...Continued from page 1

The next 45 minutes were exceedingly boring as I explained how to print photos. I have never done it myself, so I was monologuing pure theory. But first, I felt that I had to explain how to get the photos out of the camera even though it seemed like we had just vaporized ten of them. Well, I guess everybody knows this, so I'll just skip it, with yatta–yatta–yatta–yatta – you get the idea.


"Fine," Ramona said, "Well and good all that yatta–yatta, but how do I print my photos?" Instead of just saying that she could take or send the memory card to a photo finisher – or even upload them to an online digital lab, I babbled relentlessly for 44 minutes until I said, "Click on print in the filemenu."

photo, josef schomburgJosef brings a 4th camera to the party.

We were saved by the arrival of Patrick who asked if we wanted anything to drink, and the arrival of Josef Schomburg, who ordered a beer, but not a Corona. Or we were saved even before this when I decided that there was no better time than then to wrap up the Group Photo of the Week. Ramona was very tolerant for this – outside on the café's terrace – where the wind was howling past much faster than the usual traffic. Ramona almost went flying off sideways.

"Drumroll" is a word in my notes indicating the place on the page where the conversation drifted along to bank robber families, Florida, unclaimed bodies and crematoriums. You know, the kind of stuff folks are always saying about Florida. Josef had just come from some massive photo shoot he was on, and he was blitzed. Did he say something?

And Ramona was jetlagged. This is not a judgement. Folks who fly the Atlantic all night and then land at Roissy's terminal 2–E and live to tell the story, are usually in a shaky state. I thought my goose was cooked there a week ago.

photo, ramona and ricRamona and Ric, captured by
Josef Schomburg, photo.

Ramona had other cat tales. One died on her on the first day of a long, hot summer weekend and the vet wouldn't do anything about it until Monday. Living in Paris, there is no place selling those bags of ice you find on every street corner in the USA. "The fish merchants won't sell their ice!" So Ramona put the dead cat in the bathtub and packed it up with frozen frites.

Well, it wasn't the Idea of the Week. Hot weekend. That bathtub, by Monday, "Cremacat!" Melted frites. Dead cat. Ohhh, the odd stuff that goes on here.

Listen. There was only the three of us but we had a good meeting. This club doesn't have any rules and half its members seem blitzed even when they aren't jetlagged, so we can waste our time at club meetings having drinks and conversations with subjects that would be classed as not appropriate if you tried having them at home or at bingo night at the local casino.

About the Café Metropole Club

Medium difficult to believebut this is an ordinary club meeting's report. It's like a slice of real life if you just happened to live in a live reality show called life. Twirl an eyeball over the dubious story of what might have been going on here, to be found as usual on the About the Café Metropole Club Webpage, containing its delicious words, tasty photos and lip–licking other good stuff smelling of fresh garlic. And forever and ever, sure more better frites.

graphic, club location map

What this Stuff Is About?

These spontaneous club meetings, totally unrehearsed, begin at 15:00 on Thursday and continue until 17:00 most Thursdays. The next meeting will be on Thursday – no less than – 18. January 2007. These times are similar to 3 pm to 5 pm around other places but these meetings are held around here. Whatever you say might be truly appreciated by the other members present if they are listening, and sometimes they are, but not always – and if it should by freak chance be recorded here.* Your other, mainly true, stories are welcome too.

Caution – if you have a personal need to remain unfindable via the Web, be sure to inform the club's secretary that you prefer to be 404 – not found by Web search engines before becoming found. Not becoming a club member is one sure way to become unfound.

*The above paragraphs are relatively unchanged since last week because life as it is, is just one big, long reality show. This is exactly what the club's secretary is going to be doing all this year. Reality to the max!

The café's location is:

Café–Tabac La Corona
2. Rue de l'Amiral de Coligny – or – 30. Quai du Louvre
Paris 1. Métro: Louvre–Rivoli, Pont–Neuf or Châtelet.
Every Thursday, from 15:00 to 17:00.
Next club meeting on Thursday, 18. January.

A bientôt à Paris
signature, regards, ric

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