There is a tiny town in central France, a place I once called home. It's name is Issoire, deep in le massif central, the central mountains of France. It's a region that resembles in several dear ways these lovely Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia. Except for the dormant volcanoes! And certainly except for the wine. Mon cher! But for a very few notable exceptions, West Virginia has (excuse my French) vin horrible. Plonk, I believe, is what Americans call it. Sorry, but your terrior is -- shall we be polite? -- off. I have somewhat enjoyed the cabernet sauvignon of Fisher Ridge Wines, grown on a hillside in rural Putnam County. By a dentist! It stayed in my mouth not down the drain, passing my first test of non-plonk. But enough about me. I have come to West Virginia to work and to write. Instead of writing about the mountains (doesn't everyone always write about the mountains of the Mountain State-- banal!), I humbly offer this blog of my urban experiences downtown in the great state of West "Par Dieu" Virginia!