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'Dogs On the Rails'
Today's 'Group of the Week' – Lewis,
Diana, Heather, Before the Meeting Even Starts |
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Paris:– Thursday, 4. March 2004:– The score for Monday's forecast in the Café column is as follows – Tuesday was more than 'mostly sunny,' Wednesday really was 'mostly sunny' and pretty warm too, but Thursday – today – the 'maybe' got nixed and we have had low gray skies that have been drizzling on us and unprotected grass. It is damply cold too. There is no good reason to dwell on weather that is gone and past forever, other than to show how unpredictable it is. The other reason is to fill up space that could be used by today's forecast – or would be, if there was anything to it. According to tonight's TV–weather news prediction Friday will be either partly cloudy or mostly cloudy, and later in the day it might even be totally cloudy. Ditto Saturday, Sunday, and maybe Monday too if blue skies coming from the Atlantic don't push east hard enough. The high temperatures will be like going down stairs a degree at a time, from ten to eight to seven. The temperatures in this morning's Le Parisien are all different, but they are in the same register. In conclusion, if you weren't here yesterday and Tuesday, you have missed the week's good weather. Maybe not – if you were in Perpignan today, it was supposed to be pretty sunny and 19 degrees. This Week's Only 'Club Report of the Week'I have no sooner slipped my Métro ticket through the turnstile, taken a sharp turn to the left and am bouncing down the stairs, when the Raspail station announces that the Métro's line 4 may not be running at all because there are dogs on the tracks. The line has gone to the dogs somewhere between Etienne
Marcel and Gare du Nord. It means all trains are stopped in
the stations, waiting Just as I am about to switch to the Métro's line 6 to begin a lateral work– around, the station's loudspeakers say the dogs are no longer on the rails. Métro line 4 is running again! A few minutes later, the train that has been waiting at Denfert, arrives. As soon as I get on the train, the 'dogs on the rails' announcement is made again. The train finally moves on, only to pause at Montparnasse. Before I can make up my mind to switch to another work–around line, it starts its dash to Saint–Placide. Well, I think, maybe Châtelet is jammed up – if the train makes it to Saint–Germain I can get out and walk, and this is what I do. It is somewhere between no rain and drizzling, and there aren't many Parisians around in the narrow streets leading down to the Seine. From the Pont des Arts I can see the lights on in the café La Corona. Monsieur Ferrat is guarding the cash from no one when I arrive. The café's 'grande salle' is overflowing with empty booths and tables when I enter it. Is this the deadest week of this non–season? Nope. Peter Kane, member number 398 arrives. He is not in the current members' booklet because he was last at a meeting in September of 2001. Peter tells me he has been in Paris the whole time, deciding whether he lives here. Now, he says, he is going back to Grand Rapids to sell his house, and get another one in Florida, and maybe an apartment in Paris or elsewhere in France. Then Steve Camera–Murray arrives, just after Diana Rushing and Lewis Rosenthal. When I say Steve is a part–time movie star, Steve says, "My ship hasn't quite come in." Nearly all club members are as modest. While rooting around in a bag, Diana parks a copy of Victor Hugo's 'Notre Dame de Paris' on a table. To prove members can read I photograph it. I do this because I sense there won't be any 'Food of the Week' even though somebody should have a big, hot, gooey onion soup. Peter has used furniture to get rid of. Nobody else has an empty apartment needing used furniture. Peter is going to do okay on account of the weak dollar because he put up a year's 'caution' when he could buy euros for 85 cents, and today these euros are worth $1.21. Everybody other than the club's secretary sighs, thinking about the 'good old days.' Without warning, Patrick, today's 'Waiter of the Week,' distributes ashtrays on all of the club's tables. He reminds the members present that the club area, within La Corona's no smoking area, is a smoking area – and this has been a standard 'service' since the first meeting. Nobody uses any of the brand–new metal ashtrays. Peter and Lewis rate their ability to speak French. Peter says his is the 'survivor' variety, while Lewis leans towards 'survival.' A comment on TV the other night claimed "I love socialism," Peter says. This is exactly what he says. I have it written down, in very plain handwriting. I do not remember ever hearing any American club member saying such a thing before. It is almost too amazing to be the 'Quote of the Week,' which it surely is. But it has its explanation. Tenants have to pay property tax, but this doesn't get assessed until a residence of a calendar–year is completed. Peter decided to go and straighten out his tax situation, but was told it couldn't be done because the inspector for his tax area was away with a lingering illness. He was told at first to just 'forget it.' But Peter persisted and finally another inspector relented, and told him the amount of the tax – which would only be based on 2004. This other inspector said it would be difficult to find the time to do the extra work of putting it in writing – such as in a properly printed tax bill. So Peter then told his landlord the amount and the landlord said he wouldn't collect the tax on behalf of the eventual tax bill, unless he knew the exact amount – in writing. It has to do with refunding the extra year's deposit Peter had to put up to get the apartment. The tenant's property tax will be about a tenth of it. One way or another, Peter can't just 'forget about it' even if it was a tax inspector who told him to do so. This is just normal administrative tax rigamarole, and it not specifically 'socialism.' Then we have the 'Event of the Week' when member number
one, Heather Stimmler–Hall, arrives. She Continued on page 2... |
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