dad wrote:Been in Paris for a few hours and already dying from embarrassment. We asked a waiter at a wine bar we stopped at for some recs, and according to our airbnb host, they’re not that great. Then we half-jokingly mentioned to our host that we would want French onion soup, she said, “nobody eats that.”
I can’t stop laughing.
Thanks, VG! It’s lovely so far. Lots of good people watching.VinylGuy wrote:dad wrote:Been in Paris for a few hours and already dying from embarrassment. We asked a waiter at a wine bar we stopped at for some recs, and according to our airbnb host, they’re not that great. Then we half-jokingly mentioned to our host that we would want French onion soup, she said, “nobody eats that.”
I can’t stop laughing.
Enjoy the city dad!! its a wonderful place.
Of course now you have to ask for French toast and French fries.dad wrote:Been in Paris for a few hours and already dying from embarrassment. We asked a waiter at a wine bar we stopped at for some recs, and according to our airbnb host, they’re not that great. Then we half-jokingly mentioned to our host that we would want French onion soup, she said, “nobody eats that.”
I can’t stop laughing.
wease wrote:Of course now you have to ask for French toast and French fries.dad wrote:Been in Paris for a few hours and already dying from embarrassment. We asked a waiter at a wine bar we stopped at for some recs, and according to our airbnb host, they’re not that great. Then we half-jokingly mentioned to our host that we would want French onion soup, she said, “nobody eats that.”
I can’t stop laughing.
. All i can remember is they had a lot of books and magazines on the walls. I'll ask my wife if she remembers the place.Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
yeah, sorry...that was one where we were like...we have to go. stood in the rain for an hour and a half to get tickets. worth it...we had umbrellas.tragabigzanda wrote:fucking hell I just looked and we're going to barely miss that Rothko exhibitdad wrote:Paris is easily my favorite part of our trip. It was the city I was most excited to visit, and it didn't disappoint. We did so much walking...my god, insane amounts of walking...until we decided to try the metro, which wasn't all that bad...except for the last full day we were there, and hopped on a car and a guy was asleep or dead in the corner of the car and he'd clearly shit himself or was a rotting corpse. either way, it was foul.
at one of our dinners (the tasting menu), we met a couple from sweden who told us about a mark rothko exhibit, which we got to see the same day as the rotting guy on the metro. i hope he wasn't dead.
Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
me too...I wish that you would have liked Rome though..I've always liked it theretragabigzanda wrote:happy for you dad
thanks guys. I liked Rome. It's just that I liked Paris a little more.doug rr wrote:me too...I wish that you would have liked Rome though..I've always liked it theretragabigzanda wrote:happy for you dad
dad wrote:also, fresh pasta aside...my wife and I aren't big pasta eaters.
I’m just glad the traditional French food didn’t ruin Paris for him.Alex wrote:dad wrote:also, fresh pasta aside...my wife and I aren't big pasta eaters.
I'm excited for you. I think you'll love it.wease wrote:Glad you had such a good time, dad. Looking forward to our journey even more now.
I had to google this and … seriously?tragabigzanda wrote:fucking hell I just looked and we're going to barely miss that Rothko exhibitdad wrote:Paris is easily my favorite part of our trip. It was the city I was most excited to visit, and it didn't disappoint. We did so much walking...my god, insane amounts of walking...until we decided to try the metro, which wasn't all that bad...except for the last full day we were there, and hopped on a car and a guy was asleep or dead in the corner of the car and he'd clearly shit himself or was a rotting corpse. either way, it was foul.
at one of our dinners (the tasting menu), we met a couple from sweden who told us about a mark rothko exhibit, which we got to see the same day as the rotting guy on the metro. i hope he wasn't dead.
