The last two weeks have, without question, been the least pleasant weeks that we have spent in France; what we had thought was a well planned exit has degraded into a hasty retreat. Where I had envisioned the ability to visit our favorite places one last time, we have found ourselves overwhelmed and constrained; we …
This morning, at 0530, we found that we had dug too deep, that things had gone too far. A chamber was broken into. We descended into the darkness, the absence of light so oppressive that the darkness felt like ink on our skins. We descended into madness. This is how it felt, anyway, as we …
Some three weeks have passed since we returned from our Italian adventure; flying into Venice, we then took a train to Florence, and a subsequent train to Rome. It was a hell of a trip, and, as usual, I took a probably-ridiculous number of pictures (a thorough purge brought this number to just north of …
Owing to its proximity and imposing nature, l’eglise de la madeleine was one of the first churches that we wandered into when we arrived in Paris. When we saw that l’eglise was often used for concerts, our collective interest was piqued, and thus nearly every version of The List, The Schedule, and finally, The Calendar, …
On Toussaint, (now some ten days ago…) we found ourselves at Fondation Louis Vuitton for their newest exposition, être moderne: le moma à Paris. So here are the pictures that have been, shall we say, fermenting in my Lightroom export folder for the past week and a half.
I do not know if the culprit was Fezzik, who likes eating plastic, or Vorenus, who likes eating carbohydrates. It would seem evident, though, that I was in need of a reminder not to neglect anything that I might eventually want to eat.
I burned a day of PTO on Tuesday (I already had Wednesday off on account of it being Toussaint) and indulged in one of my ongoing obsessions; I returned to la basilique cathédrale de Saint-Denis. While it is true that I had entirely intended to go back, hoping to perhaps take advantage of some of the new …
The name Rubens conjures mental images of soft, curvaceous women in various semi-historical settings; if clothed at all, at least one breast has broken free of its silken restraint, and the remains of the garment threaten to drop to the ground, the act of disrobing to be marked only the faintest of sounds. Unknown to …
I had a religious experience on Friday. Wandering through the Marais, our mission to procure more pants (ah, adulthood) complete, the Purrito stopped in front of the window of a Jewish bakery and pointed at a loaf of halle bread. Having walked this road many times before, always refusing the offer, I was prepared to dismiss …
Fezzik In Paris 