"Parcour!"

Otherwise known as free running, most of you will now be aware of this urban pastime brought to us by The French (its how they get around Paris to buy bread and cheese).   Madonna tried to ride that wave of street in yet another tragic attempt to be down with the kids (and warrant an excuse to sport a leotard and knee pads.)

My friend Clay told me about this spectacular parcur fail executed on a night out in Brooklyn.  Clay witnessed the attempt, fueled by a sense of alcohol and coke drenched super-power,  of this guy jumping from the top of a building onto the hood of a parked car in the street below.   He promptly broke his leg upon impact and was carted off in an ambulance in a fit of roaring pain and shame just as soon as everyone stopped laughing long enough to summon the medics.  "We just couldn't get over the fact he had yelled the word "parcour!" on his way down" said Clay.

I've invented a lower impact, safer form of parcour which involves jumping over say, a fallen paperclip.   But the trick is to shout "parcour!" whilst performing the act, lest anyone doubt your level of commitment.  

Urban.  

This has caught on with a few individuals in the office who will triumphantly sound the cry while getting out of their seat, or tap the edge of an office wall with their pointed foot as they walk by.

We salute you our fallen urbanite, your antics were not in vain.

Peace.

your fan,

a.

Cintra for President

Worship, fools.  

Cintra Wilson I can safely say is one of my fave authors penning such classics as "A Massive Swelling:  Celebrity Re-Examined as a Grotesque, Crippling Disease" which devotes, amongst many others, an entire chapter to my nemesis, Celine Dione (please die) starting the chapter with the words "all those terrible bones under the angora".

I know, right?

I'm reading her latest right now, "Caligula for President, Better American Living through Tyranny" with a "plot" that essentially provides a vehicle for socio-political commentary spanning from ancient Rome to Bush spawn in waiting. Plenty of Lindsay Lohan and Britney references thrown in, natch, since they are more noteworthy than politics and certainly attract more media attention.  

Her description of Ryan Seacrest and his "startling inability to ever look sincere about anything" should be etched into stone, dipped in gold and flavored with saffron.  

The entire book is one run on sentence and at times my attention shifts to the guy in the tube who's breathing too loudly, but mostly I am engrossed and occasionally do that annoying little burst of involuntary laughter, that "bet you wish you were reading what I'm reading" guffaw that usually grants my book cover with a second glance.

Thanks for helping my January, Cintra.

your fan,

a.