The Sound of Music

Walter Agnew Moore II, Roving Reporter
12 January 2002, Amiens, France

Jet-lag is a bear that bites one way. Going from Europe to America is not so bad: you have one really long day, then for a week or so, you wake up really early. Your family gets the false impression that you picked up good work habits in Europe.

Going back is when the pain sets in. For some reason, the trip eastward always torques my body-clock into a vampire-half-life that takes days to get over. Wide awake at 3 am. Comatose at noon. I have tried different tricks, and they don't work for me.

Thursday I slept until 5 pm. The interesting part of that is that I was supposed to teach classes at 10 am and 4 pm. Oh well, it was very French to do that at least once, and all I had to say was "décalage horaire" (jet-lag), and I got smiles and knowing looks.

"Jet-lag" sounds so much better than "drunk", "lazy", or "insane"... I think I'll use it as an excuse more often. C'est chic, ça... très James Bond.

So Friday, I was still weak, and I knew I couldn't do it alone. I enlisted the services of my handy CD player and some CD's from the states.

I played Lucinda Williams, the Pogues, the B-52's, and Household Names for my classes.

Lucinda Williams drew the strongest reactions. The 9 o'clock crowd formed a Lucinda Williams hate-club and nominated a president and vice-president (everything is more organized in France). They didn't like her voice, or her words, or her music. They didn't even like the fact that my friend Zein found a tooth in the dressing room after Lucinda's band played at the Cactus Cafe. On the other hand, my 3:30 class had no problems with a strong sultry woman and were ready to take on the 9 o'clockers.

They sort of knew the Pogues. You can't set foot in an Irish bar (and there is one in every French city) without hearing the Pogues. But I gave them transcribed lyrics for "Fairytale of New York", including the lines:

"You're a bum, you're a punk, you're an old slut on junk
Lying there nearly dead on that drip in that bed
You scum-bag you maggot you cheap lousy faggot
Merry Christmas my arse I pray God it's our last"

I would never dare do that in the States. My defense here if I'm called on it is that I always hear them calling Americans puritanical, so I assumed there was freedom of expression in France. Besides, I have never been deported, and I think it would look cool on a CV.

Most classes laughed at the B-52's. A couple of classes sat there as serious as could be, and those are the ones that have me worried.

Household Names went over well. They are a band practically unknown outside Austin, TX. Beatlesque pop. I gave the classes their www site, so they could mess with their minds. "Ah oui, you are very populaire en France!" One girl, kept gagging with laughter at the line: "And now I know, I'm not your god, Athena" which, yeah, comes across pretentious, but the tune do stick in your head.

Jet-lag took its toll anyway. I spilled a cup of coffee all down inside my CD player. I got that cleaned up, then I went walking down to the machines to get more. I nodded hello to the cleaning-lady and one of my students, then my feet flew out from under me, and I slammed flat on my back. The CD player crashed down next to my head. She had been mopping that one section of floor.

The CD player still works fine. I forget the brand, but it starts with a "P"... Phillips? I managed to land on a different part of my back this time, so the injuries were minimal. To those whom God denies grace, he gives durability.

"Drunken angel, you're on the other side"...