Pisces 22° (March 12)

Another underachieving day. Oh well. Every little bit helps and there will be times when I write twenty pages at a time (yeah right). Maybe I do indeed lack the will for these sorts of things. Or maybe the idea itself is flawed. In any case I will do the minimum and have some fun. I ended up raking the yard when the resident evil wasn’t here. Speaking of evil that douchebag Manso can’t not be hateful. I pointed it out to many applause except for that Fedorko guy who is just always a big miss as well; and of course they are friends. Such old-school bitterness I can’t even. I will make a lovely flounder for dinner tonight. Hard act to follow after last night’s polenta and eggplant spectacle. But I’m going to put a little pecorino in with the bread crumbs. And serve it with broccoli and tiny whole roasted potatoes. Yum. And then, as if I wasn’t sore enough from yard work, we danced over five thousand steps. It was a good thing to do on a number of levels. Tomorrow we drive to Dartmouth for the first of two vaccine doeses.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1721-1725. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.

Today got off to a horrible start. We were awakened by the film crew just after four o’clock. It was insupportable. And of course this was the first day of holiday for the hotel manager with whom I’d already nurtured a relationship. Was a bummer. I called down to ask to speak to a manager and one wasn’t yet in. The crew had taken over. There was no reception, no morning breakfast room. Nobody answered the phone at room service. The desk said that breakfast was being set up somewhere on a different floor. I set out in search of answers and stumbled on two guys in suits one of whom said “morning sir, y’alright?” I said I’m looking for a manager and he pointed to the other guy who had pulled ahead and now spun on his heels. You’re the man I’m looking for said I. He said he hadn’t yet begun his day. That was lost on me. I started in on my noise complaint. He is about my height and, it might be a cultural thing—his name is Rachid and I’m assuming Algerian or some such—but he got right into my face. Not in a mean way, but he was definitely a close talker of the first kind and he wasn’t totally contrite, or so it seemed at the time. We went down to breakfast where they had set it up in this sort of ballroom sized hall, a buffet, but with pretty much all the same food one could order off the menu. We stockpiled some meats and cheese for A. who arrived about a half an hour later. We discussed packaging again for the most part as she wanted to prepare a brief for G. who will now be our new designer since the other folks have dragged their heels. Hard to believe that it is over nine months since we started a conversation with them; and it has been nearly four since I already said I think it might not be an auspicious arrangement. I have really felt held hostage by the situation, especially, as I was accused at the time of already having another person in place, which I didn’t, amid reassurances that everything could happen quickly. What I find especially irksome is that, though I care so (too) much about preserving our friendship, I feel the other bloke doesn’t give a flying fuck. Speaking of other blokes, what happened to Sebastian. Good question. Weird how people just flake off. Not to mention the recent exchange with Stefan the horrible. What a nutjob that jerk turned out to be. Next!

So I excused myself from breakfast a bit early as the subject turned to websites. I wanted to sneak in a swim, even a quick one, which I did. We then dressed and set off in a car to Soho for this meeting with the production company owned by C.M.. We got there a bit early so we strolled and popped into a magazine shop. Then we sent to the meeting, which was on Berwick Street, to which we were slightly early—they were just finishing up (eating). She herself was there which was astonishing, as were two associates, one being director of development. We were off and running. I won’t say much here about the content of the conversation because I probably really shouldn’t but there are a few takeaways we can discuss. First off, we were there because they are doing a show on theme of what we do for a living. C.M. is old school and a fan of Linda Goodman. It was her receptionist, who was out with a cold, apparently, who had a copy of Sextrology in her bag and told her bosses they should contact us. They would have looked us up and contacted our assistants, assuming we were in New York or L.A. or someplace domestic. Upon hearing from them, given who it is, we naturally assumed they were L.A. based. Turns out they are firmly, now, established in London. And, I’m sure murch to their surprise, we were also in London at the moment they wished to meet us. The next thing is the real kicker: The show idea they described is the exact show that we two had envisioned and talked about, some five years ago in Paris. But exactly the show. So the major takeaway is this: whatever happens at this point the fact is that the thoughtform of idea we put out there walking around Paris in 2025, excitedly describing the would-be show (that we could never make) to each other, managed to float through space and time and end up in the brain of one of the most successful and prolific producers of television there ever was. And we were brought in, seemingly on a whim, and while in the same city, all at the same time, an Uber away, to witness the next, and hopefully true, iteration of this very idea. So my lesson this week is in Faith. Faith that energy, like matter, can neither be created nor destroyed, and that our thought form of energy was indeed alive and it somehow made its way over the last five years through the ether. The meeting was an hour and we covered every bit of territory and we really liked each other and if nothing else I hope we made a friend.

We head out in a happy daze and work our way, en route to Liberty, to the Soho Hotel where we hope to have a drink and a snack, but they are not serving food, so we use the loo and leave. Because of our stay there a year ago November I remember how to work our way down Carnaby Street but we don’t get that far when S. spots Brindisa, where we stop for a few plates of tapas and a carafe of red wine. Really delicious. Then we head to Liberty and breeze through the jewelry section and see A.’s collection there of course. Post that, frustration ensues: We want to find the Atlantis bookshop on Museum Street but our Map apps are fucking with us and we end up in the landscape of hell which is Oxford Street and vow never again to do this. Jo raved about Atlantis so we had to go; but what we realize is that, whereas this type of shop might be unique in London, it is a pale comparison to any number of shops on this theme which we have encountered over the years in New York and Boston and Los Angeles. I had looked up the shop online and it typically yielded stories about how this shop has been in one family for generations, picturing mum and daughts. Well, when we got there, there they were mum and daughts and grand daughts. The shop gave me a weird vibe I have to say. These kinds of shops either feel good or weird, and this was a weird feel. I couldn’t wait to get out. We were close to Theobalds at that point and thus a very direct stroll up it to Rosebury Avenue and Exmouth Market, where I was just yesterday.

We stopped by our fave wine shop in the area for something to bring to Pascale and Matt’s. We then circled back to Exmouth and installed ourselves at Caravan for a tea and wine (guess who had which). And then it was time for dinner with the fam as Hen and Dot were there and there was a seventh space set at the table. Call Caroline for dinner, Pascale shouted at her children and we were like who is Caroline. Well, apparently Mary has a German friend from school in Eindhoven who has been living at Myddelton Square but we had no idea. She was very sweet. And Pascale made one of her signature delicious plant-based meals. S. and I had a little red, P. had a little white, M. is drinking non-alcoholic beer (m’ok); they asked if I had left a sports jacket in their bedroom cupboard. I was convinced I hadn’t, but yes it was mine—I totally forgot I brought this blazer with me, which I would have planned to wear at the end of a trip ending in major weight loss. I told Matt to try it on—he did—and it fit him perfectly. It is now his. It really felt like old times tonight and I just loved being able to have a family meal and be with people whom you know and who know you.


Paris, Day One of Sixty: We wake finish packing I pay the bill I swim for an hour we check out and I get a bunch of expenses taken off our bill and a free car to the train station. We aren’t allowed in the first class lounge even though we have first class tickets. Oh well. The class of service is good but there are two mole people sitting next to us. I shoot them looks but they’re too dense to pick up the clues. They are sexless gamers who seem to work for Sainsbury’s or something. Anyway the ride was quick and I had a chicken dish and some mousse and a few minis of red wine. We get to Gare du Nord and people are soliciting us for taxis before we even queue up in the official line, which is strange. Well, turns out there is a manifestation and most of the taxis lining up are refusing to take the majority of people in line anywhere. We convince a driver to do so and it takes ninety minutes and many tens of euros to get to the rue des Archives. We took on little walk on Rambuteau and grabbed some coffee for the morning and some wine and cheese and water and a baguette that we could snack on as we unpack. The rue Rambuteau has everything. A cheese shop, a fish shop, a butcher, great veg places, the perfect place to buy coffee. And so many traiteurs—a Greek one, an Italian one. And this one bakery that sells just savory foods with a second one that just sells sweets. We do so fully and are exhausted so we stay local and find Le Mangerie which was recommended to me by la fille de Normandie who works at The Grocery on Kingsland Road. It was terrible. Weird little tapas type things. We can’t figure out how to turn certain lights on and the television isn’t in working order either. We will send a note about these things and get them fixed.

I feel like I have bitten off more than I can chew. Last night ended with dinner with A. at Emile which was just a pop-up it turns out and will open with more permanent digs in Belgravia in March. Anyway we were talking about our real names and how Corbett comes from Corbet, b and v being one an the same, thus Corvet or Corveau. Anyway, it all translates to the raven which is the family crest. On my side Leone is lion which would be our family crest. We joked about how, when you put us together, you might come up with Corleone. A. asked what our family crest would be and S. said the funniest thing ever: The Other Shoe Dropping. I’m still laughing to myself about this it was hysterical. Days later I’ll still spontaneously crack up on the street such that people will think I’m psycho. I am feeling unreal waves of happiness. Like crazy happiness. I thought I was happy in London but nowhere near how I feel now. I forget how much I love Paris and how bright it makes me feel. I must remember this feeling. I am here for two months and it already feels like it won’t be long enough. I am fatter than I want to be and there is this amazing men’s shop we happen across called Plusque Parfait. I am determined to get this weight off by the time Spring rolls around when I can buy myself some beautiful things from the shop. I have a lot on my plate but I feel up to the task. We are getting a second room in the hotel in Venice. I can’t believe I’m finally going to Venice. The train ride is ten hours. We go from the Gare de L’Est? S. needs to send me my ticket so I have it on my phone. I will definitely stop eating like a giant pig for a couple days before we go. The beauty is we don’t have to think about anything. The LLBs will be the tour guides arranging everything. Even the second hotel room so that someone can get some sleep. I will take the crappier of the two rooms.

By Thursday I need to have my text boxes drafted so that I can tweak and send them over the weekend. We have decided that on our return from Milan that S. and I would go over the particulars. I am super happy that we decided to stay away. It has already been an incredible boon; and I am determined to sail this ship toward ultimate success. It is about getting out ahead of the curve and staying there. That has always been the trick; and now, with this offsite plan, I feel that I can really accomplish all that needs accomplishing. The pendant program itself is an entire world of business needing to be accomplished. We will be getting initial things from Guilia this week which is great. It really is hard to articulate this feeling and this need to put things into motion. Ideas dissolve like the landscape of a lucid dream every time I sit down to hammer things out. I have two and a half hours left today to make magic and put things into motion and to start my own factory roll out for the new year. It is still only January. There is no panic as everything will move forward and give me a break, people take vacations. Even when I go away on holidays I always bring my work with me. I have got to stop feeling guilty and afraid. I do what I do and if I can’t live with the consequences than I shouldn’t do it. It really is that simple. It’s time to grow up and in the process be kinder to myself on all levels which means not putting my body and mind through unnecessary stresses while at the same time forgiving myself for any overindulgences I do fall into.

Paris, Day Two of Sixty: We woke and had coffee and went out in search of Bikram and the health food store, both of which we found after a cul de sac of time and space in which we looked for the yoga studio but we were on the wrong road. We did some shopping on Rambuteau, including a couple of sandwiches which we will eat before going back out for more groceries and flowers for the week. We also discover the Caviste, which we now remember, was among our favorite wine shops. We had the appointment with a favorite client who is in Paris; then we set off for the left bank. We do a little shopping at Papier Plus and then it is nearly time for the singing mass at St. Gervais. This morning I had a dream about saving my grandmother from a burning building. We sit in the church on small benches for half an hour while the nuns settle into their spots and never move a muscle. The priests finally arrive. There is such a difference between them, the women are still and meditative and serene, in their blue robes and white hooded cloaks, and the men, all in black, are slightly more boisterous and jolly and read like school boys on retreat ever so slightly. The congregation is shuffling in and the spots are all but taken up. The music begins and everyone begins to sing but only gets a few seconds in before a young man appears at the pulpit and takes the microphone protesting the Catholic Church. S. is having none of it, as is her personality—she’s freaked and needs to get the ef out. We go and I can’t help thinking the congregation believes that we are somehow complicit with the protester.

We head toward the river and S. tells me that she felt her grandmother move through her while she was sitting still on her stool at St. Gervais. Her grandmother changed her name to Genevieve and it turned out that the mass was all about St. Genevieve, the Patron Saint of Paris, whose feast day is January 3, and whose whole mission was about getting believers to believe. She led a prayer marathon which saved the city from siege by the Huns, she also worked out deals with the Germanic invaders. Her symbol is a candle, which we didn’t know as we strolled toward Boulevard St. Germaine to the Diptyque store to buy a candle. I told S. about my grandmother dream this morning from which I woke for the day. I went to see a psychic once who told me my grandmother had a message for me and it was to “go to church.” Just a few steps beyond the candle shop is our destination for dinner, Chez Rene. We were hesitant to go but so glad we did. We made a reservation for eight but arrived at seven, the only people yet in the place. By eight it was packed. S. had betteraves and mache salad and I had salade de chevre chaud and lambchops, with spinach and frites to share and a flan for dessert. We started with a gorgeous glass of champagne each then had some nice AOC vin, Bandol maybe, I don’t remember. We probably won’t go here again this trip so I’m glad we made the effort. As tradtionalese as it is, it is very good and simple and clean. My meal was just a bunch of lamb chops on a plate. So simple and lovely. I’m going to make some lamb in the kitchen here. I do intend on cooking a lot and making soups, especially, once the Bikram begins. I’m a bit nervous about going back and yet I super can’t wait.

We decided to stroll home and it was only about twenty minutes total, which is great. We passed a few little shops that are good to remember. Earlier we had scanned the neighborhood and noticed that Fer au Cheval is closed (they had a fire) and that there is an Eataly in the neighborhood (there it goes) and we picked a lousy (sale!) day to hit BHV but we needed some electronics. I bought a tiny Bluetooth speaker so we can listen to our own music and also I want to figure out continuous white noise. I do need to write to Neil to see if he is still planning a Paris visit. The sound of breaking glass is a particularly French sound. I also need to write to Laurie to ask about her friend’s resto. Tomorrow we will have lovely food from the Greeks. I might also think about making some lambchops just for fun. Oh and I have to research the Enfants Rouge market.

Paris, Day Three of Sixty: Back to Rambuteau to get a roasted chicken. We had a late breakfast of yoghurt, almonds and berries. I realized that I had lost my computer files which makes no actual sense. It put me into a bit of a tail spin. S. had a Facetime scheduled with the family so I decided to go for a beer in the neighborhood to write by hand. I came back and had chicken and decided I wanted to go back out which was actually fine. I actually went to a couple of places and got lost talking to people and writing in my notebook and failed to text home and it wasn’t pretty when I got home. I never know what to do in these cases. Sometimes if I text it starts a whole thing; and sometimes when I don’t it can be even worse. I will definitely limit my solo excursions for the rest of the trip so to keep the peace because we have too many important things to accomplish on this trip, really, and it needs to be productive and fruitful in the extreme. On the agenda to write today is the following:

Some N’ology text boxes one of which would be about self help something like Shut down the self help. We know you and you go from this book to the next, searching for external answers. So guess what you’re going to start your own self-help guide based on your experience.The Sixth Astrological House of Virgo is associated with our habits and behaviors, health and healing, how we “work”, that is to say how we operate and function, and the ways in which we best “serve” ourselves, and by extension, our environment and humanity as a whole. This goes a long way toward explaining why it is that, of all the signs, Virgo is the most interested, if not obsessed, with Self Help on many levels, and Virgo women especially. (By contrast, Virgo men tend to be downright hypochontriachal.) The sign’s symbol Virgin holding that sheaf of grain might well be considering its gluten content and what effect it will have on her. It is just one of the many ways in which Virgo overthinks, analyzes and navel gazes in the extreme. In typical Virgo fashion, you have read more than enough books, attended more than your fair share of workshops and seminars, visited a plethora of whole plethora of healing practitioners, psychics and sages, to last you a lifetime. So we are shutting you down—you must take at least three months off from any form of self help other than your regular exercise and maintaining a healthy, balanced diet. And with all that time and energy we are prescribing something actionable, and perhaps challengingly so: You are going to take all your self-help experience to date and create your own mini (or maxi) self-help treatise, weaving together all the myriad modes you have explored over the years, either through study or practice.

Gray is the color associated with the sign of Virgo, a nod to the sign’s mutable-earth assignation, which translates to clay, in keeping with the archetypes of the sign who include the potter god, Hephaestus and the idealized Pandora, with her own ceramic jar or box, whom he sculpted from the stuff. You do possess the potential to mold yourself into being the best you you can be. But another interpretation of Virgo’s trademark color gray speaks to your propensity to get stuck in neutral, lost in the gray area of inertia. I could talk about grey being neutral, a state in which Virgo finds herself all too often, stasis being less an issue of indecision than it is simple fear of making the wrong move. The first order of business will be to see if we can isolate some action items in the process. For fear of being hurt or disappointed. You tend to beat a dead horse, complain, You can be pathologically wronged by others. There needs to be an inventory of the litanies, the complaints, the grousing and the grudges. You have to let it all go. So, your homework is to go just twenty-four hours without a complaint or even the slightest negative comment, particularly about other people or situations you find yourself in.  There is also something about grudges.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.