Fezzik In Paris

Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named "de Gaulle"

Wednesday morning was a shitshow.

It was all the more surreal when, arriving at a doctor’s appointment, I stood there with the receptionists, slack-jawed, as a snippet of the victory speech came on. Perhaps sensing that the hospital was grinding to a halt, whomever runs the TV system cut back to one of the fluffy “Come to Paris because even when you factor in travel and a month’s worth of recovery time in one of the most expensive cities in the world, it’s still cheaper than getting that surgery in the US” ads.

Our passports feel vaguely like brands now: jagged, ugly.

I feel compelled to admit that I’ve considered changing the tag line for this blog; Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named ‘de Gaulle’ seemed impish enough and passed the two week test (if a name still sounds good after two weeks, go with it), but now… People is too generic. Lost souls is a nice Pink Floyd reference, but is far too emo for two people in their thirties. Dumbasses is funny for approximately 10 seconds. Anything occupation-based is out, because the Purrito and I do not share an occupation.

Expats or expatriates could work. I’ll consider it.

Still, this isn’t a political blog any more than it is a food blog, so I will just go feel lost somewhere else.

To twist a phrase from a recent Deus Ex: it’s not the end of the world, but damned if it doesn’t feel like you can see it from here.

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