. Sure enough, there was something new - the Galerie Victor Sfez.

At first I didn't 'get' the exhibition's title - 'Photo-Reporter: Profession à Haut Risque.' This didn't refer to disease, famine or war zones, but to Bill Gates in Seattle and his Corbis unit that was - and may still be - buying all the images it can get the rights to.

In Paris, this included buying the well-known and respected photo agencies, Sygma, Kipa and Tempsport. With all the rights to the stock in hand, the agencies' photo-reporters were fired. There were 42 of them - all pros.

In the gallery, each has two prints on hand. These are for sale, with prints limited to eight per negative. I saw at least five I would have bought on the spot, had I the means. I've put the gallery's address in this week's 'Scene' column.

It was only two weeks ago that the 'real' Buffalo grass arrived from Kiev. Instead of waiting for the 'rites of spring' time of the year, Dimitri and Dennis decided to get into this grass by getting it into some different vodkas - in time for the anniversary of last year's caviar and vodka party, which I had forgotten had been the occasion of Dennis' birthday.

This I only learned a couple of minutes ago, when I updated this week's version of 'Metropole One Year Ago,' lower down on this page. Even if I can't read Metropole more carefully, I should try to read it more often.

Last week, the discussion in the café Bouquet centered around the question of how much Buffalo grass to put into a bottle of vodka, and for how long. Dennis had brought a sample, in a vulgar plastic water bottle, and it was estimated to be coming along okay.

By Saturday night, there were two different amounts, for two different lengths of time, in two different brands of vodka. As a fallback a third bottle had been prepared with the peel of a lemon in it.

With the right amounts of Buffalo grass, enough bottles of better-than-average wine of two colors, some blues by Robert Johnson, and some very good food gathered from nearby shops and markets - I must say that Buffalo grass is very good for a birthday party, if you appreciate a lot of singing.

As the only witness present who could neither sing nor drink the vodka, I must say it was an exceptional occasion. I don't think I've heard people singing at parties since television became common, and I have never been at a party before where the singers could actually sing - with words and everything.

I know it is going to become a 'do-you-remember-when?' party. It was so good that I've already started to wonder how the next one, in only 363 days, is going to top it.

On Friday, somewhat after a cloudy sky's sundown, I was trudging home from a successful excursion to one of Paris more dismal arrondissements when I came upon a nearly-candy-red 'Fiat 500 of the Week' parked in front of the toy shop in my street. Can spring be far behind?

Readers and club members can catch up wit the most recent club affairs by reading about last week's meeting. See this report with the most outstandingly insincere 'HAH HAH, HEH HEH and HA HAR HARs' that I have ever heard.