As often discussed, Paris is a wonderful place to live in if you’re a luddite, though when the machines turn against you it can be an isolating experience. Some of the lights in the flat have stopped working suggesting a circuit board has blown, although I don’t know what that actually means and it might be something entirely different. Hang about, it’s just the fuse that has blown right? I realise I’m opening myself up to ridicule here.
It was pointed out to me on the phone this morning that this blackness has been pervasive in our flat for over three weeks now like dark matter, and it was also suggested that it clearly hadn’t even occurred to me to do anything about it. Which I have to admit is true. I’m all about allowing your living space to fall into disrepair and then moving out when it becomes completely uninhabitable.
It’s probably amazing to some that I’ve managed to live for as long as I have without ever changing a plug, but then you could argue that maybe that’s the reason I have lived so long. I know what happens when you mess with electrics in Paris – you end up blowing yourself up like pop singer Claude Francois, who was electrocuted to death in 1978. In fairness, Claude was taking a bath at the time when he reached up to do some fiddling with the socket. In fact, perhaps it’s baths in Paris that are dangerous and not electrics so much if you’re a singer? Just look what happened to Jim Morrison! You’ll not catch me singing in the bath and fiddling with a lightbulb as long as I live in Paris, that’s for sure.
My friend Kev was here recently and he showed me what needed to be done, though it involves standing on a stepladder and changing the fuse in up to four different boxes, and I can’t remember whether the fuse had to be 9v or 16v, or if it was 16v for one and 9v for the other three, or if it had anything to do with volts at all. As complicated as this all sounds, it’s easier than ordering a pizza here.
In England if you order something from Domino’s you can track it from the time they throw extra jalapeños on top to the moment it arrives via a smiley man in a crash helmet. Here it can take up to three days to arrive and when you phone the outlet to warn them that if it doesn’t come soon you might starve to death or sue the place if you pull through by eating your own faeces, they will then obviously deny any knowledge of an order and tell you you’ll have to wait another 45 minutes to an hour. Just as you’re about to start tucking into your own fingers, the doorbell rings. The moral of the story here is never order Domino’s, because it’s the one food that still tastes fucking disgusting even when you’re ravenous.
None of this even comes close to how annoying iTunes is. I’m going to have a real whine now so please stop reading if you hate moaning, cos I know I do. I wrote a blog a while ago about how I’d changed my iTune (hur!) about the company when they’d assisted me quickly and efficiently. Well that was a mistake, because they’re actually complete fucktards. Like how difficult a concept can it be that a man might move somewhere other than the place he was born in the EU? Could you not set up your billing infrastructure to account for eventualities like this? Is it so unusual that a person might relocate to another country? I just want to buy a Cubase program for my iPad, could you stop being utter fuckwits and allow the transaction please? Or if not could you at least reply to my email you turds? What sort of parochial myopia is this? Just because you think the World Series is the world and only 36% of Americans have passports you assume we’re all bumbling inbred rednecks who’ll only ever leave the house when we die when they have to take the roof off to winch us out. Look at the bigger picture you fucks.
I did warn you.