Goodbye France…

I haven’t been able to write a bunch this week.  I helped set up the Christmas tree.  I bought cool shoes in Paris.  And oh yeah, I had to pack because I’m going home.

Unfortunately the program has ended, and me without a visa, have to go back home to the states.  Here’s my vlog explaining it.

My stay has been fun here.  I wanted to make sure the kids were in the last video here too, because they were a big part of my involvement in the family, and made my stay a lot of fun.

I ate one last kebab today, and tonight we’re eating Raclette- aka melty cheese as my going away dinner.  I’ve been posting stuff on my Twitter regarding packing my bags and stuff, so make sure to follow me there for all sorts of maybe interesting updates on my travels.

The Illusion of Knowing

Mark sat down on the table.  It was cold, and his lack of clothes didn’t help.  He studied the obscure anatomical drawings adorning the walls to distract himself from his hairy thighs being covered by little more than his underwear.

He glanced back and forth at the door, hearing piqued by the sound of footsteps outside. The noise passed, and he went back to trying to make sense of the pressure point diagram; a diagram of a foot labeled with other parts of the body.

The sound of the heavy door opening made him jump, breaking him away from the nonsense that seemed to make up the poster.  “Matt?”  The man stepping through the door called out.

“Err, I’m Mark.”

“Ah yes, Mark.  Slip of the tongue.”  The doctor apologized.  He waddled in through the door, white coat buttoned awkwardly all the way to his neck.  His face twisted up in concentration, and his dark unkempt beard followed the movements of his face.

Mark uncomfortable shifted on the table, trying to stretch the pity amount of fabric of his boxer shorts down over his thighs.  Avoiding staring at the doctor, he looked back at the same poster.

“Shit’s crazy.”The doctor bursted out suddenly.  Mark looked over to him nodding at the same poster.

“What?”

“Oh uh.”  The doctor stammered.  “I said ‘seems crazy.’  It totally works though. Yes sir.”

“Oh, we’ll see I guess, right?”Continue reading “The Illusion of Knowing”

The Costco of France

The Christmas Market of Montpellier was shown up.  Twice.  Paris has multiple Marchés de Noel, and they are all pretty spectacular.  I went to two of them in one day somehow.

There are just unending stalls selling anything you can imagine, and you are bombarded with smells of hot wine, frying sausages, immense plates of tartiflette, curried chicken, kebab, and plenty of other specialties.

I sampled at least a few shots of liqueur, from Maple Syrup flavored whiskey, gin, cognac, to crunchy pralines and soft nougat from people who wanted to sell me bags upon bags of it.  I was… overwhelmed.

Finding the Smile

–Give me a smile, please?  He pleaded,  locking eyes with her while flashing his own smile, trying to get a reaction.

–I can’t.  I don’t want to.

He sighed, turning away from her.
–Why not?

–It’s not something I can just produce without reason.

–Think about something happy then.  He paced, looking over the still blank canvas.

–Okay, I guess I’m happy now, but it isn’t going to push me into smiling. She said, still straight faced.

–Think about something funny then.

–I’ll want to laugh, and that shows off my teeth.  I don’t like my teeth; they’re not pretty.

–Is that what this is about?  He stopped, turning towards her.  –You don’t need to show your teeth.  I just want to be pleasant for this painting.

–You’re being pushy.

–Please Ma Donna, your husband is paying me to create this for both you.  You wouldn’t want to look so solemn for your husband, would you?

–I don’t care.  He never calls me by my first name, and when he does it sounds so coarse.  Why don’t you say it for me?

He sighed again, now avoiding eye contact.  His cheeks grew slightly red.  —Ma Donna Giocondo, that would be inappropriate-

–Monsieur da Vinci, please?

–Lisa.

Her mouth curled up ever so gently.  Without another word, she stood still, leaned daintily against the stool.  He sat down across from her, and began to sketch.

Re: Here You Go, Steven

Finding time to talk with my friends on Skype is a little bit difficult with the 9 hour time difference and the spotty times that they are on.  I did have the chance to talk with one, and he asked me if I was enjoying checking out all the beautiful French women.  Me, I was too busy checking out myself through the flipped up LCD of my camera, trying in vain to dodge glances of people looking at the person talking to himself while lining up a shot of the Eiffel Tower behind him.

Well, this time I saw the pretty French women.  The prettiest French women actually.  The best of the best.  Miss France.  What are the odds?

I debated which thumbnail to put up on this video; one where I looked like it would be plausible for me to be within 100 feet of these girls, or the one I actually decided to use.

By the way; I used the world ‘girls’ above because that’s what they were. One of the rules of miss France is that they have to be between 18 and 24 years old. That makes me just one year too late to be in the running, among other reasons. Oh well, maybe in another life.