LA en vie

In which I meet Oscar

Today I was one of the few members of the public allowed in to attend a symposium on the Foreign Film Award nominees for the Oscars. The fun part was that it was in the Academy of Motion Pictures, which is filled with larger-than-life Oscar statues. There were even two by the bathrooms.

The five directors of the foreign films nominated for the Oscars were all there on stage, and most exciting, we saw a five-minute excerpt from each film. It was an awkward group of men in some ways: an Israeli film about soldiers in a fort inside Lebanon; an Austrian (Hitler was Austrian) with a film about the Holocaust; a Russian with a film about Genghis Khan, who is the impersonation of evil to many Russians; a Pole with a film about Russians massacring Poles; and a Russian with a film about a Chechen defendant in a murder trial.

This year there was an uproar because two of the most highly praised foreign films, Persepolis (I have been a fan of Persepolis since it first came out as a French-language bande dessinée) and 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, didn't even make it onto the short list for the Foreign Film nominations-- not the Oscar list itself, but the group of films that the Oscar nominees are chosen from. I could see why when the emcee asked the Foreign Film voters present to stand up-- they were oooold. Of course an abortion movie and a "comic strip" weren't their cup of tea. Even though those movies looked a lot better than the Russian nomination, which is two hours and thirty minutes of twelve rather ugly men sitting around a table talking....

The Mongol movie, about Genghis Khan, was the obvious crowd-pleaser (so it probably won't win). It was gorgeous, with the actors all speaking Mongolian. The child who plays the young Temujin/ Genghis "was born in the saddle," said the director.

The movie about Katyn, by the Polish director Andrzej Wajda, was very moving in the short excerpt we saw. So it was upsetting to discover that the movie is not even being distributed in the U.S.A.

The Austrian movie, about Jewish criminals who survived the Holocaust as counterfeiters working in Auschwitz, also looked very moving and the main character it is based on, an old man, was sitting in the audience.

The Israeli director spoke without a microphone because of his religious beliefs.

I learned something funny tonight. Some people are hired as seat-fillers for the Oscars! During the show, whenever a star goes up on stage or anyone in the front leaves his or her seat, a seat-filler will rush up and sit there so the theater looks full!

The Berber

Yesterday a man came to fix the television-- he was surprised to find that a cable was corroded and we hadn't been able to get television for many months. I hadn't actually noticed, but as the Oscars are coming up this weekend, I tested the television and was horrified to see that we wouldn't be able to watch my first Oscars' ceremony in many years (not counting the aborted version last year where I watched an hour or so in a deserted bar in Colorado after making the furious bartender switch from The Simpsons).

After he fixed it, he showed me some of the stations. "Can I get foreign stations?" I asked. "French ones?"

"Vous parlez français?" he answered. He was a Berber from Marseilles. We had a nice talk. He said he came to the U.S. at age 19 and married an American. He said he was happy he hadn't stayed in France. I urged him to get French passports/ dual citizenship for his children. It gives them more choice in their lives.

"What are their names?" I asked, hoping to hear some wonderful Berber name.

"Hannah and Michael," he said.

Guess who's coming to dinner

First of all, people don't have dinner parties here much. I suspect more Americans eat in their cars than around the dinner table with their families each night.

Then, dinner is at hour so early I feel my brain threatening to explode.

"Is six-thirty too early?" I said hopefully to one couple I didn't know well.

"School night," they said. "Six or five-thirty would be better."

I puzzle over the meaning of their words. Could they possibly be planning to bring their children, who were not invited? No, of course not. That would be rude, right?

Apparently not. From the behavior of a number of acquaintances here, I have concluded that a significant percentage of Angelenos think that any invitation to them includes their children.

Very different from France, where the only time you are likely to meet the children of the family of your acquaintances at a dinner party is when they politely take your coat at the front door, or pass around the hors-d'oeuvres in their bathrobes before vanishing to the back of the house.

Murmuring under my breath in my winsome way, I set up pizza, pasta, television and other child fodder in the room which I must abandon to the unwilling visitors. But does this mean that the children  quietly go into the room where their meals and entertainment are set up, and leave the adults alone? It does not. Does it mean they sit with the grownups and take part in the conversation?  It does not.

It means they show up at the door, standing out of sight behind their parents and looking sulky, don't speak to you, and come pull on their parents' clothes at random times during the evening, muttering.  The parents so addressed, no matter who they were talking with, instantly stop the conversation and turn their entire attention to the young interruptor. After all, who is more important? They leave as soon as the child is sufficiently bored.

No, non, décidément I am still French when it comes to the dinner party.

My Country 'tis of Thee

One of the unexpected greatest pleasures about living here has been the simple joy of not being a foreigner.

It's been weeks since anyone asked me, "Where are you from?"

I'm just me now, not the American ambassador.

Nitwit

"Mom, what does 'nit' mean?" said a little girl standing near me as we waited to be seated in a restaurant in Malibu.

Her mother looked puzzled. "In what language?"

"I think it's English."

"Hmm." The mother consulted with the other three grownups of their party. No one knew.

"It's short for 'nitwit,'" the mother announced finally. "That means someone who's kind of silly, not very bright."

D and I looked at each other. That's not what 'nit' means to us. Our heads started to itch.

Even pussy willows look like nits to me now.

Americans are loud

"Americans are so loud," said an American expat friend who was in Los Angeles for dinner, moving a chair to another side of our table to get away from the noisy women right next to us. "Have you noticed?"

Super Tuesday, West L.A.

Yesterday I went to vote early, about 7 a.m., and found the polling place empty except for five or six old people sitting at a table with checklists of voters, and one man arguing at another one. He had made the mistake of registering as an Independent, so he wasn't being allowed to vote in the Republican primary. In California, Independents are allowed to vote only for Independents and for Democrats. The poll volunteer explained the rules to him over and over. He was furious. "I don't want to vote for a Democrat! Have you seen those bozos?"

As I left he had calmed down. "I'm just an idiot, that's all!"

I went out for breakfast to a new place and noticed that one of the breakfast specials was called "The Governator."

"He likes it here," the waitress confirmed.

At the entrance to the 405 freeway, two young women were parading back and forth before the stopped traffic, carrying posters that said, "LADIES FIRST!" Across the street, another young woman stood holding one that said, "I Heart Obama!"

In the sky, a small plane was leaving trails, but there was a strong wind. I could only see "O-B-"

1) No taxis in Paris 2) Sarkozy proposes reform 3) Taxis block streets 4) Reform withdrawn

The Attali report came out in France, proposing a reform for the scandalous problem of not enough taxis in Paris. Predictably, the taxi drivers are demonstrating. This is a photo taken this morning at Porte Maillot. I understand why they are angry, even if I think Paris needs waaaaay more taxis. Of course, they got their way, as all strikers who block the roads do in France.

I don't understand, though, why the economics of taxi driving seem different in Paris. All the drivers are saying they can scarcely make a living as it is, much less with more taxis on the road.

In London, taxis are expensive, yet there are enough taxis. In Frankfurt, taxis are cheap, yet there are enough taxis. What is wrong with Paris?

I feel sure it has something to do with Mayor Bertrand Delanoë and his traffic-jamming methods. He has a lot of great ideas, like the Velib' [public bicycle] program (although hm, I wonder how many grocery bags and small children you can fit on them, and whether people are riding them to work in the rain).  I'll like him better if he solves the taxi problem, so I can get home from a late night in the city without my car for a change. Solving it doesn't look too easy, from the photo, though.

I don't miss it.

Some comments from the pages of French news sites on the taxi strike:

At Libération:

--If the taxi drivers aren't happy, let them go work for the French train company, then they can go on strike regularly and annoy everyone all they want. If they're serious, they can go become plumbers, but it's more work. Ask a foreigner, the Paris taxis are among the worst on the planet.

--Unbearable....these taxi drivers who try to make weep about their working conditions. No work, no customers? Let them pick up their butts a bit on Saturday nights, when there are lines hundreds of meters long at every taxi station! If they really want to make a living, let them get going and stop whining. And especially let them learn to smile and say hello, that would be a change.

At Libération:

--I was a big customer of Paris taxis, but I ended up getting a scooter in 2001. I couldn't bear hearing them complain nonstop for trips they thought were too short, to have to pay an outrageously expensive subscription for a pseudo-priority with their dispatchers, to never find any....

--When I hear the taxis defend the quality of their service I snicker because the most often it's awful when you finally succeed in getting one which is frequently impossible or takes very long. The first quality of service ought to be that of being rapidly available like any public transportation.

--Hello to all, I'm a Paris taxi driver and I am as friendly and helpful as you could ask with my customers....I'm a young Maghrebin [of North African descent] 26 years old, I don't think all my colleagues are grouchy....but it really is a hard job. The problem in Paris is really that there's too much traffic, because believe me, outside of rush hour you are twiddling your thumbs at the taxi station. It's quite normal not to find a taxi at these famous rush hours because since traffic isn't moving, instead of three or four clients an hour there's only one, it's not hard to understand... good day to all

At Le Nouvel Observateur:

--If taxis are waiting at the airport at rush hour, it's not for fun, all you have to do is look at the truck traffic going back in to Paris, that's the real problem.

--Hundreds of cars waiting for hours at the airports, while a mother and her children can't even find a taxi to get around Paris, you find that normal?

--In London, in New York, all you have to do is lift your arm to get a taxi: cheap in NY, expensive in London... but London has a strong policy of public transportation, expensive also, but very good.

--How can the Interior Minister tolerate a blockade like this, especially toward the airports? This problem concerns Paris most of all where it is impossible to find a taxi at certain hours.

--What a mess! Yes, it's true that it's hard to get a taxi in Paris. Are there enough of them? YES. But where are they? They're hanging out or playing poker (or tarot) at the airports.

At Europe 1:

--Bravo ! one more time, a reform is proposed, down to the street, demonstrations in the street and it's withdrawn! What courage!

At Le Point:

--Always the same who pay: the customers. Traffic blocked, airplanes missed, damage of all kinds... and then the fundamental problem: taxis too expensive and too rare.

--Give us back the wish to get around with you in freedom in our big cities, don't forget that we are the first tourist destination in the world! And the behavior of some drivers, caused by the lack of taxis, hurts your image and is not in our customs....

--I take taxis all over Europe, and the only country where someone says to me every week, "I won't take you there" with various excuses, is Paris. And I'm not talking about the guys who arrive with the taxi meter already on 8 euros....We're one of the rare countries where people almost never take taxis. Maybe the drivers should blame themselves.... Do they really want to work? I often doubt it. Too bad, yet again the government is going to  go backwards without even having begun a step forward. A break? No, a lack of courage from the government.

At Le Figaro:

--I'm so upset I can't tell you. Thanks, taxis, thanks to you I will be taking a makeup test for an exam that I worked for like a crazy person. My university is far from my house and not on public transportation so I have to go in my car. I knew about the taxi demonstration, so I left an hour and a half early. But no luck, it took me two hours and forty-five minutes to do a 25-minute trip, so I was turned away from the exam. I cried about it and I'm still crying. And I hate you, taxi drivers, not only have you won, but you also got me to lose lamentably. The worst was seeing the taxi drivers stopped in the middle of the Boulevards des Maréchaux in Paris eating their sandwiches (this is not a joke) together and laughing like jerks as they watched all the car drivers blocked and powerless. So much disgust....In fact it took me 2h45 to get to my college (for nothing) and 2h to come back... 4h45 in my car, plus a tank of gas at 50 euros and zero in my exam. Nice day.

Vous vs tu vs you (and thee)

I watched "Prête-moi ta main" the other day. I was feeling a bit smug-- I don't need subtitles, I speak French!

Halfway through the movie, one of my kids exclaimed, "Ah! the switch to tu!" After all these years in France-- I still hadn't noticed when the main characters, who are pretending to be in love to fool his family, switched back and forth--a major point in the plot.

Vous, tu, they're all still "you" to me.

Of course, English used to have a tu: "thee." It died out in speech about two hundred years ago, although it's occasionally used in song and prayer even today.

Superbowl Sunday

"Do you even know who's playing?" my brother said when I invited him over to watch the Superbowl.

"I do!" I said proudly. "It's the Giants versus the Patriots."

"You're not going to tell me you care about football?"

No, it was the mother of a friend of A's, who has autographed footballs all over her house and is usually seen wearing a football jersey. She was a big Giants fan. Then, a few days ago I went to Phoenix, Arizona, and stayed in one of the hotels where the players were about to arrive. The entire street was blocked off and bomb-sniffing dogs and anti-terrorism police were patrolling (even though when I was there, downtown was deserted except for a fully packed stadium watching a monster truck event). The hotel was plastered with ten-story-high photos of the players.

I don't enjoy American football but the Superbowl ads are fun, so I asked to be called each time the ads were on. In one, a large black man riding a tiny horse beats a whole field of jockeys in a horse race by playing dirty-- typical new pop-culture values.

"Did you know who that was?" said my brother when I laughed. I shook my head. "Chuckie O'Neil."

I must have looked blank.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of Chuckie O'Neill!" He had said Shaquille O'Neal, but I didn't recognize the name.

"You really are from another country, aren't you!"

In fact, I think a lot of people like me do wind up living overseas. In a foreign country, people assume that you are clueless because you are a foreigner-- not just because you're a big dork.