It was one year ago today that I groggily disembarked from a plane, hopped in a taxi that, in retrospect, overcharged me, and found myself in an aparthotel at the back end of La Défense. As the Purrito will rightly state, our official expatriation anniversary is not until June, but it was at this time …
Some 40 hours of one-on-one instruction (broken into 1.5 hour chunks) later, I find myself at the end of my company-allotted French lessons. I am now feeling strangely adrift, and it took more effort than I expected to stop myself from simply sulking through the day. She was nominally “just” a French tutor (whom the …
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 …
Fezzik In Paris 