started this blog as a vehicle for My book Fixed: Dope sacks, dye packs and the long welcome back, which has gained a little bit of traction in its short, self-published life. But, what has happened in the interim? In part, a rhetorical question. The whole country got the D.Ts with no cure in sight. But …

Brain Under Construction

Not since Napoleon have the French administered such a decisive defeat. Today they walloped me. I surrendered in class and laid down my books with a fart and a whimper. Agitated, my muttering bubbled up into a full-on proclamation. I lost my shit, "I CAN"T DO THIS!" The class collectively parked their language skills in …

For What It’s Worth

I know some of you are thinking, will this guy ever write anything useful to me? Probably not, but I will tell this: never put an eggplant in the microwave and never siphon gas with a shop vac. Beyond those two helpful hints, I'm pretty much tapped out, except on the subject of my ongoing adventure, …

I’m in kindergarten, They Can’t Put Me Back

Bonjour, mes amis! It's Douglas—phonetically pronounced Dooglaw—checking in from Paris. Learning a language is très difficile. Now I know what it feels like to be a baby, as it relates to language, that is. I'm learning all the time. I've just received confirmation, that, "vous êtes une chauve-souris," I'm bald as a bat. After looking in the …

French Crack

Man cannot live on bread alone, but I’m making a solid effort. The croissant has become an extension of my hand. I imagine that in heaven there’s a bakery on every block, so I’d better be good until I arrive. Scratch that, I’m in Paris where there's 4 bakeries on every block, better than heaven. …

Fromage, Take 2

  If you want to be hit in the face with an olfactory 2x4, step inside any one of the  fromageries sprinkled about Paris. You'll find no aerosol Fromage Whizz in France. Be it sheep (brebis), goat (chèvre) or cow (vache), it's all udderly delicious. I was late to the fondue and have only recently …

Scooter

An endless procession of anaemic scooters, and with the same whiney intensity as weed eaters, take over my street at dusk. Like the little guy with the big mouth who won't shut up. Like me. They aren't going fast, but they are definitely pushing the limits of rotations per minute as demonstrated by the way …

Getting Small, Living Large

I'm a carpenter by trade and usually carry an over abundance of dirt under my fingernails. But now, I find myself a writer in Paris, and have traded in my bag of hammers for a pen, or a Mac. My hands have never been softer. I'm thinking of changing my name to Madge. When Marie …

Honk

In the horn honking competition, Parisians are second only to the Italians, followed by clowns, with Canadian geese and taxis rounding out the field. Parisian streets are thin. The city planners of the tenth century were a tad short-sighted on where things were going, the people were smaller and le Big Mac wasn't even a …

Le Tour, All Over Le Map

I don't know Jacques shit about the Tour de France. Unless they're riding banana seat Stingrays with baseball cards pinned to the spokes and their mothers calling them back in for dinner, because that's the last time I rode a bike. Well, there was one another time, a rental at the Palace of Versailles, where …