Literally an aussie in Paris: Quick
People like to say, oh you can’t do this or that there, that is not right.
Fuck em I say.
These are the same people who only ever travel in tour groups or get up early every morning on holidays.
There are no rules on holiday.
If i want to not go to the arc of whatits, i wont.
If i don’t want to wear a beret, i wont.
And if i don’t want to watch a french film in french, i wont.
Paris is Paris, explore it your way.
My way is via fast food.
Every international country i have troubled too i have eaten fast food, mainly via hamburgers and fries.
It started in America (the heart of the cheeseburger), but it has gone with me to South Africa, England and now France.
Luckily for me, in France they have Quick, a burger place that seems to fill the hole of not having any burger kings.
McDonalds still reign supreme here, but Quick is the thinking persons fast food (like burger king).
Why are they good, well they seem to have some form of real steak in their burgers, they have real cheese in there as well, and they have an assortment of buns and burgers to choose from.
They have this thing called the Quick N Toast, which has steak bacon and blue cheese, and has a toasted sandwich exterior.
It’s shit hot, and yes i said bacon, only place i found bacon in France at a lowly fast food establishment, because as well all know, fast food restaurants are the truest form of humanity.
The bacon was of McDonald’s quality, but who was i to argue about the quality after living without the hope of bacon for days.
I got my food for take away, and awaited the usual walk with bag of food in one hand, drinks in the other that i had done so many times before.
Quick don’t see why you should have to use both hands, like an animal, when carrying food.
They have a carry all box, a box with a handle, that can fit 2 drinks, 3 burgers, deux frites and so many condiments.
It’s like the the swiss army knife of fast foodery.
So not only did they give the world fries, but they gave the world the perfect carrying implement.
I suggest to everyone that they eat Quick when in Paris, fuck the tourist fascists who prey on the fun of everyone.
Look at all the space, much more room than the average french apartment. And way cleaner. 
The design is practical, and yet has a certain style to it, it’s Andy Warholesqeu with traces of early cubism. 
The handle is red. 
Literally an aussie in Paris: all blacks @ the pompidou
I had a surreal moment at the centre of pompousness, centre pompidou.
I was going through a exposition of Jacques Villegle, and i caught up to a tour group.
That in itself was not surreal, but at the tail end of the group was a man in an all blacks coat talking in fluent french about the composition of the works.
He didn’t look violent, his neck wasn’t thick, he was speaking french, he didnt seem to have any scars from previous brawls, and he never once said in french or english “make the man some eggs woman” or anything like it.
He didn’t seem like any New Zealand rugby fan i had ever seen before.
Unfortunately there were no positive reinforcements for straight sport loving Australian men in the centre, as i couldn’t find a way to talk about futurists and Collingwood in the same sentence.
I did quite enjoy ol’ jacques art though, not so much the posters, which looked cool, but got a bit boring half way through.
But i loved the alphabet system he came up with.
I thought you could do great graffiti work with it, put something up, and by the time people decipher what you have wrote, all it says is lick my jingle jangle balls.
There was also a futurist section, which had some amazing moments in it, and was also the first time i stared at an empty point on the wall for 30 seconds to see if i could get anyone else to look at it.
No one did.
Eventually i made my way down to the new art, first was a big red reflective thing, then there was shit, and more shit forever.
But then i saw a piece that made it all worthwhile, a whole cabinet of world war one gas masks.
How could anyone not like old gas masks in a cabinet?
The next section was mininmilism, which has never been my thing in pictures, and then i saw three white canvases in a row on the wall.
Fuck me son, get some ideas, staple a rubber chicken on the wall at least.
The good thing about art you hate though, like sportsmen you hate, is they encourage you to unburden vitriolic bile onto them, and then you leave and get steak and frites (pronounced frights).
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