Sunday 31 July 2011

An actor in the audience?

Yesteday, I learned that a local library (not the one in my town but one nearby) was going to show a reading of The Marriage Proposal by Chekov. They call it The Proposal, sometimes it is called A Marriage Propsal, but anyway the readers who have been following this blog for a while probably noticed that it is the same play I was in not so long ago. So I am of two minds about it: a part of me wants to watch it on stage so to speak, or at least given to a wide audience. I love the play. But because I love this play a lot, a part of me is very jealous that I am not in it. I am petty like this sometimes: I envy other actors a lot, whether they are professionals or amateurs, when I see them on stage. More so when I think I have not quite mastered the play as I wanted to. Yet on the other hand, it would give me a perspective about the play that I cannot have with my own experience. And the public reading is free. So I don't know...

QWERT pas AZERT

J'écris en direct de France (plus précisément de Bretagne), d'un grenier (enfin presque, c'est plutôt une salle au pemier étage, mais comme elle borde le toit c'est tout comme) que j'affectionne particulièrement. Je suis donc en vacances (yé!). J'étais un peu inquiet que le seul clavier que l'ordi accepterait serait un clavier français, mais j'ai réussi à mettre l'option "Canadian French" dessus. Cette idée des Français de changer l'ordre des lettre sur un clavier, AZERT au lieu de QWERT, j ne l'ai jamais comprise. Je me sens profondément illettré sur un clavier français. Je suis par conséquent heureux que je n'aie pas besoin de réapprendre à taper.

Saturday 30 July 2011

African art

This picture was taken in France, in Brittany to be more precise, last year. I don't know why I haven't published it before. There was one of those free "around the world" exhibitions, with pictures and art from, well, around the world, or at least exotic places. I loved those figures. I don't know exactly where they are from except well, sub-saharian Africa. I love their simplicity and the eerie impression you have watching them. Their faces look like they belong to real people and if it wasn't for their height and the fact that they are on pikes, one could believe they are Africans walking around. They look a bit like inhumanly tall, red ghosts.

Que lire en voyage (réponse existentielle)

L'année dernier j'avais posé cette question existentielle (la numéro 11): Que lire en voyage? Je l'avais aussi posée sur Facebook.Un ami y a donné cette suggestion, que j'ai trouvée très drôle: Restons chez nous de Damase Potvin. J'exècre en général la littérature du terroir (sauf bien entendu celle-ci), le peu que j'ai lu du bouquin me fait froid dans le dos. Imaginer lire un truc comme ça en voyage...

Friday 29 July 2011

The pub by the train station

On my way back to work today I did something I don't do very often anymore: I stopped at the pub by the train station on the way back for a drink. I used to do this fairly often back in Liverpool, about once a week, I was stopping by the pub near Lime Street station and was trying whatever guest ale was available. After a hard day of work, or a boring one, it was a nice treat. I barely said more than a few polite words to the locals, so socialising was not exactly the aim, but I would discover a new ale and the alcohol would make me feel juuuust a little bit numb for the train journey home. Now when I do stop for a pint, it is after I leave the station, not before I get in.

I was not very original stopping by the pub after work, especially not on a Friday: it was crowded. I drank very little, but I was there mainly for being there anyway. I don't feel like I really belong to this place, even after four years, by this I mean that I don't feel like a local. Probably I will never do, I never felt local anywhere but in Montreal and sometimes, to a lesser degree and for different reasons, in Liverpool.  Yet I do have some fond memories of this pub from early on: it was the first place I got in when I had that interview that got me the job that made me come here. It was where I had my first meal when I arrived in this town to settle. It is not my favourite pub in this town, but I like it all right. And it also sometimes a nice feeling being in a buzzing crowd, providing that it not too big a crowd.

Question existentielle (59)

Je vais me mettre à lire plus léger bientôt. Une question existentielle m'est venue en pensant à la littérature populaire au sens large, à la paralittérature comme on dit dans le jargon universitaire:

-Quel est votre méchant préféré de tous ceux des bouquins que vous avez lus?

À préciser: cela peut être une pièce de théâtre, une bédé, etc. Vous pouvez être aussi précis ou aussi étendu que vous le voulez. Je donnerai mes propres réponses.

Thursday 28 July 2011

Chronicle of an end of July

For once it was a summery day today. It was hot, it was sunny, I wanted to be everywhere but where I was (at my desk at work). We had a weird summer so far, with a month of July that sometimes looked like September, sometimes looked like well, pretty much anything but what you would expect of July. Now for the first time in a long, long time, I had this image of me: on a patio, or a balcony (say in Montreal), or a garden, reading a book (lighter than the one I'm reading at the moment), mistreating my liver with a tall glass of beer, keeping my salt level high with a huge bag of crisps, and overall being utterly decadent. This was the right temperature, the right sun, the right temperature, just not the right day.

Summer has sometimes this annoying habit of coming at the wrong moment, when one is so disappointed about it that when the hot days are finally here, we are just blasé. I do get like this anyway, but I don't think I am the only one. My cousin was mentioning back in August 2009 that the heatwave that came over Montreal surprised everyone right after their holidays, taken during a July that had been particularly lousy. I think this has something to do with an aspect of summertime: it is not a naturally comfortable season. It is enjoyable when you do nothing, or very little, when you enjoy farniente. When you are on holidays, it is a blessing. For working people, especially those in catering and tourist industries, it can quickly become a burning Hell. For the waitress, it is swept and customers, as one of our singers said in this song. But so far, I cannot say that it had been much Hell, or Heaven. More like a muddled Purgatory.

Une anecdote cégépienne

J'ai une nouvelle amie Facebook: une ancienne enseignante que j'avais au cégep. J'ai comme amis sur Facebook plusieurs anciens profs. Le cégep a été pour moi des années fastes: j'y ai créé mes amitiés les plus durables (un cas ici, pardonnez le jeu de motz vaseux) et j'ai vraiment aimé le milieu. C'est l'une des premières fois de ma vie d'étudiant où la semaine ne me semblait pas être un calvaire.

Enfin bref, fin de préambule j'en reviens à cette ancienne enseignante et à l'anecdote du titre de ce billet. Je suis heureux qu'elle m'ait accepté comme amie, parce que je l'ai bien fait souffrir. J'exagère bien sûr, mais j'étais passablement dissipé dans le cour (j'imagine qu'on pouvait se le permettre). Nous faisions souvent des travaux d'analyses en équipe, sur un extrait ou un autre de littérature québécoise. Durant un cours, il fallait trouver des thèmes d'un extrait d'Au Pied de la pente douce de Roger Lemelin. Dans l'extrait en question, Guillaume Plouffe (je crois) jouait dans une compétition de pétanque ou un truc du genre. Le thème que mon coéquipier et moi avions placé en tête de liste: "La Gloire du Sport". Avec les majuscules. C'était un gag très stupide, mais on n'a pas réussi à demeurer sérieux pour le restant de la session.

Wednesday 27 July 2011

Blueberries and where I am from

I quote this line from Félix-Antoine Savard very often and I thought I would put here the translation in English, courtesy of my brother (who blogged about it himself). The blueberry is the emblematic fruit of the Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean where I am from. It is also how Saguenay people are nicknamed: Blueberries. So the fruit represents a lot. I like Menaud maître-draveur, or Master of the river as it was translated in English (a translation that looses a lot of the title's meaning. It should be something like Kiddo, master raftman). The novel has its flaws, the flaws that comes from its time and culture: too devoutly Catholic, mainly. But it is still a powerful, evocative story and it describes my region, the temper of its people and our relationship to the land like no other.

Here is the quote:

"On the feast of Saint-Anne, the blueberries are ripe. It is the grape of our land, the son of fire, the offering of the humble and rocky soil; it is the honey of wild gulleys, brother of the vines in the infinite realm of peat moss and bogs."

Je tiens de l'ours

Cette photo a été prise à Vancouver, ce serait plus approprié d'avoir une photo d'un ours noir, mais ça fera l'affaire pour illustrer le propos de ce billet. Ca m'est venu à l'esprit hier alors que je mangeais des bleuets: je tiens de ce sympathique plantigrade qu'est l'ours. Pour plusieurs raisons: je me nourris de baies (ces temps-ci des airelles bleues), mon régime est majoritairement végétarien, je suis friand de poissons, surtout du saumon, j'ai une dent sucrée (ils se nourrissent de miel), je suis également velu et il m'arrive d'être asocial. Je crois donc que l'ours est un très proche cousin de l'homme, du moins du Saguenéen. Au Saguenay, on a surtout des ours noirs. Je me demande si je ne fais pas partie de cette famille.

Tuesday 26 July 2011

Some leaves are changing colours

As I promised yesterday, I am writing a lighter, trivial post here. Enough of angst, fear and anxieties about this wretched world. I am blogging seasons and trees here. Trivial observations are cool.

So I saw something today from the window of the work place: the leaves of a maple tree (I think) that were already turning red. That rusty, fiery red they take when autumn comes. And we are in July. Still summertime, and not only technically. I don't know what to make of it. It probably means absolutely nothing more than we had so far a messed up summer that was often cool and wet and very rarely hot, except before it was officially summertime. Autumn will not come earlier, or later, because a few leaves change colours early. The trees are probably as confused as we are: in my drawers I have my t-shirts next to warmer clothes. Still, every time I take a peek at the window, I wonder if we are still in July. Oh well, it is not nearly as un-summery as summer of 2007 was. So I can live with a few rusty leaves.

À la Sainte-Anne les bleuets sont mûrs

"A la Sainte-Anne les bleuets sont mûrs. C'est le raisin de chez-nous, fils du feu; du sol humble et pierreux c'est l'offrande; c'est le miel des crans sauvages, le frère des éricales dans le royaume infini des sphaignes et des tourbières."

Menaud maître-draveur, Félix-Antoine Savard

Je cite à nouveau Félix-Antoine Savard, je cite toujours le même passage. Parce qu'aujourd'hui c'est la Sainte-Anne, donc c'est le temps des bleuets. Le bleuet est bien sûr le fruit régional (rérional) du Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean, mon coin de pays. J'ai donc acheté des bleuets hier (hors de prix ici) et je vais les manger aujourd'hui.Ce n'est pas ce qu'on a dans la région, mais ce sont quand même des bleuets. On calme son mal du pays comme on peu. Mais au moins d'où qu'ils viennent, ils sont plein d'antioxidants. Et puis d'où qu'il vienne, le bleuet a aussi une valeur identitaire pour moi.

Monday 25 July 2011

Fighting the darkness

I said yesterday that I wouldn't blog about it because I found it depressing, but I think I will anyway. Take it as a necessary catharsis. I have been reading the news about what happened in Norway. The Norwegian gunman (I will not dignify him by calling him by his name) had links with UK extremist groups, which is very depressing, especially since I am an immigrant here (albeit one that cannot be accused of Islamist sympathies). I don't believe in a plot and the evidence so far has been leading to the contrary, but I cannot help fearing contagion. John Kennedy, his brother Bob, Martin Luther King, they all died around the same time, in the same period, killed by fanatics with similar ideas, but whatever the conspirationists think the killers were not link together. They simply had the same disease. This is what I fear most: some dark, inner fire that will take over evil minds. I have been reading The Plague by Albert Camus. The evil in that story is a disease that is blind and relentless, killing without motives or anger, but the fear and suffering that it creates is the same.

I cannot stop being surprised at how similar fanatics are, whatever the labels they take. The gunman feared the Islamisation of Europe, yet he despised the same things as Islamists: democracy, freedom of consciousness, I would also say love. Love for fellow human beings, for compatriots at least, a love that was very concrete and not channelled into an abstraction (a God that has everything of Big Brother, a nation that is devoid of freedom). He killed the same people an Islamist terrorist would have chosen as targets. It is nearly as laughable as it is sickening.

I heard on the news that Norwegians were fighting the darkness these days. I thought that expression was fitting. This is what must be done. Show grief for the ones who died, admiration and commiseration for the people of Norway and trying to overcome our own darkness, not to fall into bitterness or despair. Which means, in my case, trying to blog on a lighter topic.

Question existentielle (58)

Question de reprendre le concept de question existentielle maintenant emprunté par mon frère (et ne vous gênez pas pour le faire vous-même), j'ai songé aujourd'hui à une question existentielle. Il a fait beau et chaud aujourd'hui, pas trop collant mais assez pour qu'on puisse sortir sans manteau. Pourtant, j'ai amené mon manteau avec moi. D'où ma question existentielle profondément freudienne:

-Pourquoi est-ce que je porte un manteau sur moi/l'apporte avec moi même quand il fait un temps splendide et qu'un manteau n'est pas nécessaire?

Sunday 24 July 2011

Musing on a summery Sunday

It is for once a beautiful summery day, both sunny and warm. But bearably so, it is not a heatwave and one can be outside with light clothes and shades and feel comfortable. It has been overall a very quiet and pleasant day.

I say this and of course this is not the case for everyone: there has been a terrible attack in Norway which we still feel the aftermaths and fans, friends and family of Amy Winehouse are grieving. I do not intend to blog specifically about either of these events. The first one depresses me terribly, the second one (sadly) did not surprise me. Anyway, there was enough pain and suffering in such little time to try to enjoy little pieces happiness we can find here and now.

For me, it has just been a quiet, sunny Sunday. I appreciate it more since we had so far an uneven Summer. I am not the biggest fan of hot days (not without a swimming pool anyway), but one enjoy more seasonal changes if there are actually seasonal changes. Anything but that muddled nowhere season we had most of the time this year.

La traversée du Lac-St-Jean (billet nostalgique)

Cette photo a été prise quelque part en Bretagne l'année dernière, je ne me rappelle plus dans quelle ville, pour une raison quelconque il y avait des nageurs qui crawlaient le long de la rivière. Il faisait chaud, j'enviais ceux qui étaient dans l'eau, même si je me voyais mal nager dans une rivière. Cet événement m'a fait penser à La traversée du Lac-St-Jean. Cette année elle aura lieu la semaine prochaine.

Aujourd'hui il fait beau et chaud et ça ressemble à l'été (pour une fois). Ca me rappelle donc la journée de canicule que j'avais passée à l'intérieur à regarder la Traversée du Lac-St-Jean, je crois que c'était en 1988. Claudio Plitt de l'Argentine avait gagné. Il gagnait à chaque année, maintenant c'est un Bulgare. je ne sais plus si la Traversée est aussi importante qu'elle l'était à l'époque. Pour moi, c'était aussi gros qu'une sorte de Tour de France régional (ou rérional). Je ne connaissais et ne connais toujours rien à la nage sur longue distance. La Traversée à par la suite été immortalisée par une chanson des Colocs. C'est peut-être assez pour lui assurer l'immortalité.

Saturday 23 July 2011

Those lucky secular students

A recent post by Matt Dillahunty on the Atheist Experience blog, about a secular students association (the Secular Student Alliance to be more precise), got me thinking about students associations. I have never been a member of a students association, except the casting of students plays. In my time here in English universities, I was surprised by the very strong presence of the Christian Union. It was something so surreal to me. We have our Christians in Québec, of course, but they were never that open. Members of the Christian Unions, mainly girls, were everywhere when I was doing my MA and PhD. I had a friend who was among them, a very nice person overall, but who I think was trying to convert me. They were preying (praying, preying, funny double entendre here) on foreign students: I spent an hour with my Greek and Italian friends in the Christian Union playing Twister. I didn't convert.

They were preying on drunken students too: they were making toasts and tea right next to the university's bar (I might have told this anecdote before here). I ate the toasts, drank the tea, it lessened my hangover the next day. Oh and I argued/debated with them. I was not at my best because I was fairly drunk, but I think I managed nevertheless to expose their contradictions. I was surprised to see that they were mainly creationists and thought it was moral to think that unbelievers (and wrong believers: Jews, Catholics and so on) were doomed to Hell. I asked them why I would even want to worship such a vain, immoral God, even if he existed.

I learned recently that there is now a secular/atheist association in my British alma mater, linked to the British Humanist Association. I wish there had been a thing like this when I was a student there. It would have opened me to a community I was already a part on but yet didn't know much or anything about (heck I didn't know I was an atheist). It would have helped me develop my critical thinking. And it would have given me something productive to do outside of classes and rehearsals. I envy this generations of students. This is what university life is all about: opening horizons.

Hé, un blogue sur la bière!

Petit découverte intéressante sur Cyberpresse: un blogue consacré à la bière l'été, appelé assez platement mais judicieusement Une bière, l'été. Il y a encore très peu de billets dessus (quatre au moment où j'écris ces lignes). Cela dit, il est déjà instructif: j'y apprends que McAuslan a brassé une IPA. Je vais visiter ce blogue asez souvent et j'espère qu'il mutera pour devenir un blogue qui durera toute l'année, la bière n'étant pas une boisson saisonnière, après tout.

Friday 22 July 2011

Looking Mediterranean?

I went to the local pub tonight before dinner, for a quick drink. I needed it after a long week. I used to go there pretty often when I was unemployed, I used to go there pretty often. It used to be my favourite pub in town, partially because it was just there. I was going semi-regularly, enough so people recognised me and I could chat with the punters. I am not a regular anymore and therefore not that many people recognise me. So I had my drink and got out in the garden to enjoy it, I said a few words to the people that was there, some I did recognise. Then one of the guys asked me: "So you are Spanish or Italian?" The regulars explained that I was neither.

It is not the first time people think I am from somewhere else. What susprised me was that the man presumed I was Italian not so much with what I said (barely more than "Good evening") but for what I looked like: he thought I looked dark. I guess that is a polite way of saying I look foreign. The funny thing is that I never thought I looked really foreign. I am a Northerner (being from the Northern emisphere and the North of Quebec), I am pale most of the year, I don't tan easily and this year I didn't notice getting much of a tan with the very timid Summer we had so far. I guess one only needs dark hair. Still, I wonder if it is simply because I look foreign.

Tourdion (chanson à boire)

"Quand je bois du vin clairet
Amis tout tourne, tourne, tourne
Aussi désormais je bois
Anjou ou Arbois
Chantons et buvons
À ce flacon faisons la guerre
Chantons et buvons
Les amis buvons donc"

J'ai une confession à faire en guise de préambule: je n'ai pas bu de vin clairet ce soir. J'ai bu (et je bois encore) de la bière. J'ai entendu le Tourdion pour la première chanté par la Bande Magnétik. C'est encore je crois ma version préférée. Mais enfin bref, cette chanson à boire est toujours contemporaine et irrésistible dans sa simplicité. Quoique je ne suis pas très porté sur la consommation de gras jambons. Mais sinon, c'est une célébration de l'ivresse qui est parfaite pour tout vendredi. Et j'ai donc décidé de la mettre ici.

Thursday 21 July 2011

End of school

Because I have colleagues with children, I learned that it was the end of the school year today in the area. I hadn't even noticed.I am now used to my situation of employee in the private sector I guess, even if it was not so long ago that I was living my professional life according to the school year, its end and its beginning. I never got quite used to the school year here, which ends so late in July that they have back to school advertisement a week after the end of classes. Maybe this is why I adapted so easily to my new situation. I do have a strange feeling at the beginning of the school year, but I think it has more to do with the fact that we grow up and spend years, decades, with the school year as our calendar. We integrate it in the beat of our life, so to speak. But for now, I am glad it is all I kept from the school world.

Installer l'été

Un ami sur facebook a publié ça sur son profil, je l'ai trouvé bien drôle, même si ça m'a fait grincer des dents:
Installer l'été :
███████████████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░
Progression de l'installation: 44%
L'installation a échoué.
Erreur 404: saison introuvable.
La saison que vous recherchez peut avoir été supprimée, ou renommée, ou est temporairement indisponible.
Essayez à nouveau plus tard

Wednesday 20 July 2011

Garden wildlife

My readers will notice that I blog a lot about gardens recently (here and here to be more precise). It is probably a mere coincidence, or I just get into one of those blogging moods. This picture was taken in the Keswick Museum. I make any excuse to put more pictures from there. I have never seen a hedgehog in the garden of our block, but it is one of the animals that I discovered here in back gardens and which I consider (rightly so) quintessentially British. When I first arrived here, I was amazed about the wild life I could see on the lawn of the halls of residence where I was living: foxes, hedgehogs and magpies essentially. In Quebec we have mice, rats and squirrels. The squirrels can be fun too, but I find hedgehogs more exotic.

Of course what are most common in the garden here are birds and then cats, either wild asocial ones or domestified, friendly ones. No later than yesterday evening, the tabby cat showed up for some cuddles. I find fascinating that in an urban area (although the town where I live is quite small) there is so much wildlife, so close to us. I feel British wildlife much closer than I ever felt Québec wildlife. Autumnwatch also made me more conscious about it.

Et maintenant La Peste

Je vais bientôt terminer la lecture du roman policier. Comme il m'arrive parfois de vouloir lire un peu plus sérieux que ce que je lis d'habitude, j'ai décidé de me plonger dans la lecture de La Peste d'Albert Camus. Ce roman ou L'Étranger est le livre obligé de littérature française que l'on met sous les yeux du cégépien québécois, ce qui marque souvent le début de sa conversion vers l'athéisme. Pour moi, ça a été L'Étranger, en première année de cégep. Pour d'autres, comme Patrick Lagacé le raconte dans une chronique récente, ça a été La Peste. J'ai enseigné la littérature existentialiste française dans une autre vie, mais ô honte, je n'ai pas encore lu La Peste. Je compte corriger ce déplorable état de chose.

Tuesday 19 July 2011

Fresh garlic in the garden

The strange discoveries you make when you walk in the garden. A few days ago I saw paper luminaries. Today as I was walking home, I didn't see anything special, but I smelt garlic. Not the garlic you find in supermarkets, not frying garlic, I mean growing, fresh garlic. It has a very distinctive smell, very pleasant, very soft, it makes you feel both hungry and relaxed. It hasn't feel like summer for quite a while, but it reminded me that we are in summertime.

Still, like the fire hazard of a few days ago, I wonder who is the cause of this. I might be wrong, but I think someone has been growing garlic here. I cannot complain. I love garlic, love its smell in a kitchen, love its taste, I love everything about it but the garlic breath it leaves. But I can live with it, since I enjoy the other aspects so much. Anyway, I love walking in the garden, it's one of the little quiet moments I am particularly fond of in a day. The smell of fresh garlic was an added pleasure this evening.

Il y a quinze ans, le Déluge

Je ne sais pas si mon lectorat francophone et québécois est assez vieux pour s'en souvenir, mais il y a quinze ans que le déluge du Saguenay s'est produit. Je vais prononcer un énorme cliché, mais bon je m'assume: je m'en souviens comme si c'était hier. La veille il pleuvait, pleuvait, pleuvait à boire debout. Ce n'est que le lendemain matin qu'on a vu les conséquences des pluies torrentielles: les maisons emportées par le courant, les lacs et rivières qui débordent, l'eau courante qu'il ne faut plus boire (ironie suprême quand c'est l'eau qui est la cause de nos malheurs), Chicoutimi qui prend des allures de ville assiégée et toute la région qui devient un gigantesque marais. J'allais rentrer à l'université à Montréal le septembre qui s'en venait. Ca m'a bien entendu profondément marqué. Quand c'est arrivé, j'avais songé à baptiser l'évènement "notre part d'Apocalypse". Par la suite, j'ai trouvé d'autres tragédies qui porteraient mieux le titre. Cela dit, ça ne diminue en rien l'aspect profondément surréel et un brin dantesque du Déluge. Nous avons eu nos parts de catastrophes naturelles au Saguenay, notamment un tremblement de terre en 1988, mais le Déluge, c'était autre chose.

Monday 18 July 2011

Fire hazard

I was walking in the garden of the flat last Saturday, it was the evening, a sunny, just fresh enough evening with a bit of wind like I like them. I went near the road, in a piece of lawn between two stone walls (well, a stone fence by the road and a stone wall). There are some trees, bushes and flowers that not many people bother to see. And then I saw five white paper bags by the fence, with holes in them that were making figures (a sun, a star, flowers, etc) and in each bag... lit candles. Some of the sides of the bags were already burning. I blew the candles and took them and the paper bags away. And then I wonder who was the careless idiot who had put them there.

I mean, it was an obvious fire hazard. Maybe unlikely to do real damages, but still. There was enough combustible stuff around, lots of grass and vegetation. The bags looked all fancy, the kind of thing one of our elderly neighbours would buy. But why would someone living here do something like this? I saw four teenagers walking in the street when I was about the remove the bags, they were loud and stupid like I guess teenagers often are on Saturday evenings, but that doesn't look like a malicious tricks they would pull. I mean, it was just fancy bags and small candles. Since it happened, I keep thinking about it. More out of curiosity than fear. But whoever did this, it was still stupid.

Traductions du latin (de cuisine)

Je plogue ici le blogue de mon petit frère, lequel vient de bloguer pour la première fois depuis bientôt un an. Le sujet de son billet est la traduction libre et volontairement douteuse de certaines devises en latin. Le titre de son billet, "L'espace d'un mois en une semaine", vient de la traduction que faisait les étudiants de la génération de mon père de la devise du Séminaire de Chicoutimi, laquelle en français était en fait "L'espoir du messie dans la semence". Même durant la Grande Noirceur, le catholicisme n'arrivait pas à cacher son profond ridicule.

J'ai toujours été un médiocre latiniste. Enfin, disons-le franchement: j'étais franchement mauvais à l'université. Au secondaire, c'était une autre histoire. Mais ça ne m'a pas gêné pour le massacrer volontairement plus tard, surtout quand c'était une devise pieuse (les devises latines sont souvent des devises puantes de piété). Ainsi, "In Domino Confido", transformée en "In ConDom Fiino Do" par mon esprit mal tourné quand j'ai vu la devise de McGill sur un de ses diplômes est devenu: "Fais-le dans un condom fin". Ce que je peux être impie (et glauque donc). Pour la devise de Montréal, "Concordia Salus", je n'ai pas encore trouvé de traduction vraiment horrible. "Salut Concordia" sonne faiblard. "Concordia salubre", je ne suis pas sûr que ce soit exact. Je trouverai bien quelque chose de mordant.

Sunday 17 July 2011

Crafting atmosphere

It has been raining quite a lot today, on and off. when it is not raining it is sunny and windy. it made me think of two recent posts, this one and that one. And also of a much older one, which I wrote back in July 2009. I was thinking that writers, whether they write crime fiction or horror stories, craft atmosphere. In a way, it is their trade, it is what they produce and sell.

Clichés and common places are nice, but of course there are other ways to work with the genre. Crime novels are meant to be summery reads, things you read on a hot day, with a scenery that fits the surroundings of the reader (say one of Jean-Claude Izzo's novels, set in sunny Marseille). But crime fiction set in the middle of a nasty winter in Montreal would work just as well and would create its own kind of atmosphere (which reminds me that I need to write that story one day). A rainy day like today brings its own ominous, menacing feel. I guess nasty rain is also a cliché in crime fiction, it also pictures the grey and often monotonous life of its protagonists, which flow is interrupted by violence. When it comes to horror fiction, you have other sorts of clichés. But as my brother mentioned in my recent post on sacrecrows, a sunny afternoon can be just as scary as a dark and stormy night. You see evil appearing out of nowhere, is presence troubling the otherwise peaceful environment. In Night of the Living Dead, the first zombie we see is during daytime. And it is not incidental that Dracula as originally imagined by Stoker, while a nocturnal creature, could also walk in daylight. I shiver when I see a scarecrow stand in a field. A fairly strong wind can be very scary in the middle of a sunny day. I could imagine all sorts of bogeymen walking in on a warm August day in a wood, a quiet village or a garden.

Bières québécoises

Ceci est un autre billet sur la bière et sur les bières québécoises. Je viens de lire en diagonale un article dans Cyberpresse sur des bières de mcirobrasseries pour l'été. À chaque fois que je vois ce genre d'article, je suis heureusement surpris de voir le nombre de bières québécoises que je ne connais pas. De toutes les bières mentionnées, j'ai bu la Saint Ambroise Pale Ale (sur la photo on nous montre par erreur la version stout) de McAuslan, la Vache Folle de la Microbrasserie Charleboix et peut-être la Tartan Ale d'Alexander Keith (celle-ci n'est pas une bière québécoise, mais bon). Ce qui veut dire que je vais devoir passer du temps à écumer les bars et les dépanneurs la prochaine fois que je vais au Québec, histoire de redécouvrir le monde brassicole. Vaste programme.

Saturday 16 July 2011

In the eye of the storm

So far, as I have been planning, I am having a lazy weekend. It rained a lot this morning and I stayed in, read and browsed. And now we are in that particular place during a storm, where it is sunny and dry. So we are in the eye of the storm again, albeit briefly. So I am going out soon to enjoy that moment of calm. Then back in to enjoy indoor's little pleasures: reading, watching movies, listening to music, etc. I am reading at the moment Heart of the Hunter, a crime fiction novel with road movie elements. When I was reading it earlier on and the rain was falling, I got Riders on the storm in the head. The Doors is not my favourite group, but there are some songs I really enjoy, including this one. It fits this day, so I am putting it here.

Muffins au gruau

Ceci est un billet trivial, comme j'en fais parfois. Après avoir cité Danton, j'ai pensé que je publierais un billet plus léger (dans le ton, en terme de calories c'est peut-être différent). J'en fais assez peu. Ma femme a fait ces muffins il a un mois environ. La recette vient de la famille de ma mère, pendant des années ça a été les seuls muffins que je connaissais. Ils sont parfaits pour déjeuner et sont pour moi un parfait exemple de comfort food. Et puis ça calme un peu les symptômes de mon mal du pays. Et je vais mettre ici la recette, histoire de l'immortaliser dans le cyberspace:
1 ½ tasse de farine
1 tasse de gruau
1 tasse de sucre
½ tasse de crisco
1 cuillère à thé de soda
½ cuillère à thé de poudre à pâte sel 
Mélanger le tout.
Ajouter : 1 tasse de lait
                 2 oeufs
Mélanger un peu.
Cuire au four 350°F de 18 à 20 minutes ( 12 muffins). 


Friday 15 July 2011

Planning a lazy weekend

It is going to rain, rain, rain this weekend, over all England and the UK. Temperatures will be autumnal, or so they said on the news. We barely had a summer so far (after April that is, which was surprisingly summery), but I am welcoming the rain and the nasty weather. I often do when I feel tired, especially in this attic flat which can get unbearably hot during summertime. I have been very busy at work since April, weekends never come soon enough. So for this one, I want to do nothing, to be unproductive. Well, unproductive might not be the right word. Carefree? And yes, wasting my time in hopefully a somewhat productive way. I want to read, blog watch movies and just catch my breath until Monday comes.

Citons Danton

Mon père, qui a commenté sur mon dernier billet en français, a placé une grande citation de Danton. J'ai pensé la mettre ici. Peu importe ce que l'on pense de l'homme, c'était un grand discours qui nous rappelle avec éloquence la nécessité de la Révolution française et le profond humanisme de ses idéaux. Je la reproduis donc ici:

"Nous avons brisé la tyrannie des privilèges en abolissant ces pouvoirs auxquels n'avait droit aucun homme. Nous avons mis fin au monopole de la naissance et de la fortune dans tous ces grands offices de l'état, dans nos églises, dans nos armées, dans toutes les parties de ce grand corps magnifique de la France.

Nous avons déclaré que l'homme le plus humble de ce pays est l'égal des plus grands. Cette liberté que nous avons acquise pour nous-mêmes nous l'avons affectée aux esclaves et nous confions au monde la mission de bâtir l'avenir sur l'espoir que nous avons fait naître.

C'est plus qu'une victoire dans une bataille, plus que les épées et les canons et toutes les cavaleries de l'Europe et cette inspiration, ce souffle pour tous les hommes, partout en tout lieu, cet appétit, cette soif de liberté jamais personne ne pourra l'étouffer
."

Thursday 14 July 2011

Why I read crime fiction

Leigh Russell recently blogged about why she writes crime fiction. I don't write any (yet), but I thought that the appeal of crime fiction would be an interesting topic for a post. So why do I read crime fiction?

While I read "serious" literature and even studied it as an academic, I am a genre reader. Crime fiction especially. The first novels I managed to get through as a child was Agatha Christie's. After a few years, I grew out of whodunits and Christie is now a far away memory. But a few years after, when I was a young adult, I started reading Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett and then a string of American crime novelists, I started reading hardboiled novels, romans noirs, etc. And I got hooked again. I am still.

I read crime fiction because it is the genre of modernity, it is the fiction that espouses better our time and because it is also one that often shows a reality that may be far from pretty but that is necessary to see. I say reality, as I think it reveals it, albeit sometimes in the exagerated tones of caricature and escapism, life and civilisation as it is. Crime fiction belongs to realism.

It is also a hell of an entertaining genre. It deals with sex, violence, greed, jealousy, anger, the primitive pulsions of mankind. That is always nice to witness it. Those emotions create such brilliant, beautiful, larger than life characters.There is a cathartic notion, central to crime fiction. There is also a certain notion of solace in it: when in reality (always way to real in comparison to even a realistic genre) urban violence and criminality is helped by endemic corruption, the impotence of the justice system, sometimes a flawed police force, it is nice to see that the good guys can win, at least in fiction.

So that's why I read crime fiction.

Le 14 juillet

Bonne Fête de la Bastille à tous les Français qui lisent ce blogue, aux autres qui ne le lisent pas et aux francophiles. J'ai une confession à faire: je ne suis pas particulièrement francophile. Voilà c'est dit. Cela dit, je suis un ardent républicain et j'admire et suis fasciné par la Révolution française. Pour moi, le 14 juillet n'est pas une Fête nationale, mais la célébration d'un gigantesque bouleversement historique qui, malgré de terribles excès, a quand même profondément changé le monde pour le mieux.

Il a été assez facile pour moi de trouver comment le souligner: mettre ici L'Hymne à la Liberté, musique de Georges Delerue, chanté par Jessye Norman (qui d'autre?) La chanson-thème de la minisérie La Révolution française. Pas de Marseillaise pour le moment. L'hymne touche à l'universel, à un idéal que l'on devrait tous partager.

Wednesday 13 July 2011

This picture needs a scarecrow

I took it in Brittany in August last year, I liked it enough, I like harvest pictures for some reason. But I thought there was something lacking. I found out recently after blogging this post: it needs a scarecrow. It would have given the picture some ominous, sinister atmosphere, even though it was a sunny day. Dark and stormy nights are useful, but not essential to create terror. You can easily find the right ingredients for a scary story in the middle of a warm summer afternoon too. 

My long time readers know that I am fascinated by scarecrows, because of course of their scary, unsettling appearance, which I blogged about before. Like my brother said, they are more efficient scaring humans than birds. As a child he was terrified by a stuffed scarecrow that was pinned on the wall of our bedroom. What were my parents thinking? I am naturally fascinated by bogeymen and scarecrow can easily be the stuff of nightmares. I think part of its appeal as a terrifying figure is that it is a primitive one: it is associated with seasonal changes, harvest, food (just like my favourite holiday), but also with danger (again, just like my favourite holiday), if even it is an indirect one. Scarecrows were protecting food against the most implacable form of looters, birds, in a way the most vicious forms of looters as they were stealing food. Of course, scarecrows had to look menacing. They were not the threat themselves, but maybe like all guardians they ended up scaring up those they were supposed to serve.

Anyway, for those who think Halloween is not coming soon enough, have a look at this picture and think of a scary story to go with it.

Question existentielle (57)

J'ai passé une journée relativement tranquille au travail aujourd'hui, pourtant je me sens fatigué. Je me suis donc posé cette nouvelle question existentielle:

-Pourquoi une journée tranquille au travail m'épuise autant qu'une journée de fou?

Tuesday 12 July 2011

Living in English

Warning: I am going to ramble again on accent and languages...

Somebody else told me today at work that I got a twang when I speak in English. And of course she couldn't find out where I was from. When I communicate in French, I now do it through my writing, either on this blog, or when I write an email or updates on Facebook. Of course I call my parents from time to time, but overall I speak little French. But even though I speak in English most of the time, I still don't speak like a native. I don't know why: I can with Italian but not English. I find it slightly insulting when people think I'm French. I mean my accent is not that bad. And it's not like I am very French in look, or manerism or whatever. I don't even feel French culturally I guess I am condemned to be foreign and exotic, wherever I go. To sound exotic too. Well, exotic at best, foreign at worst. These are two different perceptions.

Les guêpes (récit épique)

Un des derniers billets d'Olivier d'Évian sur un nid de guêpes m'a rappelé un souvenir d'enfance sur le sujet.On avait un nid de guêpes. C'était plein de guêpes l'été et de bourdons aussi ("les taons" comme on les appelait) et puis d'autres insectes du genre. On a trouvé quelques nids de guêpes au fil des années, mais la plupart étaient assez petits. Mais il y en avait un une année qui était énorme. Les guêpes l'avaient construit sur un côté de la remise, du côté le plus difficile d'accès. On ne l'a remarqué que lorsqu'il était devenu énorme. Comme il y avait un escadron de guêpes sur le terrain (disons plutôt la Luftwaffe rayée jaune et noir), mon père a donc décidé de le faire détruire par le jardinier.

Le plan était simple: asperger le nid d'insecticide, l'asperger à grande eau, remettre de l'insecticide, re-asperger, etc. Répéter jusqu'à démolition de l'antre du mal. Dans tout plan de bataille, il faut tenir compte du temps de l'assaut. Ce qui n'a malheureusement (et incompréhensiblement) pas été fait. Il aurait fallu attendre le soir, quand les guêpes étaient de retour au nid, pour les asperger d'insecticide. Or, l'assaut a été lancé durant l'après-midi. Le nid, après un déluge d'eau et d'insecticide, était tombé, mais les guêpes revenaient au nid, alertées on ne sait trop comment (il y a quelque chose d'admirable dans l'esprit de corps et l'organisation de ces insectes). C'était un spectacle saisissant. Et elles n'étaient pas commodes. Je me rappelle d'une guêpe agonisante, qui bourdonnait rageusement au pied d'un pommier). J'aurais pu achever ses souffrances, je crois que je n'ai pas osé.

Elles ont par la suite tenté de reconstruire le nid, mais c'était peine perdue. On ne s'y faisait pas reprendre et l'insecticide a fini par les éloigner pour de bon. Ce n'était pas la Chute de Troie, mais c'était quand même une chute impressionnante. Tout de même, leur obstination était impressionnante et le spectacle de la destruction du nid ainsi que de la réaction des pensionnaires m'est resté en mémoire.

Monday 11 July 2011

Wanting to waste my time

I had a fairly busy day today, as I usually have every Monday. Not frantic, just busy. Unlike the last few weeks, it was hot and summery, it actually looked and felt like July. And spending time inside, keeping busy, it just struck me: Mondays are worse when it is nice and hot outside. When I walked home from the train station, traffic was jammed everywhere in the narrow streets, which is always the case here during peak time, but always surprises me nevertheless. I live in a small town, it should be quieter.

So today I did not want to work, I wanted to waste my time. I wanted to be out, sit in a park and read, or sing something, or even work outside. I miss being creative I guess. Artists, whatever their particular trade, can work outside pretty well. Sadly, I cannot just take my computer out of the office and receive phone calls in the nearest park. It wouldn't be very creative, but I would enjoy the temperature. Maybe I would not get much, if any, work done. But that is maybe the nature of the beast. I envy artists for this: doing nothing, wasting time is probably part of the creative process. And I don't say this to be dismissive, I strongly admire artists, I am sometimes an artist myself and I think it matters to be be inactive sometimes. I certainly needed it today.

Piscines publiques

Bon, l'été a recommencé à se rappeler que c'était sa saison: tant hier qu'aujourd'hui il a fait beau et chaud et il semblerait que ce sera le cas durant toute la semaine. Malgré ce que j'ai dit précédemment sur ce blogue, je commence donc à m'ennuyer de me saucer dans la piscine. Il fait juste assez chaud pour ça. Dans la ville où je vis, il n'y a qu'une piscine et elle n'est pas publique (lire: pas gratuite du tout). Et elle est intérieure, en plus, ce qui diminue un tantinet l'intérêt. Je blogue là dessus car je viens de lire en diagonale un article sur les piscines à Montréal, laquelle a le plus grand nombre de piscines publiques en Amérique du nord.

Montréal l'hivernale, la ville nord américaine qui offre le plus de piscines publiques à ses citoyens? Je ne l'aurais pas cru. On oublie souvent qu'on a un été au Québec. Le plus ironique, c'est que si j'ai passé bien des étés suants à Montréal, je ne suis jamais allé qu'une seule fois à la piscine publique, celle du Parc Laurier, en 2005. L'endroit était bondé, mais ce fut un après-midi très agréable. Je m'en ennuie ces temps-ci.

Sunday 10 July 2011

Omertà will be back in Québec again

A few years ago, in my first year as a blogger, I blogged about Omertà, which I consider to be one of the best TV drama Québec ever made, and maybe the best contribution to Québec's crime fiction. Well, it certainly reopened the door: Quebeckers are interested about the genre. You can find more about the series in my original post (this one, in case you had skipped my first link).

Back when I blogged about it, I said I was desperate to see Omertà again. Back in 2008, there was a project of a new series in the pipeline, but nothing seemed to be done to go forward to production. Well, as those of you who read French know, my prayers have been answered. Sort of. There will be a movie, called Le projet Omertà, that is a sequel/follow up/new installment to the original series. As I mentioned in my French post, I am both excited about it and worried. I have reservations about the project, for those reasons:

1)The casting. The original series was a mix of big names (in Québec, that is) and unknown. In the movie, it is filled with Québec celebrities: Rachelle Lefevre who was in the Twilight movies, Stéphane Rousseau who is a famous stand up comic recycled actor since he played in The Barbarian Invasion, Patrick Huard who is another household name and even René Angelil, Céline Dion's husband! I mean was it really necessary? It lacks the fraîcheur and unexpected nature of the casting of the original series, which allowed us to see the characters before the names.
2)The format. Omertà was originally a TV series: the plot can be complex and unfold without being rushed, characters can be developed, even minor ones, a whole atmosphere can be created. The original series carried us from the mean streets of Montreal filled with prostitutes and junkies (often both) to the big neighborhoods where mafiosi, businessmen  and corrupted politicians met. I am not sure if a movie format can make us travel as well from one world to the other. It's possible, but it is going to be difficult.
3)The plot. It is going to involve stolen gold. Gino Favara (played by Ron Lea), the head of the mafia in season two and three, wanted to import Russian gold illegally in Canada. it is repetitive.

That said, as I am a big fan and as I have been desperate to see this world and its characters again, I will watch it. Eagerly. And to conclude this post on a positive note, I will put here the excellent atmospheric theme music of the series, written by Michel Cusson, which I found on Youtube, with many clips from the series. Enjoy:

Réflexion à propos d'un dimanche

Mon lectorat sait que je n'aime pas particulièrement dimanche, en général (je crois même que je préfère le lundi, c'est dire). C'est trop souvent une journée monotone qui me porte à la mélancolie. Heureusement aujourd'hui il faisait soleil. Un temps pluvieux m'aurait rendu maussade. Au moins quand on peut sortir, on ne se sent pas claustrophobe. Ma femme et moi sommes donc sortir nous promener. Et j'ai remarqué une chose: c'était un dimanche occupé. En effet, la circulation était dense comme si c'était un jour de semaine. Je ne sais pas si ça devrait m'agacer. Ma mémoire me trompe sans doute un peu, mais il fut un temps où le dimanche était jour de repos, où les commerces étaient pour la plupart fermés et on passait la journée à lire où à regarder la télévision. Maintenant, on fait les magasins, ce qui n'est pas nécessairement un mal.

Je dis ça, et en fait une ville peut être beaucoup plus tranquille la semaine, surtout une petite ville comme celle où je vis, Une fois l'heure de pointe passée, tout le monde est au travail et les rues sont plus tranquilles. Je me demande en fait si la semaine n'est pas maintenant, de jour du moins, plus tranquille que le dimanche. Ou alors c'est une caractéristique particulière de certaines petites villes.

An unusual scarecrow

This picture was taken last year when we visited a cottage/garden. It was meant to scare the ducks and pigeons, but it didn't seem to have much effect: there was a duck cooling down in one of the fountains. It is still an interesting artifact and it gave the cottage some character.

It might not be as scary as the classic scarecrows, it is not even meant to scare crows, it still has some of its characteristics: it is made of twigs, it looms over a piece of land menacingly and it guards a piece of countryside. You can find many sculptures of predators (hawks or owls) in urban settings to scare piegons, but they don't look anything like scarecrows, just like almost exact representations of the animals. I prefer the real, live thing. When they are copies, I like them made of twigs or straw.

Un regard sur les statistiques de ce blogue

Il arrive parfois que je blogue sur le blogue, ce qui est une sorte de mise en abyme. Mais ce billet est hélas beaucoup plus prosaïque que ce que je fais d'habitude quand je fais de la mise en abyme. À en croire Google Analytics, alors que mon lectorat n'a cessé d'augmenter cette année, même si j'ai des nouveaux lecteurs réguliers, le nombre de visites du dernier mois a baissé de manière dramatique (aux alentours de 25-30%). Je me demande bien pourquoi. À en juger par: 1)la popularité de mes billets en anglais, lesquels sont plus souvent commentés et 2)l'absence de commentaires sur mes billets en français, je me demande si je n'ai pas un tantinet négligé mon lectorat francophone. Il est aussi possible que certains lecteurs soient en vacances.

Peut-être que je pense trop en termes de "rendement", après tout je ne reçois pas un sou du temps passé à bloguer. C'est une déformation professionnelle: je suis dans la vente maintenant alors maintenant les chiffres ont un sens. Cela dit, un peu par vanité, un peu parce que bloguer est devenu une activitée importante dans ma vie, je veux avoir un lectorat qui augmente, pas qui régresse. Je vais donc faire les ajustements nécessaires.

Saturday 9 July 2011

Italian desserts and criminal minds

"Leave the gun. Take the cannoli."

This is from Peter Clemenza in The Godfather, of course. I have seen the movie millions of times, but I never had once in my life cannoli. I did try to find them, sadly when they were on the dessert menu of Pizza Express they had been sold out. This is the kind of totally decadent dessert I usually crave for. And it is associated with one of my favourite movies, so just for this I want to try it.

I have been blogging recently about tiramisù and I guess Italian desserts are on my mind, but also the association we make with sugar and sugaree stuff and criminality. In The Godfather trilogy, it is obvious: when smeone eats or buys an orange, murder is being planned or about to be committed. Cannoli are associated with not one, but two murders in the saga: Paulie Gatto's and Don Altobello's, who gets poisoned by them. In another classic, Amadeus, Salieri, a jealious Italian composer who sends Mozart to his death even though he believes he is the Son of God (adding blasphemy and deicide to murder), is also depicted as having a sweet tooth, and a patriotic one at that, being particularly fond and proud of the speicalties of his homeland.

I think there is a reason for this association. There are two kinds of villains which I find particularly interesting: the puritan and the gluttonous. The puritan is dehumanised and his ethics close to fanaticism and the gluttonous displays appetites that are being the realm of food. They have the destructive hunger of ogres. I will blog a bit more about crime fiction in the next few days. Until then, I leave you with the classic murder scene and the immortal line.

Le projet Omertà?

Je suis souvent en retard dans les nouvelles, comme je l'ai encore constaté aujourd'hui. Alors que je désespérais de revoir Omertà au Québec, j'apprends que l'on aura droit à... un film comme suite de la série télé. On en apprend plus ici. Ca m'a un peu scié les jambes quand j'ai appris et j'ai pris la nouvelle avec un mélange d'enthousiasme et d'appréhension.

Je suis un grand fan de la série télévisée, je crois qu’on n’a jamais réussi à faire quelque chose d’équivalent dans le genre, au point de vue de la qualité comme de l'authenticité. Même Le dernier chapitre était du Omertà réchauffé. Je suis donc enthousiaste, mais j’ai des réserves:
1)Les vedettes. La série originale mélangeait têtes d’affiches connues (Michel Côté bien sûr), acteurs qui étaient plus ou moins sortis de l’écran radar et parfaits inconnus à l’époque (Dino Tavarone, Luc Picard, Brigitte Paquette). Dans ce film, il semble y avoir trop de vedettes, trop de gros noms qui risquent de faire de l’ombre à leurs personnages. Est-ce vraiment nécessaire d'avoir René Angélil dans le casting? Et Patrick Huard? Et Stéphane Rousseau? Et pourquoi Rachelle Lefevre? Je suis sûr qu'elle est une actrice potable, malgré son français approximatif, mais était-ce absolument nécessaire d'avoir une pitoune comme protagoniste féminine? Les autres actrices d'Omertà avaient une beauté plus naturelle.
2)Le format. La série était justement ça, une série, avec du temps pour développer un nombre important de personnages secondaires, pour élaborer une intrigue complexe, pour nous amener de manière réaliste dans l’univers des putes et des junkies à celles des financiers véreux. Dans un film, je crains les raccourcis.
3)L’intrigue. Voler l’or d’une banque, si j’ai bien compris. Heu, ok. Gino Favara dans Omertà III voulait importer de l’or illégalement au Canada, il y a un peu redite.

Avec ce qui se passe dans l'actualité criminelle québécoise et montréalaise, Omertà est plus que jamais pertinente. Mais je me demande si on ne fait pas fausse route dans l'exécution. Cela dit, je vais faire l'impossible pour être au Québec quand le film sortira en salles, à cause justement de la pertinence du sujet. Et parce que je suis un fan fini.

Thursday 7 July 2011

Dreaming of a long train journey

Last week I was watching Great British Railway Journeys on BBC2, which was set in Liverpool. I could see the Liverpool Lime Street station, which I was going through every morning and evening for my commute. I have been missing Liverpool recently, for other reasons. I have also been missing other places, and then it struck me: what I am longing for is a slow, long train journey, from South to North, stopping at all these places I want to revisit. I consider that often the journey matters more than the arrival, especially by train.

I would probably have to make a connection in dreaded London, but hopefully it would not be for long. Then up to Liverpool for a day, where I would visit the places I used to walk daily. Then the next day I would go up to a long overdue pilgrimage in Manchester. Then the next day, up to Scotland, for another long overdue visit. Then after a few days, I would do the slow return home. But I think I feel more at home up in the North, in those places I visited and want to visit again, than in the South.

And of course, inbetween, there would be the long, slow train journey. I like it long and slow, when I can be comfortable and when I can stop somewhere to stretch my legs. I would bring a good stash of books to keep me company and bring the iPod with me for some music. And I would be set.

Un temps de grenouilles

"Il pleut, il mouille,
C'est la fête à la grenouille.
Quand il pleuvra plus
Ce sera la fête à la tortue."

C'est une comptine enfantine, par ailleurs complètement stupide, que je mets en préambule. Vous vous en rappelez sûrement. Je l'ai eue en tête ce matin lorsque j'ai dû me rendre à la gare sous la pluie battante. Dix minutes de marche, quinze tout au plus, et j'étais trempé jusqu'aux os. Je me serais senti très amphibien si ce n'avait pas été aussi désagréable. Mes souliers en sont encore humides. Morale de cette histoire: mon manteau d'été n'est pas très utile pour la pluie battante. Lorsque je revisiterai l'Écosse, il m'en faudra un autre. Autre morale: je n'ai pas l'âme d'un palmipède.

La photo de droite a été prise à l'Aquarium de Vancouver, soit dit en passant.

Wednesday 6 July 2011

Art, artists and Oscar Wilde

"From the point of view of the form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type."

The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

This is from the much quoted Preface. Well, of course. I love Oscar Wilde's one and only novel. It is one of my favourite books. I could write pages and pages, posts and posts about the novel, I usually quote him from time to time, finding it difficult to write much about the whole book now (I did write an essay about it back when I was doing my degree, I got a really good mark). I find this particular quote very close to my own situation as a wannabe artist: I never managed to be a professional musician and I think it is because I lacked the discipline and the rigour. I never went very far as an opera singer either, even though I love to sing opera. I envy opera singers more than I envy other artists, I feel that they have something that I failed to gain. However, while I am far from an accomplished actor, I do find acting easier. I think it is because it is more instinctive as a craft. I envy actors too, but I don't feel the same distance between them and me.

Le mot inusité du jour: tiramiser

J'ai lu ceci hier sur Facebook, publié par mon petit frère: "a tiramisé pour l'avant-dernière fois de l'année. Faites-en votre deuil." Tiramiser est donc un verbe signifiant bien sûr préparer un tiramisù (je garde l'accent sur le u comme en italien, bon). Contrairement à pifomètre, le terme tiramiser est bien une invention originale de petit frère. Je songe à établir ici un dictionnaire de mots inusités. Comme le tiramisù est un dessert délicieux comme à peu près tout ce qui vient d'Italie, j'espère utiliser le mot souvent. Peut-être lorsque je visiterai petit frère.

Tuesday 5 July 2011

And now it is Scotland!

Recently I was longing for Ireland because of Visit Ireland adverts. Things are getting worse and worse: I noticed tonight a Visit Scotland advert. This one to be precise. It made an ever bigger effect on me than the Irish adverts, what with the stags, the castles in the mist, the magnificent nature, the magnificent architecture, the autumnal look, the alcohol, the everything. I am such a sucker. I visited Scotland nearly 25 years ago and this has been long overdue.

You see, I have maybe deeper affinities with Scotland that I have with Ireland, or indeed any other country that is not Québec. I have Scottish blood, after all, so this touches me even more: I might have had ancestors walking there and I probably have distant (very distant) relatives walking around. When I listen to this song, I often think of Scotland first (and fittingly enough it was written by a Scot). Still, no excuse to fall for this kind of emotional blackmail.

Je m'ennuie moins de la piscine

C'est la constatation que j'ai faite aujourd'hui. L'été dernier, ça me manquait à peu près tous les jours où il faisait chaud, ce qui était souvent le cas. Mais avec l'été en dents de scie qu'on a jusqu'ici, beau et chaud le matin, puis ça refroidit vers midi (!), ou il se met à pleuvoir, ou alors il fait frais comme un jour de septembre, ou alors autre chose se passe, je n'ai pas le temps de commencer à trouver les jours chauds trop intenables. Juillet a jusqu'ici été assez représentatif du reste de l'été et assez atypique comme mois de juillet. J'écris ce billet et il pleut dehors, demain ce sera des cordes. Il fut un temps où je pouvais me baigner même des jours de pluie. Je suis plus casanier, j'imagine. Peut-être aussi que j'ai (horreur) beaucoup perdu de cet engouement pour les plaisirs nautiques, que j'ai longtemps eu. Et ça veut dire que j'apprécie de moins en moins l'été comme saison. Suis-je le seul? Dites-moi si je suis normal.

Monday 4 July 2011

This is not a blog

The events in it do not exist. I am myself a creature of fiction, a creation of my own mind. I am not a blogger, not even a person. Okay, this is not a post, but it certainly is a pathetic attempt at being kind of surrealist. I am in this state of mind this evening. I learned from BBC News that there is an exhibition on René Magritte at the Tate Liverpool. I am missing my beloved Liverpool and I am missing Magritte... again. Back in 1996, there was a similar exhibition in Montreal, just when I had started university. I didn't go, I can't remember why. I regret it to this day. Magritte had ways to illustrate with whim dry intellectual concepts, such as Saussure's signifiant and signifié ("Ceci n'est pas une pipe") and made some really interesting paintings inspired by Fantômas (more here and here). Magritte's influence has been almost too important for his own good, but he himself was a true artist and a true intellectual.

Tout va très bien, Madame la Marquise

La photo a été prise dans le Vieux-Montréal. C'est un cheval plus blanc que gris, mais il fera l'affaire pour illustrer ce billet. J'ai en tête je ne sais pas trop pourquoi cette chanson de Ray Ventura. Mon père en connaissait quelques vers quand j'étais enfant, ça m'avait marqué (comme bien des souvenirs enfantins), l'histoire cette marquise qui perdait tout et qui semble être la seule à se rendre compte de la gravité de la situation, alors que ses domestiques lui dorent allègrement la pillule. C'est une chanson délicieusement ironique, presqu'un vaudeville ou une comédie musicale en un acte (et une chanson!), une preuve que le music-hall peut être à la fois léger, drôle et intelligent. Et Larry Tremblay a utilisé la chanson dans The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi pour donner un effet plus sinistre. En fait, l'expression "Tout va très bien, Madame la Marquise" a en français une connotation profondément fataliste: on dit ça parce que rien ne peut aller plus mal.

Sunday 3 July 2011

Trying to enjoy a monotonous Sunday

I was trying to find a topic to blog about a few minutes ago and then it struck me: it is Sunday and I am bored. I feel utterly uninspired to blog about anything, the muse is simply not answering, I try to read but I cannot keep focused, ditto for what's on TV, I downed a beer I cannot remember its taste, I pretty much feel down and out. Sunday melancholia has been winning hands down today, so far anyway. As if the weekend is one day too long.

Juger une bouteille par son étiquette

J'ai lu hier cet article de Cyberpresse sur les vins que l'on choisit à cause de leur étiquette. Je suis un Philistin en ce qui concerne le vin: je ne m'y connais peu et j'en bois de moins en moins. Cela dit, quand j'en achète, je le fais souvent en fonction de l'étiquette. J'ai en fait déjà acheté un vin rouge parce qu'il avait un taureau en plastique qui pendait d'un ruban attaché à la bouteille. Je ne me rappelle pas du goût du vin, je crois que c'était au mieux une honnête piquette ("un gros rouge qui tache" comme disent mes amis français), mais j'ai gardé le taureau en plastique pendant des années comme bibelot sur ma bibliothèque à Montréal.

Je fais ça avec la bière aussi, surtout ici où les bières ont parfois des étiquettes impressionnantes. Je me demande parfois si ma préférence pour certaines bières ne dépend pas un peu de leurs étiquettes (la Hobgoblin, notamment, en fait tous les produits de Wychwood). J'espère tout de même être un peu moins philistin avec la bière.

Saturday 2 July 2011

Music in the park

Today when I opened the windows of the flat I could hear music coming from the small (very small) music festival taking place the little park nearby. Since it is not every day that we have a festival virtually at the doorstep and that it is important to get in touch with a community we technically belong to we decided to go there. There was not many people, but a nice little number of families, young children, elderly people, and a few dogs. The music was American folk stuff sung a capella by a couple, not exactly my favourite thing, but they did also sing On the Bank or the Roses, which is enough to make me happy. The local radio station (the same one that was supposed to air an audio recording of the play I was in but has not done so yet) also played some music from the... Montreal Jazz Festival. Strange how close I can feel from home sometimes.

There was also a good deal of real ales available, some of them from the local brewery. Sadly, as I had drank a lot the night before with my colleagues, my liver and stomach were in no state to receive more alcohol today (I don't believe in hair of the dog remedies). So I did not appreciated this afternoon out as much as I could have had, had I not been hangover. It was still a lovely time, just warm enough to be comfortable and just quiet enough for a public event. And there is more of it tomorrow...

Question existentielle (56)

Je suis sorti hier avec des collègues et j'ai un peu trop bu de bière brune. Pas assez pour être saoul (j'ai passé l'âge), mais assez pour avoir un bon mal de bloc aujourd'hui. J'ai le coeur fade et la tête qui me fait souffrir. Alors je pose cette question existentielle:

-Quel est le meilleur remède que vous connaissez contre le mal de bloc et les lendemains de veille?