Assortment

This is the view from the parking lot.

Nifty.

Demolition, and the spire of a Wren church.

Work

So, I am about to embark upon my first exam in the british system. And I have a complaint.

Classes ended March 23.

Then, a month passed.

Next week, exams begin. And they continue until the beginning of July. I have about a week to study for each exam and one to write a paper.

How is it possible that people can complain about not having had enough time to revise? You had Six Weeks! I was traipsing around europe, so I'm screwed, but you live here--you can traipse any old weekend you want! There's a tone of voice that goes with this whingeing, and it makes my skin crawl. It is actually like nails on a chalkboard.

I'm used to having five days, and one of them is after slope day, i.e., recovery day.

Part of me feels like a marine, someone's one-eyed grandpa sitting at the table at the family party, all 'Yeah, I was in the shit...five exams and a paper in six days, and I had to move out before the paper was due. You pansies wouldn't last one minute out there...' and making your friends uncomfortable, because he's blocking the dip and talking about charlie.

But in six weeks I could memorize the class. In six weeks I could teach the class. In six weeks I could cure cancer. I could solve a rubik's cube.

I know that in reality I'd spend the first five weeks drinking, watching tv, playing with my hair, and panic as usual during the last one. But still, at least CU knows that's how it is and gets it over with quickly.

Down and Out in Paris

Cafe with dragon tables. Pissed off Lisa and Corinne.

C'est la vie.

Epilogue: Lisa bought me another ticket. No one checked it on the train, so it was still valid when I got to the airport. Lisa found my ticket right where I dropped it. And then when she came to London, I gave her the other one. She is set for a free train journey to luxurious Charles de Gaulle. And the last coffee in Paris was good.

More

Lisa, I say, stomach tight and hands cold. Which ticket was I supposed to hold onto?

Lisa, examining my tickets: You dropped it. Oh my god. You dropped it.

Big Sigh.

Adorable. Unlike my dropping of the ticket.

Last Hours in Paris

Huuuuge glasses, like beacons in the night.

This lady!

This is the bar where I opened my mouth and a sentence later they were all laughing because 'She talks like an arab!!!' Momma Brenz is proud.

One time, I made lisa take me to montmartre mere hours before my plane took off.

OK, she said, but let me buy your train ticket to the airport first.

I am A Tourist.

OK, says I. Sounds good. I shuffle around in my pockets, thumbing old, used tickets, as Lisa buys the new one.

Hold on to this, she says. Don't drop it.

I take the ticket.

She carte oranges and motions me to follow, as I no longer have a carte orange.

I drop the real ticket and put the used ones back in my pocket.

And we go to montmartre.

one last Big Head, some Bar Strangers

biiiiig head

I'll eat your face?

One time, we were walking around in paris, and some strangers waved us into a bar.

They had huge glasses in that bar. So we went in, and did not look back.

You want pictures?

May I suggest http://www.tshirtexmachina.blogspot.com/ ?

Commentary to follow.