In the last week or so I�ve had a huge uptick in hits on this entry where I respond to some ridiculous spam. Mystified, I decided to do a little research. It turns out, I�m number 6 on the Yahoo search site for cia1apren searches . Who knew? I do not, however, even show up at all on a google search for the same word, so I won�t let myself get a swollen head. Or, er, swollen something.

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Last night I watched The Underground Orchestra, a fantastic documentary of Paris metro musicians. I loved it so much, that I spent two hours trying to figure out how to get my new VCR to tape off the satellite dish for its final screening this afternoon. I think I am successful. I�ll know in about an hour.

Filmaker Heddy Honigmann, who herself has a remarkably international background (born in Peru of Polish/Jewish descent; now lives in the Netherlands) follows a handful of musicians she meets in the Metro. We see their Metro performances (until she is kicked out � apparently filming in the Metro is illegal) and follow them to their homes and other performance sites. Each of the performers is an exile/expat from another country, many with horrific stories of political torture. I missed the very beginning of the film and the station cut off the credits, so I didn�t get anyone�s names. But among the musicians represented were a Malian singer in the country illegally with her children, a Romanian husband and wife playing cimbalom and violin, a Zairean (as he identified himself � the film came out shortly after the name was changed to Republic of Congo) singer who was tortured under Mobutu, an Argentinian harpist, and a Romanian father (cellist) and son (violinist) straddling multiple genres. These last two were both trained classically � the son had just been accepted to the Paris Conservatoire � but were still struggling in their adoptive country. The father also performed with a Romanian orchestra. Father and son played a Mozart duet and talked about music with the interviewer. The son, who had first appeared on screen playing his electric guitar, compared his favorite classical composers to his favorite rock bands: �Beethoven is the Jimi Hendrix of classical music. Schubert is Jim Morrison. Wagner is Motorhead�.Bach is AC/DC� (which, it must be noted, the interviewer had never heard of, much to the disdain of the boy).

In terms of fieldwork approach, the film was wonderful for letting the performers speak about their lives, and not just their musical lives. Difficulties of obtaining legal status, reasons for leaving their home country, discrimination in obtaining apartments or steering clear of the police, these and many other aspects of their lives in exile were discussed frankly. Parts of the film had camerawork that seemed almost amateurish � street performances filmed from behind someone�s shoulder, an interview with a singer who talked while he continued to brush his teeth and tongue in an apartment so small that the cameraman was in the hallway outside. But there were also beautiful long shots down Parisian streets and across rooftops at all times of day and night, accompanied only by the music of the musician-subjects, drawing attention to both the beauty of the location and the often poignant, highly personal lyrics.

I loved the music, I loved the views, and I loved the way they showed Paris � it is the Paris I know and it is the same way I tend to be a tourist, seeking out music everywhere.

Highly, highly recommended, and I think not just for those with particular music interests.

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AJ came running down the stairs to my office after his nap today exclaiming, �Mommy, I saw an animal!� He grabbed my hand and dragged me upstairs to the kitchen window, his face falling when he saw the animal was gone. �What kind of animal?� I asked. He couldn�t remember. �Was it a cat?� �No.� �Was it a deer?� �Yes! I think it went into my secret house!� AJ�s secret house is a small hole in the brush on a bluff overlooking the stream where a tree has conveniently fallen to make a rustic bench of sorts. The deer like to walk through the little clearing when AJ is not sitting there.

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Summer is officially here. Not only is it sunny, hot and humid, but today was the last day of school here in the boondocks. AJ and I ran into some of our neighbors in line at the supermarket around noon. The children had just been picked up from school and were in exceptionally high spirits, dancing around the cart and jumping up and down. Mom was looking very tired. AJ was enthralled with their energy and enthusiastically joined in their celebration while the grown-ups moved groceries from cart to conveyor belt. They were heading off to join the rest of the neighborhood children gathering for a cookout down by the river in the hot, hot summer sun this afternoon to celebrate the end of another school year. I myself am trying to ignore the end of another year, for it only reinforces how far behind I am from where I�d hoped to be at this time. I plan to head downtown for some more research on Wednesday, though, which should make me feel better about things.

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