I am not trying to tackle the social injustices faced by a marginalized indigenous people.But I would like people to check out what the yuppies that run the US do during their formative, post secondary years.
Is that shit for real?
I am not a spiritual person, but what are you Future Bosses of the Free World, a group of blithering idiots?Do you even want to minutely risk the horrors of being haunted by that Indian Ghost?I mean, any Indian Ghost would probably be terrifying, but fucking Geronimo?!What we yell when we hurl ourselves into bloody battle, for Chrissakes!A shit storm of Apache fury that waged war against the Mexicans and Americans for thirty goddamn years.What’s next weekend, Secret Society, you go rape and kill Braveheart’s family?Jeez.
Maybe I just wanted to get all worked up over something from listening to This Excellent Album that I am so late on.
Being broke in Paris is only really shitty if you are totally inflexible when it comes to the occasional splurging.It was American Girlfriend’s birthday Tuesday past, which is a splash-out occasion, to be sure.So, since she has many “things” (read: far too much crap) and I am a cheapskate and we are finding ourselves in this pretty city, I decided she would prefer going on a cultural and culinary whirlwind Parisian tour, to the teacup I was planning on buying her.This may appear scoffable for those of you that know Paris.Not so.For instance, did you know that if you only allow yourself one hour to visit the vast Musee D’Orsay (which is not nearly enough time to appreciate it), you pay three euros less than full admission?Or that the Jardin de Tuileries is free (even though it was a putrid, pewter winter day; and none of the old statues even have any junk left – waste of time!)?
We hit up a pretty cool Parisian institution after all the arty stuff.Angelina is a one hundred and six year old salon de the, dripping baroque, brandishing a hefty pricetag for its desserts and coffee and shit like that.Founded by some Austrian dude and having serviced the likes of Proust and Coco Chanel, it sports the atypical somber, terse waitstaff I’ve come to appreciate as the French antithesis to Brian from Chotchke’s.These mofos are not there to be buddies.They are there to serve you your six euro cup of tea, perhaps expediently, definitely angrily.Luckily, only a moron would go there for a cup of tea, because their house specialty is le chocolate Africain, a giant bowl full of melted chocolate that you drink!!! And, no, even though the guy that opened Angelina was Austrian, and it was 1903, I think the bitter chocolate is fromAfrica and not an epidermal racial jab. American Girlfriend and I have each ordered one of these chocolat chauds apiece before and spent the rest of the afternoon shaking and complaining of pancreatitis, respectively.Thank Christ we knew enough to share one order (which is still the equivalent of two cups of chocolate).We had to save room for a Mont Blanc.You’re surely asking yourself, what the “f” is a Mont Blanc, Cam?A fancy pen?A white mountain?A softball of Chantilly with a meringue base and a chestnut cream, vermicelli pastry top that makes your carcass bloat like you’ve drowned?Yes to all three.We obviously had the latter.It was worth the type 2 diabetes.
So, to sum up:
Musee D’Orsay – cheaper after 4pm.Free first Sunday of the month.
Jardin Tuileries – Free but somehow still not worth it in the winter.
Angelina – Aggrandize your fathood with the sublimity of le chocolat Africain and a Mont Blanc.Around 7 euros.226 rue de Rivoli, 75001.
Next time:
Our vegetable-free, foie gras laden dinner after all these afternoon subcutaneous shenanigans.
