Friday, July 25, 2003

Paris 2003 – Chapter 7: Peace and Love, No War

See the picture? Yeah, I didn’t put gel on my hair that morning, so, it was fluffy.
What else do you see? Pay close attention to my right arm.

Do you see a little tiny red sign? Yeah, that’s it. Yap. And what’s next to the little sign?

Oh, too small? Where, here is a ZOOMED IN version:

Okay, now you get it. It’s a dog having sex with a cat on a mini-bed. I mean, oops, not having sex. Those two were resting together, promoting Love and Peace. Cute, isn’t it? When that picture was taken, I had this urge of wanting to hug the dog and the cat and kiss them and smooch them and squeeze them into many many tiny little pieces. I mean, I love animals. I really do. And they were so adorable.

At least, the dog was wake. But the cat was laying there, motion less. The dog seemed more responsive to it’s environment. (I use “IT” – because I wasn’t sure if the dog is a boy or girl. I mean, they could have been a lesbian couple promoting Love and Peace… Or even, gay lovers. I never get to see their lower bodies…)

Actually, I wanted to hug and kiss and smooch and squeeze the dog into many little tiny pieces first, before I attack the cat..

Next to the “Bed-Room” set, stood an old man. (No, I didn’t want him.)

(Did you notice there’s a bird standing on top of the sign? Yap. The next act is about “menage a trois” --- that’s men-NAJE a TWAH --- Cat + Dog + Bird Action!) --- Thanks to Henry, for providing the correct spelling.

The old man was playing music… Singing along… People were tossing coins into the little basket… They are enjoying the cute scene. I know I was really enjoying it.

Wayne: “Wow, its hard to train the cat to lay still!”

Sister: “And you seriously think the old dude trained the cat?”

Wayne: “Yeah.”

Sister: “I think the old guy injected some drug into the cat, so it couldn’t move.”

Wayne: “Like how the dentist would numb my teeth before the surgery.”

Sister: “Pretty much. If I’m the old guy, I wouldn’t waste my time training the cat.”

Wayne: “You are right. But the drug is pretty expensive.”

Sister: “Well, then the cat’s bone must be all broken.”

Wayne: “Oh Crap!”

Sister: “The cat didn’t move, right? Eyes all closed.”

Wayne: “Damn, that evil old man.”

Sister: “Let’s go shopping.”

Wayne: “Okay.”

And we left the animals.

It reminded me of what I saw at Time Square during the month of May. Where my best friend Duckie came to visit.

We saw a street performer. Standing next to the Dog-Cat-Mice pile, holding an empty can.
The dog was on the bottom, cat in the middle, and on top of the cat, there were two mice.

Wayne: “Wow, Duck, did you see that? That’s amazing.”

Duck: “You really think those animals are trained?”

Wayne: “Why not?”

Duck: “What if the mice were dead?”

Wayne: “Uh, yeah… They didn’t move.”

Duck: “And the cat is probably glued on top of the dog. Even if both of them are alive, after hours of being glued together, they eventually will get used to it. No struggles, just sitting there waiting to die.”

Wayne: “That’s sad. I mean, that’s insane!”

Duck: “Let’s go.”

Wayne: “………..”

I’m not sure if Duck said was correct. But those animals didn’t move at all. Nothing. They were motionless… As if they were really sitting there, waiting for their boss to say…”CUT” before they can take a break.

Or even, they could have been just a pile of dead bodies, stacking on top of each other.

Oh gosh, why am I thinking about this? I mean, the animals were probably well trained and very smart… They were not dead… They were not dead… Wayne, think happy thoughts! Happy thoughts!!

Anyway, let’s move on to the next topic.

Ahem! I totally forgot to mention this… Riding in the subway in Paris was like, entering a gas chamber. It was not the heat that drove me crazy. I mean, almost in every single cart, you will bumped into someone with really strong body odor. I mean, really really really strong body odor. Actually, I was wrong. They are every where, not just in the subway. On the streets, in restaurants, pharmacies, on the bridge, coffee shops (yep, the waiter) and museums. My first impression was, how come no one uses those ROLL-Ons, which will stop the odor from leaking though the arm pit skin?!

It was not until later, from my co-worker, who just returned from her vacation in Spain, told me:

“Some Europeans usually don’t take showers. Maybe one shower every 3-5 days.”


Is that why?

Well, I ain’t got no love and peace for that one.

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