Back in 2004

There was an BBC online poll about the worst songs ever, and the Beatles’ classic ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da’ came in first. And I remember thinking to myself, “Man, British people have no taste.” And then I remembered all the great achievements that the Brits have accomplished, and thought, “Even so, who thinks ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da’ is the worst song ever?” People who think Christmas pudding is a culinary masterpiece, that’s who.

Reboot

iPad Tiger Woods Sarah Palin Conan O’Brien Healthcare North Korea Undiebomber Barack Obama Scott Brown Balloon Boy Haiti Ted Kennedy Afghanistan iPad Brett Favre NY Jets NOO THE PATRIOTS LOST Lost: The Final Season Jeff Zucker iPad Google China NBC Glee BABY DUOMO TO THE MOUTH Pope-tipping Eurostar FAIL Avatar iPad 1600 Movies about the Apocalypse Jeff Bridges Community Democrats Republicans American Idol iPad Lady Gaga End of the Aughties Beginning of the….10s?

Did I mention the iPad?

Today in the Paris Metro

An elderly Chinese man approached me and started speaking to me in Mandarin. Since I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, I shook my head and said “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Chinese”. He gave me a confused look, then went off with a huff.

In hindsight, probably shouldn’t have responded in Mandarin. My bad.

Baking in Paris : Melting Butter

Unlike American butter, French butter tends to explode when you put it in the microwave. I have no idea why. Perhaps it’s offended by the idea of using microwaves to speed up the melting process. Anyway, this is quite an unpleasant situation for any baker (or patissier as the French call them) who will need melted butter for a variety of baked goods including cookies and madeleines. To counter this problem, I’ve devised a workaround: Prepare a little more butter than the recipe requires. That way you can compensate for the amount that will burst out of the microwave-safe bowl. I’ve used this several times here and it always seems to work. I’m brilliant like that.

Things that the French force me to eat

Yes, living in France proves to be quite difficult, as there’s always some new boulangerie or brasserie that I am compelled to try out, despite my dislike for food and other rather trivial matters, like breathing. Highly overrated. Anyway, here are some pictures of the absolutely horrible things that I have no choice but to consume, because everyone’s so overdramatic about how important eating is or something.

A Challenge (Contest Time!)

Guess what this is (usage, brand/maker). The first one to guess correctly AND post the answer as a comment will get one!

Secret mystery item!

The French Language Continues to Blow My Mind

Yesterday, I noticed a sign that had the expression “de luxe”, or “of luxury” on it. Then I put the two words together. DELUXE! Man, the things that I learn in Paris.

Photoshop Fun!

The shop is actually Frey Wille, but I just couldn’t help but switch the last letters of each word. Teehee.

A question about love

Question: How do you hold on to someone who’s already drifted away beyond your reach?
My answer: A harpoon gun.

Coffees and Stories

I had this idea while sitting in a café and writing that there are some amazing similarities between coffee and stories. I’m almost certain that no one’s ever thought of this before, since no one ever drinks coffee AND writes at the same time, right? So, here goes.

Coffees and stories, like any two objects when put together and scrutinized for any sort of common features, have a lot of things in common. For example, there are good stories and there are bad stories, just like coffee. And some coffees start off quite nicely but gradually worsen as they cool off and leave a sour aftertaste when you finish them, just like some stories. And if you put enough sugar and milk into a story, it will become edible, just like coffee!*

*At this point in my contemplations, I pondered what a story would taste like with milk and sugar. I was tempted to try it with a short story that my friend had sent me, but then I realized that if I were to eat a story, I might get paper cuts. Paper cuts in the mouth. In the inside of my mouth. I became preoccupied with the horrors of having paper cuts in my mouth, so I forgot about whatever I was thinking about.

So yeah, coffee and stories. I’m sure there’s something there. Unfortunately, all I can think about right now are sugarcoated stories dipped in milk. I’m sure there’s a edible product somewhere called a story, right?