The Unbearable Lightness of Peeing

My last post of the year!

So I finally read Albert Camus' The Stranger, having saved it for when I could read it in its original French, and, as it happens, in its original city. I can see why 18-year old Robert Smith would be inspired to write a song about it, but strangely the song seems even more immature now.

The relevant thing is, as much as the book moved me, I'm not sure that I understood it entirely. In any case, immediately after reading it, I reminded myself of the titular character a great deal. I was pretty sure this was a bad thing, and I was already paying for it by sitting on the dirty and cramped train floor due to not having reserved a ticket to Paris in advance. I wasn't alone by a stretch; more than a dozen people mostly around my age were also wandering the cars in the hopes that someone magically vanished from a seat. One girl, whoe persistence I internally mocked, ended up actually finding an empty seat in first class. As usual, my cocky apathy turns out to be idiocy.

So I'm sitting near the vey back of the train where everyone has piled their luggage, and two kids that are also reservation-less boldly sit on the luggage. I was thinking of doing the same thing and decided to be polite, but these guys didn't care. Not only that, they started rolling a joint with complete abandon. The older woman next to me on the floor rolled her eyes and smiled, and I smiled back. As a man with two toddlers digs through the luggage looking for a toy, they puffed and passed. When the conductor guy passes me on the way to their compartment, I congratulate myself on being closed off from them and safe from my usual run-in with the law. But to my very American surprise, guy does nothing about the hash (regular cigarettes aren't even technically allowed as of a few days ago), and in spite of the shadiness doesn't ask for the tickets. I love Europe!

My existential dilemma begins later, however, after I somehow doze off towards the end of the trip. My floor companion wakes me up with cursing and an angry "Mais j'hallucine!!" She nudges and points to our friends in the back and on the other side of the door, and I do a double take as I watch one of them piss on the luggage he was sitting on. Thankfully, his back was to me and the rest of the train, but the dribble would inevitable seep through the doorway. This wasn't a harmless corner or stairwell, but directly on top of the luggage! My companion on the floor was really getting worked up, and after I suppressed a chuckle I had to admit to myself that if it was my own bag getting soaked I would most likely get violent. One can never be sure what one would do in a situation, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be indifferent.

So I start to ask myself, by ignoring this and not taking action, am I committing the sin of neutrality. By not standing up for another's luggage, am I also letting my own become soiled under the flow of an intoxicated hoodlum? I didn't see any officials around, however, and the woman seemed content simply to be angry and not do anything more. Perhaps she expected me to do something about it, but I wasn't about to confront a guy and risk who knows what, and I don't know nuthin' about being a rat . I didn't get the feeling anyone around me, even the angry woman, would have had admiration for a rat either, but I felt guilty nonetheless.

Later, one of the people scrambling to get to the luggage compartment elbowed me in the glasses without even saying anything, so it serves them all right. Stlil, I would almost rather have my stuff stolen than have it pissed on.

Resumed, Resumés, and England

I just wrote a long-winded post about my experiences dealing with the rigid French bureaucracy and other things, but Philippe's computer crashed. Philippe is my cousin, by the way, who magically made my CV not only French but impressive. Apparently having several different jobs under my belt, contrary to being a sign of shiftlessness and depravity, could be a unique advantage. This remains to be seen.

Though my last post seems bleak, I came to terms with the loss of my material possessions over the ten days I spent at my grandmother's. I also realized, however, that living without the Internet at this point is impossible. It not only feels like being disconnected from half of the world, but from a practical standpoint nothing can be accomplished without an online computer anymore.

A final note of interest. I read all the Narnia books as a kid, completely ignorant of the religious significance. Curious about the movie, I checked the review of my old friend and John P's Halloween costume, Roger Ebert. I was Richard Roeper, for those that aren't in the know.

Ebert ends his article with an interesting idea, one that I have mulled ever since I first arrived in London and got 60 pounds for 100 dollars:

"[It]'s remarkable, isn't it, that the Brits have produced Narnia, the Ring, Hogwarts, Gormenghast, James Bond, Alice and Pooh, and what have we produced for them in return?"

It's strange that I have been thinking the same thing; on a personal level, my most cherished bands are mostly British. Out of the top ten I can think of on the spot, seven are british:

The Beatles
Led Zeppelin
New Order
The Cure
Radiohead
My Bloody Valentine
Rolling Stones [edit: I could substitute Pulp here for the Stones, depending on mood, but RS have had the bigger impact overall due to parental influence so they win.]

and three are American: Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, and Guns 'n' Roses. Granted, SP and GnR are probably top three, and a list of the top twenty would probably lean more American thanks to Seattle and Indie in general. Still, I cannot emphasize how huge the brit bands are for me. And this is just a personal list, ignoring The Who, The Kinks, Elton John, etc ad infinitum.

Probably, the reasonable response to all this nonsense is that really it's the same language, whatever. But for a little country, they sure do have things going on up there, culturally as well as economically. Plus, I actually really liked the tea there, and I miss it!