Wait, now they're playing Elton John. Weird
Well, since the internet in my flat has gone down, and I can't post to LJ from the office, I will probably be quieter than usual for a while. Right now I'm sitting in the Taverne de Cluny and listening to some kind of Classic Rock compilation CD blaring out at a million decibels. Things are quite stressful with the flat-hunting. Hannah comes out here in about two weeks and we have no idea where exactly we are going to live when she does.
When I am not phoning flats, visiting flats, or dreaming about flats, I have been reading Notre Dame de Paris, which scared me before I started but is actually surprisingly easy to read and, thanks to the usual 19th-century narrative drive, is pulling me through very happily. I was reading Michel Houellebecq's Les Particules Élémentaires but I loathed it so much I stopped reading three-quarters of the way through. I still read it when I'm at the laundrette though, so I guess I will finish it eventually. Yawn, yet more French intellectual writers who think being cynical is the same as being profound.
It's Paris Plage right now, which is when the city closes one of the motorways running along the Seine, and dumps several thousand tons of real sand on it. The whole place sits out there all day, sunbathing and drinking - it's awesome. So most evenings after work are taken care of for a while. On my evenings in, I spend an inordinate amount of time watching chickflicks downloaded from iTunes. (Actually last night I saw Hellboy 2, which I hated and does not fill me with confidence about how The Hobbit will turn out.)
Last night I had dinner with Shayne and a couple of his friends. One was his former lodger, who seemed quite nice, although it does transpire that every Thursday she dresses up as a mediaeval wench and goes to some kind of Middle Ages-themed tavern in the 4th. She made her outfit herself. She invited me along this week, and she warned me most people are quite geeky and speak to each other in Old French. I'M THERE YOU CRAZY DEMOISELLE. They have real mead and hippocras and everything. The other guy eating with us was an amazing Italian-American New Yorker who spoke like people do in New York films from the 70s - which is the last time he really lived there, so I suppose it makes sense. He was astonished by everything: ‘Oh. So, what? You're called what? War-wick? What is that? What the fuck is that? It sounds like Shakespeare man, Jee-sus. You're how old? You're fucking shitting me. Have we ordered yet or what the fuck?’ And so on. I couldn't stop laughing when I spoke to him, he was awesome.
My penultimate Kenya film went out today. I'm pleased with this one.
Can anyone tell me what True Blood is like?
When I am not phoning flats, visiting flats, or dreaming about flats, I have been reading Notre Dame de Paris, which scared me before I started but is actually surprisingly easy to read and, thanks to the usual 19th-century narrative drive, is pulling me through very happily. I was reading Michel Houellebecq's Les Particules Élémentaires but I loathed it so much I stopped reading three-quarters of the way through. I still read it when I'm at the laundrette though, so I guess I will finish it eventually. Yawn, yet more French intellectual writers who think being cynical is the same as being profound.
It's Paris Plage right now, which is when the city closes one of the motorways running along the Seine, and dumps several thousand tons of real sand on it. The whole place sits out there all day, sunbathing and drinking - it's awesome. So most evenings after work are taken care of for a while. On my evenings in, I spend an inordinate amount of time watching chickflicks downloaded from iTunes. (Actually last night I saw Hellboy 2, which I hated and does not fill me with confidence about how The Hobbit will turn out.)
Last night I had dinner with Shayne and a couple of his friends. One was his former lodger, who seemed quite nice, although it does transpire that every Thursday she dresses up as a mediaeval wench and goes to some kind of Middle Ages-themed tavern in the 4th. She made her outfit herself. She invited me along this week, and she warned me most people are quite geeky and speak to each other in Old French. I'M THERE YOU CRAZY DEMOISELLE. They have real mead and hippocras and everything. The other guy eating with us was an amazing Italian-American New Yorker who spoke like people do in New York films from the 70s - which is the last time he really lived there, so I suppose it makes sense. He was astonished by everything: ‘Oh. So, what? You're called what? War-wick? What is that? What the fuck is that? It sounds like Shakespeare man, Jee-sus. You're how old? You're fucking shitting me. Have we ordered yet or what the fuck?’ And so on. I couldn't stop laughing when I spoke to him, he was awesome.
My penultimate Kenya film went out today. I'm pleased with this one.
Can anyone tell me what True Blood is like?