Salutations

I was feeling quite healthy and excited the day I left the states for my trips to Paris, France and Dorset, England. I had no hint that I would suddenly become ill with a dreadful cold less than 24 hours after arriving in Paris. This sucked. So my companions all willing, dragged me out of my sick bed and strolled along with me under a November Paris sky and then in and out of a number of pub's and cafe's.

That first night out, Paris was full of frolic and festiveness. It was a celebration called, Beaujolais. Bands playing in the streets, people dancing, drinking their wines, laughter...How I had been wishing that I felt well enough to dance and sing in the streets with all those around me. I simply felt like the someone I was, suffering from a cold, fever and headache.

We found a welcoming pub and went inside. The waiters were all wearing straw hats with black ribbons that had the words Beaujolais Festival written across them. We ordered some food and as the Bottle of Beaujolais was on the house, we each ordered a bottle. I had half a glass. Our waiter came round and between my attempt at speaking French and his at speaking in English, he was able to understand that I was suffering from a cold and the wine was just making me feel sleepy. He left the table for a moment and then returned with a menu. This was a menu listed with a variety of beers they offered. Beers from nearly every country one could name.

I shook my head saying that I'm not a beer drinker. I hate the taste of beer, (having tried a couple of American beers in the past kept me away from beer from that time on.)
The waiter pointed to a beer. My companion who speaks French like a native,was telling the waiter to bring me the beer he was suggesting.
This time the waiter returned with a thick glass mug containing the most beautiful colored liquid I had ever seen. It was topped with what appeared like heaps of whipped cream. 'It will make you feel much better very quickly', said the waiter with a sincere smile.

Well, he was right. The beer was cold and creamy and by the time I had finished it, my fever had dropped in temperature. And I began feeling quite well. My headache was gone!
The waiter asked if I'd like another. I told him I really enjoyed the first one but I'd like to try a different beer. I was feeling quite adventurous so ordered a beer made from cherries. That had quite a kick. On the way back to our hotel room, I danced on the sidewalk while wearing a straw hat with my waiters ribbon tied round it. (a souvenir, he insisted)

I've always enjoyed a good bottle of wine. In France I thought I'd be enjoying even more bottles of wine. However, on this trip it was a different beer from a different country all the way.
And thanks to a well meaning stranger,(my young French waiter) not looking for a tip, but rather wanting to give me one, I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes its to ones advantage to accept a tip from a stranger. I never knew before I met this Frenchman that the yeast that goes into the fine art of beer making actually has health benefits. It may not cure the common cold, but it certainly aids in causing one to feel as if it has.

Back home in the states I have gone into our Seattle taverns and from time to time I've ordered a mug of beer (I won't mention brand names, but it's a very dark beer with a thick head of creamy white that begins with the letter, G.) But, I must admit that psychologically the beer never tastes as good as it did that first night I tried it, sitting under a November Paris night sky and my
Beaujolais straw hat!

The film '300' should be seen by persons who would like to experience how it feels to move upon an artist's canvas. To become one with every mixed medium in which this film was created visually.
As an artist, I fully appreciated the golden and silvery washed tones and hues of colors used throughout the film, bringing to the screen a two hour surreal experience in visual art. I felt as if I had been placed within one of the oil canvas's by artist, Cerquozzi, (known as Michelangelo of the Battles, in the 1600's)

There is also a great element of 'opera' to 300. From the way in which the film has been staged. The way in which the actors deliver their scripted lines. The period costumes and set designs. The choreography. The frightening sound effects, to the hauntingly beautiful music traveling through every corner of the theatre in which one is seated.
300 is not a film about the use of special effects, but rather that the effects in it are special. And magical. Every brush stroke is its own genius.

I didn't care to know the process of how this canvas was created, nor the tools used to bring it life. I'm interested in the final result of ones laboring hours put into their craft.
What often first appears ugly and violent in this film often becomes beautiful as it continues to unfold before ones eyes. 300 delivers an answer to only one true question, 'What did the artist, this film maker envision prior to putting his work up on the screen?'

The spoken word said aloud in 300 are minimum. I've probably written more words on this page then the subjects verbal exchanges which took place in the film. I realize there are some who have attempted with this film to cut out the tongues of its spoken word. Or pull them out and wag them into the ears of the 21st century as if they were their own.

However, if you can view 300 leaving it intact and can appreciate it as nothing more nor less than a beautifully executed painting, a moving canvas, you are also probably that one in a million whom upon viewing a self portrait by Van Gogh did not gasp, 'My god! He's missing an ear'; but rather remarked on the contrast between the specks of color in the artists eyes to that of the flowers he painstakingly painted in the back ground.