ladies and gentlemen.

exhibit i:

effluvian sinus infection. dizzish fever. feelings of pukishness. someone dropped an anvil on my head. this was the morning of my flight; well, my first flight; well, my non-flight. luckily, the transparent glue rolling out of my nose was able to power a small hydro-electric plant on my upper lip that released a squadron (herd?) of robotic beagles to run into the forest and fetch me some ephedrine-based decongestants. once again, i said luckily.

exhibit ii:

the french are known for being bureaucratic (in fact, i think they invented the word). short story short, i got my visa a day after my airplane flew into outer space. i rescheduled my flight, like a good frenchman, about twenty minutes before missing it.

exhibit iii:

re-flight delayed three hours. to apologize for this, klm gave everyone $10 vouchers for food anywhere in the airport. the catch: it was ten o'clock at night and everything closed at that precise exact moment. unfortunately, someone slid under closing gate and got in line at burger king, causing the manager to open the restaurant to the entire airplane. what this means: 200 people trying to spend as close as possible to $10 (without going over) at burger king. luckily (again), i wasn't hungry. so I got a giant ('king'-sized) milkshake, a bottle of water, and two pieces of pie. $8.81. keep the change.

arrivant.

no two brands of bottled water are the different.

translations of common expressions that aren't common in english:

1. that makes me shit.
2. put your fingers in your ass and whistle.
3. you make me shit.
4. you can't pickle a pickle.
5. i make myself shit.
6. pig-god!

(1) and (3) are pretty self-explanatory. (5) is an expression of boredom. i think that (2), though similar linguistically and imagistically to "put that in your pipe and smoke it," actually means something closer to "fuck off." to be honest, i don't think i know what "put that in your pipe and smoke it" means, but as i sit here saying it over and over to myself aloud at seven in the morning, it begins to taste a little like "i told you so." (6) is, in its native tongue, something like the worst thing you can say. i think i just made up (4), but it doesn't matter, because this entire entry exists only to get...

...TRANSLATO-ED.

____________________________________________________

is not uses the english common expression together the translation:
1. that signs i shit.
2. invests your finger in yours donkey and the whistling.
3. you make my shit.
4. you are unable the salt system salt juice.
5. i make oneself shit.
6. pigs gods!

(1) and (3) is quite obvious. (5) is the tasteless expression. i believed, (2), although similarly invests that to "pulls out it in yours pipe and the language and imagistically," meant in fact something boils to nearer ". "honestly speaks me not to think i knew any" invests that and pulls out its "in yours pipe to mean, but when i sit here to say many times it to i loudly in seven mornings, it starts to taste little likes" i telling you so. "(6) is, in its mother tongue, the worst matter which some phenomenon you can say. i thought i have made up (4), but its not critical time, because this entire entry existence have to...

... translato ED.

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the general expression reassignment not generally uses england:

1. this make the excrement and i.
2. it places its finger to enter its donkey and to blow blow whistling.
3. your excrement is isn't them with me.
4. you are unable one pickle pickle
5. if my will is the excrement.
6. porco-deus!

(1) and (3) they will be evidentes consideravelmente. (5) they will be the tasteless expression. i believed, (2), even so similar ling? ? stica and its "placed this to enter its conduit and imagistically pulls it out," in fact middle something more "if went to fodder." then in order to is honest, 4 did not think 44 knew "it places this to enter my conduit and it to pull out its" it to care for, but i sits by 4 itself proportion to under here govoryashch biggest repetidamente enters 7 mornings, starts some proof taste "i him thus thinks this." (6) they, with theirs mother tongue - casti, something the matter which you possibly thought as plokh. i believed that, i it has included (4), but 4 i do not have the value, because this entire entrance existence in order to only starts...... the translato-TRANSLATO- translato-TRANSLATO- unit.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

three and a half tongues.

i turn a comforter into a cocoon because i am never satisfied. she does it so she can make a sulking tent, a depressio-hut, but she doesn't know quite how unsanitary it is. i learned that you can climb into the internet and make sushi or indian food show up at your door in less time than it takes me to construct a sentence in this godforsaken lung. you can turn your whole body curry-orange and feel like you go on forever, like you're looking in a mirror that has a mirror in front of it. i think that's how everything looks in places that are far away from here. you know, secret places. secret, cosmic places so cosmic and so secret that i lost my train of thought.

my phone died, which is to say that at one in the morning when you try to catch the last RER home because you don't want to pay for a cab and you're in the traincar without seats and there are fortynine people in a seven foot square and the lights are flickering and you don't know if you're a virgin anymore someone took it out of your pocket. it's okay, though, because i was given a new one by the red cross. hospitals are made up of a bunch of apartment buildings that aren't even glued together.

there is something with three and half tongues that doesn't know the difference between do and make (and now neither do i) and that kills me and then washes its hands like a surgeon. more on this later.

i'm trying to skip the middleman so i've written an email to the director of the math department at paris iv. if he speaks english then he'll think that i'm a bumbling, stupid american, take pity on me and make me his apprentice. we'll probably sleep together and his wife will find out and kick him out of the house. he'll try to move in with me but i'm not having it. i'm just not ready for that sort of commitment, much less complete disregard for the professional ethic. maybe i can babysit his kids and learn broken french. maybe the government will give me money. i need to play cards tomorrow. they actually gamble with tarot cards here. there goes your "joke," mr. wright.

tomorrow i will buy sneakers so my feet don't bleed anymore. the ghosts in the bathroom slammed the door again. i knew there were magnets here. i have some explaining to do.

the miserable circus of storytelling.

you're drinking orange juice and someone taps you on the shoulder. it's you! "you will see me tomorrow," you say. "tell me to stop thinking about her."

the fact that some messiah is not going to come knocking at my door tomorrow to tell me that my heart is like an overchlorinated swimming pool doesn't keep me from incessantly getting up and looking through the peep-hole and once in a while knocking on it myself from the inside. that last sentence was not a metaphor. i think it was a dream.

and if you ever find yourself inside of a dream don't take the advice of a family member when they tell you to go to a house in the middle of the woods where supposedly live and aunt and uncle of yours you've never heard of because it might mean that you have to stave off a goblin insurrection in a mansion that can be driven like a car. it could also mean that after the rebellion has subsided you're going to be forced into s&m torture by those supposed family members alongside a sexy "cousin" who makes you feel a little better because you figure it probably happens to her every day. you might even tell yourself that this is a dream and then wake up. but you don't wake up in the place you went to sleep. instead you're in your grandmother's house eleven years ago and you're thirsty. so you walk past the dog that's a scorpion and get yourself some orange juice.

why i say "jesus" and "fuck" when i fuck

(it is my solemn oath that the following entry will not have anything to do with its title.)

we are going to record an a capella version of "if i can't have you" where girlvoice mimics the piano by screaming like a monkey. it won't be perfect; it won't even be good. but it will be more fun than those nights i spent walking on the inside of a telephone. anything would.

i wonder how les voisins will feel if i try to throw a fourth of july barbecue in the courtyard. do you think i could make some flyers that pitch it as a cultural event? or is america not exotic enough since it's already everywhere? they'd be there if i played that goddamned rap music they love. please, baby, if you come i'll force down your fucking foie gras on bastille day. i can handle it...it's just like potted meat. yet despite my namesake i have no taste for caviar.

i don't know anything about nutrition, but i think cheese is a good source of protein if you can't afford meat. and cheese is more expensive than meat. and i can get a bottle of fake champagne pink for 1€ but i'm afraid to go outside because

(i'm going in search of the titular line and on my way i'll ask god why temptation can't resist me.)

bitten again.

(umpteenth spider in less weeks. on my belly button!)

discothèque. i wish ambrose were alive for this. is anyone named ambrose alive right now? since i bought her way in, she was obligated to drink as much at the open bar as the cover seemed to suggest. about halfway to that quota, she was so ivre fucking mort (astheysay) she couldn't stand up leaning against the sink-shelf and the bouncers were chasing the two of them in and out of the bathroom like benny hill and on the dance floor the men were dancing a combination of like women and like scooby doo when he tries to run away.

then a man who looks more like a spider than the spider but who tells me he's never slept with his husband before tells me tonight might be the night, the night i find out i'm not really hetero, a word that when spoken by him sounds like "retro," which i'm not, not even in whatever language he was speaking. it was all fine until he touched my arm like he was made out of a thousand spiders, then i had to run to my wife whom i've never slept with and jet jet jet.

i want to drink this, but i will.

(four in the morning: putting it in my nose en france.)

so far, incredible fun. almost died in new jersey. torrential winds make it difficult to land airplanes, i hear. next thing i know, some muslims steal my whiskey by the seine. they were very drunk and i, having already consumed too much of the bottle, immediately forgave them. not so for others. "why don't you stop her, evan?!" "why doesn't she stop herself?!" i wish i could find the interrobang on this thing.

tomorrow, which is essentially today since i essentially woke up at midnight (and by essentially i mean actually), i am going to go look for a job and find out how to apply for school here. in preparation for this, naima has given me a beautiful and hilariously european haircut, which i will post some pictures of as soon as i can kill someone and steal their money and go buy some amero-europo adapters at the hilariously european fnac.

no one should ever throw their money away on a fancy weight-loss program. they should throw their money away on moving to france, where there is no such thing as food and every such thing as walking around all the time. i think i've already lost ten pounds, and at this rate I should weigh approximately zero pounds in approximately 25 days or, as the natives say, "approximately zero kilograms."

i miss everyone in alabama, and by "miss" i mean "need a favor from." make those goddamned "bush/cheney '08" bumper stickers, tshirts, and hunting caps, then sell them for a lot of money and send me a generous portion of the proceeds. file it under R & D, R.D.