Paris Blogpost One:
I am not going to write about Paris. I will put up pictures and short captions later tonight. But I liked it too much to write about it in my thematic sardonic manner.
I am so Po-mo right now.
Them There are Fightin' Words: Author-Author Put-Downs
Mega-offender: Ernest Hemingway.
There is a beer in Germany that takes 7 minutes to pour.
As I was driving from Frankfort to Louisville Saturday, I geekily listened to this show on NPR about Europeans and their beer cultures.
Fun fact: Scandanavians toast with the word “Skol,” meaning skull. Why? might you ask. Well, obviously because they drank beer from the heads of their decapitated enemies. Duh. Thanks, NPR.
“ BOY GEORGE WINKED AT ME. ”
Me to everyone I know after Boy George winked at me and waved goodbye to me at a party
“ This is Moby. ”
MOBY. ON THE PHONE. WITH (LITTLE OLD) ME.
Amendment: Moby is not as big of a tool over the phone (for ten minutes) as his media persona would suggest.
“ Oh yeah. That happens from time to time. You’ll see them pulling them out of the Thames in big fishnets. ”
Jan, who explained to me why the police finding a WWII bomb that hasn’t detonated is not as cool as I thought it was
Tomorrow. 5.45pm. I hope he doesn’t stand me up.
Bring your teacher to work day
In high school, I never thought I would be as embarrassed to be seen with a middle-aged white guy than my dad at junior orientation because I was younger than everyone else and couldn’t drive myself there.
Little did I know, more horrifying than parent-teacher conferences and more embarrassing than holding an adult’s hand when crossing the street is your teacher coming to visit your boss.
Unlike kindergarten, when the thrill of letting your parent (Lindsey’s biggest fan!!) meet your teacher (she teaches me songs!!) was almost like meeting Aladdin at a Disney theme park, letting your teacher meet your boss and having to sit in on the occasion is… unfortunate to say the least.
And awkward.
The worst of it was the picture taking ordeal. Just like with my first grade macaroni art, I held my front-page story up in front up me with a picture. Unlike elementary school, however, my smile was out of the humiliated laughter of defeat instead of the proud toothless grin of masterpiece.
Things I have learned:
-My dad really wasn’t that embarrassing afterall.
Answers I still seek:
-Why?
Withstanding coworkers giggles,
Lindsey
