Sophie Tucker - Some Of These Days

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I would have to say that this song has reached public domain, being from 1911 and all…

I finished reading Nausea by Sartre the other morning and downloaded this song while reading his last passage of sitting in his cafe in Bouville as the waitress, Madeleine, puts on his favorite song.

Though I was told this book was rather depressing I didn’t find it to be such, but instead just more of an interesting look at life that I could relate to. Perhaps I lead a depressing life? Meh. I just like to think that I have a much more factual grasp on life and, truth be told, life is not a positive thing, but is instead a rather negative thing that we all struggle through.

Cups of tea at the end of the day to make the world right in our minds.

From this I have taken that as we view our lives as these dull depressing things without adventures it is only looking in the view of the whole, or looking back at our past that we can see that we have actually had adventures, though small and insignificant compared to what adventure novels tell us our adventures should be.

Probably not what Sartre was going for, but I’m attempting to maintain my positive outlook. Especially with this whole moving to Missoula looming closer and closer. Of course mum has to bring up how it is cold there and that I will probably be needing more clothing… et cetera, as the over protective mother who can’t seem to understand that I can dress myself, nor the fact that I work in a store that sells clothing.

I don’t want to go back to the cold of Montana… I’ve been side tracking my mind of that thought by looking up French cities that I will be able to transfer to. Nantes is looking like a pleasant option. The wikipedia article makes it sound somewhat like the climate is not too different from Seattle. Plus they have pomme eau, which I have leaned is traditionally served in something that resembles an English tea cup.

Distract the mind.

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Windy Coffee. [part 1]

Fulya was looking at my sketchbook the other day and remarked that she liked the random sketch that I had made of some girl that I saw walking along with a little plastic cup of coffee during the wind storm a few weeks past. As I still have some small pieces of very good watercolor paper [that I had sized to be used for some small frames I had collected but did not have anything to put in them yet], I thought that perhaps I could transfer a little sketch to a little piece of paper to play with techniques. Namely the layering of water colors. Something that I know I have been working on a lot, but practice makes perfect. I also wanted to see how using my new mechanical pencil filled with blue graphite would work in hiding my lines as I initially worked. I forgot to take a picture of the transition between not having the girl inked at all to inking her and starting the background. I was having a hell of a time trying to figure out a setting in which to put her. At first I was th

French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

The adventure continues.

So, I haven't written much lately.. but from the doldrums of the end of semester I then entered a time period of a flânerie across France. A last hurrah. Jessye came to visit again and the tiny room was packed up all into a few suitcases, the largest being named Bertha, and Rennes was left behind, although not before having a picnic in Thabor for the last Saturday market... We got the essentials. Madeleines (where as I reached the front of the line the vendor greeted me with a question of, '6 madelines?') with a few more of that vendor's delicious delights, like those bite size rolls with jams and caramel and chocolate.. Then of course the impossible cow cheese that acted like goat cheese and was rolled in Provencal herbs. And of course a baguette from the amazing bakery covered in tiles. A trip to Thabor with Jessye was never complete without a stop at the aviary. And some people watching. A mohawked punk rocker walks a little girl hand in hand through the park.

High Contrast Grey.

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