L'Observateur : Twilight Zone Edition

There were posters for La Guerre de Charlie Wilson all over Paris in the past week. They got taken down yesterday because films come out on Wednesday... The point of this observation is that Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s character looks almost exactly like my deceased Uncle Charles in the posters. This is the closest jpg I could find on some internets.

I hear lots of random tunes on French radio that I haven’t heard since 1984. Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long,” Murray Head’s “One Night in Bangkok,” and Wall of Voodoo’s “Mexican Radio” immediately come to mind.

Standing out in the street about five feet from the curb waiting for traffic to pass, I thought I felt a dog’s tail flapping against the back of my leg, but when I looked down, it turned out to be chugs of exhaust from a Twingo.

When you are on the 14, if you stand at the door facing out and stare at the outer wall, the layers of glass create an interesting visual effect on your reflection, which jumps very rapidly – both toward and away from you – at varying distances.

The other night after riding my bike home in a steady rain from halfway across town, I was putting my bike in the unlit bike room downstairs. Some other bikes were piled up in front of the back side of the door. I couldn’t see anything, and I knocked a ladder off the wall. I leaned it up against the wall, knocked all the other bikes over, picked them up, made a huge racket in general, and went about my business. Today, a hand-written note appeared in the elevator. I’m pretty sure it says that the ladder in the bike room belongs to Mme. Albenesse and that it is NOT for communal use.


  1. God DAMMIT. If you EVER fuck with Mme. Albenesse's ladder again I will FUCK YOU UP.

  2. please move the ladder to the opposite side of the room and report back on what sorts of notes pop up