1 Euro=Work in Paris

Jump to Comments

It’s a slightly less springy and uncomfortably indecisive climate here in London. Yes, my wonderfully unconscious readers, I am back in the land of chips and fried fish like objects for work. Needless to say, it’s not football and rather that thing called golf. Someone do tell me why golf is considered a sport, but has failed to make it into the Olympics even as a exhibition sport? I’ll tell you why? Why? Because it’s my blog and you’re reading it.

Because golf is simply and aptly put by yours megalomaniacly, a glorified recreational arm swinging unfashionable routine committed by athletically declined male over the age of 20 that guzzles your hard earned cash like a turbo charged Ford Fiesta (with chrome rims, ofcourse) and earns your corporate bragging rights on a sober Monday morning in the elevator of your brilliantly sterile office. Sadly, I will be swarmed with samurai wielding flailing arms in just over 7 hours as my reputation as a future Pulitzer prize winner will be put directly into the firing range by picturing them in action, if there are any, somewhere in the depth of Britannia.

I have no desire whatsoever to get into some mindless numb cranium discussion from you “golfers” out there about whether I am disrespecting your holy grail, but you know that if golf is the only physical activity you participate on a bi-weekly basis and if you are over the age of 25, please beware that you will rock it Tiger style atop the Burj al-Arab. Even if you do, you’ll look like a complete, “cock-for club” man. Please, give your wife/girlfriend/secretary/cleaner named Paco some lovin’ instead. Trust me, you’ll burn more of them rings below your pectorals that way.

Let’s go back to where I intended to go sometime back when.

To make it long but not awfully short, I just shot my first photo shoot in Paris. Although it will probably be featured in Paris Vogue July 2041 with the headline of, “Chocolate? She-male’s best friend”, I did primarily for my friend Petithomme’s website. This was supposed to be done ages ago, but with me being me and Petithomme being indecisive and Pyjama being even more indecisive, it took a lot longer than we anticipated. But we finally got together and me, I did it with flash.

For some of you who know me well, not about my accident in 6th grade during the school trip and inside the public bath, but more so on a photography related knowledge, I absolutely hate using flash. Flash sucks my left balls repeatedly for more than 15 seconds. Repeatedly. The reason for this is that I never like the way flash/strobe look on an image and …. I had no idea how to use them. But when you become as accomplished as I am, you have to try that monkey brain sandwich at your local deli, because you read it somewhere on the internet. So, I went here.

Skeptical, totally, enlightened, surely. This blog started a revolution in mobile lighting set and ma Krishna almighty, there’s so much you can do with so little light and definitely so little money. My first shoot with my mobile light emitting device was set and the first victim, I meant the first client, was Petithomme and his chocolat empire.

Would love to write a whole lot about his thing, his philosophy, and his jacket that also becomes a tight little man-bag, but I really do need to get some sleep before I get my undesirably scrumptious cheeks out of bed in less than 5 hours.

So, if you check back around tomorrow evening and obviously that’s my time, you will see the continuation of this story.

Trust me, it’s a story you wish you could tell your kids, but then you won’t have any because you’re too busy playing golf.

…. sometimes in the future…..

Almost 24 hours later, I’m back and I’m slightly brown.

I would absolutely love to tell you about my lovely golfing day, but in the end it was golf and that story can be told on a torrential downpour kind of day.

Back to Petithomme.  I did realize that the only thing I really wanted to add was that he’s creating this website which would allow the foreigners sans frontiers to invade Paris by the way of learning how to make chocolat en Francais.  A noble idea and a novel one as well.  So as a designated photographer in the Alliance Francaise (as there were more than me), I was the one up for the job and by obvious deduction a la Sherlock, I got the job.  The shoot in itself did go quite well, although concentration in the nth degree for four hours plus a little bit of humiliating flat hunting sandwiched between the shoot, I was bomb bamboozled by the time I came home to the cat and the woman.

The following day, I was left unassisted by Bon bon as she was corporating at this French location called Toulouse.  I think that’s somewhere near Toulon, but who knows.  As I was untangling my nipple hair out of boredom that evening waiting for the Lord’s arrival, Kokeshi and her boyfriend Wormbook called me and I was on my merry and nerve wracking way to an evening out with me mates.

This was grossly significant in two major league ways: 1. It was my first time with my friends without Bon bon and 2. It was my first time I would almost likely have to do 50.8% of the conversation in French.  Needless to say, the evening was a success, but being surrounded by French experts was mucho different to the succulent lukewarm bath I enjoyed during my one week French course.  Still I was quite satisfactory with my French and with Bon bon’t eminent arrival, I decided to check how much I had in my pocket.

To my horror, I had 50+5 Euros plus something like 70 cents.  As the French are not too keen on giving you any change wherever you go, I started to ask around if someone was gentle enough to exchange my 5 note with some gleaming ching chings.  It’s time’s like these when no one has any change.  Mother of all fuckers.  Just as I was thinking the significance of a late night kebab in exchange for some coins, Petithomme took out a Euro.  “No change, je suis desolee”.  I snatched that thang like as if the holy bible depended on Jesus.  “That’s my fee, Petithomme”, I said.  He smiled sheepishly with a touch of relunctance around his left nostril, but then I bet he’s feeling quite good about himself right now as he was lucky to pay me only 1 Euro for a 4 hours worth of solid photography by a professional photography person.

Thus, I have earned my very first Euro in Paris.

Ah, I wish life was this easy all the time.

T’il nex time.

4 Comments

Filed under Photography