Ed & Zoe

My friends Ed & Zoe got married a couple of weeks ago. Here are some pictures from their wedding:

You can see more here.

My Little Chick

Well, Caro, I don't have any graffiti pictures handy, and I missed Wednesday, in any case. Hopefully this will do.

My little chick has been away for a few weeks, and I have missed her like crazy. I've been looking at some pictures and thought maybe I'd share some with you - in these ones she's reading a big book that she can lay down on the floor and climb right on top of.

You probably don't miss her quite like I do, but I hope you like these, anyway.

Oh, and there are a few more here.

Rotten Apple

So, the last mp3 player I had was a Creative MuVo Micro, with a whopping 1 GB of memory (a lot for when I got it). I think I had it for about 6 years, and over that time, I had to update the firmware a couple of times (about 2 minutes with a USB cable). No, I couldn't watch movies on it, but it worked, and worked, and worked.

Contrast that with my iPod Classic: I just took it in to the shop today. It crashed and I couldn't do anything on my PC to make it better: couldn't restore it through iTunes, couldn't reformat the disk... nothing. Last time this happened, the guy plugged it in to one of the Macs in the Apple shop and it reformatted okay. This time, no go.

So, I've had it for 8 months, it's gone down twice, and this time it's beyond repair. Back to Apple, and theory is that they will send me a new one. That's okay until we get to January '09, when my warranty runs out.

So, I love the memory. The battery life is quite good. I've enjoyed watching Survivor in the plan on my way to Munich and home again each week. It's cool to be able to have a few of my favorite pictures with me wherever I go, too. And now that I've figured out things like using Apple lossless to encode the music and doing some gain reduction on my mp3's to keep them from distorting when I use the iPod eq to bump the bass up, the sound is pretty good as well.

But if the thing only works for 6 months at a time, it's a pretty high price to pay for what I got. Here's hoping I just got a lemon the first time and the next one is a little better...

My Olympic Question

They train for decades. They wear skin-tight clothes to reduce wind resistance. They spend years getting the lightest shoes possible. Some of them even shave their heads to be just that much quicker.



And then they wear 3 pounds of gold around their necks, diamond earrings, and giant watches. Because the only thing more important than winning is... what? Impressing women who really dig men who wear a lot of gold?

I've got a little secret for you, boys - if that's what she's into, she's probably not actually going to be that tough to get. I bet you could even save the chain for after the race and still do okay.

Fireworks

We went to see some fireworks, and I had my camera along, so I took a couple of pictures. I like these ones because they don't really look like fireworks to me... I kind of imagine them being stars and planets and solar systems.

I guess that Astronomy 101 in university is really paying off now.

You can see the rest here.

And In Lane Six

Can you imagine having worked your whole life to get to the Olympics, and you end up being in the qualification heat against Michael Phelps?

Would that ever suck.

The Olympics

Ah, it's great. The French are showing Judo; the Germans, women's air rifle.

One thing that will not be difficult to leave is the European concept of what constitutes a sport that should be shown on TV.

[EDIT] The French seem to have discovered the error of their ways. They've switched over to dressage - horses with fancy hair, trotting in a circle. Now if that's not a sport that's truly in the Olympic spirit, I don't know what would be.

IHEARTU

I didn't really steal it.

I just borrowed it and haven't given it back yet. I guess that's a bit too common for me - I have been known to borrow books or CDs or DVDs or whatever for, well, years. I know it's not good, and trust me... it's not really what I'm aiming for. I guess the bright side is that it's not that different when I lend things - I forget pretty quickly who has them, and I'm very free to give out what I have. This has been a blessing and a curse at times - on one hand, the source of more emails than I would like to a whole bunch of friends asking if anyone had seen the book I felt like reading. On the other hand, though, getting a CD back from a friend after a couple of years of thinking it was lost is, in a somewhat perverse way, a pretty nice experience.

Anyways, an anonymous reader of TYC lent me a DVD while visiting Geneva a while ago. I was (am) supposed to send it on to another friend, but hadn't quite gotten there yet when we had a bit of a quick change-up at YAGS (a group from my church that meets weekly, and that I help to lead): I was supposed to lead a discussion on kind of short notice.

And something kind of strange happened: I found myself without anything to talk about.

If you know me, you'll know that this is kind of out of the ordinary, and it threw me for a bit of a loop. Usually, when someone asks "Hey, can you teach?" I respond with a rather prompt "How much time can I have?". But this last week, I didn't have many ideas, but I remembered this video, and thought maybe ît would be a good one for us to watch and discuss together.

Turns out it was.

It is about the life and writings of Henri Nouwen. I didn't know tons about the guy before - a friend had given me one of his books (Return of the Prodigal Son) that was good... good in the general sense of being insightful and well-written, but also good for me. I knew he had written a bunch of others, but wasn't that familiar with them. He had quite a life, and wrote from a place of pain and longing much of the time. The video (called Journey to the Heart) was good, well worth a watch, if you can get a hold of it (and aren't waiting in line after me for anonymous' copy). I'm going to read more of his books now.

But I tell you all that to tell you this: there was one idea in there that just reached out and grabbed me by the heart. It's this: God loves us - he has loved us since before we loved him, before we were born, before the world was created, before time began. And he has given us just a little bit of time on this planet - 20 years, 40 years, 70 years - to be able to say, "I love you, too".

Well, I think that the reason for creation is a little more complex than that. And I guess Henri probably did, too. But that doesn't take anything away from the truth of how beautiful it is to hear a real "I love you".

The little chick has been able to understand some of what love is, and to choose to demonstrate it for a while now (she is, as she will tell you, a big girl now, at three). But there is still something mind-blowing about those little arms being thrown around my legs, that little head burried in, and a muffled "I love you, Daddy" escaping in the midst of it. As she learns more, it becomes more and more meaningful: she wants to share with me. She wants to include me in what she's doing. She wants to know how I feel, and wants to see that she makes me happy in her love for me.


So I wonder: how much of my so-far-at-least-35 years on this planet am I spending telling (or showing) God that I love him?

I have also known "I love you's" that aren't quite like those I get from the little chick. When no expression of love is forthcoming it can be painful, but there is far more damage when an "I love you" offered is not truly heartfelt - or, worse, when it's a lie - than when it's just absent. Those are words that should never be spoken out of duty or obligation - where there is that kind of obligation, there is no real love.

And so I wonder about something else: how many times have I said or sung those words to him without really meaning them?


Three little words, but a lot to think about.

Good Bye

It's been kind of a tricky year.

I like Geneva... I like it a lot. Sure there are things that bother me: the language, mostly. The fact that I live, more or less, in a parking lot, frequently populated by people who take the "outdoor voice" concept to a bit of an extreme. Oh, and prices; but then, with store hours being what they are, that's not much of an issue.

But at the end of the year, I'm moving back to Calgary, and so it's added a distinct sense of season to my life that wouldn't otherwise be there.

It hit me, again, as I was wandering through Montreux a few weeks ago, from the train station to the concert hall to see Alicia Keys: this could be the last time I do this. The last time ever.

My last spring, last YAGS retreat, last birthday, last concert season... and the list goes on. Now, I know, it's not like I've been diagnosed with a terminal illness, but still - it's tough.

I've always had trouble saying goodbye. I have tended to kind of shut myself off, to protect my heart, and to withdraw well in advance of the actual event. And I'm trying like crazy to change that now, to live here, and now, and to be open and available and vulnerable, but it's getting tougher.

My heart and my mind are starting to turn to Calgary. There are some wonderful, wonderful things that await me there... some I know, some I anticipate, and I'm sure there are many others of which I have no idea, yet. But I don't want it to keep me from still being able to experience my last fall, last winter, last vin chaud, last roast chestnuts, last fondue on Swiss soil. First or last, I don't want anything to get in the way of what I am living today - the people I love, the things I put my heart into, the things that I will see and do and know that will never be the same.

Summer

Well, it's summer and it's beautiful out. And it's been a long time since I've written.

Sorry.

I know this doesn't excuse it, but I wanted to post some new pictures. I hope you like them - you can see the others here. Oh and a word of warning... there aren't many others. But there are some good ones in the pipeline. Next up is a set of the little chick at her adorable-est.

As In, Dirty Little

I think it's time for a new insult.

Those who know me (which, I guess, is a pretty substantial portion of people who read this) know that I'm not much of a science fiction guy. I liked Lord of the Rings (and before someone with a "Live Long & Prosper" tee shirt tells me that's not science fiction, I know... I just have a tendency to group all things where people dress in costumes to see the movie into one super-category), but that's about as far as it goes.

Still, I've had an idea for a long time, and to celebrate the release of the new X-Files movie, I think it's time to bring it up again.

Scullymulder, as in, "why, you dirty little scullymulder!"

The problem, I guess, is that I've never actually invented an insult before. Honestly, I try not to make insults a very regular part of my speech. But this one, I think, could be different. I plan to try it out at work tomorrow to see how it goes over in French - I've been practicing the accent tonight, and I think it's almost ready.

So, feel free to propagate. And if you're Katie, I expect a link back to the source...

;-)

When I Was Little

We used to kill bugs using a can of WD40 and a lighter... instant flamethrower. Though the wisdom of doing that may be questionable, it sure was fun. There's a bug flying around my apartment now and I find myself wishing that I didn't have this pesky "maturity" thing in the way as I try to decide how to deal with him.

I'm definitely not one who usually longs to go backwards, but I miss those days.

Change Me

Why do people give change as bills first, then coins? If you get the coins in your hand you can hold on to them securely while you take the bills in your fingers. If the coins are on top, you're forced to try to hold the whole thing flat until you can get the other hand free to rescue the coins and airlift them away to safety. This is like the New Orleans disaster plan enacted out in the world of commerce, a billion times a day... we must be able to do something!

You Smell Nice

On the way home from feeding the ducks with the little chick today, I saw a guy driving by on a scooter. That's not unusual - there are a lot of scooters in Geneva. What was a bit odd is that, while he was driving, he was smelling one of those little paper strips that you put perfume on to test it.

I can't help but think that if your cologne smells good while you're driving along a city street at full speed, it may end up being just a touch strong for anyone who ends up in the elevator with you at the other end.

We Should Have Phoned First

There is a mountain (hill) near Geneva called the Salève. It's actually on the French side, but we like to think it's ours. You can go up it in a cable car, and everyone has told me for years how wonderful the views are over the city and the lake, especially at sunset, but I've never been.

I decided, though, that now was the time. First of all, this is my last summer living here. And second, I have kind of a special visitor, and I wanted to share it with her. So we got a picnic ready, headed off across town, walked through the border into France, found the entrance, and....

Closed.


Yeah, turns out that the sun sets at 9:30, and the cable car stops running at 7. Who came up with that schedule*?!? For the record, though, it was still a pretty nice sunset, even from the bottom.

C'est la vie.






* Not actually a rhetorical question - I think perhaps it was this guy.

Blog-Off

I'm hesitant to post this.


I've been, it seems, invited (challenged? entangled?) to a blog-off.

What's a blog-off, you ask? That's a reasonable question. In fact, it's the first one I had, as well. The original format was going to be a topic decided by a third party, with the challenger and I each having 20 minutes to write and publish a post on it, to then be judged by another person. That concept seems to have passed, however, and now I'm not entirely sure if it's based on quality, quantity, readership, or some other factor that I've failed to identify.

But every time I talk to Katie, she reminds me about it. So, whatever it is, it seems to be on.

Katie's blog is babygotbrit. And I've put a link here, but I'm not sure I can encourage you to read it, in case this is being decided by number of hits. I'm also not sure what the prize is for winning.

It's been a while since I've had a good bit of public self-analysis, though, so I may as well continue on in that direction. There are, I think, only two things that really, really make me competitive.

First is going to a concert. I kind of like to be at the front. And when I go, I get pretty... uh, focused. I have a routine I go through that's pretty established, and has gotten me a good spot at a lot of shows. I'm not ruthless, not aggressive, but I have a goal and I go for it.

The only other thing that I've really been able to identify is doing something with someone who really, really wants to win. I remember playing foosball with my friend Fred. I love the guy... he's quiet, friendly, warm... and LOVES to win, HATES to lose. Anyway, I had been playing for a while with a bunch of people and just relaxing, enjoying it, laughing. Fred joined up on the other side of the table, and he got his game face on pretty quickly. Well, I'll tell you... I couldn't care who won or lost, but every time I scored on him (which was, happily for me, pretty frequently) I could see him getting more and more desperate to win. I'm not usually cruel, but there's something about that situation... someone wanting with their whole heart to beat me in something completely trivial... that just seems like an invitation to play with them that's just a little too good to pass up.

So, if you have any suggestion of how I may be able to take the lead in the blog-off, I'm all ears. Wish me luck!

Is That.......? Uh... Never Mind

It's because I love the earth.


I have a habit of shaking my hands rather enthusiastically after I wash to try to get the water off... I use fewer paper towels that way. The problem is that, in summer when I'm wearing light dress pants ("trousers" for those in the UK), those water drops that go flying everywhere make spots on my pants. And those spots really show up.

Really, really show up.

And, as a result, every time I walk out of the bathroom, it looks very much like I've urinated on myself. But I've been doing better on containing that the last couple of weeks, and I'm pretty proud of that.

I think that perhaps now I'm ready to consider that career in politics that I had been putting off.

Third World Country

Okay, I haven't really traveled in one, at least, not extensively. But I'm pretty sure that, if I did, I would find taxi service like Geneva's. I have taken taxis in a lot of cities, on several continents, and I have never encountered service as regularly poor (and often illegal) as I get in Geneva.

I just got home... and I left the office seven hours ago. Yes, it was in another country, but a close one (Germany). Due to a number of factors (none of which, it appears, were the airline's fault), my 7 PM flight was delayed, delayed, delayed, and eventually canceled... and we were all put on a 9:45-ish flight instead. So by the time I got back to Geneva and took a look at the train schedules, I had a pretty strong hunch that my client would probably feel like a taxi fare home was a reasonable trade for almost adding a second work day.

Today, I didn't have much cash with me (I've been carrying Euros), but, in general, I try to find a cab that takes Visa, even if I pay with cash.

"Why," you ask? Why, if I'm going to pay in cash, would I bother asking if they take Visa?

Well, it's because of times like tonight. I started at the front of the line of taxis, asking if they accepted Visa cards. Some looked at me like I was crazy. One man was at least apologetic... he didn't have a machine. But I had to ask more than a dozen cabs, all in a row, before I found one guy willing to actually pull out his Visa machine and drive me home. And this isn't in some back corner of the city - this is at the airport. This is the first impression people are getting of our city and our country.

And that impression, I can only guess, is not a good one. Switzerland, world capital of banking and finance.*

* Cash only

Maybe they're ducking taxes. Maybe they'd rather not pay the surcharge. Maybe they just hate people and have, somehow, chosen a job where they're in contact with them more or less constantly by some crazy mixed-up string of coincidences.

I don't know.

But I know this - I'd rather walk all the way down a line of taxis talking to every single one of them... in fact, I would rather have gone back inside and waited for that next train - then let them get away with it. Would I have walked home? That's a closer call, definitely leaning to the "no" side, but still - I am a pretty firm believer in voting with my wallet.

Come on, taxi guys. Maybe a little bit of time trying out the 20th century will help you get ready in case you ever decide to join us in the the 21st...

Another Wow

Vegan triathletes.

Now, I bet THEY have great parties. Wheat juice and wetsuit talk, anyone?

Anyone?

And for those of you who think advertising is of no use, I found this via a google ad on my email. Definitely worth a click...

One Of The Best Things

... about working from home would be that I can make drummer-face as much as I want, and even do some serious chair-dancing without being disruptive.

I'll need to look into that.

The Problem Is

... as far as I can tell, that "tres" is one of the worst words in French. It's phlegmy... sounds kind of like someone coughing up something nasty. And the unfortunate part is that it's also one of the most common.

And, as I watch the Euro Cup final, I realize that they are incapable of only saying it once. Nothing is "tres" whatever; it's always "tres, tres" whatever. Double the phlegm: gotta love that. And, while in English we have a whole range of words used to denote emphasis (very, extremely, notably, markedly, really, unbelievably, undoubtedly...), the French either only have one, or they don't let sportscasters use the other ones on-air. In fact, I've heard "tres" five times while writing the previous sentence.

The other problem is that Spain is winning. When the passed through the semi-finals, they drove around town (or, at least, my block) honking for 4 hours. Tonight... no one sleeps.

[EDIT] - Well, it's over. There were 11 second between when the game ended and when I heard the first horn. That's got to take some serious planning.

My Lucky Day

I am pretty hesitant to give up time with the little chick. I figure it's pretty important, because she's pretty important. I guess I could do more - probably have people come to look after her after she's in bed, but if she wakes up, I want to be the one here to give her a cuddle to get back to sleep.

So when I heard Gotthard was doing a free show in Geneva tonight (there were two nights of concerts planned as part of the Euro Cup celebration), I was disappointed that it lined up with when TLC would be with me. They're kind of like the Swiss equivalent of Aerosmith, or Bon Jovi (before he cut his hair), but not nearly as terrible as that sounds the first time you read it.

In fact, they're quite good.

I've wanted to see them for ages, but either they've been playing too far away at times I didn't want to travel, or the tickets were too much, or... well, something always came up. And for them to be doing a free show in Geneva was almost too good to pass up, but I was traveling last week, and was ready for a little daddy-daughter time.

So last night I had a bbq (or, I guess, it would be more correct to say I went to a bbq - I contributed nothing other than a bottle of wine and some witty repartee) with a few friends, and we planned to head down for the concerts after. To add insult to injury, there were a whole bunch of people walking around with Gotthard tee shirts on. Given my unique grasp of the space-time continuum, it registered that the concert was not on the night that I was free to go, but my brain didn't bother with any of the usual before/after kinds of questions that your brain might. I almost stopped one of them to ask how the show was.

Well, turns out that they didn't know yet, not because it was still a day away, but because it was happening later that night.

It also turns out that it was a lot of fun. They have some good tunes... most I hadn't heard, but a few were familiar, and other than a few drunks and a tall guy beside me who couldn't seem to keep track of his elbows, a thoroughly pleasurable experience.

And I don't know if it was just for this, or if it's for the whole Euro Cup time, but the show ended about 1, and there were still trams running! Bravo, Genève!


The only kind of sour part is that I've once again had it confirmed that concert security people are, mostly idiots. There were people trying to start a mosh pit. Did they do anything? No. There were drunks tearing through a crowd full of women and kids. Did they do anything? No (or, not until it got to the point of an altercation).

But every time somebody pointed a pocket camera at the stage? The security people were jumping up and down... waving their arms, crawling over the barriers to get to the offenders. I don't think they could have been drunk, which is a shame, since that's the only conceivable excuse they had, other than just being stupid.

Oh well. Rock on!

Rolex

The Rolex golf ads feature shots of all the players who endorse them, golfing... and not wearing watches.

Now THAT's subtle.

Yes, That's Me

Every once in a while I take a look at some of the search terms that were used when people did searches that led them to TYC. Sometimes they seem rather intentional ("the yellow couch") and sometimes a little less so ("yellow couch church" is one I see often from the UK).

In any case, there was an interesting one this week:

"champagne delamont"


I wonder if they found what they were looking for?

Ca Marche Pas

I was going to start by saying that France isn't like a third-world country.

But I've never really traveled in a third-world country. So maybe I should just say it isn't much like Switzerland, Canada, Germany, the US, or the UK, in terms of it's technological prowess.

It all started when I had arrived in the Lyon train station - I was going to meet Korey and Jenny there, and since I arrived a little before they did (train vs. traffic), I wanted to sync up my mails. I had seen signs for the wifi (or, as I learned that the English call it, whif-ee) availability in the station. So I booted up, searched, and, sure enough, there was the login page. It gave me the option to log on with an existing account... as long as it's with a French provider. My Swisscom credit works in other countries, but, I guess, not in France.

That kind of became a sort of theme.

Anyways, they had another link to buy time if you didn't already have an account with one of four French phone services. So I clicked on the link, and this is what I got back:

Le serveur n'a rien trouvé à l'adresse spécifiée.
Veuillez nous excuser pour la gène occasionnée.

A rough translation is "did you make that up? we don't have that web page - better luck next time". Well, I thought, it's probably just because I had tried to access it from the English start page; the English versions generally receive a little less in terms of testing than the French pages. So I navigated through in French, and got the same error.

Okay, no whif-ee.

I eventually did meet up with Korey and Jenny - we found the campground and decided to grab some groceries. We hit the nearby Champion (a French grocery chain), and when we got to pay, I pulled out my Visa card. The card reader was one of the ones that seems to use the chip instead of the strip, and mine has never worked that way. Still, most cashiers feel much better if they've tried the chip first, no matter what assurances I give them.

So, she tried the chip.

Oddly enough, it didn't work. Choking back the instinct to try to remember the translation for "I told you so", I suggested that perhaps the strip may yield a better result. She shook her head, and hit the card reader with her hand... and tried the chip again. And this continued for several minutes - the cashier swearing under her breath, hitting the machine, yanking my card out and shoving it back in.

Well, I guess the good news was that, by the time she got around to trying the strip, it didn't work, either. I ended up trying four other cashiers over the course of our visit, and my card, it seems, doesn't work anywhere in their store.

When I was looking at train schedules to get back to Lyon, to get back to Geneva (more on that in a forthcoming post), I managed to find my way through the French national train site to identify the ticket I wanted to buy, the date, the class, the seat, my address, name, phone number. credit card info, favorite flavor of ice cream (chocolate), turn-ons (long walks on the beach), first pet (a fish... pretty sure he had a name, but I don't remember it)... and hit "process"...

To get a message telling me that, due to a technical problem, my transaction had been canceled. No indication of what the problem may be, what role I may have played in it, or how it could be resolved. I tried several more times, always with the same error, and just gave up. I could buy a ticket at the station before I left... on a much earlier train in case there wasn't room on the one I wanted.

Oh well. They do make lovely wine.

Hey There

Well, I'm in France with friends,and have been internetless; which is why it's been a while since an update.

The French also use a crazy keyboard. It's taken me 18 minutes to type this much correctly, so this will be short. But when I get home, I'll fill you in.

Interesting points so far:

• Another slight timing/date confusion
• Some magnificent cigars
• My first... uh, exposure... to topless beaches
• Sleeping in a tent again - it's been a while
• Being in the French Riviera and feeling vaguely like it's actually Holland

More to come, when I get to a keyboard where you don't need to use "shift" to get to the period. I don' know who thought this one was a good idea...

Hockey Vs Soccer

Reasons that hockey is better than "football":

1. Better snacks - you can get Wendy's in the Saddledome. No such luck at a football match. Who wants another sausage?
2. Football is sooooo..... slooooooowwwwww..... in comparison. It's not as bad as baseball, but it's really, really slow. Anyone remember the Simpsons episode? They were (as usual) right.
3. Diving. Or, you could say, Italians.
4. Long, greasy hair. What is it with that hair? Maybe hockey players have it, but at least we don't have to look at it all game long. Can one of you P&G people please get these boys a bottle of Pert Plus or something?
   
5. "Highlights". Since the Euro Cup started, I've been watching "highlights" of... well, shots on goal. Sure, most of them are kind of slow, and go straight to the goal-keeper. But they warrant a spot on the highlight film, and that's a pretty big red flag. Once again, confer with baseball: "he hit it and.... somebody caught it. Let's see that again in super slo-mo, Rob".
6. Fighting, or a complete lack thereof. See also: Diving.

Yet... I can't stop watching.


Rats.

Wow

Well, this is easily the worst thing I've seen in a long, long time.

Some background: "Nouvelle Star" is like a reality pop star training camp, in French. They have churned out some true trash over the last few years, but I think this one should be worth a nomination for some kind of award or something. Just wait until you hear the choral backup vocals on the chorus....




And yes, they are playing this on music video channels here. When you hear people talking about the fantastic, hot European music scene, I suggest you direct them to this; then tell them you'll never question anything they ever say again if they can keep it in their iPod's top 10 for a month.

10,000

Well, it appears that last night we hit 5 digits for TYC visitors. Thanks for reading - I wish that as a kind of thank-you I could make some popcorn and you could sit in the tent and watch a movie with the little chick and I. Of course, she has fairly particular taste, so this would only feel rewarding if you like Veggie Tales or if you are really, really hungry for popcorn. Still, might be nice.

Oh, THAT Thursday

A chat I had with Korey this evening:

6:45 PM Korey: YOu there?

6:46 PM We are picking you up in Lyon on Thursday morning, correct? Jenny was a little unsure when she heard your message!

6 minutes

6:52 PM me: Yeah - I think we had said 10, which is just when I get in... let me check the ticket again to confirm...

Arrival is scheduled for 10

6:53 PM I was just wondering about electricity... do you know if there are plug-ins at the camp site?

Korey: I don't remember their being plug-ins. One sec and I'll check their web site

6:54 PM me: [tapping foot]

;-)

Korey: Ha!

It says that there is electricity on every plot.

To that sounds positive.

...

7:03 PM Korey: Do we have your mobile?

+41 2131 XXXX?

7:04 PM me: Yeah, in one fo the emails... that number is my office in Lausanne, that I called from today

Mobile is +41 79 506-XXXX

Korey: Right, got it. Just in case, you know?

:)

Okay get packing!

7:05 PM me: Yeah, probably a good idea. Also, what's your car like? Besides having the steering wheel on the wonky side?

Korey: Blue Honda Civic. 2000. Very bland. Beige interior. Small brown moose hanging from the rear-view that goes by the name of Guillaume

7:06 PM 5-door

Sedan, though, not the hatch back.

me: Okay, when I'm outside of the station, I'll just ask for Guillaume

Korey: Like yours was.

Yeah, that'll work awesome.

me: Sorted.

See you tomorrow

Korey: No!

Thursday!

7:07 PM me: Wait... I missed that part... I thought it was tomorrow.

That could be an issue... okay - I'm going to see if the ticket office is open...!

Korey: Tomorrow is Wednesday!

7:08 PM me: Crap, I do this all the time

Korey: We leave here tomorrow morning, take the ferry to Calais, overnight in Dijon and then to Lyon on Thursday!

me: The ticket is correct - for the 19th

I just put it in outlook wrong

Korey: LOL

Apparently, the oxygenated water is going to take a little while to kick in.


Rats.