Below are actual images of what I really look like. Or would, if I superimposed my face over a preexisting image of Danny Tanner, and Danny from the Partridge family. Figure one is where I once was, figure two is where I now am. (And by "now am" I referring to my level of "photoshop skills." Or rather the distinct lack thereof.
If that isn't a face that a mother could love, than may MS Paint have mercy on my soul. I was actually too lazy to do the Jonny Quest rendition as well as me in my Mama Brady phase. Most of all I'm sorry I didn't take any pictures of my thursday night outing wherein my hair was done up exactly like Penny from Inspector Gadget. Of course, I'm like 18 years older than Penny was when this photo was taken. And as such, I looked much as I described it on twitter:
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| As long as halloween was last thursday night, and in April. |
But Penny, right? Now there is a young woman ahead of her time! She had the first notebook computer ever documented. It was waterproof and secret, and she had a dope laptop bag to keep it in with her other normal, "no genius here, just kid stuff" text books.
Everyone knows she was the complete and total brain behind the inspector and if that wasn't ironic enough, she humbly named her dog Brain and then proceed to teach him sign language. Plus she had Skype on her watch.
(Click here for ipod/droid Penny backgrounds)
But alas, this message will self destruct if I don't get back to talking about my hair. Long beautiful hair?Yeah, it's getting longer and I think I may start blowdrying it. I'm pretty sure that's what adults do. And I'm pretty sure I should start thinking of myself as one. But most of all it seems to keep it from getting all snarly.
Also in France, and in Europe in general, it's not considered "effeminate" for males of my race and class to smell good, match and put a lot of product in their hair. Even if I do think it's vain, (and for the record I think it's vain when I do it, as well) I definitely appreciate that guys are subject to the same tight jean bs that we are and I definitely am grateful that Sebastien can find trousers with waists and inseams that fit him.
Honestly, nothing makes me feel more discouraged by American male fashion, not to mention american male dimensions when we would go pants shopping for him and find no 29x29 but plenty of 42x32. But that's america for you, making fat assery a verb since 17 something or other.
The rest of my weekend was fairly straight foward....the weekend starts on thursday, didn't you know?
On Friday night Sebastien and I game tested the rules he wrote for an Eberron modification for the Warhammer Fantasy game system. I'm really proud of him. He's fleshed out les règles for over 8 seperate armies all with lore, heroes, special units and magical weapons and he only has 5 more to go.
Obviously, the project is his so it keeps on getting bigger. And naturally, I'm sore loser when it comes to intellectual games.. so when he caused my Fire Giant Shaman to flee off of the battle field, I was none too pleased. But I was already busy editing this blog post when he finally beat me.
On Saturday we went comic book shopping dans la place Saint Michel. The Latin Quarter is a great neighborhood for the petites-cafes-dans-la-rue-de-pie feel if your going for the throw back, cher, French experience. It's very quaint though, and if you're already there and on vacation, why not eat!
The French take comic books, or as I have told you, bandes dessinées, very seriously. You can find history lessons rendered in comic, you can find military adventureism made comic--sometimes, you can get those both in the same tome! You know who know me so well know that I'm a very serious person who reads only interesting and important books and well as vetted online article, and first source materials. But I also like sex. Alot. Enough to help me learn French.
Now I'll give you the disclaimer I gave my coloc who asked to borrow the livre when I'm finished. I was like, look--don't think I'm a freak or anything. (bluff check like whoa.) I just had some criteria when I went shopping.
- The pictures needed to look real, not cartoonish and bubblie.
- There had to be a fair mix of pictures to words
- I expected there to be plenty of frames reserved for nice and dirty sex, in lieu of too much talking.
- Most of all, it needed to be in color.
Sunday was free museum day. Unlike in DC all the museums here are 10 euros for folks over 26. But on the first Sunday of each month, you can get in gratuitment! Unfortunately, it was also May Day and all the museums were closed. I'm hoping Paris will make it up to me next week. But I did get to see this:
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| A Communist plot to keep me out of museums: May day |
Sometimes it's pretty cool living so close to la place de la Republique, other times it's just noisy. There were some homeless folk tryin to sleep it off in the park. Between the ululating singers of kurdish techno, smells of good food they can't afford and everyone tromping around joyfully, I bet they wish the walls of their tents were thicker. I like the word for protest in France, it's called a manifestation. It seems a more poetic explanation for people gathering in protest because it represents the manifestation of the people's will. Well, while I'm busy dropping in and explain words I may as well say homeless people are called S.D.F. which stands for sans domicil fixé, or "without a fixed home." Every night volunteers drive around Paris and talk with them, offer them food and blankets. Socialism has a kind man's heart when it's cold outside.
Woooo, I'm spent. I hope this update was as fun to read as it was to write. Sorry for the phantom post yesterday, that splatter funk was postta be for my super secret blog. I was wicked frantic trying to fix that for a few. Well, I would love to hear about any of your favorite shows growing up, or a link to your best/worst MS paint win/fail. That would be especially awesome. I leave you with a quote from Allen Ginsberg's poem, Karl Majalis, 'And I am the king of May, tho' paranoid, for the Kingdom of May is too beautiful to last more than a month.'
Peace and chicken grease, my little chickadees.
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