AliThinks

Keeping Up With The Jonesing

10:44

Greetings from the new digs. We're settling in slowly. I put together the monstrosity of a computer desk (it's so fucking big. I fucking hate it. But it is easier to sit here than to have the computer on a coffee table, which was the case until last night).

I have been without internet access for 48 hours.

I have never jonesed more for anything in my entire life.

The 56K modem that is inside this computer no longer works.

Yesterday I bought a DSL modem. I installed it. No go. This morning I spoke to a technician. We uninstalled the modem's software. We deleted .inf files. We spent half an hour breathing on the phone together, while my computer did its thing.
Still no go. The only solution is to return the modem for a refund.

The hitch is that I promised my kids we would NOT go back to the store today.

I'm not sure I can keep that promise.

17:50

I broke my promise. We went shopping. Took the DSL modem back and bought a 56K job, which I installed in the computer.

Houston, we have connectivity! I'm so relieved.

I will never again go 50 hours without internet, unless of course I do it on purpose by going on vacation in the hills of Umbria. Or somewhere like that.

EDIT: DSL is available in this little town. I just need to weigh the offers from different ISPs. Right now this dial-up connection is like the best thing that ever happened to me. Sad, but true.

Thoughts On A Saturday Morning

Well, Monday was the day. Sort of. He took the news of my leaving really well, and therefore my moving out has been a rather leisurely process.

So I'm writing this from the same computer desk as all my other blog entries, albeit from a little old laptop. My computer is in the new place, and is ready for me to plug it in for dial-up AOL. (Oh, boy! Dial-up AOL!*) It'll take anywhere from 10 days to three weeks for me to get DSL set up with a new ISP.

I'm rolling my eyes at that. I told you I'd be rolling my eyes occasionally.

My husband and I have not gotten along so well in years. How's that for irony?

That is all for now. Time to get ready to move the big furniture I am taking.

Oh, and thank you, all of you who left me comments and sent me good vibes and prayed for me. Your support has been essential. Thank you.

*I'm laughing because I'm thinking of that Far Side with the two dogs about to get fed. They both look really happy. One says to the other "Oh, boy! Dog Food!"

Today Is The Day

This is it.

You don't need to know all the sordid details.

This morning I am signing the lease on an apartment, and this afternoon I am moving out.

That bath I took last night? First AND last in that new tub.

My father-in-law is taking the kids on a mini-vacation today. After they get back, I will tell them they will be moving to a new town, new school, new friends.

I probably won't be blogging for the next week or so. But please don't give up on reading me. I promise this blog won't become a single mother's rant, and I also promise not to spend my time dissing my future ex-husband. You might get some eye-rolling from me, though.

Hey, I'm blonde. I gotta roll my eyes every once in a while.

It's Getting Better All The Time

Here is a progress photo on the bathroom. It looks about a million times better already, even though it is not finished. I took a bath in the new tub, and it felt great. Nice roomy tub it is. Big enough to make me a fan of baths again.

Ringy-Ding-Ding

This evening during an IM session with my best friend, the subject of church came up. My friend goes regularly, but I don't. Seventeen years of mandatory (because your dad is the minister) Sunday School and church was enough for me. I do have a spiritual side, but every time I have attended church in France I've come away feeling cheated. I think it has something to do with the language. Although I am fluent in French, the intimate language used in a church service seems best appreciated in one's mother tongue. Ain't no English-language services in my town.

Well, it seems like a good excuse.

So we were talking about church, and a memory dislodged itself from one of those crevices in my brain: Hey! Church was cool when the Bell Choir played. Hey! I was in the Bell Choir!

When folks ask if I play an instrument, I tell them I used to play the piano (Oh, Mom, you were right, I DO regret quitting piano lessons) and the flute. I never mention the handbells. I don't know why. But I played in my church's Bell Choir from about 1980 to about 1987. Those dates are fuzzy. But Bell Choir was fun.

I started out playing a two- or three-bell range in the octave just above middle C. Most of the choir members were women, and I remember that a mother and daughter, both of them quite big, handled the big bells in the lower octaves. Those were some big ass bells, and they needed some serious muscle power.

After I got comfortable ringing, I "graduated" to the baby bells: the tiny bells in the higher octaves. When you played the baby bells, you had to be really coordinated, because you would actually have four in your hands at a time.

We had to turn one bell (Bell B) at a 90° angle and slip its handle into the handle of another bell (Bell A). When you held Bell A in your hand (as you would a tennis racket), you had the Bell B ready to ring at the flick of your wrist toward the interieur. We used to have two bells for each hand, with each Bell B ready to ring when needed.

But since the baby bells are not in constant use during a bell choir performance, we would often have other bells to ring. Each piece had its challenges. My favorite part of performing in the bell choir though (besides whispering with my choir friends during church), were the times where I had to ring four baby bells at once, with lots of wrist-flicking and mental coordination and sight-reading of music.

If I ever live in the United States again, I might just join a Bell Choir. Even if I have to wear white gloves. (I forgot to mention -- we were a bunch o' rebels and didn't wear gloves).

If your church, or a nearby one, has a Bell Choir, go to service where the Choir is playing. You'll see how cool it is.

One Of Those Songs

Have you ever loved a song so much that hearing the first few bars of it gives you a rush? And you turn the speakers up to 11 and rip the knob off?

I just heard one of those "OhmyGodILOVETHISSONG!" songs: "From The Beginning" by Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Something about the rhythm gets me. The acoustic guitar also gets me.

It's all good.

Pilgrimage

Yesterday I went on a pilgrimage to IKEA. I absotively looooove IKEA. And everytime I go, it's a special occasion.

Some of you know exactly what I am talking about, some of you are probably saying "WTF?" I'm sure the rest of you are just shaking your heads at my folly.

But whatever. I don't care, because I love IKEA.

The nearest IKEA stores to me are in Bordeaux and Nantes. My friend Anne and I went to the one in Bordeaux. In another occurrence of It's A Small Small World, while we were there I ran into two people I know.

I'm becoming like my dad. No matter where he goes, he sees someone he knows.

But I digress.

Anne and I ate lunch at the IKEA restaurant, then walked around the different parts of the store, looking at kitchen equipment, testing futons, squeezing duvets like they were Charmin, stuff like that.

It was really cool. I bought a few little items, but I'll tell you about those in another entry.

I Know It's Blurry, But...

...here is a photo of the tomcat who's a-courtin' Sumatra (neither of them seem to realize that she's been fixed).

He's such a handsome cat. Look at those blue eyes!

Oops, I Was Wrong

We are installing a new tub.

That is a relief.

A Glimpse Into My Private Life

Well, sort of.

Wanna see the grossest, most disgusting, most depressing bathroom EVER?

Take a good look at the following photos, then. These are the "before" photos. This is the last room in the house to be redone. So look closely, because tomorrow a plumber is coming to change stuff and move the heated towel rack (the one thing we did do to the bathroom when we bought this house).

A couple of years ago I bought some special paint and the kids and I went nuts on the tile. Just to brighten the place up a bit. When you know you're going to eventually redo the room, you don't take pains with it, which is why I never tried to get the limescale off the faucet.

We're going to keep the tub (for reasons I'll go into in a bit), but change the sink, move the radiator/towel rack, put in some light-colored paneling, and change the flooring (there are two layers of shitty linoleum on the floor. And two layers of shitty wallpaper on the walls).

Next door to the bathroom is a closet which we are turning into a "water closet" at the same time. We thought about knocking down walls to create a nice big bathroom, but my husband in his French pragmatism decided that it would be good to take showers in the morning without the bathroom stinking of shit. (We do have a toilet, in case you were wondering, but only just one so far, and it's downstairs).

So. We're not getting a new tub, because in another stunning display of pragmatism, my husband decided that since my job would be 75 kilometers (ok, 45 miles) away, we'd most certainly have to move, which would involve selling the house, and fuck the people who buy it -- they don't need a nice bathtub! This also explains the decision to put "sea grass" on the floor instead of the teak parquet we'd originally talked about.

But you know, at this point, I don't care. Because we ARE putting this house on the market within the next two weeks.

Don't let the bathroom scare you. The rest of the house is pretty damn nice.

Listening to: "Come Downstairs And Say Hello" by Guster

Can You Say Blonde?

Here I was going to write about the Beetleful of blondes that I saw at a tollbooth. They didn't figure out that there was no one in the booth (it was an automatic/debit card booth), so they had to back up. Then it took them a while to realize that they'd need to pay, so one of them handed her purse up to the front seat. Of course, they were a little too far to reach the machine, so an attendant had to come over and stick the ticket and bank card in for them. After the transaction was made and the gate thingy went up to let them through, they sat there and put the card back into the proper purse. Miraculously, no one honked (this is France, after all). Finally the bodacious blonde babes sailed through the lane and were out of there, and it was my turn. In the three seconds it took me to get that toll gate up, I shook my head at the blondeness, and was thinking that I'd blog about the blondeness, and that I AM ALLOWED to make blonde comments because I AM BLONDE. Except I'm one of those really smart blondes, you know?

Yeah.

That's what I was thinking until I got THIS in my inbox:

A mute who wants to buy a toothbrush goes into a store. By imitating the action of brushing one's teeth, he successfully expresses himself to the shopkeeper and the purchase is done. Now if there is a blind man who wishes to buy a pair of sunglasses, how should he express himself?

I didn't get the right answer. I had a moment of brain lock, a moment of airheadedness. A BLONDE MOMENT.

And so I can no longer diss the Beetle-cruising blondes. I'm just as bad.

But at least I don't cause gridlock at the tollbooth.

That's About How I Look This Morning, Too.

Take the quiz: "Which Holy Grail Character Are You?"

The Old Crone
Agh! Do your worst! No! Never! No shrubberies!

Discombobulated...

...is my favorite word. And I am still discombobulated. I don't know if it's jet lag or car lag or maybe just a little too much rosé wine over the course of the past two days.

Anyhoo... I've been pretty much diesel the whole day.

It looks as if I missed a special day just for people like me on Friday. Caught that one at Daisy's.

Then I went to take this quiz, which I snitched from Allan's blog (and he snitched it from someone else's blog), but the site's server is down and I can't get the results yet. I promise to post them as soon as I can, as I know you're all dying to know which Holy Grail character I am.

I just got a call from my brother Aaron. He was returning a birthday call that I'd made to him last Monday. We had a good long chat, and since we haven't spoken on the phone in eons (or sent any e-mails of late), it was really good to hear his voice. It's at times like this that I realize how important my family is, and how much I love them, and it feels so good to remember that they love me, too.

Our phone NEVER rings, but my writing of this post just got interrupted AGAIN by the telephone. This time it was the MIL, who was just calling to make sure we got home okay and to ask for my coleslaw recipe.

We got home okay, and here is the recipe:

1 large head cabbage
1/2 cup finely diced onion
1-1/2 cups good mayonnaise
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup granulated white sugar
1 teaspoon coarsely ground fresh black pepper

Grate or shred the cabbage as thinly as possible. In a bowl, combine it with the diced onion and all the other ingredients. Depending on the size of the cabbage, you may have to adjust the amounts of mayo, sugar and vinegar to taste. The slaw should be sweet, sour, peppery, and creamy. Allow it to sit for an hour before serving. Keeps for up to a week in the refrigerator.

I nicked that from Sacramental Magic In A Small-Town Café.

Right. My élan has been coupé (Lord help me, I'm starting to franglais). Except this is English peppered with French words. Damn, but I need a séjour linguistique dans un pays anglophone, de préférence en Amérique du Nord. And with that, I'm out.

We're Baaaaaaack!

Yes, back from vacation. I'm a little discombobulated and can't find any words to write right now, but I did upload a few photos to my Random Album, including the morning glory photos (thanks for the name, BHD!) I posted yesterday.

Go check 'em out. They're all mixed in with the ones that were already there. :-)

Volubilis

I have no idea what this flower is called in English. But for your weekend enjoyment, here are a couple of photos of blue blooms I took the other morning. Regular blogging will resume tomorrow or Monday.

Click on the thumbnails to see a larger image. After I get home, I'll add these and others to my Random Image album over there on the right.

Is There Gas In The Cah?

Yes, there's gas in the cah....

Got me some Steely Dan on the brain this morning.  And this will be the last post until next week, probably, because we're going on vay-cay-shun.   

To this area of France. 

So kids, be good until the Momma Duck gets back.  Be safe, too. 

Goin' Up The Country

I was singing that in the car on the way to our friends Anne and Arnaud's house on Saturday. We took my husband's car, and because he's not nearly as cool as I am, he only has a cassette player in his car (but his speakers kick the shit out of mine, so we're even). Before we left, I asked him if he wanted me to bring a couple of tapes to listen to. "Sure," he said. I turned away so that he wouldn't see my jaw drop, and ran up to my office to grab a tape or two. I found Abbey Road and an old copy of Freedom Rock.
Halfway through our trip, I slipped Freedom Rock into the player, and was greeted with Canned Heat. A bit later this song that I'd completely forgotten came on. Remember this?

I think it's so groovy now
That people are finally getting together
I think it's wonderful and how
That people are finally getting together

I just had to google the lyrics to find out the name of the group: Friend and Lover. In the car the words came back to me, and I sang along, even to the cheesy "guy part", and my husband tolerated my singing and hand-twisting movements. It made me laugh that I remembered the words to this goofy song that I hadn't thought about in years.

One thing you ought to know about me is that my birthdate belies my musical culture. I may have been conceived after Woodstock (and no, my parents weren't there, but I should have been), but I went through a hippie chick/granola girl phase while I was in college, and got to know a lot of music that had been made before I was born.

Hence the Freedom Rock tape. Hence the spur-of-the-moment weekend trip from Sheffield, England, to Paris, to see the Grateful Dead when I was 20. And my penchant for patchouli and silver jewelry.

But I digress.

So we went to A and A's, and by the time we rolled into town, I was singing along with "Free Bird".

A and A's next-door neighbors are an English couple, John and Janet. They come to France during their holidays, which ends up being three or four times a year, because they are both teachers, and have a few breaks throughout the school year. They're in their 50s, and have a son named Ashley, whom I met last New Year's Eve. Ash just finished school, got a first (way to go!) at Leeds, and is in a band. John and Janet talked to me about the band over dinner. They told me the name of the band, and that Ash had done an animated video for one of their songs.

I thought that was cool. Ash has a day job now, but he's got this band, and he's an artist, and his parents are completely accepting (and PROUD!) of him.

Check it all out here. After you enter the site, the Music link will let you listen to a few sample songs. The Pictures link leads you to Ash's video. I've listened to a song or two, and it's pretty cool stuff.

Enjoy.

Blogging In Bed

Yes, folks, I'm blogging live from my bed this morning. Never mind the how and why. Here I am and I must say it's quite the experience.

All I wanted to say this morning was how GOOD the soundtrack to Fahrenheit 9/11 is. I mean, I'm sure that the French folks at the theater last night had no idea why I was laughing during the scenes of Bush on the aircraft carrier, touting his "Mission Accomplished." It wasn't Bush, although he is risible. It was rather the music in the background. It was the theme from Greatest American Hero.

And then hearing Neil Young crank it out during the closing credits...wow. You gotta love Neil Young.

I know Moore has been criticized for twisting commentary and images to fit his agenda. And I know that he, like Rush Limbaugh, has a devoted following, and that his message, like Limbaugh's, isn't likely to change the opinions of the opposition.
Whatever your political point of view, you ought to see Moore's documentary. If only for the Iraq footage you didn't see on CNN.

And the music.

Late Night Entry

Just got home from seeing Fahrenheit 9/11 with my friend Laetitia. We went out for couscous afterwards, and my stomach is so full that it's preventing my brain from being able to formulate an opinion on the movie.

Tired Ali needs to go to bed, but not before saying how much I loves me some lamb brochette and kefta couscous. Mmmm.

And not before showing you this:

Click on the thumbnail. It's part of a series of photos that you've probably received in your inbox by now: "Things that make you go 'Hmmmm.'" This one made me go "Hahahaha!"

Off to dreamland. Hope I'll have some good ones.

L'Étrangère...

You have a mysterious kiss. Your partner never
knows what you're going to come up with next;
this creates great excitement and arousal never
knowing what to expect. And it's sure to end
in a kiss as great as your mystery.


What kind of kiss are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Found this over at Will's blog, which I realized I hadn't checked yet today, after reading his lovely comment to my last entry.