Monday, February 25, 2013


Are you familiar with the Jay-Z and Kanye West song, N Words In Paris? Well, this is Borthers In Paris. And I know what you're thinking, you're thinking what everyone thinks and what spellcheck thinks, but no that is not an accidental misspelling. It's on purpose! After one typo long ago, my brother and I (or should I say borther?) have used the misspelling often as it sounds like a word on it's own. And a fun one to say!

So, if you follow me on Instagram or Twitter (@SteveInevitable) you've probably seen a lot of #BorthersInParis as we're putting it on lots of stuff! And some others like #FrenchSoHard because the whole theme of the trip has been Borthers In Paris. We're leaving today but have been here for about 60 hours. Our presence has been felt and will be remembered.

French so hard
Parisians wanna fine me
But first Parisians gotta find me
What's 50 grand to a mother fucker like me
Can you please remind me? (Well, actually it's A LOT!)

Anyway, we've been doing our best to French it up here, but our deeply embedded American sensibilities and lack of knowledge in the French language have not been making that easy. Some examples?

We went to Notre Dame, walked through the inside. It's strange because there is some sort of church service going on while everyone is walking around the perimeter of the church sight-seeing. And not being too quiet. Same deal at Sacre Coeur (Pronounced something like Sak-rah Swa). So, we head in, in the middle is a gigantic area with plenty of people listening and watching the service going on. Tons of people, including me and Borth, are walking around the perimeter, shuffling through looking at everything (and it is quite amazing and beautiful) but everyone's making a good deal of noise. You're not supposed to talk, most people are, and though its quietly, everyone taking quietly together is not quiet. Then, we come across the coin machines. No joke, they have the machines where you pay money, put a coin in and it stretches and engraves it with a picture of something. The thing almost sounds like an arcade game when it's done, spitting your finished product back out, clanging around on everything.

So, my brother and I sit down off to the side at one point, as we've been walking all day and are exhausted. We're pretty far away from the middle where everyone sits, and I very quietly began to ask what he thinks it's like to be one of these people. You're going to this outstanding church with so much history but as you're trying to become involved in this all there's hundreds of people circling around, shuffling through, muttering, mumbling, talking, collecting souvenirs from loud machines, it must be so distracting. I feel like the church part must lose some appeal, and as I'm in the middle of making my point, a lady sitting in the same section as us, who I thought was also resting her legs as she was off to the side in the "Visitor's Section", turns around and shushes me hard! I got quite the stare along with it. Case and point. I truly wasn't trying to be disrespectful but I did prove my own point. I apologized, in English, which was probably as good as if I had just crossed my eyes and shouted "Blorgin!" so I'm sure that lady now associates me with all Americans and hates us all, sorry guys. My bad. I'm making the typical American so much more real, trampling through the Church with my Godzilla-like verbage. Frenchin' so gonna damn me...what's Hell to a human with a core of 98.6 degrees...can you please remind me?

On the way back we stopped at a Cafe because we needed to sit. We had walked about 8 miles that day. We ordered wine, Borth wanted escargot, which I also love so we decided to partake in that. I hadn't had a crepe Paris?! I know, so I ordered one there, with chocolate and bananas...which was good...but obviously a weird combo with escargot. The waiter kept looking at me weird, giving me a hard time. He wouldn't give me the tools for the escargot for awhile. He said, "No, you don't get them, you have chocolate." I wasn't sure if I was ever going to get them and then he finally had mercy on my poor American ass and gave me some. Or maybe he preferred it that way because then he got to keep coming over and shake his head at me for simultaneously consuming escargot and a chocolate crepe. Look, I never wanna do THAT again and I would have preferred to just have the escargot, and the free bread that comes with EVERYTHING here. But I had to make sure I had a crepe in Paris. You understand right? Maybe if he knew my timetables he would have understood too. Frenchin' so hard...waiter wanna kill me.

As we get ready to leave I look back and we did a lot of stuff in a few days. I'm quite satisfied with everything we saw and did. Eiffel Tower, couple huge churches that will never let me in again, I had croissants, crepes, escargot, foie gras and plenty of other delicious foods and delicious places go inside my tummy and my pupils respectively. Oh and I received my French name while out here. Written down permanently on my Starbuck's cup.

Steeve. Yup, that is how you say my name in France. For real, it's not like they messed up the spelling or something.  So, we leave snowy Paris today with much accomplished, we feel good about everything we saw. Oh wait, I forgot! We got one more place to go see before we fly outta this joint! The place where Scott Fitzgerald showed his wee wee to Ernest Hemingway when he was insecure about the size of it! We're gonna go get breakfast there...right now! Over and out! French so hard...Urologists wanna fine me. What am I doing showing my weiner to a writer...can you please remind me?

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