It's that time of the month again...

I hope this finds everyone in good health and good spirits (preferably Absente). Predictably, I have failed to find a job in France, and given that just breathing here exceeds my daily budget, it appears that it's time to pack up my crap and head east to the land of promise and cheap vodka. Try and find a difference there, I dare you. So, the good news is, I'll be in Eastern Europe.

As for the my time here in France, well... Let's just say that I came across a unique and timely opportunity to spend some time with nice French family in a little French village. I realize that this probably conjures up pictures of vineyards and chateux, of sweaty afternoons smashing grapes and lazy evenings sipping wine over miraculous sunsets, of wearing white and black striped shirts and bicycling down to the pattiserie to pick up baguettes, but this isn't exactly the case. This is a planned French villiage, a sort of socialist scheme to mask poverty and wealth by basically building a bunch of prefabricated housing and selling them according to income. Now the only things seperating Pierre de Luc and Jean le Bouffon are concealed behind frilly lace and stained rayon, respectively.

That's not to say this place isn't nice, mind you.

In the interim, Morgane and I managed a nice little road trip out to Finesterre (the end of the world), where we relaxed at Le Cap de la Chevre (The Cape of the Goat). This is real Breton, folks. Out there, everyone smells and no one shaves. (Contrary to popular belief, that is not typical of France in general). Needless to say, it was primarily an olfactory experience.

Anyway, my job hunt is going to take me next to Elblag (pardon me), Poland, a port city up on the Black Sea. If that works out, great. If not, well, I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities in the Czech Republic for a young, well-educated, bright-eyed American boy. Right?

Right?

Anyway, summer is peeping it's melanoma-encrusted scalp over the horizon, so if anyone wants to fly out to Eastern Europe, drink Absente, and sneak around some old pawnbrokers' flats, let me know. I'm up for anything!

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).