Trocadero

Snow in Paris: from my office window

Buying a phone in France.

If you're ever watching a movie and you see a spy, say Jason Bourne, parachute into a boat drifting down the Seine, dive into the water and swim to shore, slink through a crowded plaza next to the Louvre and slip into a tobaconists' shop to immediately buy a new phone so that he can call the CIA on an untraceable line, you'll know it's a load of hollywood nonsense.

The reason being, Jason Bourne would not be allowed to own a phone because he would not have a gas bill.

I’m about to tell you a story, but you have to listen carefully, so grab a cup of tea and get comfortable. Are you ready?

About three months ago I arrived in France to start a new job. I signed a contract for a mobile phone. Since I’d already used a pre-paid phone for more than three months in France last year, SFR (the phone company) offered the first two months of my contract free. What a nice gesture of fidelité! Tally ho!

But wait, there’s more!

About a month ago I received a letter at my apartment telling me to come to the SFR shop because they needed proof of my address in France to complete my “dossier”. “This is weird, I thought I already gave them a bunch of documents proving my address” I thought, unaware of just how weird things were going to get.

Now my rental situation is a little complicated. Having just arrived in France, my work has provided me with an apartment whilst I find one for myself, which means my work is paying for my rent or electricity bills.

So about three weeks ago, in order to prove my address to SFR, I dropped into the SFR shop and re-supplied them with:

1. a copy of my lease (which is in the name of my employer)
2. a letter from my employer attesting to the fact that I am living in the apartment.
3. a copy of my contract, saying that I’m employed by my employer
4. a letter from the real estate agent saying that the lessor was leasing the apartment to my employer and that he was aware I was now living in it.
5. my passport and visa.

So, Problem solved I thought. This belief was shattered when about a week ago I tried to make a phone call, only to find my phone had been disconnected.

I went into the SFR store to try and see what was wrong. This is a translation of a conversation I had with the shop assistant.

Me: Hello
The SFR Guy: (very politely) Hello sir, thank you for waiting. How can I help you today?
Me: Hi. I’ve been in before. I received this letter saying that you require further proof of my address. In response, I gave you a bunch of documents last week. The letter also said that if I didn’t supply you with proof of address by the 19th of January, you would disconnect my phone line. However, for some reason, despite the fact that I have now given you multiple documents proving my address, my phone was nevertheless disconnected yesterday, the 8th of January…
The SFR Guy: Right.
Me: …and no one told me that would be happening.
The SFR Guy: Right.
Me: … so my question is, why did SFR do that?
The SFR Guy: Well they’ve suspended your line now. But it will be disconnected on the 19th.
Me: Shoudn't someone have told me they were going to do that? I mean, why did they cut my line? I gave you all the documents you need to prove where I live.
The SFR Guy: We need a gas bill in your name dated within the last two months.
Me: I don’t have a gas bill in my name.
The SFR Guy: You will have a gas bill in your name, believe me.
Me: No. I don’t. I don’t pay the gas bill.
The SFR Guy: Well you need to ring the landlord and get a gas bill from him.
Me: For his house?
The SFR Guy: No. For your house.
Me: I’ve already rung the real estate agent. The landlord lives in turkey. He doesn’t have a gas bill.
The SFR Guy: Well he should have one.
Me: …He doesn’t!
The SFR Guy: Well I’m sorry. They’ll disconnect your phone on the 19th.
Me: It’s already disconnected!
The SFR Guy: Suspended. But on the 19th, they’ll rip up your contract.
Me: (Deep breath) You’re saying that the only way I can prove my address is to give you a gas bill?
The SFR Guy: Or a telephone bill.
Me: You’ve suspended my telephone line!
The SFR Guy: Oh right, so a gas bill.
Me: Look, I know everyone in France probably does have a gas bill in their name, but because of my situation, I don’t. So instead, I’ve given you the lease for the apartment which is signed by my work, a letter from my work attesting that I live in the apartment, a letter from the real estate agent on behalf of the landlord attesting that I live in the apartment, my work contract saying that I work for my work, my bank account details stating that I get paid by my work, my passport and visa stating that I am in France on a work visa. I mean, aren’t they enough? Why do you still need a gas bill?
The SFR Guy: To know where you live.
Me: But you know where I live. The letter telling me that you needed proof of my address was delivered to my correct address. I’m here now because of that letter! Having read the letter that was delivered to the place where I live, I came here!
The SFR Guy: (shrugging shoulders) You won’t get a phone without a gas bill. That’s the way it is in France. Maybe it’s different in England.
Me: Australia.
The SFR Guy: (shrugging shoulders) England, Australia. I don’t know. In France, having a phone is complicated. It requires you to have a lot of paper work.
Me: No it doesn’t. Apparently you just need a gas bill.
The SFR Guy: Well, those are the rules.
Me: The rules don’t make sense. I mean, we’re not in the middle ages. We’re in 2009. (admittedly a bit childish, but I was losing it by this stage)
The SFR Guy: (shrugging shoulders) That’s the French state for you.
Me: But it doesn't have to be like this. I mean, it’s illogical, even from your business point of view. You gave me this 300 euro phone for free with my contract. Now you’re going to disconnect the phone and cancel my contract. But you’re not going to take the phone back and I haven’t paid anything yet. Not one bill! So you’re effectively giving me a free phone. All because I haven’t got a gas bill.
The SFR Guy: (shrugging shoulders)You need a gas bill. There are rules. The French state.
Me: (calming down) I know that now, but imagine, just imagine, that for whatever reason, I don’t have a gas bill. What can I possibly give to you to prove my address.
The SFR Guy: Nothing.
Me: Do you know how crazy that sounds? (hypothetically, losing it again) Why don’t you want my business? I’m going to be in France for two years. I need a phone. I have money in the bank, which I will give to you every month in exchange for the phone services that your company provides. That is what your business is about. I can show you five documents which prove my address, but I don’t have a gas bill.
The SFR Guy: I’m sorry. It’s not me. (shrugging shoulders) It’s the French state.
Me: (giving up) Ok… Thanks. See you later.
The SFR Guy: (the ultimate insult from customer service who know you're pissed off) Have a good day.

I think what disappointed me the most, was that this guy agreed with me, that cancelling my contract because I couldn’t provide him with a gas bill that I don’t have was ludicrous. But nevertheless he didn’t want to think about a possible alternative solution. He just rolled his eyes at another “immigrant causing trouble” and said, “sorry mate, them’s the breaks”.

Anyway. Consider this vent over.

France: legalité, inflexibilité, absurdité

I was looking into the etymology of the word France the other day and came across this:

France, [frans, frahns; Fr. frahns], derives from the ancient Celtic word Fraingh which means to clutch desperately to a firmly entrenched but horribly inefficient way of doing things, out of a singular fear that to change would be to admit that the way you have been doing things has been making life more difficult than necessary.

Equality is great. Sex is better.

I recently went to a bar here in Paris where, in order to encourage females to frequent the establishment, a rule has been instigated that all girls drink free.

The logic is clear. Free drinks for girls means more girls will come, which will mean that guys will want to come, which will mean that guys will pay (through the nose) for their drinks, which mean the bar will get a good reputation as a place to meet girls.

Call me a tightarse, but I was struck by how flagrantly discriminatory this rule is. If the rule was "whites drink free" or "asians pay double", we'd all be up in arms.

The message is clear:

A world where all humans are treated equally would be great. But the prospect of having sex is better.

Waltz with Bashir wins

Waltz with Bashir, a film already mentioned on this blog here, just won a Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film. The film tells the story of Ari, a former Israeli soldier involved in the 1982 war in Lebanon who, as a 19 year old, witnessed the massacre of Palistinean refugees at Sabra and Shatila. Twenty five years later, Ari continues to be haunted by his memories and as he seeks out his old comrades, he realises he's not the only one.

When viewed against the current situation in Gaza, the complete and utter tragedy of war, and its effect on the human spirit, which is depicted so beautifully in this film, is all the more real.

Bravo to this brave brave film! As Glenn Hansard said on accepting the Oscar for "Falling Slowly" in the film Once, "Make art! Make art!" (and not war!).

The lady in the red coat

Bonn : Gluehwein and Beethoven

Cologne Haupt Bahnhof - Waiting for a train to Copers

Decree: The following Phrase to be used more often.

"To cut one's teeth on the dishlickers..."

As in:

A: "How was last night?"

B: "It was great. Suffice to say that I cut my teeth on the dishlickers."

or

A: "What do you think of Brahms' music?"

B: "I think he cut his teeth on the dishlickers."

or even

A: "How about those Pies on the weekend?"

B: "Yes indeed. They definitely need to cut their teeth on the dishlickers."

Can in certain select circumstances be abbreviated to "on the dishlickers". As in:

A: "Dennis- stop the car!"

Dennis: "On the dishlickers!"

Songs that make me smile: Danish edition

I let this section go a bit... but it's back with a vengeance. And not only is it highly vengeful, but it is brought to you from Denmark, as I am currently sitting in Bang and Jensen's cafe on a murky, cloudy, drizzly, foggy boxing day in Cope-to-the-izzle-mutha-freaking-hagen.

Please do yourself a favour and check out Firekites - an Australian "low-fi accoustic guitar project" turned folk/rock/clappathon unit.

If you go to their myspace (above) you can listen to a song called "Last Ships". Yummy, no? If not, have a watch of the video for their song "Same Suburb Different Park" (below).


Firekites - Same Suburb Different Park from trainwreck 20/20 on Vimeo.

Question: Is the girl in the video the same girl that was in last year's tropfest winning film featured on this blog here? Probably not, just that she's riding a bike in both.

A big "tusand tak" (yeah... danish and that) to resident music guru Peter P for putting me on to them. Another winner for blended female/male vocals. See also The Swell Season (Glenn Hansard and Marketa Irglova)

Trip home

So I've been a bit negligent with posting of late. Somehow a broken camera is very demotivating in terms of keeping posts mildly interesting.

Below is a quick resumé of my trip back home to OZ before starting here in Paris. You'll notice that I fell in love with a certain girl.

The song is Abacus by Fionn Regan

Peace out.


Trip home to Australia 2008 from james on Vimeo.

Hell is meant to be a place you go when you die

Dave is slumped down on his couch, a beer resting on his paunch. Terry, his son, sits beside him. They watch the BBC news. A report about the credit crisis is followed by a special update on the progress made by the G20 and then an update about the massacre in India.

Dave: You know what I hate about earth?
Terry: What?
Dave: It's so fucking complicated... isn't it?

Terry looks at Dave blankly, not really sure whether that's meant to be the end of the story.

Dave: That. That India business. Complicated. Isn't it?
Terry: I don't really know what you're-
Dave: Eh? Isn't it?
Terry: Hey?
Dave: Don't you reckon?
Terry: You haven't-
Dave : Hey?

Terry continues to look at Dave but Dave is entranced by the news.

Dave: All this... falseness!

Terry looks back at the TV.

Dave: None of it- bloody- matters.
Terry: Dad!
Dave: What?
Terry: ...Don't swear.
Dave: Sorry mate.

Silence

Dave: But I mean fuck! Would you look at that?! Shooting each other... for nothing.
Terry: Isn't that what they're saying Dad? Take the money and run. It doesn't mean anything anyway. Shoot the people you don't like. Or stab the woman you love because... well... you can. The meek won't inherit the earth. Good won't come to those who are good. It's all just chance you know. Chance after chance after chance after chance.

Dave: (entranced by the TV) Eh?
Terry: I was just saying...
Dave: What?

A report on Christian Rinaldo winning the footballer of the year award comes on.

Terry: I was just saying that-
Dave: I fucking love this kid Rinaldo. Go on my son! Thank god there's something to live for eh?
Terry: Yep... That's... awesome, dad.

Dave drains the remainder of his beer then looks over at Terry for the first time.

Dave: Pass us another beer would you?
Terry: Sure.

"pfew"

Death cab for Cutie - The Bataclan

On a cold Sunday evening in Paris I trundled down to La Bataclan, a Parisian equivalent of Sydney's Metro to see Death Cab For Cutie, who, the singer was sure to remind us, are from Seattle.
What to say about this Concert? It was clinical. Death Cab charge out on stage, launch into a 50 minute set, duck out the back for 3 minutes, probably to fold the sheets back and put the electric blanket on, drag themselves back on stage to knock out an encore, then it's good night and a rather affected "Drive home safely Paris" from the guitarist.

Death Cab's music is fairly laid back, it's the sort of music I put on when I need to work. You don't need to concentrate to listen to it. Unfortunately, hearing their music live was much the same, except there was nothing to distract me.

Those who know me will know that there's no use using my ipod playlist for a party. I tend to love the melancholy wallowers more than the upbeat electro tunes. But no one wants to go to a concert and not at least get a craving for a bit of spontaneous foot tapping.

However, the best song of the night, Brothers on a Hotel Bed, drew my attention to the beautiful sound of the Nord keyboards. I now have a burning desire to play one. The sound is yummy. Have a listen to the Brothers on a Hotel Bed below.

Palin on my mind

I'm sorry. I'm not sure I have the will power to leave this one alone. The emergence of Sarah Palin as the possible future President of the United States continues to engender an acute sense of disbelief in me.

Matt Damon agrees:



So does the New York Times:

"Sarah Palin has many virtues. If you wanted someone to destroy a corrupt establishment, she’d be your woman. But the constructive act of governance is another matter. She has not been engaged in national issues, does not have a repertoire of historic patterns and, like President Bush, she seems to compensate for her lack of experience with brashness and excessive decisiveness." (full article here)

While many people might find comfort in that fact that they feel like Sarah Palin is "one of them", for the exact same reason, I am terrified.

MOVIE: Waltz with Bashir

I saw this superb movie yesterday. Spurred by the story of a recurring nightmare told to him by one of his close friends Ari goes in search of the source of one of his recurring images from his time as a 19 year old in the Israeli army during the war in Lebanon in 1982.

He seeks out friends who were also in Lebanon at that time, each of whom has their own particular nightmare to share. Fighting his own selective memory and feelings of guilt, Ari pieces the stories of his friends together with his own memories in order to journey to the source of his trauma, the witnessing of the aftermath of the massacre of Palistinean refugees at Sabra and Shatila.

The film merges documentary with animation as the audio of Ari's real-life interviews with his friends are spliced together and then animated in order to make the film. The animation allows the director creative license in illustrating the various accounts of the former Israeli solders' experiences and to some extent softens the grim reality of the content of their memories. Perhaps most effective of all however is the unexpected and paralyzing switch to real archive footage to remind the viewer of the fact that, despite the seductively comforting hues of the animater's brush, the story being described actually took place in a much more frightening reality.

I found myself reminded of the writings of Hannah Arendt on the Haulocaust. She writes of how the Nazi regime managed to rip the theoretical concepts of Heaven and Hell from the almost comforting realms of fantasy and render them in reality by creating Hell on Earth. The film is a potent reminder of the almost banal nature of the reality of a genocide when compared with the fear that the word itself can engender. When we think of genocide we think of a society out of control, which in its disorder has lost all sense of humanity. However, this film is a strong reminder that genocides tend to be highly-organised, specifically intended and carried out and often overseen by extra-ordinary people.

I know very little about the existence or attitude of the Israeli national conscience concerning the 1982 war in Lebanon. However, as I watched this film, I felt like I was witnessing the voicing of an important chapter, perhaps an as yet relatively unheard voice, in Israel's national identity.

The music is amazingly evocative and beautifully utilised.

Check out the trailer below.

MOVIE: The Visitor

I went and saw this movie with Lauren on the weekend and was pleasantly entertained. If there's a criticism of the film it's that it maybe tries to cover too many topics in one film. You have the emotionally damaged (verging on autistic) professor who is unlocked by the strangest of friends, two illegal immigrants, who he discovers are staying in his abandoned New York apartment. Then the film takes a right hand turn as it delves into the injustice of US immigration policy, before doing a u-turn and getting back on the road to Hollywood with Professor Broken-Soul daring to find love after years without his wife. It's like watching Dead Poets' Society and Good Will Hunting and Rabbit Proof Fence and "any film where a guy gets over his wife's death by falling in love again with an exotic woman" all rolled into one... sort of.

Having said that, there are some nice moments which make you ask yourself some pretty harrowing questions. For anyone who has ever had a run in with the bureaucracy, there is a great scene at the end where our hero is asked to "step away from the window" by a unsympathetic immigration official. I found myself inscensed by the apathy of the officer as well as his cowardice in hiding behind the fact that he was "just following the rules". (Is it obvious I'm having issues with a certain French embassy?)

But it was enjoyable. Better than Batman. : )

Music is great.

All in all, treat it as a movie and not a Phd and you won't be disappointed.

To watch the trailer, click here.

Oh no! We're still in Kansas Toto

Sarah Palin, John McCain's recent choice of "running-mate" ( Being a running-mate sounds like so much fun doesn't it? J: Let's go running, mate. S: Where to? J: To the Presidency. S: But John, there's no real road to the presidency. J: Don't worry running mate. Where we're going, we don't need roads!) just gave a speech defending herself and attacking Barrack Obama.

Some of my favourite quotes where:

"This is a man who can give an entire speech about the war's that America is fighting and never use the word 'victory' except when he's talking about his own campaign!"

"Victory is finally in sight in Iraq, and he wants to forfeit!"

I wouldn't have thought that even Bush would describe what is happening in Iraq as being 'victorious'.

And then there was this little doozy.

"Alqaeida terrorists still plot to inflict catastrophic harm on america and he's worried that someone won't read them their rights."

This is the potential future president of the western world.

And just as a passing note, what is it with the Americans' pantomime cheering at these conventions? It's like the candidates can sneeze and everyone would cheer. I'd like to see one of the candidates sincerely try to say something only to have the crowd mindlessly cheer him on.

OBAMA: People. I'm sad. (Cheer) No really, this is all pretty crazy. I'm not coping very well. (Cheer) Don't you sometimes just wake up and go "why bother?"(Cheer) Guys, I'm serious (Cheer) God... I'm just so lonely. (Cheer) Don't you people ever think for yourselves? (Cheer) ... Sometimes I wish I could go collect the morning paper in nothing but my favourite pair of rubber underpants. (Pause... Spontaneous Cheer!)

If you think I'm exaggerating, click on the image above and have a listen.

Tea at the Mosque in Paris with Fie