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I shared a beer with a dead man.

Well, he didn't really drink much of it. Neither did I, to be fair.

Anyway, I went to the Cimitiere Pere-Lachaise, where I hit a few key graves like Jim Morrison's and the memorials for the Deportees and the Mur des Federees. Mostly, though, I went for two people: Sarah Bernhardt and Oscar Wilde.

The beer was for Oscar. I left a kiss on his grave, as is tradition, and thought a beer would be nice for the man who said that work is the curse of the drinking class. So, we had a nice chat. (He mostly listened.)

Then, I was going to see Tristam Shandy, but I got out late, so I wound up catching Quinceanera, or Echo Park LA, as they call it here. It was exec produced by Todd Haynes, so hey. It was alternately great and kind of bad. Some of the dialogue and acting was special. But! There's a gay Latino gangsta who was totally amazing and made me sob at the end. Loved him. And a gay British man who looked freakishly like Kyan from Queer Eye.

Today, I'm just lurking in the room because my sunburn hurts. It's just that the skin's so dry that it's pulling tight so it hurts. Bah. So I'm hanging out, drinking lots of water, and moisturizing with this aloe vera/chamomile/moisturizer stuff.

Maybe I'll go out tonight when there's no sun...
Mon humeur artistique:
hot still burny
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