Along those lines. We never met Sepp Blatter, the much-discussed head of the FIFA, the organization that runs the world soccer cup. BUT---we know his brother, almost. Have a look at this picture.
 |
 |
Jul 1, 2014
The world soccer (football) cup and us (and our dentist)
Its always thus: while Bernard-Henri Lévy (don't ask, or google "pictures of French Intellectuals"---they are all his), so while Lévy and Dominique Strauss-Kahn (the IMF chief who fell onto his penis over a few sexual minutes in his Hotel Suite) are "good friends" who "know each other well," us---we only know the concierge of Michel Foucault, the other French intellectual, the guy who died an early AIDS-death in 1985. And even that isn't true (we don't know the concierge, that is).
Along those lines. We never met Sepp Blatter, the much-discussed head of the FIFA, the organization that runs the world soccer cup. BUT---we know his brother, almost. Have a look at this picture.
We took the picture this morning on the way to the dentist. It's a car dealership, located at the entrance of Visp, the nearest town from us down in the Valais valley. The home town of the Blatter clan.The Blatter AG, you see it? On the sign, to the left. That Blatter's brother, and we almost know the guy because they also have a car-wash where we have our car cleaned irregularly. Cool, isn't it.
And the dentist. Lives in nearby Naters (picture (this morning)). Don't get jealous. We've added a bit magenta to the picture. The real colors are less picturesque.
Along those lines. We never met Sepp Blatter, the much-discussed head of the FIFA, the organization that runs the world soccer cup. BUT---we know his brother, almost. Have a look at this picture.
«Amis pédophiles, à demain!» (reposted)
 |
| Nikolas Sarkozy, former French president, was arrested yesterday for money laundering. |
Remember our post of Nov. 23, 2010 about the then-French-president Nikolas Sarkozy and billionairess Liliane Bettencourt? He're the post again:
The French President, Nicolas Sarkozy, to journalists, in response to questions about his role in the Karachi affair (one of countless French scandals involving money being redirected into the coffers of the governing party):
 |
| «Et vous, j’ai rien du tout contre vous. Il semblerait que vous soyez pédophile… Qui me l’a dit? J’en ai l’intime conviction (…) Pouvez-vous vous justifier?». |
(Translation: And you? I've nothing against you. It looks like you are pedophile. How do I know? I'm thoroughly convinced. Could you please justify yourself.)
Then he waved goodbye to the journalists with the words:"«Amis pédophiles, à demain!»
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 28, 2014
Fucking Foucault (reblogged)
Here's another beautiful piece from the mysterious Mr. E., the force behind the 50 Shady Gays. Enjoy:
I’m sure that every queer cultural theorist has thought about it at some point haven’t they?
I was first fucked by Michel Foucault during the nineties when I was a raver/rock star and all round fuck up. It wasn’t until I was a mature student, when I was reading articles on discourse and power, that I thought to myself, I actually love this man.
I have never been literally fucked by him of course, but I have in a literary way, which is often much more intimate and powerful – and I suppose in some way it’s all about the power isn’t it?
Anyway, being incredibly vain and sexually unfulfilled as a performer (exclusively top), I naturally thought that in some way my life mirrored his; indeed, as I flounced across stages, and tripped through a myriad of alien, urban sprawls (oh so bohemian and clever); I stupidly imagined myself to be his successor. Yes, I alone would weave the power of his madness into my own duvet of sexual discovery, because I was unique – it was like he was speaking to me, and me alone.
I’m sure that every queer cultural theorist has thought about it at some point haven’t they?
I was first fucked by Michel Foucault during the nineties when I was a raver/rock star and all round fuck up. It wasn’t until I was a mature student, when I was reading articles on discourse and power, that I thought to myself, I actually love this man.
 |
| Michel Foucault (1926-1984) |
Anyway, being incredibly vain and sexually unfulfilled as a performer (exclusively top), I naturally thought that in some way my life mirrored his; indeed, as I flounced across stages, and tripped through a myriad of alien, urban sprawls (oh so bohemian and clever); I stupidly imagined myself to be his successor. Yes, I alone would weave the power of his madness into my own duvet of sexual discovery, because I was unique – it was like he was speaking to me, and me alone.
Jun 27, 2014
Gallery &-t
There is so much good stuff out there, we have to start a gallery. Plus, it'll make our life easier; we need no further excuse for posting pictures once in a while without further excuse ("Huh?"). So here are the first five pictures by Tony de Carlo, Bob Bienpensant, Joe Phillips, Jezza Smilez, and Michael Breyette:
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| "Adam Steve Eden," Tony de Carlo (2002) |
Jun 25, 2014
The Fountain of Geneva (2) --- The Muttoni
John and Alex, our friends from the Green Eyes, are being told the back story of the Fountain of Geneva. So far we've learned that Caesar visited the place once and was presented with a lust-slave he didn't like (historically true). Now Hadrian, the Roman emperor (117-138 AD) is visiting the place, almost 200 years later. Richard Zugabe, librarian of the city archives of Geneva, tells the story.
“The Aldermen of Geneva had good reasons to avoid their predecessors’ mistake when Hadrian came to town in 133 AD. There wasn’t only the precedent of Caesar’s snub, but also the arrival of the Muttoni (as the Romans would call them), an entire tribe of blond, blue-eyed, oh-my-God people. The Muttoni had settled in the Saas valley, a side valley off the nearby Valais, and were making a big nuisance of themselves. Not content to follow the sheep-raising, cow-milking example of their Celtic neighbors, the Muttoni spent their time on raids. They would maraud through the region and misappropriate everything not nailed down, including human beings---and in particular adolescent males.
“Slavery, though an institution throughout the empire, was not really entrenched in the region. The locals were unable to appreciate six-feet-three hunks knocking on doors, tossing unruly hair, baring wide chests, and pointing steely javelins at innocent kinfolk while dragging handsome youths into captivity.
Many locals were killed during the raids of course, courageous fathers, desperate mothers, trustful dogs, even the stray mother-in-law is mentioned.
“Many locals were killed during the raids of course, courageous fathers, desperate mothers, trustful dogs, even the stray mother-in-law is mentioned---resistance was futile, the Muttoni would always prevail. If there was any kind of racial phenotype better not mentioned or presented to visiting big shots, it was the Nordic type of the blue-eyed, hair-tossing chest-barer, whether oh-my-God or not.
Part II --- The Muttoni
“The Aldermen of Geneva had good reasons to avoid their predecessors’ mistake when Hadrian came to town in 133 AD. There wasn’t only the precedent of Caesar’s snub, but also the arrival of the Muttoni (as the Romans would call them), an entire tribe of blond, blue-eyed, oh-my-God people. The Muttoni had settled in the Saas valley, a side valley off the nearby Valais, and were making a big nuisance of themselves. Not content to follow the sheep-raising, cow-milking example of their Celtic neighbors, the Muttoni spent their time on raids. They would maraud through the region and misappropriate everything not nailed down, including human beings---and in particular adolescent males.
“Slavery, though an institution throughout the empire, was not really entrenched in the region. The locals were unable to appreciate six-feet-three hunks knocking on doors, tossing unruly hair, baring wide chests, and pointing steely javelins at innocent kinfolk while dragging handsome youths into captivity.
___________________
Many locals were killed during the raids of course, courageous fathers, desperate mothers, trustful dogs, even the stray mother-in-law is mentioned.
___________________
“Many locals were killed during the raids of course, courageous fathers, desperate mothers, trustful dogs, even the stray mother-in-law is mentioned---resistance was futile, the Muttoni would always prevail. If there was any kind of racial phenotype better not mentioned or presented to visiting big shots, it was the Nordic type of the blue-eyed, hair-tossing chest-barer, whether oh-my-God or not.
Jun 22, 2014
The hottest criminal ever
Yes, we know, this is a stupid header. Anyhow, Jeremy Meeks got himself arrested in 2002:
And again in 2008:
And now what? We have Facebook now, so he decides to go viral, and have himself arrested one more time:
His mug shot triggers 50,000 likes on Facebook in one day. And comments like these:
-'He didn't know any different. I could turn him into a "model" citizen. Where can I pay his bail?'
-'He needs to be a model. I would buy whatever he's selling!'
-'What is he guilty of?! First Degree Sexiness?!'
-'He'll probably be on next years prison calendar...Mr....EVERY MONTH!'
-'Marry me, Mr Meeks! Hopefully he changes his ways - but I'll take him any day...'
-'I would go to prison for aiding and aBEDding him'
-'I wanna be in his cell!'
Jeremy Meeks!
 |
 |
| 2008 |
 |
| 2014 |
His mug shot triggers 50,000 likes on Facebook in one day. And comments like these:
-'He didn't know any different. I could turn him into a "model" citizen. Where can I pay his bail?'
-'He needs to be a model. I would buy whatever he's selling!'
-'What is he guilty of?! First Degree Sexiness?!'
-'He'll probably be on next years prison calendar...Mr....EVERY MONTH!'
-'Marry me, Mr Meeks! Hopefully he changes his ways - but I'll take him any day...'
-'I would go to prison for aiding and aBEDding him'
-'I wanna be in his cell!'
Jeremy Meeks!
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 19, 2014
The fountain of Geneva (1) ---Caesar's snub
In This is heaven we alleged that the Fountain of Geneva was created by the Roman emperor Hadrian. Here is the back story for this amazing feat, fresh from our laptop.
And, of course, John and Alex from the Green Eyes are somehow involved.
We’re off to Europe on our honey moon, Alex wants me to show him my native country. We book a flight into Paris and end up in Geneva because France is on strike and Charles de Gaulle, the airport, is closed. Next thing, we find ourselves strolling through the Swiss city, a bit red-eyed from the flight, and alight on a park bench on the shore of Lake Geneva, snow-topped mountains left and right and in between the Alpine mega-pond.
“Hundred thirty two gallons of water per second,” he says, “reaching 140 meters into the sky. The Fountain of Geneva. The planet’s most spectacular ejaculation. Since 1900 years.”
We’re not the only people out, and some guy walks up the shore and then down the shore and finally asks whether the remaining mile of park bench is taken. He speaks French but switches to English as soon as Alex opens his mouth. He sits down, a middle-aged gentleman equipped with a Swiss-Swiss watch, watches his watch, studiously, and finally says, briefly lifting his gaze: “Two minutes.” We return his gaze, he says: “One minute.” Alex grabs my wrist, says: “Relax.” The guy keeps his eyes on his watch, then says: “Voilà.” And voila, the lake gulps, spits, and ejects a gushing column of jizz, a thick white jet rising high into the sky and beyond and falling back into the lake again. “Hundred thirty two gallons of water per second,” he says, “reaching 140 meters into the sky. The Fountain of Geneva. The planet’s most spectacular ejaculation. Since 1900 years.”
There are worse ways to make a pass at people, I think to myself, especially if you’re into threesomes. Next thing, the guy says: “You know, there are better ways to make a pass at people. That’s what you are possibly thinking, hein?”
“Yes,” I say (let’s cut this short).
“You want to hear the story?”
“The story?”
“The story of this fountain.”
“It’s on the internet, I guess,” I say, but Alex grabs my wrist again.
“No-no,” the guy says, “it’s still classified, after all these years.”
“My name is Alex,” Alex says, “this is John.”
“Enchanté,” the guy says, “I’m Richard, Richard Zugabe. I’ve been the librarian of the city archives for many years. I am the only one with access to the relevant files. Which means something, here in Switzerland. You want to hear the story?”
“Yes,” Alex says.
And, of course, John and Alex from the Green Eyes are somehow involved.
Part I --- Caesar's snub
We’re off to Europe on our honey moon, Alex wants me to show him my native country. We book a flight into Paris and end up in Geneva because France is on strike and Charles de Gaulle, the airport, is closed. Next thing, we find ourselves strolling through the Swiss city, a bit red-eyed from the flight, and alight on a park bench on the shore of Lake Geneva, snow-topped mountains left and right and in between the Alpine mega-pond.
_____________________
“Hundred thirty two gallons of water per second,” he says, “reaching 140 meters into the sky. The Fountain of Geneva. The planet’s most spectacular ejaculation. Since 1900 years.”
_____________________
 |
| The fountain, with the Mont Blanc, the highest mountain of the Alps, in the background |
There are worse ways to make a pass at people, I think to myself, especially if you’re into threesomes. Next thing, the guy says: “You know, there are better ways to make a pass at people. That’s what you are possibly thinking, hein?”
“Yes,” I say (let’s cut this short).
“You want to hear the story?”
“The story?”
“The story of this fountain.”
“It’s on the internet, I guess,” I say, but Alex grabs my wrist again.
“No-no,” the guy says, “it’s still classified, after all these years.”
“My name is Alex,” Alex says, “this is John.”
“Enchanté,” the guy says, “I’m Richard, Richard Zugabe. I’ve been the librarian of the city archives for many years. I am the only one with access to the relevant files. Which means something, here in Switzerland. You want to hear the story?”
“Yes,” Alex says.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 13, 2014
Find a caption
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| "The Taliban has arrived" |
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| (lol) |
...and writes: "On my way to Sweden the other day... I waved, but I guess you didn't look up that very moment..."...
...so we write in reply: "No-no, we waved back."
(Very deep!)
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 2, 2014
Street fighter (Jacky)
Jacky, the famous producer, sends this trailer of her latest effort:
There are 12 episodes, apparently, and they are all on YouTube,
Enjoy (the Asian cast has an amazing command of English).
There are 12 episodes, apparently, and they are all on YouTube,
Enjoy (the Asian cast has an amazing command of English).
May 31, 2014
The Valais valley today
Finally, with a week delay, here's a picture with the view from the chalet, taken today around 6 PM:
May 27, 2014
Gundulić's Dream
We really have to watch out, otherwise this blog turns into yet another Facebook page. Anyhow:
Glenn sends this picture to a few friends, including us...
...and writes: "Boy, those guys sure were busy back then. Is that Michael observing from the shore? His guardian angel was a snappy dresser! Maybe my bible expert could tell me about this painting."
Not bad, Glenn's guess, because, turns out---Google reverse image search---this is a reasonably famous painting by the Croatian artist Vlaho Bukovac titled Gundulić's Dream. And this Gundulić is apparently Ivan Gundulić, a fervent advocate of the Roman-Catholic counterreformation during the 17th century.
And then Sacha (the model for Jack Horn in the Green Eyes), who also got Glenn's letter, sends another picture, namely this one...
...and writes: "Definitely Michael! More hair though!"
And then there's a mini-flurry of more emails:
"Michael needs more hairs to survive here [in Switzerland] at this moment." (Chang)
"Yes, the alpine sun is strong. Make sure he wears his hat..." (Sacha)
"I will tell him,it is cold here." (Chang)
"FDLMFAO" (Glenn)
"Is there anything you don't know?" (Glenn again).
I will teach you a lesson folks, watch out:
 |
| (Click to enlarge) |
...and writes: "Boy, those guys sure were busy back then. Is that Michael observing from the shore? His guardian angel was a snappy dresser! Maybe my bible expert could tell me about this painting."
Not bad, Glenn's guess, because, turns out---Google reverse image search---this is a reasonably famous painting by the Croatian artist Vlaho Bukovac titled Gundulić's Dream. And this Gundulić is apparently Ivan Gundulić, a fervent advocate of the Roman-Catholic counterreformation during the 17th century.
And then Sacha (the model for Jack Horn in the Green Eyes), who also got Glenn's letter, sends another picture, namely this one...
...and writes: "Definitely Michael! More hair though!"
And then there's a mini-flurry of more emails:
"Michael needs more hairs to survive here [in Switzerland] at this moment." (Chang)
"Yes, the alpine sun is strong. Make sure he wears his hat..." (Sacha)
"I will tell him,it is cold here." (Chang)
"FDLMFAO" (Glenn)
"Is there anything you don't know?" (Glenn again).
I will teach you a lesson folks, watch out:
May 26, 2014
Time for a really bad poem (2)
Our post Time for a really bad poem is an enormous success page-view wise (possibly due to the accompanying picture (reposted below)), so here's another really bad poem with another, really baffling picture. Spoiler alert: this one doesn't rhyme (the poem).
 |
| Unbeknownst to most film historians, the Empire's Stormtroopers often enjoyed cosplaying as WWII soldiers (Cathy Ulrich) |
Handlers of ever-lasting grief,
Doggerels,
Mountaineers,
Veracious
or ferocious,
For eternity
deployed,
Here,
With all
their might,
Their kingdom
has come,
Here,
Here,
Until now.
 |
| Tfarbp |
Godzilla! (reblogged)
Here's a timely post from Cathy's blog Hollywood hates me, reblogged with her permission:
I wanna see the new Godzilla movie (even though we pronounce it wrong), but my daughter doesn't.
Sadly, pointing out that I've given up my social life for her isn't having the desired effect.
I wanna see the new Godzilla movie (even though we pronounce it wrong), but my daughter doesn't.
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| "But it's got giant monsters destroying the earth, honey! How can a small child NOT want to see that happen?" |
Sadly, pointing out that I've given up my social life for her isn't having the desired effect.
 |
| "Nuh uh. You're an antisocial nerd with a horrible personality, Mommy. You did this to yourself." |
May 25, 2014
Meet the Trabbi
We're on our way to Switzerland, getting gas (diesel, to be precise) at the gas station of the Geant mall in Mandelieu, and there's a motorcade of alike-looking cars riding up to the pump next to ours. They are all from Germany, from Cologne, to be precise. They look antique. "These are Borgwards?" I ask one of the young men descending from the conveyances. "No," he says, "these are Trabbis."
Communism lives, folks, these Trabbis (Trabants) were the Volkswagens of East Germany. They didn't have a good reputation in my days. Production was soon discontinued after the fall of the Wall. Why do you do this, I ask another of the young men. He doesn't answer.
Bürchen in Switzerland (reposted)
Milka milk chocolate, with the milk from happy cows---that
was the slogan of a chocolate commercial during my youth in Germany.
And there we are, in Bürchen, Switzerland, and it's true.
Bürchen is located on the southern side of the Valais valley, near the side valleys of Zermatt and Saas Fee, at 1600m altitude. The ski lift begins right in front of our settlement, the Chalet zone.
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| Near Bürchen, Bietschhorn in the background (peak in the clouds) |
Bürchen is located on the southern side of the Valais valley, near the side valleys of Zermatt and Saas Fee, at 1600m altitude. The ski lift begins right in front of our settlement, the Chalet zone.
May 22, 2014
May 21, 2014
May 19, 2014
May 18, 2014
Demons (Imagine Dragons)
(Let's put it this way: we're only one year behind: this was published on May 7, 2013)
When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale
May 17, 2014
San Francisco (last post) --- Neighborhood eatery
We discussed this before, the Riverside Café in two of its emanations,
(1) as a proper river-side café and
(2) as a hill-top café in Phuket town in Thailand,
"river-side" here being code for the hex value #00703C == Dartmouth Green == upmarket conversations in clipped voices at neighboring tables about Muffy who did not make partner at Overy & Allen == Chardonnay as default wine == chicken breast fillets served with sauce Hollandaise == checks that do or do not carry remarks to the effect that a 17% tip would be obligatory == and so on.
Now we're on our last day in San Francisco, we have a writer's blog after a productive morning, we hit the Castro District where old-fashioned in-your-face homosexuality is still en vogue, HIV and all, and we are on our way back home. The idea is to have dinner at the Chinese restaurant we've frequented so frequently during the last 2 months. But yesterday, on the way back to our apartment on Potrero Hill we walked past an outfit with a wooden sign saying "Neighborhood Eatery"---we were on 24th Street, between Mission an Potrero (street), a peek through the window convinced Michael that this is, in fact, a neighborhood café, and there's a person outside smoking and interrupting his cell-phone conversation and assuring us that the place is "great."
So, today, now, we walk along 24th Street again and I raise the subject of this "eatery" as an alternative to the Chinese restaurant. Chang, still mellow after my birthday yesterday doesn't really object but insists on studying the menu first. There's no menu outside to study, we have to enter the place---bistro layout, open kitchen, glasses, bottles, international semi-upmarket---to have a look at the menu.
"I would venture, folks, practically everywhere else in the world you eat better than in France."
The menu is incomprehensible to anybody living in France where dishes come in six or seven varieties (Steak frites, Magret de canard, Loup grillé, and so on), and (where dishes) are always accompanied by rice/potatoes/aïoli (don't ask). While we are at it: It's a well know fact that the French are the best cooks in the world, so they cook well BY DEFINITION, which means they have to make no-effort-what-so-ever-to-serve-drab-and-overpriced-fare-through-jaded-garçons-or-garçonettes who have more important things on their minds than to help their customers. I would venture, folks, practically everywhere else in the world you eat better than in France. It's Obama's fault, of course, because he's not only from Kenya, he's also French, as has been recently shown in a lengthy study from the Heritage Foundation.
(1) as a proper river-side café and
(2) as a hill-top café in Phuket town in Thailand,
"river-side" here being code for the hex value #00703C == Dartmouth Green == upmarket conversations in clipped voices at neighboring tables about Muffy who did not make partner at Overy & Allen == Chardonnay as default wine == chicken breast fillets served with sauce Hollandaise == checks that do or do not carry remarks to the effect that a 17% tip would be obligatory == and so on.
Now we're on our last day in San Francisco, we have a writer's blog after a productive morning, we hit the Castro District where old-fashioned in-your-face homosexuality is still en vogue, HIV and all, and we are on our way back home. The idea is to have dinner at the Chinese restaurant we've frequented so frequently during the last 2 months. But yesterday, on the way back to our apartment on Potrero Hill we walked past an outfit with a wooden sign saying "Neighborhood Eatery"---we were on 24th Street, between Mission an Potrero (street), a peek through the window convinced Michael that this is, in fact, a neighborhood café, and there's a person outside smoking and interrupting his cell-phone conversation and assuring us that the place is "great."
 |
| Neighborhood Eatery, interior |
So, today, now, we walk along 24th Street again and I raise the subject of this "eatery" as an alternative to the Chinese restaurant. Chang, still mellow after my birthday yesterday doesn't really object but insists on studying the menu first. There's no menu outside to study, we have to enter the place---bistro layout, open kitchen, glasses, bottles, international semi-upmarket---to have a look at the menu.
__________________
"I would venture, folks, practically everywhere else in the world you eat better than in France."
__________________
The menu is incomprehensible to anybody living in France where dishes come in six or seven varieties (Steak frites, Magret de canard, Loup grillé, and so on), and (where dishes) are always accompanied by rice/potatoes/aïoli (don't ask). While we are at it: It's a well know fact that the French are the best cooks in the world, so they cook well BY DEFINITION, which means they have to make no-effort-what-so-ever-to-serve-drab-and-overpriced-fare-through-jaded-garçons-or-garçonettes who have more important things on their minds than to help their customers. I would venture, folks, practically everywhere else in the world you eat better than in France. It's Obama's fault, of course, because he's not only from Kenya, he's also French, as has been recently shown in a lengthy study from the Heritage Foundation.
May 7, 2014
Find a caption (Sacha)
 |
| Michael Ampersant, surfing the net for pictures for his blog |
(Artwork by Virtues, you can order this on Fiverr for $5)
May 4, 2014
San Francisco (15) The Warhol factory
Our title is misleading, as usual. And unfair to Warhol.
Anyhow, while we are at it: somewhere around 1966, the term Pop Art made it to Europe, and the name of its inventor, Andy Warhol. There were also pictures of the guy, and from the first picture I saw I fell in love with him, especially with his hair. Great, I thought, great, that's the hair I want. Blond, ebullient, expansive (the hair sticking out), extraneous even, subversive, inspired.
Andy Warhol died in 1987, in tabula, i.e., not the way you would have expected him to die after having watched too many clips of Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground (one of the productions of his factory), or of Joe Dallesandro, the hunkiest hunk ever, another one of his productions, no, he died on the operating table.
Anyhow, while we are at it: somewhere around 1966, the term Pop Art made it to Europe, and the name of its inventor, Andy Warhol. There were also pictures of the guy, and from the first picture I saw I fell in love with him, especially with his hair. Great, I thought, great, that's the hair I want. Blond, ebullient, expansive (the hair sticking out), extraneous even, subversive, inspired.
 |
| Andy Warhol: Self portrait |
May 2, 2014
San Francisco (14) --- Connubial bliss, Nordstrom, and so on
 |
| Nordstrom on Market Street, San Francisco |
Michael A. to Nick Ch. (02 May 2014 07:25:14):
...just great to be in the US...so many ideas...this one came from some billboard for some San Francisco Law School...
“Certainly,” he says, “that’s why we are in the business of writing, isn’t it, to feel inspired, and by feeling inspired getting inspired, and by getting inspired feeling more inspired, and so on.”
“You sound like an expensive graduate course of something,” I say.________________
Nick Ch. to Michael A. (02 May 2014 07:26:50 -0700):
Are you still here?
________________
Michael A.. to Nick Ch. ( 02 May 2014 07:29:44 ):
...until May 10...
...Chang sits on the bed next to me (as we speak) and tells me he doesn't want to go back to Nordstrom (the department store) on Market Street, because he went to the toilet there which turned out to be cruising territory, and he fears the police will come next time and arrest him...
May 1, 2014
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