Grown Ups Talking

The other day I was waiting in line at the local supermarché when a couple ahead of me got their turn. They were elderly and moved with glacial slowness. In the traditional manner, the old gent watched as his frail wife slooowly bent down in to the well-packed trolley and sloooowly straightened out to put the single item onto the moving counter.

Now, the French are used to waiting in lines at supermarkets. A little while ago they instigated something called the “35-hour week” — the logic being that with cut-back hours, corporations would logically hire more workers to pick up the slack. You know, logically.

Or course any idiot, or idiot as we frenchies say, could see what would happen: they didn’t hire more people, they just have longer lines at the supermarché.

In these circumstances, the French are go Zen Shopping Mode and talk amongst themselves.

But this time a slightly spryer old doll in front of me would have none of it. She leapt up and start loading and packing the groceries for the, as far as I could tell, ungrateful couple.

Once they had paid, using a check which took another 10 minutes to find and sign, this flightless old bird pulled out two jumpers which she had forgotten about, so the whole check routine had to start again.

Now having spent a lot of time in France over the years, I, Pomerol, have developed my own Zen Shopping Mode. The slipper was fortunately not there, otherwise blood would have been spilt. But the whole thing reminded me of the British government. The Royal Bank of Scotland, now 70%-tax-payer-owned, announced their new pick for governor or president or top financial wizard, who will be asked to struggle by on a starting salary of £1.2 million, plus another £2 million for hitting performance targets.

Sound familiar? The British government is like a couple of arrogant elderly pensioners who refuse to change their habits, even when the these actions drive shoppers and cashiers to near-murder and facilitate the destruction of international economies.

Changing the way people do things takes a long time. We don’t have time for this. The British, and American, governments really need to cut the crap and change the way they operate.—Pomerol

The sun has made a brief appearance, enough to give the slipper his customary fried lobster look. That will keep him through the inevitable weeks of gray Brittany weather that will inevitably arrive.

It’s interesting spending time abroad, you get to see America the way everyone else sees us. And at the moment we look like a bunch of cowards.

You figure after 9/11 the entire country reared up on it’s hind legs and roared about how tough we were, how we were going to kick other countries’ asses, how we were violent patriots, how everyone had to eat Freedom Fries, etc.

Eight years on we are finally presented with the chance to wind up Guantanamo Bay, freeing some prisoners, giving trials to others, imprisoning guilty ones.

But this is not an argument about how to deal with unrelenting possible terrorists, this is about the undoubtedly guilty ones.

No one wants them. Their countries of origin either don’t want them or will torture them. Friendly countries don’t want to deal with them. But more to the point, the United States of America is completely chickening out of their responsibility towards these prisoners.

All kinds of states keep whining about how they don’t want them in their back yards.

I would like to say that as a Brooklyn-based Wine, I, Pomerol, am happy to have those bastards in my back yard. We even have a currently un-used prison a couple of blocks from out apartment. I am happier knowing that these people are locked up, not blowing people up, not recruiting more acolytes, being punished as they should be, and not tortured in some distant grim prison.

Because thats kind of the deal. You want to keep the bad guys out, you gotta deal with the fallout. And yes, it’s distasteful to have men locked up in your neighborhood. Well 9/11 was a hell of a lot more distasteful than that.

Is that stupid? or naive? Or even courageous? Maybe it’s just being a grown-up American.—Pomerol

After days of travel, days of sorting out computers and internet, days of finishing off belated design projects, I, Pomerol, am happy to announce the beginning of the summer, as it pertains to myself and the slipper.

France is an interesting country with interesting food and wine, and interesting bureaucratic spiderwebs. Fortunately the slipper has superior language skills and all of these problems were worked out with a minimum of Pomerol-esque involvement- though I had to maintain a sympathetic look on my face.

When in doubt, look sympathetic. I think this is what 7 years of training for psychologists amounts to. You spill your guts, then a someone looks at you understandingly. You start to realize how rare this is in your normal life, burst into tears, then hand over a large check.

I could do that! In fact most bartenders do. I guess they make it all in tips.

Anywaze, welcome to France, and here’s hoping that Ahamdinejad loses. –Pomerol

Heading Franceward tomorrow. Seems I’ve been organizing this trip for the last 3 months. Now that its finally upon me I’m very nervous. Impending middle-age does this to you. Ordinary life becomes difficult and dangerous. I was a wild child, i used to waltz around on beams 20 feet high, race across highways, binge-drink. Now a nice glass of white wine and an early night is pleasant.

I guess that’s what I like now, pleasantness. A morning in the sunshine, very pleasant. A light breakfast and a walk in the park, particularly pleasant. An economic meltdown and any children’s television show, not pleasant at all. One more Dick Cheney sighting, downright unpleasant.

So a summer of pleasantry looms. And you know the weird thing? Business is booming, in my small Pomerol-ish way. Pleasant manners get you places. Either that or everyone else is busy and I’m at the end of their list of graphic designers. See, the world of graphic design is filled with flesh-eating maniacs. Competition is cut-throat and the most blood-thirsty survive. So this recent flurry of work is very odd, but a pleasant surprise.

Think I’m sounding like a greeting card? You’re not wrong. But Chianti and I have been so fed up for so long that an occasional escape into pleasantvile can salve the psyche. Not to worry, I’ll be bonkers again soon enough.-Pomerol

Once upon a time in 1987 in a land called Russia, a man named Gorbachev became the leader of the country. He wanted to change the way things were done. He wanted to bring fresh blood into the government and armed services. All the old guard were still at their jobs and refused to budge. Poor old Gorbachev was stymied.

Then one day a tiny Cesna plane arrived, literally out of the blue, to circle over Moscow, and finally glide into a gentle landing in the middle of Red Square.

According to “Today in History”, “The incident was unbelievable. Mathias Rust, an 18-year-old from the northern German town of Wedel, had violated Soviet air space without being hindered and had even flown into the prohibited Moscow airspace without being questioned.”

Heavens to betsey, what an uproar. This clueless youngster proved that the old guard were no longer up to their jobs, and Gorbachev sadly had to fire them all.

Fast forward to Britain today. The British government has been rocked by scandals involving members of Parliament fiddling their expenses. Well over half of the representatives are guilty of minor parliamentarian rip-offs and many are calling for heads to roll (no joke in a monarchy) and reforms to implemented (the irony being that none of these fiddles is for more than a five figure sum, peanuts in the era of Lehman Brothers and Bernie Madoff).

When pilot Rust violated Soviet airspace, Gorbachev had a legitimate reason to sack all the old generals and put in his own people. After decades of fusty, Communist favoritism, Gorbachev could grab the wheels of power and make well-needed changes in the system. It looks like the government of Britain is doing this kind of house-cleaning in a strangely unaware fashion. The petty thievery that has been going un-checked has actually enabled the British system to flush out the fools who have been cleaning their moats, papering their walls, and investing in real estate off the backs of the British tax payers.

Revolution used to involve guns and slaughter. Gorbachev’s revolution was a matter of luck (or was it?). These days revolution seems to have become weirdly administrative.

But who cares? Throw the bums out!- Pomerol