Those crowned heads

I am getting royally fed up, pardon the very bad pun. I knew it, I was dreading it already, but it is happening now and it is just as unpleasant. So Kate and William are in Canada. Now that they are abroad, can we have a week without them? Well of course not! People from both sides of the Atlantic are all oooh and aaahhh watching the newlywed couple. And journalists and the media are expectedly sycophantic towards both sides of the Atlantic too. I would live with it if I was merely an immigrant coming from a republic. But I am not. I am a British subject who was born in a colony: their Queen is my queen, this heir is also my future king. And it is an absurd institution. Somebody is born and because of this should bow. The whole Commonwealth needs a guillotine. And I know this is technically seditious libel, here and maybe even in Canada. So I will qualify this: I am speaking figuratively, of course. I would never even hit a crowned head, even with a tomato or an egg, unlike some loyal British subjects. But I will voice my discontent. I am not a loyal subject. Monarchy is a stupid old joke.

Monarchie et insignifiance

 Je commence à avoir sérieusement la nausée des nouvelles princières, quand ce n'est pas l'Angleterre c'est le Canada qui se met à déconner, et les médias dans les deux pays se comportent comme des téteux serviles. Pathétiques. Enfin bref, Kate et William sont au Canada. Si seulement ils pouvaient passer ça sous silence ici! Peut-on avoir une journée sans le couple royal? Il semblerait que non. J'ai bien aimé la chronique d'Yves Boisvert sur le sujet, bien que je l'ai aussi trouvée décourageante: la profonde insignifiance de la monarchie et son anachronisme même l'ont fait survivre et la feront survivre encore. Déprimant.

Smoke and fire

This is an anecdotal post, about those little nothing moments that make life.

This is the end of the month today. I often say that this blog takes the colours of seasons, but this summer has been strange so far, switching from atypically cold and unexpectedly hot. Difficult to take the colours of a chameleon summer. it is also more difficult to get the feel of a day, of any season.

One thing marked me last week: I was walking back home and it was quite smoky around, a grey, thick, smelly smoke, as if there had been a big fire nearby. There was no trace of fire anywhere but this smoke: no fire trucks, no burning building, nothing of the sort. Just the smoke. It reminded me of the hot summer days in Chicoutimi when winds were bringing the load of smoke, sometimes ashes, created by forest fires up in the neighbourhood. Forest fires were terrifying things: there were adverts on TV urging us to be careful with matches in wild lands, to avoid woods when it was too hot and dry, etc. For me, this is what a dangerous summer smells like: dry and smoky. It got printed in my psyche.

Césure

Je n'ai pas blogué hier. Ca m'arrive parfois, même si j'essaie d'écrire au moins deux fois par jour, une fois en français, une fois en anglais. En vacances, quand j'ai accès à internet, j'essaie de bloguer un peu plus. Mais hier j'étais peu inspiré, alors il y a eu une césure dans ce blogue. Ce qui n'est pas nécessairement un mal: je bloguais beaucoup trop durant ma première année sur le blogue (2008) et je m'éparpillais. Parfois il faut laisser l'inspiration venir à nous. Cela dit, même si (paraît-il) vaut mieux que quantité, je crois qu'il est important d'écrire régulièrement pour garder le cerveau en alerte. Et pour garder le blogue vivant. J'utilise cette métaphore à dessein: je trouve que bloguer a quelque chose de biologique.

Challenges and discipline (or lack of)

My mother gave me for Christmas (gift I received in April) a box of learning Italian CDs. It has been on the bookshelves, taunting me, every evening putting me to shame because of my lack of discipline. I did not even open the darn package. I have been wanting to take new challenges for a while, learning Italian was one of them. I want to learn Italian because learning a new language is a skill that is not only artistic, and hence it is out of my comfort zone. I get the musicality of the accent easily enough, for me it is the fun part, but I need to learn the boring stuff: the grammar, the conjugaisons, all the things that you need to know and integrate to understand it and appreciate it completely. I want to be able to understand it, enough to read it without help and to hold a conversation in Italian. But the evenings, I am tired and I don't have the energy to do it.

Which is a cheap excuse of course. I had enough energy to do acting for two hours every Wednesday, even to do some extra rehearsals with my friends. What I really lack is discipline. That said, a lot of the learning and creative process in acting is intuitive, and in it easier to find the energy to do it. Especially since it had warming up exercises before, things that helped me relax and focus on the task ahead. I am not big on learning through fun, but if there is one thing fun to learn it is acting. Learning a foreign language, on the other hand, is hard, dry and you can get easily scared. Still, I need to find the discipline to go through the dry stuff. I always regretted not being able to sustain a conversation in Italian with Liana Burgess, who could speak French fluently, with barely a hint of accent. So I better get my mind into it.

Coulées et peurs enfantines

Mon petit frère est présentement à Chicoutimi où il se promène dans le quartier de notre enfance et les coins où l'on se tenait était jeunes. C'est du moins le cas à en croire ce qu'il écrit sur Facebook. On est tous un peu nostalgiques dans la famille et Chicoutimi je crois s'apprécie plus quand on est nostalgique. Sinon c'est un peu gris et beige. Donc, j'apprends via Facebook qu'il est allé se promener dans les coulées près des polyvalentes chez nous, où il n'a "pas rencontré de maniaque".

Je ne sais pas si c'était la même chose partout au Québec, mais à Chicoutimi, les "maniaques" étaient les croquemitaines de notre enfance. En fait il y avait pleins de légendes urbaines qui couraient sur les maniaques. Je ne savais pas ce que le mot voulait dire, j'imaginais toujours un genre de grand homme émacié portant de vieux vêtements. Pour une raison quelconque, on croyait que "les maniaques" vivaient dans les coulées. L'ennui, c'est qu'il y en avait pleins et au moins une sur le chemin de l'école. Les coulées étaient donc des lieux mystérieux et terrifiants. Ils étaient aussi désespérément proches, ce qui me donnait un frisson d'unheimlich à chaque fois que j'en voyais une de loin. Si jamais j'écris une histoire d'horreur qui se passe à Chicoutimi, elle va se passer dans une coulée.

A local shop and an outsider (me)

I just got back from a local corner shop. Well, when I say local it is not quite true: it is a Londis, therefore part of a chain and it is very bland looking as a building. But it has local products and it is outside the center of town, so it is local enough. Not quite local like the local bookshop I visited last weekend, but there you go. From what I could see, the staff and the customers who come in are very local, their accent and looks scream proletarian England. There was something slightly out of time about them, which was quite nice actually. They gave character to a very, very bland place.

I didn't speak much there, basically I bought some milk and cakes and left (now how typical is it to buy milk in a corner shop?). I had time to hear the conversation between a regular customer and the people at the till, about some dog that died in a car because of the heat. I felt every bit like the foreigner I am. I didn't drop in the conversation and I don't know why but I was almost relieved that nobody noticed my accent. I think I don't like all the time being considered like a strange beast or something exotic. Ironic, since the locals are exotic to me (those were anyway). I might like this town, but I am still an outsider and I think I always will be. So when I leave it, I might not be so sad.

Voix étrangères

Ca arrive parfois lorsque je me promène ici dans notre petite ville: j'entends des voix. Pas comme Jeanne d'Arc, enfin j'entends des voix bien réelles de personnes bien réelles, pas d'anges ou de Dieu (je n'ai pas besoin de lithium). J'entends donc des voix qui ne sont pas anglaises. Ce qui m'étonne à chaque fois. Il y a bien sûr des voix françaises, mais récemment j'ai entendu (je crois) des gens parler grec, russe, italien et quelques voix d'Europe de l'Est. Et ça me frappe à chaque fois de deux façons: d'abord je me dis "tiens des étrangers, ici, dans cette petite ville anglaise" et ensuite je suis frappé de les considérer étrangers. Serais-je en train de devenir anglais? J'avoue que cette possibilité m'angoisse.

Castle ruins

This weekend my wife and I visited an old castle (I had been wanting to do it for months), or what was left of it. It was mainly ruins in a park really and what was once medieval had been mixed with more modern stones. The lion you can see on the left side picture, for instance, has been placed there much later. The original building dates back from the XIth century, which is quite impressive in itself, even though there is very little left of it. It used to be a fortress, it is not a place visited by local families, a playground for wide eyed children. It is still nice that they can access historical grounds and maybe learn from it, or at least dream about ancient times. I am still a child in this aspect: these places make me dream. I am never blasé of being in them or seeing them.

I sometimes forget that we live in England and that this was once a medieval country. I am sure there are more ruins like this one to find around here, I will need to do some serious research about it. This was not as impressive as Penrith Castle, but it was still very nice. I could picture my characters from Dungeons & Dragons exploring these ruins. Add a few monsters in there and you have a wonderful adventure setting. It probably is the setting of many make believe games of these children that were there.

It is maybe a bit of a shame that I know little about medieval architecture (or archeology) and cannot dientify what is old and what is new, and cannot just discover things in those ruins just by looking at them. I need to read about it to know its history, and then the past really takes life. Visiting a place like this, I often regret not being a full fledged historian. It is also a shame that all I can think of when I see such a place is of a role playing game setting. Still, even as a simple visitor, it is quite an experience.

Première canicule

Cette photo n'a l'air de rien: elle a été prise hier du haut d'un monticule dans les ruines d'un château. Il ne faisait pas soleil, mais le temps est devenu au cours de la journée chaud et humide. Et puis cette nuit, la canicule est tombée sur nous comme une chape de plomb, alors aujourd'hui pour la première fois depuis deux mois, je porte mes lunettes fumées et je me suis beurré de crème solaire. C'est étrange: après presque un mois où la température avait des allures de septembre, nous avons soudainement un vrai été. Je m'en ennuyais, mais son arrivée a été brutale: la chaleur est inconfortable, d'autant plus qu'elle est soudaine. J'ai perdu le goût de la bière (il me reviendra) et j'ai peu d'appétit. Mais bon, c'est moins pure que juin aux tisons. En espérant tout de même que ça ne sera pas collant comme ça jusqu'en août...

A local bookshop

I saw a strange thing in a nearby town today: a genuine, independent, local bookshop. Not the franchise of a chain, not a used bookshop like the Oxfam ones we see so often, no a genuine independent bookshop. When even big chains are struggling, it was a reassuring spectacle. Of course, I had to go into it. It was small and cosy, and surprisingly (or maybe not), I found a few unexpected titles, books I rarely see in big chains. I bought Tarzan of the Apes, because of a long time curiosity about the original story, because I wanted to buy something there. The lady at the till was very friendly and chatty, something else we don't see very often in big chains. Not that all staff members of chain bookstores are necessarily blasés, but there is a proximity with the customers that you find only in small shops. I will go back there again.

So I went book hunting and caught something I was not expecting. I love that feeling. Did I ever say that I wanted to work in a book shop? In another life, I wish I could own my own bookshop.

Le mot du jour: pifomètre

J'ai déjà mentionné que j'avais inventé de toutes pièces le terme rotade afin de gagner une partie de Scrabble. Ce not n'a pas encore de définition, mais si vous avez des suggestions donnez-les ici. Or, il m'est venu en tête un autre terme que je croyais inventé de mon petit frère, qui l'utilise souvent en cuisine: pifomètre. Je pensais l'immortaliser ici comme invention originale, mais une recherche sur Google m'a montré qu'il existait déjà. Il a en fait même son entrée dans Wikipedia. Je suis un peu déçu. Cela dit, comme c'est un joli mot, j'ai décidé de le mettre ici comme mot du jour.

Addind to the blog list

So I beefed up the blog roll at last. So you can now find here three blogs from my new follower the Frog Queen. I envy and admire her, because she blogs much more than I do AND find time to do things to blog about. There is also Rambling from the Black Lagoon, which should have been here ages ago. Finally, there is Peeking Through an Open Window, formerly known as I am the Guinea Pig. To all, welcome to Vraie Fiction.

Repas de Saint -Jean-Baptiste de l'exilé

Le Prof Solitaire a aujourd'hui mentionné les Québécois exilés. Il m'a enlevé les mots de la bouche. C'est comme ça que je me sens aujourd'hui. Pas seulement expatrié comme je me sens en général, mais vraiment en exil. Enfin, je fais contre mauvaise fortune bon coeur et je vais essayer de fêter notre Fête nationale dignement. Je réponds tout de suite à ma propre question existentielle: cette année ce sera des bagels au saumon fumé (avec câpres, bien entendu). La photo de gauche n'a pas été prise ici, bien entendu. On ne fait pas les bagels comme ça, ici, ils ressemblent plus à des beignes (et ils goûtent les beignes sans sucre et sans goût, en fait). La photo a été prise en 2008 et le bagel dessus vient bien sûr de Saint-Viateur. Au moins je vais avoir du bon saumon (l'Angleterre n'en manque pas), des câpres qui ont de l'allure (importées d'Espagne, sans doute comme celles que j'achèterais au Québec). La bière locale sera aussi buvable. En fait, il ne me manque qu'un bon, qu'un vrai bagel. Ironiquement, c'est ce qui me manque le plus du Québec ces temps-ci: la bouffe.

More on cosmic horror

Tonight I come back to Cthulhu and the Cthulhu mythos. For the story of the same title, you can have a very good and funny two minutes summary here. I have been in the mood for cosmic horror recently, for playing a good old game of Call of Cthulhu. I haven't done one in more than ten years and I miss it. Yesterday and today, we had two big storms in the middle of the day, with thunder and pouring rain. I love thunderstorms, I find them beautiful and dramatic. They make for lovely atmosphere when one wants to read a horror story or to play a horror role-playing game such as Call of Cthulhu.

I think it is mainly because of the atmosphere of rainy summer days that we (my brothers and friends) played Call of Cthulhu mainly during summertime. We had started in January 1994, played through springtime, then we stopped for a while, until we started again one summer night. Dungeons & Dragons was our favourite role playing game and we played it more often, but there was something about Cthulhu that D&Dr didn't have: a horrifying version of our universe, genuine terror, ordinary characters instead of epic heroes, some kind of realism, etc. And well, there was the rain and thunder. I remember closing the restaurant where I was working, which was a bit outside Chicoutimi, in the little hours in the morning. I could feel the cool air after a rainy day and the wind blowing in the trees. There was something terrifying about it, which I used in the game the next day. The stories were often set in quiet neighbourhoods or gloomy countryside. In horror, atmosphere is everything, more so than the monster in the corner. One of my players once said that the games we played made him feel chilly when he was walking through a cemetery one evening. I guess I did my job well.

Passe-moé la puck

Parce que c'est la Saint-Jean bientôt, parce que l'on n'écoute jamais assez des Colocs et parce que le hockey est parfois un sport de crétins, mais surtout parce que Passe-moé la puck est une chanson profonde, j'ai pensé la mettre ici. Julie est la première chanson des Colocs que j'ai entendue, mais je crois que c'est Passe-moé la Puck (avec peut-être La Rue Principale) qui est la meilleure de leurs jeunes années. Ce qui est tragique, c'est qu'ils n'ont jamais eu le temps de viellir.

Longing for Ireland

Sometimes I can be such a sucker. There are these adverts on TV, from Tourism Ireland, urging us to discover the country. It is really cheesy, with a violin playing a reel in the background and people enjoying Guinness and so on. (And by the way I wonder if Guinness pays to be in the advert or if they got free publicity.) Everything looks too green and too staged and does not look quite like the Ireland I remember more than ten years ago. Basically it looks like a bloody postcard. You can see for yourself here. Yet when I watch this I want to be there badly. I wouldn't mind of it was pouring rain, I will enjoy the drinks more (and even the hangovers afterwards). And I cannot help but feel baffled that advertisement works so well on me.

Question existentielle (55)

J'y ai répondu déjà pour cette année, mais j'ai songé à la poser à mon lectorat malgré tout:

-Quoi manger pour célébrer la Saint-Jean-Baptiste?

One year already

Today is the first anniversary of my current job. A year ago, I had started it, wondering what was going to happen. I was getting back in the private sector after many failed attempts to make a career in education, I was uncertain and unfamiliar about my new working environment and was very nervous. I had no idea where I would be in a year's time. To be honest, I am sometimes a bit surprised I made it to permanence.For the first six months, I felt like a fraud.

Today is much different than a year ago: there is no heatwave, I am of course familiar to the place and the work and it was just another day at the office instead of the first day. To be honest it is not my dream job, but I like it much better than I thought I would and it is maybe the best working environment I have been in. And after the disappointments and bitterness of the jobs I had before, I cannot complain.

Les saisons ne se ressemblent pas

C'est le début de l'été aujourd'hui. L'année dernière à la même date, il faisait une chaleur toute estivale. Cette année, il vente, il a plu toute la semaine dernière (mais pas aujourd'hui, ce qui est inusité) et sans faire froid c'est tout de même frais. J'ai déjà eu des mois de juins plus froids, mais j'en ai déjà vécu de plus chauds. C'est comme si, avec le mois d'avril estival qu'on a eu, il fallait maintenant devoir gérer avec un mois de juin qui prend des allures de septembre.

Ca pourrait être pire. L'été 2007 a été épouvantable ici, à toutes fins pratiques inexistant. Ca a duré jusqu'au mois d'août, où on a eu droit à quelques semaines de beau temps. Et au moins ce n'est pas jusqu'ici collant comme l'année dernière, où je n'arrivais plus à dormir. La fraîcheur amène aussi un certain confort. Cela dit, pour les changements saisonniers, il faudra repasser. J'ai moins envie de me baigner que l'année dernière.