Musing on the last decade

I hope this is not a cliché title. So 2009 will be dead and buried soon. My wife and I are going to celebrate it with a nice quiet dinner at home, with fizzy wine of course, then tomorrow with some friends.

Ten years ago, I celebrated the pseudo new millennium (in fact I will always defend that the new millennium, century and era started at another time) in Chicoutimi, with the mother of all hangovers, no friend to celebrate with (they were in Greenwich, of all places, while I had flown over to be with my family), a TV turned off to avoid a stupid, marshmallow show of Céline Dion Live, overall it was a boring evening and I discovered we were in 2000 fifteen minutes after midnight. It had barely started that I hated the new millennium already. That was me then: early twenties, hangover, feeling like an outsider at home.

It got better, eventually, at least on a personal level. I got my PhD, I did some acting, I met the woman who was going to be my wife, I eventually got married, I also got about a thousand jobs, some I did like, even loved, I discovered Liverpool. Collectively speaking, it quickly got worse. I often wonder if we are going to free ourselves from the influence of that deadly decade, or if we will sink deeper into the abyss of irrationality. On more trivial matters (but maybe not so trivial), I don't think we were much luckier. Music wise, the Noughties was for me a long agony, where I steadily grew old and out of touch, and couldn't care less, as I disliked the new "artists" and sank deeper into admiring singers from a glorious past that was not even mine. Movie wise, it had its good moments.

So now there are only a few hours to go. I will not miss all that much of it, although I am still dreading the future. After all, I am still in my early thirties right now. In a decade from now, I will be forty.

The train in question

My dad filmed the electric train at home and it is now immortalised on youtube, where my brother has an account. For people wondering what the fuss is all about, and who want to find answers to those questions, here it is:

Rennes (les animaux, pas la ville)

Je suis de retour de Bretagne depuis hier soir. Je compte publier certaines photos prises de là-bas dès que je les aurai téléchargées sur cet ordinateur. D'ici là, mon lectorat devra se contenter de "vieilles" photos de Noël, les plus récentes datant... du début du mois.

Je me suis rendu compte d'une chose en songeant à mon prochain billet (qui est celui-ci): renne au pluriel s'écrit exactement comme la ville de Rennes. Je ne suis pas allé à Rennes lors de mon séjour en Bretagne, je n'y suis en fait jamais allé depuis que mes beaux-parents vivent en Bretagne. Nous avons traversé Rennes quelquefois, mais jamais l'on ne s'y est arrêté. ce qui est un peu dommage, car j'ai au moins une amie qui y demeure. Enfin bref, je n'ai pas vu Rennes, mais j'ai vu au début du mois des rennes, ce qu'au Québec on appelle des caribous. Ils étaient exhibés à l'entrée de John Lewis (l'un de nos magasins préférés à ma femme et moi), près de leur Père Noël (un authentique vieillard avec une authentique barbe blanche). On pouvait les nourrir de lichen. J'ai une fascination toute enfantine pour bien des animaux, dont les cervidés, alors j'ai pris quelques photos. Elles ne sont pas très bonnes, mais elles donnent une idée.

Difficile de dissocier le renne du Père Noël, mais pour moi ils sont associés aussi aux pays scandinaves et aux Vikings. En caribou (donc en tant que viande sauvage), j'en ai déjà mangé dans la tourtière, bien sûr. Lorsque ma famille a voyagé en Suède, j'ai mangé du vrai renne suédois (avec sauce aux champignons, je crois). J'ai alors pu apprécier leur goût distinctif. J'ai une confession à faire (une autre): je préfère la viande sauvage et la viande de cervidé en particulier. Mais je ne les considère pas comme de la viande quand je les vois vivants. Ce sont des animaux fiers et superbes. Oh, et ils font de superbes décorations pour sapins de Noël, comme vous pouvez le voir plus haut.

Ending holidays

There is one thing I don't like about holidays in general and Christmas holidays in particular: they are not over yet that you can feel them dying. It is like a prolonged Sunday, which means you can feel the blues growing inside you every minute. If you think about it, Christmas is a bit like a doughnut: you got the days leading to Christmas and Christmas itself, then the hole of a quieter moment (in which I am now), then New Year. Inbetween, your time is sometimes filled by visiting friends and families through dinners and parties. When you don't have this, and even if you do, you have those moments when you feel the season to be jolly slipping through your fingers. No matter how often you get the electric train running, you always end up with that feeling of fatality, that melancholia.

This is why, I think, I prefer the time leading to Christmas to the day itself, and I was never that crazy about the New Year. New Year was always happening too late in the season, so to speak. I say that, and getting back to work always arrives too soon. When I was a child, the holidays lasted until Epiphany, which gave us a real, complete holidays (I blogged about it before), long enough to accept gradually its coming end.

Spécialités bretonnes

Ah, les vacances! Je me plains de l'absence de neige, mais il ne faut quand même pas bouder son plaisir. J'aime la Bretagne surtout quand il fait frais et qu'on peut apprécier pleinement son charme culinaire. Les beaux-parents ont eu la gentillesse de nous amener à Rochefort en Terre, l'un de mes villages préférés en Bretagne, où nous avons lunché/dîné ou, comme le disent les Français, déjeunés (expression absurde, puisque le jeûne se brise lors du premier repas de la journée).

J'ai donc mangé une galette norvégienne, ce qui veut dire une crêpe repas de blé noir au saumon et crème sûre. Ah oui, et puis il y avait une salade dessus pour accompagner. Après les excès de table des derniers jours (et les suivants, les Fêtes n'étant pas terminées), c'était un repas presque santé. J'ai descendu le tout d'une bolée d'authentique cidre breton, bien brumeux et bien doré sombre. Rien de trop beau pour la classe ouvrière, mais je tiens à dire que le cidre ici coûte moins cher que le vin ou même la bière. Et comme la teneur en alcool est relativement basse, je ménage un peu mon foie par la même occasion.

Mais c'est mon tour de taille qui risque d'en prendre un coup ces temps-ci. Car oui, le lunch était santé, mais le dessert pris plus tard en après-midi, lui... Pour faire une histoire courte, mes beaux-parents ont eu l'excellente idée de me gâter (c'est le cas de le dire) en m'achetant un authentique kouign amann (je fais beaucoup dans l'authentique ces temps-ci). Le plus drôle c'est que ma femme et moi avions décidé de faire de même en achetant par la même occasion des biscuits pour l'heure du thé. Alors j'en aurai un autre à manger demain car, pour une raison qui m'échappe, je suis le seul à aimer le kouign amann ici. L'heure du thé était donc un pur bonheur de boisson chaude et de dessert caramélisé.

Christmas atmosphere and geeky pastimes

I have a confession to make: I am a geek. Which means that I love what many geeks love: role-playing game and pseudo-medieval stuff. You have been warned, this post is about both.

I don't know if it is only me and my two brothers, but I strongly associate Christmastime with Dungeons & Dragons since I started to play the game, more than fifteen years ago, just as much as I associate it with Viking mythology. Any similar feeling from gamers among you? It just fits Christmas, for some reason, more than it fits other times of the year. It is partially because we only play D&Dr now during the Christmas holidays (not this time sadly, not this time), but not only for that reason. Cold winter days and evenings just encourage us to spend time inside throwing dices and playing characters, while eating some cupcakes or Swedish pastries (more on this another time). You can look outside and just see a travelling party walking in the snow. And when the Christmas tree is in, there is the smell that just makes you feel like you are in the woods.

There is also the music. My brother already blogged about it back in 2006. Jessye Norman's Christmastide for instance has many traditional songs that sets beautifully a D&Dr atmosphere. Another one I find particularly atmospheric is this very difficult to find Swedish Christmas CD. When your characters go on a journey or are on their way to a battle, put their rendition of La marche des rois. Goosebumps guaranteed. I also find many rendition of the Coventry Carol particularly good to imagine characters warming their bones by a fireplace somewhere, in an inn or a castle.

Below is an interpretation of the Coventry Carol. Next time, I might blog about crime fiction and Christmas.

Conte de Noël breton

Il fut un temps où les histoires terrifiantes et/ou les histoires de fantômes étaient racontées à Noël. Nous avons un peu oublié cela depuis que l'Halloween remplit cette fonction, mais Noël a donc servi d'arrière-plan pour bien des histoires surnaturelles. A Christmas Carol de Dickens appartient à cette tradition et quiconque l'a lu peut témoigner qu'en plus de la morale et des bons sentiments, il y a également une dimension effrayante à l'histoire. Au Québec, il existe bien sûr la légende de la Chasse-Gallerie, sans doute notre plus célèbre histoire de Noël. Puisque je fête Noël en Bretagne pour la première fois de mon existence, j'ai pensé donner sur ce blogue un lien qui mène à un conte sur l'Ankou. On peut retrouver cette histoire, ainsi que d'autres, dans ce livre, dont j'ai déjà parlé et que je recommande fortement. Un dernier avertissement: Le forgeron et l'Ankou n'a pas de fin heureuse.

Christmastide

It is Christmas today and for the first time I am celebrating it away from home, ironically enough where it is not snowing, while in England they will have their first white Christmas in years. I am enjoying it, but I can`t help feeling a bit bluesy, somehow. I thought I would put here a Christmas song immortalised by Jessye Norman, to calm my homesickness. At home, the CD is one of those classics we play over and over again, we simply cannot get tired of it. I hope you enjoy.

Jeux de société

Je passe peut-être Noël à l'étranger, mais il y a des choses qui ne changent pas, peu importe sur quel bord de l'Atlantique je suis: nous avons passé la soirée à jouer à des jeux de société. C'est également une tradition chez moi et ce, depuis l'enfance. Noël est également le seul temps de l'année où mes frères et moi pouvons jouer à Donjons et Dragons, tout en écoutant des classiques de Noël comme celui-ci (ce qui fait que maintenant j'associe la musique de Noël, quand elle n'est pas jazzée, au jeu de rôle fantastique-médiéval). Le geek qui ne sommeille que d'un oeil en moi va beaucoup regretter de ne pas pouvoir jouer cette année. Au moins, je pourrai profiter d'autres jeux.

Enjoying a quieter Christmas holiday

We might not have snow where I am, and I do miss many little things I am used to at Christmas (although my parents in law make gigantic fforts so I will not feel too homesick, they even bought bûches de Noël), but I am still enjoying the holidays tremendously. So far, it has been dolce far niente for me here. There is doing nothing and doing nothing of course. The first lead, or is a result of, boredom, and the other is simply enjoying doing very little after a time of frantic living. The period before the Christmas holidays is almost always frantic, and so are often the holidays. This year, we are having a quieter time, my wife and I.

Of course, enjoying inaction still means doing something enjoyable, without any pressure. So I am reading: local crime fiction (I don't know if it is any good yet, but so far it is fun), some Marjane Strapi book (always a pleasure), more comics books, etc. I am also drinking local beers (so far this is a very Breton Christmas), drinking tea (reading Broderies in the meantime, as it features Iranian women drinking tea), all this by the fireplace. Just this is enough to keep someone happy. Like the electric train, the fireplace is a Christmas tradition I have from childhood. It is nice to have the fire here too; it feels like home. I am generally a urban man, but I deeply appreciate the atmosphere of this remote place. There is no snow, but it can always change.

Les trois messes basses

J'aimerais attirer votre attention sur un classique de Noël d'Alphonse Daudet. C'est sans doute mon conte préféré de Daudet, réminiscent d'une France encore frileusement catholique dans laquelle on ne pouvait envisager faire bombance sans d'abord faire preuve de piété excessive. Je n'ai jamais fait que la messe de minuit, parfois, mais mon grand-père paternel, paraît-il, faisait les trois messes basses. Il avait de la patience.

Christmas in Brittany

I will not celebrate Christmas in England after all. Since yesterday, my wife and I are in Brittany. We were lucky enough to go by ferry, not by train or plane, as winter and snow have hit England hard. Well, "hard" is relative: I can't believe it disrupted life there with what is after all not even a storm. Anyway, as I said it here in French before, the Vikings were right, Hell is, for many people at least, made of ice and cold. (And yes, the last sentence is an excuse for me to plug previous posts.) I find the drama in the UK slightly absurd. It seems that we have been lucky travellers, but I am an unlucky expat, as I love snow, especially and I here it is green, as the snow that fell recently is now gone. There is still time, but alas so far it looks very green outside.

Christmas is coming...

...the geese are getting fat. I am seriously getting in that Christmas mood, maybe it's the snow outside. I don't know. Anyway, I might not blog so often the next few days as we will see relatives, which will keep me busy. I hope I will find time to see an old Christmas classic. Because Christmas is not quite right without A Charlie Brown Christmas. It is not the only Christmas movie I love, but it is probably my favourite Christmas movie, and one of the few "proper" ones (my list of "Christmas" movies might seem rather strange) that I don't find stupid. My brothers and I have a long love story with the film, we watch it every year or almost and the soundtrack plays throughout the month of December.

You can see on the right my favourite Peanuts character (and behind him an Eskimo who has nothing to do with Peanuts, but still is a cool decoration, he is fishing for a present see). Why Snoopy? For many reasons. I always loved his mischievous attitude, his mythomania and his writing ambitions. He is just one cool dog. I also had a teddy (teddy dog?) as a child who looked a lot like Snoopy. So it was only a question of time before I put a picture of him here. Today is just a good time as any.

Okay, this might seem like pointless rambling and it probably is, but what to expect a few days before Christmas?

Reliques québécoises de Noël

Afin de combattre le mal du pays pendant le Temps des Fêtes, je lis ce bouquin, lequel est fort instructif, plein de belles images et en somme il me rappelle les Noëls de mon enfance, ou les récits des Noëls de mes parents. Avec la neige qui a tombé et tombera encore, La fête de Noël au Québec me fait sentir moins expatrié.

Étant comme tout mon lectorat sait un homme de traditions, j'apprécie également le livre car il m'apprend certaines choses sur les traditions entourant Noël, surtout mais pas exclusivement les traditions québécoises. Je suis tout de même étonné de ne pas avoir lu jusqu'ici quoi que ce soit sur la Fée des Étoiles (ou alors la mention était si brève que je ne l'ai pas vue). Je comprends qu'elle soit moins populaire de nos jours et qu'il est difficile de lui trouver une place dans l'imaginaire entourant le Père Noël (sérieusement elle fait quoi au juste, à part avoir l'air jolie?) mais c'est quand même là un personnage de Noël spécifiquement québécois, qui n'a à ce que je sache pas vraiment d'équivalent dans aucune autre culture et qui plus est a été immortalisé dans une chanson de Beau Dommage.

Parlant de personnages québécois liés au Temps des Fêtes, j'ai ici des photos de deux décorations de Noël qui vont bientôt pendre sur le sapin chez mes parents. Elles représentent respectivement le Père Potelé et le Père Bûcheur, le premier étant le chef cuisinier du Père Noël et le second son chef menuisier/ingénieur. Vous ne pensiez tout de même pas que le Père Noël n'avait à son service que de petits lutins anonymes, sans doute non qualifiés! Il lui faut aussi des spécialistes. Je me demande s'il y a un Père Sommelier ou un Père Brasseur parmi eux. Enfin, ces deux personnages sont des créations québécoises que mon père a acheté au Salon des artisans (je crois) cela doit faire au moins vingt ans. Ce que je sais sur eux, je le tiens de la biographie au dos de leurs boîtes respectives. Je ne sais pas qui a eu l'idée de faire des Pères pour aider le Père Noël, mais elle était excellente. Elle ne semble pas avoir eu de suite, hélas. Je doute que l'on vende encore de pareilles décorations personnalisées, avec notes biographiques en prime. C'est dommage, mais cela fait des Pères Potelé et Bûcheur que l'on accroche dans l'arbre à Chicoutimi de vraies reliques.

Une patinoire!

Une partie de la neige tombée récemment a fondu...et a regelé en glace bleue. On est sortis aujourd'hui ma femme et moi, les rues de la ville étaient des patinoires dès qu'on s'éloignait de la rue principale. J'avais un peu l'impression de revivre la Tempête de verglas de 1998. Bon, ce n'est pas aussi dramatique, mais c'est quand même désagréable. Les Anglais ont déjà de la difficulté à vivre avec la neige, alors la glace imaginez... Enfin, ça me rappelle que les Vikings avaient raison: l'Enfer est de froid et de glace.

Maybe a white Christmas after all

I might not be dreaming of a white Christmas anymore: snow has arrived after all in England, and for real. So at least this will look somewhat like home during winter.It is nothing like the huge drops we get in Québec, but it was still a fair amount of snow, as you can see at the picture on the right. It will make me feel good anyway. Good, and a little bit smug, as people here seem so helpless when snow comes. It makes me feel like a Northerner.

Oh, and I got the visa, at last. It's nice to receive an early Christmas present from the British government. So I have a visa, a job I like, colleagues who appreciate me, a nice working place, it is winter outside... I feel like celebrating, even though nothing here feels like my usual Christmas apart from the weather and the Yule log I made is a terrible mess, like a squashed green squid. Doesn't taste as nice as the home one either, but at least I am trying to work things out by myself. I am a failure as a baker (well, we knew this already), maybe even as a cook, but I do try to create my own Christmas traditions.

This post might be a bit random, but these are frantic days. I have a lot of things to blog about, but no leading topic. I struggled to find a title, then I decided to take the one up there, however cliché it is. It could have been titled "This the season to be jolly", or something or other. Out of pure fancy, I decided to include here a picture of this little Christmas tree decoration, which will be hanging soon in the family Christmas tree back home. As I said in my earlier post, posting these pics will help me deal with homesickness. We bought the decoration in Sweden, years ago. My family and I have a long love story with Sweden, which I might bore you with one day. Suffice to say now that it would not be Christmas for me without some Swedish elements.

Oh, and this might feel like a Delenda Carthago addition, but you can still answer those questions, if this messy, all around the place post is boring you.

Miracles de Noël?

Les bonnes nouvelles, comme les mauvaises, arrivent toutes en même temps. J'ai finalement reçu mon visa hier, ce qui fait que nous sommes plus moblies pour les Fêtes. Et il a neigé hier, assez pour que ça ressemble à un vrai hiver. Mieux encore, il a neigé en Bretagne également. Alors où que je sois, il y a des chances sérieuses que je passe un Noël blanc. Comme quoi tout arrive en même temps. Maintenant, il me faut d'autres miracles pour que je n'aie pas trop le mal du pays. Il me faudrait donc de la dinde, l'odeur d'un vrai sapin de Noël, des atocas (je m'en occupe ce soir, on en aura au moins pour un repas), une crèche (oubliez ça cette année) et éventuellement des desserts qui ont l'air de vrais desserts, pas de pieuvres écrasées. Vaste programme.

J'ai décidé de placer ici des photos des décorations de Chicoutimi, ce qui calmera un peu mon mal du pays. J'ai acheté celle-ci à Montréal, à la même place que l'autre.

Stocking for Christmas

These are cupcakes I made recently for Christmas. They are all gone now, even though the icing was not very well done and there was too much of it. I also made a yule log with too much icing. So they are catastrophy cakes, a tradition for me. So far, my attempts to get food ready for the Season have not been successful, at least when it comes to desserts. I won't even dare to make donuts.

That said, I need to stock food for Christmas. Here is a list:

-Alcohol. Red wine (for me), white wine (for my wife) and beer (for me). Maybe also something fizzy to make it special. Since she does not drink much and we will not receive many guests, the quantities will be modest. Still, I need some quality stuff and enough to make me go through the days when every shop and pub will be closed. And we have to try mulled wine.
-Food. Veggie turkey and veggie everything, as I am the only meat eater here and it's not worth buying for just one person. I might, might gather enough strength and patience to try myself at pork pies, but somehow I doubt it.
-Desserts. I want to make more cupcakes and try to make another yule log.
-The usual extra but essential: cranberry sauce, which I will most likely make this weekend.

Oh, and if you have time, ô my readership, I was wondering if you could answer the questions raised in this post. Or you might want to read this post, which might be more interesting than reading a grocery list.

Retour amusant sur les partys de bureau

Un billet de Richard Martineau sur les partys de bureau, un sujet d'un de mes récents billets. Je l'ai déjà lu quelque part, c'est toujours aussi drôle. Ce qui me fait penser que je vais à un party de bureau ce soir. C'est plus un souper qu'un party, ce qui me convient parfaitement.

Snow!

It snowed today. Not much, but it was nice anyway, even though the students went frantic. Still, I feel less homesick today and for once it really feels like winter.

Quel cru, cette année?

Je viens de regarder la liste des films offerts par Ciné-Cadeau cette année. On en pense quoi? Il y a beaucoup de films modernes, mais quelques classiques incontournables, ainsi que plusieurs navets qui pourraient bien être contournés (Astérix et les Indiens, est-ce vraiment nécessaire?). Cela dit, ce n'est pas si on avait de la haute qualité à l'époque (je parle comme un vieux maintenant). L'Affaire Tournesol, que l'on présente cette année aussi, est épouvantable navet, une adaptation pâle d'un grand album. Il y a des limites à la nostalgie.

Ce qui nous manque (un peu), c'est les classiques oubliés et les oeuvres plus audacieuses. Des films comme les dessins animés chinois qu'on nous servait, ou encore Les Maîtres du Temps. Les crus récents me semblent un peu légers en teneur.

Vikings

I am reading a book about Viking mythology these days, among other books. The illustrations are not very good, they are a mix of often unrelated paintings and drawings from irrelevant sources, that could sort of look like events from Viking myths. Only a handful of the pictures are directly related to Viking tales. That said, the stories are great, as the source material is great.

I have always been fond of Viking myths, especially since my brother got this book of Viking myths for his birthday, something like twenty years ago. It had not only a great narrative (written by a certain Brian Branston), but also brilliant illustrations, little masterpieces in their own kind. You can find a bit more about the illustrator on his website, but I couldn't find any of his pictures from Gods & Heroes from Viking Mythology there. This book was not the only one or the first we had from the series, but it was my favourite.

For some reason, I always associated the stories of Viking mythology with winter and Christmas. Maybe because I first read this book from October (the time of my brother's birthday) to December. I simultaneously got in the Season's mood and into Viking lore. Maybe also, and especially, because they draw from the same imagery: snowy pine trees, cold winter nights, light and darkness,, but also share many icons now associated with Christmas. The holly and ivy for instance, which had strong meaning, throughout Pagan Europe. For the Vikings, they were linked to the death of the god Balder, who also shared a few things with Christ (innocent and deeply loved god killed, his death announcing the end of the world, etc.). There is also Odin Allfather who sacrificed himself to himself to gain wisdom. And Yggdrasil, even though it is an ash tree, has something of a cosmic-sized Christmas tree, which symbolically holds the world together, at least for a few days of celebration.

So yes, back to my reading. In the meantime, since I know I blogged a lot these last few days and people might have lost track of what I have been writing, I will kindly ask my readership to answer if they can the questions raised in this post.

Endoctrinement

Je songeais à en parler depuis quelques jours, un commentaire anonyme sur l'un de mes anciens billets m'a poussé à agir. Ainsi donc, le cours d'ECR serait un cours d'endoctrinement au multiculturalisme, selon Joëlle Quérin. Parce que je me méfie comme de la peste de l'ancien cours, j'aurais pu croire que c'était de l'alarmisme, mais un éditorial de Mario Roy a facilement confirmé mes craintes en citant Georges Leroux, l'un des concepteurs du programme, qui parle de "respect absolu de toute position religieuse". Respect absolu? De toute position religieuse? L'horeur, l'horreur. Aucune position religieuse ne devrait être respectée absolument, parce que l'on ne peut de facto respecter ce qui repose sur des prétentions arbitraires et invérifiables.

C'était un piège à éviter lorsqu'on a remplacé (et il était temps) les cours de religion au Québec, on est tombés dedans comme des caves. On aurait donc passé d'un cours d'endoctrinement, catholique ou protestant, à un autre qui diversifie les couleurs de l'endoctrinement...mais donne toujours préséance à la religion sur la laïcité. Ca me met en colère ça n'a pas de sens. Parce que le cours veut kidnapper et émasculer la laïcité québécoise, laquelle a été acquise de dure lutte. Parce que les curés et les fondamentalistes vont se servir de ce foutoir merdique pour essayer d'imposer leurs valeurs encore une fois en essayant ramenant la religion dans l'école publique, pour encore une fois en mener large, pour encore une fois faire de nous de bons petits catholiques qui ne savent rien à rien.

Alors quoi faire? Je ne veux pas qu'on revienne au cours de catéchèse de mon temps. Je ne veux pas non plus qu'on transforme le Québec en théocratie à choix multiples, ou en une société où on confond privilèges religieux discutables et droits inaliénables. On l'a déjà trop souvent fait par le passé, on le fait encore trop souvent, du moins dans nos institutions publiques. Les cours d'éducation religieuse en Angleterre sont tendancieux également, mais pas autant que ceux d'Éthiques et cultures religieuses et au moins on n'a pas peur de parler d'athéisme, d'agnosticisme et on ne traite pas les incoryants comme des pestiférés. Si les cours d'ECR ressemblaient plus à ça, avec des enseignants qui savent de quoi ils parlent, ce serait déjà une amélioration. Sinon, un Charte de la laïcité québécoise me semble de plus en plus nécessaire. On pourrait également cesser de subventionner les écoles privées religieuses. Mais plus encore, il est essentiel de faire au Québec la promotion de la laïcité et des valeurs humanistes. Et oui, je suis en train de faire la promotion de remèdes anglais, dont j'ai déjà vanté les vertus ici. Il y a des jours comme ça où j'aime mon pays d'adoption.

Questions about electric trains

This is an "old" picture from Christmas 2007, with the electric train around the Christmas tree. This one has the old fashioned locomotive. I prefer it to the other one (which you can see here), the model of a more modern machine which ironically we got first. I sometimes we had the old one when we were little children. I associate our electric train with Christmas, mainly because we got our electric train at Christmas, also because it is now the only time of the year when we put it on display, always around the Christmas tree. There are a few things that I wonder about electric trains, which I will list here in hope of an answer from my readership. After all, I don't have to blog about deep and meaningful things all the time. So here we go:

-Why do I, who does not particularly like means of transportation or find them particularly glamourous, love electric trains and am still fascinated by trains in general?
-Why is the electric train an almost exclusively masculin hobby? My wife rolls her eyes when I talk about it.
-Why do I still find electric trains so cool as an adult? And this goes for every man in the family. My father bought the train for himself as much as for his sons.
-Is the electric train the instrument for a rite of passage from childhood to adulthood, or does it preserve in men like me (and my dad, and my bros) a genuine part of childhood fascination?
-In any case, why the electric trains?

Proverbe saisonnier de François Villon

"Tant crie l'on Noël qu'il vient"

François Villon, Ballade des proverbes

Je me demande si l'on peut en dire autant de la neige.

Moment of fame

I was happily surprised, recently, to discover that one of my posts got the attention of the Atheist Bus Campaign. That is really nice. Something similar happened a while ago, about this particular controversy, but I never received the attention of a national campaign, let alone from people I deeply admire. So that made my day. I am keeping my head cool, so there is no reason to put here the picture of the blogging monkey. Still, it is a nice feeling to see that this blog can bring something to other people.

La fin des partys de bureau?

Je viens de lire cet article dans Cyberpresse, sur la fin des partys de bureau pour cause de récession. Je pensais à ça parce que j'ai été invité à un souper des Fêtes entre collègues pas plus tard qu'hier. C'est à la bonne franquette, dans la maison de l'un d'eux (de l'une, en fait) où chacun doit (modestement) contribuer, mais c'est quand même une sorte de party de bureau. C'est également le genre de party de bureau que je préfère, récession ou pas, surtout avant Noël. Cette année, j'ai été à un bal masqué organisé par les employeurs de ma femme, la contribution pour le repas fut princière pour la quantité (des portions minuscules) et pour la qualité (bonne mais quelconque).

J'ai travaillé dans une entreprise où le party de Noël était presque orgiaque, avec alcool en abondance (et sur le bras de l'employeur), orchestre rock, DJ, décorations tape-à-l'oeil, etc. Je dis orgiaque, mais l'enthousiasme des employés et des patrons à vouloir avoir du plaisir avait quelque chose d'un peu sectaire. Ce n'était pas Eyes Wide Shut, loin s'en faut, mais je ne me sentais pas dans mon élément. Enfin, les excès du party de Noël ne les ont pas empêché de faire des compressions un mois plus tard. Cette année, je crois que je vais trouver le souper entre collègues beaucoup plus sympathique. La fin des partys de bureau me désole peu, surtout que c'est temporaire.

First week at the office

I have now been at my new job for the first week. I say "my new job", but it is not only a new position, it is one that I will have simultaneously with my "old" job. Both are in the wonderful world of education. So I am slowly becoming a teacher. I hope so, anyway. So far, I appreciate more the new job. Maybe it is simply because it is new, maybe it is because it is nearer to home and I don't have to exhaust myself commuting, wasting my day in the meantime.

I enjoyed this week, anyway. Maybe because it is all new and it makes me more enthusiastic, but I like the team there, so far they are all welcoming, even friendly. I migh, and I say might, feel like I am part of it. That would be a welcomed change. Anyway, I like it so far.

Le Québec sous la neige

Il semblerait qu'il neige au Québec. Enfin. Je trouve quand même étrange qu'on en fasse un aussi grand cas. Bien que tardive, ce n'est quand même pas la première neige qui tombe. Cela dit, ça m'ennuie un peu de ne pas être là. Ici, il pleut et fait un peu trop doux.

Me, enjoying coffee?

I have a confession of some sort to make: I enjoyed coffee last Sunday. Cappuccino, Lavazza coffee, to be more precise. Yes, it happens sometimes, but it is rare enough to make me slightly worried. We went to John Lewis and there was demonstrations of coffee machines, we tried an "authentic Itaaaalian coffee," as the Italian presenter (should she be called a promoter?) said, from one of the machines. I don't know much about Lavazza, except that it is the coffee they serve at Wetherspoon, I certainly don't know how authentically Italian it is. But the Lavazza cappuccino was surprisingly drinkable. I might be turning mad.

Retour d'entrevue

De retour d'entrevue. Si jamais j'ai l'emploi, ce sera sans doute le truc le plus ennuyant que j'aie jamais fait de ma vie d'adulte. Cela dit, ce serait financièrement plus sécuritaire que ce j'ai maintenant.

That Butcher Story

Today is Saint Nicholas's Day. Which means it is the day of Santa Claus, of course. Saint Nicholas is not only the protector of children, he is also at the basis of a sinister legend that has fascinated me since I first heard it as a child. It is the story of three little children murdered by a psychotic, crypto serial killer butcher, but who get resurrected by then bishop Saint Nicholas. It was the subject of a song which you can find translated here and here, in different versions. You can find many translations over the internet anyway, tell me what you think of the story. I blogged about the story a year ago. So people might have an impression of déjà vu reading this. I don't want to repeat myself, even after a year, but it made a big impression over my niece when I told her the story, after she insisted that I tell her the scariest story I ever knew. She said straight after "that was NOT scary!" and asked for another one. I complied with the story of Rose Latulippe. She was equally unimpressed, or so she claimed. The next morning, she admitted to her aunt that "that butcher story" gave her nightmares. Since then, I refer to The Legend of Nicholas as "That Butcher Story".

Here is the song:

Fébrilité d'avant les Fêtes

Pfffff... Nous avons passé une journée de magasinage moyennement fructueuse. Et demain je dois préparer sérieusement une entreue pour lundi (quoique pour ce qu'il y a à préparer...), en plus de faire le sapin, peut-être me lancer dans la pâtisserie. Je me rends compte à quel point Noël peut être du travail pour qui doit tout préparer.

Chance encounters

We came in the town we are living in at the moment because of what seemed then a great opportunity: a great job with big money. I lost it within a few months, through no fault of my own but hectic and very poor management. It left me quite bitter about the whole ordeal, the experience as well as the people there and the company itself. Last year, when I was unemployed, I used to avoid going out at lunchtime and at the end of a working day, to avoid seeing my former colleagues. It was not totally possible, but I managed to avoid them most of the time. Now that my job situation and job prospects are better (more about it in French here), I am less of a hermit.

Today, I bumped into one former colleague at a sandwich shop, one I used to work relatively closely with, in the same department and all. She was one of the few that actually said goodbye to me in a warm, friendly manner, instead of ignoring me straight away, and this afternoon she seemed happy enough to see me. We said only a few words, asking each others how things were, I remained vague about my life in the past two years, but I was surprised to feel pretty good about my life at that moment. It was far from an epiphany, but I felt no envy or anger about the whole ordeal I had been through. Seeing her would have made me bitter less than a year ago. Not now. Maybe it is because she is working for a less than ethical business, which treats its employees like cattle going to the slaughter and which is now in trouble. I might not be a wealthy man, but at least I don't have the feeling that I am selling my soul to Satan on a daily basis. I feel as well that I spend working time with nicer people.

And, ironically enough, I saw out of total chance one of the seniors of the company a few hours later, in another local shop. This one I did not say hello or chat to (I don't even remember his name), I just gave him the half smile with mouth shut and eyebrow up that means "I acknowledge your presence and this is the only thing I will do to stay civil, because deep down I despise you and all you stand for". Again, I felt no bitterness, just a certain feeling of liberty. It is Friday and tomorrow we will go Christmas shopping. Life is good.

Noeud d'opportunités

J'ai un nouveau travail, qui commence mardi, dans une autre école beaucoup plus proche de chez moi. J'en suis heureux, parce que je commence à avoir fait le tour de celle où je travaille présentement (et où je vais continuer à travailler à temps très partiel, au moins jusqu'aux vacances de Noël). Or, j'ai appris aujourd'hui que j'ai été sélectionné pour une entrevue dans le secteur privé. Pourquoi est-ce que je ne recevais pas ce genre d'appel il y a un an et demi, quand j'étais sans emploi et que je commençais à désespérer? Si jamais je réussis l'entrevue de lundi, je serai pris dans un sérieux dilemne. En un sens, ce serait un heureux problème, mais je n'ai pas envie d'avoir l'air cheap. Je suis pour ainsi dire pris dans un noeud d'opportunités.

La nuit à trois heures de l'après-midi?

Une étrange phénomène se produit depuis quelques temps, provoqué par deux facteurs: les jours qui raccourcissent et le temps qui est misérable. En effet, il pleut depuis à peu près une semaine. Or, qui dit pluie dit nuages. Ce qui fait qu'on dirait que le soir tombe... à trois heures de l'après-midi! Bon, aujourd'hui c'était moins pire parce que le temps était dégagé, mais disons que le soir tombe vite depuis deux semaines. L'absence de neige n'arrange pas les choses. Si le gazon est encore vert, l'hiver anglais est néanmoins gris, gris, gris.

The mouth of Marilyn Monroe

The title is taken from the chapter of a Bond novel, but it fits the topic perfectly. I used to be a big fan of Marilyn Monroe, even before I saw one single movie of her. I don't know why. I guess it has something to do with her bubbly, girl next door kind of charm. Or maybe I am just an old man since teenage. (I noticed that old men usually like Marilyn Monroe, I knew of a distinguished professor specialised of medieval literature who was a big fan of Some Like It Hot.) I still kept a bit of fascination for the actress and the period of American history she lived in.

So yes, we very recently discovered a piece of film where she is (allegedly) smoking marijuana. I have no idea why exactly, but I find the news particularly interesting. I wonder if it humanises the icon she is, or makes her even more iconic. After all, we already knew she at least had a flirt with addictive substances, alcohol or prescription drugs. But that she also used illegal drugs, that is another thing entirely, never mind the toxicity of marijuana compared to what killed her. There is something vaguely rebellious about Marilyn Monroe smoking weed. I don't remember even seeing her with a "normal" cigarette!

There is also the fact that the video was taken in an intimate environment: she is there, surrounded by a few friends, relaxed, carefree, away from the glamorous environment we usually see her in. I wonder what she was saying and I hope someone able to read lips will tell us.

Well anyway, I call upon my (modest) readership: is this posthumous video fascinating for you too? What do you think of it?

A piece of my wife's wisdom

Reacting to this post, my wife told me something very thoughtful: "Maybe it is time for you to celebrate Christmas as a grownup". I think she is right: I might not see my family this year, but I will celebrate it with my wife. I can also for the first time cook traditional food for Christmas. It is something I can look forward to.

Musique sacrée

Vous savez comme je ne porte pas dans mon coeur (c'est le moins qu'on puisse dire) le cardinal Marc Ouellet, mais je suis tout de même heureux qu'il ait contribué à l'élaboration d'un coffret sur la musique sacrée. J'admire l'érudition musicale d'Edgar Fruitier et je crois qu'il fait oeuvre utile à la partager ainsi avec les Grands Classiques d'Edgar. J'ai cru comprendre dans un documentaire que j'ai vu sur lui qu'il n'est pas très religieux lui-même (je crois que l'épithète d'esthète définirait ce qui lui tient de spiritualité, ce qui me le rend d'autant plus sympathique.

Preparing Christmas abroad

It is going to be Christmas soon now. Well, it is coming anyway, so I might as well blog about it a bit, it might cure my homesickness. You see, I will spend it here. Anyway, we will count the days of Advent in chocolate, as I bought two Advent calendars, one for my wife and one for me. Obviously, the ones I bought are the secular ones, with chocolate pieces in them. We are after all a secular, chocoholic household. When I was growing up as a Catholic child, we had a religious one at school, with images under each date and little moralistic stories linked to them. The last image was always showing the Nativity. I don't know how the religious Advent calendars are here, although I saw many. I might get tempted to buy one, out of pure curiosity and maybe nostalgia.

Dealing with my very first Christmas abroad might be difficult. My wife did this for two years in a row and I admire her for this. Christmas is such a personal holiday, with expectations that are intrinsically linked to one's culture. For me, Christmastime is snowy, abundantly so. Here in England, it rarely snows around Christmas, and not much when it does. I will be missing it dearly. There is also the real Christmas tree that I will miss, unless we decide to buy one. It will not smell the same this year, neither will it have all those decorations we spend years to gather. Ny wife and I don't have a Nativity Scene yet. Yes, I am Godless but I love a nice Nativity Scene.

And there is the food. While I will probably eat veggie turkey, it will not taste quite the same (on the plus side, it will not be as dry either). I will cope with this as much as I can: I will make some cranberry sauce, I'll try to make a Yule log, I might even try to make some meat pies, or at least buy the veggie version if I can find any (Quorn used to make something quite similar). I was surprised recently to discover in a Christmas recipe book (page 38 for the curious) I borrowed from the library a recipe of meat pies, which they call tourtière, as it is (mistakenly) called in the rest of Québec. The real thing is much different. The recipe in that book was not even authentic as a Québec meat pie, as the pork was cut in cubes (it should be minced), but it made me feel homesick all the same. These days I don't need much to feel homesick.

Avent

C'est aujourd'hui le premier jour de l'Avent. En fait, c'était dimanche, puisque c'est le premier dimanche avant Noël, mais cette maison est désespérément séculaire et nous donc comptons les jours avant Noël en morceaux de chocolat. Par conséquent, l'Avent commence pour nous le premier décembre. Je vais de ce pas acheter un calendrier à ma femme, en espérant qu'il y en a toujours de disponibles. On ne sait jamais, j'ai manqué le vin nouveau parce que je ne l'ai pas acheté le jour même. J'ai déjà un calendrier de l'Avent M&S, mais je veux offrir à ma femme un truc plus extravagant. Au pire, il y aura toujours celui-là et je me passerai de chocolat.

L'hiver est de retour en Angleterre ce matin, enfin, l'équivalent anglais de l'hiver. Après deux mois doux, décembre est arrivé avec des températures froides. ON annonce même de la neige cette semaine, c'est dire. Je ne m'en plaindrai pas.

Cette année, je me prépare à fêter Noël loin de chez moi, ce qui veut dire que je amener/faire moi-même les éléments familiers: bûche de Noël, musique, pâtés à la viande (j'y songe), sauce aux atocas, etc. Du plaisir en perspective. Je n'ambitionne pas de préparer une dinde, puisque ce serait absurde de manger ça tout seul. J'ai décidé de mettre ici une photo d'une des décorations du sapin à Chicoutimi. C'est une de mes contributions au sapin familial, je l'avais achetée lors de ma première année à Montréal.

Bad news for books aficionados

I've heard the rumour here first, but it is now official news and I thought I had to blog about it: the Borders chain is closing. I like Borders, maybe not as much as I do with Waterstone's, but it is still a great chain, with a wide choice and bookstores where you can actually find something else than the latest bestsellers. It is not looking well for the books market here. I just hope this will not happen to Waterstone's tomorrow. I think it might be time to make stocks of classics and rarities.

La Guingolée

Parlons un peu de la Guignolée (plus de détails sur la tradition ici), puisqu'elle s'en vient au Québec. Hier, Pierre Foglia en parlait. Pour moi, elle est associée à des mononcles qui chantent la chanson stupide en frappant aux portes. À Montréal, elle s'est urbanisée avec la Guignolée des Médias (que j'associe à la ville, même si elle se produit aussi en région) et n'a plus son odeur d'eau bénite. Vivant à l'étranger, je la manque maintenant à chaque année car j'arrive au Québec pour les Fêtes (quand j'y vais) une fois la Guignolée passée. Ce qui n'est pas un mal en soi (la chanson est vraiment bébête, peut-être autant qu'un journaliste avec une tuque de Père Noël), mais maintenant que je vais passer Noël ici, je crois que même ça va me manquer.

Gilles Carles

Triste nouvelle: Gilles Carles est mort. Ce qui est encore plus triste, c'est que je ne crois pas avoir vu un seul de ses films.

The nostalgic and the pilgrims

I was watching a program a few days ago about Brittain as seen by tourists. It was not very good (some critics hated it), but there was one section about Liverpool and of course the Beatles, and seeing all these American tourists doing their pilgrimage there got me thinking about my relationship with the city. Not bored yet? I probablyblogged about something similar at some point, but there you go.

I lived in Liverpool for only a year, but it was a significant year to me, on many levels. I did not live there enough to absorb the accent, let alone to become a Scouser, but I have a profound sentimental attachment to the city. I am no Beatles groupie. As a teenager, I used to listen to them, of course, but I cannot say that I never was, at any moment of my life, a fan. For many people in the world, Liverpool is only that, the cradle of the Beatles, the heritage of Beatlemania (often a cursed heritage for the locals), Liverpool is their Mecca, their Santiago de Compostela. For me it is a rainy, windy city, with an up slope leading to my (then) working place, it is two cathedrals, one old and Protestant, one ridiculously futuristic and Catholic, facing each other like brothers or enemies (or both), it is an English city miscegenated with Irish blood and culture (and some weird displays of Catholicism). In my mind, the Beatles are an afterthought of Liverpool history.

For me, Liverpool has the feeling of the familiar, which calls for another sort of deference than the pilgrim has. When I go back there, it is as a nostalgic. It is when I walk in Manchester that I am a pilgrim. The pilgrim will love a city only in regards to its association with the object of worship. The nostalgic will love the city in and for itself.

Sainte-Catherine

English below...

C'est aujourd'hui la Sainte-Catherine, fête qui était célébrée un peu plus au Québec dans mon jeune temps (lire: mon enfance) qu'aujourd'hui. Je ne crois pas que l'on sache ce dont il s'agit en Angleterre. J'ai déjà blogué sur la Sainte-Catherine. je vais souligner la journée modestement, comme l'année dernière, en lisant ce conte que j'aime beaucoup. Je vais aussi écouter la chanson un peu kétaine des soeurs McGarrigle, laquelle ne parle pas de la fête mais de la québécitude version montréalaise, chanson pour laquelle j'éprouve toute l'affection de l'expatrié. Complainte pour Sainte Catherine a été adaptée par une artiste suédoise, alors elle ne doit pas être totalement dépourvue de qualités. Elle semble en tout cas exercer une attraction chez les peuples nordiques.

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Well, it is Saint-Catherine's Day today. I blogged about it before. It used to be fairly celebrated in Québec, we were eating taffy cooled on fresh snow (when there was snow). I will celebrate it modestly, as I cannot find taffy I will just eat some cream fudge, that tastes much better and does not stuck to the teeth. I will also read this Quebec tale set on that day, about a 25 year old maid who does not want to become a spinster and foolishly vows to... well, I will not spoil it for those who can read it. I might translate it one day for those who can't. It's a brilliant cautionary tale.

I will also listen over and over again that song below, from the McGarrigle sisters. I mentioned the song before. As I said a year ago, I love it for unknown reasons, but it probably has something (everything) to do with my status of expat. The song has been freely adapted by a Swedish artist. It seems that Complainte pour Sainte Catherine moves Northern people.

Quelques observations sur Vraie Fiction

Histoire de faire une mise en abyme, j'ai pensé mettre ici quelques observations faites à propos du blogue et de ce qu'il devient récemment:

-Je blogue beaucoup moins que l'année dernière. En fait, le nombre de billets a diminué de moitié. Je suis pourtant à peine plus actif hors du monde virtuel.
-Si la quantité de billets a baissé, la qualité a je crois augmenté. Je blogue mieux car je contrôle mieux le médium (enfin je crois).
-À en juger par le nombre de commentaires, les billets en anglais sont plus populaires que ceux en français.
-Dans le même ordre d'idées, et ceci explicant cela, mon lectorat est surtout anglophone.
-J'utilise moins de photos comme support visuel et lorsque j'en utilise, elles ont été prises par moi, elles n'ont pas été pigées sur internet.
-J'ai été poussé à l'écriture de ce blogue notamment à cause du blogue de mon petit frère, lequel ne blogue presque plus maintenant. Je suis passé de commentateur (en 2006-2007, quand j'étais encore à Liverpool) à blogueur, alors que lui est maintenant surtout commentateur sur ce blogue.

Le temps du vin nouveau

Le vin nouveau est à nouveau (ouch!) disponible ici. Je suis plus amateur de bière que de vin, en fait je trouve souvent que les vinophiles sont parfois pédants à un degré insupportable. Cela dit, il m'arrive d'apprécier le vin, surtout le vin rouge, même s'il me donne parfois des migraines. J'aime le vin sans prétendre m'y connaître, en Philistin, je l'apprécie comme surtout comme un complément de repas. Alors je vais sans doute me procurer une bouteille de beaujolais nouveau cette semaine.

Meeting anniversary

Okay, it is my second post in English in a row, but I had to blog this one. I am a man of traditions and rituals. I practically celebrate everything I can, everything I find significant in my life. Soon it will be the meeting anniversary of my wife and I, which I blogged about last year. Funny how small things change one's life dramatically.

So, for those curious or patient enough to know the story, here it is, very briefly told. Back in another lifetime, I was in my hall of residence, eating a mince pie, when she showed up in the kitchen. Not very dignified for a first meeting I guess, me eating a dessert I don't like all that much. Since then, I always have mince pies around that time of the year. Anyway, I had finished my mince pie when I saw a girl getting in the kitchen smiling. I think that's the first thing I loved about her: my wife always had a lovely smile. She and a common Greek friend had decided to come at the last minute to see another common Greek friend and then to go to a Greek party upstairs.

Still with me? Anyway, they invited me right on the spot to the Greek party. I don't know if any of you had ever been to Greek party, but they usually involve loud Greek music, loud Greeks singing Greek music, Greek dancing, Greeks talking in Greek, Greek wine, ouzo and usually something to eat (in this particular party, a high supply of crisps). As we were the only non-Greeks there, my future wife and I spent most of the evening talking to each other. She tried to go easy on the crisps and I surprisingly got easy on the ouzo without any effort. Maybe because ouzo is so strong I felt like I was drinking bleech or something, but I remained sober.

I can't remember much about the topics we talked about. I remember we chatted about the British monarchy and the prank call a Quebec comedian did to her back in the 1990s. So my first conversation with my future wife was on a pretty trivial topics. I also remember sharing crisps with her and drinking sips of ouzo to be polite to our hosts. I don't know if there is a moral to the story. Maybe that the most important events of your life are usually the result of random encounters. Or maybe that Greeks are cool.

Where are the snows of yesteryear?

This is an old picture of a tree in the back garden of my parents's place. Nothing to do, sadly, with the current place I am living in and the current outdoor temperature. It is pouring rain here, it has been, on and off, for the last week or so. One might not like snow as much as me, but I think anybody could admit that it is still better than the quasi flood we have to deal with these days. It looks nicer, it feels nicer and I daresay it is not as cold. From what I can see in the weather news in Québec, there is not all that much snow there either. But at least there is always the possibility. Here chances are slim.

So, like every for autumn turning into winter that I spend in England, I ask myself, like François Villon in his most famous ballad "where are the snows of yesteryear"? Yes, I miss the snow every year, just like I quote Villon every year, but this time I am more conscious of it as I am supposed to stay in England (or at least Europe) for Christmas, so there is a good chance that I will not see any snow for Christmas. For a Northerner like me, it is quite a loss. And there is also the impact of nostalgia, of course.

But anyway, as pictures of rainy day might turn the blog gloomier than the last few posts and since winter will eventually show up (albeit in its grey, English form), I thought I might as well put a picture of some snow. It might put me in a better modd and help me quote with nostalgia. And in spite of all that I have said here, do not worry about me: I will reconcilate myself with English weather. After all, it gave us such a fascinating and colourful wildlife, so it cannot be all bad.

Salon du livre

Tiens, le Salon du livre de Montréal est donc ouvert. J'aimerais pouvoir y aller. Je peux entrer gratuitement à vie dans celui du Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean (faudrait que je retrouve le carte qui me donne ce privilège), mais je préfère celui de Montréal. Ca me donne le goût de passer la journée dans une librairie. Ce que je ferai sans doute.

A long awaited new poster

I would be neglectful to forget to mention here one piece of news that touches me particularly: Ariane Sherine and the BHA have launched the last phase of the so-called "atheist bus campaign", targeting this time the faith schools. I love the new billboard campaign and I really love the nod to Pink Floyd in Ariane's latest article. Faith schools of all denomination have been pretty much a plague here. Hell, state schools are also hijacked by religion, which is enough of an aberration in itself, but the state should not fund or encourage in any way particular faiths to cut children away from a society that is still a secular one. Because this is what is at stake here. Of course, the campaign will offend the usual offended. Which is great. It shows the weakness of what they are defending. I grew up in a school system that was labelling us as Catholics before we could even understand what it meant and what ideology it was defending. I wish we had then a healthy dose of secular reflection introduced in the public space, it might have freed my mind then.

Une nouvelle odeur de pourriture

J'ai récemment parlé des malheurs de Montréal. Or, à la lecture de la récente chronique d'Yves Boisvert, je reçois la confirmation, dans un grand quotidien national, que mon bercail de Chicoutimi, rebaptisée Saguenay, est aussi bien pourrie grâce au misérable petit potentat qui lui sert de maire. Déjà que j'étais allergique à son catholicisme bigot et sa tendance à la démagogie, maintenant on apprend que l'autocrate magouille. Montréal a un mollusque comme maire, Chicoutimi a un petit dictateur qui ne se cache même pas pour donner des traitements de faveur à des amis. Et on s'étonne que la région se meure. "Il pesce puzza dalla test," citais-je hier. Ca s'appliquerait au maire Jean Tremblay s'il avait une tête à pourrir.

A taste of Italian wisdom

"Il pesce puzza dalla testa."

It means "the fish stinks from the head". I first heard it from a colleague, who is fond of this proverb. I fell in love with it when I heard it the first time, which is a few months ago, and I have been trying to find it since then. I finally found it on this site. I will go back to it, partially because of my love/hate relationship with Italy, partially because when one wants to learn a language, he might as well learn a few smart lines. Especially since I might never be fluent in Italian, so at least I can sound smart talking the little Italian I know. I blogged about it before, on various occasions: if my pronunciation, even my accent, is good, my understanding of the language is close to nonexistent.

"Il pesce puzza dalla testa" is supposed to be mean something about corruption comes first from the highest authority. In that sense, it applies to Italian politics of all ages, but it can also apply to Montreal or indeed any time and place in the civilised world. It also applies to humans as individuals: stupidity is the greatest sign of corruption.

Les feuilles mortes cette année

Contrairement à l'année dernière, personne n'est venu placer les feuilles mortes (pas à ma connaissance en tout cas) ensemble en un gros tas humide et dégoûtant. Quelqu'un a vraisemblablement passé le rateau (ou ce genre d'aspirateur à feuilles mortes qu'ils ont ici), mais il ne les a pas abandonnées en un amas d'immondices. Ce qui fait que même si novembre est bien entamé, on a à certains endroits sur le terrain un joli petit tapis de feuilles mortes. C'est encore humide, Angleterre oblige, mais ce n'est pas dégueulasse comme un tas de feuilles en décomposition peut l'être.

Poutine again

Ce blogue devient Ma femme va trouver le sujet de ce billet dégoûtant, ou "dégûuuuuutant" comme elle dit. Marie-Claude Lortie a écrit un billet sur la poutine et l'intérêt que le plat national officieux (l'officiel est le pâté chinois) du Québec a suscité récemment chez le New Yorker. Le podcast de la conversation ici.
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This blog is turning back into a food blog it seems. Anyway, to my wife's probable dismay, the poutine is getting famous outside Québec. The New Yorker has been interested about it and you can find here the podcast of very interesting conversation about the dish and its cultural significance.

Crime de la crime

"...the first sin I have to confess to you is gluttony."

Amadeus, Peter Shaffer

I have been wanting to use this quote. I might have done already, thinking about it. The title of this post, however, is from Ian Fleming's Goldfinger. I thought it would work for what I am blogging about this evening, as it is a creamy item. As you might have suspected reading this blog, I have a sweet tooth. I also have a homesick love for cream fudge, which is a traditional Québec sweet known there as sucre à la crème (see, cream/crème/crime, the title makes so much sense already, especially since eating something so rich is almost criminal). It's a great little dessert, nice, rich, filling, sugary and it is perfect comfort food. During the Christmas holidays, we used to make a cream fudge variety with Caramilk inbetween two layers of the fudge. It's a perfect fix for sugar addicts like myself and absolutely decadent. In another life, which means more than a decade ago, I tried to make cream fudge, but failed miserably. It turned into caramel, so my family used it to make a sugar pie. Not all was lost. So I have a bit of a love story with this piece of creamy sugar. When I feel homesick, which is the case very often these days, I get in the mood to eat something from home. I got lucky recently, as a sweet shop opened where we live and it sells a very good variety of cream fudges. Not as good as what I can sometimes find in Québec and it is a bit pricey for what it is, but I love it nevertheless and I often need it, so there it is. On a more selfish note, one of the good thing about cream fudge is that my wife does not like it much, so it is one of those desserts I don't have to share. I have the ambition to make cream fudge here one day, but given my bad experience the first time I tried and my bad luck with other desserts, I am afraid it might end up badly.

Chocolat à 70%

Petite révélation anecdotique aujourd'hui: j'ai mangé un morceau de chocolat pur à 70% de Lindt et j'ai bien aimé. Je croyais que j'allais trouver cela trop amer, il semblerait que non. Peut-être que c'est simplement une manifestation de mon chocolisme, plus fort que ma sweet tooth.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Care for a little bit of spooky fairytale for a grim November day? Assiduous readers here probably know about my fear of rats. Therefore, when there is a story involving them, I cannot help but to find it particularly scary, whether it is a horror story or simply a fairy tale (which are often just as horrific). So the story of the piper who first save the town of Hamelin from hords of rats, then takes his revenge on the greedy townspeople really fascinates me. Apart from the rats, there is a lot of interesting stuff in the tale: the hypnotic/mesmerising power of music, the morally ambiguous nature of the Piper, his mysterious background, etc. I am not sure when I first heard of The Pied Piper of Hamelin, but I remember watching as a young child the claymation adaptation of the poetic version of the tale by Robert Browning. This is the version that I am putting here. It is a haunting one. The characterisation is brilliant, the poem wonderfully told, the atmosphere is juuuuust scary enough to be watched by a child and there are the rats! Magnificently ugly, hairy, squeeky, bity, devilish rats. One can understand, can see, can feel what kind of pests they were, what danger they represented and what horror the townspeople of Hamelin were enduring.

Déluge d'un vendredi 13

English below, as usual more rewritten than translated...

Je me plaignais hier qu'il pleuvait à boire debout. C'est pire aujourd'hui, et on annonce des pluies diluviennes pour demain aussi. J'aime moins l'Angleterre quand elle est pareillement trempée (car elle n'est plus simplement humide à ce degré-là). Quand j'ai remarqué que l'on était vendredi 13, j'ai soudainement fait l'expérience de sa mauvaise réputation. J'ai effectivement l'impression d'avoir la guigne aujourd'hui. Alors je suis toujours prisonnier de l'appartement, prisonnier de la pluie qui n'arrête, n'osant pas sortir pour prendre un verre ou acheter de quoi survivre pour les prochains jours (bière, Pringles, etc.). J'ai commis l'erreur hier, pensant que le temps était plus clément et j'étais trempé au retour. J'ai d'étranges appétits de fish and chips quand il pleut comme ça, je ne sais pas pourquoi. Une sorte d'animosité envers ce qui est aquatique je crois: je me venge sur le poisson. Je l'ai déjà dit une fois ici: un animal qui ne peut pas mourir noyé mérite de se faire manger. Et puis les fish and chips descendues avec de la bière, c'est un remède parfait contre la morosité du tempérament qui vient avec la morosité du temps. Le pire, c'est que si ça continue ainsi les voyages ferroviaires vont devenir plus difficiles et on risque d'être prisonniers de notre petite ville devenue îlot pour un bon bout de temps. Misère... Si seulement c'était de la neige.

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I was complaining in yesterday's post that it was raining like the end of time. Well, it is worse today and it looks like it is going to be just as bad tomorrow. I don't like England all that much when it is soaked like it is right now. When I discovered that it was Friday the 13th today, I suddenly experienced the bad reputation of that day. It really sucks, we feel prisoner of this flat, this town (because railways are going to be in a terrible state and train travels might become difficult), prisoner of the weather itself. Yesterday, I made the mistake to go to the nearest shop to buy some food, in 5 minutes I was soaked so much I think I could have drowned. So I don't dare to make the same mistake twice today, therefore I don't go out to get the essential survival stuff for British Flood: beer, Pringles, crisps, more beer. Of course I cannot hope to find here Boivin cheese curds, but crisps would work just fine. I also have strange apetites for fish and chips on days like this. Fish and chips, downed with lots of beer is just perfect to prevent from having a mood as grim as the weather. And alcohol is an essential remedy in such circumstances: how else could Noah have gone through the Flood on his (most likely) stinky boat? Eating fish and chips makes me feel vindicated as well: an animal that lives in water just deserves to be eaten. But it is raining so badly that I don't even dare to go to the local fish shop.