BIBA

$10 keyboard from Rite-Aid that played mostly Christmas songs.
Biba fearless, reckless, and shirtless.
Grant and Jon holding down the beat.
Molly and I with the best seats in the house.
A dog in every corner of the yard.

And with that, Biba danced. And I mean, she tore the front porch down, channeling an amazing amalgamation of James Brown, Robyn, and Edgar Winter.


We did this for an hour.



When it was time to stop, Biba cried and cried in futile, childhood protest.

I believe we all cried, too. But only on the inside, as we have learned not to cause a fuss. We have learned that the fun inevitably comes to an end and you have to go to bed.

How do you explain that logic to a kid? You can't, because if you think about it long enough, you find that it makes no sense.

Le Monde Appartient à Ceux Qui Se Lèvent Tôt

I left the room at 5am with my Super 8 in hand to film the Parisian sunrise.

It was really hard to keep up the facade that I meant to dress in sandals and a sleeveless shirt while I walked through Monmartre in the rain. The weather had been perfect the past couple days, and I thought it was dark out, because, well, it was 5am... not because there were rain clouds doing their thing, and doing it well.

The sun wouldn't be rising that day. And that was ok. Because I was in Paris, and if there are two things I love, it's being alone and public transit systems. So a quick change of plans, and a quick look at the map and I was on my [soaking wet] way.

I hopped on and off the Metro a couple of times, and happened across an umbrella along the way.

There was not a soul in sight, save a couple of dedicated joggers and a groundskeeper.

Just me, in the rain, standing beneath the Eiffel Tower, hoping that the rest of the world would sleep in that day.