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  1. About The Author - Julian Gallo
  2. Resume Author of 'Existential Labyrinths', 'Last Tondero in Paris', 'The Penguin and The Bird' and other novels.

American ex-G.I., Jerry Milligan decided to stay in Paris where he'd been stationed during the war to pursue his dream of becoming a painter, He becomes charmed by the charms of Lise Bouvier, but, his paintings - which have come to the attention of Milo Roberts, a rich heiress, who's interested in more than just art
runtime 1Hour 54M
Release date 1951
Countries USA

rating 28511 Vote
Just imagine an American walking in Paris in those days, a new town, the strange and sometimes busy streets,  diversity of scenes, divers. And in the end a big finale as you are at the end of a film or musical you made by yourself just by imagening pictures by the the music you hear. Great piece of art.

巴里のアメリカ人 Movie. 巴里のアメリカ人 movie online hd. Im 54 and Ive had the same reaction to Gershwin since I was 14! Imagine all the tones and the clever phrasing and and masterful. 巴里のアメリカ人 movie online dubbed. 巴里のアメリカ人 movie online streaming. Had to watch it esome just too too musicians are really having a good it. What a he really spoke a very good french: you can watch some Gene's interviews for the French TV on (TV archives. From Venezuela with love. 巴里のアメリカ人 movie online 2017. Ŵ里ãã‚ãƒãƒªã‚«äºº Movie. I don't even understand the connection that Kanye & Jay Z were trying to make. Hey reading the comments and listen to the music. We have to play this in our high school band except there is no strings. Sooo excited. 巴里のアメリカ人 movie online free. Take an accomplished director, one of the world's most famous dancers, a dreamily romantic setting and music from none other than George Gershwin and what do you have? In the case of An American in Paris, you have a film which, for me, falls flat on its face.
The winning combination of talent and reputation thrilled the critics, back in 1951 and the film was showered with awards including six Oscars. But, looked at coldly and in retrospect, it's difficult to understand why. Right from the opening scene, when Gene Kelly – who is supposed to be starving in a Paris garret – wakes up looking prosperous, over-confident and heavily made-up, you can already hear the turkey feathers starting to rustle.
The story falters and bumbles its way through yawning intervals which separate the big numbers and the characters become less convincing with every scene. Leslie Caron, when she finally turns up, looks terrified and toothy and though she dances superbly, seems too timid to bring magic to any of her scenes. She and Kelly dance pretty well together, technically, but without the slightest sense of partnership. Watching them, I got the impression that each would rather have been somewhere else.
The music, despite such great numbers, seems to have been shoe-horned into the narrative and often, doesn't fit. The scene where Gershwin's rattlingly wonderful Concerto in F is performed, for instance, has nothing to do with anything else in the film. It does, however, provide moments of sweet relief from the limping story and embarrassingly stilted scenes.
It's hard to believe that Oklahoma was released only four years later, in 1955 and yet, seems to belong to a different era. Oklahoma succeeds in every respect where An American in Paris fails. The acting is convincing, the story works well, the casting is faultless, the choreography - apart from the disappointing dream sequence - is sublime. But above all, the characters in Oklahoma perform with zest and sparkle in overdrive. That makes the film overflow with a sense of freshness, excitement and overflowing 'joy de vivre. What a difference.



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Apple Watch: You are either a secretary or nine-figure earning CEO at a Fortune 500 company. You use your Apple Watch Series 4 to track both your weekly jogs and chicken roasts. You are vaguely familiar with the idea that other, “old-fashioned” watches exist, but assume they will soon disappear once they are no longer repaired by their manufacturers. Azimuth: Your two most treasured possessions are an autographed photo of Leonard Nimoy and a replica copy of the Voyager probe Golden Record. You can only dream of owning an MB&F. Ball: As you walk through your LED lit hallway, down the stairs illuminated by motion sensing flood lamps, and towards your basement model train table outfitted with 3000 Lumen overhead halogen bulbs, you’re gladly reassured by your watch's Tritium lume - for the brief second it takes to find the switch. Balticus: You are either a metrosexual 20-something working in Warsaw, or a teenage boy living in rural Estonia. You don’t get to play with your Overwatch team as much as you’d like due to the time difference. You dream of moving to Berlin or New York. Baume et Mercier: You were touched when your wife got you a Clifton for your wedding. You have since gotten a Rolex, but wear your B&M on special occasions. Thankfully, she got you an automatic, not a quartz. Bell & Ross: You think IWCs are a pale imitation of a Boeing 767 flight instrument. You want to wear the entire flight panel. Blancpain: Let’s be real, unless you're Vladimir Putin, the only watch you wear from this brand is the Fifty Fathoms - and it never goes near water. Bovet: You are the president of an esteemed French bank, say, Société Générale. While browsing the shops near your villa in Nice, you came across a lovely Fleurier, which you bought without even considering a discount. So much less common than a Breguet. Breitling: You aspire to be a pilot. You think the Breitling Emergency is the coolest watch ever made. You are unfamiliar with the term “in-house”. Bremont: You are an Anglophile. After purchasing two models from the boutique, you are hoping one day to be invited to a Townhouse event. You are either blissfully unaware, or painfully so, of the concept of “resale value”. Though you publicly state it doesn’t matter, you are secretly jealous that Tudor is moving in-house. Even you are somewhat embarrassed by their origin story. Breguet: You properly pronounce “Tourbillon”. You cringe when others refer to dial markings as mere “Arabic numerals”. You wish more people understood the history of horology. Your dream is to visit Paris. Bulova: You are either a middle-aged man obsessively collecting the 1970's Accutrons of your youth, or you picked this up from the jewelry counter at Kohl's - with a coupon. Burberry: You are either a skinny-tie wearing American office drone, or a Chav named Derek living in Slough. In either scenario, you believe the checkmark on the dial exudes class. BVLGARI - Men's: You wanted a watch that looked like a Diesel, but more expensive. BVLGARI - Women's: While you already have a diamond Datejust, you wanted something a little flashier to go with your evening-wear Chanel handbag. You delight in correcting others when they attempt to read the name on the dial. Even watch geeks will admit your Serpanti is kind of cool. Carl F. Bucherer: You are a Chinese national who has never visited the United States. Your uncle’s textile factory has vaunted your family into the upper-middle classes, and it is expected that you project a certain image to distinguish yourself from the commoners. The saleswoman assured you that your Manero is for “a man of distinction” and will fit perfectly with your other internationally recognized luxury item, your cherry-red Buick GL8 Sedan. Cartier: You like beautiful things, and are possibly a woman. 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Placing the leftover cash into Lincoln Savings and Loan bonds and a custom suit with serious shoulder pads, you choose to invest in things that last. Corum: You spend most days at your estate's dock, "working" on your teak-decked Sloop, so much so that your wife - for whose birthday you bought a subscription to Sail magazine - calls your Coxswain when she wishes to find you. You exclusively wear Sperry’s and have been known to sport a racing flag tie unironically. You know nothing about watches. Cuervo y Sobrinos: You are a third generation Cuban-American named Jorge living in Buena Vista, Miami. You drink Bacardi Gold as you grill pulled pork at cookouts and play dominos with your Abuelo. You chose your Rubusto to honor your family, culture, and heritage. Secretly, you’re terrified that someone might find out your legal name is George - and that you speak no Spanish. Damasko: You earnestly believe that form must always follow function. You lament the paucity of good quality, acid-resistant PVD watches on the market. As you wear steel-toed hiking boots daily, you wouldn’t be caught dead handling, much less wearing, a gold dress watch. Daniel Wellington: You are a millennial who is into latte art. You think Humphrey Bogart looked so cool in old movies with his suit and trench coat. You are unaware of the terms "quartz" or "automatic". If you're honest, you had a hard time choosing your watch, as they all look the same on the website. You pay $5 a pop at the jewelry store to change Nato straps, which you recently got into. De Bethune: You successfully sold your internet company - with no revenue, let alone income - for $450 million dollars. You love technology, shiny things, and the color blue. You have a life-size replica of the Star Trek: The Next Generation bridge in your Rec room. Diesel: You are either a teenager with vociferous opinions on the PC vs. Console gaming wars, or a playboy far too busy dating multiple women simultaneously to know what that is. Dornblüth & Sohn: You own a grandfather clock, which you wind daily. Your have the same opinion on Roman numerals as on your ex-wife - cluttered, fussy, and confusing. You drive a vintage BMW - in your opinion, the epitome of a functional automobile - before the snazzy marketing made them much too flashy. Ebel: Fresh out of law school, you just got your first associate-level job at a big firm. You wanted something pretty but professional to wear to work. You are confused as to why on dates, men excitedly ask to see your watch, then get close, look disappointed, and say ”oh…an Ebel... ”. Edox/Mido: You are a 23 year old German man, fresh out of the University of Heidelberg. Your starter job and soon to be expiring student benefits did not allow you to stretch for a Longines. The salesman’s face visibly fell when you walked through his door. Eterna: Your KonTiki was a Jomashop 75% off gamble. You have since become a fanboy, going so far as to grow a beard and voraciously reading Thor Heyerdahl's memoirs. You will order a nature survival kit, tent, and water purification pills online before you lose all interest and snuggle back up to your PS4. Fortis: You are a young German man living in Düsseldorf. You saved up quite a few paychecks at your Aldi managerial job to afford your Stratoliner. You wish the SR-71 Blackbird was still around. You have re-watched Top Gun 23 times, while imagining that your handle would be “The Baron”. If you ever actually visited an American airbase, you would be disgusted with the wastefulness and vow never to return. Fossil: You are a 25 year old man at your first job. Your workplace has open-plan offices and “Sunday Fundays”. You carefully buckle up your leather watch before dates, and make sure it shows under your cuff. Franck Muller: You are a jocular pediatrician, or possibly, a professional clown. You have a weakness for Tonneau cases and Art Deco numerals. Frederique Constant: You could not afford a JLC Master Ultra Thin Moon, so you got this instead. You are unsuccessfully trying to make a 42mm dress watch work for your wrist. You were shocked, and a little disappointed, when you learned that the company was founded in 1988. Garmin: You are subscribed to Men's Health and GQ. Before leaving for work, you lace up your running sneakers and strap on your Forerunner in case you can get a quick run in on the way home. This never happens. Your Bowflex sits quietly in your garage, gleaming and untouched. Ginault: You spent $1, 449 on a Rolex Submariner Homage. You while away countless man-hours on the forums, defending the brand from baseless accusations. 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Sadly, your grandson only visits to eye it covetously. Graham: You couldn’t resist a watch whose crown is easily confused with a grenade’s firing pin. Your Volkswagen Golf has vanity plates and a silkscreened pin-up on the rear window. You have a shrine to your grandfather in your room, a WWII vet with the British Expeditionary Force, though he only got to flee Dunkirk. Even you suspect the “Watchmakers Since 1659” claim is crap. Grand Seiko: You think a Spring Drive is the coolest thing since sliced bread. You frequently photograph your Cocktail Time with your Sony camera or, in a pinch, your latest generation iPhone. You have bookmarked Youtube videos of the Grand Seiko factory - in case you meet someone with a Swiss made watch who needs a little convincing. You wish Seiko would do marketing better. Grönefeld: While trained at RADA, you have peaked as a recognizable, but under-appreciated Hollywood actor. You have impeccable taste and a thing for Salmon dials. You wanted something dressier than your sponsored but boring Omega to wear to the Met Gala. G-Shock: You are a junior in college, or an emergency room physician. You delight in taking your G-Shock to watch meet-ups, to the horror of the traditionalists. You recently took up mountain biking just to post Instagram photos of your watch on the trails. H. Moser & Cie: You have a mischievous sense of humor, and in high school, were known to film pranks you pulled on your friends. You have an insatiable weakness for fume dials. While you can’t quite put your finger on it, you suspect the brand will be worth a lot in coming years - or so you tell anyone who will listen. Deep down, you are terrified your Endeavor might just be a passing fad. Hamilton: You recently graduated college. You spent hours on the watch forums, debating between this or a Longines. You finally settled on the Jazzmaster/Khaki, though the salesman couldn't tell you anything about it. The highlight of your life was when a random woman on a date said, “nice watch”. You almost married her. Hautlence: You have a game room in your Park Avenue, per-war classic six filled with pinball machines. You wear pink glasses, to let your underlings at your Goldman Sachs job know that you can be “cool” too. You are not. Hermes: You are either a perfumer living in the Montmarte district of Paris, or an American woman with an unerringly good fashion sense. Hublot: You are, simply, wrong. HYT: You are a successful electrical engineer with lucrative patents to your name, or an internet startup founder that actually solved and monetized a hard problem in computer science. You love nothing more than to hand your H1. 0 over to curious passerby, while pontificating upon the intricacies of fluid dynamics. Invicta - Type 1: You are a non-watch geek dad in a suburban shopping mall. You wanted to get "something nice" for yourself. You find sub 46mm watches "too girly". You enjoy explaining to others, with wide-eyed delight, how your watch is powered by "moving your arm". Invicta - Type 2: You are in high school, without a summer job. You think the Rolex Submariner is the perfect modern, go anywhere, do anything watch. You feel ostracized on the watch forums, but can’t help but smile when you see your Pro Diver on your wrist. IWC: You are openly not a pilot, but enjoy having an altimeter strapped to your wrist. Jacob & Co: You are a formerly successful, now destitute rapper. You pawned this watch at a significant loss. Jaeger-LeCoultre: You exclusively dress in suits, except on bank holidays, when you wear chinos and your Reverso. You are frequently found on watch forums extolling “the watchmaker's watchmaker” virtues. You think 100M of waterproofing is all anyone should ever need. Your will instructs your heirs to bury you with your Atmos clock, as they surely won’t appreciate it. You hope one day to be able to roll your R’s like the guy in the boutique. Jaquet Droz: You are either a well diversified collector, or an Arabian Shiek from an oil rich kingdom. If the latter, your other watch is a Rolex Daytona Rainbow with diamond bezel. Johan Eric: You googled “watch” on Amazon and this is the first thing you found with Prime shipping. In general, you are decidedly not picky, both in watches and in life. JS Watch Co: While you used to have a very generous circle of friends, your incessant droning on about your trip to Iceland and the sweet Frisland you scored there soured even your most steadfast companions. You now spend most days online, nostalgically looking at Tripadvisor reviews for restaurants in Reykjavik, or re-watching the Lord of the Rings for the twelfth time. Junghans: You were just hired by a big design firm, but on a starter salary. You visit your local art museum on “free admission weekends”, and hang around free gallery shows. You have a small tattoo on your right bicep. You hope to upgrade to a Nomos one day. Klasse14: You favorite Instagram influencer subtly bombarded you with sponsored posts showcasing the brand. You hope your Miss Volare will one day star in your own epic selfie in front of the Eiffel Tower. Kobold: Your “keeper” test is if she’ll watch all six seasons of the Sopranos with you. Your most treasured possession is an autographed napkin from the late, great, James Gandolfini. Since his passing, your interest in the brand has cooled, and secretly, you worry that your Spirit of America is just a more expensive Shinola. Laco: As you gaze admiringly at the Saarbrücken on your wrist, you find yourself wondering: Was Hitler really that bad? Lip: You are a Frenchman originally from Toulouse. You work for the Bureau of Weights and Measurements, converting metric measurements to Napoleonic Mesures Usuelles for those still living in the First Republic. While you would prefer to wear an Omega, you can only imagine the shocked “ Non! ” That would emanate from the mustachioed lips of your supervisor, Gaspard, upon seeing it, and you’d rather avoid an employee tribunal. You’d win, but it’s a hassle. Longines: You just got your first job out of college. You are looking for something classy and professional to go along with your first real suit. You will one day own a JLC. Lorus: You are a street-peddler living in Hyderabad. You cannot afford a Seiko 5, but not for any reason that would be remotely funny. Luminox: You constantly talk about “doing an Ironman”. You sleep in a Naval Academy t-shirt and proudly fly the “thin blue line" US flag on your porch. You make vague allusions to former service when asked, but secretly, you were only a mall cop in the 90’s. Manufacture Royale: Liberace would like to know where you got your watch. Marathon: You are a former United States Marine, 3rd Battalion, 6th. You wore this watch on patrol in Kandahar, where your buddy scratched his initials on the case back. This is either a faithful re-telling, or you have entirely imagined the above scenario for color at your current office job. Maurice Lacroix: The year is 1995. Bill Clinton is president of an economically resurgent USA. You just got promoted to Assistant to the Regional Department President of your longtime employer, IBM. Having recently heard about the value of a “Fine Swiss Watch”, you decided to purchase your Pontos after seeing an ad for it in the pages of Sports Illustrated. It feels right. MB&F: You are an angel investor in various internet start-ups. You believe in “thinking different” and “changing the world”. Having gone through the various Pateks, Langes, and Journes that befit your station, you now find pretty much every other watch brand ridiculously boring. You wear an Apple watch concurrently on your other wrist. MeisterSinger: You purposefully wear subtly mismatched socks with your corduroys. You carry your daily possessions in a fanny pack, considering it more practical than a messenger bag. You are perpetually 10-15 minutes late to all your appointments. Secretly, you have a thing for amputee girls. Michael Kors: You are a 16-33 year old woman. Your house is filled with rose-gold colored accessories. You shop at Macy’s, where you purchased this watch to match your handbag. In the watch world, you are actually one of the sane ones. Mondaine: You either have a collection of hair mousses to apply based on the weather, or are an oddly obsessive spotter of Swiss electric trains. Montblanc: You couldn’t afford a JLC. You have since taken to the watch forums, declaring the superiority of Minerva, stating, “it’s over for the over $5K’s”. Secretly, you also hate stacked movement complications. Montegrappa - Chaos by Sylvestor Stallone: What the hell is wrong with you? Moritz Grossman: You are the head of an old family manufacturing firm in Bavaria. Your frauline, Hilda, urged you to finally treat yourself and upgrade from the reliable but tired Swatch on your wrist. Feeling a Lange was too recognizable to the men on the assembly line, you chose the Benu Power reserve, but only to wear at board meetings. Movado: You are either a 21 year old man wearing a Movado Bold at the club, or an 83 year old gentlemen wearing an original Museum piece. There is no middle ground. Mühle Glashütte: Your evangelical zeal for the brand makes you the human embodiment of those “allow notifications? ” pop-ups. You dream of becoming a mariner. MVMT: You are a millennial who drives a motorcycle. You have a collection of leather jackets. You hope someone comments on how well your watch matches your sunglasses. Nixon: You are a 32 year old man named either Chad or Brad living in Encinitas, California. As you spend most days on the beach surfing in your board shorts, you have a perpetual tan even in winter. You aren’t into watches, but your Base Tide was giving you good vibes from the surf-shop window, and it matches your leather Yogi bracelet perfectly. Nomos: While you initially could not afford a Swiss made watch in art school, you are now a successful Bahaus-style architect. You have a membership to your local modern art museum. While you prefer espresso, you drink drip from a vintage Braun coffee maker. Apple “Keynote Days” are like Christmas in June. Ochs and Junior: You sincerely collect promotional posters for modern art exhibits. You have an interesting job in either advanced engineering or product design at a well funded startup in Berlin. Somewhat obsessively, you refuse to wear any items with visible brand names. Even you can’t always tell what the hell the date is on your perpetual calendar. Oris: You are frequently found on watch forums, starting, “Why buy an Omega when you can get virtually the same quality for half the cost? ” You think the Sixty Five is exactly what your grandfather would’ve worn - if he was cooler, and not a rural school teacher from Iowa. You are secretly trying to save for a Rolex Sub, but need the cash for your PADI training. Omega: You are intimately familiar with all 12 manned Apollo missions. You eagerly anticipate the next James Bond film. You refer to your Seamaster as “the thinking man’s Sub, with a better movement”. Bonus points if you know who George Daniels is. Orient: You are a senior in high school. You love your Bambino, but as you know watches, you don’t claim it’s equivalent to something more expensive. You dream of winning the lottery. You are pure. Panerai: You frequently exclaim, “What’s the point of wearing a watch if no one sees it? ” You live in California, and exclusively wear short sleeves. You are unusually familiar with the Italian Navy’s WWII operations, glossing over the period 1940-1943. Parmigiani Fleurier: You are the scion of an old, proud Italian banking family. While you of course have a few Patek’s tucked away in the vault at your Lago Maggiora villa, your father, Luca, gifted you your Tonda Tourbillon because he errantly believed it was an Italian brand “like from the old days, bene! ” You don’t have the heart to correct him. Parnis: You desire a replica Daytona, but your country’s customs force is extremely efficient at confiscating goods that violate trademarks. Patek Philippe - Type 1: You took off from work to watch the Henry Graves Super Complication auction livestream. You think the Nautilus is overvalued, preferring the khaki green Aquanaut instead. You are possibly John Mayer, but if not, you hope one day to actually own your own Patek. Patek Philippe - Type 2: You are a Russian oligarch. You assert that a hacking seconds “damages the movement”. Though you’ll never say so openly, you are secretly jealous of the finishing on a Lange. You feel reassured when you see one of those “For the next generation” ads. Philippe Dufour/Laurent Ferrier/F. P. Journe: You are a Russian oligarch, but with exquisite taste. Piaget: You claim that the Calatrava and Patrimony "smell of old man". You frequently end arguments with "yeah, inest movement in the world. " You cannot actually afford a Calatrava or Patrimony. Poljot: In the old days, you were a MiG-23 fighter pilot for the Motherland. Your Poljot, along with your state-issued Volga GAZ-24 sedan, marked you as a man of importance among the proletariat. Sadly, in your current job as grocery store guard, only the old babushkas recognize your former glory. It would kill you to know that 30-year old gamers bought your watch online because they thought the Cyrillic on the dial looked cool. Rado: You are a material scientist tenured at a prestigious university. You have no interest in watches, but could not pass up the mystery and wonder of a watch that never scratches. Everything from your pots to your pants are coated in Teflon. Raymond Weil: Are you sure you aren’t wearing a Maurice Lacroix with Roman numerals? RGM Watch Co: You are a 62-year old Boomer living in Pittsburgh, PA. As you are retired - with pension - from your job as a chemical engineer for US Steel, you have plenty of time to hobnob on. You post multiple photos of your 801-COE in various lights, to the eager approval of all twelve forums members. You can’t tell anyone, but you voted for Donald Trump. Richard Mille: If you weren’t an American billionaire, you’d probably be buying an Invicta - with the logos removed, you surely couldn’t tell the difference. You make sure to wear your watch when interviewed by Fortune, with the sleeves of your silk Dolce & Gabana shirt rolled up. Roger Dubuis: You are a Argentinian Striker, recently relocated to the UK with Manchester United. Stacy, your loyal WAG, got you the Excalibur after you instructed your assistant to leave notes around your Wilmslow mansion with explicit purchasing instructions. All involved acted surprised on your birthday. If you are being honest, you sometimes confuse it with your Richard Mille. Roger W. Smith: You are the scion of a Japanese telecommunications fortune. You love discussing horology, but only online. You are that unusual combination of billionaire and introvert, perhaps due to your secret insecurity in your own abilities. You fantasize about how one day, Otuo-San will notice your Series 2, and nod approvingly at you with his tight-lipped grimace. In your own quiet way, this is how you show off. Rolex - Sub (Ha! ) Type A: ROLEX ROLEX ROLEX. YOU CAN’T BUY ANYTHING BUT A ROLEX IT’S THE ONLY THING WITH RESALE VALUE. HAVE YOU SEEN MY TWO-TONE SUB WITH THE CYCLOPS? I LIKE IT ‘CAUSE IT HAS WRIST PRESENCE. Rolex - Sub Type B: You frequently re-watch all Sean Connery Bond films, asserting that Daniel Craig is not a “real” Bond. You know the difference between the 1016 Caliber 1560 and 1016 Caliber 1570. You believe steel can stretch with minimal effort. You prefer watches with rusted dials and no date. As you frequently speak full sentences consisting solely of reference numbers, it is assumed by passerby that you work for a secretive government agency. Rolex - Sub Type C: You are a successful Italian-American contractor. You wear a two-tone Datejust - your only watch - which never leaves your wrist. On vacation at the resort in Cabo, you make sure your wrist is angled properly so the waiter can see it when taking your order. Rolex - Sub Type D: When you found out your wife was pregnant, you rushed to purchase a "birth year" Sub. Your son will not get to wear it until you are dead. Rolex - Sub Type E: You are a researcher who spends all day next to an MRI machine. While you never wore a watch before, you found yourself suddenly desperate for one after seeing an eerily personalized ad for the Millgauss pop up on Facebook. After the initial triumphant forum pic, the novelty wore off, and most days you just check the wall clock. Romain Jerome: You have no compunctions wearing a watch made from the Titanic. You have more money than sense. Scuderia Ferrari: Your friends know not to utter the word “Lamborghini” for fear of starting a rant. Your firstborn son is named Enzo. Your Pilota watch, Ferarri ball-cap, keychain, and limited edition Scuderia Ferrari for Ray-Ban aviators all proudly accompany you as you step into your 2004 Honda Civic. Seagull: It took quite a few shifts at the Dairy Queen, but you finally got your Ocean Star. You feel like you need a dress piece too, but are unsure when you’d ever wear it. One day, with a JLC on your wrist, you will look back upon this time wistfully. Seiko: You are starting college this Fall. You spend most days on watch forums, hoping to find newbies asking for help so that you can steer them your way. You think the Seiko 5 is the best value per dollar in horology. Deep down, you know that if you ever won the lottery, you’d trash them all for a stable of platinum Langes. Sekonda: On the way to a job interview as a Transport of London station cleaner, you decide a watch will make you look more reliable. You grab the cheapest Sekonda Classic from Mr. Singh’s newsstand, and make sure to check it copiously during your interview. You are surprised when you do not get the job. Changing the dead battery three days later, you are puzzled by the Cyrlic writing inside the case. Shinola: You are a Clinton, or an oddly proud Detroit native. You think the “Made in the USA” controversy was a hit job egged on by Hodinkee. You have average sized wrists, but think they are larger than they really are. You have a weakness for wire lugs. Sinn: You are subscribed to the WatchBuys newsletter. You cannot afford an IWC. You post numerous photos of your Sinn 356 Flieger, in a vain attempt to reassure yourself that the acrylic crystal was the right choice. Skagen: You drive a used but well loved Volvo. While you know nothing about watches, you found it cumbersome to check your dumb phone for the time, and began your search for something practical but affordable. As you know the quickest shortcut to get to the cafeteria at your local IKEA - where you get the meatballs weekly - an ostensibly Danish watch held some appeal. You are unaware that Denmark and Sweden are different countries. Speake-Marin: ”A touch loud? What do you mean, leopard print pants with a leather jacket is loud? ” Squale: You cannot afford a Rolex Submariner. Steinhart: You could not afford a Rolex or IWC. While you truly enjoy wearing your Hulk Sub homage, deep-down, you question where the line is between imitation and theft. Stowa: You enjoy having an altimeter strapped to your wrist, but cannot afford an IWC. You would love to mention its WWII history, but are unsure how to do so without appearing insensitive. Stührling: American Airlines flight 1257, direct to Dallas, seat 48B. Two hours in, You saw the Depthmaster in the pages of SkyMall and knew you couldn't pass it up. Swatch: You are a child in elementary school, or a successful, established artist. You love color. You have a watch collection, but they are all Swatches. You wish you could buy another one of the Irony whose crystal cracked when you dropped it on your kitchen floor. Swiss Legend: You could’ve bought the Esq. brand chrono - with the same Chinese Quartz movement - for $139, but then it would’t say “Swiss” on the dial, would it? Tag Heuer: Your first “real” watch was a Link, which you initially saw in the pages of Golf Digest/Tennis Magazine. For the longest time, you had a crush on Maria Sharapova. The chip on your shoulder is slightly lessened when you see photos of vintage Carreras online. Timex: You are a senior citizen, or an aspiring US presidential candidate. In either case, your grandson is suddenly asking to borrow your watch. Tissot: You just got your first job out of college, but it pays less than the Longines fellow. You appreciate either classic or ridiculously bold design. After a long career, you will one day own a Rolex. Triwa: You are a full-time Instagram influencer. Perhaps one day, you will regret the purchase of your Donald Trump “Comb Over” watch - but not today. Tudor: You assert that the Black Bay 58 is what Rolex “used to be”. You take pride in the quality of the bezel on your Pelagos. You either never will admit, or say all the time, that you wish you had a Rolex. Tutima Glashütte:As the only way to acquire a Lange would be to sell a kidney, you eagerly sought out an alternative still made in your mythical Glashütte. You fancy yourself a sportsman, though this is usually only expressed by the bench press. While you wear your Grand Flieger daily, if pressed, you could not articulate why, exactly, your watch had to be German. Ulysse Nardin - Type 1: What exactly do you think you are, some kind of enthusiast? Ulysse Nardin - Type 2: As soon as you saw the Minute Repeater Voyeur - with a lifelike orgy scene on the dial, complete with moving “parts” - you knew you needed that kind of artistry in your life. Urban Jurgënsen: Was your watch produced by the Swedish Chef? Vacheron Constantin: You think a Calatrava is an ugly duckling compared to the all-encompassing beauty of a Patrimony. You refer to the period from 1987 - 1996 as “the Dark Times”. You wish resale value were higher, but blame Patek fanboys. Various Microbrands: You are subscribed to the “Affordable Watches” forum on WatchUSeek. You have a Google Alert on Kickstarter so you don’t miss the latest limited release. You are saving for a vintage Rolex, which increasingly appears out of reach. You are filled with a mixture of delight and despair when someone asks, "is that a Rolex? " of your Mk II Nassua. You have a love/hate relationship with Jason Lim of Halios. Various Vintage: You are Fred Savage. You think anything over 36mm is garish. While you wear your vintage Omega (original dial, of course) all the time, you have been known to slip on your modern Rolex Sub for the beach. You spend your weekends at estate sales, dreaming of coming across an unrecognized Patek for $150, which you bargain down to a clean $100. Victorinox: After your brief fling with Chinese watches, you decided it was time to step up to Swiss made. You wear your Fieldforce proudly in Econ 101, desperately hoping Brittany will notice it. Plus, you already had the matching backpack. Vostok: You are a value-oriented teen gamer, or an elderly Russian pensioner. You have 9 inch wrists. Zenith: You make half-hour long YouTube videos consisting of you chanting into the camera, “El Primero. El Primero. First Automatic. “ You scoff at the JLC 751A as a rushed copy. Deep down, you believe the world is unjust, and fear your brand will never be properly recognized. Zodiac/Doxa: You are a certified Master Scuba Diver Trainer. You smile indulgently at your wealthy tourist clients, who have Submariners and Fifty Fathoms on their wrist. After you've been tipped, you love nothing better than to hand over your SeaWolf/Shark for inspection, casually stating "This baby's been down to 250 feet, no problems. How about yours? " Edit: Adding some more as suggestions. Last batch was: Frederique Constant, Junghans, Hamilton, Nomos, Panerai, Tag, Tissot, Tudor. Also split Invicta into two. Thanks for my first gold and kind words stranger! Edit 2: Some are disappearing when I make edits, re-added Swatch. Edit 3: Added Bell & Ross, Baume et Mercier, Sinn, Various Microbrands. Edit 4: Added Various Vintage. Thanks agin for the gold! Edit 5: Added Glashütte Original, Jaquet Droz, Stowa. Edit 6: Couldn't help myself, added Jacob & Co, Oris, Squale, Zodiac/Doxa. Edit 7: Added Fossil and Michael Kors. Modified Daniel Wellington. My first Platinum, thank you! Edit 8: Added GP and Zenith, split Seiko/Grand Seiko, and added one more Rolex Sub (phrasing! ) Type (D). Recognized John Mayer as the Patek expert he really is. Edit 9: Added Movado. Slight tweak to Hamilton. Edit 10: Added Piaget. Edit 11: Added Montblanc, Richard Mille, Shinola, and Steinhart. Edit 12: Added Bremont, Edox/Mido, Parnis. Edit 13: Added Christopher Ward, De Bethune, and MB&F. Modified Frederique Constant. Edit 14: Added Bulova, Franck Muller. Edit 15: Modified Franck Muller, added Marathon. Edit 16: Added Laco (hat tip to Byki! ), Maurice Lacroix. Edit 16: Added Swiss Legend. Edit 17: Added Damasko, Dornblüth & Sohn, Garmin, Klasse14, and split Ulysse Nardin into Types 1&2. Edit 17: Added Ball (hat tip to AudiMars and icecityx1221). Clarified that 12 Apollo missions only were manned. Thanks for the sticky Mods! I am humbled. Edit 18: Split Casio into Casio and G-Shock; added Concord and Ebel. Edited Marathon for clarity. Edit 19: Added Bovet, Hermes, HYT, Seagull, and Victorinox. Edit 20: Added Chopard, Corum. Edit 21: Added BVLGARI, Diesel, Glycine new and vintage, and Rolex Sub Type E. Edit 22: Added Chanel, Christiaan Van Der Klaauw, and Rado. Edit 23: Added Apple Watch, H. Moser & Cie, Ochs and Junior, and Scuderia Ferrari. Edit 24: Added Montegrappa Chaos, Romain Jerome, Stürhling Edit 25: Added Azimuth, Certina, Ginault, Graham, Johan Eric, Lip, Sekonda, Skagen. Edit 26: Added Carl F. Bucherer and Nixon. Edit 27: Added Alpina, Meister Singer, and updated Sekonda. Edit 28: Thanks so much for the Gold! Added Cuervo y Sobrinos, Eterna, Hautlence, Grönefeld, Luminox, Moritz Grossman, Speake-Marin, and Triwa. Edit 29: Added Balticus, Burberry, Kobold, and JS Watch Company. Edit 30: Added Lorus, Roger W. Smith, Mühle Glashütte and Tutima Glashütte. Edit 31: Added Fortis, Mondaine, Poljot, RGM Watch Co. and Roger Dubuis. Edit 32: Couldn't help myself. Thread is archived so no promises, but feel free to message me with any requests. Last updated: 12/07/19.

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巴里のアメリカ人 movie online play. 巴里のアメリカ人 Movie online. 巴里のアメリカ人 movie online latino. Potrait of Gertrude Stein by Pablo Picasso, 1905–06 Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946) was an American novelist, poet, playwright, and art collector. Born in the Allegheny West neighborhood of Pittsburgh and raised in Oakland, California. Stein moved to Paris in 1903, and made France her home for the remainder of her life. She hosted a Paris salon, where the leading figures of modernism in literature and art, such as Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, Ezra Pound, Sherwood Anderson and Henri Matisse, would meet. Gertrude Stein reads, "If I Had Told Him; A Completed Portrait of Picasso" Stein met her life partner, Alice B. Toklas, on September 8, 1907, on Toklas's first day in Paris, at Sarah and Michael Stein's apartment. On meeting Stein, Toklas wrote: "She was a golden brown presence, burned by the Tuscan sun and with a golden glint in her warm brown hair. She was dressed in a warm brown corduroy suit. She wore a large round coral brooch and when she talked, very little, or laughed, a good deal, I thought her voice came from this brooch. It was unlike anyone else's voice—deep, full, velvety, like a great contralto's, like two voices. " Phote; Gertrude and Alice, 1944 Together they hosted a salon in the home they shared at 27 rue de Fleurus that attracted expatriate American writers, such as Ernest Hemingway, Paul Bowles, Thornton Wilder, and Sherwood Anderson; and avant-garde painters, including Picasso, Matisse, and Braque. Home movie, circa 1927, of Gertrude, Alice and The Stein family With the outbreak of World War II, Stein and Toklas relocated to a country home that they had rented for many years previously in Bilignin, Ain, in the Rhône-Alpes region. Gertrude and Alice, who were both Jewish, escaped persecution probably because of their friendship to Bernard Faÿ who was a collaborator with the Vichy regime and had connections to the Gestapo, or possibly because Gertrude was an American and a famous author. Gertrude's book "Wars I Have Seen" written before the German surrender and before the liberation of German concentration camps, likened the German army to Keystone cops. Wiki Alice B. Toklas interview in 1957 Selected Writings Of Gertrude Stein, Read online or download free. Other books by Gertrude Stein, free download in several formats.

WOW ! VERY GREAT. Ŵ里ãã‚ãƒãƒªã‚«äºº Movie online casino. On October 16, 1984, in the Vosges mountains of eastern France, little Grégory Villemin was kidnapped from the family home in Lépanges-sur-Vologne around 5:30 PM in the evening, and four hours later, at about 9:15 PM, his body was discovered down river in the waters of the Vologne. Prior to the crime, the family had received several threats by telephone and by mail from someone who became known as « Le Corbeau », a reference to a 1943 French movie of the same name. His mother Christine would later be accused of the crime, only to be totally and permanently exonerated, and his father would spend several years in prison for murdering the initial suspect. It is one of the most sensational, media-driven cases in my opinion, especially in France, and this has led to many years of debate between parties who are bitter and angry. One can learn more about the case via Wikipedia and the Netlfix documentary Grégory, as well as the France 3 documentary La Malédiction de la Vologne currently online for European/French viewers. According to FranceInfo, today, the « cour d’appel de Paris » has nullified the « garde à vue » (a form of involuntary initial detention; if I’m not mistaken, American law wouldn’t have a direct equivalent, because of probable cause but it’s closer to English law’s detention on reasonable suspicion) of Murielle Bolle, a teenager at the time, who accused her brother-in-law Bernard Laroche of the kidnapping and murder of little Grégory. Any of the statements made while in police custody are no longer admissible, although statements made before the beginning of the « garde à vue » are still admissible. If I understand correctly, someone in custody is clearly informed of the beginning and end of the period of « garde à vue ». So some statements in the first interview ( une audition) as well as in other periods with Jean-Michel Lambert, the juge d’instruction (an investigating magistrate which performs the equivalent of a grand jury’s work but is closer to, but not equivalent to, the work of a judge in an Article 32 hearing in the American military according to the UCMJ), are still admissible and remain in the dossier, the report of all evidence and statements.

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巴里のアメリカ人 movie online hindi. 巴里のアメリカ人 Movie online casino. Insert obligatory throwaway account explanation. It applies. I come from a really small town. Think of the littlest, most nothing-happens-here city extended layover in your flyover state nightmares, and my hometown is even more quiet than that. Think, half a mile or more between neighbors, a single main street downtown, one McDonalds, one department store, one movie theater with three screens, where everyone goes Friday and Saturday night. Church every Sunday, everyone knows everyone else, or at least knows their business, the whole city is invested in the fortunes of the high school football team, that sort of place. Graduating class of sixty. Not because the senior class was dumb. It was just a tiny high school. I didn't really fit in at school, and kind of was a loner by choice. I cringe about it now that I'm almost twenty-six, but I was a wannabe emo/goth rocker. I still got invited to party with the other kids, not because they liked me, necessarily, but because there just wasn't many people to invite. My mom baked cookies and cakes for church, and when she wasn't doing that, she cut hair in the town's one salon. My dad owned an internet cafe for a while when those were hot; once everyone even in our little nowhere town got WiFi, he turned it into a tax service. Business is always slow because most people did their own taxes, but he didn't really depend so much on his business. He served twenty years as a petty officer in the Navy, and so he and mom got by on his pension. In high school, I worked at the private burger place that competed mostly unsuccessfully against the town's single chain fastfood restaurant. My boss always told me I should ask my mom to cut my hair to "stop looking like a dang girl. " No thanks, old man. So, with all this boredom everywhere, you can imagine the sensation "Miss Amber Fontaine" caused when the high school hired her to be the eleventh and twelfth grade English teacher. Miss Fontaine was of French extraction, and had moved to America in her later teens to go to college in New York. She was only twenty four, and very beautiful. She spoke perfect English, but did so with a very pleasant accent. Obviously, all the guys loved her, and lots of women hated her. She appeared oblivious to all the attention, however, and just stuck to her job. Really, we didn't know too much about her. She mostly kept to herself and nobody ever saw her hanging out with any men in town, and it wasn't for lack of the men's trying. It soon became clear that she wasn't into dating any of the men our city had to offer. Much later on I found out that she had just taken the job in our small town to gain experience, with a future goal of being a college professor in a big city. A sort of two year plan. Obviously I had a crush on her. We all did. It was and still is a small, church-going town, so nobody really acted out on his urges or tried to harass her or anything like that. As guys, we'd talk about how hot she was amongst ourselves, usual locker room stuff teenage boys do, but that was it. My one real out of school experience with Ms Fontaine was when she stopped by the burger joint I worked at and saw me working there. She told me I had a nice smile, and that she wished I smiled more because in school I was always frowning (because I was in my emo, "everything sucks" phase). When the food preppers came up with her food and handed it to me to give to her, I was impressed and not at all surprised that she ordered a salad. She didn't strike me as someone who ate the greasier slop we sold there. In school the following Monday she smiled at me in the hall and I smiled back. Then she said, "you're learning, " but not in a condescending or patronizing way. Just a fun, kidding way and I exchanged a smile with her every time after that. And that was the extent of my great, high school romance with Ms Fontaine. Exchanged a few hellos and smiles during my senior year, when I was seventeen. Things changed the following year, though. I was eighteen and still working at the burger joint, when Ms Fontaine comes by the restaurant. "Oh hey, OP! " she says, and asks with real seriousness, "are you going to college? " I tell her the truth. I'm working with my band (I cringe about this period in my life, too), playing guitar, and saving money for community college. Only sort of truth about the last thing. Honestly, most of my money I spent on weed and ecstasy. I was the main vocalist in addition to being guitarist, and our band's only other member's were "Jerry" the bassist and "Gabe" the drummer. Both of them were just out of high school, like me. And, like me, they had no plans to go to college. Gabe worked at the same burger joint as me, and Jerry, who had been one of my best friends in high school, ironically worked at the chain fast-food restaurant down the street from my restaurant. Our lives at this time revolved around wasting our youth, skateboarding, getting high, and playing in our punk band (we liked to think that we played an emo/punk/metal fusion, but looking back our sound hasn't aged well). Ms Fontaine tells me that now that she's in her second year of teaching, she has a better sense of how to do things. She tells me that she wished that her current students were as well-behaved and put in as much effort as me. I earned mediocre grades throughout school but consistently earned an "A" in English because I liked to read. She says she'll see me around. A few days later she comes in to the restaurant again, and we get to talking, and she asks me if I'd like to go to a movie. I can tell she's bored because there's really no one her own age for her to hang out with in town, or if there are, they're all lame. I think we both get the feeling that it's natural we should hang out. And now that I was completely out of high school and she wasn't my teacher, and we were both adults (by this time I was newly eighteen and she had just turned twenty five), why not? So, that's how it started. We'd meet up in the early evenings, totally innocent, and go to the movies, or to dinner at the one good restaurant in town. Ms Fontaine was cool about letting me slide when it came to paying for our dates because she knew I made minimum wage. It was actually me, who started to push our relationship to the next level. After a while I started to hold her hand when we walked places, and finally we started kissing. Never in front of anyone. She taught me a lot of French words and phrases over the next summer and fall while we were going out. My parents knew I was sort of dating my former teacher, but since it was key word "former" they didn't really raise any stink about it. Ms Fontaine would always try to convince me to go to college, but she did see our band play a few times when we got a rare gig at the roller rink, and she was nice enough to not tell us what she really thought of us LOL. We didn't have sex until we had been dating casually for nearly two months. That was my idea, too, but she admitted that she really liked me and she wanted it to happen ever since we reconnected earlier that year, after I had graduated. I'm not the kiss and tell type, but my bandmates sort of knew that the dynamic in my relationship with Ms Fontaine (she had been "Amber" ever since we first made out) had changed. They appeared cool with it. I stopped doing so much dope and really began putting money away to save for college. The JC near my house was super cheap. Amber would often tell me she thought about applying there for work, but said that she really wanted to move to the West Coast, or back to the East Coast to teach at a college. Eventually, she told me she'd like me to come with her. After a few months, I was in love with Amber and she was in love with me, too, she said. We didn't throw our relationship in people's faces or show public affection, but it's not like we pretended not to know each other, either. Amber had come around the house and my parents really liked her, and thought she was a great influence on me. I didn't exactly cut my hair, but I was neater and more presentable, and eventually I really did begin enrolling in GE classes at the local two year. But then, things went downhill fast. Out of seemingly nowhere, Amber got called in for a meeting with the local school board. This is my secondary account of the situation, as Amber was the one there, not me. There had been reports that she was dating a former student romantically (they were talking about me). And that she was having a sexual relationship with said student when he was still a minor and still attending high school. Of course, she denied everything. Of course, they believed nothing. She had sent me a desperate text, and since ours is a small town (I think I've mentioned that a couple of times already), I was at that meeting in literally ten minutes. I told them the truth, that I was in Ms Fontaine's class in twelfth grade, and that I was her student. That was all. I told the truth that we reconnected several months after graduation, and only then did we begin dating. And I was over eighteen. The opinion of the board was essentially, "look son, we appreciate the noble effort you're making to defend your friend's honor, but we're looking for the truth here, not omissions. " I insisted that I was telling the truth and not trying to cover anything up. After a lot of tears, Amber was simply warned that it wasn't becoming of a teacher to be seen with students outside campus, even if they're former students. And we assumed that was all. We were really wondering who complained about us, or who would make up tales about us having sex while I was still a minor and a student of Amber's. I was staying at Amber's apartment by this time (I kicked in a portion of the rent of course). I had even met her parents, albeit only on webcam. They're good people. They don't speak a lot of English, but Amber filled them in on missing pieces. They knew my age and they were cool about it. We assumed it was just small town gossip and that it would blow over. Boy, were we wrong. Over the next several weeks after Amber's meeting with the school board, vicious rumors started to spread about her. I won't insult your imagination. You know what people were saying. One day my boss at the burger joint just told me he had to let me go. Some flim flam excuse about the store losing money, and my hairstyle was driving away customers. Whatever, dude. Amber told me it wasn't my fault, and promised to support me while I looked for another job. But then one day, SHE got fired, too. She was working as a probationary teacher. It meant that during her first two years, she could be fired for any reason, and actually, no reason had to even be given. Explanations were for those who earned tenure. We both knew why she was getting fired, but the district strongly implied that it was simply because she was an "ineffective" teacher. In her defense, I looked at the data on the district website, and the number of students from our school who did well on standardized tests in her subject area leaped by double-digit points during the time she was a teacher there. Her numbers were far above the state average, and to this day, since her departure, those same scores have nose-dived. Amber told me that students tended to respond well to her, and she was very popular among the students. It was true that she was immensely popular when I was a student, and I'll assume the same carried true the year after I graduated. Aside from the obvious fact that she was eye candy, she was simply a good teacher, and a good person, and that's why the kids liked her. Lots of students threatened to riot when she was fired, but being the non-dramatic, non-attention-seeking person she is, Amber asked them to just focus on their studies and doing well, and helping their new teacher adjust when he or she arrived to take her place. My dad told her she ought to sue the district, but Amber didn't want the drama. Besides, she said, she was "allowed to resign" so that it wouldn't show up on her record as her having been fired. Also, she said that the district promised not to try to revoke her teaching credential. Her own parents suggested maybe she ought to come home to France, but she insisted on sticking it out in America. My parents were cool in that they offered to let her move in with us while she figured her life out. She's lucky that her parents are well off, because they gave her some money to relocate to California. She asked me please to come with her, that she loved me, and we could start new there. I've always wanted to move to California, so I jumped at the chance. My parents were happy that I was in a relationship with a good person who obviously cared about me, and gave us some money, too. We got an apartment together in the Los Angeles area. Neither of us drove, so we both got bikes to get around. Our new area was a world apart from my old life, though I know Amber's own teenage years were in Paris so Los Angeles wouldn't be as much of a culture shock for her. I immediately enrolled in a local community college and got a job as a waiter in a popular French restaurant. Our gimmick was that some of the servers actually spoke French. Over the last several months Amber had taught me a lot of French, so I was a popular server in that restaurant because I gave it "authenticity. " Unfortunately for Amber, the school district misled her about her teaching license. When they promised not to have her license revoked, they spoke the truth, but they left out the part where they would attach an official reprimand to it that accused her of inappropriate relations with students under her charge. So, whenever Amber applied for teaching jobs, this would immediately come up as a red flag on her applications. Another surprise red flag was that schools that she applied to would notice that she was fired from her last job. "No I wasn't, " she'd say. "I resigned. " "Yeah, but it says here you were forced to resign to avoid termination for cause. " Amber is seven years older than me, but I think in some ways I know a lot more about how nasty Americans can be than her. Everywhere she went, doors would slam, career wise. She appealed to the state teaching license organization, and they said they'd look into it, but months later, nothing came up. Calls to her former school resulted in her getting the runaround. No one knew anything. So, for the next several months I was paying our day to day bills and helping to support Amber, though I must acknowledge that the loans both our sets of parents gave us helped tremendously, and we couldn't survive without them. Finally, one day, Amber tells me, "you know what? F*CK trying to teach public school. Oh, and OP, I'm pregnant. " So, TWO pieces of good news. Many, many months later, Amber and I are happily married. Wedding was beautiful, in sunny Los Angeles. Amber's parents and mine and our families all attended. We had a pregnant honeymoon in France. We now have a son, Richelieu. I am closing in on earning my AA in Information Technology. I've been promoted to maitre d at the restaurant, and have health benefits for my wife and son. We live in a studio apartment, but at least it's a huge studio, and it's enough for now. Amber stays home with the baby, but she also teaches online English and French courses for a private school. So, even though she's blacklisted from teaching in the public K-12 district, she can still teach, which is her passion. More months pass, and I got my first job in IT, troubleshooting computers for a small company downtown. I make double what I used to at the restaurant, and my employer has a program where I can finish my BA while I work, and they will subsidize fifty percent for free, and the other fifty percent they will dock from my pay in small monthly installments. Sounds like an amazing deal, and I take it. We move to a bigger apartment. Amber is making her awesome contribution both as a mother and to our finances with her tutoring. We're planning for her to eventually go back to school for her graduate degrees so she can finally fulfill her dream of teaching college. "Oh, more good news, OP. I'm pregnant again. " Life is sweet, haha. So, while everything is going awesome, one day I get a text from mom. She was at a local school board meeting with her neighbors, regarding a bill proposal to hire more teachers. Apparently over the past few years, the population has grown, and the high school needed to expand. So now it's a two horse town, mom says. While she was at the meeting, my mom ran into Jerry's mom. Jerry, the bassist from my old band that I quit once I got into a serious relationship with Amber. My mom never met Jerry, or his mom. Or at least in a way that connected them to me. The reason was, because I never brought Jerry around our house. Because, for a couple of years, Jerry was my drug-supplier. He had the hook up for anything you wanted. Well what does all this have to do with anything. My mom doesn't know Jerry's mom, but she hears her and some other lady talking about me, and Amber. My mom heard them saying that Jerry had been the one to tell everyone about Amber and me supposedly having sex before I graduated, and his mom went straight to the school board. Their names as informers were protected under confidentiality. I had lost touch with Jerry over the years and had stopped playing music with him long ago. I knew he resented all the time I was spending with "my chick. " It's a shame because he used to be such a good friend of mine. It sucked that he was behind getting my now wife and mother of my child and soon to be childREN fired from her career. Jerry's mom was a teacher at Amber's former school of employment. It became a joke of ours—that his mom had such a huge stick up her @ss regarding prim and proper behavior, and was a goody two shoes teacher whose sh*t didn't stink... Yet her kid Jerry, a student at her school, is basically the biggest drug dealer in town. Also, looking back, I know he had a crush on Amber, too, and probably always resented that I got to be in a relationship with her, while he didn't. Maybe it's because she knows quality, you jerk. I was interested to learn that Jerry's mom was now on the school board. I didn't tell Amber about all this right away. I just asked her to tell me what she remembered about Mrs. [Jerry's mom]. She told me that Jerry's mom was always really mean to her, and often one of the main instigators in getting everyone (the adults) on campus to exclude her from teacher social activities. It's one of the main reasons why Amber didn't make friends with the other teachers. Amber tells me that the male teachers tended to be nice to her at first, but female teachers overwhelmingly despised her before they even knew her. Jerry's mom, Amber told me, was also the teacher she knows who started a petition not to renew her contract for even a second year at the school. This was the first I heard about this. Evidently only a few female teachers signed the petition, but the petition was placed in Amber's permanent file as "evidence" that the staff lacked confidence in her. They were basically setting her up to be fired even though she was doing a good job teaching, and the students liked her. Well, I'm more Cali than Iowa these days, but I still keep in touch with a few kids (now grown up) I knew in school, including Gabe the drummer from our old band. From what I hear, Jerry manages the burger joint I used to work at, because the old guy who owns it retired. I have a social media account but only use it to contact people in emergencies. I never update anything. My profile is practically blank, online. I'm not one of those people who checks it daily or uploads pics of my lunch. Didn't post about marrying or having kids or moving to LA. I told the people that matter directly. Jerry was still my "friend" on social media even though we stopped talking ages ago, so I clicked on his profile. Yep, he definitely managed my old place of employment. I clicked on his friends' and family's profiles and recognized his mom, my old history teacher. She was on the school board now. Sanctimonious as ever. I think I mentioned before that I came from a small town. And in a small town, there often isn't anything for bored kids to do other than do dumb stunts and do drugs. And for the biggest loser kids of all, a group that included me, we were dumb enough to record ourselves partying and talking sh*t and doing the aforementioned drugs. That's exactly what my band used to do all the time. Whenever we had a show, we'd go around taping ourselves using our cellphones. We'd take video of us rocking out, skating, drinking beer in the vacant lot, and take video of us getting high. We'd also talk to the camera. I haven't thought about the old recordings in years, but I never erased them from my old phones. I'm the kind of guy who hoards his old cellphones, not because I think they'll increase in value or that I find them especially interesting, but I kind of think of them like file cabinets of my past, because I don't erase anything. Aside from phone numbers, I don't really transfer data from one phone to its successor, easy as it would be. My current boss knows I used to do drugs, and they don't care. In IT, I'm told, everyone used to get lit, and many still do. I ask my wife, off hand, if her new job knows about what happened in our old town. She says yeah, but that they don't care about any of that. They only care that she teaches expert-level conversational French. That's what their clients—many of them traveling professionals—demand. Many of her coworkers, she tells me, had real felonies on their records, but her employer was a firm believer in rehabilitation. Copacetic. So I check some of my old videos, and find what I need. I have no trouble finding videos of Jerry getting high as a motherf*cker. That's like practically every video. And in practically every video, he brags about how his parents know he's a druggie and a DEALER and want to ship him off to the army and make a man out of him. The video I really want is... Nope, it's not on this phone. Maybe the LG? Nope, just more of Jerry rolling on ecstasy at a rave we snuck out of state to attend when we were in eleventh grade. Maybe my old Galaxy? Bingo. Jerry talks about how his mom knows all about his drug use and sometimes even smokes weed herself, with his dad. And how they caught him with cocaine once and yelled at him and his dad kicked his @ss, but then Jerry came home the next day from school to find that his mom was coked out on the kitchen table. And she had called in sick that day. The video was timestamped. I think that'll do. I still don't tell Amber. It would only upset her, in her condition. But I ask my mom for the contact info of all the people who are on the little town's school board. I already know the school's basic email address, and I graduated not that long ago and most of the administrators are still mid-career at my former high school. I still have their emails. I make a throwaway email account and attach all the relevant videos to it, and send it to everyone that matters in town. All the teachers, the administrators, even from elementary and middle schools, the church, the pizza place, the burger joint owner, the roller rink boss, you name it, they got the files. The files where Jerry exposes himself as a coked out drug dealer, with his mom having full knowledge of the fact, and her and her husband even indulging in the drugs themselves. The next day Amber asks me, while she's feeding our son, "Honey, why are you so happy? " I tell her, and she starts crying. "No, I'm not sad, " she assures me. "I'm just so happy you did this for me. " Then me, Amber, Richelieu, and our bun in the oven go for a walk because it's such a nice day. Still need a haircut. Not getting one. Do I even need to say what happened afterward? All this ancient history shouldn't matter. But in a small town, it's devastating. The videos are just of Jerry talking trash, who knows if he's even telling the truth? Doesn't matter. In a small town, gossip becomes gospel. Kind of like how everyone believed Amber and I were f*cking before I turned eighteen, even though that was 0% true, and they ran us out of town on a rail. My parents had to endure the fallout of my "disgrace" when I left town years ago with that "French tramp, " as all the idle busybodies have dubbed my wife. Mom and dad made their peace with it and have numbed themselves to the slurs, and always stood up for us. They are what's good about small town America. Jerry got fired from his job. Police searched his house—that is to say, his mom's house—and found a lot of drugs. Evidently when the rumors went flying that Mrs. Jerry's Mom had a drug-dealing son, kids busted for drugs at the high school caved under pressure to admit who hooked them up. Oopsie! So he WAS telling the truth! Jail for you, you c--kblocking d*uchebag. His mom was summarily dismissed from her job, along with all the appropriate blacklisting that being a drug-abusing, child-endangering, fraud-committing public official entails. My mom wasn't clear on the details, but there's a possibility she had her husband might face jail time, too. It came out that Jerry's dad had been cheating on his wife for years with a woman from the church. Jerry's whole family are persona non grata. They want to leave town, but can't pending court case. Until then, they'll just be hated to their face. I'll hate them from across the country. Small town. Everyone knows everyone. Or, at least their business. Which means sooner or later word will slip, people will drop the "it's confidential" charade and figure out that I was responsible for a family's downfall. I DGAF. Jerry, you listening? Good. Come at me, bro.






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