Transcribed from 5 days ago...

Sitting around observing the strange ways of the natives in Europe is just like putting on my oldest pjs. It may seem old to you, but always feels just right to me. So here i am on the Eurostar from London Waterloo to Paris Nord. I am sitting directly behind a boy band. I swear they are. There are four of them and all hipped out to the nines, Americans. Each has a different hip-look (and a different hair color/texture). All young white kids with some form of bedhead calling eachother nigger, and throwing in references to "Manhattan" every 10 seconds leading me to believe that they are so far from being new yorkers, new jersey'd be a hell of a complement. It's clear they are also loaded. One of them is fiddling with a small swank DV camera, the one accross from him is spinning his IPod on the table with his index finger, another one i can't get a good look at, and the fourth one just came back from the bar car with four little bottles of Smirnoff and tomato juice. It should come as no surprise that i support both a love of gadgetry and a healthy thirst, but shit they kill you at the bar car, and an IPod is meant to be loved not spun. They also have expensive socks on. I can tell.

Apart from the unfortunate boy band right now, London was surprisingly pleasant. It rained every day of course, but stopped around noon. Luckily I wasn't opening my eyes before 1pm mostly so by the time i dragged myself out of the apartment it was actually sort of sunny. And i never realized what a pretty city it is until i saw it under a few hours of sunshine. It could almost be called cute. I've been hanging out with my oldest best friend from LA who's living here now with her man. They've carved out a pretty sweet life, even if it is damp all the time. In any case everyone's managed to keep me fed, drunk, and entertained during most of my waking hours, and that's what counts.

The train gets in in an hour, and Nils is meeting me at the station. I'm nervous about the whole Paris part. For starters i'm scared to replay any of my protracted misery from my last year there. Cinematic as being unhappy in Paris is, it fucking really sucked. Downing a cheap Cote de Rhone along with 2 packs of cigarettes a day doesn't seem cool anymore. It seems gross. But after a few seconds of thought, i admit it's still strangely appealing. And so, we find ze problem.

On a positive note i am easily understanding the hostesses french announcements over the PA, and spoke briefly with the train agent in London in French. He started it and i went with it. Then he saw my US passport, switched to english and asked me about my long-stay visa which is still in there. So i casually explained about my jet-set lifestyle. [Note to readers: Any mention of my jet-set lifestyle is dripping with sarcasm. Jet setters do things like buy little bottles of Smirnoff at the bar car and use their IPods as coasters.] So we'll see how my riduculously short stay here will treat me. I made it four days on purpose, and I'm having a hard time explaining that to people. "All zee vay from new york for four dayzz??? But vhy?" But vhy indeed. I dunno, cause i'm retarded that way. On to the cheese, mes amis.