I'm leaving for Europe-- and I'm using the generic term Europe because I'm visiting more than one place-- on Friday, and I'm trying to work as much as possible before I head anywhere.
There was a tip somewhere(I forget where, so I can't link anything), making a suggestion to the writer to try to write with as little intentional sophistication as possible. I'm very guilty of sounding Victorian more than often, so I'll be trying that, at least until Paris changes me. :)
But I heard that Parisians are pretty brash. They have their guillotine in the very center of the city. I was thinking about the beheading process yesterday, and while the blade was rumored to cut through-and-through so fast that death would be close to painless, I went through a few steps of logic, which I'll now try to convey to you using a flow chart:
neck is severed from body -> head is separated from torso and legs -> nerve endings are still present in severed head-> nerve endings must still connect to brain-> brain is still in skull, unaltered in position-> some amount of pain must be felt.
neck is severed-> vocal chords are cut through in the process-> person in question is incapable of screaming, even if they had the greatest headache in history.
The painting on the cover of Coldplay's album Death and all his friends, Liberty Leading the People, is, as far as I know, housed in the Louvre, and I've wanted to see it for such a long time. Also, I think that their song Viva la Vida has a lot to do with the French revolution, which is what makes this all the more relevant. And apparently, the Mona Lisa on display isn't real-- the original's in some back room, kept there for the fear that it might otherwise deteriorate.
I'm also going to Rome for three days. We placed a bid on Priceline and got our bid accepted along with a four star hotel. The wonders Priceline can do. I'll take a train to Pompeii while I'm there and maybe climb Mount Vesuvius till the crater. Wish me luck.
Last night, I found an old, old figurine of mine. I played with him when I was six. His name is Ben Bates, after one of my father's old colleagues. He is a velociraptor. His ferocity is the only sophistication I have left.
I forgot to mention that after pigs, I had an obsession with dinosaurs, then with whales, then with the Looney Tunes. I still have a soft spot for all of them, and when I'm absolutely bored and have nothing to do(such a moment hasn't happened for a while) I imagine I'll sit down and watch Tweety and Sylvester on Youtube.
Finding Ben Bates made me want to be six again.
The title of this post has probably manifested my morbid tendencies. Ever since Stephanie told me about the catacombs in Paris, I've wanted to go so terribly. There's some strange fascination with skulls that I have.