January 3, 1989: Four papers down, one to go. Barren is an interesting word. Dad likes the name Alaska for a girl. If I ever have a daughter, I want to name her Alaska. My parents left tonight, or at least tomorrow morning, and I won’t see them until Saturday (I hope that I can get a reservation). They both had a good time and they learned a lot. Paris Paris Paris. Things I would like to do before leaving: 1) Turn in papers, close account, drop off Pam B___’s tape — Montparnasse — buy glasses (maybe), 2) take photos of night and day, black and white, 3) buy a few things — hat, pants, sweater, coat — all possibilities, 4) get rid of my amp. We went to the musee Marmotten today — Monet and Mauguin. Not Gauguin. I wonder if BRAQUE would be a good name for a band.
January 5, 1989: I strolled through the streets of Paris today. I bought (two) pairs of glasses: I hope that they’re not too stupid. I bought an awesome shirt, green of course. If I can find a sportcoat tomorrow, my Paris wardrobe will be complete. I would really like to sell my amp, but it doesn’t seem like a tangible possibility.
January 6, 1989: This is it, goodbye Paris for now. I wonder. I ate lunch with Guillaume today and then I bought a really funky sportcoat. I’m so sick of buying, it’s really getting on my nerves. I think I lost my sunglasses, I’m bummed. Things I’ve lost in France or Europe: 1) my sunglasses, 2) my Cranbrook Lacrosse shirt.
I packed. I’ll be really amazed if I get all of this home in one piece. I really brought too much shit. Things I shouldn’t have brought: 1) FOUR pairs of shorts (one), 2) Two guitar pedals, microphone and cord, useless wammy bar and springs, 3) adidas shoes, all-stars, running shoes, 4) LL Bean heavy wool sweater, 5) long underwear and red windpants, 6) blue and green raincoats, 7) baggy striped shirt (that can go on the ‘never should have bought’ list.
I kind of wish that I was jumping right on the plane right now instead of in 15 hours. Oh well. I hope that I don’t break my back with all of this goddam luggage. I’m not even close to kidding, either. This shirt that I’m wearing is cool, but it really needs to be washed. I can still see the lines from the folds — pretty tacky. Rebecca told me today that more men were ‘checking me out’ than her. I think Pam and Rebecca think I’m gay because I act a little goofy around them and don’t try to be some macho dude waving his dick around — like those 35 year-old men they all go out with I’m sure. I’m psyched to hang out with some new people.
January 7: The last entry — Mad is sick — I’m ready to leave. Goodbye Paris.
