A new kind of summer

Something I have noticed today: for the first time in years, I work during summertime. It is certainly the first time for ages. Last time was I think in 2006, but before this it was back in the nineties, when I was washing dishes in a restaurant. Between and after, I never really did work during summer, summer was holiday time. And even when I did work during summer, it was only part-time work. Now it is the real deal. Okay, so the schools here are open until July, so one could say I was working during summer this last year, but this is different: I am no longer subject, or privileged, to school holidays. I am not yet used to it. It might have some good sides: I might not get the feeling of dread I usually have in August anymore. I wonder what kind of September I will have though.

Of course, one's appreciation of working during summertime is relative to the kind of weather summer gives. If it is rainy and grey, nobody will mind. If it is hot and sunny, one will suffer more, even I who is not much of a summer person, except when there is an available swimming pool around (and I do mean available). So I should get through this different kind of summer, providing the weather is not too kind.

Minable censure montréalaise

Je ne croyais jamais bloguer sur Pamela Anderson, une "actrice" que j'ai toujours trouvée prodigieusement mauvaise et que je n'ai jamais aimée même quand elle était au faît de sa gloire (et que je n'ai jamais trouvée belle non plus, croyez-le ou non), mais quelques joyeux fonctionnaires tatas à Montréal me forcent la main. En fait, non seulement je vais bloguer sur elle, mais je vais la défendre! J'ai appris dans une chronique de Richard Martineau qu'on aurait censuré une pub faisant la promotion du végétarisme la mettant en vedette. Le motif: la publicité est sexiste. Dans le genre de décision imbécile, on ne fait pas mieux! Rappelons que c'est la même ville qui a carrément donné le contrôle de ses travaux d'infrastructure au crime organisé, qui a presque plus de bars de danseuses que de bars tout court, que c'est la ville dont la population tourne chaque victoire du Canadien en séries éliminatoires à l'émeute. Il n'y a pas de quoi donner des leçons de vertu, ni à devenir soudainement pudibond. Surtout quand on se vante d'être plus ouverte que les autres villes nord américaines et de ne pas souffrir du puritanisme anglo-saxon. On devrait pratiquer les rares vertus que l'on peut peut-être encore se vanter d'avoir.

La publicité elle-même est intelligente, provocatrice ce qu'il faut et reflète également une nouvelle réalité montréalaise: la vogue du végétarisme chic. Honteux. Cela dit, cette décision pathétique reflète également une réalité montréalaise, celle-ci malheureusement chronique: l'hypocrisie et l'incompétence de son administration.

Afternoon (or morning) tea

I might be becoming a real Englishman, or maybe an old-fashioned Englishman, or maybe just an English cliché. In any case, when we went to the Lake District I became quite fond of afternoon teas, which were often reversed into morning teas, which themselves completed or replaced breakfasts. I think I tried more tea during those holidays than local beers, which is quite a dramatic change. The Lake District seems to have more tearooms than any other place I have seen in England. It is as if this piece of land barely saw the world changing outside, in that aspect at least.

Tea was perfect for the kind of coolish, windy and often wet weather we had there. The picture here was taken in Temporary Measure's tea room in Keswick, shortly after breakfast. I had black tea with mud cake, maybe the best mud cake I ever had. We went to other tea rooms and had more proper afternoon teas, with fruit cakes, scones with cream and jam, a slice of cake and so on (and we actually had them in the afternoon!), but I think this was was favourite tea room. They served tea in Chinese porcelaine, which was absolutely charming, with the cake it was even better. And I simply loved the philosophy of the place, which you can see on the bottom right picture.

Les manchettes brassicoles

Deux nouvelles sur la bière au Québec ont retenu mon attention, d'abord un chef en utilise dans ses recettes et lui donne ainsi ses lettres de noblesse (une crèpe à la bière à l'abricot de McAuslan? Mais quelle bonne idée!). Ensuite le vin risquerait de supplanter la bière en popularité, ce qui inquiète Molson et O'Keefe. Ca m'inquiète moins, parce que je sais que les bières de mcirobrasseries gagnent en popularité. Bien fait pour les grosses brasseries si leurs décalitres de bibine pour brosseux perdent de la vitesse. Ils ont dominé les tablettes trop longtemps de toute façon.

My favourite writer on Rome

Anthony Burgess on Rome, a city he lived for a good while, and which inspired one of my favourite of his novels (but the quote is not from it, as far as I can remember):

"Rome's just a city like anywhere else. A vastly overrated city, I'd say. It trades on belief just as Statford trades on Shakespeare."

I have never been to Rome, and I doubt he seriously disliked the city all that much, but he seems to have the same love/hate relationship with it as I have with Italy as a whole. I decided to put that quote here as I want to go to Rome one day, but I am in the same time wary of what I can find there. I can love it, hate it, or both.

Une nouvelle rassurante (un peu)

Lu dans Le Devoir, les résultats d'un sondage qui nous apprend que les tenants du créationnisme sont très peu nombreux au Québec, à 17% alors que les tenants de la théorie de l'évolution sont à 65%. Il est profondément aberrant d'apprendre qu'il y ait des membres haut placés du gouvernement qui sont créationnistes, mais au moins la peste obscurantistequi sévit aux États-Unis semble être contenue chez moi (cela dit, pas tout à fait autant que dans mon pays d'adoption). Il y a donc des raisons d'être optimiste pour la suite des choses. Et le cardinal Ouellet qui est parti. Décidément, je suisil doit faire bon vivre au Québec ces temps-ci.

Theatre by the Lake

I want to come back to our trip to the Lake District and Keswick. We went to Theatre by the Lake twice (my wife's brilliant idea). Lovely place, idyllic one even, literally surrounded by nature. A few steps away from the theatre we could see flocks of sheep in the field and within eyesight we could see the lake, with the ducks . The walk there and back (a slow walk back) were worth the price of admission. Whether there was clouds or clear skies, the sunsets were strikingly beautiful. The picture at the right does not give it justice.

We saw first Shining City by Conor McPherson, then Northanger Abbey, adapted from a Jane Austen novel. I never cared much about Jane Austen (my mother-in-law must think I am a blasphemer right now, maybe my own mothet too come to think of it), but I actually enjoyed that one. It was partially because it was gently mocking gothic fiction, a genre I enjoy. There is always a good deal of affection in good parody, and that was good one. I don't know how the original novel is, but I thought the adaptation was a smart adaptation. I enjoyed it mainly because I love the art of acting, no matter if the play is a great one or a minor one.

Shining City, I loved completely, so much so that I bought the text the very next day. My wife and talked about it all night afterwards and we still come back to it. It was that smart. Obviously it is a haunting story, literally as it is about a ghost, but this ghost, if it has a human appearance, is guilt. I will try to blog about it more deeply. Let me just say now that I loved it. Oh, and the production was a perfect example of small is more: the play was presented in a small studio, the audience was surrounding the stage, we were like unwilling voyeurs witnessing the drama.

Seeing those two plays reminded me how much I love acting and how much I miss the stage, how powerful it is as a medium. My interest for it has been rekindled recently, through reading of plays (well, one play so far) and through these two nights at the theatre. We should have more of them, even though it makes me envious of the people on stage. I know from experience that they have the best seats in the house.

Déjà le temps des épluchettes

J'ai lu récemment cet article dans Cyberpresse. Certains légumes seraient donc disponibles plus rapidement cette année, dont le blé d'inde. Je suis un homme de saisons, surtout en ce qui concerne la gastronomie. Je ne suis pas un grand fan du blé d'Inde en épis. Le maïs en crème, ça va, c'est un délicieux mélange de sucré et de salé, mais je trouve qu'en épis ça prend entre les dents et je trouve ça très désagréable. Cela dit, j'aime beaucoup éplucher le blé d'Inde et j'ai une affection pour les épluchettes. Je n'en ai pas beaucoup vécu et on n'en fait plus assez au Québec. L'activité a cette particularité de marquer l'été qui se termine et l'automne qui commence. Je suis beaucoup plus un habitué du bouilli, un repas qui est souvent accompagné de maïs en épis (alors ça me permet de l'éplucher avec bonheur) et comme l'épluchette ce repas marque souvent le changement de saison.

The end of my teaching career?

This is what I think, at least for a good while. I discovered it recently, it did not strike me but it is a thought that kept creeping in me until it became clear, obvious in my head: I have had enough of it. Maybe it is because my current job is good enough, the best I had in a while, decent salary, decent work, very nice colleagues, instead of being overworked, underpaid , forced to deal with arrogant and cliquee colleagues. I can barely believe the stuff I put up with the same time a year ago. I blogged my disillusions regarding the teaching world often before, I don't want to repeat myself. Let just say that I got sick and tired of going nowhere with it. I got too bitter I guess, which is sad as I loved teaching. It was the surroundings I hated, the background. I cannot say that I am sad about it, which is very sad in itself, maybe even tragic.

Tiens, le 14 juillet

C'est la Bastille aujourd'hui. Pour une fois, je ne l'ai pas oublié.

Le grand orage de l'été espéré?

On prévoit des pluies diluviennes pour aujourd'hui. Ce n'est pas encore arrivé. Le site de la BBC ne précise pas si ce devait être (ce sera?) un orage, mais je l'espère/espérais. On n'a pas eu de vrai orage d'été depuis le début de celui-ci. Il a plu des cordes hier et j'ai cru entendre le tonnerre une fois, mais c'est tout. Or, j'aime les orages d'été, ces grands déploiements de fureur céleste (je suis poétique là). Un été n'est pas un été sans avoir été baptisé par un orage. Un baptême d'eau et de feu à la fois, pour rester poétique.

Vampire romance?

I love Waterstone's, but it recently irritated me to bits. I recently got an email from them, they were advertising their "vampire romance". Not the chain's fault, it is making the best of a trend, but I happen to hate, hate, hate that trend. Vampire and romance should not, should never have been in the same sentence. I want them as thirsty bloodsuckers, who can turn into bats or wolves, or mist at will. Call me old fashioned, but I think vampires have lost their bite with Anne Rice, who turned a great horror archetype into a "romantic" (read: Eurotrash) antihero (read: lovestruck teenagers with hormonal problems).

I long to a come back to the nasty predator that was personified by Dracula. Bram Stoker's novel might not have been great literature, but it was a smart, efficient book with more intelligence than any of the modern vampire books, without any of their pretention. I mean seriously, romance? There is something romantic about a creature that suck someone dry and turn him into a similar ravenous beast? I just don't get it.

La savane

Il a plu aujourd'hui, mais samedi et hier il faisait si sec que le gazon était jaune et sec comme de la paille. On se serait cru dans une savane. C'était une illustration frappante du contraste entre le nord et le sud de l'Angleterre en été. Il pleut simplement plus là haut et ce n'est pas nécessairement un mal. On se plaint beaucoup de la pluie ici (comme ailleurs), mais le gazon vert est quand même plus plaisant à regarder. Hier, j'avais l'impression qu'un lion allait me sauter dessus ou que je marcherais sur un scorpion à tout moment.

Inland Odyssey

I might be milking the Odyssey's analogies a bit too often on this blog, but there you go. My recent trip felt like an odyssey, even though my wife and I travelled by train most of the time, with a few bus and boat trips here and there. It certainly felt like we were entering another world when we got into the Lake District.

The weather, for one, was radically different than what we have had so far here in the South. July in the Lake District often felt like a mild September day. Not that I complain about this: I was getting tired of the heat and was glad to be in cooler temperature. I am a Northerner everywhere I go: I feel comfortable in Northern weathers and felt that Cumbria was oddly familiar. The mountains, the large lakes, the forest, it is in a way quite similar to the Saguenay region in which I grew up. In another way, it is not so similar, as no town we visited was positively horrid. Civilisation espoused nature instead of spoiling it. Place for place, I would rather live up there than here, if my wife and I could both have similar jobs. It is not exactly my Ithaca, but it could be just as good.

My travel book was Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I wish I had discovered this book earlier, when I was Jim Hawkins's age. Still, Stevenson is always enjoyable to read. I am still reading it, will probably finish it soon. People might think it was odd to read a sea adventure book for a journey that was done inland. Still, I thought it was appropriate for the trip, as it is the story of a sort of odyssey. Travelling novels (road novels?) are about the return as much as the journey, and the changes lived by the character through the process. I don't know if I changed much these last holidays, I still think I rediscovered things about myself.

Compter les moutons

Voici un petit billet qui fait partie de mon compte-rendu de voyage... Je vais bloguer sur mes vacances au compte-goutte comme ça, histoire de ne pas diluer les sujets dans une longue chronique. Une chose qui m'a frappé avec le Lake District et avec Keswick en particulier, c'est la proximité avec les animaux de ferme, surtout les moutons (parfois aussi des vaches). Il y en avait de toutes les formes et de toutes les couleurs, des blancs, des gris, des jaunâtres, des têtes noires, blanches, j'en passe et des meilleures. Dans le parc près du Theatre by the Lake, on pouvait marcher près d'eux. Ils sont cependant assez timides et s'enfuient dès que l'on s'approche trop d'eux.

Outre l'image saisissante qu'offre cette proximité pour qui n'y est pas familier, la présence des moutons m'a valu une montée d'empathie animalière: je ne crois pas manger de l'agneau de sitôt, au grand plaisir de ma femme. Je trouve les moutons un peu trop sympathiques ces temps-ci.

Lake District

English below...

Je suis de retour depuis aujourd'hui du Lake District, où nous avons passé une semaine, surtout (mais pas exclusivement) à Keswick. Je bloguerai plus amplement sur notre voyage plus tard, en essayant de ne pas être trop ennuyeux, je sais qu'un carnet de voyage ça peut parfois paraître lourd pour ceux qui ne l'ont pas vécu. Je vais me contenter de dire pour le moment que ma ville de résidence me semble plutôt banale présentement.

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I am back today from the Lake District, where we spent a week, mainly but not exclusively in Keswick. I will blog about it in the near future, trying to be as interesting as I can, as I know that travelling chronicles can be boring for those who were not part of it. After all, I am no Ulysses. But I will say that the surrounding of the town I live in seem rather bland right now.

Another great unknown line...

...this one from my niece. She deserved to be quoted here, especially in this category. It was back when she was just my then future wife's niece, very jealous of her aunt and disliking me strongly because of this. It was our first meeting, she was something like four and she asked us to draw scary monsters. I can't remember what the others draw, but I decided to impress my future niece by making a really scary monster. It was a big wolf's head, with the wings of a bat, the clawy legs of a hawk, the tongue, tail and fangs of a snake (the fangs looked like a mix of wolf's and snake's teeth actually), nasty red eyes, black fur, horns, what have you. Verdict of the niece:

"This monster isn't scary AT ALL!"

My wife and I still laugh about it to this day.

Question existentielle (11)

Une question à laquelle j'ai déjà répondu moi-même ici, du moins en ce qui concerne nos prochaines vacances. La voici donc:

-Que lire en voyage?

Cats of the neighbourhood

Today I saw the tabby cat that looks like a white tiger. he was crouching by the wall, as if to catch a bird. But there was no bird around. He rubbed against me and followed me around, both scared and predatorial, with the strides of the little tiger he was. I told him would adopt him, iff only I could. I must be crazy, talking to cats like that.

Earlier this week, I saw the black cat who is not so sociable. He was cooling down in the shade. There was another cat in a flat at the top, looking at my black friend with curiosity through the window. I took a picture of him. It is banal, but these cats are parts of my life here. When I leave this place, whenever that may be, I am going to miss them, so I am glad I could take a picture of at least one.

Romans de voyage

Je ne sais pas si c'est parce que je serai en vacances bientôt, mais je lis des romans de voyage ces temps-ci. Je viens de terminer L'Énigme du retour de Dany Laferrière (cadeau de Noël de ma mère) et j'ai commencé à lire Treasure Island, le classique de Robert Louis Stevenson. deux grands livres, de manières bien différentes. J'espère parler des deux bouquins prochainement, au moins par citations.

Il y a deux romans de voyage: celui qu'on lit en voyage et celui qui parle de voyage (ce que les Anglais appellent parfois un road novel, comme il y a des road movies). Le déplacement géographique illustre le voyage intérieur des héros, leur cheminement. En littérature, les exemples sont légions.

Je ne lis pas assez Stevenson, on oublie parfois que même s'il faisait dans la littérature à genre, il était un écrivain remarquable, avec non seulement du style, mais un style, capable de rendre une époque révolue avec authenticité. J'ai découvert Treasure Island d'abord dans une courte adaptation en livre 3-D, ce genre de bouquins avec les personnages et le décor en papier qui sortent des pages. Le roman était résumé en une dizaines de pages avec peu de texte. Puis il y a eu la série animée japonaise, qui m'a vraiment fait aimer accrocher. J'ai retrouvé le générique sur youtube et ça me donne toujours les mêmes frissons. Étrange que je lise l'original aussi tard dans ma vie.