MJ

I've been thinking about Michael Jackson today. His passing last month has brought him back from the dead and he is everywhere. Why, just yesterday there was a flash mob event here in Montreal with choreography and everything.

It's like a musical! But in real life! I was sad I missed it until I read in The Gazette that there's another one being held this Sunday, location TBD.

Funny how he's gone from pariah to lamented genius. I suppose you could chalk it up to widespread hypocrisy. But I think it's something different than that, or something more nuanced. In recent years the charges against him, and his overall weirdness, overshadowed the music. In death it's been reversed. It's easier to remember him as who he was before he got all pale and freaky now that he can't get any paler or freakier. And then there were the crimes he allegedly committed. Bodily crimes. As long as he continued to exist in body, it was hard to get beyond his violation of social taboo. Hard to appreciate the transcendent in a man who came to embody pervy weirdness.

Now he's gone. Free of the body, all we have left is the transcendent.

Earlier today I happened to stumble across a great remix by DJ Z-Trip. I defy you to sit still while listening to it.

Long live MJ!

Tip of the Day

No matter how many points you've scored with the boss, and no matter how much professional capital you think you've banked, it's probably still not enough to get away with bringing a half-eaten ice cream cone to your mid-year performance review.

Craftiness

I've been thinking about the spider problem I described in yesterday's post. I can't let these guys beat me. But I'm too much of a sissy to actually touch the webs and brush them away. What to do?

Introducing: The Spider Wand

Pretend you're a spider. There you are, sittin' in your web, suckin' on a shadfly, when this huge spider-shape comes at you. And you're all like "Whoa! Is that God?", and I'm all like "Take that! I'm going for a BIKE RIDE. HAH!"

Cool eh? I made it myself. How do I do it? It's easy! All you need are a few common household items: some recycled cardboard, a wooden spoon, tape, scissors, and a marker.

Start by drawing your spider on the cardboard. It may take a few tries to get it just right, but it's all part of the fun!

Cut out your shape.

Apply tape to the back, stick it to the spoon, and voila! Your very own spider wand! And look, I added some sparkly ribbon to the base for extra razzle-dazzle!

So go ahead and put on your crafty hat! Impress your friends! Beat a path through the real and figurative webs that shroud the fully realized YOU!

What a Web We Weave

I keep my bike out back in the shed. A spiral staircase leads down from my fire escape to the back yard.

Lately, I find it strewn with spider webs occupied by tiny inhabitants and their prey. Spiders so minuscule are barely scary, even to an arachnophobe like me. But the feeling of invisible thread on my arms that won't easily brush off makes me hyper-sensitive to any hint of crawling. Whether it's a spider or just my imagination, I flap my hands about my head like a lunatic.

Best to avoid this predicament if possible. Bad for me, bad for the spiders.

If I told you this was the reason I don't get out enough, would you believe me?

Smuggling for Dummies

[Kim on the phone this morning with her brother Marc]

Marc: You’re a bum.

Kim: No, you’re a bum.

Marc: No, you’re a bum.

Kim: No, you are.

Marc: No, YOU are.

Kim: Mind if I change the subject?

Marc: Not at all, please do.

Kim: Thank you kindly.

Marc: Think nothing of it.

Kim: I totally smuggled a third bottle of wine into the country this week.

Marc: Really?

Kim: Yes. How could I not? You can get the good stuff in grocery stores in France, and it’s so much cheaper than it is here. Even after converting Euros to dollars it’s still half price. So I got one in each colour.

Marc: Huh.

Kim: Yeah, and I think I get away with never having my bags searched because of my overconfession technique.

Marc: What’s that?

Kim: It’s where I go up to the customs agent and instead of saying I have nothing to declare, I express concern that the jars of homemade jam I brought might be in violation of Canadian import laws. But I know they’re not, so I come across as being super-honest.

Marc: Except that you’re not. You’re a liar.

Kim: That I am.

Marc: That’s awful. It’s people like you who carry plagues across borders and ruin ecosystems.

Kim: What? With an extra bottle of wine?

Marc: Oh, it starts out that way. But then you move on to bigger and riskier things, until next thing you know, you’re sneaking in a mogwai.

Kim: Omigod! I forgot how cute they are!

Marc: Exactly. You’re such bum.

Kim: No, you are.

Marc: No, YOU ARE.

The Grind

I’ve been thinking: heading back into the office after vacation could be hard. But then again, maybe not. For one thing, I can ride in on my beloved bike.

Enjoy some scenery along the way.

Fortify myself with a little “You go girl!” treat.

Yes! I can totally do this! Maybe I've been worrying too much. Maybe heading back into work won’t be so bad after all.

Uh-oh. I forgot: heading into work is one thing. Actually arriving there is another.

Oh my, it hurts. Well, maybe lunch will cheer me up. 

Bleah. You know, I'm not so sure about this whole “not being on vacation” thing anymore. I’m not feeling very comfortable with it.

Hey, I know!

It worked in France.

And ...

... no.

The Way We Were

Hello everyone. We realize we’ve been negligent in posting lately, so we’re making it up to you by offering a double Sunday edition to chronicle the swan song of the Kim and Kurt Provence 2009 Road Trip Show.

What’s been happening since our infamous T&A posting? Plenty. Among other things, we’ve cruised markets in Saint-Cannat and Aix.

Admired olive groves in Les Baux-de-Provence.

Dined at the port of Le Grau du Roi in La Camargue.

Avoided bull runs in Saintes-Maries de la Mer.

Wondered at local beach fashions.

And in Avignon, marveled at how much we’re all alike, deep down inside, despite differences in nationality, mother tongue, gender, and orientation.

This is the end of the Provence line for me. Check back for updates from my sterile grey cubicle at work, and for exciting conversations with my cat.

You can also look forward to further guest editor postings from Kurt as his adventures continue in France.

(Jerk.)

Mountains and Molehills

[Kim and Kurt in the car, driving from Mama Claude’s in Saint-Cannat to Guy and Mimi’s in Ceyreste. Kim is thinking about conversation from previous day with Kurt and Valerie, during which Valerie talked about the prominent role of Mont Sainte-Victoire in the Aixois psyche.]

Kim: So is this the Mount Victoire?

Kurt: What? No. Are you kidding me? Don’t you pay attention? That’s a hill. And we’re nowhere near Aix.

Kim: So Mount Victoire is more like this?

Kurt: No. And it’s called Mont Sainte-Victoire. Sainte. You know, famously depicted by Cezanne?

Kim: Doesn’t ring a bell.

Kurt: We’ve been by it a dozen times. There were signs and everything.

Kim: Really? I don’t remember.

Kurt: Jeezus. It’s an icon for the people of Aix – they consider it their own.

Kim: Oh, like Mont-Royal in Montreal?

Kurt: Well, except that it’s not in the city. Aix is in the shadow of Sainte-Victoire.

Kim: So what you’re saying is that Mont Victoire is smaller than Mont-Royal?

Kurt: You’re going home tomorrow, right?

Tits and Ass

Kim: Hey Kurt.

Kurt: Yes Kim?

Kim: We liked each other better today, didn’t we?

Kurt: Yup.

Kim: My hair looked nice.

Kurt: And my ass looked great. I rock these new jeans. I can even make hanging laundry sexy.

Kim: That’s why I let you do it. 

Kurt: Handling your bra collection makes it all worthwhile.

Kim: Thanks Winners!

Kurt: I feel like the day started off right. Remember that rotund woman I told you about? The one I keep running over at the pool?

Kim: Your new friend.

Kurt: Apparently. They’re all quite genial there, and today she greeted me on the deck and told me how pleased she was with her progress. So I told her that I’d noticed her improvement too. Then later I essentially pawed her right breast when we collided, but she wasn’t phased. 

Kim: Perv.

Kurt: As if. Anyways, the instructor decided she was ready to swim all the way to the deep end. So me, barrel-chested dude, and some other guy paddled beside her for safety. Like a flotilla leading a cruise ship into harbour. When she made it to the other side, the whole pool burst into applause.

Kim: Another touching geriatric moment.

Kurt: Made up for the tit grab.

Kim: Hey, let’s talk about me now. I did a full yoga headstand for the first time this morning.

Kurt: I don’t believe you. Show me.

[Kim tries, fails]

Kim: Bleah. I’m still full from lunch.

Kurt: We ate a lot. Remember?

Kim: I’m still tasting it.

Kurt: I’m going to my room to count the jars of tapenade I bought this afternoon. There’d better still be ten, lady.

Kim: Why don’t you trust me?

Kurt: You smell like guilt.

Shut Up

Kim: I'm bored.

Kurt: Yeah, well if you hadn't forgotten the cord for the iPod, we wouldn't have to sit here and talk to each other.

Kim: OW! You poked me. I hate it when you poke me. God. You're such a jerk. This'll show you. HAH! Look at my awesome feet!

Kurt: Yuck. Put those hooves down. You disgust me.

Kim: Oh yeah? You gonna MAKE ME?

Kurt: All I gotta do is open the door and shove you out.

Kim: I hate you more with each passing day.

Kurt: And I you.

Creature Comfort

We came across this at a gas station today:

Ah, the French. Always trying to make life more comfortable. Look, I feel better already!

We hung out at La Calanque de Port d'Alon today. We were happy that there was a restaurant there so we didn't have to drive anywhere. That sure made things more comfortable. And with our new gloves -- bliss!

The glove is also useful for making certain tasks more pleasant:

Disclaimer: Photoshop was not used in any of the photos appearing on this blog.

Guest Editor Kurt: Très Passant

Mama Claude’s house is in a pretty bucolic setting.  The advantage of being on the edge of the village is that the private garden space backs on to farmers’ fields, and the morning view from my bedroom window is a soothing start to the day.

The front of the house couldn’t be more different.

Saint-Cannat is the convergence of highway traffic from Aix, Arles, and Avignon and as vehicles enter and leave the village in front of the house, their speed is far above the 50 km limit, with what seems to be an inordinate amount of trucks and motorcycles on the road.

This should change in the next few years, as a highway bypass route is scheduled to be built by 2015.

By then the only disturbance to the peace will come from the neighbour’s yard.

Don’t be fooled by those floppy ears and doe eyes - these guys are TROUBLE.