I've made passing references before to how similar I think America and France really are. How this is the real reason why our countries have a more-than-passing distaste for each other, overall, etc.
Today, Anna and I went futon shopping. Because, you know, if we're going to be the hostal, we need the bedding. Fortunately for us, aforementioned shopping is being split-financed by various family members who are going to be visiting in the future sometime. The whole thing works out because they pay less than for a hotel, and we get to have a futon. Of course, nobody gets to have any sex at the house while people are staying here, but no plan is perfect. I don't think Anna's mom and grandmom will mind.
But I digress. To get this futon, we have a couple of options. We can go to Futon Boutique in town, or The Universe of Slumber, etc., also in town, or we can go to the larger, more corporate stores out of town. The suburbs, as it were. So like good anti-corporate world-crusaders, we checked the local, private businesses first. Because they're close, and if it works here, why go somewhere else? Well, that didn't work. Beds are exceptionally expensive in those places, and our sense of community only goes so far. So we went out into the suburbs.
This is what blows my mind: it was exactly like suburban United States of America. In Lattes, Montpellier. I felt like I was in Woodbury (Minnesota) again. There were malls. Everything in English. Huge huge huge department stores, that sell everything. I shit you not, there was a department store (called Carrefour) that is even bigger than Home Depot. Home Depot! The warehouse super-monster to beat all space-wasters, and there are stores in France that are even bigger! I realized that the French are importing our culture, but I never thought Europeans would be putting up a fight on the "who takes up more space" front. I thought that battle was over.
So basically, I'm disillusioned about this. I thought that, of all things that Europeans might be wiser than Americans about, space-consciousness would be right there at the top of the list, and keeping money local would be, like, second-top. To be fair, the French government mandates that big department stores be closed on Sunday, to give the little guys a chance. That's a step in the right direction. The next step would be to not follow Sam Walden's example. But hey, we bought our futon there. Torn between our morals and our bank accounts. Our sense of community goes that far, apparently.

Some towns, you meet them, you fall in love, you never want to leave, you're enchanted. All the rest of your life after you've met, you're happy when you're there, and when you're not, you always harbor a (perhaps secret) desire to go back, to be with the city you love. Other cities, you meet them and you think "Well, she's pretty cool." You feel perhaps indifferent at first, but after you've been together for a few months, you start to realize a change. You're smiling more when you're together with your city. You're signing letters to the city "Love, Donald" instead of "Sincerely, Donald." You have secret places that you share, and fond memories together. You realize that a bond has developed, and maybe someday you'll leave, but you'll always look back happily, and you'll never regret the time that you spent together.
Sometimes, you'd see a town like Montpellier and think, "How could you meet this town and not fall in love?" I'll tell you one way. You get here, and you've got other towns on your mind. Towns where you know people and places. You think, "I've been in so many towns that I love, how could this one really take me and hold me?" And, for a while, this blinds you to the truth of your surroundings. That this town really is all the things you wish for from a town. Even though other towns have fit the bill in the past, this one's here, now, and it works too. After a while, you develop that slow bond, but your preoccupation and hesitation at the beginning has kept you from falling flat out in love. Perhaps that's for the best. Falling flat out in love can be detrimental; it's easy to burn out, to forget what you ever saw at the beginning after the passing of time. Platonic love, friendship love, seems to last longer.

Bonjour tout le monde,
It's been a while since I wrote. No real reason for that. I suppose there are lots of things to say, but last time I sat down to write stuff, it ended up being a preachy sermon about not creating social heirarchies and I deleted the whole thing.
Here's some news: my digital camera works again! I took it apart with a mini screwdriver, and put it back together again, and now it turns on! There is some magic involved in not knowing what you're doing and making something work again just by fiddling with it. Same thing "works" with my computer. Maybe it's the same thing with my entire life. Anyway, Anna and I went to Avignon, and took some
PICTURES
there. It's kind of ironic that the first set of pictures from Montpellier, France, actually come from some other town. But just wait, some more will be on the way.
I hacked my first wireless network yesterday. When I upload this post, it will most likely be from the beautiful Parc Rimbaud, just down the street from my house. This beats, for example, sitting in the street twenty minutes from my house in the middle of downtown, with lots of people around, (and, coincidentally, just across the street from an internet café) just to steal wireless. I think we all agree that parks are better than crowded streets with pooping pigeons overhead for stealing internet. And, of course, the park certainly beats paying for internet. Gasp! Why the hell would I ever do that? When my time is worth so little, and I'm so poor? But don't worry, if any one of my free wireless links goes down, I know of five others that I can use at any point in time. It pays to be wireless savvy. Specifically, it pays about 1.50€ an hour. Which, coincidentally, is about what you make playing in the street, depending on the day of the week and weather.
More later, I'm going to go steal some internet.
-D

We've been eating strange things here in France. This is not because the French are strange, or because we particularly want to try super-different cuisine. It's motivated entirely by price-consciousness. The things that are the absolute cheapest to buy, to eat, to wear, etc., are those things that are used most regularly by the denizens of the area where you happen to want to be buying/eating/wearing/etc. something. In America, eating crackers with brie and Nutella for breakfast, eating salami and roqefort sandwiches and drinking wine for lunch is not the kind of thing one normally does particularly on the cheap. But that's the kind of thing we're eating here, because brie is the cheapest cheese that there is here. And wine, litre for litre, ranges from about as cheap as water (for what would cost about $8 a liter in the States) to about as expensive as soda at a restaurant (what would be a $20-$30 bottle). Of course, there's really expensive wine and cheese and other things, but, as always, they might as well be on Mars, because I'm not about to pay for them.
But try to find a burrito in France, and if you have any success at all, it's probably going to taste strange, and it's definitely going to be expensive. This makes sense, but the net effect is strange. Hey, at least we're eating, which is a big step up from poor people everywhere else. I think I already ranted about how rich the French are, at least here in Montpellier, compared to the Americans with whom I come into contact (most of whom are definitely rich by world and sometimes American standards). So I'll spare y'all.

My gadgets have been a real pain in the ass lately. I don't mean to complain; it seems like that's largely what I've been doing since I got here, but let me just summarize: My camera stopped working. I dunno. It just doesn't turn on. Of the two phones I brought to Europe to use, one doesn't get any signal (I think it's an America-only phone, contrary to what I believed), and the other is blocked by a Canadian phone company, and unblocking phones is illegal in France. Fortunately, my dad's been kind enough to take on the task of trying to get his phone company to unblock the phone there in Canada, thus allowing me to have a (really nice) cell phone in France without having to buy a new one.
My computer is a riot. For one, it won't turn on reliably. I take that back. It turns on semi-reliably, but not when you simply push the power button. No, you have to (get this) unscrew several of the back screws, then turn the power on, then hope that the screen turns on, then screw the screws back in. It doesn't go to sleep anymore, either. So every time you want to take it somewhere, this process gets repeated. Also, either the European power system doesn't sit well with this computer, or all my unscrewing has de-grounded it, but I get mild shocks from the exposed metal parts of the case where the paint has worn away. Ah, the joys of old laptops. I'm going to retire this one when I get back to the states. But hey, free wireless internet is a blessing, and just as close as any internet café. Ironically, there's one internet café with a free wireless hotspot just across the street.
Oh well, I'm still surviving, which goes to show how non-essential to life those items really are. However, I hope nobody was holding their breath on pictures, because between Anna's camera being stolen a couple of months ago, and mine ceasing to function, and our budget not exactly accomodating a new camera, it might be a while (Christmas, family members?) until any visual account of our voyage will take place.
Keep us in your hearts, though.
peace out.
-Donald

All the cars in France are the same.
I counted, one time on the street, while Anna was in the store buying sandwiches at 10:00 PM after a hard night of scrounging in the streets for house supplies. Among the items we found: two pots for cooking, some cups, a wicker chair, a knife. But I digress: while Anna was in the store, I counted cars. 9 out of 10, the same type. Different brands, years, sure. But all the same. That hatchback, small, Euro-style economy size with the decent gas mileage and surprising cargo space, if low headroom. The rest are trucks or rich people driving cars that look like '85 Mercedes sedans. I literally can't tell the difference between tens of manufacturers and makes of cars.
They all look the same. I guess that's the style that works. And the style that works, if it works, is applied uniformly here. Look at the hair, or the clothes. Everybody in the latest fashion, which means everybody wearing the same uniform. The one that says, "Don't mind me, I'm hip and up-to-date. Nothing to see here." Or they wear the uniform of the concerted nonconformist, the one that you get at the non-conformist store next-door. And not just clothes, but hairstyles, lifestyles. But it's just a uniform. This is a by-product of rich society. When you have the luxury to be bohemian, to be a beggar, or to be a pinstriped businessman all with the same amount (or lack) of effort, it follows that the distribution would be uniform between them. But they end up looking the same, because the approach is the same: buy the latest thing, discard the old. Where does it go? Right in the street, for the taking. That's what we're finding out.
The beggars here look like everybody else: wearing nice clothes, but asking you for money. I'm thinking, "Are you sure you shouldn't give me some money? You see, my supply is limited, and the dollar-Euro exchange rate is pretty pathetic these days." On the one hand, it makes me feel good busquing in my normal clothes; I'll not seem out of place. But sometimes it feels like everybody is an impostor. So, basically, I feel right at home here. Same as in the States. Come visit!

la france!

Hi all,
You (the people that actually know me who read this) are probably wondering why I've been incommunicado for this last while. If you weren't, well, at least I have a reason. I moved to France, you see. I'm writing this on my laptop in my new apartment just off the center of Montpellier, FR. The town is in the south of France, about 1.5 hours from Barcelona, Spain, and about 4-5 hours south of Paris by train.
The apartment is right next to the town center, and it's beautiful, and all newly redone, and not too fantastically expensive. Definately less than a hotel ;-) We had it secured within 28 hours of arriving here. That's not to say that it wasn't extremely frustrating finding it! Even though it was unfurnished, between finding (nice!) things in the street and extremely nice neighbors and landlord, we've got a bed and a table and some chairs and a hot plate, so really the only things we need are a fridge, and an oven of some sort. That's pretty good, for no money thus far! At least we can cook, eat it on a table, and then go to bed. That's some pretty important stuff that one takes for granted when one is not travelling.
I've been using lots of exclamation points. That's to imply that I'm excited. Actually, I should write that we're excited, because none of this would have been possible without Anna, her french, her patience, her money, her companionship. She's the one who got everything done. I just haul it home. They call me "muscles."
The address:

Donald L. Anderson
244 Rue de St. Maur
34000 Montpellier
FRANCE

That's probably enough for now. I'm going to put another post when I get a phone number. And, of course, I'll write more and more and more, as time goes on. Send me an email, or your address if I don't have it, and I'll write you letters. It'll be great!
paix et amour,
Donald

Two Things..

Don't use a Windows computer. Have you noticed that it totally sucks? Normally, I try to stand the middle ground on these issues, but there are better options, people! Did everybody keep using the Ford Pinto after they found out that the fuel tank could explode? No. Your fuel tank is exploding, people.
Also, I put up some new pictures of a trip I took with friends Anna and Daniel to Montreal. Go and see them, if you crave visuals.
paz y amor,
Donald

Anna and Donald Go to France!

As you might have noticed if you were really closely reading this blog in the last month, the whole tense of all of the verbs in the introduction paragraph at the top changed from "we" to "I" at some point. That's because this blog was originally supposed to be both mine and Anna's, and we'd post our travel musings here. But then I wrote a whole bunch, and Anna felt like this blog wasn't hers. So we made another one! Donald and Anna Go to France! This is where you can read up about our adventures/see our pictures, etc. The especially keen among you will notice that I put another link there on the sidebar where you can get to it as well. Yay! More ways to waste your time, while simultaneously informing your personal relationships with me and/or Anna K. Przybylski! Life is good.

Montreal

I went to Montreal (pronounced "mon hray AL") yesterday. A preparation of sorts for going to France (you know, because they speak french in Montreal...). Every time I drive into Montreal, it's this logistical driving nightmare that involves half an hour of frustrated driving (I accidentally wrote "deriving," which would be even more frustrating), ending in randomly ending up exactly where I want to be. But I'm not writing just to complain (contrary to popular belief). I just like writing (parenthetical phrases).
Montreal is sexy. It's big. It doesn't feel law-abiding in quite the same way that the rest of Canada does. There's a bit more of an edge to the city. Like people are thinking a bit harder, or giving it their best shot, as opposed to coasting by. Something like that. Something to differentiate it. Going in the beginning of September, it's almost easy to forget that the whole city is encased in a block of ice for six months out of the year. But, unlike some American cities I know, they really make good use of their summer when they've got it. Bodies wall to wall. I like that. Sexy wall to wall bodies. Well, maybe not all sexy. But good enough, for Canada.
In other news, I'm painting and scraping paint off of things ("which is it?" you say. I say "Both."), like for money. That's a hoot. Anna's here. She's really great. We do things like go for walks and canoe and (potentially sometime in the future) go for bike rides, and have french lessons, and cook dinner, and chat and roll around on the floor. These are good things. These days that's what it's all about: maximizing the good things and trying to avoid/deny the existence of the bad things.
Okay everybody, repeat after me, "Everything is fucking great. Bad things have no power here" (make sign of cross with your fingers and wave them around in the air).

Muse-Meister Muses More

I've noticed that some people play up or down, depending on the team they're playing. They'll just barely scrape by, your worst game ever, playing against the losers, but you give the real good players a solid run for their money, and sometimes they win and sometimes they don't, but they tried their best. There's something about seeing those other people play well that makes them play well, but they forget when the other team sucks.
Then, there are those people who always play at the same level, regardless. This is typically a very high level, in my experience. You may remember these people as the ones who ruthlessly trounced you playing badminton in high school gym class, and had no remorse about it whatsoever, even though you were just being nice and you let the scrawny ninth-grader in on your team. Those people went on to be Olympic athletes, or gas pumpers, depending, not on their consistency, but on their original level of quality.
I'm one of the former. By virtue of being surrounded by all of these wonderful people, I look really good in relief. I'm that scrawny ninth-grader, who just played the best badminton game of his life, because y'all were nice enough to put me on your team. So keep up the good work, people. You're making me look good.

Here's a good one.

I was going to leave my dad's apartment in Toronto yesterday around 2:45, to catch a 3:20 train. I was going to meet dad out front. At 2:20, he walks in. "Are you ready? Apparently, some guy took a woman hostage at the train station this morning and it's all taped off, so we should leave early in case there are any delays." Or something like that.
It turns out that yesterday morning in Toronto, this fellow, enraged at his wife and under a restraining order to stay away from her and from guns, brings a gun into the store where she works (across the street from the train station), shoots at her (misses), then beats her. Later on, when identified by the cops, he takes a hostage (in front of the train station), and fifteen minutes later gets shot in the head by a sniper. Apparently, the negotiations weren't going well.
When I was in the train station later that day, the police tape was still up.
So a little creepy, if random, incident. It's good for me, I suppose, that it happened earlier in the day, and not when I happened to be around. Also creepy was how normal life seemed to be in the area, considering that somebody got shot there hours before.
Here's where I say something pithy to sum the whole thing up.

I was going to write something fantastic. The only thing I required, after sitting down at the computer and logging on to Blogger, was a fantastic idea. Damn! It didn't come!
I will simply say, then, that salmon filets go well with dry Riesling, some arugula, and bacon bits. I will say that Toronto is a nice city, if a bit unorthodox for my St. Paul and New York-addled mind. My dad has a great apartment. I'm really excited to see Anna (she comes in two days! Thurdsay at 4:20, barring any flight mishaps!). I wrote two songs yesterday morning. If I get enough encouragement, I might record them and give them to you. Otherwise, I'll put them on my next album, which, if you've been keeping track, might be a ways off.
People are fascinating. In this city, they look at you ever so briefly, and then look away. Like, if you were going to approach them and start talking, they wouldn't be totally surprised, but they won't give you a look-down, or a hello, or care about you unless you're going to make some effort. It amazes me how this is different in every city. In New Haven, it's studious how people don't look at you. Like they'd prefer it if you didn't exist at all. Like it would make their life better to walk alone down the street, and keep from being molested. In St. Paul, you say "hello" to many people you see on the street, and give a friendly nod or a smile to everyone else you see. But elsewhere, this is considered rude, and off-putting. That's fascinating.
Time to go.

Update

In case y'all were wondering why the title blurb changed in tense from the "we" to the "I," that's because Anna and I are soon to have a fo' real joint blog where we'll be posting the France stuff. More on that later.
paz fuera,
D

Boy,
I'm not very proactive about updating this blog, comparing it to some of my friends blogs, or whatever people who don't want to think that they're writing blogs call them. But that's not going to stop me from only having something to say every few days (such as that is), and subsequently only updating this one sporadically. The theory is, once I enter a strange and foreign country, I'll have more to say, or at least be taking more pictures, so I can put up links to those.
Ahora, estoy en Toronto. It's nice, I guess, but I've really only been here for a few hours. The drive in was confusing, because driving into Toronto is like "forest, trees, highway, big high rise, forest and trees, high rise complex, more trees, cemetary, more trees, downtown Toronto." That's strange. I guess I expected something more like, "trees, fewer trees, ugly industry, residences and stores, ritzy stores, downtown Toronto."
My dad lives in downtown Toronto. This is cool, I guess, but I've really only been here for a couple of hours, so how am I to know? I went to an italian restaurant, and had a nice couple of glasses of fancy Chilean wine and some pizza that was good. I played my album for my dad, and now I'm watching TV and letting the wine sink in, until I fall asleep, which will most likely be soon, tempting and time-consuming internet and TV aside.
The Magnetic Fields are a good band. Love, Music, Wine, and Revolution. The only thing I'm missing is the love and revolution today. Perhaps tomorrow. I've only been here for a few hours, so what do I know about the love/revolution scene in this part of Toronto. Love is on the way, though, because Anna flies in on Thursday, Dios-willing. So everybody make sure that you've got your minds on a safe and uneventful flight for Anna on Thursday afternoon, after around lunchtime Minnesota time, and through 4:00PM east coast time.
peace out.
D

PS: Robin, if you're out there, I'm listening to the mix I made for you. Did you like it?

The Album's Up

I'm at my dad's house in Ottawa, which means that I'm now on an internet connection fast enough to put the latest album up on the internet. Go download it! Send me an email with your address if you want a hard copy, and we'll chat. Let me know what you think! I'm going to bed now.
peace out.
-D

Woe Is My Computer

I've not been on the internet much, for a couple of reasons, since I got home.
Reason number one: modem. Man, modems are not suitable for what I like to do on the internet. Namely, download music, upload photos, generally not sit on my ass waiting for hours at a stretch. So I simply check my email, the one thing where speed difference isn't noticed, and leave.
Reason number two: my retarded computer. Well, it's not retarded. I'd hate to hurt its feelings by implying that it is defective in some way, but the fact that I have to loosen screws on the back of the computer simply to get it to power on is a little cumbersome. I believe that the empathetic among you would agree. However, once I've convinced the Gods that it's time for my computer to power up, it purrs like a kitten and I've got nothing to complain about in the world. At least, computer-wise. And generally complaining about everything is a bit tedious, even if you do have a blog and you think the whole world cares. Still tedious.
The other side benefit of having my computer back online is that soon, I'll be able to put my latest album up on the internet, for everybody to listen to, if they so desire. I was going to write, "for your listening pleasure," but that might possibly be presumptuous. You might hate it. Or you might think it's not easy to listen to, but think that that's a good thing. Far be it from me to limit the possibilities. Anyway, it's recorded and produced by Latif Learned, so it sounds really good.

Leaving Nantucket

I leave Nantucket in 7 and a half hours. Well, maybe 8 and a half hours. I'm not really sure. What I do know is that I have to get up really early, and then drive to Potsdam, NY. For those not familiar with their East Coast geography, and furthermore disinclined to consult an atlas, the trip from Hyannis (sp?) MA, which is the mainland port, to Potsdam, NY is not trivial. Something like 8 hours. Not exactly a huge road trip, but nothing to scoff at. But it's cool; we have David Sedaris on tape, and my CD collection, from which we will listen to about 2 CD's, is my guess.
So, the things I'll miss. I'll miss the beach, with the real ocean, and big fat naked old people. And sand dunes with craggy grass. I'll miss funny cobblestone streets (though I won't particularly miss the tourists that inhabit them). I'd say that I'm going to miss Rebecca (eldest, wisest sister), but she's coming with me. I'm sure there's more, that I could come up with if I sat here agonizing over what exactly it was. But the way of it with missing things is, in a week or so, the things I really miss will pop up unbidden, triggered from some unrelated thing. And I score a point. A memory point. He who dies with the most, wins.
I finished the album today. Perhaps in a little bit, I'll post it on the internet. But I need to make a suitable web site; I don't even have a mockup right now. And I'd hate to spend two months on an album and then have a really shitty web page for it. So be patient. In all likelihood, I'll post MP3's first, and put up a real web page later. But if any of y'all want a copy, just send me an email or letter, or give me a call, and I'll make you a copy. If people I don't know want one, send me an email and I'll make you a copy. Donations are nice, but I don't expect them from friends. Just people I don't know. That way you can pretend you're my friend, because in lieu of supporting me emotionally, you're supporting me financially.
I put up some pictures of Nantucket and such. That is all.

Best pun of the week: Malackluster College.
That is all.
love,
Donald

Some announcements:
I'm done with Explo. It's over. Yesterday morning, I said goodbye to the three people who were around that I cared about (without getting their contact info! shit!), packed up all of my things in the course of 20 minutes, checked out, and drove away with Rebecca (eldest, wisest sibling). Tired, and really ambiguous as to whether I was happy or sad about leaving. Today, I'm still not so sure. But the fact remains that it's over. Seven weeks normal time/fifteen years summer camp time of my life foot! Away.
I revamped the Explo photo page, without really adding any new photos. But there are more comments, and y'all can rest assured that I'll be taking more and better photos of Nantucket: the addenum to summer camp.
I have no cellular phone anymore. My personal one broke, and ran out of service simulataneously. If you have been trying to contact me on this phone in the last seven weeks or so, you've been out of luck, as you may or may not have noticed. Anyway, if it's urgent, in the next month, I'll be in Potsdam, NY, and you can email me to request the number there, as I'm not going to post it on the web, readily available though that information may be.
Ugly By Now is back on the web! Go and get all of our music!. I'll post a sidebar to this page, so you can return from here if you lose the link, etc.
I hope, from the vantage point of my (seemingly interminable) travels that every one of you is having an experience worth remembering, and furthermore that I'll hear about these things someday.