Wine Zombie

Hey, kiddos. This is Taylor here. I haven't written in the blog yet, so I figured I'd give it a go. Yesterday, we went to the Centre Georges Pompidou, a large museum that looked like it was turned inside out. The airconditioning vents and all other inner workings were on the outside, with an escalator in a glass tube snaking up the side of the building like, well, a snake. The inside looks like Ikea and the future collided, flinging cool looking stuff everywhere. Despite the cool exterior, the artistic contents of the Pompidou were a bit lacking, the fourth floor being the only one that was open to humble peon American tourists like ourselves. We tried to see the private exhibitions, but snooty black clad French people blocked our entry. There was some cool stuff though, like a series of four Picasso sketches all done on the same day and a Warhol mural of twelve Elizabeth Taylors. Cool. Outside in the courtyard we were treated to the musical stylings of a troupe of Mongolian minstrels. They all wore traditional gold and purple Mongol garb and all of their instruments had only two strings. One of the guys was able to sing in two voices at once. CRazy stuff. John bought their CD, and I imagine we will all be clamboring for burned copies upon our return. After a period of searching for our whole party, we boarded the Metro and reurned to the FIAP to chill. We had dinner, during which I became a wine zombie and went after John, and we played ERS while talking about how dangerous deer are. Seriously, they're bloodthirsty bastards. By the way, Heat seems to have gotten lost on the Metro, as it rained breifly yesterday. However, he seems to have been replaced by his second cousin, Opressive Mugginess. Heath, Annie, Ang, and I went on a Quixotian quest to find crepes at St Michel. Meh. Later I fell asleep in the lobby while we chatted. And so ended another French day. Au Revoir for now. Mahalo (I don't know what that means), The Plastic People of the Universe.