And the immigration begins...

As you read this, my American rear end is firmly planted in a cafè\bar\park\cell in Rennes, France. This is, of course, where my good friend Morgane lives, and where I'll be staying for a little while, as I look for a job and beg for Euro. Actually, the job thing is looking bright; there's a school in Poland, up on the Baltic sea, that is very interested in my CV. In the meantime, I plan on volunteering down at the Franco-American institute here in Rennes, and hopefully taking some French classes, if I can find someone to trade language lessons.

The mad dash through Portugal, Spain, France and the Netherlands was a lot of fun. A lot of Ron's preconceptions about Europe were totally shattered, and he's decided to win the lottery and start a foundation that sends 18 year olds to Europe for a few months, just so they can see how screwed up America is.

Amsterdam was great, as usual. The highlight of my trip was running into a Nato conference there. I barged into the conference, rushed the podium, and got a few good swings in at Bush before Secret Service dragged me away. Luckily, Bush was feeling pretty peaceful (even he couldn't manage to stay out of the coffeeshops), and gave me an official pardon, telling the Dutch police, "Nah, he's coool man."

Actually, I had my first job offer in Amsterdam. It wasn't really what I had in mind, but I suppose I could do worse than selling dildos and blow-up dolls to young Brits on stag-dos. I seriously considered it, but eventually turned the kind offer down when I realized that you should never make a job out of your hobby. I studied literature for six years, and now reading feels like work. If I lose porn too, how on earth will I ever relax?

Anyway, I'm enjoying myself here in Rennes. I guess I'll just bum around here until I can figure out what to do next, or until Morgane's patience runs out. I suppose I can only drink so much cafe au lait and eat so many crepes before I start to lose my mind (or my heterosexuality).