I bet your e-mail account (especially the "junk mail" folder) fills up with all sorts of nonsense. Now, pretend you are a small media outlet and you've aired out your e-mail address, fax number and phone number in places virtually the whole world can see. Because you're a newspaper (even only a small one), and you wield the power of the printed word, people will knock down your door to get a small spot of space in your pages.
The information pipeline from our fax machine flows over my desk and usually into my trash can. My paper is 100% local news, bounded by the areas it is mailed to (parts of two counties and about six towns) for free. Anything beyond those borders doesn't have a pinata's chance at a birthday party of making it in the paper.
Strangely, and because I was in a good mood and not to busy, I took a call from a woman in France late yesterday.
She was conducting a tourism survey about perceptions of France, Great Britian, Spain and Italy. How she got my number, I've got no idea. But she sounded exasperated in telling me nobody would talk to her today. In steps T-Bone to save the day! Woops, my cape got tangled in the wheels on my office chair again. *silly me*
I answered her questions as best as I could. When she asked what weakness France has from a tourism standpoint, I said the perception is that France doesn't like Americans. She giggled, and with her sexy French accent tried to dismiss that notion. All in all, it was about a 10-minute phone call, and I felt good for helping out a fellow human.
The true test of French hospitality, however, would have been if she'd let me and my family crash at her place during a visit to her fine country. I should have asked! Already I think the answer would be no because:
1. She wanted to conduct the interview in French, but this Stupid American doesn't know how to speak her native language.
2. I gave a lame answer about why the United States is a good place for tourism. After I hung up, I had all sorts of great ideas in my head.
3. I don't have a cool accent to counter hers.
4. I prefer to shower daily, and I think that rubs the French the wrong way.
5. The Cutlet is still in diapers, and no matter how kind-hearted a host is, the line has to be drawn somewhere between a trashcan full of poo and a clean-smelling home.
Why would I want to go to France anyway? My neighbors across the street have put another car on blocks, and I can see a clear view of the (Buick) Riviera from our front room. Sometimes living in Texas is like being in a country all its own.
Please tell me you at least have a Texas accent...
The (Buick) Riviera - Snort, Snort. Gimme a kleenex, I was drinking my afternoon DP. Good one, Todd.
Texas is like its own country! Yes, I would definitely agree. And so would those folks who died at the Alamo...(which I'm going to see this weekend, by the way! Sorry, can't help gloating about my faboo upcoming vacation!)
so, what did you say about Great Britian ?
a) France is lovely. It would even be more lovely without the French. (But seriously though, I know some seriously nice French people and I can assure you that they shower daily, just like them Yanks).
b) I do not want to hear what you have to say about Britain.
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!! XOXOX
Ah, but in France, all the cars up on blocks are Renaults. Eh? Yeah? Rrrrenauuuults. Ooh la la, no?
Yes, I'd say that most Southern states are small countries all on their own. No doubt about that.
Yeah- don't you belive her- they don't like us! Also, they have the most disgusting, third-world bathrooms you've ever seen in all your life! What's worse than the injury of walking into a bathroom in the world's most beautiful city and feeling like you'd like to hurl up your overpriced lunch? The insult of being told that you'll have to pay for it!!!! OMG- I thought France's tourism board should have paid me not to talk about it!
Wow, though- it was completely worth all of it, though- I've been missing the place every since I left! Next time, I'll remember to throw some lysol and a full-body condom in my backpack, though, for those unfortunate bathroom trips.