shagging carpets while dreaming of hailing baudrillard's taxi in paris--part one-

flew into ft. lauderdale airport after being crammed into an early morning flight with a plethora of families cradling young children on their laps, correction, terrified babies--all wailing at the top of their newly discovered lungs--great time for my c.d. player to run out of batteries, humpff.

arrived sometime after the dawn and took a shuttle service to my friend aunt's condo, befitted with original 70's shag carpeting! the shuttle driver was entertaining. sporting a phd in world politics, it was enlightening to engage in early morning rhetoric with him. he made an odd statement. he claimed that 80 percent of the people who drive taxicabs in paris have phd's. now i don't know the accuracy of this statement but if that were the case, i think i would be hopping the cabs in paris instead of the bars, for some enlightening conversations...

'uh, huh...that is interesting what you say about derrida but would you mind dropping me off on the next corner, i need to hail baudrillard's cab...'

and as i slip into the back seat, i hear him say with a soft french accent:

'imagine the amazing good fortune of the generation that gets to see the end of the world. this is as marvelous as being there at the beginning. how could one not wish for that with all one's heart?...to have been there at the beginning would have been fantastic...only the end remains. let us therefore apply ourselves to seeing things--values, concepts, institutions--perish, seeing them disappear. this is the only issue worth fighting for." (fragments: cool memories 111)

'oh yeah, that's great jean but don't you think you should slow down while going through this tunnel up ahead...?'

but i digress, back to the shag carpeting--the clash between european and american kulture-- since canada is a unique combination of these two worlds, they are both included in this posting.

time to hit the beach. glorious white crunched shelled sands and warm sunshine. test the water. eeek. cold. but i am stoically from the north so plunging into the water is um, refreshing. invigorating!

afterwards, my friend and i walk to the grocery store to pick up some grub. on the way home we slip into a 'dive' bar to enjoy a bit of the 'happy hour'. the bartender keeps ringing a bell sporadically throughout the evening. 'why do you keep ringing that bell?' my friend inquires.

'because i have been treated well' he says barely cracking a smile. and it's called happy hour because why exactly...? apparently every time someone 'tips' the bartender he clangs the bell. i am confused by this 'happy' hour and the tee vees in every corner of the bar are bumming me out. does this happen all over the states or is it just done in the sunshine state?

a few people comment on our groceries. perhaps we are too 'coronation street' for these people--

blowing off that popsicle stand, we head back to the smoky mirrored condo to make our plans for the following day...