Walpurgis Night

Tonight is the last night of April (duh!), which everybody knows. However, not many people know that the last night of April is also Walpurgis Night. Little known in the world, but duly commemorated on Vraie Fiction  I first mentioned it in 2008, then more or less forgot about it, until I reintroduced it properly in 2012. I have a soft spot for Walpurgis Night, as it is a bit like the Halloween of April. Halloween is of course my favourite holiday of the year, so a celebration that is akin to it and helps me remain patient for the six months waiting for Halloween to be here. For one night, the little sister of Halloween is here, so to speak.

I chose to accompany this post a picture taken last November, ironically enough. It shows the ensign of a nearby village hall. Why there is a witch on it, I have no idea. Nevertheless, it is beautiful and eerie, with the moon in the background. I thought to investigate and write a post about it around Halloween, but I thought the picture was so good I had to use it tonight. It is very fitting, as witches were supposed to gather on a sabbath and meet the Devil on Walpurgis Night, among other times of year. I'd love to write a horror story about that village hall ensign and/or about Walpurgis Night. Until I have the time, the inspiration, the patience and the words, enjoy tonight and maybe read a scary story to celebrate.

La ballade des cimetières

Bon, c'est le denrier jour d'avril, la Nuit de Walpurgis, et je me suis dit que Vraie Fiction devait le souligner avec une chanson une peu macabre. Je me suis dit également que l'ami Georges est toujours à propos, alors voici La ballade des cimetières. J'ai eu Brassens en tête toute la journée, allez savoir pourquoi. Bon, elle n'est pas sinistre, mais justement, le macabre n'est jamais aussi plaisamment comique qu'avec Brassens.

About bowler hats

On my way back to work, after I left the train station, I saw a man going to it, wearing a bowler hat. You see rarely people wearing bowler hats these days, except eccentrics, and this man looked very much like one. I had seen him from time to time, dressed like a Bohemian dandy, the bowler hat is his trademark. It struck me that I recently saw bowler hats: I (re)watched recently The Great Train Robbery, where they are featured a good deal. I associate bowlers mainly with another movie. I am referring of course to A Clockwork Orange. For Alex, who wears it in the movie, and for the Bohemian guy I saw, the bowler hat is now a sign of marginality, their refusal to conformity. Ironic, as it was maybe one of the most conform hat ever invented, worn through history by all social classes. It does have some sober elegance in it, and if hats were ever back in fashion it could go with everything. Except maybe my head: it would look far too round with a bowler hat, I think. But the bowler hat can also be a sign of oddity, even have sinister tones: Oddjob in Goldfinger wears one, it is both his trademark and his weapon of choice, as the hat's rim is doubled with a circle of metal that is strong enough to break a neck. Alex and Oddjob show that it can appeal to sadistic thugs. All the same, I wish bowler hats were back in fashion. I find it somewhat sad that it is now a sign of eccentricity.

Promenades printanières

Cette photo a été prise au travail, lors de ma pause du dîner. Elle a été prise au même endroit que la photo de ce billet. Je dis ça comme ça, je crois que cet érable est en train de devenir mon marqueur saisonnier. Je marche à chaque pause du dîner (je ne dis pas pause du midi car je la prends pas mal plus tard) au travail, afin de prendre l'air et de prendre l'air du temps. Avril est sur le point de se terminer et le printemps est bien là, quoiqu'il fasse toujours assez frais. Ca n'a pas été un très beau mois d'avril, grosso modo, mais j'ai quand même pu marcher un peu et apprécier le changement de couleurs. J'aime moins les promenades printanières que les promenades automnales, parce que j'aime moins les couleurs du printemps. Je ne les déteste pas, mais je les aime moins. Mais je trouve surtout que le printemps, ça pue plus que toute autre saison. Tout ce qui était décomposé et gelé l'hiver redevient potent et souvent il y a des puanteurs qui te montent aux narines. Les fleurs n'y font rien. Mais bon, la verdure, ça a tout de même son charme. Enfant, c'était ma saison préférée, du moins c'est ce que je prétendais. Je ne sais plus trop pourquoi. Maintenant, je trouve que c'est surtout la soeur jumelle de l'automne. Enfin bref, durant mes promenades printanières, je songe beaucoup à tout ça.

Creature of Havoc

In my attempt to calm my longing for playing a good game of D&Dr and in the meantime reconnect with old childhood memories (as I am naturally a nostalgic person) I have started reading a new Fighting Fantasy Gamebook, another classis of the genre: Creature of Havoc. This one is all new to me, I never played it as a child. That said, I was always very curious about it. You can see on the left-hand side the cover of one the early editions, which is not the edition I have. But this is the cover that got me curious about it as a child. This is a medieval fantasy adventure mixed with elements of Frankenstein, where you played a mindless monster who does not know who or what it is, where it is or what is the meaning its existence. It is supposed to be one of the most complex ones, and one of the most difficult.

It is also one with the longest introductions, with a story that belongs as much in a medieval fantasy novel than a mere gamebook, worth in itself the purchase. I play these books not merely to win, but also and especially for the atmosphere, the settings, the naive history. Creature of Havoc has plenty of everything. So far anyway. I absolutely loved the backstory of the introduction, with many characters and places developed and explained. I compared this to a novel, in a way the could easily become a novel, and an epic one at that. So far, so good, in sum. I intend to blog more about it. Until then, you have this creepy cover to enjoy.

Un calembour sur Pise

Ce calembour a besoin d'un préambule un peu long. Mon amie blogueuse et compatriote Cynthia de Sur un Boeing Bleu de Mer a récemment troqué Blogger pour Wordpress et est de retour en ligne. Elle a publié un billet qui est presqu'aussitôt disparu, sur une fin de semaine à Pise. J'ai voulu commenter, mais n'ai pas eu le temps. J'aurais voulu lui demander: "Et puis, est-ce que tom voyage t'a épisé?" Non mais quel calembour vaseux. Cela dit, je le trouve assez hilarant.

The voice of Simon Russell Beale

As my readership knows, I am soon going to see King Lear, with Simon Russell Beale in the title role. More about the play here. And it struck me recently that he also did a narration of Pumpkin Soup by Helen Cooper, one of my favourite children's books, which I blogged about here. The copy of the version I bought comes with a CD with the story read by him. I think it may be the only time I heard him. And, well, I find it surreal, Simon Russell Beale performing King Lear now, being a thespian and veteran Shakespearean actor, and incidentally reader of children's books. I don't find this demeaning at all, I know many professional actors do this, and Pumpkin Soup is a modern classic in its own right. In his entry on Wikipedia, I also learn that he is a music historian. I know so little of his work, but I like him more and more. This week, I intend to listen to the CD again, giving a lot of attention to his voice.

Question existentielle (226)

Une question existentielle pour tous ceux qui ont déjà eu à les enlever, ou à les mettre:

-Sincèrement, dans une maison, quel est l'intérêt du papier-peint?

A new great unknown line

From my youngest brother. A warning: it may be considered offensive. But what a great Memento Mori:

"Life is a bitch, and then you die. But I'm alive. So life is my bitch."

Un puit fermé

Je voulais montrer cette photo lors d'une des photos du mois, mais jusqu'ici aucun thème ne s'y est prêté, alors je la télécharge maintenant. C'est celle d'un puit, enfin je crois. La photo a été prise à quelque pas de mon ancien lieu de travail, lequel était situé dans une ancienne brasserie. Je ne suis pas demeuré longtemps dans cette compagnie, c'était le pire employeur que j'ai jamais eu, la compagnie a d'ailleurs fait faillite dans la controverse il y a quelques années déjà. Cela dit, j'aimais bien l'édifice et ses environs, dont ce puit fermé. Quand je me promène dans les environs, je fais souvent un détour pour le voir. Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais je l'aime bien.

The menu at the Old Post Office in Wallingford

I have been blogging a good deal about Wallingford recently, so I hope it does not come as a surprise ifthe new restaurant/pub I plug in my traditional weekend post is from there. I am talking about the Old Post Office, or OPO, which ironically is not supposed to be the best one in Wallingford (not according to TripAdvisor anyway), but so far it is the only one I have been to and every time I went there I was happy about the food. I usually have fish there, which is now my food of predilection when I go out, but this time it was linguine with prawns and crab. Drowned in a lot of Parmesan, as you can see on the picture. You can see it on the daytime menu here. So far I only had lunch there, so I am plugging the OPO out of a very limited, very partial experience.

I do not find the food outstanding as much as good, but good food is good enough when you are hungry and eating there is in itself pleasant. It is mid-way between a gastropub and a full fledged restaurant, not quite the traditional pub I would naturally go to for the atmosphere, but the setting is nice and in the heart of Wallingford. It is clean, there are always tables available, it is spacious... and then you can have a walk in town, a lovely English town, maybe the most quintessential English town I have seen, at least down south.

Les draps et les hérissons (anecdote)

Je sais que le sujet de ce billet est d'une affligeante trivialité, mais il faut bien parfois écrire des choses triviales. Ça m'est donc venu en tête récemment: je crois que ces draps de lit sont les plus confortables que j'aie eu l'occasion d'utiliser. Ce sont les draps du lit de l'appart à Montréal. Je les ai déjà mentionnés ici et ici, dans des billets portant sur l'insomnie. Ironiquement, je n'ai jamais eu de difficulté à dormir dedans. Je me demande si c'est dû aux draps eux mêmes ou aux hérissons dessus... Ou encore aux trèfles à quatre feuilles. Enfin bref, je me pose des questions si je les trouve confortables parce qu'ils sont confortables, ou à cause d'un hypothétique effet psychologique causé par les images de trèfles et de hérissons.

A portrait of Odin

Not so long ago, I had promised that next time I would blog about cats, it would be about Odin. Well, here it is. This drawing is on my fridge, among the many pieces of memorabilia and icons featured there, usually from my godson or his sister. This drawing was done by my godson, during my last time home. He wanted to draw something that would make me happy and to cheer me up because he knew Odin had died. So he drew this, from the pictures I had shown him of Odin. My godson has an eye for details: you can see the bush where Odin spent his time and of course, talking of eyes, the left white eye. At first, his sister and him were disgusted by Odin's eye, now they find it cute. Anyway, because I am proud of my godson's heart of gold and his talent as an artist, I have published his drawing on Vraie Fiction.

Floréal

Je tenais à signaler que, depuis le 20 avril, nous sommes au mois de Floréal dans le calendrier républicain français (ou calendrier révolutionnire). Je voulais le mentionner, mais ça a été complètement occulté par Pâques. Il marque la période d'épanouissement des fleurs d'avril à mai. Vous voyez à droite une représentation allégorique. Dehors, si ce n'était de la température de merde, c'est très floréal. Le républicain enragé que je suis n'a malgré tout jamais réussi à embrasser le calendrier révolutionnaire, mais je trouve parfois que le nom des mois a un aspect assez intéressant et évocateur. C'est le cas de Floréal.

Saint George and the Dragon

Yesterday was St George's Day, the day of the patron saint of England. I only mentioned it quickly on the blog, because of something more important. St George's Day is not much celebrated in England, which is very ironic. Thankfully, we have Google Doodle to remind us. I loved it this year, it looked beautiful and eerie, which the knight fighting the dragon in a grey and foggy woodland. I wanted to mention the day just for the sake of putting the Doodle on Vraie Fiction, I love it that much. I say it is not much celebrated here, that said during my last visit to Wallingford, they were actually having a bit of a feast to celebrate. On Saturday, but still. I thought it was nice and unexpected.

Le retour d'un surnom

J'en ai déjà parlé en janvier et avant, de mon surnom de Chicou, qui m'a été donné par des amis français qui trouvaient que Chicoutimi, c'était exotique comme nom de ville d'origine. L'une de mes amies m'a appelé à nouveau Chicou lorsqu'elle m'a souhaité joyeux anniversaire. Ca fait presque quinze ans que l'on m'a donné ce surnom, ça fait plus d'une décennie que je ne l'entends plus. Alors? Alors rien. Ca fait étrange de me faire identifier par ce surnom, après toutes ces années.

Shakespeare's 450th birthday

I thought I was going to blog about St-George's Day, as it is today (I did not even need the Google Doodle to be reminded about it), however I discovered something far more important to commemorate: today is William Shakespeare's 450th birthday. The official one anyway, as we have contradictory data. If it is truly on St George's Day, it is very fitting. The English language owes a lot to Shakespeare. Literature too and not only the English one. The art of acting as well, obviously. We can safely sum it up by human civilization. And I will celebrate the Bard. Not tonight, but in a week time: after pondering about it, I have decided that I will go and see King Lear. Not directly on the stage of the National Theatre, but in a cinema nearby that shows the play live. I already purchased the tickets. I am very excited about it. Today, I was reminded about Shakespeare's birthday. Next week, I will rediscover who the Bard is celebrated.

Le régime de poisson

Le Carême est terminé, Pâques est également et déjà du passé (les fêtes arrivent toujours trop vite), cela dit je me rends compte que je n'ai pas changé de régime alimentaire. Ainsi que je le disais il y a peu de temps, ce n'est pas un gros sacrifice de m'en tenir aux poissons comme pièce principale de mon alimentation. En fait, je n'en mange pas encore assez régulièrement à mon goût et je veux corriger cette situation. C'est encore un luxe, donc. Vous pouvez voir ici la dorade que j'ai mangée pour mon repas de fête. Dure à battre. Je me rends compte et m'étonne à chaque fois que le poisson blanc a de la saveur.

The world is just awesome

This year's Google Doodle reminded me that today is Earth Day. I celebrated it by listening to the Discovery Channel's jingle, the one that could easily be the simplest, sweetest hymn to planet Earth (and beyond). I am uploading it on Vraie Fiction for the second time, now with both adverts on the same video.So here it is again.

Le mot du jour: végéter

Ca va faire bientôt un mois que je n'ai pas présenté de mot du jour. Voici donc celui d'aujourd'hui: végéter. Selon le Larousse, cela veut dire: "ne pas progresser, rester à un niveau médiocre, stagner". C'est bien entendu la seconde définition, la première a rapport aux plantes, mais elle ne m'intéresse pas. Au Québec, le sens de végéter est sensiblement différent. Le verbe y veut dire ne rien faire, perdre son temps ou procrastiner.

The Wallingford Bookshop

I am giving free publicity to a local business today. Usually it is a restaurant or a pub, this time it is something far rarer, in fact something that is becoming extinct in many places. Last Saturday, my wife and I went to Wallingford, a small town in Oxfordshire one of these little hidden treasures kinds of towns England has. Wallingford is so hidden that even its website has been abandoned for a while. The town is lovely in itself and contains many treasures within its treasure: an independent bookshop, simply named The Wallingford Bookshop. I mentioned it before. They do not have any website, but they have a Twitter account. I do not visit the place often enough, as I do not go very often to Wallingford and the bookshop is closed on Sundays, which seriously reduces the visiting opportunities for me.

Apart from the already commendable courage to maintain a local, independent business in a small town, especially a bookshop, this business is also one that actually knows about its business. It is small, but there are a wide variety of titles and every time I went there I found far more interesting titles than in chains, old classics, hidden gems (I am using the treasure metaphor abundantly). The staff is knowledgeable without being pretentious and is warm and friendly. Helpful, chatty when you feel like chatting (and I always feel like chatting in a good bookshop), spending time there is what book hunting is all about. Oh and the complimentary bookmarks look quite nice, with the logo you can see on their ensign. I will even say that since I came to this country, this has been so far my favourite bookshop.

Le temps de lire de la "vraie" littérature

Petit retour sur mon anniversaire hier. Ma mère m'a donné comme cadeau L'orangeraie de Larry Tremblay. Ce sera le prochain livre sur ma liste de lecture, enfin par cela je veux dire le prochain roman, sans compter donc les autres bouquins commencés. Les livres s'empilent allègrement sur les étagères de ma bibliothèque, mais ça fait longtemps que je n'ai pas lu de la "vraie" littérature, enfin autre chose que de la littérature policière. Je comptais me nourrir l'esprit de littérature plus consistante, bref. Pas que j'aie des préjugés contre les romans policiers ou la littérature populaire, au contraire je lis surtout ça à l'année longue. Mais justement, parfois c'est bien de lire autre chose et de me rappeler que j'ai étudié la littérature. Et Larry Tremblay est un auteur brillant, que je soupçonne d'avoir écrit un futur classique.

Medusa and a birthday memory

This picture was taken at the Natural History Museum, it is from a section that was still uncompleted when I went, showing the statue of Medusa next to a earthly(volcanic?) phenomenon. I do not know exactly what the section will look like and what exactly it will be about, although I assume it will show how natural phenomenons may be at the origins of old myths such as this one. In any case, I found the statue of Medusa very impressive. I grew fond of Greek mythology in general and the myth of Medusa and Perseus in particular watching Clash of the Titans as a child. Then I knew very little about Greek mythology, but the movie gave me a crash course.

Soon after, on my eight birthday (I think it was my eight birthday, it may have been earlier), I received my first book about Greek mythology.  As it was my birthday today, I had a thought about it.

Fêter sous l'orage

Ah, le mois d'avril! Il est printannier, par conséquent caractériel et prompt à la trahison. Au milieu de l'après-midi, alors que ma femme et moi sortions pour aller dîner pour ma fête, on a entendu un coup de tonnerre. Puis un autre. Ensuite, il a commencé à pleuvoir des cordes. Puis, après quelques minutes à ce régime, la grêle a commencé à tomber, comme si des cailloux blancs tombaient du ciel. Ca a fini par se calmer, mais le temps a été tempétueux pendant un bout de temps et la journée a été assez misérable. Comme si le ciel voulait célébrer mon anniversaire en me rappelant comment avril peut être. Je sais, c'est une pensée un peu mégalomane. Cela dit, c'est le premier vrai orage de l'année et je ne m'en plaindrai pas: j'aime les orages.

What happened on a 21st of April

It is my birthday today. I learned from the Google Doodle that the 21st of April was also the birthday of Charlotte Brönte. I read her sister Emily, but not her. A strange anniversary for Google to celebrate: the 298th year of her birth. But it made me look for what happened on a 21st of April, the times in history when the date witnessed an important event. The first thing I noticed is of course the alleged Founding of Rome by Romulus. Being into Roman legends and history, this is something I am happy to have my date of birth associated to. And Romulus is also one of the legendary figures I particularly like, being called the "son of the she-wolf". I love wolves. So that's it, the 21st of April is the date when Rome was born, from the legendary labor and ambition of a man fed by a she-wolf. Kind of cool.

La fête après Pâques

C'est ma fête aujourd'hui, j'ai 37 ans (aarrgghhh!) Cette année, ça tombe tout juste le lundi de Pâques. Je suis par conséquent et heureusement en congé. Mais ce qui est plus important, c'est que c'est le lundi de Pâques, ce qui m'arrive assez souvent. En 2019, ma fête tombera pile sur Pâques. C'est moins pire que d'être né le jour de Noël. Cela dit, enfant, j'associais ma fête avec LA fête, je croyais que les deux étaient la même chose. J'ai d'ailleurs plus de souvenirs de cette association quand j'étais enfant. Enfin plus des images que de moments précis en mémoire, mais c'est de l'enfance que je me rappelle surtout des Pâques qui tombaient sur ma fête.

Holy Shroud (Preti)

Happy Easter everyone! For the occasion, I downloaded here a humorous, but somewhat controversial video, about the Holy Shroud of Turin. This is an episode from Preti (Priests). Maybe my favorite, as it shows the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church regarding the treatment of evidence. Not only is it funny, but it is also in Italian. I find it very refreshing that Italians can voice their skepticism towards the claims of the Catholic Church.

Joyeuses Pâques!

Cette photo a été prise de la page Facebook des Pères trappistes. Une image du chocolat de ma région pour célébrer Pâques et me rappeler des Pâques de mon enfance. Le chocolat de la région à Pâques n'a rien à envier à celui des grands centres, ou à celui que je retrouve ici. Enfin bref, où que vous soyez, Joyeuses Pâques, mais vous manquez quelque chose si vous ne célébrez pas une fois dans votre vie au Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean.

Bagels for Good Friday

There are some religious, and more precisely Catholic, traditions which I love to follow in a twisted, Godless way. One is to eat fish on Good Friday, which I did yesterday... But what a meal it was: classic bagels with smoke salmon. And not just every bagels: the ones from St-Viateur. My way of fasting. I used to do this every year in Montreal, heck almost every Friday was an excuse for bagels, but here it is difficult because the bagels are disgusting. I solved the problem this year with the ones I had brought back from my last trip home. So with bagels from Montreal, a delicious, filling meal and overall following a personal traditional that has nothing of the austerity of Catholic devotion, I had indeed a very Good Friday. Sometimes I enjoy it more than Easter itself.

Un kouign amann

Je ne peux pas dire que je vais manquer de sucreries pour Pâques: ma femme m'a acheté ce kouign amann lors de son dernier séjour chez ses parents en Bretagne.C'est à son meilleur avec du thé, après une longue marche une journée froide, sinon glaciale. J'ai de la chance: le temps n'est pas particulièrement chaud ces temps-ci. Le kouign amann est un intérêt culinaire relativement tardif pour moi (je l'ai découvert lors de mon premier séjour en Bretagne en 2008), mais il est depuis l'un de mes desserts préférés.

Holy and Blasphemous fiction

First, an announcement for my readers who live in or near Manchester, if there are any: there is a film festival organized with the collaboration of the Anthony Burgess Foundation: Christianity, Controversy, Cinema. I learned it from their blog. I don't like the title much, I think it should have been called Holy and Blasphemous Cinema, or something of the sort. When one speaks about religion and gathers controversy, it is either because it is devout or blasphemous. The first movie is of course Jesus of Nazareth. Not a controversial cinematic account of the Gospels in any way, but a beautiful movie all the same, and with plenty of Burgess' witticism. That said, I tend to put my favorite writer among the iconoclasts and the blasphemers. Because his Jesus was more Zeffirelli's Jesus, for one, and because what I would call his "Biblical trilogy" (the three novels and films he wrote about the Exodus, the life of Jesus and the early days of Christianity) question, of not completely challenges, the claims at the heart of Christianity. In Man of Nazareth, the novel he wrote alongside the movie, the sacred mixes with profane details and Rabelaisian vulgarity. I recently rewatched Moses the Lawgiver, a brilliant, underrated movie, far superior to the bombastic but far more famous Cecil B de Mille's movie. While the latter was a devout Biblical spectacle, Moses is a complete deconstruction/demythification of the Exodus, where God could merely be a manifestation of Moses' madness. Read a full review on this blog. It surprised me to read online devout Christians praising it: the movie is everything but a piece of Christian propaganda. But Burgess was blasphemous in other ways. Literature, as it is said at the beginning of The Kingdom of the Wicked for instance, has no interest in moral. It does, however, has interest in truth, and in this novel, Christian claims to truth, whether it is historical or spiritual, are smashed to pieces. The promises of eternal life is crushed by the certainty of death. Fiction has little value if it is not blasphemous.

Question existentielle (225)

Voici une question existentielle circonstantielle pour commencer ce Vendredi saint:

-Quels sont vos souvenirs du Vendredi saint?

A pine cone

This is a post about one of these little nothings that make life. I took this picture yesterday on my lunch break, of a pine cone that had fell on a bush, the thick leafs keeping it from falling further. I don't know why but I thought it was a striking image, it got stuck in my head so I took the picture. There are plenty of pine trees in the business park where my working place is, so there are plenty of dry pine cones like this one falling on the ground. I don't associate pine cones with Spring, for me it is of course the object of cold autumn or winter days, things you put dry in the fire after a walk outside. This is what I think about when I see a pine cone: I daydream about warming up by the fireplace. In a way, it is one of these objects that trigger my mind the way madeleines did to Proust. I didn't put them that often in a fire, but I remember doing it sometimes.

La poutine d'Aux Vivres

Cette photo a été prise en... octobre, à Aux Vivres. Je ne savais pas trop quand la publier. C'est leur poutine végétalienne, une bien étrange variation sur la poutine. J'avais blogué sur la curiosité à son sujet ici. Et je tenais à dire que ma curiosité a été satisfaite. C'est en effet une bien étrange poutine, en fait c'est plus une salade de patates avec des goûts de curry indien qu'une poutine. Ce n'était pas mauvais, cela dit, avec le tofu à la place du fromage. Mais la sauce, ce n'est pas une sauce à poutine: c'est un curry, tout simplement. Alors voilà, c'est un peu tard, mais je tenais à en faire un compte-rendu.

Hitchens' Decalogue

Fellow blogger Prof Solitaire reminded me that Christopher Hitchens would have been 65 yesterday. As Easter is coming, I thought I would upload a video from this incredible mind, controversist extraordinaire and overall merciless, admirable intellectual, about the Decalogue, aka the Ten Commandments. The Commandments are maybe the most overrated, absurd, often amoral "moral" injunctions ever written and Hitchens deconstructs them beautifully, then makes his own, which are far better. Anyway, as the movie of the same name is probably playing everywhere around Easter and that I disliked that movie even when I was a good Catholic boy, I thought I would upload Hitchens' Decalogue. So enjoy. Hitchens is always enjoyable, especially now.

Souvenir du mistral

Tiens, ça m'est venu à l'esprit récemment: j'ai brièvement connu le mistral, ce vent du midi de la France. Je ne sais pas trop pourquoi j'y ai pensé, peut-être parce que je l'ai connu lors des vacances de Pâques, en 2001. Je me rappelle comme c'était un vent vif, qui réveillait lors des matins de printemps. Je ne l'ai pas connu en Provence, peut-être la région française à laquelle il est le plus associé, mais au Roussillon-Languedoc. J'ai essayé de prendre à l'époque des photos qui donnaient un peu une idée de sa présence, sans vraiment de succès. C'est une tâche impossible, de photographier le vent. Alors enfin bref, voilà, aujourd'hui, j'ai pensé au mistral.

Elusive black cat

This (very bad) picture was taken yesterday, at the train station after work, as I was waiting for my train to go home. It was of one of the cats that dwell by the train station, in the shrubbery next to the gate or even on the railway. I stopped counting them. This may or may not be the black cat I saw right after the interview that got me the job I now have. I nickname him/her and/or the potentially other black cats Mephisto, sort of Mephistopheles. He is one daredevil: I saw him more than once prowling on the tracks. Yesterday he walked on the railway, then took one of the holes that are behind the gate and lead to the shrubbery right by the station, where he spent a lot of time. I was looking at hi, trying to take a good picture (this one being the less bad I took), then he looked at me, and jumped from the long grass on the bridge, started running on the station just as the train was coming. It was impressive.

Of course, every black cat reminds me of, well, my black cat. Unlike Odin, this one seems very feral, although somewhat chubby. Mephisto may not be scared of humans, as he sees many commuters daily, but he never stops to receive a cuddle. He seems happier hiding in the green herbs, the flowers, the bushes and walking on the rails. I miss being friend with a black cat, heck, any cat would do, but a black cat would be pure bliss. I cannot create a friendship with Mephisto, he cares little about humans, but I do find his presence at the station enjoyable in a soothing. He is such a beautiful, proud feline creature.

Expression (la photo du mois)

Le moment est venu pour la photo du mois, qui cette fois-ci a été assez facile. Le thème était: "Une de vos expressions favorites en photo", chosi par Champagne. Or, j'ai pleins d'expressions favorites, j'avais donc l'embarras du choix. Il fallait simplement trouver l'image qui conviendrait le mieux. Une visite à un pub (comme pour la photo d'août 2013) m'a donné mon sujet: une corde de bois. Ou une cordée de bois, comme on dit au Québec. Pourquoi cette expression? Parce qu'elle évoque la forêt, les feux de foyer, enfin bref le confort primitif du feu de bois. C'est rassurant, une corde de bois, savoir qu'on en a une corde au moins... Enfin, ça c'est mon expression, allez voir les autres:

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Holy (Accursed) Monday

The Godless heathen I am did notice, since yesterday, that we are in the Holy Week, the one leading to Easter. Yesterday was of course Palm Sunday, today is Holy Monday. Which means... Well, nothing at first. Monday is just a boring, monotonous working day, the first of the week. This didn't change. When I was a child, growing up in a still Catholic society, Holy Monday was at school a rerun of Palm Sunday. My parents being Godless heathens (which I didn't know at that time), we didn't go to mass so I didn't have the real day, but at school we spent a good deal of the day with palms, crosses made of palms and doing a bit of a ceremony, praying, telling the story of Palm Sunday. I guess it was easier to be brainwashed through gimmicks.I learn from Wikipedia that the stories of the Scriptures associated with Holy Monday have, among others, the cursing of the fig tree. Which I find very mean, if anything like this ever happened, as I love fig trees. Seriously, cursing a tree? That is cold.

If I had the power to curse, I would curse Monday as a day in general (although I suspect that through the ages, having been cursed over and over again, something stuck to Monday) and Holy Monday in particular. Because nowadays, in my experience, Holy Monday is a Monday that feels longer, where Easter and the weekend is closer, yet feels so far away. Because the closer you get to a holiday, the longer the days are until you actually get there. So every Holy Monday, it feels even more like Monday than usual, it feels more like Hell. Like it will never end. So it is for me an Accursed Monday.

Un jour pour du pâté chinois

C'est lundi, jour minotone s'il en est un. Et ça me prend à chaque lundi ou à peu près: ce serait  le bon temps pour un souper au pâté chinois, si j'avais la patience et la canne de maïs en crème pour en faire. La première morale de l'histoire, c'est que la prochaine fois que je vais au Québec, je me rapporte quelques cannes de (et je sais, je l'ai déjà mentionné). Je regarde cette photo et ça me donne le mal du pays. Ce qui est étrange, c'est qu'il fut un temps où je n'aimais pas le pâté chinois. Pour moi c'était un repas pour journée morne de la semaine. Et c'est la deuxième morale de l'histoire: parfois on ne se rend pas compte que certains mets sont mangés les journées grises justement pour les rendre plus endurables.

The Detective Tales cover for April

I thought I would carry on today the tradition of uploading a cover of a Detective Tales. It is getting more and more difficult for April, because back in April 2008, I uploaded a few of them. This time, I have chosen a far more sober cover than usual. Nevertheless, it is very suspenseful. It it from April 1951. You have the hero, most likely a private eye, at night, rummaging through papers with a flashlight, on what appears to be a dark and stormy night (I don't mind clichés in pulp magazines), while a hand holding a gun. Simple, efficient, dark and, as I said, very suspenseful. On the bottom right side you see the title The Deadliest Game. I don't know if the image is for this story, but it is certainly fitting.

L'Antéchrist de service

Nous sommes le Dimanche des Rameaux, donc la Semaine Sainte commence aujourd'hui... Il fut un temps où, pour moi, la Semaine Sainte c'était une émission plate à Radio-Can. Maintenant, c'est un mot qui réfère à mon enfance catholique, autrement dit l'Age des Ténèbres (au sens figuré, bien entendu). J'ai pensé commencer la semaine et ce dimanche avec une chanson de Georges Brassens, L'Antéchrist, que je n'ai malheureusement pas pu trouver en VO. Ca pourrait aussi s'appeler l'Impiété pour les nuls. Vous trouverez une analyse de la chanson ici. Tout comique mis à part, ça résume bien le fond de ma pensée sur le christianisme et sur son mythe fondateur.

House Odin

As my readership knows, I am following assiduously Game of Thrones, which I discovered last November and I absolutely got hooked on it. The series's website has a page where you can make your own sigil. I decided to create my own and of course I chose as a sigil a black cat. It is easy to know why, and why I called my virtual noble house House Odin. Odin was there with me when I watched back to back the first two seasons of Game of Thrones, he spent a lot of time sleeping next to me or at the feet of the TV set. I was then living the Odin saga, watching a fictitious saga. I thought about it when I watched today this video from YouTuber Comic Book Girl 19, about the first episode of season 4, which I watched recently. She has adopted a black cat too, who is very much present in the video. It made me sad, thinking about all these moments with my own black cat. So this is the sigil of House Odin anyway: a black cat on a blue backdrop (that is supposed to represent night, or evening) and its motto is: Swift as a shadow. Very fitting.

5 Règles de Sagesse (mettons)

Ceci est une liste de 5 règles à ne pas oublier (!) qu'une amie (la mère de mon filleul, pour ne pas la nommer) a placé sur son Mur de Facebook. Je l'ai partagée sur mon propre Mur, parce que c'était vraiment hilarant. Je ne sais pas d'où ça vient, malheureusement, parce que j'aimerais vraiment lire l'ensemble du livre. Les règles ont eu un franc succès sur le Mur, alors j'ai décidé de télécharger l'image ici aussi.

A Black Bear

This is one of the many stuffed animals from the Natural History Museum. I think it is one of a black bear. The fur looks black enough anyway, although it could be another ursidae.His fur is quite worn out and his whole demeanour looks like he is an ancient animal.  The thing with the animals of the Natural History Museum is that they do not want new skins, to avoid hunting and thus useless killing of animals. So they kept the old, old stuffed animals on display. Like this one. But I love the fact not only that it is ethical taxidermy, but also the old look of the creatures. It gives them, and this black bear in particular, a certain charm. The bear, with his shaggy ashes colour fur and his big paws and his grumpy features looks a bit like a monster.

I am not saying this innocently: we once had a black bear skin by the fireplace in the family house, when I was a child. I don't know the whole history about it, I think my dad had trapped it, or maybe he had bought it, I am not sure. In any case, it was by the fireplace downstairs, a relatively small skin, but it looked enormous to me. I loved it and used it as n accessory to many make belief games, but it also gave me recurring nightmares. In my dreams, the skin was a live bear, except it was not quite a bear, it was something malevolent, with a mind developed as a man's mind could be. And interestingly enough, I never made the connection until I became an adult. And seeing the black bear of the museum, I immediately thought about it.

Question existentielle (224)

J'ai regardé ce soir un nouvel épisode (enfin, un nouvel épisode ici) de The Big Bang Theory. Et ça peut paraître bête, mais ça m'a donné en tête une question existentielle:

-Pourquoi est-ce que les sitcoms sont souvent présentés le jeudi soir à la télé?

Scouser talking

A friend on Facebook put this link on her wall, a small article dating back from January, about Liverpool saying. Even though a lot of it is not exclusively from Liverpool (a lot of Brits say birds for women for instance), it was a still a trip in nostalgia land for me. I lived a year or thereabout in Liverpool and it made me remember the very distinctive linguistic environment I was living in. Liverpudlians, or Scousers, have a very distinctive accent, the Scouse. I cannot honestly say that I ever mastered it, or even got vaguely familiar with, but I remember the sounds of it. It is a cliché to say that a particular language or accent is musical, and it is an inaccurate cliché. But I did find Scousers very musical in their way of speaking English. Maybe it was because I was a foreigner. Still, reading this short article made me want to walk the streets of Liverpool again. Ah, memories!

Ah, le poisson du Carême!

Bon, ce n'est pas que j'aie fait mon adieu à la viande pour quarante jours, ni même que j'en mange vraiment plus que d'habitude, mais ça m'est venu à l'esprit: un régime de poisson, ce n'est pas vraiment un gros sacrifice, de nos jours.Prenez ce plat à votre gauche, que j'ai mangé dans un restaurant italien pas loin d'ici. Un poisson, je ne me rappelle plus lequel, avec des moules et des crevettes dans une sauce aux tomates. Bon, je ne l'ai pas mangé durant le Carême, ni même un vendredi, mais bon, ça se prêtait bien au sujet. Le poisson a longtemps été la nourriture du pauvre. Ce n'est plus le cas aujourd'hui. Je me rends compte qu'en fait, pour moi, le Carême dure l'année longue, puisque je le préfère aux autres nourritures. Et je songe même à en manger à Pâques.

Bisbee, Arizona

I am reading Hombre by Elmore Leonard at the moment, the first western novel I ever read, I think. They made a movie adaptation, which I never saw. Anyway, in the novel they mention the town of Bisbee, Arizona. Its Wikipedia entry says it's a city, but it really is a town. Funny coincidence, I recently watched (again) L.A. Confidential, which mentions Bisbee as well, since this is where Lynn Bracken, the Veronica Lake lookalike character of Kim Basinger, is from. So... Well, so nothing. I just found it funny, this obscure town (no offense for the people living there), being mentioned in one of the most acclaimed movies of the 90s. It made me curious about it. From what I found on its website, it looks quite pretty. If I ever go to Arizona, I might visit it.

Comme une certaine lassitude...

Les Libéraux sont majoritaires au Québec. Surpris? Non. Déçu? Oui. Marois a fait une très mauvaise campagne, mais ça n'excuse pas les circonvolutions de Philippe Flop, son attitude pusillanime envers la laïcité (non, je n'ai aucun problème avec une loi qui consacre de manière ferme la neutralité de l'état), son passé de médecin laquais pour princes saoudiens et surtout, surtout, que les Libéraux ont passé leurs derniers mandats à magouiller avec la mafia et tout ce qu'il y a de corrompu et de corrupteur au Québec. Bon, ils sont de retour. Pour quatre ans. Fuck. Il y a des moments où je me console d'être un expatrié.

An eulogy for Sky

Here is a bit of sad news today: I learned that Sky, the dog of my family-in-law had died. She was very old, 17 years old, and had been very sick for quite a while. It saddened me, although not as much as when I suddenly lost Odin. Strangely enough, I only blogged about her once. I am more of a cat person, but of all dogs I've ever known it was Sky I had the closest relationship with. Years ago, in 2006, when I was unemployed and I had plenty of free time squatting at the in-laws, I walked Sky every day. It gave the both of us a good exercise: I lost a few pounds in these months. Sky was also a champion of emotional blackmail, especially when it came to food: she was barking loudly, whining, until you gave her a piece of what you were eating, preparing... or a biscuit, or a piece of food. My favourite anecdote is one about raspberries. I was picking them in the then in-laws' garden, when one fell down on the pavement. I offered it to Sky, who sniffed it, but didn't eat it. I thought this was it, for once there was one piece of food she didn't like... Until a few days later, I saw her biting the raspberry plant, eating whatever berry she could find that was ripe enough. My fault entirely. Anyway, Sky was an adorable, playful Labrador dog, always curious, always greedy, always affectionate.

Quand avril ressemble à...

...ben, à avril. C'est ce qui m'a frappé aujourd'hui: il pleuvait, il faisait frais, c'était gris. Le mois d'avril est un mois printannier, c'est en fait le coeur du printemps, à l'opposé complète d'octobre qui est le coeur de l'automne. C'est aussi, encore plus que mars, un mois qui est capricieux et prompt aux explosions de tempérament. Ca a été le cas aujourd'hui quand il a plu des vannes. Je crois que ce sont dans ces moments-là qu'avril est à son plus typique.

That time on Sunday

I am about to crash in, as it is Sunday night. I don't like Sundays, they often make me melancholic. I easily get the Sunday blues. Tonight, even though I cannot honestly say that I have beaten it, I can however mention that I managed to keep myself busy enough not to feel it too much, so the blues has not been in full force and is just a slight feeling of melancholia as I go to bed.

Une image de Paris

J'ai déjà blogué sur une photo de cette image, achetée à Paris, dans le magasin de la Tour Eiffel. C'est l'une des rares images que j'ai sur les murs de l'appart, ce qui est ironique parce que je ne suis pas l'un des nombreux amoureux de Paris. Je crois que je l'ai achetée parce que c'est une image automnale avant d'être une image parisienne. Et la dernière fois que j'ai visité Paris, l'automne commençait déjà, à toutes fins pratiques. Il pleuvait souvent et la température était fraîche. À chaque fois que je la vois, je pense à mon futur séjour à Paris. Ce sera un voyage-éclair, mais bon. Je regardais cette image de Paris et je me demandais quelle impression j'en aurai au printemps.

Wheel of Fortune (Kay Starr)

I am re watching L.A. Confidential. And since then I have a song in the head, performed by Kay Starr. It is Wheel of Fortune, which you can hear in this sequence. I love the soundtrack of the movie. This song reminds me of another one, a much older one. You don't need to be a gambler to understand the fleeting nature of luck and the expectation you have about it. I upload it here for the lyrics and because I very rarely upload jazz on this blog.

Une exposition d'orchidées

Aujourd'hui, j'ai fait un saut dans une église pas loin d'ici, qui faisait une exposition régionale d'orchidées, tenue par divers clubs d'orchidophiles anglais réunis. C'est bien seulement pour ce genre de raisons que je fais le saut dans des églises. Je ne suis pas particulièrement porté sur les orchidées, mais j'ai grandi avec elles, mon père étant collectionneur. J'ai occasionellement blogué à propos d'elles. Vous voyez ici des phalaenopsis, qui vient du mot grec pour lapillon de nuit. Je trouve plutôt qu'elles ont l'air de serpents. Mais enfin bref, le phalaenopsis est la première orchidée que je me rappelle avoir vue, enfin remarquée, et c'est peut-être ma préférée. Enfin, la courte visite cet après-midi m'a fait penser aux temps où j'allais dans les expositions saguenéennes. Je vais faire un aveu: c'était moins impressionnant cet après-midi.

An alley

I thought about writing this post during my last evening walk. This is a (bad) picture of one of my favourite spots in this town. It is officially a road, but truly it is only an alley. Short and narrow. This is the alley I take every time I go to the local library. I once mentioned it here. Why do I love it so much? I think the wall and its narrowness gives it a certain secluded aspect. It almost looks like an outdoor's secret passage, or a forgotten pathway. Except it has pavement. All the same, you really feel like you are in on a secret, walking there. And there is the fig tree coming from the private garden on the other side of the wall. With the crooked branches that look almost like ghostly limbs. It is pretty with a touch of mystery.

Quoi ne pas faire en fin de semaine

C'est vendredi, alors je télécharge ici un autre bout d'épisode de LFDMEA7H, Quoi ne pas faire en fin de semaine, avec Bruno Blanchet. Les trésors que l'on trouve sur YouTube... Et les années quatre-vingt-dix, elles n'ont jamais été aussi pittoresques, absurdes et caractérielles.

Chocolate owls (for Easter?)

This is Ollie the owl, a creature from the Waitrose range of Woodland Friends, which they released for the upcoming Easter. They also have the owl as a chocolate cake (see picture below). Call me a sucker, but I bought this for my Easter chocolate animal. Last year, for some reason, I could not find anything at all but Cadbury's eggs, so this time I bought the chocolates early on. I know Easter is meant for rabbits, hares, hens and eggs, all the Pagan symbols of fertility, but I thought I would be original and buy a chocolate owl. Which symbolizes... well, wisdom, for one. Not exactly an abundance and fertility symbol, but nevertheless, I love owls.

I am usually not very original when it comes to Easter. In fact, I am very much a traditionalist when it comes to any holiday, be it Christmas or Halloween. A chocolate owl does fit Halloween and autumn more somewhat, although they would need to be more life-like, like this one. But I have a special thing for owls among all birds. They are nocturnal, mysterious, there is the association with woodlands, ghost stories and horror. If my totem land dwelling animal is a cat, the bird that I would connect to the most would be either the corvids or the owls. Maybe this is why I was an easy target for these stupid desserts. That said, I have to admit, the cake tasted quite nice.

Lire un livre en connaissant la fin

J'ai récemment terminé Quinze pour cent de mon cousin Samuel Archibald. Une bonne petite novella, presque trop courte en fait. J'espère qu'on reverra les personnages dans d'autres histoires. J'ai bien aimé, donc. Surtout que ça se passe au Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean. C'est tout de même rare, une histoire policière qui se passe dans ma région. C'est assez plaisant (dit avec l'accent régional) de revisiter des lieux familiers. Sauf qu'il y a une chose qui m'a agacé: je savais le motif du crime et la chute dès le départ. Parce que Samuel tient cela d'une anecdote qu'il a entendue, un fait vécu, et il me l'avait raconté il y a quelques années (au moins une décennie) en me disant qu'il voudrait en faire une histoire. Alors voilà, bien que fascinante, j'avais une cruelle impression de déjà-vu. Ca m'est arrivé quelquefois par le passé de connaître le dénouement d'une histoire, mais jamais comme ça.

Rediscovering evening walks

I just got back from a short evening walk. And it struck me that I had not done many of them since the end of autumn and I really did miss it. I prefer to take evening walks in autumn, my favorite season, but it feels good all the same. It is a soothing activity and it helps me get rid of the cabin fever I often get in the evening. It is also a way to get inspiration. Rousseau used to get inspired by them, as I mentioned here. Walking in this town, I thought about my post from nearly two years ago about my favourite spot. I think I might make a series of posts about my favourite spots here and elsewhere. You see this in a walk: you rediscover space and places. Does that make sense? In any case, for all these reasons, I will try to take a walk every evening.

Gaïa (printemps allégorique)

Je cherchais une photo pour souligner le début d'avril et le printemps qui se confirme. J'ai pensé à celles de la représentation de la déesse Gaïa aux Mosaïcultures que mon père m'avait envoyées l'année dernière. Elles ont été prises en août, mais quand même, une Gaïa à la chevelure fleurissante et dont la main est une fontaine, cela peut bien représenter le printemps. Je fais donc dans l'allégorie ce soir. Je me suis laissé dire qu'au Québec, le printemps n'existe qu'en allégorie cette année. Ici il est bien entamé: ça fleurit et bourgeonne de partout. Ce qui n'est pas mal, pour un début d'avril. Cela dit, la Gaïa des Mosaïcultures m'a l'air un peu trop gentille: dansla mythologie grecque, c'était une déesse primitive qui avait lancé ses enfants monstrueuxs à l'attaque des dieux de l'Olympe. J'en ai toujours eu l'image d'une déesse grand-mère colérique et terrifiante. Ce qui la rend encore plus printannière, à bien y penser, le printemps étant une saison capricieuse.

Is the witch going, going, gone?

I hope it is not an April fool's joke. In which case I would be both devastated and furious.Well, this morning some movers came to the block and they moved things from... the apartment of the evil cat-hating witch I have as a neighbour, the one who had developed a sick obsession against my cat, who was rude to everyone who loved him. She has been a thorn at my side for way too long, behaving like she was the headmistress of a boarding school, with the residents as her pupils. Stupid woman. We knew she had been working on moving out, however since she was still here, I thought she'd never moved. There were also words about the sale of the flat not going through and her having reconsidered and being happy enough here to stay. But she seems to be leaving at last. Her flat seems empty and you can tell things have been moved in the corridor. So I will finally be able to give a Viking's funeral for Odin and spread his ashes in the bush he loved so much.

But all my feline love aside, I have other reasons to be happy to finally see the back of her. She was a busybody, she was a jibber jabber when she tolerated you, she was a prying, spying neighbour when she disliked you. The epitome of passive aggressive. She was, in other words, a witch, as ugly in physique and mind as one. So if this is not some kind of April Fool's joke, this departure is a blessing. Something April brings the most unexpected gifts.

Question existentielle (223)

Nous sommes le premier avril, jour du Poisson d'avril. Il m'est donc venu en tête une question existentielle:

-Quel est le meilleur Poisson d'avril jamais joué?