After three weeks on the old (and late) clamshell, I’m almost feeling agoraphobic in front of the 1024x768 pixels on Matt’s laptop.

Je devrais rentrer en début de semaine prochaine — arg, Smallville ! Si jamais quelqu’un voulait me proposer une escale à Paris, ce serait le moment.

Merde alors, il n’y a qu’à Paris que les gros cinémas passent les films en VO ? La province, c’est l’autre pays du DVD ?

Uhh…

Le linge ressort de la machine comme amidonné, qu’est-ce que ça veut dire ? Il faut mettre du Calgon ?

Oups. Ca ne doit pas se faire, de lancer une lessive à 21h30 dans un immeuble, surtout aussi mal insonorisé.

Mais il y a un brouhaha impossible toute la journée, tous les locataires semblent être des jeunes, je ne peux pas croire qu’ils dorment à cette heure. Le silence total qui règne à partir de 21h signifie forcément qu’ils sont sortis. Tous, sans exception. Hum. Les gens sont bizarres, dans le sud.

Au fait, pourquoi personne ne semble regarder la télé ? Je ne l’ai regardée qu’une fois depuis mon arrivée, mais moi c’est parce que je suis en vacances et que j’essaie de me couper de mes habitudes habituelles.

By popular demand of one person (or I think so — can’t find that comment back) here’s my travel blog: page 1, page 2, page 3, page 4, page 5 and page 6 (all in French).

I’ve sacrificed many megabytes of hard drive space to the drivers for Matt’s printer / scanner, so you’d better take the trouble to appreciate it (and decipher it, for starters).

A walk by the river at 6:30pm, big dripping armpit sweat marks, finally realizing I’m down South (for me it doesn’t register as South if there isn’t a beach). I should have bought more wifebeaters, but didn’t think I’d dare wear them.

It’s so weird living right in the center of a real city, a two-minute walk away from the shopping district, five-minute from gay bars, ten-minute from a store open until 10pm, ten-minute from a cruising park open all night…

If I’m not careful, I might get used to it. And I know that was Matt’s machiavellian plan from the start.

Sloooooow. I’ll have to resist for three weeks the urge to run and buy an iBook at the mall. Particularly now that I’ve got enough money on my account.

Here I am in Bordeaux. Now that it’s done, I can finally thank Matt for lending me his apartment while he’s busy doing things for the world more important than what I’ll ever do for a neighborhood. (I was that close to be stuck having to go to a hotel, though, because I had a false address. Well, actually, his name is on the building’s speakerphone, so if I had had nobody to phone I’d have reviewed all the doors in the street and finally found it — thanks hence to Fabrice and Pierre for sparing me the effort of trying my keys on every door on the street with eleventy kilos of luggage on my shoulders).

There’s a three-and-a-half-page blog post in my notepad, that I wrote along that horrendous train trip that led me — but inj a totally excusable way, you’d understand if you’d been there — to brutally and painfully murder a sixteen-year-old girl who was telling me of her July vacation. ut I can’t be bothered to type it, so I’ll probably never publish it (I could scan it once I’m back in Smallville, but you couldn’t ever manage to read it — which could make a fun contest, actually).

Two days ago, coming back from groceries, I wondered why skin was torn out on my knuckles. I remembered today, plugging my external drive back: the iMac’s frame is really treacherous.

I received an email yesterday from a communication agency (well written, well personalized, no problem at all with the contents) offering me to be among the select few blogs to publish viral marketing videos, starting with a shoe brand (since the message was nice and polite, I might as well protect their identity). Oddly, they totally ignore the hint in my reply: “true, if I announced that […] offered me shoes so I blogged about them, it’s certainly generate some buzz.” Yet I refrained from being too subtle, didn’t I?

I guess they got the target wrong (well, actually, that’s for sure — who’d respond to a sneaker ad on garoo.net?), because I’m a little bit past being so flattered to be contacted, or so happy to be the first to publish a new video, that I’d be giving them advertising space for free. This is not a Skyblog.

What would it have cost them? Thirty euros? And I just happen to need a new pair of shoes, my Reeboks died two weeks ago.

«  Si je vous zappe, c’est peut-être que je vous ai zappé, ou peut-être que vous avez utilisé un mot interdit sur dialh, c’est la loterie 50/50. » Au moins ils ont eu l’honnêteté de valider ma nouvelle CV… ce qui veut peut-être dire qu’elle n’est pas très claire.