Today, I took the ring to the very frou-frou jewelers today, Pellegrine. They might not be able to repair the ring. If not, we’re going to wait until I return to Los Angeles and take it back to Antiquarius.
Afterwards, I hung out at L’Elfike for a few hours, talking to my goth friend Ange. She helped me understand some of the sentiments towards the Arabic immigrants. Apparently, she’s been attacked and robbed on multiple occasions by young Arabs and the police won’t do anything about it. She works bad hours, too, making her especially vulnerable to this kind of violence. She’s very happy Sarkozy is in office because he wants to clamp down on immigration and, more importantly, create jobs. She told me that the older Arabic folk — those over 30 years old — were great people because they choose to learn the language and assimilate into French culture, but that the younger Arabs were a nightmare across the board. I discussed this with The Frenchman, and he believes the reason the younger people are committing crimes is because — hello! — they can’t get jobs due to discrimination and all the other economic problems. According to Ange, they’re only discriminated against because they refuse to learn the language and the customs. She asked me how I’d feel if someone came to the U.S. and refused to learn English whilst demanding social services and committing crimes. Honestly, it would be difficult for me to accept. The Frenchman and his colleagues, however, seem to believe it’s far more complicated than that. It’s always more complicated, that’s for sure.
Meanwhile, Ange is asking the owner permission for me to take photos of the interior of the bar. You have no idea how beautiful it is. These photos will not be on Flickr, as a promise to the owner, who fears their use in magazines trashing the gothic culture in his club (sound familiar, Los Angeles club owners?). They’re for my private research when I write SECRETS FOR MELUSINE. Ange seemed to dig the story premise a lot. I’m terribly grateful for her help.
Ange also introduced me to a real live pagan! Woo! His name was Mark, and he said there were maybe three or four pagans in all of the South. However, up north there were a great many pagans, especially in Brittany and Paris. Once a year, they hold an exposition with ceremonies so that pagans can meet one another. Sort of like Pantheacon in San Francisco.
And, yes, I had all of these conversations in French. It was exhausting.
Must do more writing before I fall over and sleep another night.
