I got to Paris and took the metro (that’s a subway in English) to my hotel. After walking around the general vicinity for thirty minutes, I finally found the hotel. It’s no great shakes, but it’s perfectly adequate to give me a place to sleep, shower, and eat a free breakfast.

My first stop was the Eiffel Tower. I went all the way to the top which was pretty cool. I finally befriended some Americans–two middle-aged black women, one from Minnesota, one from Georgia. I’ll tell you what–if that was my type, I’d be golden because middle-aged black women love me. Anyway, after descending, I bought a two-day boat pass along the Seine that would let me hop on and hop off as needed. It was cool because most of the major attractions are along the Seine, so I got pictures of everything.

When I got back towards the hotel, I wandered into a local bar. Now I quickly realized that me trying to order in French made me sound either retarded or deaf. Nonetheless, I was able to get a few beers and a huge salad. Along with the bread on the side, this was the most I’d eaten on the trip.

On Tuesday, I sauntered out to the Rodin Museum. Unexpectedly cool and spent a lot of time there. That guy produced over 6,500 pieces of art–kind of like the James Patterson of sculptors. Lot more dongs than I expected, but I guess that’s par for the course when looking at French art. I also went to Notre Dame and the Arc de Triomphe, both of which were cool to see, but nothing to write home about (unless, of course, you’re trying to fill up a blog).

Today I went to this cemetery which was really an excellent trip. Just wandered around with no real plan. Jim Morrison is the most famous inhabitant, and his gravesite is the only one that’s guarded (due to people vandalizing it). There’s a tree next to the grave where people leave their tributes (like writing lyrics on the tree). I was never really into the Doors; not being a pot smoker probably lessened my appreciation of the music. Oscar Wilde is also buried there–it’s a custom to kiss the marker while wearing lipstick; alas, I left mine at the hotel.

After that, I sat in a park for a while and composed this post. Might try to find something to eat, then I got to the Louvre tonight. Probably bum around during the day tomorrow, then I take a sleeper train to Rome tomorrow night.

In all honesty, I’m so-so on Paris. I enjoy seeing all the historic stuff, and I’m glad I came, but I don’t see any reason why I’d come back again. Sort of the way I felt when I went to Tokyo. Much different than London, which I think I could go back to multiple times and enjoy.

Today, I went to Windsor Castle. Weird to see a place that’s basically four times as old as our country. My favorite part of this trip was when the tour guide said, “The Queen has been on the throne for sixty years”. This made me giggle.

I then went to Stonehenge. On one hand, it seems very mystical. On the other hand, it seems like it could just be a bunch of rocks. There were about a thousand sheep no more than 50 yards away and they didn’t seem to have any superpowers.

My last stop was Bath. I was looking for the filthy Wife of Bath, but she was nowhere to be seen. I drank this mineral water from a hot spring that the Romans thought had magical healing powers when they built baths around it about a million years ago. We’ll see if it helps with these blisters.

Back at the hotel now, following the Phils game via the iPad and listening to a British guy recap the Eagles game. Stuck watching the Giants-Redskins game, but it’s better than the British TV I’ve been stuck with. Also fun to watch the NFL hype fantasy football to a British audience, as the ads go over pretty much every rule as if explaining to a six-year old.

Next update whenever I get steady Internet access again.

I’ve walked so much that my right foot bled. Need to remember to break shoes in prior to going on vacation next time.

People in London are very fashionable. My Banana Republic polo/jeans combo paled in comparison to 98% of the other people I saw today. The most notable exception was the chunky fella pushing a stroller while wearing a Kansas City Chiefs t-shirt. I somehow saw him three times today.

I thought I saw the Spice Girls and Paul McCartney walking around, but it probably wasn’t them.

Oh, I got hit by a car today. It wasn’t moving fast enough to even wrinkle my pants, but itndid hit me.

Bedtime…train to Liverpool in the morning for a Premier League match.

So I’m again standing in front of the wall of toilet seats, when The Lowe’s Guy comes over and asks me if I need any help.  So I respond with something along the lines of “It’s my third time here, so hopefully I’m good by now.”  So he says, “Three times?  There’s only two kinds of seats–round and elongated.”

I now realize that I sound like a moron given that it’s taken three trips to buy something so simple, so I reply with “Yeah, I know.  But I thought it was based on the shape of my ass, not the shape of the bowl.”  Needless to say, The Lowe’s Guy found this to be quite funny.

As a respectable adult, I indulge her and admire the picture she had with her, which consisted of heart stickers, some animal stickers, and her printed name.  She spots some change on my desk and, using the car as a battering ram, knocks $2.07 of change to the floor.  So I feign horror, pleading with her to stop because that’s my dinner money and I won’t be able to eat.  She gathers it up, hands it back to me, and tells me I can put it back on the desk.  I do this, and immediately find the change back on the floor, courtesy of the little car.  She now crawls under my desk to get the change again and, while down there, loudly says, “I’m showing you my butt.”  As half the office began searching the Megan’s Law sites, I’m again handed my change back.  This little girl once again tells me I can put it on the desk.  This time, instead of even using the car, she just picks the change up and throws it.  So now I actually have to get out of my chair to get my coinage back.  As I do so, this little sweetheart begins to throw everything else on my desk into the trashcan.

I am now faced with pulling the following things out of a trashcan:  a pen, a notebook, my iPhone, my headphones, two smaller notebooks, four articles I’d printed out, a thing of hand sanitizer, and a water bottle.  Needless to say, each of these have to be taken out of the trash several times, as the “game” continues indefinitely.  Finally, I start putting things on an upper shelf of my cube, and soon there is nothing left on my desk but a computer and a phone.  My phone’s handset ends up in the trashcan minutes later.  Finally, her father came over, thanked me for entertaining her, and took her away.

I gather my change and make my daily Starbucks run.  Arriving back at my desk twenty minutes or an hour later, I’m standing and enjoying my afternoon coffee when the little instigator comes walking by.  She stops at my desk and is gazing at me.  So in my dopey, playful kid voice, I say, “Oh, looks like trouble’s back.”  She then proceeds to punch me square in the balls.

45 minutes later, the tire is no closer to being inflated than when I started.  I’m alternating between using a hand pump and an auto-inflating CO2 cartridge.  The tire is still completely flat.  As it’s Easter, I’m also praying that Jesus or the Easter Bunny come help me.  I’m also somehow covered in grease and dirt–I mean, like auto mechanic covered.  At this point, to the passing bikers, it actually looks like I’m almost done as the wheel is back on the bike, so the random offers to help come to an end.

Well wouldn’t you know it, two female bikers stop, unsolicited.  They ask if I need help and before I’m able to masculinely assure them that I’ve got it covered, they tell me they saw me on their ride out, so they clearly know I need help.  Ten seconds later, the tire’s inflated and I’m on my way.  (The problem was ultimately that I didn’t know how to use the CO2 cartridge properly.)  So once again, even on the holiest of holy days, it goes to show that there’s no greater power in this world than my ruggedly handsome face.

Now I’ve had a long-running problem with the large drug store chains–these places should not have shopping carts.  People should “shop” in these stores, but they shouldn’t “do their shopping” there.  If you’re buying more than what you can carry in your hands, you need to be in a supermarket.  I have no idea why it aggravates me so much, but when I’m running into CVS for some Tylenol Cold & Flu or, as in this instance, a 3 oz. bottle of mouthwash, I don’t want to be stuck behind the person who’s buying Gatorade, four Lean Cuisines, Easter decorations, a curling iron, and the full run of weekly tabloids.

Now back to Chicago–they make an announcement opening an additional register as the store was quite crowded as people were leaving work.  Luckily, it’s that little register they have near the cosmetics, so I find myself third in line, immediately behind a woman who has just two candy bars, who in turn is behind a woman who’s doing the type of shopping described above.  This woman doesn’t get off her cellphone the entire time the checkout lady is scanning and bagging FIVE BAGS WORTH OF MERCHANDISE.  She proceeds to stay on the phone while she writes a check to pay for the order.  I mean a check, for chrissake–not a check card, I’m talking she’s writing a check.  In this day and age, imagine that.  Once this overly time-consuming transaction is complete, the customer proceeds to stand there, while the five bags remain on the small counter, until her conversation is complete.  This, naturally, prevents the rest of the line from moving forward.

At this point, I’m mildly annoyed.  Not fuming, but mildly annoyed.  I see on the counter directly in front of me, but slightly wedged behind the thing you use to swipe a credit card to pay, a small, travel-sized package of Kotex (or Tampax, or something in that family).  The offensive woman finally ends her call, starts gathering her massive collection of merchandise, when I say, “Excuse me, ma’am, I believe you forgot your tampons.”  She glares at me, and with a very stern voice says, “Those are not mine!”  So I reply, “Well they’re certainly not mine.”  At this point, the woman with the candy bars is nearly doubled over in laughter.  I couldn’t understand why the woman was so upset–I figured it would be a compliment that I thought she might still need them given that she appeared to be of an age where the onset of hot flashes has to be on her mind.  The cashier was still chuckling the whole time she rang up my Scope.

And that’s what happened at the Walgreen’s in Chicago.

For now, I’m just going to post stuff as it comes into my head.  Maybe as I add content I’ll be able to organize it in some manner.  But at its inception, it’s really going serve as a way for me to memorialize important things like no longer relevant pop culture references (like Heckyl & Jeckyl) and essays like Why I Hate Bumper Stickers.