We're home. We're alive. We loved the trip but are so happy to see our fog-covered city again. I want to kiss every fat American ass, giant SUV, and extra-large helping of everything I can buy with ugly green money in a language I can speak freely without shame or embarrassment.
Just a quick note to say that, thanks to the free, albeit brief, wifi at the Hugo Cafe, my semifunctional laptop, a t610 cameraphone, and the patience of my lovely wife, Heather is now able to post her phone pics to her site. Yay!
Greetings, friends and family, from Paris!
Amsteram was a blur, as it tends to be. For a place where pot and mushrooms are legal, the staircases are dangerously steep. It's as if they're trying to off the tourists. The four sets of stairs that led to our top floor room seemed to get steeper over time. The room was beautiful, and it came with a mosquito that politely avoided my lovely bride and concentrated on me. It's a sacrifice I'm happy to make. I'm a husband now.
The train ride from there to Paris was even lovlier than I remembered. And now we're here in Paris, in the land of pretty people in tight clothes, where the buildings are old, the mannequins have nipples, and the keyboards are frustrating. I never knew how good a touch-typist I was until all the keys changed places. These people have to hit three keys just to make an "@"! It's amazing anyone sends email at all. Do you think it says something about the French that it taks two keys to make a period, but only one to make an exclamation point?
Anyway. We're here and having a great time. Except for when we try to type. If you wanna follow along, Heather is posting phonecam pics on Flickr.
Originally sent to the POWlist on Tuesday, January 20, 2004.
I used to have this joke, see. It went like this: "I never grew up, people just stared letting me do more stuff."
It's a good joke, because it makes a statement that I really mean, just in a lighthearted way. The statement was, all that stuff I felt like I knew as a kid, I really knew. It was the perfect statement for a guy with a ferocious rebellious streak and something to prove.
But in some ways, it kept me a kid. Because some of those things I told myself when I was young are just plain wrong.
What do filmmaker Michael Moore, yuppie icon and conservative republican Donald Trump, forrmer U.N. chief weapons inspector and former Bush voter Scott Ritter, shock jock Howard Stern, liberal funny man Al Franken, and random design nerd yours truly all have in common?
We all want to send our pathetic, warmongering, evildoing president back to Texas on November 2. When a motley group like that all agrees, the time has come. The fat lady is singing, folks.
I'm meeting with the musician who'll be playing at our wedding. He's a jazz guy - just him and his guitar and his friend on stand up bass. They play on the corner on sunny weekends here in Cole Valley. Heather tracked them down on Craig's List.
I'm trying to explain the kind of music I like. I list Billie Holiday first, but most of that is too depressing for a wedding. Then Etta James. He likes that.
"Oh, how could I forget?" I say. "My favorite music in the world is old Tom Waits." He nods appreciatively. "Anything from the '70s," I say. "Like, 'Better off Without a Wife' and stuff around that era."
There is an awkward pause, during which I wonder to myself why he's looking at me funny.
It's a conundrum. Can I still say "Happy July Fourth" when I'm disgusted by my country? Can I still feel pride in the rebellious spirit of our "more perfect union" when we're torturing people in Abu Ghraib? Can I still ooh and aah at fireworks when we're jailing innocent people in Guantanamo Bay and claiming that they have no right to trial? Can I sing the national anthem for a country who's leader can't pronounce the word "nuclear," but can use it to lie the country into a war?
Happy birthday, America. I hope that, by the next time July 4 rolls around, we'll have more to celebrate.
It's just about two weeks until Heather and I are married. What better way to celebrate than to give away one of my Gmail invites via Gmail Swap to young Jamie Kinder in exchange for "a 4 line rap" about my bride to be. Here's the result, worth every cent:
you look at derek, and put him with heather / you can tell that they derserve to be together / for the rest of their life / man and wife / holdin hands, lovin each other two four seven / hopefully still lovin each other in heaven
I'm thinking of making it part of the ceremony.
This section is called Just a Thought. It's a blog where I post little pieces of what I'm thinking about at the moment. This page shows thoughts from July 2004, including:
30 July 2004
26 July 2004
France in my pants
24 July 2004
I am so married
20 July 2004
Step Two is Today
18 July 2004
48 Hours to Go
16 July 2004
Everyone against Bush
11 July 2004
7 July 2004
A Wedding Planning Moment
6 July 2004
4 July 2004
D to the H
2 July 2004
Me via Caterina
1 July 2004
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Working the web since 1995, Derek Powazek is the creator of many award-winning websites, a couple of which still exist. Derek is the cofounder of JPG Magazine and the CCO of 8020 Publishing. Derek lives in San Francisco with his wife, two nutty Chihuahuas, a grumpy cat, and a house full of plants named Fred. More »
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Home 30 July 2004
Honeymooners 26 July 2004
France in my pants 24 July 2004
I am so married 20 July 2004
Step Two is Today 18 July 2004