Voter Sarko...ça sert Aryen!

I hit the road for Germany- Munich to be precise. It was a time full of dark beer and pretzels, castles and goodwill towards man. And large-scale games of chess, apparently.

I wish I had more to say. But the truth is that I've been hammering away at an epic art history paper. Except for the weekends when I take advantage of the late sunset and the 75+ degree weather (F). And the river!

And at all other times I can be found on the 85 bus rapping Jay-Z's black album. Really. You should check it out sometime. St Michel-St Germain seems to be a popular stop.

I smoked the last of my shmigarettes in the bazeebababo

Hey! I'm on vacation again! And if you're thinking, 'Weren't you just on vacation?'-yes! I was! The de Scorrailles have vacated again, but this time leaving me for the studio apartment they rent in the Alps. That's really rough.


Jake came over and when he missed the last metro, we decided to make it a sleep-over. Although we did not sleep. At all. We perused the de Scorraille's collection of Agatha Christie books (and found, much to Jake's delight, Ten Little Indians) and then watched Amelie.


And then we decided it might be nice to go watch the sunrise from Sacré Coeur. So at 6AM we put on our shoes and left 71 rue La Fay-Fay and headed up to Montmartre.


If you're ever in Paris, and awake this early, I highy suggest Watching The Sunrise From Sacré Coeur, if only because there are less than 30 people there. Many pigeons, though. Many, many pigeons. What a terrible existance that must be. To be a pigeon is to be one of the ugliest creatures in the world, one that makes creepy noises and bothers everyone. Seriously. Who likes pigeons? No one. Except for Ernest Hemingway. And then it's with a bit of salt.


We found a space on the steps relatively free of broken glass, cigarette butts, and pigeons and settled in, alternately watching bits of the city light up, taking pictures of tourists, and wondering how many pigeons one could take out with a 5-euro box of pellets. And while this topic was not brought up until after we'd left the basilica and were once again wandering the cobblestone streets, I feel it deserves the same attention: if They could genetically engineer a pigeon to feed off cigarette butts it would be a major contribution to society. The pigeons would simultaneously cleaning up and shortening their lifespan. IT WOULD BE THE GREATEST INVENTION EVER.


Look, I hate pigeons, okay?







The sun came up. Jake and I s'en est allé, and went in search of someplace where we could find some coffee. But not before really pissing off a really big dog which really scared the daylights out of me. Furthermore, it being The Lord's Day, and Easter at that, at 7:30AM, not much was open. We finally found a brasserie at Place Pigalle (of course!) across the street from Le Moulin Rouge, full of old men who were, no doubt, just leaving the girlie shows. And over coffee and croissants we watched as the 18th began to show signs of life before hopping on the 12 and, once again, disappearing into our respective corners of the city.