pretty pretty

LIZSAYS:I bought a pretty book today. It's got a Art Nouveau cover, it was irresistible after being in Amsterdam for about 25 minutes. 
The taxi tried to cheat us, as usual, but I actually told him how much I would pay and he agreed. We both felt good after the agreement, he probably got as much as he expected and not the inflated 11-14 euros he had offered me.
Working with these guys to get from the station to the hotel (which, frankly, is the only time they're going to see you until you leave) is their only chance to overcharge you, so they have to make it good. Understood. 
I hand wrote this LizandDick in the pretty book and am digitizing it now. Might want to rethink that handwriting thing.
Ok, so quote:
Pretty Pretty by Liz for the pages of the nice Art Nouveau covered book:
The only reason I am writing in this book is because it's pretty.
Pretty ugly Madame Amsterdam is showing her greasy, crap strewn canals. Girl is looking rough. The water, particularly lava gray, with a thin coat of greasy slime, passing cans, cups and smiles from magazines drifting by. Kinda like Television.
Shifting from a couple of seasons of Madmen (that Dick downloaded  over Thanksgiving in Wisconsin) and the evening gray mornings of Wintertime Paris, with a season of Breaking Bad's had sent me into a kind odd American tarnish, in Paris, where we sometimes have to turn the lights on at 9 a.m.. Yeah, we are talking all kinds of gray.
Throw in a couple of viewings of bits of Scorcese's Mean Streets and my mind was bound to go to some dove gray places. Let's face it, Mean Streets and Madmen do have their humorous bits so, it brightened to  dove gray.
We have been watching the last few seasons of Madmen at the rate of about 3 or so per night, around and through midnight.
Buster, the Goffin's cockatoo, nudging my hand for pets as I watch Oswald get shot by Ruby again and contemplate the flannel gray life of Madmen's Don Draper.
During one rainy Parisian day, we saw an exhibition called something like, "English Aestheticism in Oscar Wilde's Time", with exactly one photo of Oscar Wilde in it and none his writings or witticisms.
It was pretty pretty. So pretty, lush, sexy, almost too pristinely idealized but it was still a good, hop and skip further than its time.