There’s too much politics to think about. And that’s kindof an avoidance because calling waves hands what has just happened and what bleak anniversary just occurred, and the scars almost lining up, politics is not politics. There’s just too much to think about.
I am not interested in Carmen Consoli’s new, fantastic, album Amuri Luci.
Of all the difficulties, the one that surprised me was an inability to understand the amount the cashier says when checking out at a store, restaurant, etc. Numbers are second nature to me when reading or speaking but, as with all of my listening skills, my comprehension is lacking. Hearing “dicianovequarantacinque” isn’t the same as reading €19,45 and intuitively speaking that glob of words in your head. It’s not that much a necessary skill: when was the last time someone mis-charged you at checkout? And at every place except at a caffè I use a credit card where: the cashier says something, I hover my card over the ))) little radar symbol, and finally they shove a long piece of paper at me. Voila, my four bottles of wine are on their way home (I am of course kidding, I don’t have to pay that much for four bottles of wine).
Well it may have taken me a month to get here but I can finally understand. (Me: “I can COUNT!”. Everyone, patting me on the head: “…”).
When I discovered Guy Debord and the Situationist International movement–and learned of their subsequent influence on the anti-capitalist French student protests of 1968–I knew it was a philosophy relevant to our days and, as they say, I would like to know more.
I arrived last Wednesday for a two month stay, keeping below my three-month non-visa allowance so that if I need further non-visa-allowance time I have it. Not long after my first visit in July I decided, spur-of-the-moment, to return for two months in order to take advantage of the fact that I have an apartment there, and that there’s no reason not to take advantage of that fact as much as I can until I get my visa.
On the Sunday after arrival I received my visa.
