They say that travel teaches you not only about other cultures, but about yourself as well. So far, I've learned a little about each.
Last night, fueled by jet-lag instead of red bull for a change, I was up until 4am drinking wine and hanging out with my sister, some of her friends, her bulgarian roommate, and her bulgarian roommate's parents-- all of whom spent the night. With limited sleeping space, but plentiful drinks, my double-bed sized air mattress suddenly became a bed for two, and thanks to the powers of Awkwardness, that meant that I'd be sharing it with one of my sister and my mutual friends-- we'll call him Euro-Trip. We slept head to toe (because we don't like to look at each other when our groins touch), which did help us avoid some discomfort, but since we both fell asleep on our sides, also led to us waking up with our clothed asses forming a yin-yang*, which, while very zen, was also very weird.
Later, we played this fun game called "Heart Attack" where we eat a steady supply of bread, cheese, pancakes, pastries, crepes, and wine, and then walk around as much as possible. We got lunch at a small cafe, and Euro-Trip went ahead and ordered the "tartare de boeuf" which he thought was steak. I saw the waiter laugh as he passed the order to the chef, which should have been a hint, but I assumed he was just laughing at how awesome we were at ordering in french. As we finished eating some pattee, which tastes like Slim Jim Cream Cheese, our food arrived. The french must be the best energy conservationists in the world because here's what he got:
Now, I know what you're thinking-- you're thinking, "Why does that look so familiar?" Well, it's because that is actually Meatwad from Adult Swim's Aqua Teen Hunger Force!
and to a lesser extent, Mickey Rourke:
TARTARE DE BOEUF IS: RAW! FUCKING! BEEF! I understand that different cultures have different forms of "acceptable cuisine," but when a guy orders "the raw meat wad" with an American accent, and he hasn't been repeatedly raping your entire family in front of you, you need to let a dude know what's up. Like, if I were a waiter in America and somebody walked in and ordered sheep's cock, I would feel a moral obligation to say, "Alright, cool, just wanna go ahead and check to make sure you know that sheep's cock is actually a sheep's COCK, ok?" I know it must have been amusing that someone finally ordered the beef wad, but come on! How is that a necessary menu item? Who is going around saying, "You know, I'd like to go out to dinner with my friends, but there's a package of raw beef in my refrigerator that I've been dying to rip into..." There is also the chance the they were completely fucking with us:
Chef: Yo, see if he'll eat raw beef.
Waiter: No way, that's gross!
Chef: Oh c'mon man, they're American-- they eat Jack In the Box, Taco Bell, and Waffle House! They'll eat it!
Waiter: I wouldn't feel right...
Chef: They're responsible for Ashton Kutcher AND Howie Mandel.
Waiter: Fine, I'll do it.
Either to his credit or early disease and worm ridden demise, Euro-Trip ate about half of the dish along with all of his and my fries, in the hopes that they would form a metaphorical and physical box around the meat in his stomach, hide it away, and never speak or think of it again.
Finally, I discovered something about France: No child molesters allowed!
It's such a basic idea, really, but a simple sign reminds people that the whole pedaphilia/kidnapping is, in fact, not ok. Maybe this is just the event planner in me, but there's an important message here-- good signage goes a long way.
In A World of Pain et Fromage,
Witz
*aka an Ass Puzzle aka a homoerotic Barrel of Monkeys
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Witz Pickz: Ambiguously Gay Paris: Discoveries In the First Two Days
Labels:
air mattress,
french signs,
tartare de boeuf
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HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
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