Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Paris 1900: I. La Tour d'Eiffel

Prim Sidewalk Artist in the Metro

High Prim Count Here!

Photo Shoot Outside the Moulin Rouge
Written 4 June, 2007

Paris 1900

I: La Tour d’Eiffel

Sweetie and Mordecai and I had a grand time Saturday evening (well, it was the wee hours for my brother M.).

I suggested we go to Paris 1900, a sim about which I’d heard. That was okay with Mordecai. Sweetie asked if there were shops there.

“Fabulous fin de siecle haute couture,” I told her, lying, for all I knew, my ass off.

We materialized in a subway station that was complete with a prim statue of a graffiti artist. After we determined the train was there for show and not for go, we walked up a long flight of steps to exit the Metro.

I was stunned at the promenade onto which we emerged. There, ahead of us, was the Moulin Rouge! We walked along, passing a little green ornament (“267 prims!” gasped Sweetie) and an assortment of turn-of-the-century automobiles. (“Hmmph!” I scoffed. “These contraptions will never amount to anything!”)

After a fast portrait, we turned our attention to the buildings. The outside of the Moulin Rouge was plastered with replicas of posters by Toulouse Lautrec. I was eager to go inside and get a glass of absinthe, replete with wormwood, but by then we had all spotted that ornament of Paris, the newly completed Eiffel Tower.

Sweetie immediately went into a builder’s haze. She was away in a flash, with Mordecai close behind. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I’m sure they were hazy, too.

I took to the air to follow them—or, rather, I tried. No fly zone.

I HATE no fly zones.

I tried to rez a cube to sit on so I could drag it after them. No build zone.

I HATE no build zones.

I tried to rez a nonphysical shield on which I could sit. No script zone.

I HATE no script zones.

What, people couldn’t fly in 1900? Couldn’t build? Couldn’t script?

Those damn French!

And so I walked after them. I refused to run, for I don’t have a sexy run and I can’t stand to see myself in a newbie waddling gallop. But I eventually caught up with the them.

The tower was humongous, disappearing into the clouds. And the view from the base, looking up, paralleled the real experience, which I have been fortunate enough to have had maybe twenty times in my life.

“Low prim,” Sweetie said exultantly. “The girders are all textures.”

We teleported to the first platform, and then the second, which was the highest on this version of the tower (there are three levels in Paris 2007). There we found a machine that gave out free parachutes (Terra Chute 2.0). I slid on the Terra Chute 2.3 I bought a long time ago at Abbott’s Aerodrome, which requires arming and manual opening, and jumped. Sweetie, who hit the ground before me, took a great snapshot.

My landing was great, just feet from Sweetie—but my second jump wasn’t nearly so good. It seems the tower is on the border of four sims, and when I crossed one of the sim borders, Second Life weirdness threw me off the tower. I landed on the pavement in a pool of blood (a grisly feature of Terra Chute 2.3).

Still, what better place to die than Fin de Siecle Paris?

Just ask Oscar Wilde.

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