Kinda.

I have decided to go to France to study French for a year. Whimsy with practical application!

Brilliant.

Except no such program exists for the likes of me. I am without appropriate association, matriculation, or category. I do have the money, but not The Money that affords buying my way into living in France as I choose.

Yet, the more I hunt, the more it appears the most practical strategy is to buy my way into the country. So exciting! To be placed firmly in situ vis a vis the spiritu of the milieu of global capitalism!

Being industrious, fundamentally well-behaved and willing to cooperate with contemporary mores, I have now recommitted to a personal goal: That of winning all for myself the entire California (Please Play Responsibly) Super Lotto Jackpot. Buying my way into France has rakish appeal and is legal.

Brilliant.

Were I a genius of great renown, there is also some strategy for a year’s stay. Fresh out of renown, I am at Square One. Sans Lotto Winnings.

But I am renewed. I have bicycled the CA coast on a wobbly bicycle. French bureaucracy is nothing but opportunity.

Being renewed, my creativity is hungry for action. I eat barriers for lunch.

I shall convince France herself to support my learning in France! Who needs to court a single woman, when one could court an entire courtesan? I do not lack ambition.

So much in my favor: I promise to eat well, bike everywhere, and study hard. The French economy will benefit: I will be paying rent, buying food, paying outrageous prices. The Euro is a sinking. Get smart, dear France. I am a savior.

Plus, I have a brain injury. I make Slow Food look a tad rushed. France should leap to bare the barbaric American health care system for what it is. Christine, perfect poster babe for exposing ‘health’ and ‘care’ as defined by our InsuranceMedicalGovernment Complex.

Can you hear it? Mon Dieu! Provide the woman the opportunities she seeks! Take That M. O’ba~Ma, snub-maitre extraordinaire. Again, we are Lafayette!

And Just Think: I am not tired, nor poor, nor hungry. How convenient! Yearning to breathe free, definitely not huddled!

Very headline worthy. Good publicity. Mervellieuse.

So: a Consular visit to present my cogent case with poetic panache? Desire and sincerity are real; so is my brain. I am Summa Cum Laude, even if a tad impaired. Friends can testify I have long wanted to be inundated, indeed, overwhelmed, by 100 French women attending my every need. Surely the Consulate will be swayed by that detail.

In this day of globalization, I have a right to self-improvement and French dairy products. In this day of G8 cooperation, surely I am due an extended stay visa.

And! I am a candidate for asylum; tortured by provincial attitudes about raw milk, I suffer the dearth of good French raw cheese even in California.

I call upon France to strike a blow for la culture et la liberte de la nourriture.

Further, consider the bicycle! Honored travel that keeps me sightly and sprightly. No pollution of any variety. A boon for countryside and city alike.

Finally, I am an adult of good cheer. Even in the face of the current state of the world, and France’s inhospitality, I have no taste for bombs.

See? I am amazing.

Brilliant.

and… to be continued