I wrote some time ago about the malls here exploding into Christmas frenzy just like the ones at home, and here are the pictures to prove it. These figures, the Santa and the multitude of others, most of which aren't shown here, have sophisticated animatronic capability so it's a dazzling spectacle of sound and movement. I only wish I could have captured on pixel the gentle bleating of the sheep wagging their little tails, the donkey braying and wiggling his ears, the chuckling of Santa as he rings his bell and turns his head from side to side surveying the passing multitudes ("Hey, you! Yeah, you with the grocery cart! Have you been good this year?"), and the contented lowing of the oxen as they chew their cud and defecate in their stalls. Oh, wait a minute! Sorry. They're ALMOST that realistic, but not quite. There are also a couple of shots of the exterior of the mall, and one of Conan the Adolescent Barbarian being let out for the day. See the cage to his right (your left)?
We had met the parents of one of Mike's classmates at a school party back in the fall and Lois and the mom, Charlotte, have been taking French class together and have become good friends.
Charlotte asked if we would like to attend one of the many functions being held this past weekend throughout France in conjunction with the annual Telethon in aid of kids with genetically-transmitted diseases, this one in the village of Mimet, to see her son (and Mike's classmate) Benjamin, perform. So, of course, we said we'd love to. The village is one of the highest around, perched precariously on a mountaintop about 20 or so miles from here with a view, I'm told, to die for (we were there in the pitch blackness of a winter evening, which is even darker out in the country - I think I saw some lights off in the distance!) We arrived at the Salle des Fetes, the civic center of Mimet, in time for the last few numbers of one of the five adult choirs which was performing, as well as the grand finale in which all five joined. Then it was the kids' turn and the fun began. There were at least 20 acts, ranging from gangly teenagers playing electric guitars to tiny three-year olds singing duets. Benjamin came on at the end, by which time it was past many of the stars' bedtimes, so the crowd had thinned considerably, and it's too bad because they missed the undeniable highlight of the show. He sang two songs, one a French pop song I don't know, and "Imagine" by John Lennon, and didn't hit a single false note, even those really high ones. Then, after a short break, he came roaring back with a scaled-down, but still impressive, version of Scott Joplin's "The Entertainer". He was great and received an ovation from the remaining crowd of die-hard music lovers. We feasted on baguette sandwiches, cold pizza, chips and pastries and a good time was had by all. Too bad I didn't take the camera. We achieved a notable "first" on the drive home: We didn't get lost! It was a lot less eventful than the drive from Charlotte's house, where we met, to Mimet. She was driving a new car with GPS for the first time and we were following. We were frequently reminded during the drive that the concept of the traffic roundabout ("rond-point") is a great one, in its accommodation of human frailties like indecision and slow reflexes; to wit, you can go around and around for as long as it takes to figure out which of the 4 or 5 alternative routes is the right one. And if it turns out not to be the right one, why, you just drive to the next roundabout, circle, and come back to try again.
The soap opera that has held all of France, and by now much of the rest of the world, in a sort of sick fascination, the Sarkozy presidency, has, just when you thought you'd heard everything, reached a whole new level. His Mother has spoken! As you can see below, her experience of his first two marriages has hardened her attitude toward the sacred institution of connubial bliss. One fears that her son's romantic tendencies may bring him into conflict with her expressed views, that even if he doesn't fall in love or succumb to the wiles of an ambitious temptress, the internal logic of the office of which he is the custodian may require a First Lady to fulfill its organic necessity, to bring it to completion. At first glance, it doesn't look good for the mother-son relationship. But that would be to underestimate his genius for the unexpected, for the grand gesture, the decisive action that comes out of nowhere and confounds all prognosticators. See below.
"In a shocking development which has caught the world completely off guard, President Nicolas Sarkozy proposed marriage to Generalissimo Moammar Khadafi today before a stunned press corps which had been summoned to the Generalissimo's traditional Bedouin tent, pitched on the lawn of the Elysee Palace during his state visit this week, and the Generalissimo accepted. When asked about the vigorous disapproval of Khadafi's visit expressed by members of his cabinet, the President responded, "They don't know what he's really like. Inside that cruel, megalomaniacal exterior he's just a sweet little pussycat. And anyway, my Maman thinks he's the best thing that could happen to me!" The world's newest "power couple" will wed in St. Tropez and honeymoon in Dubai.
Until next time.
Au revoir.
Tom
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