...Continued from page 1

Taking aspirins while I think this over, I ask myself if I could have handled this affair more cleverly, cheaply, with less angst and stress. Just asking myself this question causes angst and stress, so I say to hell with it. My bout with the buckets is over.

Thanks to all those – Dimitri, Uncle Den–Den, the VGFoM, club member Jerry Siegmann who wrote from Milwaukee, "Water is not your friend!" – and in person club members Bob Alter, Jim Donatelli and Yoko, all of whom gave aid and encouragement, but especially to Lazlo in the Rue Cels who took care of my days, weeks of torment, in so few minutes. Mind you, it wasn't cheap.

This story is not continued.

The Café Metropole Club Crosses the Hump

The latest club meet with three club members was a total blur, as the secretary kept track of his loose drips. Some other members, both far and wide, some of them, remained sadly absent, more or less as unexpected sometimes. Next Thursday there will be another new Café Metropole Club meeting, and the secretary promises to be alert.

photo, traffic, edgar quinet, saturday Saturday night in Montparnasse.

The next meeting of the Café Metropole Club will be on 22. March, itself a Thursday as is usual. The Saint of the Day is a more famous one. Please welcome Sainte–Léa of Rome. To look up the saints I have to leave On This Day and go to next Thursday, which I did. But I seem to have gotten entangled in the history of Wyatt Earp and forgotten Léa. She's worth a lookup I bet.

Vastly easier because it's right here, all about the club and its homey truths are on a page called, sans blague, the About the Club Webpage. All readers who possess a notion of English, and all certainly do, will not fail to grasp the rare but valuable facts about it, and should not neglect to view the club's scrap of a membership card before it dissolves into tatters and dust.

photo, sign, villa d'orleans

This Was Metropole Ten Years Ago

Well, well, here we are again. Few other Internet magazines claim to have been online for 21 years, for any reasons, defined or otherwise. The truth about Ten Years Later is that it should be 11 years later. It was Patrick's Day yesterday so it should really be 12 years later. No, seriously, it means 12 years later is too much.

Café Life Légère 101.02

Worshiping Spiders

The Quote of the Week continues its boring tradition week after week but at least it's shorter, a situation that has altered little since last week when it was far too long. "The more I study religions the more I am convinced that man never worshipped anything but himself." Let us all tip the bookmark to Sir Richard Francis Burton, who would be 186 years old today if he hasn't died of too much life spent in places where tour groups didn't go then, and some of them, nobody goes to now.

photo, sign, red shoe

La Salle Wobble–W

There are as many as 287 days left of this year, the same number that 1687 had when Robert Cavelier de La Salle was murdered by his own crew while out looking for the Mississippi River, most likely in Texas. La Salle and a group of explorers set up in a place called Fort Saint Louis of Texas near Victoria, Texas and walked off to the east to look for the big river. Somewhere around Navasota the crew mutinied and a year later local inhabitants objected to the interlopers and massacred them all. But before this La Salle found half of North America and claimed it in the name of France, or to be more exact, in the name of Louis, hence Louisiana.

Pataphysical Whodunnit

This is totally unconnected to the fact that this year has used up 78 days, the same number that 1817 had when Fualdès was murdered near Rodez and his body was thrown into the river Aveyron. This crime fascinated France then Europe and was even discussed in America. The victim was rumored to be a Bonapartist and his attackers monarchists, but their death sentences were overturned on appeal. Apparently an organ grinder was on the scene to drown out the pitiful cries of the victim, but otherwise there were no witnesses.

photo, sign, plomberie

The Buntline of Time

It's unnecessary to thank Metropole for reminding you of the birth of Wyatt Earp today in 1848. The policeman, horse dealer, gambler, goldseeker, and big–time gunfighter had quite a bit to do with both sides of the law during a long career, and settled many of these problems by leaving the jurisdiction. In fact the true life of Wyatt Earp was too varied and long to fit into one movie – unless it was ten times the length of Heaven's Gate. Wyatt Earp died with his boots off in Hollywood in 1929 and is allegedly buried at the Hills of Eternity, a Jewish cemetery in Colma, California. He was 80.

The Ex–Question of Schleswig–Holstein

Few folks probably recall that today is the anniversary of Louis XVIII's attempt to flee Paris in 1815 as Napoléon neared the capital on one of his comebacks. Even Maréchal Ney, who told the king that he would bring Bonaparte to Paris in an iron cage, defected and joined the conquering hero, who the Parisians preferred. Napoléon faced no resistance the next day when he arrived and the rest is exciting, though fairly short, history.

A bientôt à Paris
signature, regards, ric

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