Une pensée sur le mot "fjord"

Quand j'étais jeune, on nous rabattait les oreilles avec le fjord du Saguenay quand on nous parlait de la région. Fjord est un mot d'origine scandinave et je me suis toujours demandé pourquoi on avait décidé de l'appeler d'un nom scandinave. Pourquoi pas français, amérindien, irlandais ou écossais à la rigueur? Cela dit, la manière dont on prononce "fjord" ("fior") a quelque chose de très rérional. C'est un mot étranger qui aurait pu être inventé par nous.

Waiting for my lines

I promised that I would blog about my return to acting. So far notthing has really happened. Eager to know if I had to prepare something before the first class, I emailled the head of the school. I hope I didn't create a fuss, but it appears that there is no preparatory work required. It is a different approach than the one I am used to. I only had one proper acting course, but we had to find a monologue to read before the first class. And of course, when I played on stage, there was already a text which I had to prepare. I am not used to this, but I find it quite interesting that I will be taken "raw", so to speak. I will have to wait for my lines. Maybe they will never come, maybe we will have to act on no particular text. Who knows?

Oh, and I remembered that I have one more play in English here: Amadeus by Peter Shaffer. I kind of hope I can use some of the plays I have here for the course.

Grand-papa Pan Pan

Un peu parce que l'Halloween arrive, j'ai cette chanson de Félix Leclerc en tête. Grand-papa Pan Pan est une de ses grandes chansons inconnues. C'est à la fois une histoire terrifiante qui tire ses racines dans le folklore québécois et une critique brillante d'un certain obscurantisme. Bien sûr, quand j'étais enfant et que j'écoutais ça avant de m'endormir, je ne voyais pas ce que ça voulait dire, pour moi c'était juste une histoire chantée, pleine d'atmosphère. Je n'espérais pas la trouver sur youtube. Je ne crois pas que celui qui l'a mise là soit francophone et il fait beaucoup de fautes, mais on ne boudera pas son plaisir:

My niece and I

Two weeks ago, when we went to visit my brother-in-law and his side of my wife's clan, something happened to me that made the visit worth it by itself. And I am not talking about the cat on the roof. You see, my niece used to dislike me before I became her uncle, which is a shame as we have a lot in common: we both love Halloween, old legends, mythology, scary stories, etc. We have the same tastes and a similar sweet tooth. She learned to appreciate me over the years, more and more as the wedding was approaching. And now she finally accepted me. I had another a proof of this during that weekend. Maybe it was a bit because we spoilt her rotten by giving her a years worth of presents and she now associates me with the generous uncle. But anyway, she invited her friend over on Sunday, and when she saw me in the morning, my niece said "This is my uncle."

I don't know why, it moved me. This single event was worth the trip.

Question existentielle (23)

Une nouvelle question existentielle qui m'est venue il y a quelques minutes à voir la noirceur ici:

-Pourquoi est-ce que j'ai l'impression que le soir tombe plus vite le dimanche?

Musing on superstitions

These pictures were taken in the Keswick Museum, one of the nicest town museum I have ever been to. There were a "section" (well, two window displays really) about Cumbria's superstitions. I took picture of them, you can enlarge them if you want to read, I hope the light did not get in the way too much. I like my times in museum to be educational but also atmospheric and this museum had plenty of both. Since Halloween is coming soon, I thought it would be the right time to blog about it.

As a child, I had a wild imagination and at some point, I was fairly superstitious: I believed in ghosts, in the Loch Ness Monster, in devils, what have you. And even if and when I did not believe in something supernatural, I was fascinated by old wives tales and ancient irrational beliefs. I knew they were not true, but I was doing as if. As I said in French here, while I did not like the taste of mushrooms, I still kept an interest in them because of their association with supernatural and witchcraft. Especially when they were in a fairy ring, which was called "rond de sorcières" in French, "witch circle". I loved when I could find one on the ground and they were the basis of many of our make-belief games. I wish I had known then about the superstitions surrounding the rowan tree, as we were playing next to one very often. I developed an interest in this one only in recent year, but was happy it was mentioned in the museum display.

So I grew up to become a rational man (or trying to be one anyway), a skeptic and an atheist. I do not believe in the supernatural to the slighest, yet I still have an interest in them. Like haunted houses, superstitions transform the domestic and the familiar into something much more fascinating than it really is and makes people's life more exciting. There is a bit of Don Quixote in all human beings and sometimes imagination takes over our perception of reality.

Voir le loup

J'ai déjà blogué sur Le poil de la bête ici. Billet un peu embêtant, parce que je parle d'un film que je n'ai pas vu. C'est l'ennui d'être un expatrié: quand il y a quelque chose au Québec qui m'intéresse, je dois le vivre de loin, à travers internet. S'il y a un film qui fait parler, je dois attendre à mon prochain voyage pour le voir... si j'ai le temps de le voir. Pour les séries télévisées, c'est encore pire.

Enfin bref, j'ai lu cette critique dans Cyberpresse et celle-ci dans Le Devoir.Fait étonnant: celle du Devoir est plus mitigée alors que celle de Cyberpresse descend le film en beauté. Je me serais attendu au contraire. Cela dit, les deux critiques semblent confirmer certaines craintes que j'avais il y a un mois. J'imagine qu'il me faudra le voir pour en juger par moi-même.

Actor in search of a text

I am eagerly waiting for some news from the acting school I will attend. All I know is that it starts in November, where it is and at what time. I have no idea on what the teacher is expecting of us in the first lesson. I used to take lessons in Montreal, where I had to prepare a little monologue, nothing classic, something simple. It might not be the way my new acting teacher will kick start the course, but I might have to find something, some text in a play. And I have only two plays in English here: Shininc City and The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi. If I can choose one play to pick up a text from, I think it will be from either one of those, because I love them, because they are contemporary and because I would not miss an opportunity to work on texts I love and to look at them in a different light, and from an insider's perspective, so to speak. And there are these lines from The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi which I always found brilliant and I would love to play them for an audience, even if it was a small one. But I wonder if my readers have any suggestions.

Nature froide

Il faisait un froid de canard aujourd'hui, un temps d'octobre typique. Même s'il faisait chaud il n'y a pas si longtemps, on gelait aujourd'hui on gelait. Cela dit, il faisait soleil. Les couleurs étaient splendides, il va sans dire. Comme je l'ai déjà dit à quelques reprises, la nature n'est jamais aussi belle que lorsqu'elle meurt en automne. Le froid intensifie cette impression.

Et cette photo a été prise à Bath. Ce n'est pas aussi beau ici, mais toutes les excuses sont bonnes pour publier mes photos de Bath.

Got the pumpkin

I forgot to mention this before: I bought the pumpkin last Friday. It was surprisingly a big one (in this country they are rather small), so it will make an impressive and hopefully sinister Jack O'Lantern for Halloween. I am quite happy with my choice, but it is taking a good bit of space in the kitchen. But its presence us that Halloween is coming soon.

Parlons encore des huîtres

Je sais que les huîtres m'obsèdent un peu parfois, mais c'est encore la saison et je n'en ai toujours pas mangé. Déplorable. Un article de Cyberpresse me l'a rappelé. Quand je mange des huîtres, je ne m'amuse pas avec: je les mange simple, avec du sel et du citron. Je me rappelle avoir mangé une fois des huîtres fumées en boîte (j'ai détesté) et une fois des pâtés aux huîtres (pas mal). Sinon, c'est la même chose: je les mange crûes avec sel et citron, et je les fais descendre avec plusieurs rasades de bières. Je suis un mangeur d'huîtres barbare et primitif.

A cynical yet cheerful song

I found this clip on youtube, from Avenue Q, a musical I have been very curious about but never saw. I found "It sucks to be me" hilarious. What the guy sings at the beginning looks strangely similar to the situation I was in not so long ago: losing an unrewarding job at an age when you think you should have accomplished something with your life. I am a bit stressed at the moment for a number of reasons, but this song puts things into perspective: I am better off now, however exhausting or stressful my life is, than a few months ago.

Une question pour les admirateurs du Frère André

Je commence à en avoir soupé du manque d'esprit critique qui semble avoir pris une bonne partie du Québec quand on parle de la canonisation du Frère André. Seule Nathalie Petrowski semble avoir gardé un semblant de lucidité, c'est dire. Je peux comprendre qu'une population dévote, ignorante et superstitieuse ait cru aux miracles, mais j'aurais espéré qu'on ait montré un peu plus de scepticisme envers eux de nos jours, surtout s'ils sont aussi équivoques que la guérison de maux d'estomac. Enfin, les miracles du Frère André ont la cote au Québec, semble-t-il. Même André Pratte les regardait avec bienveillance il n'y a pas si longtemps. Alors je pose une question à tous ceux qui sont fiers d'avoir un saint québécois maintenant:

Pourquoi ne vide-t-on pas les urgences pour planter les malades à L'Oratoire Saint Joseph?

D'autant plus que l'oratoire est au moins aussi laid que la plupart de nos hôpitaux...

Dracula

I have been thinking about this post for ages and ages, the time of the year is a good excuse to write about it. The Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde and Frankenstein were the first classic horror stories I read, but shortly after I read Dracula and it became my favourite horror book. There are many reasons for this. Dracula is a pure, unambiguously evil badguy, unlike the monster who is a tragic figure and Mr. Hyde who is the evil alter ego of a faillible but otherwise good man. Yes, whatever some pretentious movie says, Dracula is all evil, cruel, murderous, amoral, predatorial. There is a good deal of gore and violence, but dosed with suspense and quieter moments. There is also the scope of the story: Dracula has ambitions of conquest, he wants to take over the British Empire, he is not merely a threat to a few teenagers or too curious academics. And there is the subtext, the (intentional?) Catholic mysticism (I envy Bruno Starrs as he pretty much defended in this article what I had found out years before), the middle class that is struggling against ancient powers, there is also all the Freudian things you can find in it. Even as a teenager ignorant of literary criticism, I could feel the book's evocative power and its rich subtext. And of course, there were genuine moments of terror in the novel.

I read the novel at least four times, three in French (including once for a literature course) and one in English. It shows how fascinated I got with the book. I still have dreams about it, they are scary but pleasantly so, too much anyway to be classified as nightmares.It might not be great literature and my tastes have evolved since I read it, but as as horror novels go, Dracula is still my favourite.

I took this picture last year at Madame Tussaud's. I have reluctantly put it on this post. Count Dracula was not Vlad Tepes (Elizabeth Miller demonstrated it) and his appearance in the novel is much more frightening than any historical model he was only loosely based on to begin with, or indeed any of his subsequent incarnations, even Max Shreck and Christopher Lee. But I thought I needed some kind of picture to illustrate the topic.

Insomnie maudite

Jeudi dernier, j'ai vécu le pire cas d'insomnie depuis un bout de temps. C'est à peine si j'ai pu fermer l'oeil de la nuit. Je ne sais pas pourquoi ça m'arrive, parce que ça ne m'arrivait plus très souvent, mais ce fut particulièrement désagréable. Heureusement, j'ai pu dormir sur mes deux oreilles hier. Sauf que la journée de vendredi a été longue, longue, longue. Vendredi est déjà long par définition, mais ça l'a rendu cent fois pire.

Little time, no energy

Maybe it is because I am much busier at the job I have than I have been at the last three years or so, maybe it is because Autumn makes me want to prepare for hibernation, but I find myself exhausted all evenings and I lack interest in everything: I have difficulties following a TV program, even when I love it, I don't read much, if at all (I do most of my reading during commuting) and I don't find any energy or time to blog. I have good ideas, but I need to write short posts during week days. I simply have too little time and no energy at all. I wonder these days how I am going to cope with acting. I used to give evening classes, but then I had either no day job or one that did not keep me too busy. I really hope I will have the energy to perform.

Une odeur de neige et de fumée

Un collègue m'a dit aujourd'hui que ça sentait la neige dehors. Je trouvais cela étrange, parce qu'il faisait froid, mais pas tant que ça. Pas assez pour qu'il neige en tout cas. Lorsque je suis sorti, je me suis rendu compte qu'en effet, il y avait comme une odeur de neige, avec mêlé avec cela une odeur de fumée, comme s'il y avait du bois que l'on brûlait pas très loin. Il n'a pas neigé, je rassure mon lectorat, mais on sent que l'automne est ici entré en force.

A history of horror

I don't have enough time in a week. I am watching at the moment the first episode of A History of Horror with Mark Gatiss, a BBC documentary series with well, you guessed it Mark Gatiss. People who want to watch it and who live in England can go on iPlayer. I get sometimes very cynical about British TV, but their documentaries are often flawless. I haven't watch much of it, but it already made me rediscover old favourites and hopefully will make me discover forgotten classics.In any case, it is a great watch before Halloween.

Faust et nostalgie

Je vais mettre ici encore du Faust de Gounod et j'en profite pour encore faire une page de nostalgie de ce billet. J'ai trouvé récemment sur Youtube un aria de Faust chanté par Jean-François Lapointe. C'est un baryton assez connu qui a même son nom sur Wikipedia. Un baryton québécois assez connu, ça n'a rien d'extraordinaire, mais celui-ci m'a déjà enseigné la théorie musicale et le solfège alors que j'étais enfant. J'étais déjà un passionné d'opéra à l'époque et quand j'ai appris qu'il était baryton je suis devenu un fan, peut-être son premier. A`l'époque, il était encore un chanteur obscur, même pas une célébrité locale. Ca ne rajeunit personne, je sais.Je l'ai revu plusieurs fois à l'opérette du Carnaval de Chicoutimi et à des concerts de Noël. Il a toujours été très chaleureux avec moi, mais je doute maintenant qu'il se souvienne de son premier fan. Vous trouverez ici une entrevue de lui d'il y a quelques années (anecdote: je crois connaître la journaliste également)

Fait étrange, ma voix est devenue celle d'un baryton. J'ai aussi déjà chanté l'aria que je mets sur le blogue aujourd'hui.

A cat on the roof

We went this weekend to see my brother-in-law, his wife and niece. We always have a pleasant time there. My niece didn't always like me, but now she accepted me as family (I get quite moved when she talks about me as her uncle). And they have a cat, a feline with a fiery ochre fur, lean and elegant like those hunters are.

We spent the night there, not in an attic room but still above ground floor, in a guest bedroom. The window was right by a narrow roof. We were woken up in the morning by some plaintiff meowing. I knew it was the family cat, my wife thought at first it was our niece being upset. I opened the door, thinking that the cat wanted to get in, but he was not at the door. We soon discovered that he was standing on the roof, right by the window, meowing endlessly, asking to let him in. We did, struggling with the window and blinds. The cat got in and decided to curl up on my pillow and have a nap there, looking at me with aristocratic irony. He seemed to say: "I know you find me adorable, sucker".

Cats are superior creatures, I said it before and I stand by it. This one in particular has an amazing intelligence. He did not know we were spending the night there, yet when he came back from a night of hunting, he goes straight by our bedroom to let him in, then he takes control of the place and we are even grateful that he does. I think he is actually the master of the house. He would probably be master of this house if he was our cat.