Posts under ‘On Being A Foreigner’

Angela and I are back from Cannes. This time there are no words for everything I saw, no words for everything I felt. Luckily I have heaps of bad quality footage, Windows Movie Maker and John Mayer.

I’m writing this entry on a train ride from Paris to Cannes. Angela and I are attending this year’s International Advertising Festival for work. Well, she’s here for work. I’m here because I couldn’t pass up a trip to Cannes (and my birthday is this week). Right now I’m thinking it’s a shame trains aren’t [...]

Angela and I fought on Gchat yesterday. The argument went back and forth long enough to reach out and touch the desperate territory you fall into when part of your mind sadly and quietly wonders how you’ll survive without this person, while the rest of it freaks the fuck out and makes you scream. It [...]

During my first week in France, Gaël told me about a party that was to be held in the Catacombs in June. My initial thought was that he was inviting me to hit the sauce with a bunch of skulls, but it turns out the ossuary only makes up a tiny portion of the underground [...]

Paul: I think we grossly underestimate our sorrows, in general. We always die of sadness, actually. Alice: You mean sadness is put inside us at birth? P: Yes. A: Like eye color? P: Exactly. That’s why it needs our care, but others can do nothing. No one can do anything about eye color. Also, I [...]

Paris likes to pluck things right out of my imagination and make them real,  like this cozy cafe in the middle of a used book shop: Strangers browsed around us as we dined, and halfway through our red wine and vegetable soup Angela glanced to the left and found both the diary of Don Juan [...]