Yes, I finally got my French work visa, without which I was doomed to a shadow life without health care, bank account (and thus phone account), or apartment. Actually, I have an apartment, thanks to a friend of a friend at work who likes to practice her English, but apparently no one else in Paris would rent to me without this shiny sticker in my passport, plus residency statement, plus proof of employment and income. And probably some other things I'm not aware of.

By the way, who knew that one cannot copy a house key in France without proof that one is the owner of the property accessed by said key, or forms filled out in triplicate showing that you are the renter and that the owner approves of your plan to copy said key?

I'm not making this up. Except for the part about forms in triplicate, I'm just guessing there.

I've lived here nearly a month now, and I've been keeping a supremely uninteresting blog, at welliswan.blogspot.com. Josh put a link to it up top there, you know, in the links place. Don't expect profound cultural insights or stirring romantic exploits. Mostly it's me doing mu usual feminist critiques of American movies and talking about what I drank last night, or bitching about bureaucracy. If anything truly exciting happens, I'll report back here. And, of course, once I get my digicam I'll put up all sorts of great photos of Paris in spring, or more likely summer, since funds are dwindling.

I start work Monday, I think. At some point in the next week I have to have a medical exam. I'm not sure why, or where, or whether I should just tell them upfront that I'm as crazy as Billy Bob Thornton, but I've learned to live with a certain lack of ever knowing what the fuck's going on.

Amities!