Oh, love the Hedwig!

If someone phones long distance and leaves a message on your answering machine saying that they'll try calling later, is it okay to take them at their word and let them call back, or should you be polite and call them back first?

I'm pretty sure that I'm going to take the lazy, cheap way out, but I'm not sure how evil I should be feeling about doing so.

Muahaha... my boss thinks I'm a computer genius.

He asked me to take a look at the spiffy new photo-printer he'd bought -- he said he and the tech guy had been fiddling with it for an hour the day before and still hadn't been able to make it work right. He said one of the patients who'd been in that afternoon was a computer guy and suggested reinstalling the drivers. I don't know a single thing about printer drivers, so I just smiled and nodded and agreed to play around with it. He looked resigned and told me not to worry about it if I couldn't fix it.

His problem was that the images he was trying to print were coming out too small. I didn't see how reinstalling the drivers could have any effect (although for all I know, it might), so I played around a bit with the page layout, and fixed it almost right away. And he was so impressed.

I'd better hope the computers at work never have any real problems, or I'm in big trouble {g}.

Edmund White, the author of "The Flaneur: A Stroll Through the Paradoxes of Paris", was on CBC's Writers and Company this afternoon. Apart from making me realize there are a lot of French writers I need to read, the whole concept of the flaneur is incredibly appealing.

(Here's dictionary.com's definition of a flaneur. And here's another.)

It's not the first time I've heard about the concept, by any means. And one of my high school teachers used to tell us to stop "flaner" whenever we were goofing off. But now I'm in a position (graduated from university, no "real" job yet) where becoming a flaneur is actually an option -- albeit an unrealistic and financially-unsound option.

There's also the realization that I already am a flaneur, to a certain extent. One of my favourite ways to spend the day is to go downtown and wander around. I don't know if it necessarily has to do with being a writer (I'm far less certain about describing myself as a writer now than I was even a year ago, but what the hell, pretend that I am) or just that it's relaxing and interesting to spend an aimless afternoon people-watching. I don't know if most flaneurs were writers, although one of the requirements seems to have been idleness, so any kind of regular job was pretty much out of the question. But a love of observation is definitely key.

Edmund White also described the sense of purposelessness and detachment from daily life that comes with being a flaneur, and the resulting "pleasant and aestheticized melancholy". Which sounds pretty good to me.

The problem is, of course, that melancholy and detachment don't necessarily make for a happy life. He went on to describe how many French writers turned to surrealism [um... not to imply anything negative about surrealism {g}] or drugs (or both, presumably) as a way of "disordering the senses" -- Paris was too familiar. (He describes it as "a mild hell so comfortable it resembles heaven".) He also suggested that this wasn't necessary in America because the "inchoate experience" of America itself disorders the senses.

(I believe this is when he started describing many French authors and artists who took to using peculiar walks as a means of expression and a way of drawing attention to themselves -- walking like a robot, or walking a lobster on a leash. Those nutty Frenchmen. But what a weird idea -- that this was a fairly common affectation, among artists, at least. It shouldn't be that strange. People have always used clothing and make-up and hairstyles as a way of expressing themselves and making a statement. I've just never considered the possibilities of one's style of walking. And here I thought the Ministry of Silly Walks was just, well, silly :P)

My favourite quote though (and I can't remember who actually said it), is one that gives me hope: "Creativity begins in indolence." Although I'm not sure that lying around watching TV or poking around online really qualifies as indolence...

Here are some excerpts from Edmund White's book, if you're interested. I'm going to have to hunt it down at the library.

So now I'm thinking about spending my whole two months in Europe lazing about Paris and being melancholy {g}.

I'm feeling much better about my trip for a couple of reasons.

1) Compared to five months (?) alone in the Phillipines, it's gonna be no problem at all.

2) Went to buy a little camera yesterday, having decided not to lug my big fancy one around, and the woman working at the camera store had done a lot of backpacking in Europe. She went on and on and on about how great Spain is, how I should do this hop-on-hop-off bus thing in Scotland, how she went hang-gliding off the Alps in Austria -- and basically convinced me that I should have no worries about bringing my nice camera with me. She was very cool. And I'm so excited about going now! (not that I wasn't before, but it's feeling more and more real -- I can't wait)

She also mentioned that she's going to be moving to England in September, having met a navy man in Gibraltar, "as you do." Heh. I enjoyed the nervous looks on my parents' faces when she mentioned that {g}.