Back in SF after a spin around Florida. Visited family, friends, and fish.

In Gainesville, I started at home for a few days with family. My nephew is 14 years old now. And taller. Much taller. He'll very likely be looking down on me in a few years.

Next, I went to Tampa and stayed in the pinkest girlie pink room you have ever pink set your pink eyes on pink. And pink. Rachel very kindly let me stay in her pink palace, since the family had a full house over Labor Day weekend, and the guest room was full.

Did I mention pink?

Thanks again, Rachel!

There was more than just pinkness. Francine, Rachel, and I went for a stroll by one of Tampa's park/piers.

It was like a little taste of the South Florida I used to know, with mangroves and these little purple flower heads we used to pop off the stem with our thumbs, chanting "Momma had a baby and her HEAD popped off!"

Children not named Rachel are gruesome.

Next up, I drove to Miami to pick up Z-Man. This was an unfortunately stressful part of the trip. I'm an experienced, seasoned Florida driver, which means I've basically driven through hurricanes and on I-95. However, this trip down the west coast saw some of the worst rain and visibility I've ever had to deal with. Happily, my fellow drivers were all being impressively sane, driving slowly, lights on, and even hazards blinking. I could mostly follow behind, although at one point, there was no one in front of me, and trying to find the road was a bit terrifying.

But that's not all. After the storm cells passed, I was in the flat part of I-75 that goes through the Everglades. Rain stirs up insects, which the tiny native Everglades birds love to eat. This means that for the next 17 miles, I had suicidal/homicidal hungry birds dive-bombing the road in front of me, trying to get their fill of bugs. Of the 193 close calls, one bird will not be passing on its genes. I said a little kaddish.

I was very glad to be in Coral Gables at the Biltmore, honestly one of the finest hotels I've ever stayed at. Z-man and I could probably make a vacation just there, doing nothing. Gorgeous, fantastic service and amenities, and check out my view.

We were only there for 2 days, and both pretty exhausted. We didn't do anything the first day, and the second night, I braved a trip over to South Beach.

It's still pretty, but it didn't quite have the same vibe that I remembered (although still keeping up a good level of douchiness). I'm probably just old now.

These are a bit blurry, but they're for my sister.

Then after a much more relaxing, uneventful trip down US-1, we made it to Key West!

One night, Z-Man and I took a sunset cruise out over the water. Gorgeous day, as you can see.

Hoist them thingies!

This is the Western Union, another schooner with whom our ship, the Jolly II Rover, has a friendly rivalry of sorts.

Hello, Mallory Square!

Ah, there's the sun. Wonder if we should worry about that haze...? Nahhh.

A shipmate "priming" his "cannon." Commence innuendo.

Ahhh, look at that water. Hope those clouds'll get out of our way.

Oh, look over there! Much nicer! Fort Zachary Taylor, everyone! Pretty!

(I posted a few panoramic shots, which get kinda scrunched up, like this one)

The Western Union attempts to engage the Jolly II Roger. Boy, sea battle is really slow.

Fire cannons!

Ha! We chased off those yellow dogs! Yearrr! Take that, ya bilge-suckers! You're a . . . you're . . . hey, where are you going?

Oh, crap!

It was at this point, the crew of the J2R hauled ass to get the rigging down, and then we hauled ass back to port. Look at those skies!

At that point, it commenced raining with tropical vengeance. I wasn't particularly alarmed that I'd be paying Davey Jones a visit (no, not the Monkey, nor the Bowie). The seas were much frothier, and there was some spectacular lightning, but it was quite a show, and it was quite something to see. Sunsets happen every night, but how often do you get caught in the middle of a genuine Carribbean squall? Totally worth it.

The next day we opted for some sunshine and another boat ride, gluttons for punishment that we were. I've never been to Bahia Honda before, and I'd heard that it's supposedly a first-class beach. I'm happy to report it easily lived up to this reputation.

We took a snorkeling expedition from Bahia Honda to Looe Reef, named after an English sailor who had to ran aground on it. Another boat ride, but this one much less eventful from the ride standpoint, although at one point a silly tourist lost his hat in the water. The crew kindly fished it out, but did so not realizing when we'd turned about, we'd tangled a lobster trap buoy around the propeller of one of the engines. Z-Man and I were in the back, and I saw the buoy first and let the captain know. He was much more concerned that it was an engine problem, so when it turned out to be this, there was much relief. He sent in his mate to cut it free and we were on our way.

Unfortunately, beautiful as the reef was once we got there, we were beset by moon jellyfish. Not the worst kind (like a box jelly), but not fun to be around. They'd apparently had a fertile year, and were much worse earlier in the summer. Sea turtles eat them, which is another reason you should like turtles.

Jellyfish pretty much just go with a current, so once I figured out which way they were coming and which way they were headed, it was a bit easier to dodge them, but it still was like Hartsfield Airport during rush hour. Z-Man, brave little trooper that he was, lasted less than two minutes. He was a little freaked out at being surrounded by so many fish, and he felt like he wasn't strong enough a swimmer to avoid the jellyfish. We'll have to start somewhere simpler for him, like, say, our bathtub.

I don't have any good pictures from the boat or dive, not wanting to risk my camera, but we did walk around the park a bit more before leaving. The bridge you see in some of the pictures is what remains of the old Flager Railroad that ran down to Key West. A hurrican wiped it out of usability many years ago, and Flagler couldn't rebuild it. It became the foundation for one of the earlier traffic roads to Key West until the new US-1 was built.

Well, it's our last day (already!) and my birthday. So we decided to try a sunset viewing one more time, from land.

The sunset was a bit later than we'd figured, and we had reservations at Hot Tin Roof. Fortunately for us, they had one more outside table for 2 available that overlooked the western sky, albeit the sun would set behind Sunset Key, a private island just off Key West.

So brace yourself for a ton of Sunset pictures . . . now!

Dessert was location-appropriate: Key Lime pie! Anyone who knows me knows that my #1 choice for dessert will always be chocolate and none of your funny white stuff. However, my #2 favorite dessert of all time is Key Lime pie.

This was my first actual pie of the trip, and it was delicious (the palm tree is cinnamon powder). Previously, we'd gone to La Te Da for Key Lime "martinis." I use the scare quotes because, like the snob I am, a martini is gin and vermouth and that's it. But I also acknowledge we're stuck with the term for anything else, and I've made my peace with it. It's especially easy, because La Te Da makes hands-down the best Key Lime pie martini anywhere, ever. All of the bartenders insist it's the Licor43 liqueur they use. It's kind of like Tuaca, without the awful. It's incredibly smooth, to be sure, but in my opinion, theirs is so good because they use just a tiny bit of cream, and the cocktail glass is rimmed in powdered graham cracker. That, and the fact that they make enough for multiple pours, which they strain off into a small cruet that they rest on a bowl of ice to keep it cool. We enjoyed them several nights in lieu of actual dessert or pie, but on my full moon birthday night, at 41 years of age (and seeing my first damn age spots on my hands), only the real thing would do. And it did.

Dear Hurricane Irene,

Apart from the indignity of being named after my boss, why must you, once again, threaten my vacation time? Please turn north-east and sputter out at your earliest possible convenience or I shall be forced to subject you to the following video and hundreds others like it -- and make no mistake, I can.

I don't think either one of us want that.

Very truly yours,
S7

OMG! A post! (Which I just now edited to de-Frenchify it because some of the letters translate to garbage characters.  Sorry, French, I tried to use your diacriticals, I really did, but the fonts! They do nothing!)

I was thinking about my poor blog this morning.  I still have Paris to finish, now that it's not far from going on a year.  Let's see, we las left it on my birthday, at the Buddha Bar.  It was the first time I'd eaten there, and it was not bad.  I think I'd stick to the drinks, in the future.

The next day, Dr. Rogish's last, we went to the outdoor market at Bastille.  I'd say they easily live up to their reputations.  Delicacies, cheeses, meats, salts, ethnic food, breads, fruits, vegetables . . . Paris is great for window shopping for treats from those vendors luck enough to have a shop, and the bakeries and delis are a huge part of what I love about the city.  But the bustling, crowded, everyday-people markets are just as remarkable and dizzyingly immersive and dense with wonders. 

Ah, random street in Paris.  This one was taken close to the market in Bastille. 

In contrast to the high art and market culture, we decided to go to the Museum of Chocolate.  You're required to say this in Homer Simpsons voice. (OH! And speaking of the Simpsons, I did catch it in French at our hotel.  The voices are pretty dead on.  "Va te faire shampouiner!" Yeah, that's French-Bart's version of "Eat my shorts!"  It's "Go shampoo yourself," which, huh, idioms.)

Anyway, the chocolate museum was filled with chocolate parephenalia, history, biology, and oh! Look! Chocolate makes you fat!

I expected to see "Some pig" written in webbing above this bon-bon holder. 

Z-man really enjoyed this museum.

European-style hot chocolate was a huge part of salon culture during its colonial period.  There's plenty of information on its traditional presentation from the Americas, but ooo! Shiny!

Modern!

Good grief! Cleanse it with fire!!!!!

And of course, chocolate-inspired fashion, and fashion-inspired Z-man.  Told you he enjoyed it.

That was, sadly, where Dr. Rogish had to depart back for home.  I'll visit soon!

Now, although I've been to Paris a few times, this is the closest I'd ever gotten to the Arc de Triomphe.  In fact, I didn't know you could go up to the top!

La Defense, as seen from the top of the Arc.

I have a panoramic shot, but it doesn't go well on the blog.  But this gives you an idea of the spot.  The Arc is a hub for something like 12 streets that spoke outward from the circle.

Here's the Eiffel Tower, and I think the left street is part of the Champs-Elysees.  It might not be, it might be over to the left a click or two.

This is definitely the Louvre.  You can see the top of the Pyramid.

Ah, I can show off with  this one.  See that point on the center horizon...?

That's the Sacre-Coeur, basilica, atop the Montmartre.

Beneath the Arc is a memorial to French soldiers.  We caught part of some daily ceremony. 

Ah, this is the Egyptian Obelisk on the Place de la Concorde, aka the Place de la Revolution, aka the execution site of Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, Robspierre, and many, many, many, many others on the bloodthirsty blade of Mme Guillotine during "the" French Revolution.

There's some debate about whether the obelisk, originally from the entrance to the pyramid at Luxor, was indeed a "gift" and not a "spoil."  There were two, and only one, this one, could be brought from Egypt.  Francois Mitterand "gave" the other one "back."

Apparently Act-Up once wrapped this rascal up in a giant pink condom.

This the tip of the Ile de la Cite where the oldest bridge in Paris, Pont Neuf, connects the right and left banks of the Seine.  The park is frequently filled with couples enjoying life on the Seine.  And snogging.

As we strolled back toward our hotel, night fell, and we passed by the Hotel de Ville, the current incarnation of the city hall and the mayor's office. It's been the site of city administration since the 1300s, but Paris being Paris, it's been burned down at various times.  It's now made of stone, which is easier to clean up, scorch-mark-wise.

More morbidity! I'd never also actually been to the Pere Lachaise cemetery.  It's enormous, much bigger than I expected it do be (I'd only every been to the one at Montparnasse, which is smaller and felt more canopied by the trees).

I was also struck at the diversity of graves. Jewish, Christian, Shinto . . . it was not at all a homogenous place. 

It's also the supposed resting place of Abelard and Heloise those famous, doomed lovers.  This is their tomb.

Jim Morrison's grave, duh.

Edith Piaf.

Lovely mosaic.

I was also taken aback by how many Holocaust memorials there were.  It was . . . unsettling, not because it was a reminder of the not-so-great behavior of the French Vichy government, but by how the monuments, at least one for every death camp, almost seemed to be in competition with each other.  I couldn't help but get a sense of palpable penitence from the way they vied for my attention.

The morbidity wasn't surprising.  Vanitas and Danse Macabre are longstanding features of the culture.  It was, however, very effective.

Ah, Oscar Wilde's tomb.  All the red you see is, I kid you not, lipstick.  There is a superstition that if you kiss his tomb, you'll find true love in Paris, or something like that.  It's like a gayer, more literary Marie Laveau.  Funny how these things seem to cling to French culture.

The columbarium was like nothing I'd experience before.  It's quite large, and I believe there's an actual, if not active crematorium on the premises.  But the scent of flowers as you walked throught the naturally lit halls was powerful indeed.

Balzac! (Tee-hee!)

That night, we made it to the Champ de Mars, the greensward that leads up to the Eiffel Tower.  I had intended for us to go up, but, vive la France, there was a bomb threat supposedly called in because of the impending no-veil law being debated.  Le sigh.  I couldn't help but wonder if there were people up there eating at the 5-star restaurant, though.  I'd like to believe that the French wouldn't let a little thing like a bomb scare spoil a good meal.

The next, and final day, I took us to the Montmartre, which still is a cozy, gorgeous, I-can't-believe-I'm-still-in-a-city neighborhood on the side of the hill.  I think the crepes Z-man is having below at the Maison Rouge (yes, the Pink House) is the Frenchiest thing we did the whole time.

The tragic, fabulous Dalida.

A Moulin, yes, but not rouge.

One of the genuine, remaining Art Nouveau Paris Metro stations designed by Guimard.

The basilica, this time close up, and once described as looking like "nipples for the angels on which to suck."  They have a point.

Heading downhill from the idealized Paris of your dreams, with the street artists and the mills and the ambling, quiet roads, you get back to the grittier urban world of Pigalle, titty bars, the Moulin Rouge, and the Musee de l'erotisme (yes, the Sex Museum, which is, actually, pretty great).  And now for something completely different, a kinky diorama!

And that brings us to our concluding night at Cabaret Michou (warning! site has automatically-playing, terrifying music), which I already posted a ton of pictures for (many of you are still recovering from them). "Moi, Michou!" (warning, again: different link, no music, but translated page)  I'll repost a couple, one for dear, departed Amy Winehouse.

And one more for the more-French (but actually Egyptian-Itlaian) Dalida.

So, finally! Almost my 41st birthday, but at least I did this.  Now I won't feel so guilty about posting other stuff.

   One of my favorite spots in San Francisco, and one of the first places I ate at on my first trip here in 1995, Ti Couz, shuttered on Sunday. 

Tworavens is visiting, and we went there on Saturday for a farewell.

While the last Totale and Café Liegeois I'll ever have were great, it was also memorable, alas, because three feet from us, one of the customers appeared to have a siezure, and the paramedics were called.  She was taken off to a local hospital after some initial triage.  It was a little surreal, especially since it was happening right next to us.  I hope the poor dear is okay. 

This is me, saying a tearful farewell after lunch, and attempting to dry-hump it goodye.

Extended multi-month hiatus! Sorry! I really do have more Paris pictures to post.  But here's a terrifying break. There's a reason for it.

We returned yesterday in the late afternoon and I uploaded my pictures from my camera to my home desktop.  530+ pictures! Still loving my Japan-bought new camera and 32GB memory stick.  There are so many good features on it in addition to what I'm used to having it do.  I still need a small tripod for some night/extreme-distance pictures, but I'm loving the Twighlight-Burst setting (takes multiple pictures and "averages" them) and the Panoramic feature.  That feature enabled me to capture some of the grandeur and scale of some of the more outrageously elaborate baroque/rococo rooms in Versailles and the Louvre.

But enough talk about them, let's have a look.

Our first day, I took as our orientation day, which means, of course, starting on the Ile de la Cité, the origin of the city, and Notre Dame.  Way, way back, pre-Roman times, the two islands on the Seine (Cité and St. Louis) used to be a smaller grouping of five islands, and an old Celtic tribe -- the Parisii or the Quarisii -- lived on them and the marshy area that the Seine wound through.  The Romans came through and thought the islands were perfect for portage and supply chains along the river, and so conquered the area for themselves, and called the area Lutecia.

Over time, the Islands were joined together into the two now present on the river, and as Paris' fortunes have risen and fell over time, most of it originates on these islands, as both the city and the country grew around them.  Notre Dame sits on the old Roman ruins, and you can actually see some of them in the archaeological crypt.  The church itself is a beautiful example of high French Gothic architecture.  Z-man was surprised at how small it was, and indeed it's by no means the largest church in Europe, but it looms fairly large in popular imagination, so his "disappointment" isn't really shocking.

We walked a little around the areas just north and south of the islands.  If you're standing on one of the islands and facing the direction the river flows in (west), the part of the city on your left hand side (the south) is known as the rive gauche, and the right (north) is rive droit, i.e. the "left bank" and the "right bank."  Although Z was mildly disappointed at the scale of Notre Dame, he was most certainly floored by the cakes and breads in the patisseries and boulangeries we walked by along St-Germain-de-Prés.  Flawless, fruit-topped cakes and rainbow colored macaroons, and beautiful breads and rolls were a siren's song to him, and he vowed to have at least one croissant or pain au chocolat a day, which I think he actually did.

The city started on the islands, but by no means was it confined there.  The left bank was built up first.  Vikings got the better of the city at various times, and often pillaged the well-off churches and monasteries that had been built there.  After fortifications on the Ile de la Cité were built by the founder of the Capetian dynasty, the Vikings were pretty much thwarted in Paris, and the city started to rebuild on the right bank.  The right bank is where the Louvre palace was built, and where the museum of the same name resides, and this is where we spent the next day. 

We visited the Paris Tourist office on rue des Pyramides and got a 6-day museum pass as well as a Paris Visite, a transportation pass that gets you on busses, metro, RER (a train system), and even the funiculaire at Montmartre.  The transport card "isn't that great a deal," most sources agree (when comparing it to the Navigo cards), but it's easier to get than the Navigo rechargeable card, given that since American credit cards don't work on Paris recharge machines, one must rely on coins in order to pay -- the machines don't take bills, which is a total PITA. 

The museum card, however, is a fantastic deal, and not merely if you're visiting dozens of museums.  But the museum card lets you bypass ticket purchase lines, which were ubiquitous and lengthy everywhere we went -- I was surprised by how many tourists were still in the city, including American ones.  We're talking Disney World levels here.  The time I spent able to view the museum rather than wait on a queue was worth the pass alone.

Oh, and Z-man is a bit, um, ADHD with art.  Not a statue fan, but was good enough to let me drag him through many, many galleries of sculpture, which is sort of one of my favorite mediums.

The Venus de Milo, a statue with one of the best PR reps in the world:

The Venus de Milo's great fame in the 19th century was not simply the result of its admitted beauty, but also owed much to a major propaganda effort by the French authorities. In 1815, France had returned the Medici Venus to the Italians after it had been looted from Italy by Napoleon Bonaparte. The Medici Venus, regarded as one of the finest Classical sculptures in existence, caused the French to consciously promote the Venus de Milo as a greater treasure than that which they had recently lost. It was duly praised by artists and critics as the epitome of graceful female beauty; however, Pierre-Auguste Renoir was among its detractors, labeling it a "big gendarme".

These two are of a statue I'd forgotten about, but was blown away by the first time I saw, and on this second view, I'm still blown away.  It's of Hermaphroditus, son of Hermes and Aphrodite, who had the unfortunate luck to be found appealing to a water nymph named Salmacis, who lived in a fountain.  Her advances were rebuked, but alas, whilst slipping into the fountain for a dip, thinking her gone, she pounced and pleaded to the gods to never be parted from him.  Wish granted, and the two merged into a single being.  The poor schlep, for his part, prayed that anyone drinking from the fountain would also wind up dual-sexed.  Wish also granted.  Not sure how that helped.

Anyway, the statue is stunning to me for a few reasons.  One is that the padded mattress s/he lies on is, of course, solid marble, but it looks like if you lay down on it, it would be soft and pillowy.  The other is how amazingly rendered the body is.  When you see it from the rear, the hip curvature really does seem to be struggling between female and male, and at first glance, you'd take it for a sleeping female nude.

But when you see the other side, you can see male naughty bits, and the prone figures masculine traits are just visible on the torso and arms. 

The Louvre was, famously, also a palace prior to it's reintended purpose.  If you didn't know that before, you'll know it afterwards.

The Louvre also houses the Mona Lisa.  They changed its location from being on a side wall to it's own display wall, and they put an no-go-zone bubble around it, which absolutely sucks.  You used to be able to get quite close to it.  No longer.  I expect they'll install a 1€ telescope in there someday.  Bleah.

It's popular, to say the least.  Z was not amused.

Sunset at the Louvre, and the little arc in the courtyard visible.

Interior shot of the pyramid of the Louvre.

The next day, we went to Versailles.  This chateau was as large as Z-man imagined, I'm happy to report.

And shiny.  So very, very shiny.

I was at Versailles once before.  It's an interesting place, about which the Sun King once famously said, "I can most be myself."  Vomit-inducing levels of ego, but at the same time, I'm impressed that that much ego could fit inside one man.  But at various times, especially when the underclass revolted, this is where royalty and monarchists retreated away from Paris, when things got just a little too hot to handle.  Louis XVI was forcibly removed from here and brought to Paris for execution, during the French Revolution of 1789 (the "first" one).

Anyhoo, the famous Hall of Mirrors was being renovated my first trip here, which was disappointing.  It's done now, however, and I was able to see it in all of its splendor.

Ahhh, and then there's this little gem.  In some act of cosmic balance to even out my audacity to have French food in Kyoto in December 2009, there is an exhibition at Versailles of sculptures by contemporary Japanese artist Takashi Murakami.

I didn't actually mind it all that much, but Z was infuriated.  For him, this was less a "you got your chocolate in my peanut butter" moment as "what the hell is that thing doing there?"  Though he agreed that the works themselves were pretty great, but he'd rather have seen them elsewhere. 

So, now I think there needs to be a complete Murakami Versailles.

Another thing I'd not done in Versailles was visit the Trianons, Petit and Grand.  They were other living apartments on the chateau.  Because I guess you just need more?

What I had done before, and really loved, was visiting Marie Antoinette's little Hamlet.  A tiny, bijou, and entirely fake village is on Versailles that is supposed to be a sample of idyllic French country life. 

There's not nearly enough poop or syphilis.   Also, note the clouds.

There are gardens around each of the few houses.  They are still tended, incredibly fertile, and it took more willpower than I'd care to admit for me to keep from eating stuff off them.

Voila! Le Déluge.  We were soaked in this downpour, away from any interior space.  Only crappy little French Fake Village awnings and balconies.

This is the Grand Trianon.  Charles de Gaulle was holed up here for a while during WWII. 

Gardens and land. So much of it.

The next day brings us to 9/11! My birthday! And Dr. Rogish was able to come visit for the weekend, which was so nice.  I had someone to be 40 with.

So what does one do in Paris to celebrate this additional step toward mortality on one's birthday? Why go to the catacombs of course!

I took comfort that everything in the catacombs, and in Paris in general, is older than I am.

Since we weren't that far away, and since the museum is not large, we went to the Musée Rodin.  Poor Z was really quite done with sculptures.  But there's one in this museum that is probably one of my favorite works of art of all time, "The Secret."  The flesh-from-stone he managed to evoke, the hands' sinews and bones, and the way it's positioned by a window and lit by natural light and just glows blows me away every time.

Here are the gardens of the museum, the building of which used to be his residence, and frequently housed other artists at various times.

Yes, that's "The Thinker" in the background.  The Stinker and the Thinker.

This is "The Secret."

I loved this bust too.  The expression is priceless, perfect.  You can see Dr. R having a discussion with her too. 

And here are two bronze French literary giants, Victor Hugo in the foreground and Blazac in the rear.  Which sounds naughtier than it is.

And here's the Place de la Concorde, a vast open space with a giant obelisk from Egypt, fountains, beautiful baroque lampposts, and the place where Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette lost their heads.  Many, many aristos and "enemies of the people" lost their heads here (although not the site of the most guillotined people -- that's actually closer to where we stayed around Nation and Bastille).

Z-man was amazed by the vast open space, and I told him to picture it with a raised guillotine and hundreds of very pissed off, very poorly-off revolting underclass, screaming angry things at the next aristo to get the chop, or possibly watching Marie Antoinette go to meet her maker.

Dinner was at the Absolutely Fabulous Buddha bar.  I think it's gotten a bit more touristy than when I remember, but I was only there once before for cocktails.  Dinner was good, if nothing to write home about.  But I thought I'd give it a shot.  The interior really is splendid, and the do make good, but very expensive, cocktails.

And at the end of the evening, which I, alas, did not take pictures of, we went to Harry's New York Bar, one-time hangout for expat-era Hemmingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald and definitely has that early-20th century vibe to it.  American college pendants hang around the place, and on the bottom floor there's a piano and more tables and a bar.  Some of the finest cocktails I've had, and one of the best Manhattans I've ever had (I had three.  Possibly four.).

So, that's part 1.  Part 2 later.

Heading home soon.  Didn't blog as well as I usually do, mostly because the internet connection in the hotel was mostly FUBAR.  But I was pretty good about pictures, so there will be many to come. 

Tonight, we went to Montmartre for the first time, and Z loved it as much as I do.  And then we gently wound down to Pigalle, went to the Musée de l'Eroticism, which is a pretty great collection of mostly-reproduced examples of sexual behavior around the world, and through time, from pre-Colombian fetishes, to Greek plates with paederasty depicted, to 1920's moving picture porn, modern art, and rotating exhibitions. 

And then...we went to a cabaret.  Oh, the cabaret we went to. Here's some of the entertainment.

At least I'm in Paris with other old relics.  Internet is unreliable, so here's saying, "Hi.  I'm forty fucking years old now."  And a picture.  It's some detail from the famous rose window in Notre Dame.

Update 1:  Mom wrote me to make sure there wasn't fallout from the backward idiot Gainesville priest claiming we should burn Qurans.  Really? Is someone paying attention to this backward idiot rather than the vast number of other polite ones egging such sentiments on for weeks under the guise of "taking back the country" and "God and Nation?" Eff this, going to Eiffel Tower.

Update 2:  Approach to Eiffel Tour on Champs de Mars is beautiful.  Actual access to tower or approach is totally cut off.   We can't even get under the tower.  Z-man overhears a French soldier say that there's a bomb threat.  I suspect they're just trying to keep people from going up there too late.

Update 3:  Back at the hotel.  Apparently, the French senate passed a law that forbids complete burqa coverage of a woman's face, and there was a bomb threat called into various sites in Paris as the result.  Ugh.  Supported 4-to-1 by the French people, apparently.

Update 4:  Watching a French talk-thing on TV, and they're talking about the Gainesville preacher.  Oh, good grief, world.  The idiots won this round. Security at CDG is going to be a bitch.

I think we can agree the color-coded terror alert levels have turned out to be . . . limited.  And we've been on "Orange" since they introduced it.  Way to keep your citizens worked up and scared, US Government!

There have been other, awesome varieties of it (Princess Sparklepony's Condi Rice Hairdo Alert System remains a personal favorite, if not genre-defining).  But although I give it a low rating for utility, I give it a high rating -- for fun!

One of its shortcomings, however, is exactly what "high," and "elevated" and "low" mean, at least relative to the scale itself.  Logorithmic? Exponential? Or a metric based on Dick Cheney's pre-operative blood pressure? I don't know! So, for a certain someone having a bad day, I wanted to give them a proper scale, with a couple of extra illustrations for clarity.

So, are the crazies out in force today? Do tell! Extra handy for San Franciscans!

This made me so very, very happy.