Debout les damnés de la Terre!
Debout les forçats de la faim!
La raison tonne en son cratère,
C'est l'éruption de la fin.

I was working today. With another guy. We were sitting inside. Working. On May 1st.

May 1st is totally lost on Americans. Not on Europeans. They celebrate the eternal struggle of the working class against the viscious oppression of the capitalists. Or something.

It's a holiday here, anyway, and working on this day is a bona fide sin. We would probably have been shot if they had caught us today. Me, at least. I was the one who demanded that we work. Today. I felt kind of bad making him stay there when the marching band passed our window on their way to the parade. Especially since the weather was really nice.

The poor guy didn't complain. But I know he was dying inside. His internal working class self was suffering from marching deprivation. And I was playing the part of the merciless despot.

I'm a bastard. No. Worse. I'm a capitalist.

It is so relaxing to be able to see for dozens of miles in all directions. Trees are nice. But when nothing else can be seen because of them, no matter where, all day long, I sometimes feel like I'm suffocating.

I've been gasping for a view.

I may be getting old. Maybe not old old. Question: Can you really get 'old', anyway, when you still have people like older siblings and parents? They will always treat you like you're young. Or at least younger.

No, I feel like I'm getting older because I don't like all the things I used to like. Like being always on the move. Working like crazy. Drinking Coke.

I'm also starting to like things that I remember that my parents liked when I was a kid. Like soft music. And waking up early. And just talking.

Maybe it's just an early onset of a mid-life crisis. But if that's what it is, I should be chasing girls half my age. Right? Granted, I do love women. Well, people I guess, but mainly women. They are simply more interesting then men. There's just more there. Somehow. Anyways. I've always been bewitched by women. So that's nothing new. Besides, I feel closer to my wife now then I've ever felt with another woman. So that's not it.

It's probably simply that I haven't noticed these changes happening slowly over the last years because I buried myself in work. Now that I have started paying a little bit more attention to myself, I am discovering this 'older' guy. And I kinda like him. But then again, I've never really not liked me. I hope.

It's nice seeing non-US news for a change. They are simply more critical. For example, take a story on what Mr. George Bush, president of the United States is doing or saying. In the US, it will always be "the President" is doing this or "the President" is saying that. In Europe, it's "Mr. Bush", "George Bush" or even "the current president of the US".

Objectivity. You can't beat it. With a stick.

(is jet-lagged, drunk and sleep-deprived blogging maybe not the best blogging? maybe not.)

Trans-Atlantic flights are always a little strange. If you don't sleep on the plane, you are a little disoriented when you finally get there. Then, if you sleep all day, you wake up feeling really disoriented. Then, if you start drinking that same night, you become really disoriented.

I got of the plane at 6 this morning.

The car died last night. We named it after a cow, so it was no surprise when it started to slow down when I was driving past a field filled with cows. Leisurely eating the few really green straws that were striving to break from the earth and into the spring. This is were it stopped. And asked to be put out to pasture. A metal cow among all the hormone-injected ones.

I was on my way to a dinner. After being rescued by some of the other dinner guests, I was inundated with offers of cars to use until mine had been nursed to health. Offers of help in finding a good garage. Or another car. One girl even offered to sell her car to me. For next to nothing.

And today, when more of my friends heard of my troubles, they offered to loan their cars, pointed me to good mechanics and offered to help with getting another car.

Why is it that I am always so awe-struck with how good people can be? Why am I less surprised when I hear of some wickedness than acts of kindness? Can it be that I do not believe in the inherent good in man?

Anyway. My car is still dead.

It is official. I am a junkie. A people junkie. I just can't get enough. It doesn't hurt that, for some unknown reason, I seem to have a guardian angel that keeps steering wonderful people into my path. Or me into theirs.

There were thirteen people in all here on Easter Sunday. Painting eggs, swinging from the trees (half of them are under the age of ten), eating chockolates, playing games, singing, searching for easter baskets, sunbathing, drinking, talking, napping, reading, looking for worms, pole vaulting, and dining.

We had a double steak dinner. Our houseguests made glazed ham, and I made my leg of lamb. I have always thought of ham as just something you put in a sandwitch, but this was something else! I must have eaten a whole pound of it. And the lamb was actually quite good, even if I say so myself. We poured the juices from the lamb over the mashed potatoes, which took them to a whole new level.

Mmmmmmm... I have to go now. I just remembered that I still have some leftovers in the fridge.