In which FHC does not mention that he changed his friendster picture

Being in Paris is so stressful, even for people like me who stopped using its obnoxious public transportation system years ago (the subway in Paris is a fast and reliable way to get killed in my opinion – “French people” are so impulsive, violent and relatively poor lately). I already feel exhausted partly because I caught a sore throat in my parent’s apartment which is not heated – probably in order to make sure I do leave on Saturday morning and do not overstay my welcome.

I had lunch at Bercy with an ex-Washingtonian who now has a political appointment at the Ministry of Finance and a little more gray hair than me; it was a nice forum to talk about signs of aging and remembering the glorious days of casual sex [2001-2005]: a conversation we, mature gentlemen, always enjoy. As announced I purchased a pair of driving (? – necessary with our personal zipcar revolution) shoes with my mother in front of Janson de Sailly for the price of a few human beings in Eastern Europe [please don’t tell LL about it]. Fashionable footwear is always a nice temporary alternative to self-esteem. I am now going to take them to an obscure little restaurant in the 13^th arrondissement, the local Chinatown, to check if I can manage to get killed for a pair of shoes.

In other news, I find it absolutely fabulous that the entire traffic here, as LL pointed out, is driven by a half naked Ian Somerhalder picture: indeed he does not look like a mature gentleman in his swim trunks(even Target's). Ok I am off to being murdered by illegal immigrants.

Comments

[kevin d.]

i have just one question: what color was your plant when you left?
green?
or brown-ish???

[LL]

That reminds me of another question - Was Oliver D. living when you left, or sort of like half-deadish?