I officially gave up on acquiring a copy of Charlie Hebdo today. The latter days of my search last week seemed to indicate that salvation was to be had on Monday, with “possible deliveries” scheduled. Such was not the case, though. Perhaps amusingly, on the first day of its release (the day on which the …
The Purrito is off to the US for a few days to take care of a few things and stash some of the loot that we’ve acquired. I am thus once more alone in France, though this time responsible for three cats. I suppose I should inform them that the food fairy is MIA; unless …
I confess that, until very recently, I had been unaware of this Windows feature: the US-international keyboard. Instead of using the character map like an illiterate savage or having to remember alt-codes like a linux-humping greybeard, it’s possible to add accents, cedillas, and even circumflexes in an idiot-proof fashion. It’s detailed in KB97738. Goodbye feeling …
Contrary to the potential implication of the title, this isn’t a tale of woe; we’re not feeling alienated, lonely, isolated, or fantasizing about being the main character in that Folgers commercial that’s (probably still) being aired, despite the fact that Peter finished college, married his sweetheart, became a banker, developed a coke habit, voted for …
The Purrito is currently en route to the airport. She’s not the one that will be boarding a plane, however; a friend of hers that stayed with us for a week is headed back home. Said friend looked tired as she headed out the door; having watched (and occasionally accompanied) as she and the Purrito …
Armistice day falls on a Tuesday this year, which means that the office (and the morning metro and the usual lunch places…) today, the Monday before, was effectively a ghost town. I knew this going in; upon awakening, I made (semi-) grand plans that involved the acquisition of the long wool overcoat that caught my …
Caught: the ghost of this blog. Composed on the half-written posts rotting in various places, he roams, alone, incomplete, unappreciated, sad.
Scary. Sad. Tasty.
Until I eat him. Existential crises go out the window when one is being digested, or so I would tend to assume.
Nobody brings their lunch, so I don’t bring a lunch. Similarly, nobody eats at their desk, so I don’t eat at my desk, in defiance of the deeply-ingrained (and admittedly bad) habit that I’ve gotten into over the past several years (because I can already imagine the Purrito reading this post, we’ll qualify that with …
Granted, this post is LLLOOONNNGGGG overdue, but it has been a bit crazy lately. My birthday was on the 29th of July. Hey! At least I got around to posting about it! So… When I woke up, there were random sticky notes with sweet little scribbles all over the house. (A very Geep move. So …
It’s tourist season. Wide-eyed, badly-dressed, rolling two massive suitcases apiece, wearing baseball caps, schlubby shorts, and high white socks; these are the people that are seriously fucking up the commute in the morning. From the statistics that I saw, almost 10% of France’s GDP comes from tourism, but man, you can see the natives seething …
Fezzik In Paris 