I physically cringe every time I see this photo in my files. Why? Because it is so very very wrong. Chaos prevails. Back in March, I went to visit my family in Nice, and stayed in an apartment nearby their own. This was the wiring and electrical hub for the doorbells in the building.
Spring, that is. I swear it.
I have a librarian friend, whom I will not name. He/she occasionally gives me books that he/she finds in the trash bin or at the various book sales that are held to liquidate unwanted reading material. This image is of the inside cover of a small pamphlet which explains, in clear terms, why premarital “relations” are a bad idea. I think this was in the garbage. Why it was taken off the shelves remains a mystery. I would have thought it would be a welcome addition to the Western literary canon.
P. and I went north for Thanksgiving. Way way north. Specifically, to Montreal. I still can’t believe that neither of us had ever been. My question is, what the hell took us so long? One noticeable difference between NYC and Montreal is that the sidewalks there are caked with snow and ice, and walking becomes a little more treacherous as a result. Instead of taking pictures of all the great signage and architecture, I had my head down (not the entire time, just for this little stroll), making sure my every step landed where it should.
Maybe I’m not getting out enough, but this is the first time I’ve seen a “C” grade posted in a window of a restaurant. What, I wonder, does one have to do in order to qualify for such a stellar mark. Here is your answer. And, while it’s not pretty, I’m not sure the almost failing mark would stop me from going to my favorite restaurant.
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