Life here has settled into a comfortable routine of days that begin with coffee and Muesli, classes in which I take more notes than I ever have for any American class, errands to the post office or the tabac to buy minutes for my phone, always always being bundled up in the most amazing winter coat I have ever seen in my life, and then no-longer awkward dinner with Madame, which usually includes long pauses as I realize I have no idea what I am saying, but she just waits for me to get it out, corrects my pronunciation, and marvels or commiserates appropriately. Lately the weather has been alternately clear and beautiful (but freezing) or gray, foggy, windy, and rainy... which makes it perfect for sitting in a cafe with a cafe au lait that you pay significantly too much for and a book.
I think I booked the first gig for the band today. See, again, notice the "I think" that precedes that, which should indicate that I am in significantly over my head when it comes to life in this country. Anyway, I got in touch with a club in the 1oth, somehow made myself understood (I think they think I am IN the band, but that is irrelevant), and then the programmateur says, in french, "That sounds great, how about the 28th of March?"
WHAT? Don't I have to, like, send you an email, or a press kit, or a CD or... SOMETHING? The French, who are known for their bureaucracy, have suddenly come through for me, perhaps, and I don't even know what to do with myself.
But since I kind of think it is too good to be true, I am keeping the news to myself till I can call again and confirm everything, negotiate a price and make sure they have all the right equipment... again, I cannot say enough what an adventure this has become, not to mention that all of it sounds so simple, but picture me with my paperwork, french dictionary, list of clubs to call, pencils, highlighters, and laptop spread across the tiny breakfast nook table, which has become my makeshift workspace because somehow the neighbor's wireless network works in there. I sit there with a cup of coffee or mint tea, pouring over the dictionary looking for words like "amplifier," "bass"-- the guitar, not the fish, "salary," "merchandising," "cover charge," and "rehearsal fee." Everything I have to ask must be scripted out to the letter before I pick up the phone, lest I say something completely incoherent (like today when I asked about scheduling a concert "chez vous" (at your house), instead of "chez le restaurant" (at your restaurant)), which was kind of awkward, but I keep going back to the fact that, really, if I can do this for a small band part-time in another language/culture/country/continent, then surely I could do it for a bigger band in my own language/country after college with a degree fulltime... right?

Hahaha, I wish. Ok, time to get on it.
From the city of blinding lights,
B