Day 6

         Felt much better after playing my songs til I fell asleep. Translated "Darling Please Come Over" into French and filmed it in bed:

Heartbreaker.
         I take the most comfort from my own songs, not due to narcissism, but because I forget who made them afterwards, so it's like listening to songs written just for me. So sad.
         Went to the Dali museum. It sucked. He really gave up trying after the 40s, every decade worse than the last. The one in Florida is much better.
This is a pretty good selfie though:

         He also published an interview with himself where he asked "How do you feel about the changes in the communist empire over the last century?" and replied "in terms of facial hair, there has been a steep decline," with this pic

         Went to Sacre-Coeur, it's such a ripoff, just a way for Catholics to rape tourists instead of children. Continued yesterday's hilarious joke tho:

Also paid a French mime .70 Euros to pose for this photo. I was proud to be able to successfully explain the joke of the shirt I made in French:

         Then I went to Montmartre and saw a guy with a guitar on the steps and asked if I could play a song. Translated "Bier" on the spot and he laughed at the first two lines but when I stumbled over the French he stopped listening. He and his friends were SOAD fans, nu-metal is popular among Europeans now.
I left and walked past this sign, which seems like a bad way to advertise something:

I'm glad I've seen how bad my French is firsthand. It's improved so fast, if I lived here a year I'd be fluent, but right now I sound like a fucking moron

Old Table hooked me up with a guy from here. I called him and was shocked to see he was the only person at my show at St Stef besides Guilhem. He and I talked for a while until the other friend of a friend showed up and I played my terribly-translated songs for them, lifelong dream come true:

         Then that Indian girl walked in w/2 women. I ended up playing for 2.5 hours, with a couple songs translated into French. At one point a middle-aged man walked in and asked what kind of music I play (in too-fast French). I told him "pop" and he shrugged, bought a drink and sat down. He kept pointing to his throat and telling everyone around him "his voice is like Elvis!" while giving the thumbs up and smiling. Dream come true.
         At one point, Guilhem passed the hat and I made a few Euros, felt perfect. Singing is the best activity. Then that Indian girl and I walked around, I think she knows she's been friendzoned. At one point I talked with 3 Parisians and followed the conversation perfectly, a proud moment. I went to bed totally satisfied for the first time all year. I became spontaneous and funny again, comfortable, walking around with that Indian girl afterwards.
We saw this amazing street mural:

         Then I went home. A French guy helped me fix my translations of my songs after my set, I think I'll only do those 2 in French and the others in English. I have no idea how long or what time I'm on at Pop-In.