well, I just killed another computer.
Dom (can't be arsed formatting) They actually say "ooh la la", "oui oui", and "c'est terible" (guy beside toby swearing at computer). And, apparently, "badda-bing, badda-boom".
Toby
It's getting kind of hard to enjoy the comings and goings of life over the other side of the world when the PC I'm using keeps committing suicide. The French ragga-head at the front desk is gutting the thing beside me as I speak, and I've moved one chair to the left. Fingers crossed, this computer won't lose its will to live.
Anyhow, that has completely thrown me, can't remember what I was going to say.
Oh yeah! Hopefully, Gods of navigation willing, I'm going skating in Marseilles, France. There's supposed to be a really neat park there and I'm gonna hitch a lift in and see if I can find it. Yay me. See, I didn't lug my skates half-way around Europe for nothing. Besides, I've rolled around Paris, the ubiquitous military presence gave me dirty looks from behind their severe haircuts and automatic weapons.
Did I mention how glad I am to be out of Paris? Pinto, I take back every single even slightly malign comment I ever made about our city. Compared to lovely Paris, it's an oasis of culture and cleanliness. Melbourne come home, all is forgiven.
Miss you guys, I think I'm starting to see things. At the morning market today, I swear I saw Fiona, or the French incarnation thereof. And my University Art-lady lecturer. It's getting spooky.
Sunset was nice.
Damn. I keep thinking how I should write this whole journal thing in the style of Kerouac, due to us being, you know, on the road and all, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It goes against every bad joke I made about the beat generation in the few Cultural Production tutorials I actually attended.
Cue the lines.
D
If you Kerouac I'll kill you. Saignon is beautiful. Shame about all the oiled French boys in tight t-shirts. Give us funny looks. Apparrently posing is a popular French pasttime- step, step, head-tilt, step, pooooooossssseeeeee, continue walking.
Saw a fantastic bunch of gypsy/street-urchin type buskers. Two days running. Don't they have any homes to go to? Oops, s'pose not. Annabel's totally in love, run-away-and-join-the-circus style. Had a jam on Dango Reinhardt with the piano-accordion girl with WIERD hair. They cane Skip buskers over here, they looked fantastic, although very unwashed. Just added to the effect.
Toby can't wait to get to Italy: coffee. No latte in France. No mocha, no chai, no iced-chocolate ("chocolat fraiche", they know what it is but they don't make 'em). No such thing as a long black in france, which is fine by me if the coffee's good, which is only slightly less rare than at home. The tea is terrible.
But, free (i'm not paying anything) holiday to Europe, travelling, seeing neat and beautiful shit, I aint bitching- much.
Seems the latte glass hasn't even struggled over the border to here, either.
Toby
It's getting kind of hard to enjoy the comings and goings of life over the other side of the world when the PC I'm using keeps committing suicide. The French ragga-head at the front desk is gutting the thing beside me as I speak, and I've moved one chair to the left. Fingers crossed, this computer won't lose its will to live.
Anyhow, that has completely thrown me, can't remember what I was going to say.
Oh yeah! Hopefully, Gods of navigation willing, I'm going skating in Marseilles, France. There's supposed to be a really neat park there and I'm gonna hitch a lift in and see if I can find it. Yay me. See, I didn't lug my skates half-way around Europe for nothing. Besides, I've rolled around Paris, the ubiquitous military presence gave me dirty looks from behind their severe haircuts and automatic weapons.
Did I mention how glad I am to be out of Paris? Pinto, I take back every single even slightly malign comment I ever made about our city. Compared to lovely Paris, it's an oasis of culture and cleanliness. Melbourne come home, all is forgiven.
Miss you guys, I think I'm starting to see things. At the morning market today, I swear I saw Fiona, or the French incarnation thereof. And my University Art-lady lecturer. It's getting spooky.
Sunset was nice.
Damn. I keep thinking how I should write this whole journal thing in the style of Kerouac, due to us being, you know, on the road and all, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It goes against every bad joke I made about the beat generation in the few Cultural Production tutorials I actually attended.
Cue the lines.
D
If you Kerouac I'll kill you. Saignon is beautiful. Shame about all the oiled French boys in tight t-shirts. Give us funny looks. Apparrently posing is a popular French pasttime- step, step, head-tilt, step, pooooooossssseeeeee, continue walking.
Saw a fantastic bunch of gypsy/street-urchin type buskers. Two days running. Don't they have any homes to go to? Oops, s'pose not. Annabel's totally in love, run-away-and-join-the-circus style. Had a jam on Dango Reinhardt with the piano-accordion girl with WIERD hair. They cane Skip buskers over here, they looked fantastic, although very unwashed. Just added to the effect.
Toby can't wait to get to Italy: coffee. No latte in France. No mocha, no chai, no iced-chocolate ("chocolat fraiche", they know what it is but they don't make 'em). No such thing as a long black in france, which is fine by me if the coffee's good, which is only slightly less rare than at home. The tea is terrible.
But, free (i'm not paying anything) holiday to Europe, travelling, seeing neat and beautiful shit, I aint bitching- much.
Seems the latte glass hasn't even struggled over the border to here, either.