The Leather Blazer and Sexual Exploits of Ex Pats

I am a huge fan of making blanket statements of questionable truth. I know you all know this, but I want to go ahead and make that note before we begin today's post.

Johnny Diesel is an angry motherfucker. No, that's not right, he is an angry Finnish, tax evading, self proclaimed mother fucker. And he might be completely insane. We first happened on Johnny Diesel at a lovely little place on Rue de Clichy in Montemarte called O'Sullivans. Go ahead and make whatever joke you'd like me drinking at a place called O'Sullivans, I don't care. We wanted a pint and this was an awesome place the night before (It's where I met Tim and David, previous post) and Richard, the manager. Sure I could have found some other, more Parisian place to drink but then I never would have met Johnny Diesel. It's difficult to explain Johnny Diesel without giving you a vision of what I first saw of him. He stood, leather blazer slung jauntily over his left shoulder, tiny glass of red wine in his right hand, shouting at a 6'5 bouncer of rather imposing stature. He was being tossed from his chair for the sake of repositioning the patio for the late- night crowd. Now, we, too were asked to rearrange ourselves for the same reason but at least Kris and I had the good sense to accept this demand and make a note to get the hell out of Dodge before this guy came back and launched us off the patio in the giant slingshot he no doubt hid in his cavernous biceps. After we finished our $10 pints. Johnny Diesel did no such thing. "Thees ees sheet! I feenish my vine vhen I vant to, I leef vhen I vant to!" (This is a poor artist's rendering of a Finnish accent. The best I could do.) Somehow, Johnny Diesel found his way to us, I guess because he needed to further voice his frustration with the management. And every other authoritarian body known to man. He hates government. All of them. He hates paying taxes and in an effort to avoid paying them, he traipses around the world, working jobs in some complicated field of aerospace or nutrition or something, I can't remember, for no longer than 90 days at each post. He openly explained that he was there to meet some woman, who was not his wife, with the intention of engaging in extramarital relations with her. This guy was intense. And, like I said, probably a little insane. We saw him at another bar, later that night and he seemed to have calmed down very slightly but by this time, his teeth were the shade of eggplant and he was having difficulty with the concept of speaking and keeping his saliva in his mouth at the same time. And he was still wearing a leather blazer. Which, in my opinion, is the most ridiculous thing about him.

A few words on Notre Dame: Go. Shit. That is one word on Notre Dame. Okay, a few more: Go soon and with as much time to spare as you can. Get the audio tour for 5 Euro. You'll be glad you did. Light a candle, see the treasury and try to do it on a day when the crown of thorns is being displayed. We missed that, but it really would have been a nice touch. For me, it was enough knowing that I was in the same room as where the crown of thorns occasionally hangs out. But if I had been there on a day when it was out for the seeing, I don't think that that would have been enough.

So, side note real quick before I have to go, I'm going to praise myself again. Get ready. I had at least five people in France tell me that I had a perfect French accent. Granted, they were hearing me say one word, of the five that I actually know, at a time. And granted, I had to explain that despite extensive French training in school, I had retained the equivalent of no French at all, but still. Like, go me. Seriously, I am awesome.