Apologies for the lack of inspiration...
I'm sure I'll find something to rant about in the near future, but in the mean time all apologies for the radio silence.
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I'm sure I'll find something to rant about in the near future, but in the mean time all apologies for the radio silence.
The 2005 Bloggie Award Nominees are out, and if I had one reaction, it's that I can do a much better job designing this damn thing. In other words, even if I don't always have something that interesting to say, at least it should be decent to look at, right?
I'm starting to get my head around this CSS stuff. As usual with most scripting languages, I'm picking it up by reverse-engineering the original movable type templates and reading other people's code. A long time ago -- ten years ago, in fact -- I considered myself one of the true authorities on HTML. But since I never used any content control system (such as MovableType, which powers this blog), I could always sort out my needs with HTML tables and image slices. Neither of which is particularly flexible or elegant.
CSS, on the other hand, is elegant, but there's one caveat -- there are only about 12 fonts that are pretty much guaranteed to exist on the majority of web browsers. And since I come from a print publication background (my experience in illustration and marketing communications design was extremely brief), design was always about the art (the photos) and the typeface for me.
So I'm going to make the best of my time and see what I can sort out with this business. Hopefully I can come up with something pleasing to the eye. Can I dare to dream?
Stop whatever it is you're doing and watch this.
Bless the internet.
It's incredibly rare that a television programme gets "un-cancelled," but consider me ecstatic that cult-classic cartoon "Family Guy" has been brought back from the dead. I discovered this show on DVD, well after its initial broadcast run, and it is one of the few shows that consistently makes me laugh.
Fox recently announced the premiere date: May 1, which is coincidentally the last day of Jazzfest. Hopefully I'll be able to sandwich a viewing in between the end of the day at the Fairgrounds and whatever show is on that night.
The Super Bowl is less than 24 hours old, and I've already seen no fewer than five articles. No, not about the game, but reviews of the adverts that were broadcast during the game.
I know it's a slow news weekend for the entertainment reporters, and it's not like this is the first year the ads were a sidebar to the game. USA Today has been tracking response to the ads for 15 years or more.
But, seriously, why does every byline in print need to weigh in on the ads? Why the chorus? Are there any new storylines out there?
Anyone. Anyone?
As the result of an unfortunate fight between my passport and my washing machine, this week I found myself once again faced with the prospect of a visit to the Préfecture de Police de Paris: the heart of darkness of the vaunted Parisian bureaucracy.
And so, after my brief encounter with the U.S. consulate -- whose shockingly polite and friendly staff managed to replace my passport in four business days, as opposed to the advertised 10 -- I set off to the Préfecture to get my residency permit replaced.
For those of you who've been playing the ElectricOrange home game these past few years, you may recall that my previous experiences with French bureaucracy left me with a severe case of brain fatigue coupled with acute acid tongue. On one particular occasion, my frustration with the system led to a situation where an officer of the Police Nationale strongly suggested to me that it would be in my best interest to leave a certain office immediately and without further discussion.
So I showed up at the appointed time and place, let the secretary know I was there, and settled in with a stack of magazines for a long wait.
And then, the most surprising thing happened. Less than two minutes later, my name was called.
Confused, I went in to meet with the agent, and produced all of the necessary documents. Or so I thought. I had misunderstood the instructions and made the fatal mistake of bringing a testimonial letter instead of a phone bill as proof of domicile.
And then, another surprising thing happened. Instead of sending me out to the hall to make another appointment, the agent asked me if I could fax the phone bill.
Less than 15 minutes after having walked in the building, the extremely kind and understanding agent had a promise that I would fax my phone bill, and I had my replacement permit.
OK, now I had to regroup. So much as trust and reason was far less than I had anticipated from an agent of the Préfecture de Police de Paris. The feeling brought to mind what the earliest humans might have thought during a solar eclipse. Nobody expected it, it shattered all preconceived notions they may have had about day and night, and nobody had the slightest clue what to do about it.
I, on the other hand, know what causes a solar eclipse. So I figured, if all the heavens are in perfect alignment today, why not press my luck.
I've been waiting a long time for the right opportunity to apply for a French driver's licence and convert my car registration to France. What I hadn't been able to find out, however, was exactly what the formalities were for my particular situation. So while I was in the building, I figured I would at least find out and then take it from there.
Drivers licence queue: 5 minutes. The information lady runs down the list of things that I need, almost all of which I have. It's going to require a stop at home, and another trip to the U.S. consulate, but generally painless enough that I could come back that afternoon.
Car registration queue: 1 minute. The information guy runs down the list of things that I need, all of which I have. It involves a stop at home to get a couple of documents out of the car.
The current time is 11:30am. I stop at home and get all the documents I need, make all the appropriate photocopies, and I'm out the door at 12:25. The U.S. consulate closes at 1, so I take a cab. I arrive at 12:40. I have a notarised translation of my driver's licence in my hand at 12:55.
I'm getting cocky now, so I take a break for lunch.
I hop the Metro back to the Préfecture, arriving at the driver's licence office 2:30. Here, I have to wait about a half-hour and spend 15 minutes with the agent. Then I'm done.
I arrive at the registration office at 3:15. I have all of the necessary documents, or so I think, but I made a mistake and had to run home. My fault, no big deal. I arrive back at 4:00, wait exactly two minutes in the queue, and am attended to. My request has been accepted, come back and pay in the morning.
Then I took a breath.
"Come back and pay in the morning?" This is my day... who knows what could happen tomorrow. I spent the night worrying that my application would be rejected. I had nightmares of a new and convoluted path I would have to walk to correct some misstatement or clerical error I had made in the application form.
But my worry was wasted.
I presented myself at the appointed time. I paid the cashier and walked away with my new French registration.
And that, my friends, is the story of how in the space of 24 hours, I got a duplicate residency permit, filed my driver's licence application, and actually received a car registration.
I was treated with respect and courtesy by every single agent I met at the Préfecture de Police.
In Paris.
The one in France.
And now I will have a story to tell my grandchildren.