In other news....

Most days, when we sit down for lunch, we have the television on and tuned to a national channel (usually France 2) so we can see and listen to the news. I consider these news cast as something less than serious, something between, say, gossip and yesterday's newspapers--the back pages; but my wife's opinion is quite the opposite: to her the information the bouncy, frothy blond lady reads is something between Holy Scripture and Words to Live By.

I don't quite understand why the French have this fixation with their newscast which are as bad an anywhere else in the world. I have stated in other blogs that the country practically comes to a stand still for the eight o'clock news at night and that any time there is a political or sexual scandal (which here in France is often the same thing) one finds it hard to find a newspaper at the kiosk or press shop. Maybe it was all those years of wars, rebellion, and social mayhem that have made people very apprehensive. I guess that if I had experienced Roman legions storming the city walls, or German tanks rumbling through town streets, I would also like to be in the know so I could get the hell out of town.

But, going back to our midday or evening meals, I must say that no news item worthy of even the most unfocused attention goes without my comment. Our conversations at meal times go something like this:

Newslady: ...hurricane Harriet has now been declared a category three storm and is...

My Wife: There ought to be a law that says that hurricanes should have male names, too.

Me: There is a law and it has been in effect for several years...

My Wife: Ah, bon? Why did they have only women's name before, I wonder?

Me: Because hurricanes act more like women than they do like men. You see, if a hurricane acted like a man it would say: "I am going to go and destroy Puerto Rico, then take a swipe at Cuba, batter Miami, then I am out of there; I will be off to the Atlantic in no time". Right to the point, no messing about. But, hurricanes act like women: "Now, let me see: should I go to Nicaragua? No, no, no, that's been done last year by Gertrude. How about Can Cun? Oh, that is so passé. Maybe, uh, Bermuda. Its been a while since...oh, look at that lovely island, let me go back and see what that is about." You see? That is why they were names after women because hurricane paths resemble the path a woman takes when they go shopping.

My Wife: That's ridiculous.

Newslady:...and Mr. Strauss-Khan commented that...

My Wife: Ah, that poor man! Look how tired and drawn he looks.

Me: That's because he has probably been chasing the police women around the jail. He ought to change his name to Stray-Cat or better yet, Strauss-Can!

My Wife: What do you mean, Strauss-Can?

Me: I mean that he certainly CAN! He can have a shower, have sex with the cleaning lady, and be at an IMF meeting all within a half hour. The man certainly can! Hence, Strauss-Can.

My Wife: Boff, you never take anything seriously.

Newslady: ...the rebels have now taken control of Gaddafi's compound...

Me: I bet that instead of three thousand pairs of shoes they will find three thousand silly hats.

My Wife: What are you talking about? What three thousand pairs of shoes?

Me: Don't you remember when people broke into the presidential palace in the Philippines and they found that Imelda Marcos has amassed a collection of three thousand pairs of shoes? Well, the colonel there seems to have a fancy for silly hats. Have you seen him wearing a fur hat like what a Russian soldier would wear in the Arctic? And in the middle of the desert? No wonder the man's brain is fried.

My Wife: I never understand what you are talking about and if you go on with your silly comments I will not be able to hear the news.

Me: You don't have to: just get yesterday's newspapers; that woman is just regurgitating old news. Good God, just look at that video of Gaddafi, he looks like he's twenty-five years old. That was taken before he became a wax figure.

Now the weather lady has come on. She dances around explaining with horror that temperatures will rise to 30 degrees Celsius by midday tomorrow.

Me: Thirty degrees? Hell, that's how COOL it is in northern Mexico at two o'clock in the morning. Boys play football in forty degree weather over there! I bet people will be dropping like flies here due to this "canicuuuuule", ha, ha, ha.

My Wife: (getting up from the table) Augh! Tonight I will watch the news upstairs. It is impossible here with you.

Me: Be sure to take an electric fan with you. I measured the temperature in the bedroom and it was a sizzling twenty-five, ha, ha, ha.

My Wife: Augh! Mechant!

It is not always like that, though. Sometimes I am quiet. She watches her news and I watch the BBC on my IPad.