Cher Reader,
Cher, or it's female equivalent, cherie is one of my favorite French words, for two reasons: Firstly, that it indicates one who is dear, or darling. Secondly, because of Cafe Cheri(e), a lovely little spot near my house that is a funky coffee-shop/workspace by day (think Spiderhouse meets Flightpath) and a funky bar/DJ spot by night (think Spiderhouse leaves Flightpath to put away its computer and dance). Great spot, and since it's up here in my 19th, the cafe creme is only 2.60, whereas the same drink, down south or west (in the polished parts of Paris) is twice as cher.
Wait, what? Twice as darling?
No, twice as expensive. Cher is also the word for expensive, which I was mulling over today while I walked all over Paris, avoiding the metro to save all my Euro (to change into pounds) for my trip to London this weekend. It makes sense, that something expensive would be dear, in a way. The extent to which I've been budgeting this week (to save for the pound/anything exchange rate, which is nuts these days) has made even centines cher to me.
Dear Money, please kindly stay put in my pocket. Thanks. Love, Kelly
Or, to turn it the other way, I think what I know about family life: I love my children. They're very expensive to me.
As you probably know by now, the US dollar sucks. 100 US dollars buys you 40 British Pounds. Luckily, 100 Euros fares a little better in the translation (70 GBP). Still, yikes.
And still, I am very much looking forward to my London trip. I'm taking a train to get there, and we all know how romantic a train is. Not enough has been written about trains, and I say that knowing how much has been written about trains, and how high quality some of it's been. I just mean that not enough could ever be written about trains, and I can't wait to board one tomorrow, maybe spend 2h15minutes writing about trains...
...and end up at St. Pancras, the new 800,000 pound (multiply THAT by 2.something) station in London. Then I'm off to find Mary, who's living there now, and a few other friends who've found there way in that direction. Then, its off to free museums, free walks, and free food from trash cans on the side of the road. No. Well, maybe.
I can't wait to see the city in person, having at one time been a huge fan of Victorian literature, which almost always finds its way to London. I just finished (on a more modern note) Virginia Woolf's Orlando, which was delightful, so if you ever find yourself holding it at a library, wondering whether to get it, do.
And of course, speaking of England, there's Robin Hood, which animated movie has become Adam & Meyer's new favorite film. Thankfully, we've moved on from Lion King 2, which contains possibly the worst dialogue since the movie Scream 2. Robin Hood, which I suggested on account of it being MY favorite film, next to Cinderella, is as good now as it was then, for those of you who remember.
I wonder, absentmindedly, if Robin Hood turns kids into socialists or if it just imbues them with disdain for big government. Here's the question for you: Is it Republican propaganda? OR Democrat? What Robin Hood taught me is that it's okay to steal, in certain circumstances, so long as you're socking it to the Rich. And if, in college, if you're feeding yourself, because you counted yourself as poor. Wine-poor. Anyway.
Stealing brings us back to things being expensive. And Robin Hood to things being dear. So I believe we've wrapped it all up here, which is nice because now I can focus on getting ready for my trip! Oooooo-de-lally!
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The first time I ever saw Robin Hood was in its original release (yes, I am elderly) in Paris at a theatre called the Odeon. The Odeon was a fancy old-fashioned theatre with lots of gilt carving. Before the movie started, there was a water show. Fountains with colored lights set to music. It was in a narrow pool right under the screen.
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