Singular of Graffiti: Graffito

The lunchladies here aren't nice like Mom. Joe was treated to exasperated sighs during lunch this afternoon since we assumed that you could pay the equivalent in cash for a lunch ticket, like you can do in the cafeteria. Not so, apparently. They burst out laughing at me once since I brought the wrong kind of tray up to the line, so maybe they're just hard pressed for entertainment.

This is another one of the artistically rendered graffiti scattered throughout Montpellier. There's a great one of Dr. Zoidberg of Futurama fame right before the tunnel between Corum and the Comedie of which I have yet to take a picture. Instead of Montpellier by Night, I wish we would have gotten a Graffiti of Montpellier tour.


I have a bar date with a French boy on Thursday. I was shanghaied into it by my library director, who introduced me to Anthony, a French guy looking to exchange conversation with a real live American girl. She asked me if she could give him my phone number right in front of him, so it wasn't like I could very well refuse. He texted me this morning and we set it up for 5:00 on Thursday afternoon. Hopefully it won't be awkward, stunted conversation.

Sam told me of this racially questionable commercial that was on television last night. It showed a stereotypical Asian man with a cone hat to boot holding a laxative box. There was some female voiceover about the benefits of said laxative, and then the Asian man babbles off something that Sam said wasn't any language at all, just Chinese-sounding gibberish. I wish I'd caught it.