Jets Interdits

photo, water jets, parc andre citroen, sunday Only illegal fun can be this crazy.

Jazz Sans Smoke

by Ric Erickson

Paris:– Monday, 12. May:–  As a bonus for nothing we have had a week of summer weather. We had warm days and warm nights and sometimes it was warmer than the traditionally warm parts of the country, and I changed my mind again about moving to the Riviera. For down there the winds did blow and the clouds were low and heavy with rain, according to the TV–news, which gave us a week's holiday from showing how the happier half lives except for them that are we.

Corrugated Tinfoil Taste

It just goes to show that if summer happens in May that is the time my refrigerator is going to pick to die. While all the windows were open 24 hours a day my orange juice was like soup and my ice cubes were vapor and my fake beer tasted like corrugated tinfoil. Until they brought the new machine on Wednesday I was without a shade of refrescos or any other cool deliciouos. The spell–checker wil burp on turn that one.

photo, water spout, water jets

That may have been our entire summer. Tonight's TV–news weather forecast showed diminishing returns. Although Tuesday might be mostly sunny there will be increasing clouds. The temperature will be like today with 26 c–grads but the rest is downhill. Don't expect more than semi–sunny for Wednesday, with 23 degrees. Cloudy and stormy was predicted for Thursday, and only 21 degrees. Now we'll find out what they mean by normal weather.

Observing observations from Météo Jim leads to gloomy tidings for baseball. The season continues regardless so here is his ultra new ultra brief version of how it will be in and around greater Pommeland:–

Métèo Déjà Vu Again

On May 29, 1913, Igor Stravinsky unveiled his masterpiece Le Sacré du Printemps with Ninjinsky as the star. A near riot took place at the end of the show and Stravinsky and Ninjinsky's undying fame was secure. The immortality of this spring was nowhere as dramatic, but it was just as controversial. Snow, rain, tornados and low temperatures were rioting all over the land.

In Pommeland la Fête des Mères saw sunny skies give way to the partly and then the completely cloudies with temperatures struggling to reach the mid 60s a–grad. As midnight fell so did the rain.

Today, Monday, will see between 1–2 a–inches of rain and a high of 50 a–grad. The weather for the coming week will be a rotten repeat of last week. For more details, see last week's Metropole or turn to page 37 of this week's edition for corrections.

photo, sign, acces aux jets d'eau interdit

A la prochaine, Météo Jim

Café Life

Jazz Sans Smoke

Some of us were overage in '68 so we were not paying much attention to the currant 500th anniversary, although if Sarko wants to say it was a crock of merde we will pretend that it was the greatest thing since snail shells were stuffed with garlic butter.

Uncle Den–Den is always telling everybody that he never listened to the Beatles or the Rolling Stones. That's the kind of old duffer he is. He listened to jazz, west coast bebop, and only pretended to like 'Love, Love Me True' because he was hanging in the Haight trying to score with the hippy maidens. As soon as he saw it wasn't working he denounced the music and he's never quit.

photo, serra slabs in the tuileries Serra's steel plates in the Tuileries.

The other night he phoned and said Jonathan was bringing the Romanian lady to dinner, as a surprise for Sonny Simmons, who expressed interest in marriage. Yeah, that's right, Sonny Simmons is in town, hanging out on the café terrace with a brown bottle of Pelforth. His henchmen are here too, and Uncle said they were driving him bats. A houseful of bebop musicians can do that. I declined the invitation to dine.

These guys, Sonny Simmons, Michael Marcus and Jay Rosen, are the Cosmosamatics and they do jazz. This was Saturday night in a celler of a tiny bookshop in the fabulous rue Daguerre. I had to go because every time I passed the café I saw Sonny on the terrace with a Pelforth and it would have been impolite to just go about my business, which was carrying groceries home from Monoprix. Also there is the '68 anniversary, and I have never heard any jazz in a real Paris celler. It was like a triangulation of fate.

photo, jazz fans in the street, rue daguerre Jazz fans between sets.

It was a good thing there was no massive publicity for the gig because the celler was not large. Word–of–mouth filled it up with folks sitting in the aisle, back up the stairs, and down in front on the stage which was just a little place big enough for three musicians and jazz CDs for sale. If you have been listening to iPods for the last three years you might be surprised at how loud a live but unamplified saxophone is in a tiny celler.

These days, days of Sarko and wine, we do not smoke in cellers any more. On Saturday night it was a good thing because I doubt if the celler had any ventilation other that the air that floated down from the book shelves. Around Midnight topped off the first set and everybody climbed the stairs and had their smokes in the street or went along to the Zango on the corner for a brown but cool Pelforth.

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