Wednesday, June 1, 2011


184. Vegetables and honesty.
Me: Is it okay the way I diced the capsicum?
Gaston: Yes, it's good.
M: Is it perfect?
G: No, of course not. Nothing is ever perfect. 
M: Everything I do is perfect. 
G: Well...
M: What is it I do that isn't? 
G: Are you sure you want to know? 
M: Yes. Just one thing...
G: And we stop after one thing? 
M: Yes. *pauses* But the London train does not count. 
G: Ah, too bad. 
M: See, everything I do is perfect. 
G: You can't play golf...

185. 8:30ish pm. The sight of Tintin, in black suit and silk tie, rushing into the living room, one hand holding a plastic bag of bananas, saying, "my thing is going to be in the middle of the meal...," by way of explanation for why his ham-wrapped honeyed banana entrée will be served between Gaston's main meal and my dessert.

186. Raising a glass of wine to the 18-year-old boy of exactly six year ago who came to Brussels for the first time for Eramus, and, upon arriving at Chaleroi, thought to himself that Belgium was not at all what he had expected. To the same boy who these days arranges meetings and write speeches for a member of the European Parliment, and who seriously considers running for public office in 2013. To time flying and to growing up.

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