Monday, September 19, 2005

At the Palace of Versailles



Our friend Melissa took this photo four years ago this month. A moment earlier Slick had come to our rescue by taking control of the oars from me.

Oh, how hard I had rowed! An A for effort. But the faster and more vigorous my strokes...the less the boat moved.

It was awful. You don't know humility until you've failed to propel a rowboat.

10 Comments:

At 4:51 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Looks like a freakin' Ralph Lauren advertisement!

[b]t[/b]

 
At 9:52 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I am a little confused as to what inspired you to post it -- was it just the date of the picture or something else? At any rate, though, it is a nice picture.

 
At 9:54 AM, Blogger pete. said...

Yeah, the date of the picture. And it was lying on my desk for some unkown reason...

 
At 11:31 AM, Blogger Chris said...

hey man -- that's a beautiful snap.

plus, it was four years ago -- before all this nonsense came to pass. (kind of feels like the "golden '70's" in a way)...

there's never too much humility to go around these days, either.

 
At 12:09 PM, Blogger la Ketch said...

what a great photo. the look on your face says it all. you are obviously defeated and slick is so content. dup and i went there! i can imagine what it looks like in the rest of the picture. orange trees on wheels...

 
At 12:22 PM, Blogger pete. said...

Yeah... Damn, is it gorgeous! We went on the day the Palace was closed and felt really silly. We went to the Versailles McDonalds and the gardens. But it was really fun, and when I went back a few years later with my folks and got in the Palace--I was disappointed. When you can't get in somewhere you assume you're missing the greatest thing ever...

 
At 2:15 PM, Blogger Slick said...

yeah, cf, it was in fact moments before the nonsense really started, but two weeks after the event that made it all possible. running around paris, all these european kids, germans, spaniards, wanting to talk american politics...strangers approaching us in alleyways behind crowded flea markets to, uh, offer their condolences--it was an odd experience, on edge, on display.

funny, pete, i didn't realize it was that time of year again. Shrek played on the plane from NY to Paris. We drank cheap dutch beer, Hollandia, I think, in the hostel's bar. The Woodstock. The avocado. The Sam Fuller festival. That crazy Spanish teacher at the Woodstock with the mysterious past. What was his name? Eating bananas in Pere Lachaise, the last stand of Paris Communards. Directing French tourists to Yves Montand's grave.

 
At 2:17 PM, Blogger Slick said...

that's right, it was even before afghanistan--everyone talking about the possibility of war.a

 
At 2:18 PM, Blogger Slick said...

pete, did you ever write any poems about that leg of your trip?

 
At 11:45 PM, Blogger pete. said...

No, no poems about that part of the trip. Yet. I've got the journals though, and someday maybe I'll mine 'em. What WAS that Spanish teacher's name. He was a sad case.

 

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