Tony Hightower is in Paris now.

Okay, first off:

In the completely imaginary battle between me & my wife involving people who went to our high schools who have received Oscar nominations, I am now one up on her. She went to the same school as Sally Hawkins, who was nominated for "Blue Jasmine" and "The Shape Of Water," but I went to Earl Haig Secondary School in Toronto, just like Academy Award Winner Sarah Polley, who I can officially call my homey, even though we weren't there at the same time.

Also, "Women Talking" is fantastic. Gen X women filmmakers, man. Give me all of them. I'm also here for way more women of color, & people in the alphabet mafia -- I would very much like to see people who DON'T look like me in the movies, please -- and sure, there's younger people making great movies too, of course. Probably. Some people claim to not see color. Me, I don’t see age.

But Gen X is really known for one thing, and that's... being ignored. Boomers have taken up all the air in the room for our entire lives, and so we just don't care about anything, because why bother? Like, Kamala Harris is literally the USA's only chance at a Gen X President -- FOR EXAMPLE -- and when I mention that, I love how people are all OH NO, GOD NO, NOPE, NOPE, NOT HER, THAT'S RIDICULOUS as soon as I say it.

Okay, fine. You're showing your ass a bit, but sure, toss her out. After that, there's nobody capable who's anywhere close to the gig. We're waiting for Millennials and Zoomers and whoever else to rise up through the ranks, and I'm here for it! But that's going to take some time. 

(Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez will turn 35 a month before the next election. Which TECHNICALLY qualifies her, if you wanna dream.)

And yeah, Ron Desanctus was born in '78. Not sure that counts, but then again, he's not gonna be President either. 

He's not. He’s NOT. He's got all the petulance of Orange 45 with none of the charisma, and Russian Twitter bots don't have the influence they used to. Fight him at every turn, yes, but he's not gonna win.

Back to my point. Sarah Polley is awesome, I'm thrilled that she won her Oscar, and her speech was great, and when the Oscars more or less work out the way they should (with apologies to Angela Bassett), I feel like everyone just feels a little better about themselves the following week, you know?

And I'm gonna have to add my voice to the chorus of people who loved “Everything Everywhere All At Once.” The Daniels wrote that movie like it was the last movie anyone was ever going to get to make, ever. They threw everything into it. It's a mind blowing spectacle of a movie, and it holds together! I cry at movies a lot -- I'm a sucker for the cinematic heart-string-pull -- but I never cried watching a rock... act before. Not Dwayne Johnson, but y'know, an actual rock, in the dirt. Never before. Probably never again.

Okay, I was joking before about being stir crazy, but it's not really a joke anymore.

This week, my son Felix turned three.

I'm sick as a dog. I can barely speak.

I'm exhausted, I'm burned out, I'm tired, I'm tired. I'm tired.

I'm stuck in Paris. (Stuck? In Paris? How can you even?) I haven't seen Paris yet, barely at all.

Right now, Paris is just a place I've managed to hurry through a couple of times to get some stuff from IKEA or the boulangerie, and then hobble home on my still-unhealed knee, because we gotta get dinner in, or Felix is edging towards a meltdown and we just need to get him to a place where that can happen more safely and less publicly, and then get him to calm the hell down and, for lack of a better term, go the fuck to sleep.

I don't have any money. We have two credit cards, both in my wife's name. It's okay, I have nothing to buy anyway.

I have nothing to offer. I'm taking up space. I'm Jo's second child. I fucking hate this part. I need her permission to do pretty much anything. This isn't what either of us signed up for.

I'm not doing French lessons. I'm barely keeping a Youtube channel afloat. I've put out a video every Tuesday, until this week. I have a script, It's shot (poorly, but it's at least ready), but this is Winter Vacation Week for X, and it's also his birthday week, so we planned our first party (which is code for: emailing every parent in town we know and begging them to come over, drink our wine, and be our friends).

And then X's Grandos are here for a few days to see our place, which is great on its face, but they're not here to babysit while J & I get our shit together. X is home for two weeks, and there's no respite.

I love my kid truly and forever. I love him so much that I'm sacrificing the one thing that's making myself sane, because it's more important, on a minute-to-minute basis, to make sure he's okay.

I was told that would start to happen less and less as he becomes a little more independent. Like, I'm looking forward to the last day I ever have to wipe his ass. We're not there, but that day is now on the horizon, which is a thought that brings me indescribable joy.

I'm off my meds. No more ADHD meds of any kind until I get my Carte Vitale. (Our Titre de Séjour is on its way.) Could be weeks. Could be months. So, as a substitute: coffee. Lots & lots of coffee. Morning, noon, night. Worrying about cortisol & anxiety is, to paraphrase Leona Helmsley on Paying Taxes, is for the little people. I have a kid I really want to raise properly.

I've spent the last six weeks literally unable to walk, unable to buy even the most basic of things for the house, unable to put any more art up on the walls, unable to dance or pick up or even sit down with my child to read a book. He has to come to the couch, like I’m 90.

It's his birthday today. He calls me "Broken Racecar." My heart breaks a little every time he says it.

Jo is doing so much around the house, at a time when she needs to be writing. That's her job. It's literally why we're here. It's why this is all happening. It's why I'm staring out the window at a city I really want to start falling in love with, that I really want to write about & take pictures of & interact with.

I'm stuck in the exit lounge. I'm standing on the banks of the Styx, waving a ticket at a boat that isn't in dock.

Get help. Yeah, I know. I know. Except ... English is not the LIngua Franca of this place (uh, Franca is), which means I can't just walk into a place and get either (a) the drugs I need, or (b) something more shrink-adjacent. (I truly don't think I have a genuine psychological issue at the moment; it's more just the isolation and the fact that my go-to fixes for what ails me are things I don't currently have access to for one reason or another. If I was running, I'd be fine. If I had a workspace and the time to actually make videos & write screenplays, I'd be better. If I was able to actually get out into Paris and, y'know, enjoy the city that we've all worked so hard to become a part of, and get involved in the new world we've crossed an ocean to but up against, then fuck yeah go me.)

But kvetching about this stuff in the hour every morning before my sick three-year-old wakes up is not a useful way to spend my time. I need to be cramming in a French lesson or CREATING TEH CONTENT or whatever. So, Ima get on that.

New video, in which I talk about the overwhelming and slightly destructive urge to run out the door and experience ALL THE THINGS when you move to a new and glamorous place, like, say, New York or Paris.

In which I compare the French health care system to the American health care system. I know it’s a long, complicated issue, with historical and real-world implications, but I manage to cover it completely in 4 minutes, and there’s no way I’ll ever have to revisit this topic some time in the future.

New video, in which I finally dip my toe into the worls of having art in my apartment, post-Paris.

So far, I’m liking the thoroughly achievable discipline of posting a video about life in Paris every week. I like this one, and next week’s is ready to go. If this becomes any easier, I might try something a little more ambitious, but I’m really trying not to aim too high to start, like I literally always have before. 

Anyway, if you like this sort of thing, if you would, please let someone know. (If you don’t, let me know.)

Thanks as always for your time.

We're all starting to feel the strain of being somewhere new and strange, even as we're excited about being here, and the possibilities and changes in our new life.

All the cliches about it being the beginning of a great adventure apply -- Jo & I both moved to New York because of the opportunity and the possibilities of living somewhere so great, where the world meets to share everything that's awesome, where ambition runs through the streets like a river -- or sometimes like raw sewage, but, eh -- where we could make something a little new of ourselves, and become something bigger than what we were, something more.

We spent over 20 years each in New York, separately and then together, making something of ourselves. Now, well, for better or worse, we've made -- whatever we are now -- out of ourselves, and it's time to try out a new place, and hopefully open up another space in our lives for for learning, more doing, more finding out about things we can do and share and become.

But man, some days it's hard.

Vīta brevis, ars longa, occāsiō praeceps, experīmentum perīculōsum, iūdicium difficile.

Life is short, learning is long, opportunity is fleeting, experimentations are perilous, and judgment is difficult. - Hippocrates

Most of life is just guessing. You make it up, you take as many ideas into account as you can, you gather as much information before you jump off the cliff, and then... you jump.If you die, you die. But... you don't die. Well, I mean, eventually, sure, but in practice, the goal is to cover as much ground as you can, learn as much as you can, enjoy as much as you can, and live as well as you can.Your definitions of these things can, and will, vary. And that's the fun of it. And the stress of it. And the fun of it!

Alright, after this I'll write something other than my personal kvetches, but today is not that day. (If you want to skip my personal health story, go to Part 2.)

PART 1 (CW: My Innards)

Things are possibly looking up.

Yesterday, I managed to get an appointment with a knee specialist who spoke English. Unlike the last guy, I was able to talk with him -- English was clearly not his first language, but his English was definitely better than my French, so we were good, and he was a guy in his 40s who played squash, and he said had the same problem I did at one point.

It's not a ligament problem after all; he thinks it might be the meniscus, folded over on itself inside my kneecap. That's apparently a thing. It certainly would explain the pain.

[The meniscus is a small film of tendon-like material in the knee that sits between the femur (the thigh bone) and the tibia & the fibula (the two shin bones). It's a pretty common issue, and it has nothing to do with running or anything.]

The good news is that it's a quick arthroscopic procedure (pro athletes get it all the time, and they're often ready to play again pretty quickly), and then about three weeks' recovery. I'm probably out for the Paris Half Marathon, but if recovery goes well, and I can train good, I still want to at least give the Paris (Full) Marathon in April a go. It won't be a PR attempt in any way, but dammit, I want to at least do the course.

So, he drew this up (the whole appointment took about 15 minutes), and I was able to get an X-ray appointment that afternoon, and I have an MRI this morning, all set up by myself, online. They literally said "Go find someone close to your apartment. Anyone will do."

The cost so far? (The American in me is fascinated by this. It’s okay, this chapter will be over soon.)

The all-but-useless GP consultation from last week: €25

The initial consultation: €120

The X-Ray: €0

The MRI: €600 (which, um, JEEZUS, but still, (a) that's still a tiny fraction of what it costs in the USA, (b) it's 100% covered & refundable, and (c) once I get a Carte Vitale, I never see these bills in the first place.

It is a torn meniscus. It's fixable. And decades of sticker shock isn't going to go away easily, but I'm starting to be optimistic.

I've shown no ID at any of these places (One place asked to see my passport, but that was only to make sure they spelled my name right on the form.) These charges are all fully reimbursable on our temporary health plan (~$100/month). Once we get our full Carte Vitale into the French Health Care system proper, we won't even see these charges at all.

OK, enough about my health problems. Kvetching about that crap is something old people do, and I'm intimately aware of that. I just always thought, as an American, that it was interesting how little literally everyone else in the world pays for their health care, and now that I have a chance to take advantage of that, I have to at least mention it.

* * * * *

PART 2 (CW: American Health Care System Rant)

I've spent my entire adult life not going to the doctor. Toughing it out. Walking it off. Riding it out. Dealing with pain.

Oh, you have a kidney problem? Have some soup. You broke a bone? Splint it up & lay off it for a few weeks. Slice your hand open with a dull knife? RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Put a bread bag over it when you shower. Hope you didn't cut a ligament, or else congrats, those fingers don't move right no more!

Every (non-rich) American I know, even people with actual health insurance, has these stories. You know at the time how horrifying it is, but you also know that there's no other way to get through it. It's either work it out on your own, or you go into indentured servitude to some hospital's collections department for the rest of your life, simply because you couldn't scotch-tape a popsicle stick (or a pencil, or whatever item's at hand at the moment it happens) to your finger when you accidentally jammed it in a door somewhere.

It's fucking barbaric, and the mass delusion that it's just how things work in America is infuriating.

If I stayed in NYC with this knee thing, I'd have never gotten a diagnosis, certainly never gotten treatment, and I'd probably spend the rest of my life hobbling around, in pain. Certainly, as it turns out, I'd have never run again.

God, just typing that out makes me angry.

If you're going through something like this, I'm so, so sorry. The stories of people buying a plane ticket, dragging their broken bodies to some European country, getting themselves fixed, and then flying home, aren't silly ones. Not only do you actually get what's wrong with you fixed, and for a fraction of what an American hospital would charge you, you get a trip somewhere nice, or at least different.

If you're dealing with a thing, especially something you know is probably fixable, and you have that as an option, I'd honestly recommend it. If not Europe or Asia, then even Canada. You only get one body to go through this life. Do whatever you gotta do to fix it.

Please ignore this post.

(I might be adding the last couple of weeks of older material into this space, but you can ignore that too.)

I hate the phrase “IYKYK”, because if it’s worth saying, it’s worth saying. Sooooo, for the record: I was trying to fix this so it was my primary blog (I used to be on Tumblr as TriviaNYC, but now, for the first time in 16 years, I’m not), and I’ve worked out a bit of a workaround.

There’s TNYC material of various kinds in the deep archives, but if you’ve read it, it means you’ve gone back far enough. I appreciate the attention, but really, get out and make something awesome, and then share it with me. I’m here for it.

https://www.tumblr.com/tonyhightower

I’m not with TNYC anymore -- I’ve moved to France! -- although I’m happy to keep this up as a repository.

This week's podcast is all about helping sports fans and people who hate sports to come together, even if only in their hatred for the most spoiled people on the planet. Plus: Desmond Tutu comes by to endorse TCONA4, and we ask questions about Axe Body Spray, Fathers in Film and more.

We also give away more tickets to the Trivia Championships of North America this August in Las Vegas. Listen and enter! You could be next!

The plan was originally to use this as my primary blog, for spillover from all the trivia stuff. That's not really how it's worked out.

For actual trivia stuff, including TCONA, Drunken Smartass Olympics, podcasts, and the like, go to TriviaNYC.net.

April Fools Day is for amateur wits the way that St. Patrick's Day is for amateur drunks. - Chris Stuart, @pomodrunkard

The problem with April Fool's is that real life keeps creeping up on it. How can a prank be funny if it's close enough to something realer and, often, uglier? It's not like this is a new problem, but it does keep getting worse, especially if you live in a country where people are fast losing the need, let alone the incentive, to talk to each other and share experiences from outside their little cliques. Everything outside their experience starts to seem completely ludicrous. (I'm not just talking about the United States, either. Everywhere, people are losing the ability to discern between what could be a joke and what could be real.)

It's a real problem, and not just for the satiremongers among us. How often has Stephen Colbert or The Onion mentioned some completely insane and hilarious concept, only to have some Tea Party buffoon read it and try to one-up them in the actual world? Sure, it's funny the first time, but then Louie Gohmert or Michelle Bachman or someone says it for real, and baby Jesus weeps.

No, it's best to avoid the hoaxes completely. The bar is so high for those that unless you have a real killer idea, and you execute it completely and perfectly, you're pretty much bound to be overtaken by the future in ways you didn't expect. Like Jon Stewart often says to serious people who come on his show and try to be funny, Comedy Is Hard. Millions will continue to do it, of course. All the world loves a clown[1]. Just be careful out there. You can expect, as every year, to step through your First of April like it's a dog park full of little turds. The best you can do is save face. Just stay cool, and enjoy the better-executed jokey bits, and you'll get through to the end of the day in one piece. Tomorrow (and tomorrow, and tomorrow) is when the real hoaxery can begin again.