A small little place to put stories not fit for postcards...

It all started out simple enough, Ian reflected. The evening had begun at l'Institute Tourraine, with the rest of the Americans. They were supposed to be there at 7 pm, to meet the families they would be staying with for the second four weeks of the program. So far so good; Ian found where he needed to go, and his family was the first to arrive.

They were a nice enough couple, both about 5'5" tall, and friendly as could be; Ian was very impressed. He was even more impressed when they brought out pictures of their house, and showed him the room he would be sleeping in. Apparently, they had thrown their 26-year-old daughter out of her room for the four weeks, just so he could have a private place to sleep. Ian was grateful, if somewhat racked by guilt.

Then dinner started. It was a simple pick-nick, sandwhiches and salads and the like. Wine too, of course. Ian decided to be polite though, and so limited his consumption to three glasses with the family. They chatted and got along nicely, everything went very well. Then came desert. It was these lovely little tartines, with custard and raspberries and chocolate and it was just too tasty for words. After he got his serving, Ian realized that he needed more, so he got up and tracked down the table where the deserts were laid out.

While admiring the delicious display, Ian happened to notice a rather forlorn group of females, huddled in the corner - four or five of them. Gentleman that he is, Ian decided to try and cheer them up, so he went over to talk. Upon investigation, however, it turned out that instead of forlorn, they were quite happy. Jovial, even. The reason that they had been huddled so closely was that they had siezed a few bottles - champagne, red wine - and didn't want to draw attention to themselves. Yet they welcomed Ian into their circle readily enough.

So he chatted with them for a while, charming and gentlemanly, as always, and if he perhaps had more than a few glasses of champagne, and a healthy amount of wine, who could blame him? It would have been terribly rude to have refused all that they offered him.

Needless to say, Ian didn't go back to his table. The family had to track him down to say goodbye, but they seemed understanding enough. This small group was, of course, the last to leave the party, and it was only with great reluctance, but the thought of the bar five minute's walk away was a powerful motivator.

So they walked - rather unsteadily - to the bar, and there met up with the rest of the Americans, to celebrate having met honest-to-goodness French people. It was a raucous crowd. Ian himself had two large beers - 50 cl, whatever that is; some meteric nonesense - while his companions had a good three more rounds.

Once again, Ian and his merry members of the female persuasion were the last to leave, and this only after last call. Then it was time to return to the dorm, 40 minutes' walk away when sober, an eternity when not.

The adventure was only beginning.

So they left the bar, and commenced wandering the streets of Tours, loud, drunk, and American. How they managed to find the correct river will be a myster for all time. Sadly, though, though the river was in the right place, the bridge was not, and our band of travellers had to improvise, and cross in the wrong place. Ian, to his credit, was quite vocal in his opposition to crossing in the wrong place, but as so often happens, his voice of reason was ignored, and they crossed two or three miles downstream of the dorm, in a neighborhood none had ever seen...

HAHAAHAHH.

The river crossing safely behind them, our heroes were now faced with the issue of finding their meager residence. Some wanted to go left, some right, and some wanted nothing more then to plunge straight ahead up the hill. Ian managed to keep his head, and didn't speak up, although that may have been do also to his forgetting how to make his tongue work. Eventually though, after heated debate, they decided to go right, along the river, through the darkest part of town.

The road was black, and the shops closed; remember, this was a Tuesday night - not a lot of partying going on. As they walked, the group became increasingly nervous, drawing closer together. Frenchmen seemed to lurk in every small alleyway, and they ended up walking arm-in-arm-in-arm down the middle of the street, pausing every now and again for a drunken lurch.

Finally, another intersection loomed. They were presented with a dilemma. On the one hand, they knew that the dorm was up the hill somewhere, so shouldn't they take the road that lead to the pedestrian stairs? And yet, they also knew that it was still further ahead, so shouldn't they stick to the road until they saw a familiar landmark? The debate raged back and forth, but in the end, someone began to stagger up the stairs, and the rest just naturally followed.

At the top of the stairs, this merry band of wanderers *Scene Missing. Interlude Music.........* were wandering through a lightly wooded park, with some looming apartment complexes visible through the trees. Ian, himself, was beyond caring really where they were any more; he was enjoying the adventure. And yet, his companions seemed anxious to get back, so he figured he might as well help out as best he could. So they wandered aimlessly through the woods, cursing not-so-softly at the occasional tree that got in their way.

Finally, the dorms were spotted, their lights a beacon of hope in a dark, French netherworld. With a cry of delight, Ian and his new best friends staggered quickly towards them, heedless of whatever branches, trees and rocks got in their way. This mad dash was punctuated by the occasional cry of "Whups!" and "Ow!" when someone's enthusiasm got the better of them.

Suddenly, and without warning, Ian found himself nose-to-brick with a sturdy six-foot stone wall. He found himself remarking on the rudeness of these French structures, always getting in a body's way, when all he wanted to do was get back and go to bed - classes, after all, were going to start in a mere six hours, and he still had an oral presentation to prepare.

For a while, they were stymied by the dashed wall. Soon enough, however, the indomitable spirit of the Dietz's rose to the fore, and Ian led the expedition along the wall, looking for a suitable break or place to go over. Somehow the group managed not to lose anybody on this, the most difficult part of the trek, for the woods were thickest by the wall, and there were all kinds of prickly sticky bushes. At long last, they found a nice little box-thing of some sort, about three feet high, that they could use to hop over.

Ian, ever the gentleman, let one of the girls go first, to make sure that everything was safe on the other side. After all, if he went first, and something happened to him, who would be left to protect the rest? Fortunately, the way was clear, and they all followed one after the other. On the other side, a great whoop of ecstatic joy went up, and they all ran as fast as they could stumble back to the front, and from there, they hoped, to bed.

And yet, what should they see when they got to the front steps, but all the French kids, hanging out and talking and smoking and drinking. They hailed the haggard band cheerfully, and made room for them to join. So with a tired grin, Ian sat down, and gracefully accepted the proffered frosty beverage, and commenced to chat with the Froggies. They talked and talked, and Ian got deeply involved in what he is sure was a highly intellectual and scholarly conversation, if only he could remember what it was about. All the other Americans there were blown away by his oral proficiency, and remarked upon the amazing fact that - unlike as happens for most - his French actually got better as the night progressed.

And yet, all good things come to an end. Four o'clock rolled around, and with breakfast a mere four hours away, Ian finally had to drag himself to bed. He made his apologetic goodnights all around, and staggered off, only to find that none of the lights on his floor worked. With a Herculean effort, he somehow managed to get his contacts out and in their little storage container things in the complete and utter darkness, threw on his sleeping shorts, and collapsed on the bed.

No sooner had he closed his eyes, it seemed, then light was streaming through the window, his alarm was beeping like a thing possessed, and the room was spinning wildly about him. Slowly, Ian sat up, and got out of bed.

Tips for writing my character:
-It really helps to watch old war movies, preferably ones with nasty Gestapo/SS officers (ie-Five Graves To Cairo, English Patient)
-He may have had some issues in the days before I left, but not no more. His mind is clear and thirsty for Order, preferably through harsh and demeaning punishments.
-He does not buy into (as much as possible) Soap-Opera-sub-plots. Except when it comes to hating a certain doctor, and wanting to bring to justice certain rule-breaking students.
-Nothing really scares him, but he is leery of the - as you so adroitly call them - C-Squads.
-As far as the review goes, well. He has a flair for the dramatic, they will have to be very spit-and-polish, though he won't mince words with a long and fiery speech. Take your cue from the U-Boat Captain's first speech at the beginning of Das Boot.
-Bottom line: He's one cold and narsty Prussian. Treat him accordingly.

I got the DVD of A Bridge Too Far. How can any one movie be so cool?! They manage it, though. But how could you not, with Sean Connery, Michael Caine, Anthony Hopkins, Robert Redford, Elliot Gould, Laurence Olivier and all those other awesome people that are in this movie?!

Ju can do eet! And I'll monitor (moniter?) your progress from time to time. After all, you've got five weeks.

A little equation for those of you who are mathematically minded:

OMG IANS! I MISS YOU SO VERY, VERY MUCH! Palm Springs was awesome, and Vegas RULED! And you will never believe it, BUT I GOT TO HANG OUT WITH SOME FUCKING PIRATES! REAL VEGAS ONES!#@#$!@# AND GOT MY PICTURE TAKEN WITH SOME OF THEM!#$!@#$!#@$

<gasp> I even bought you a super fantastic present. I'd send it to you in France, would come in handy... um, let me know if that's cool. I already sent you a postcard, hope it gets there soon, and I think you'll recognize the picture on the front. We're gonna go there sometime. Maybe a side-trip there and to Vegas during our roadtrip to EnderCon. Eh? Eh?

If you find a French girl that looks like Dante, please bring her home. I could use one. I'd make her teach me French so I wouldn't have to keep using Babelfish. Um, let's see... maybe a hot Frenchman too? Oh hell, just come home, damnit, and go climbing with me!#$@#$!@# I need someone to go see FF with me, and to take loads of Vivarin and drink suicides and make fun of me! Not that Bec and Rem don't do that all the time, but you have your own special brand of mockery that fills my heart with evil warmth.

Oh, oh! I saw a Yukon Denali!!#$@#$ It truly is an evil SUV. We'll have to equip our matte black ones with machine guns and rocket launchers and those nasty pokey-dealies on the hubcaps so we can ram other cars on the side and pop their tires. Don't forget our helicopter and superbikes, too, dude. With flames painted on them. Pure evil. People will quake when they see us coming.

DAmnit, boy, give me your address!! I can't mail you anything if you...wait.

I bet it's on that postcard I got yesterday.

*smacksforehead*

If it makes you feel any better, Geneva was freaking awesome, and I took lots of pictures and got some good, cheap Swiss souvenirs. Dirty postcards, too. We ate dinner at a FIVE STAR HOTEL on Sunday, and it was absolutely positively the best meal of my entire life, amen.

We started the meal with an entree; I order the 17SF (about 11 dollars) escargot. There were six of them, each in their own little pool of garlic-buttery sauce. Each one was like a little bite of heaven. Orgasmic, even. I shit you not, they were amazing. Took me twenty minutes to eat them all because I couldn't stand to see them go. With that course, we had a bottle of the crap wine, sadly (note to all: a good indicator that your wine is crap-wine is when it comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap, and the waiter doesn't even ask if you want to taste it. Never a good thing.). Anyways. That was followed by the main course (breaded veal, green beans and pommes frites) and a demi-bottle of their second most expensive Bordeaux red. It was delicious. Fan-tas-tic. You take a sip of wine then a bite of veal and - again, I shit you not - it's like an explosion of flavor; a taste sensation. Whoever says that a good bottle of wine doesn't add to a meal is talking straight out of their ass. Desert was coffee and creme brulee, caramelized to perfection. It tasted like I was eating a cloud of the most heavenly sugar. I could only take little bird-bites because anything more and I would have passed out from the wonderfulness of it all. I get all drooly just thinking about it.

The rest of the city was pretty nice, too, I guess.

~~~~

Dammit, I wish I had AIM. This particular medium just doesn't lend itself to criticism, b'god.

~~~~

Q:Mr French-Man, I understand that you can actually speak french?
A:Oui, I parle French tres often.

Q: Thank goodnes, because you see, I'm about to take a trip to France, and I was wondercing if you could help me how to order.
A: Of course, fire away.

Q:How would I order, in a french speaking restaurant, say, the catch of the day?
A:"Je voudrais le poisson dans votre pantalons."

Q:Wow! Thanks. What about if you've had too much wine, and you need to use the restroom; what should you say?
A:"Je vais faire une fleuve; avez-vous soif?"

Q:You're pretty cute when you talk like a foreigner, you know that?
A:Well, as the french say, "Mange comme une vashe, parle comme un oiseau."

Q:Huh?
A:You're beatiful. Next question.

Q:Oh yeah, uh... what if I was in a bar fight or something, and I wanted to deliver a crippling insult; what should I say?
A:"Fait t'enculer," but only say it if your fists are already up.

Q:That's hot!
A:Isn't it though?

Q:But surely, Mr. French-Man, even you must eventually return to the US; what movies do you, an acknowledged man of the world, recommend upon return?
A: Ah, good question. It just so happens that I have with me a short list of all the movies I intend to see upon my return. Perhaps you've seen some of them. It's my pleasure to announce that one cool point will be awarded for each movie that you've seen, two if it has a star by it. Whoever in our TV/Listener audience has seen the most recieves one Super-cool point.

1.Excalibur*
2.A Bridge Too Far
3.Lawrence of Arabia
4.Robin Hood (1936 version)
5.Captain Blood/The Seahawk
6.Battleground
7.The Longest Day
8.The English Patient
9.Aliens
10.Bringing Up Baby/Some other Cary Grant Movie
11.Light Horse
12.Galipoli
13.Wings
14.Dawn Patrol
15.American Beauty
16.Shallow Grave
17.Last of the Mohicans
18.Rope/Hitchock Movie
19.Casablanca*
20.Blues Brothers
21.1941
22.Jurassic Park
23.Mystery Science Theater 3000
24.The Spanish Prisoner*
25.Any pre-1980 Mel Brooks Movie
26.It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad Mad Mad World*
27. Snatch
28.The Sixth Day*
29.Robin Hood Prince of Thieves
30.Suicide Kings
31.O Brother Where Art Thou?
32.Raising Arizona
33.Falling Down*
34.Titus (w/Anthony Hopkins)
35.Richard III (w/ Ian McKlellan - sp?)
36.The Great Escape
37.Rising Sun*
38.All Quiet on the Western Front
39.Buster Keaton/Harold Lloyd/Charlie Chaplain Movie
40.Hamlet (w/Mel Gibson)*
41.Prisoner of Zenda
42.Full Metal Jacket
43.The Mummy
44.The City of Lost Children (French)*
45.The Visitors II (French)*
46.Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
47.The 3 Musketeers/4 Musketeers
48.Empire of the Sun
49.5 Graves to Cairo
50.Magnolia*
*Denotes movie not yet seen by me.

Q:Yeesh. That's a lot of movies. I'd better get going and watch them all before I run out of time. See ya later!
A: Wait, no, damn! WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER?! CALL ME?! My luck. Happens every damn time. Oh well. Tune in again next week at the same time. Please? Seriously; they want to cancel me, and I can't go back to the streets, I just can't! Help! I'm at your mercy!

ALL OF THIS TRIPE AND NOT A GOD DAMNED WORD ABOUT THE FUCKING PARADE REVIEW?!!?

Parade, yes. I read that about five days ago - no, make that six. It was good, I appreciated your sacrifice. More than that, you'll have to wait until I get back, so sorry.

On a lighter note, I'm pleased to inform you that I've found a doozy of a postcard store. I'm gonna' go out with a bang, as it were. For those of you with impressionable parents, I recommend that you check the mail before them for the next couple of weeks; if they were to see the cards first, well, it could color their impression of yours truly.... nyahaha!

Was there something else? I'm almost sure there was. Ummmm. Oh yes! Bastille Day! A night I will never forget, if only I could remember what happened.

Turns out the Pale has a Golf Contest. If you can drink 18 pints in 12 hours, you get your name engraved on a special mug, and all the pints are free. If you fail (puke, back out, leave the bar, run out of time, etc) you have to pay for 36 pints. Watcha' think?

Hummmm. To be honest, I'm bored right now, so I'm just rambling. Feel free to bail out and stop reading at any time. This is what happens when I find a computer with 90 minutes until my next class. Ack! I almost forgot. There's this girl in my class, Amy , who looks exactly like you, except 100% Japanese. It's eery, creeps me out.

Tonight is karaoke night, at some french bar. We Americans plan to colonize it and make it our own, if only for a few hours. Drunken singing on a school night, what could be better?

My Mariners are still kicking ass. Stick it in your ear, fans of anybody else.

I hope everybody keeps checking www.seanbaby.com. It only gets funnier. Seriously.

This post should really be under that one that's about rambling, but I'm too lazy to change it, and besides, I'm in France so it really belongs in here, doesn't it?

You probably think that I'm insane at this point, don't you? Well, you're right, at least partly. Thinking in French for 5 weeks tends to unhinge any normal man, and I wasn't even normal to begin with. So you know what you can do with your puffed up ideas of properness and "sanity"? You can sit on it and spin. So there. Thppppt.

Hmmm. Perhaps I'd better stop now. I just made that sound out loud at the computer, and people are starting to look at me funny. Until next week then.

Seriously though. I kick ass. Really; I promise. Tonight is the Celebration to end all celebrations. We've rented out the bar for nous-memes and w- er nous-memes=just us - and we're going to stay until closing time and clothing is optional they say and then we're going to the club and if anyone is capable of walking home tomorrow morning, then they're wrong. I think I may not go home tonight, and I know I won't be going to the last day of class tomorrow. hehehehehehehe. Did I mention I bought a suit yesterday? It's really cool and looks good and it was like 50% off, so it only cost $230 and damn. I'm gonna' wear it in Paris.

Remind me to tell you about my Cab Ride to Insanity {thundering reverb effect, creepy music} last night. It was scary; a dark and empty train station, an utterly insane frenchwoman, and one drunken and nervous (albeit it fluent! In French no less!) Ian...

Well, boys and girls, this is it, the last day of the Program. And how bittersweet it is, too. Last night was all kinds of fun; too much to drink followed by dancing to the early morn. Such debauched bacanal as you wouldn't believe. I didn't get home and to bed until 0900 this morning. What a night and what a month and a half. I cannot recomend a program like this enough. If you ever get the chance, take it. You won't regret it, I promise. Going to Paris tomorrow at noon, get home monday evening - 2030ish my time. I can hardly wait to get back to the good old USofA... how ironic then, that I just suddenly developed an intense fear of flying. Have you ever had a premonition? Imagine dozing off in class only to startle yourself awake with a dream about a firery crash over the mid-Atlantic. Notfun. So yeah, I figure I'll take one last advantage of my legal-drinking age, come Monday morning. Get to the airport early, find a bar, and knock 'em back until it's time for boarding. At least that way I'll be commatose when the wing engines explode.

So I'm probably overreacting, but still, the dream was very vivid, if short.