The Day(s) the Music Died

My iPod died on Saturday, but it took several days for the coroner to pronounce.

It began by jamming, and not producing sound. The first shop fiddled with it and up came the red x of death. He shook his head sadly, and said I might have some luck with another shop. I tried a specialized Apple shop, and the guy gave me a sad smile as he listened to the off-track whir of the hard drive.

Now I have an iDoorstop as my brother Dan said. Or maybe an iPaperweight.

I don't fault Apple so much -- it fell off the bed, albeit it was a short fall. It's possible in the last 18 months it has banged around and this was the final straw. But it does seem to me that iPods are so ubiquitous there must be many accidents like this and they probably should have a lifespan of more than 18 months.

I love my iPod, and I loved my iPod before this. I never would have guessed it, but I was made for an iPod. When I lived in Paris full-time, I was rarely seen on the street without the earbuds. My own personal soundtrack for life.

My first one, one of the early generations, had some battery issues and while it plays it doesn't hold much of a charge. Paul got me a new one for Christmas in 2007 and I fell in love with him all over again. There was no gift that year that I wanted more. And this one was inscribed, which made it all the more special.

The guy at the store conceded that iPods weren't made to be repaired and the cost to even try would be more than getting a new one -- especially in the U.S.

And if this one weren't sentimental, I'd probably just turn around and buy a Nano on my return -- something within my budget until I decided to go back to the Classic that I have. Either way, I won't make a decision until we get back in September.

Until then I'm just kind of sad about it.

Evolution of an Evening

One of the things that happens here, that doesn't happen quite so often at home, is the accidental social event.

Last night we dropped by a friend's place, where we will be staying later in the month, to meet the woman who is there now and sort of get the lay of the land.

We parted company five hours later.

It was innocuous enough: we came in off the street rather warm and she offered us something to drink. Some Rose? Some red wine? Water? Orangina? We opted for Rose, and after taking a brief tour around the apartment, we sat down to chat and drink and have some nibbles. (All good Parisian hostesses offer a little something with the wine.) We finished the Rose and moved on to the Cahors. By the time we finished that bottle, (effortlessly, I must say), I looked at the clock, saw it was 9:30 p.m. and decided we should probably eat something.

We had a change of venue to the brasserie down the street and settled in for more conversation. That's the other thing: you get to meet some fascinating people out here. This woman, with whom I have several friends in common, graduated from the same University as I did. Her husband worked at the IHT a few years before I arrived, but it is her tale that is most interesting. She initially wanted to cover Latin American affairs at the Miami Herald back when women didn't really do that. She got a Ph.D in International Relations so she could do it, and still they were reluctant.

Many cities and university professorships later, she is teaching journalism in Abu Dhabi. How's that for a grand adventure?

We both ordered moules frites, one of several things on my must-eat-when-I'm-back-in-Paris list, Paul ordered a salad, and we talked for another two hours.

That's the fun of it -- we thought we'd stop by to check out the wi-fi connection, and closing in on midnight we were on the Metro back to the Marais. We didn't overstay our welcome, or impose on her plans ... it just sort of evolved, as things like that so often do here.

Accidental social event indeed.

Twinkle, Twinkle

We were invited for dinner tonight, to the apartment of friends who live in the 7th, mere blocks from my old stomping grounds. While I'm enjoying the variety of a new quartier, I really do miss the 7th and its wide boulevards, numerous trees and open spaces.

Dinner was nice, Nicola made a tarte aux pommes avec confit de canard (apple tart with shredded duck) and I got to see one of my favorite kids in the world -- her son Luke. We also were introduced to her new son, Ben.

On the way back to the metro, as we were crossing a street I looked up and saw the Eiffel Tower twinkling. This is the first time since we've been back that I've seen it -- lit up or not. My heart thrilled. All these years later and I still love the Eiffel Tower.

It doesn't hurt, either, that Paul proposed to me underneath it, and as it was twinkling. So I don't mean to be all sappy, but it was definitely pretty cool. If I see it another hundred times in my life I won't ever tire of it.

LAT Update

The woman house-sitting for us in Long Beach e-mailed to tell us the Los Angeles Times called, and asked if we would subscribe -- for 50 cents a week.

Because she answered the phone, and not I, she said "No, thank you." Were it I who received the call the answer would have been: "I would pay you $4 if you could get it to my door."

But you all know that already.

Ah, Paris

We're actually here and I think sometimes, maybe you can go home again.

I've got this strange dilemma: Paris-Long Beach, Long Beach-Paris. They are two very different places, and offer me two very different things. But I'm equally at home in both of them, for now, and glad to leave one for the other, if only temporarily.

Tuesday evening, once we had settled into our Marais apartment (ok, Liz's Marais apartment -- and for those of you wishing to visit Paris, I highly recommend her place.) We went to the ATM, went to the grocery store, found out one of my favorite bakeries is open the whole month! And then we strolled over to the Ile St Louis.

We were hanging out on the quay, enjoying the magnificent weather, watching people line up for Berthillon ice cream (and did I have my camera? sadly, no). The summer flavors are here: peche de vigne, fruit de la passion, fraise de bois, pamplemousse. Each mouthful offers an amazing flavor burst that's hard to describe. You can tell that the flavors are only offered in season, and made from real fruit.

Afterward, revelling in the still-light sky at about 9:30 p.m., we met up with a great friend of mine, and had some wine and Badoit and good conversation. She and Paul got into a really good discussion of philosophy, of all things, and that was sort of their point: She could name a half dozen well-known philosophers, he none. And how that was a cultural thing.

When we finally went to sleep, I marveled at how I could be in one of the noisiest quartiers in the city, yet it was silent outside because we're within the courtyard -- no sirens or cars or people like in Long Beach.

We have more to do today -- find me a sim card for the cell phone, head over to the Luxembourg Gardens so Paul can run, meet up with friends for dinner.

And so much to enjoy.

Adventures in Paris

We're hitting the road next week, again. Paris-bound for the rest of the summer.

Once I started blogging, I wished I had done this in Paris as I was getting to know the city. Now I have the chance to know it in a different, more leisurely way, and from different neighborhoods.

I hope you'll check in from time to time to see what we're up to.

The Loss of a Newspaper

This week we finally gave up on the LA Times. It had nothing to do with the cutbacks, although we have noticed how thin the paper has gotten. It had everything to do with the fact the circulation department, or what passes for it these days, couldn't manage to deliver it.

If it seems to you that we should be the last people who should be canceling their daily newspaper, you would not be mistaken. And we have replaced it, for the time being, with the Long Beach Press-Telegram (a shell of its former self, but that's another post).

If you were to look at our delivery records, you would find that at least twice a week we would call for a replacement paper because someone had stolen ours. The circulation department seemed not to notice the unusually high replacement rate. And oftentimes, the replacement paper wouldn't come, either.

I got fed up a few weeks ago and asked to cancel. The rep apologized, and asked if I would be willing to give them another chance. They would deliver the paper in plastic with my apartment number on it. I agreed. The next day, the paper came wrapped in plastic with my apartment number on it. But that was the last time.

Two weeks more of spotty service, more annoyance and another phone call. Would we be willing to give them another chance? No, I said. I gave you a chance. They suggested it was my fault because I live in an apartment, and they couldn't deliver to my door. I told them if their delivery agent purchased a key, then all the subscribers in our building could have the paper delivered to their door, thus solving the problem of stolen papers. (I discovered during this process that my paper was not the only one to disappear). The rep asked if a supervisor could call me, and noted the problems in my file, recounting back to me the troubles I'd had.

I didn't want to cancel the paper. How can I tell people they need to continue to support print papers if I cancel? So I agreed, again.

The supervisor never called, the paper arrived sporadically, and when only half of the Sunday paper arrived this week (clearly someone had picked through it) we gave up.

I called yesterday to cancel the paper. The rep asked if I would give them another chance. I said no. He asked if there was anything they could do to keep me and I said no -- all I wanted was to get the paper I was paying for.

We didn't ask for a discount, or for our money back for papers we didn't receive. We didn't ask for a special deal or special treatment. All we wanted was the paper. A seemingly simple request.

Maybe it's not so much that nobody wants the paper, but that nobody can actually get it.

And by the way -- our Press-Telegram arrives at our door every morning, wrapped in plastic.