The Sushi Incident

So the other day, as I have just recalled, another incident of inexplicable and fortunate chivalry occurred. As you may be able to tell by now, generosity and helpfulness are my two greatest indulgences. So I was in the infamous Cafe Le Broweur and decided to find myself some raw fish rolled in seaweed covered in rice. Otherwise known colloquially as sushi. Yes, it mostly does taste of plastic wrapped modelling clay, but I was hungry at the time and drenching it in sauce of soy usually does the trick. So as I was saying: I was in the queue all the while debating in my head whether I should retreat from the repungent odor of the sushi and the wretched looking monstrosity panting heavily behind me or stay strong and get the dead fish just to maintain the commitment I've made. Nobody could doubt my character. I STAYED IN THAT LINE FOR WELL PAST FIFTEEN MINUTES! Finally I arrive at the bar. Is there smoked eel? I don't see a sign. "Do you have Smoked Eel?" "Smoked Eel. Thank you." "What's that?" "Do I have a pen?" DO I HAVE A PEN? WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU? "Why yes of course, would you like to borrow it?" The idiot has the brilliant idea of making a sign for the eel. USING MY PEN. I hand it over. Now the line has stopped. He starts to look for paper. I get my soy sauce. He's still looking. I head over to the soft-serve to browse. He's still looking. My god, they have strawberry! I grab a cone and pull the lever. Yellow? YELLOW!!?! Strawberry is supposed to be pink! Taste. For the love of all that is holy... it's banana. I hate banana. What's that? Oh yes, he's still looking. Oh wait, he's found the paper. Yes good. Only three letters. E...E...L. Well done. "Why you are very welcome, have a good night" Yes, that was I who lent him that pen. Yes, I carry around pens. I am a charming Janus. My character cannot be doubted. And I take my bow.

Prometheus Made A Mistake

This morning I saw through my clouded eyes my roomate Etienne Patric Montpierre (pictured left). I took note of his position in the room, the glazed look on his face, and the time of day (10:47). The I fell back into unconsciousness. Then (11:22) I observe from my horizontal position the light streaming in for a moment and with a bang it disappears. Etienne has left. Back to sleep. (12:34) I awake to the sound of knocking. I have a good idea who it is. But I don't want to answer. I get up. Disrobe. Lay out the clothes for the days trials. I escape the room. Well LOOK WHO IT IS. Want to go to Le Broweur? Damnit. Let me clean myself first. How could I deny a beautiful woman? Well, I could... easily, and so we play the game. I go to the bathroom. Stand in the shower. Take my horse pill. FORGET TO USE SHAMPOO BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY THINKING ABOUT WOMEN! Being a man is a curse, beleive me. I always get an NRB on public transportation. NRB? No Reason Boner. Indeed, there is an acronym. Me and some comrades back at l'ecole had a beautiful blonde teacher nicknamed RB. Damnit I'm pruning now. Get out of the shower! I see my neighbor who insists I join him at the cafe! Curses, I cannot play the part of two people. Alright lets make the Janus whole. We arrive at Le Broweur and godamnit it who else would it be but the very people I seek to avoid and hunt every day. I never know when I am hunted or a hunter with these two. Well so be it. Eat my salad woman or don't! Godamn it all to hell... women. Get your tea, make your sandwich. Octoporn, squirt bongs, beastiality, what do people live for? Ephemeral amusement perhaps... well here I am talking about wasting time... Well now we have the two inquiring about the power God had denied them at birth. DONT ASK ME YOU IDIOTS. Ask prometheus! Ask Etienne! But he's gone and won't be back. Everything has a reason and no mortal substitute can compensate! We'll now I am guilty of stealing fire from the Sony Plasma TV Fireplace... And so ends this up until NOW!

Help Me Help You Help Me

A few days ago I was called in to strike a set for a production of Harold Pinter's "Betrayal." On the whole an entirely awful production. Fluctuating accents, irregular blocking, stimulating sexual acts. A "strike" is when one deconstructs a set or set pieces of a particular show in order to make room for the next. Another important element to this story is that I built a good portion of this set myself. The wind was bitter on my walk to the theater. Knowing I was going to participate in the organized destruction of the very sin I helped commit kept me warm. Upon arrival, I found the stage to be empty, the floor swept, and Tim sitting in the first row of seats sipping a cup of coffee. "You can go home Clamence." DAMNIT. So I left.

Now I had to walk back to my stinking home without any anticipation to keep me cozy!

Damnit damnit damnit I HAVE TO REPENT SOMEHOW I thought as I hugged my jacket tighter.

And then fate presented me with a gift. The gift of a small, lost, asian man in an Audi with heated leather seats and a purring engine. My god, here is my chance at last. I rushed towards the car, all in a hurry, making sure there were others to see me, calling "Sir may I be of any assistance?!" The man turns to look and invents a smile. One look at that face and I knew. I walked up slowly.

"Oh so you're looking for a restaurant nearby?" I suppose I could tell you where it is now and hope that you have a good memory, but, and without sounding intrusive, I could show you myself if you would be so kind as to let me into the car. Upon allowing this, a warmth filled my body. But it did not come from the heated seats. It came from within, knowing that I was doing an act of kindness with which I could write about and tell later to others when my face needed saving. I am a good person. I am a good person. HAHA! I showed the idiot where this restaurant was, not one mile away from our location.

He drops me off a farther distance from my dorm than where I started off. But it didn't matter! I had a story! The world saw me tip my hat and console the village idiot!

The day was good.