CHANGES AFTER TWELVE YEARS IN FRANCE: PART 1

It's been twelve years since we sold out in the USofA and made our permanent move to France. In the modern world, that's the equivalent of three jobs, two marriages, or the time it will take to get the taste of Trump out of our mouths. In our case, having retired and remained married for 54 years, it's enough time to have settled into our new home, tried some things out, and decided what works and what doesn't. If nothing changes, there's no growth. Here's our list. Yours may differ.

I DRIVE SLOWER

As the t-shirt proclaims, only bikers know why dogs stick their heads out of car windows. And I logged tens of thousands of kilometers on my last two-wheeler in the three years before we moved to France. I tend to drive cars the way I rode motorcycles, as reasonably fast as road conditions allow. Never an accident, on either two or four wheels, except for a blown rear tire at speed just before moving to France that put me on the ground, broke a toe, and ruined a pair of jeans. So after hundreds of thousands of miles on American roads, wide lanes with ample verges, I enjoyed testing my new (used) French car during my first couple of years navigating our local narrow two-lane blacktops. I have slowed down for two reasons. First, packs of cyclists, the tractors of vignerons working the vines, ambling tourists navigating their wide-bodied campers in unfamiliar territory, all make passing on the curvy, narrow and hilly back roads that I routinely travel a dodgy proposition. Not worth the frustration and tension. But more importantly, I have taken to heart something that I said in passing to Cathey early on. "If I ever fail to see the beauty that surrounds us while driving through it, stick a fork in me. I'm cooked." I've slowed down.

 

I EAT LESS CHEESE

Le Centre National Interprofessionnel de l'Economie Laitière cites over 1,200 varieties of French cheeses and there could be several hundred more if of you count every minor regional variety. Tasting as many as possible was an early goal. A cheese plate arrived for every lunch on the terrace and at the end of every dinner party. Isn't morbier interesting with its thin black line denoting the difference between evening and morning milkings? Have you ever smelled a cheese as nasty as livarot? Can you taste the barnyard in Tomme de Savoie? So much fun. So much calcium. And so, after 20 years, a second attack of kidney stones. And so, another story to tell at parties, a story about a nurse with long, black rubber gloves who looked like Rosa Klebb as I sat watching her approach with my feet in the stirrups thinking "I'm not in Kansas any more." 

 

WE BUY ONLINE MORE

We moved from the third largest metro area in Pennsylvania to a rural French village of 1,800 souls without a gas station or an ATM. Even with grocers and a small hardware store in the next town over, and even with the small cities of Narbonne and Beziers within about 25km, you can't always get what you want. (But if we try, sometimes, we find we get what we need. But only sometimes.) And then there's Amazon. Big vans navigate our narrow village streets daily. How else are we expected to find hypoallergenic kitty treats? Or inexpensive knockoff water filters for our Samsung fridge? Or a replacement cable for a portable hard drive at least twenty years old? So, we download the app and we find what we need and what we need appears in our mailbox in a day or two. Yes, when we can, we buy local. Always. In small villages with diminishing populations because the kids are drawn to the jobs and the life of the cities, patronizing local merchants becomes a survival mechanism. But I still can't believe that that obscure cable showed up in 24 hours and saved the 5,000 tunes I'd archived on my old drive.

 

WE KEEP FINDING NEW WINE

Back in the States, I drank lots of flavored waters and diet sodas. (I know. Mea culpa.) Now I'm in France. Wine is the daily beverage of choice, although it's recently been reported that young folks are turning to beer. Sacrilege. When we arrived, friends recommended two or three local wineries and they were perfectly suitable for our needs. Tasty and inexpensive. Rosé for the equivalent of 5USD or so a bottle. What's not to like? But the truth is, in our Department of Hérault, an area about the size of Delaware, there are as many as 600 wineries, from boutiques producing only a few thousand bottles to large cooperatives that measure liters by the millions. And Hérault is only one of five departments in our wine-producing region. First by word of mouth, then thanks to new friends who established a wine exporting business based in our village, our cellar expanded to include bottles from wineries far and near, Finally, we discovered vrac, bulk wine that the co-ops sell for under 2USD per liter and dispense through contraptions like gas pumps. The result? Not a single diet soda in 12 years.

 

Check out PART 2 coming soon to a theater near you. 

I HAVE QUESTIONS

"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Does that oath expire at the end of a President's term? Does the duty to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution last for no more than the four years in office? Do our past Presidents pledge their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor with a sell-by date?

I have questions. 

If Trump can incite a couple of thousand people to scare the shit out of Congress, how many people can Barack and Bill bring to Washington to choke the streets and the halls of Congress to demand an end to the destruction of our democracy? Are there other men or women who could spearhead such a movement? Newsome? AOC? Seriously?

I have questions.

Is preoccupation with the construction of a Presidential Library a sufficient excuse for Barack's relative absence? Does Barack fear the wrath of Michelle if he jumps back on the stage? Is an occasional endorsement of a candidate or a genteel answer to an interviewers questions a sufficient contribution of his sacred honor?

I have questions.

Does Bill fear publicly exposing himself at a time when his predilection for exposing himself is a hot issue? Is the best stemwinding speechifier in the Democrats' arsenal capable of one last burst of glory? Or has the wealthiest modern President after Trump already drunk the Kool-Aid?

I really only have one question.

If not now, when? 

 

 

 

GERMANY: A SURPRISING REASON TO LIVE IN FRANCE

That might sound counterintuitive, I suppose. Why would proximity to Germany be a reason for deciding to live in the south of France, just about as far from Germany in France as you can get? Recent history aside, it shouldn’t be hard for the seasoned traveler to understand my thinking. 

Imagine surveying the menu of the best restaurant that you can imagine. All sorts of interesting bits for starters. Main dishes from surf to turf and beyond. Excellent local wine. And top it all off with a sweet dessert and a cup of coffee. Now imagine the sparkling, icy Scandinavian fjords, the riotous blooming of the Dutch fields, and the dark woods of Germany. Next come the gingerbread chateaux along the Loire and the lavender landscape of Provence. Finish with a sweet, fortified Occitanie wine, almost port, as a digestif. And there still remains the Iberian Peninsula to the west and gems like Prague to the east to explore. Drive. Take the train. Fly an array of full-service and budget airlines.

Recently, Cathey and I boarded a train in Beziers in the south of France, had lunch in a cafe in Paris, and met friends for dinner in Cologne, Germany. I'm not going to attempt a full-on travelogue. I'll share some pics and tell a story or two. But my point has already been made. In one easy day, at a reasonable cost and in comfortable surroundings, you can change countries, languages, histories and cultures as easily as deciding to do it.

And by the way, on the way home, we stopped off for a couple of nights in Brussels because...we could. 

Cologne Cathedral stained glass windows were dismounted during WWII. Some say that the Allies ordered bombers not to target the cathedral. Others say that the height and weather around the tower swept bombs away. But some bombs did hit and would have blown out the windows if they hadn't been saved.

This reliquary is said to contain the remains of the Biblical Three Magi. It's apparently opened for display once a year and there are reported to be three nearly complete adult skeletons inside. Serious stuff. Below is a different display of craftsmanship whose purpose escapes me at the moment. But it's beautiful, ain't it.

Just a taste of the goodies available at a local tea room. Germany isn't all meat and potatoes.

The Lindt chocolate company operates a chocolate museum and cafe on the Rhine River. You walk out with pockets full of little chocolates in addition to serious knowledge of the industry. And the desserts...

Expansive and carefully tended botanical garden was just beginning to properly bloom in May. The greenhouses and the cafe were closed, but there was plenty to see over 10 acres of curated grounds.

The René Magritte museum in Brussels has a gathered a wealth of works and ephemera.

I like that Magritte, although he associated with folks like Jean Arp, never went so fully abstract that you needed an explanatory label to understand what he was trying to convey on a particular canvas. 

IT'S SPRING IN FRANCE 2026: SOME NEW STUFF AND SOME RECYCLED

It's been a somewhat grayer than usual, very much wetter than usual winter. Yes, the winters here can be cloudy and damp, and maybe our advancing age makes us anticipate the blue skies and warmth of spring with greater urgency, but I do believe that this winter colored outside the lines.

Our dreary winter has led to an interesting run up to summer. The leaves of the vines present every shade of green imaginable to the eye. Some of us, with no particular experience in such things, gravely discuss what that might mean for the fall harvest. Every once in a while, we question local elders. Unfortunately, the answers are often contradictory. Particularly impressive, at least to me, were the Judas Trees this year. Red bud trees to Americans. And the roses have been popping early with abundant blooms.

Days dawn crisp and chill but warm up quickly, though a refreshing breeze may linger. The sky turns a color that the word blue doesn't do justice to. The still snow-capped Pyrenees, 100 kilometers or so away, line up along a good portion of the distant skyline. As those who know me well are sick of hearing me say,"The light seems to radiate up from the landscape rather than reflecting off of it. The Impressionists painted here for a reason." Well, they painted close to our little village of Quarante. And their painting reflects the light that we love to be able to witness.

But it's not all puppy dogs and ice cream cones.

Persistent wet weather means standing water means mosquitos - mozzies to our English friends. And the warmth brings out ants and flies and snails and all manner of buzzing, crawling, and/or biting things that go dormant in the winter. Also dormant in the winter are the swarms of bicyclists who appear on our narrow, two-lane blacktops in their full spandex regalia as soon as the weather warms. They are ubiquitous, sometimes alone, sometimes in impressive packs. They are entitled to a full lane, though most do move to the side. Still, finding a proper place to pass on our winding, hilly roads can be a challenge. Also challenging can be the sight of all of that spandex heading into the local watering hole for a quick break. And while we are on the subject of the local roads, spring also means that the tractors of the vignerons have fired up and that the camper vans of the French equivalent of snow birds have migrated to our corner of the south of France. 

I hesitate to mention the camper vans as a problem. I did so in a blog post some years ago and was angrily confronted by a van driver who took umbrage. But just the other day, on our way to a Sunday morning market, we found ourselves behind a new, particularly wide rig whose driver seemed to consider the white lines on the road as a suggestion rather than a demarcation. 

Parking! 

It's hard to believe that parking emerged as an upfront issue in the recent mayoral election of a village of 1,800 or so souls. But when everybody's home, and when the second homes fill up as the weather cooperates, your regular parking space may disappear. You may have to cruise Quarante a time or two to spot an empty space within a reasonable walking distance from home. So in the years that we've lived here, several underutilized spaces have become lots, some paved and lined, some a bit less manicured but OK spaces.

Anyone discussing life in the south of France is obliged to comment on the food, French cuisine, in our case Mediterranean French cuisine, a world classic. Cook what's in season and fresh, Respect the ingredients. 

 You know that summer is on the horizon when the Spanish tomatoes are being practically given away in the stores. They are a particular shade of red. The shade is called RED! In the veggie markets, the fragrance of the strawberries is an almost physical presence. The asparagus is about done, but not quite. And North Africa is just a ferry ride away. 

We particularly appreciate that the stores are obliged to post the origin of the produce that they sell. You can buy fruit shipped from South America or you can wait for the local crop. Either way, you know what you are getting.

And of course, no one appreciates springtime more than our cats, our indoor cats, who are finally comfortable on the terrace. Well, maybe the purveyors of bedding plants are equally appreciative. But container gardening in a relatively small space with limited direct sun forms the basis for another post at another time.

FRENCH RESTAURANT CULTURE EXAMINED MORE CLOSELY: RE-EDITED

 

RESERVATIONS ARE NECESSARY 

If you are really hungry, if you really want to try that restaurant that everybody's talking about, or if you just want to be certain to get eats, RESERVATIONS ARE NECESSARY. In some cases, that's because the house has prepared the exact number of covers for the reservations in hand. I've seen consistent regulars on a first-name basis with the chef/owner turned away because they forgot to call ahead. And arriving for lunch after 1:30pm without a reservation is almost always a deal breaker. Yes, the posted hours may run until 2:00pm, but that's closing time, not the time of the last seating. In fact, in many French restaurants, there's only one seating for lunch. Arrive by 1:00pm to be safe or you take your chances. And don't forget. RESERVATIONS ARE NECESSARY. 

ON ENTERING

Wait at the door to be noticed. Don't seat yourself. Some restaurants move around the tables and chairs based on the reservations. That cozy table for two in the corner was reserved last week for the newlywed friends of the chef. If you've called ahead, there'll be a place for you. If you haven't, you'll just have to take what you get...or nothing at all. Wait at the door.  

And if you can't say Bonjour or Bonsoir or Merci or S'il vous plait at the appropriate times, what are you doing in France anyway?

There will be dogs. There will be large dogs and there will be small dogs. Some will not be groomed to American Kennel Club standards. Some will appear to have completely avoided any grooming at all. Deal with it. If the dog has been brought into the restaurant, the dog has probably been in every restaurant that its masters have visited, as many restaurants as you have visited. I have never eaten in a restaurant in which a dog has misbehaved. Adults, yes. Children, yes. Dogs, no

PROPER ATTIRE

Denim jeans are ubiquitous in France, on guys and gals alike. And ladies, the more bling the better. Ripped jeans are still a thing. God knows why, but She isn't telling. Don't. Just don't.

Shorts? Fine for lunch at that beach popup restaurant. Long pants for dinner, please. Yoga pants? If you don't plan on doing the Downward-Facing Dog during dinner, don't wear the gear for it. That NY Yankee baseball cap? Ditch it before you step inside. Why the hell do so many French people wear those things, anyway? I'm a (Brooklyn) Dodger fan, myself.

Use common sense. There's that phrase again. Common Sense. If Eppie Lederer (Ann Landers) and Jeanne Phillips (Abigail 'Dear Abby' Van Buren) could make careers out of dispensing common sense, why not Ira (Ira)?

WHEN THE WINE ARRIVES 

Don't pretend that you know what you're doing. You probably don't. 

We usually order the house wine en pichet (in a pitcher) when it's available. But some restaurants only serve bottled wine and sometimes you want to try something special.

Unless you spot a wine that you know and particularly like on the list, ask the waiter for a suggestion. You'd like a light, fruity rosé for the start, a full-bodied red for the boeuf bourguignon? Ask. Limited budget? Add the words pas trop cher (not too expensive). Rather than being laughed at for trying to be the expert that you are not, you may get extra attention for being willing to place yourself in your server's hands.

When the server opens the wine and pours you a sip, you are being given the opportunity to discover if the wine is corked. Just that. A small percentage of wines with natural corks can be tainted by a chemical called TCA. Screw-top wines and wines with artificial corks cannot be tainted in that way, but you'll probably be given the opportunity to take a taste anyway. After the server pours, smell the wine and take a sip. No dramatics. Just sniff and sip. If the wine smells like your dog smells when he comes in from the rain, if it tastes flat and perhaps a bit astringent (overly acidic or bitter), the wine is corked. Not drinkable. You may return it for a replacement. 

Just about the only reason to return a bottle after first taste is if it's corked. Sweeter than you expected? Drier than you expected? That's on you. Not a sufficient reason to return. Some will argue that you can return because the wine is simply not to your taste. Maybe. Not me.

TABLE MANNERS  

Don't eat peas with your knife just about covers it.   

The best restaurants make certain that everyone at the table receives their courses at the same time. Otherwise, the rules on when you may start eating are simple, keeping in mind that it's always polite to wait until everyone is served. 
1.) If your food is served cold, as a green salad, it's proper to wait until all are served. 
2.) If your food is served warm, it is acceptable to begin immediately. A courteous table mate still waiting for service will quickly give permission. 
3.) When dining with the Queen, wait for her to begin regardless. 

Don't slurp or burp (loudly) or chew with your mouth open or talk too loudly or laugh until the wine comes pouring out of your nose. 

TURN OFF YOUR PHONE.

And don't eat peas with your knife.

TURN OFF YOUR PHONE 

Do I really have to say that? 

A reminder. TURN OFF YOUR PHONE.

THE TAB 

Have the discussion sooner rather than later.

If you want separate tabs, ask for separate tabs. If you don't, decide beforehand how you will deal with the money. Will you split the bill in equal portions? Will you attempt to decipher who ordered the dry-aged Black Angus rib and who just had the mixed salad and how much was due from each? Whatever you decide, be quick about it. The meal is over. The longer you take to decide who owes what, the more likely you are to be driving home in tense silence. 

Having gone over the bill, it's alright to ask questions. Quietly and politely. I recently pointed out that our tab didn't include our carafe of wine. Really. I did. The server thought for a minute, then smiled and, walking away, simply said, "Offert." Free. My good deed for the day and her's too. She'll remember me.

GENERAL RULES

Don't whistle or snap your fingers at your server. Just don't.

You can request off-menu items. You can request a vegan or a gluten-free option. You can request substitutions. Request is the operative word. Every server in every French restaurant that I have visited has listened to such requests politely. Honoring such requests is another matter. Désolé is French for I'm sorry. In other words, NO. Accept and move on.

Service compris means that the tip is included with your bill. There are various ways that this fact might appear on your bill because the French like to confuse you. Assuming the usual, that service is included in the bill and that the service itself was proper, we will often leave change in a bar or casual cafe, a small bill in a fancier restaurant.

GET ALL THAT? 

There will be a quiz. 

MOVING TO FRANCE: THREE CONSIDERATIONS

Although the vast majority of persons applying for French residency come from former French colonies in Africa, the number of Americans applying for French residency has shown a small but steady increase in recent years. I suppose that there's a Trump Effect, but that's too simple an explanation. There are a variety of circumstances that might make living and working in France desirable from an American's perspective. I won't go into them now. I will say, though, that I suspect that many of those deciding to leave the USofA in response to Trump's ascendancy will fail to successfully integrate in the long run. As I have said many times, one should always concentrate on going a place where you want to live rather than leaving a place that you no longer like. Running from a place for political reasons is bound to provide a less harmonious outcome than actively pursuing a place that suits your likes and your lifestyle, either in the States or around the globe.

Be that as it may, even in our little rural village in the south of France, not in Provence or near any other significant tourist magnet in the region, over the past twelve years a slowly building wave of Americans have been coming to visit, to buy second homes, and/or to move here permanently. And if we've noticed that trend, you can bet that both our French and our British neighbors have as well. Oddly enough, it is sometimes the case that the French are more welcoming than the Brits, but the animosity between Brits and Americans and the manner in which it manifests itself is a story for another time as well. The object of this particular exercise is to point out a few ways that Americans can more easily transition into their new French lives.

LANGUAGE

Yes. The French have their own language. It isn't English. And not every French person speaks English. Not every French person wants to speak English even if they can. Thus, moving to France without having at least some facility with the French language will make settling in more than difficult. 

Take community college classes. Join the local chapter of Alliance Français. Duolingo. Rosetta Stone. It's time to get cracking. If you aren't ready to do that, you're not ready to move to France.

Truth be told, I am anything but fluent, even after 12 years of immersion. I have a good grasp of simple verb tenses - past, present and future. I have no problem at the grocery store or the bakery or the butcher. I don't need an English menu to know what I'm considering ordering at a restaurant. But describing what's the matter with the car, or why I think that the plumbing needs work, that's another matter entirely. Requires preparation and investigation. And doing so over the phone is particularly difficult. But if you are going to live here, combining vocabulary with simple questions/explanations is vital.

Yes, Google is your friend, though deepl is probably better at providing a completely accurate translation. And yes, you can talk into Google in English and it will talk back in French. But that's no way to hold a conversation at the town hall or at a party.

Learn the language.

CULTURE

Learning the language and fitting in culturally go hand in hand. 

To be honest about it, if you were born and raised in the USofA and have lived in a relatively assimilated household, European culture should not be totally unfamiliar to you. And yes, I include folks of Asian and African descent in that statement. Assimilated, I said. Certainly, individual households can and often do reflect the ethnic and geographic heritage of the family's immigrant roots. But immersion in American culture has its consequences. One tends to melt into the melting pot. As a result, most Americans will eventually find their comfort zone in France if they stick to it.

Always greet the shopkeeper or the greeter behind the counter with a pleasant Bonjour. There's a joke about the cost of a cup of coffee, that it costs an extra euro if you don't say Bonjour to the waitstaff before ordering. And there are other rules about Bonjour. You don't say Bonjour to the same person on the same day. After about 6pm, Bonjour becomes Bonsoir. And on leaving, Bonjour becomes Bonne Journée. It's a simple thing, like saying Please (S'il Vous Plait) and Thank You (Merci). Opens doors.

People even say Bonjour to fellow patients when entering the doctor's waiting room or when joining the line at the bakery.

Such rules and customs abound. That's why customs are so difficult to navigate...and rewarding when you get it right.

I see things all the time that are probably different than what you are used to seeing. Get used to them. Dogs in bars and restaurants, often off leash. Children in bars and restaurants, often off leash. When a toddler drops a carrot on the sidewalk, Mom just picks it up, brushes it off, gives it back. Unaccompanied youth are a common sight, walking to and from school, hanging out after school and on the weekends. Two young girls that I don't know, no more than ten years old and without an adult in sight, just knocked on my door and sold me raffle tickets for their sports team. We're a small village, true. And that's the way that I grew up outside of a small New Jersey town. "Go out and play. Be home by dark." But that was 70 years ago. In fact, that's one reason that friends with two adolescent girls moved here more than a decade ago, so that their girls could grow up in the small-town atmosphere of past generations.

Invited to a neighbor's house? Bring a small gift - a bottle of wine, a homemade sweet or a bouquet of flowers. One dear friend often picks blooms from her garden on her way over. We write names on bottles of wine so that we don't regift to the same person.

The list of French cultural norms and the differences between those of the USofA and, in our case, the rural south of France borders on endless. Not enough room without writing a book, and I am not writing that book. It's been done. All that I can say is that the answer to successful navigation is usually as simple as an open mind and liberal use of Bonjour, S'il Vous Plait and Merci.

BUREAUCRACY

I am fond of saying that the French didn't invent bureaucracy but they did refine bureaucracy to a high art. And indeed, although the French economist Jacques Claude Marie Vincent de Gournay is credited with having coined the word, pejoratively at the very outset, there is convincing proof that bureaucracies predated the current French version by millennia. Why are our most common examples of ancient scratchings on clay tablets lists of mercantile goods or stockpiles in royal coffers if not for the overriding need of humankind to keep official records as though they had value in and of themselves?

We all hate paperwork. I get it. Damn those bureaucrats, keeping us buried in piles of paper so that they can draw a pay check. Petty. They find reasons to deny our most reasonable requests. Their rules are arcane, defying understanding. How wonderful life would be without those officious paper pushers.

You are wrong. Bureaucrats are your friends. Yes. I repeat. Bureaucrats are your friends. You just haven't been viewing them through the proper lens.

You see, you have the idea that bureaucracies are created to throw obstacles in the paths of the daily lives of ordinary citizens. Not true. Not at all. Rather, bureaucracies exist to confer power on the petty bureaucrat. That's the real secret. And though that sounds dangerous, think about it. The petty bureaucrat is so well versed in the confusing, often contradictory jumble of rules and regulations that they are charged to enforce that they know how to create any result, circumvent any prohibition. Approve any request.

Approve any request?

Yes. Approve any request. They just need a reason. Rubber stamping DENIED on forms all day can be boring. But having the power to find ways to use the APPROVED stamp is empowering. So, empower the bureaucrat.

Be on time. Be polite. Smile. Say Bonjour. Say S'il Vous Plait and Merci. Bring every piece of paper that the websites say are required. Then think of any other piece of paper that might remotely be pertinent to the matter at hand and bring it, too. Originals and two copies, if you please.

That's not so hard, is it?

 

 

 

TWO REASONS THAT I DESPISE MORGAN LUNA

   

You know that I must be in love with music in all of its forms to be concerned with stuff like the following when all of the political and economic systems that I have known throughout my life are headed straight for the dumpster.

One of Morgan Luna's YouTube videos has had several million views, others have hundreds of thousands. Why should I despise such a lovely, soulful, popular singer? Because Morgan Luna doesn't exist, that's why. Because reading this far, you might decide to check out one of her videos. Please don't. Just. Don't.

Of course, if you consider an AI generated personality as having an existence, I suppose that there are nits that you can pick. You see an image, you hear a voice. Therefore, at some level, Morgan Luna exists. But such philosophical distinctions are beside the point, beside the two points.

First, Luna represents the triumph of the algorithm. The look, the lighting, the lyrics, the backing vocals, the band, the guitar solo, all just the right shade of vanilla to be comforting and comfortable without being challenging. No quirky blips, no surprising chord progressions. No acne scars in sight. Smooth as melted butter on a piece of white toast.

But there's a more important reason that I wish that Morgan Luna's AI creators would unplug her, apologize, and never be heard from again. Every time Morgan Luna tunes are streamed, the oxygen necessary to support a real artist is sucked from the room. Jalen Ngonda's real-live soul on So Glad I Found You is passed by. Witchcraft by the guitar-playing young lady named Jackie Venson doesn't get played. 

And the real tragedy? Folks commenting on Luna's videos say that they don't care if she's real or not. They like the song. What difference does it make? In other words, they are OK with being played by people who have studied them carefully in order to use them for the sole purpose of extracting money from their wallets. This is the world in which we live, among a population manipulated by the algorithm and not minding one little bit.