The Grand Affair

London, September 23, 2005

As appointed before, the restaurant The Wolseley was our targeted place for the Lunch break with the American; Paul. He was already there when I came on time at half past eleven. Instead of being the dark gloomy styled American he is so known for, Paul came wearing a blue shirt. Any reason for style change? We didn’t even get to that conversation. The Restaurant and the food were nice, and Paul was this amazingly witty and great person to hang out with, despite being an asshole-I-would-like-to-punch-in-the-face kind of guy when he argued about why I decided to stick with Lee. Jealous? Most obviously. But it’s just so typically Paul to suddenly drive me laughing shortly afte putting me through slight rage.

It’s funny that my perceptions towards Americans are constantly countered with the acquaintance of series of charming decent sophisticated Americans. I guess God has something to proof to me, and He’s not quitting until I agree.

Paul’s case is different than most American guys, though. That has something to do with him being in a band, I suppose. Now, being an American already brings you some sort of justification to talk vainly and practically degrading yourself back to the age of fourteen. Being a rock musician does even worse; you can act like a total baby if you want to and nobody dares to put any charge under your name. Paul is a living version of the complicated entanglement of the two elements. When the complicated entanglement carries a University degree, failing common perceptions, he suddenly becomes a really interesting person. It almost seems as if his unrealistic childishness is actually a part of his charm, thus far from the annoying image I have on most American guys.

When we were halfway through lunch a certain Frank M dropped by our table, certainly one face I want to lay my knuckles on really hard. Despite common ethics, Frank’s growing interest on Paul drove him into joining us in the most%