The Premier Douche of France

Ah. Back from France.

It was a good trip. Total friggin' awesomeness. Did I mention we were in a chateau with a ping-pong table?

In French, one might say, Ce fut une expérience inoubliable. Which roughly translates into Amercian English as, "A++++++++Great ebayer!!!1!!! Will buy again!!!!"

Now comes the hard part of any vacation, which is the part where you're not on vacation any more. And the part where you only have 2 weeks before moving to Seattle.

Oh, yeah, we're moving to Seattle.

Why?

Well, there are a variety of reasons, which include a dream involving a talking salmon (always a sound basis for making important Life Decisions) and a cast of characters that includes, however improbably, the Headmistress of Mrs. Frigidbottom's School for Insufferable Young Ladies of Means, which is our next-door neighbor. Anyway, Mrs. Frigidbottom's -- a school with a tuition of approximately $30,000 per year (not unusual in NYC) ---recently purchased our building and is kicking us out, along with everyone else in our building, to make way for an new addition to the school. It would seem that the Insufferable Young Ladies require a new wing in which to learn to distinguish among the various shades of beige (lest one should confuse Taupe and Eggshell), or to understand the subtle textural differences between Beluga and Iranian Caviar.

Basically, it's the Hogwarts for future Ladies Who Lunch.

The name of the school in question has been changed to protect nobody in particular; in reality, it's called The Nightingale Bamford School. They're already taking legal action against all of us who have committed the egregious crime of living here legally, so I really don't care about being sued by them, as, in a manner of speaking, we already are. However, I still contend that the fictional name more accurately represents the ethos of the place ....

But I digress. Where was I? Talking about our vacation?

Something like that. Oh, and I was going to explain my recent extended abscence from the blog-o-sphere (ASIDE: why is it sphere? Why not a decahedron? Or a rhombus?)

To answer your question, Chris, I wish I could say the time was well-spent; that I was adding the final flourishes to my epic (yet poignant) 900-page novel that will singlehandedly revive the picaresque genre in American literature.

Sadly, I cannot say that this. Well, I can say it, but it would be untrue, at least from a certain perspective, which is to say, the one in "reality." Or, as the White House press office would contend, the fact that I have not written a 900-page picaresque novel is simply "a malicious rumor started by the Liberal-Leaning Media."

In "reality" (which, of course, is relative and open to constant revision - a good thing for us slackers) I spent the past six months feeling sorry for myself and moping about. Because, of course, it's hard out there for a white, happily married Young Urban Professional living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, where it's notoriously difficult to find a good laundry service.

And every time I sat down to write anything, it just came out all maudlin and annoying, and I'd rather just spare you, dear reader. And myself.

As you can imagine, I felt rather ridiculous for being in this Vast Pit of Despair, but without any good reason. Or even a massively contrived excuse. Nor even a scapegoat.
But now I've decided, as they say in the psychoanalytic literature, to "get over myself." Which is really, like, 32 years overdue.

Anyway, about the trip. The photo at the top of this post is of Uzès, the small town in in the South of France near the chateau with the ping-pong table. The town of Uzès has a rich history dates back to the medieval period, a time when everyone was apparently very into Ren. Fair. The town motto is "le Premier Duché de la France," which might be translated by Babelfish.com as "the Leading Douchebag of France."

In fact, it means "the first duchy of France," but that isn't much better. You see, in the 13th century, the feudal lords of the region took part in various wars that benefitted the kings (e.g., Childobert the Flatulant, or the lesser-known Georges Clovis Bush de Halliburton) and a few of their cronies, but pretty much nobody else. The feudal title of Duke, not unlike the modern-day title of "Head of FEMA", was handed out to the lords who were exceptionally loyal to the king. These men were the kind of gentried landowners who enjoyed nothing more - with the possible exception of quail hunting - than pillaging visgoths at the expense of the peasantry (think: Dick Cheney in velvet pantaloons).

In other words, they were .... well, the leading douchebags of France.

Maybe Babelfish is on to something....