The Days Of Our Lives

Reaching for a bottle of balsamic vinegar in the supermarket yesterday, I decided to go with the smaller bottle. Not for economy's sake but in the belief that I can control my future by adapting the container sizes: if a large bottle takes up to eight months to finish, isn't there a chance we might have to throw it out when it comes time to move? Can always buy another bottle if we're still here.

It's a life of more uncertainty than usual right now as people come and look at the house. The more viewers we can get, the better - somebody is bound to want this place. But it does make it hard to know how to plan anything involving travel, or being in a certain place at a certain time.

Friday we crossed one hurdle by getting Eric's visa petition into the US Embassy in Paris. Pulling all the paperwork together, getting the correct very specific photos, showing up during the one hour they were accepting them this month...we had to restrain ourselves from doing a buck and wing and raising the roof in the waiting area when they called us back in and said they had everything they needed for now. It was pretty cute when Eric asked the guy didn't they want to quiz us on our favorite films and record albums (we'd agreed in advance that "Who's Next" was an acceptable answer).

It was perfect timing that Kid Congo Powers and The Pink Monkeybirds were playing in the city the night before - it was great getting a chance to go out and see a sharp band play. So much fun, soul and charisma from Kid and his men. The audience was a laugh too, like central casting had gotten a call "we need a rock audience!" and sent out an assortment of types: skinny goth girls, shirtless guys who do that thing where you raise your arm and shake your hand in the air while holding out thumb and forefinger, lots of men with ponytails, pouting French Lolitas, pinstripe-jacketed rockers with tight black jeans and perfect shag haircuts, your classic Paris guy in white shirt, cashmere v-neck sweater and haughty expression and inexplicably a man in white puffy shirt and heavy brown leather jerkin and knee breeches - either an aspiring New Romantic revivalist or chateau tour guide off hours.

We liked it so much we drove a few hours to see them again in La Rochelle Saturday night. I forget how inspiring it is to see and hear someone really good play live - that's something I know is missing from my life out in rural France. Got up the next morning dying to play guitar, write and record. And there was another person coming to look at the house.

Like sand through an hour glass so goes the Modena balsamic vinegar...