Anyway... Jeeeeeez, months, Walker. It's been MONTHS since we last heard from you! "We thought you were dead, killed in a cage fight in Bangkok!" cry the pessimists among you. "We figured you'd run away with a heart-shatteringly beautiful gypsy with big earrings and could now be found dancing under the shadow of Notre Dame with a goat named Jezebel!" cry the optimists. (All gypsies should own a goat, don't you think? It's bad enough that in France they ruin the bonfire and swirly skirt image by hawking and stealing and generally being a real pain anywhere there's a hope at ripping off a tourist in this city. They should at least own a goat.) No I'm very much alive, having survived Thailand, and I'm still swearing under my breath at the stinking goatless gypsies... and do apologize for my long absence. Credit it to the elephant in the room.
"What is with the animal metaphors?" you hapless mailing distribution list must be wondering. But honestly, isn't that a great idiom in the English language? The Elephant in the Room. The unspeakable subject that is IMPOSSIBLE to ignore. "Elephant in the Room" would be a great name for an emo band. Anyway, there was this unfortunate elephant in the room for ME of late. i could send around the email that was unbearably funny in which i whined about all the blisters I'm getting from running about with beer in my shoes or i could wax poetic about the impossibly beautiful rainbowed reflections of the royal palace in Thailand upon the strange whitewash of the army barracks next door. but the truth is, i've got a lot on my mind that would be really weird to talk around, and as it was, i wasn't allowed to talk about it. But now i am! guess what?! i'm losing my job!
the part of me that is a little too proud hastens to add that they're not firing ME exactly. they're closing the Paris office, and there is no way in hell this little pirate is going back to Houston. i don't feel like discussing the blood-soaked details, but basically my company found itself in a situation that many noted economists and high-ranking energy analysts have described as, "royally fucked." a lot of stuff had to go, and that, unfortunately, included my bureau. there are upsides. i get a decent severance package, and this whole thing happened just in time for me to actually get my visa. so while i may get deported after all, that won't happen until one year from April 23. i have decent contacts and am more or less bilingual, so my job options seem... well, there's a reason to be optimistic. the downsides are obvious. i WOULD have really liked my job. also, in the subsequent hullabaloo in the Paris office, everyone has been stressed, short, and quick to stab each other in the back. i spent some time absolutely convinced that i was going to be completely screwed over (again!) by hr, receiving neither the somewhat comforting severance package of American employees nor the medical coverage and, you know, food and stuff that the French employees will get from the government. some of this has been resolved. what's left is a REALLY nasty aftertaste of corporate America. i knew i should have been a caveman.
right, enough of that. there are fun things too. i have gotten really into hashing. (new folks, look up the Hash House Harriers on wikipedia. meanwhile, a quick explanation : a social running group that involves tromping around in the woods, lots of yelling, and even more alcohol.) i am running at least one and often two hashes a week now. i hared my first one last weekend and went through the naming ceremony two weeks ago. this requires kneeling in the middle of a circle while the r.a. solemnly pronounces you by your new, incredibly embarrassing hash name while simultaneously pouring flour over your head. then everybody else sings a song and pours beer on you. the result is that you smell like a bakery, get really weird looks on the train back home and find yourself picking dough out of your hair up to 5 days later. and no, i will not tell you my hash name. you'll just have to WAIT and learn it when you go on a run with me. unless you are a close family member in which case, you will simply never know. get used to it.
the summer is rapidly approaching and with it come enough visitors to make me invest in a box-spring and stock my fridge with things besides mustard, vodka, and club soda nicked from my office. (this actually is all i have in my fridge right now. i would take a picture to prove it, but my camera is out of batteries.) IF you are coming to visit but have still not given me dates, i need them soon. i'm not pointing fingers unless your name starts with R and ends with Ebecca El-Saleh. [Shannon Bedo, you're not off the hook either.] my calendar follows at the end of this email.
i have an adorable apartment in the Latin Quarter. i even have the ability for a landline, but since i don't have a telephone yet, i'm not going to give you the number. for now, my new address is : 33 rue Monge/Paris 75005/France. my apartment is more or less empty of the 8 billion cardboard boxes it had about 10 days ago and i'm intent on making it mine. i have put things on the walls, and it now has things as interesting and diverse as a huge hovering ufo-looking floorlamp that nearly killed me trying to get it from ikea to the 5th on the metro, a Chelsea towel set, and a freezer that reaches temperatures at which vodka actually freezes. i'm not making this up. i didn't even know that was possible. still need to buy : a telephone, fans for upcoming hot summer months without air conditionin, food.
if you miss me like mad, it's probably a good idea to send me love tomorrow before 10 pm. tomorrow, as you are doubtless aware, Chelsea takes on Manchester United in the Champions League finals. i intend to be loud, clad in blue, and rather obnoxious. if we win, i may be killed by rabid English hooligans. if we lose, i may have to kill myself. or go sulk for the subsequent couple YEARS. go play tag with a bullet train, Christiano Ronaldo, you whiner.
Love, Take Care, and On On!,
Lucy/Lark/Alouette/----
p.s. as PROMISED : when Evan blows his nose, i am constantly reminded of the cannon fire in the last 2 minutes of the 1812 Overture.
p.p.s. my schedule :
May 23 - June 1 : Lucy to RI for Commencement and Related Insanity
June 5 - 9 : She volunteers to put up 2 Jabberwoks as they travel through Paris on some official a-capella tour of wussy. Also of Europe. The Jabberwoks are an all-male fancy-shmancy a-capella group from Brown. We pirates used to use them for cannon fodder. They will never know what hit them.
June 14 - 17 : Jake visits from England! (June 16 : Fraternity party in Lucy's apartment)
End June : Tootles, Cheniere. Have a nice life.
June 21 - 27 : She goes to California to be with her family! And be in the Redwoods! Yay!
June 27-29 : Her friends get married and she and Pat get scared and thereby drunk! Yay!
July : Jonathan. Also, unemployed. There are not words enough.
Early July : Blanche and Alianza and Woozy and Lark and Cannon and maybe even Blackheart and Karlotta live in one apartment. This means a lot of hot, blond potentially single pirateness sharing a bed. I am, of course, talking about Woozy.
Either late July or Early August : She [and possibly J] jet off to Tunisia to bother Najla. Hi Najla!
August 4ish - 10ish : Alec! Insanity Ensues!
September sometime or maybe October : Daphne will stay in exchange for "washing your floor." Whatever that means!
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of summer I am expecting.
p.p.p.s. i am going to backlog old distributions on blogspot : http://corsaireaparis.blogspot
p.p.p.p.s. I hope Butterbur sends this probptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-room : thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him. (Kudos to those of you who get the reference. Without google.)
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