Post acting blues

I think that's what I feel these days. It is nice and warm outside, my job is quiet, yet I don't know what to do with myself (yes it sounds exactly like that). I am pathetic really: it hasn't been a week yet and if I do go to the next one it will start in about six weeks. I always had the same feeling after the last performance, when the curtain goes down, we hug each others, we congratulate each others, we have one drink or more together and then that's it. The next morning, you don't have to remember your lines (yet you will still remember them years later), you don't have to polish your character (even though you feel like you barely started getting it) and it is business as usual. Acting is in many ways a solitary trade, whatever I said here. Younger, I would have drunk a fair deal to bury it Since I had work the next day. I guess I am older too. But it is the process I am going to miss, until next time, the work, the pain even, the way things move into pieces.

Expressions régionales

Parce que j'ai l'intention d'être un expatrié qui sait d'où il vient et qui n'a pas perdu ses racines, en fait parce que j'ai l'intention de me faire identifier comme un Bleuet par les Québécois qui me rencontrent jusqu'à la fin de mes jours, je me suis mis à repenser à nos expressions rérionales et à essayer de les réintégrer dans mon vocabulaire. En un mot, j'essaie de garder le "là". Pas pour avoir la parlure niaise de l'autre abruti, mais parce que je tiens à exporter cette part de culture qui a une véritable valeur.

Corvids and magpies

This picture was taken in the Lake District, in the Keswick Museum, every exsue is good to publish pictures from that time, even dead birds on display. It was a small museum but I was fascinated by what was in it.You can see here (I think but I am not sure) from left to right a raven, a crow and a magpie (or a hooded crow?).

Anyway, when I went out yesterday I saw lots and lots of crows. With the springtime colours, their black feathers make them difficult to miss. Oh and their distinctive caws! I am fascinated by these birds, which I used to dislike as a young child, especially when I was having breakfast, as I found their appearances and their cry utterly sinister. But then of course whatever is sinister also fascinates me, even at a young age, and I learned more and more about them and ended up loving them. I still find them sinister, but playfully so, knowing very weel that this is irrational superstition. Great working material for fiction or games.

Magpies are a different lot. I never even saw one until I campe in England. They have a very distinctive colour too, and I remember taking many pictures of them when I first came here. Before I associated them more with this Tintin album, maybe the best one ever. I never heard La Gazza Ladra, except its overture. Anyway, as this is the wildlife I see outside, I thought I would put some here on my blog.

Question existentielle (41)

Une question existentielle inspirée de mon dernier billet (à l'aquelle un Anonymous a répondu avant même que je l'aie posée):

-Quel est l'âge idéal et pourquoi?

En espérant que personne ne me dise 33 ans, parce que ma trente-troisième année se termine bientôt.

Still 33, soon 34

It kind of struck me today: I am 33, going on 34, and it will be soon. At Easter, or almost, which is kind of strange as it is alledgedly "the age of Christ". Someone once told me it was a "perfect age" because of this, I still wonder how the year when you get tortured and killed can be your best one. Imagine (just imagine!) the other ones. When I turned 33, I barely noticed, because I got distracted. Things changed a lot in this year that is about to finish and they changed very quickly, sometimes for worse, more often for the better. I will not write again what I have already blogged about, there are already enough repetitions here, but I have been thinking a lot about it as my birthday gets nearer. Maybe it is old age.

Je veux revoir la Suisse

Ceci est une photo de la boîte de chocolats que j'ai reçue récemment (je sais, je photographie des boîtes de chocolats, sous tous ses angles en plus, avec emballage, sans emballage, boîte ouverte, boîte fermée, c'est pathétique). J'aime bien son côté vieillot, avec l'image de Neuchâtel dessus. Je trouve que ça a un certain charme, un certain cachet. J'ai presque envie de garder la boîte rien que pour l'image, mais j'imagine que j'ai la photo maintenant. Et puis en regardant ça je me suis dit qu'il faudrait que je revoie la Suisse. J'y étais allé brièvement il y a plus de dix ans, deux ou trois jours à Saint-Moritz, vers la fin août ou le début de septembre, je ne sais plus, l'endroit était mort, presqu'une ville fantôme. La Suisse ne m'a jamais particulièrement attiré, mais la récente gentillesse dont j'ai été l'objet me fait penser que je devrais redécouvrir ce pays et apprendre à l'apprécier.

Ways to spend a Friday evening

I am always tired on Friday evenings nowadays. I don't go out, I usually stay indoors and watch TV. I guess it is the nature of the beast, Friday nights are meant for those who don't work on that day. That said, I rarely went out in the past on Friday nights. Even when invited at dinner with my colleagues, say, I usually try to make it short and never stay there until dessert. If it is not with friends and/or family I usually try to avoid an evening out on Friday. It used to be different of course and there was a time when I could not wait to get out on Friday. But even in Liverpool, when I never worked on Fridays, my best evenings were spent at home. We had a few home parties that were more pleasant than nights out (especially since at that time there was no smoking ban in public places, so the bars were giant ashtrays), but even a quiet night watching whatever was on TV, reading some books, stroking the cat and having gin and tonic ("I'm making gin and tonic, would anybody like some?" I never enjoyed this drink unless it was in these particular circumstances I think) was pleasurable enough. No wonder I idealise that time.

Un air d'été

Non, non, pas cette toune de Pierre Bertrand, que j'exècre profondément (c'est gnan gnan). Sans Beau Dommage, je trouve qu'il a peu d'intérêt, pour être honnête. Enfin, ça a peu d'importance, j'ai choisi ce titre pour ce billet parce que c'est exactement l'air que le printemps a ces temps-ci: nous ne sommes pas encore rendu à la mi avril et il fait chaud. Assez chaud pour que je porte un manteau d'été, pour que le mercure indique 20 degrés (l'un des avrils les plus chauds de l'histoire de l'Angleterre, paraît-il), pour que je mange moins de trucs lourds (il me faut bien terminer ceci), pour que je songe à l'été qui s'en vient. Cela dit, je ne me fais pas d'illusions: avril est un mois abjectement traître et prompt aux changements d'humeur. Alors s'il fait beau maintenant, je me méfie de la suite des choses.

After the acting night

Be warned: there is a lot of rambling here. I did not quite organised my thoughts into something coherent.

So yesterday was my last class of the acting course. This one anyway. The next one will be in May, in a nearby town, unfortunately not at a fifteen minutes walk from home. But I kind of already commited myself to attend: I asked to my teacher "as a favour" if I could use The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi at some point, either for an exercise or a performance or whatever. I am not ready to do the whole play of course, far from it, but I want to work on that text. My readers know my obsession with this play, I might as well make something about it and get it known on this side of the pond in the meantime.

Anyway the night itself was physically exhausting but exhilarating, like these last nights always are. Our performances were recorded for the local radio and it will be aired at a yet undetermined date. "Voice" performances are different than stage performances, they are easier in a way, but you need to channel a lot more of the character in one specific manifestation. I certainly got the voice right, and through it the character just came alive naturally. It is a surreal feeling, just as it is strange to get back to being yourself after it.

However enjoyable the performance was, I still miss stage drama. I discovered yesterday that this is my ultimate during these courses: I want to perform on the stage again. It was very pleasant being congratulated by my fellow classmates, the writer of the play who was there too, and it was flattering being asked by some if I had done this professionally. I wish it could be true, but I know that I am right now an experienced amateur. Still, it felt good. I hope one day I can be, at least on a part-time basis, a professional. But first, the goal is to get back on the stage.

L'accent belge?

Bon, j'imagine qu'il fallait que ça m'arrive un jour: après l'accent suisse, quelqu'un m'a dit cette semaine au travail que j'ai l'accent belge. Je n'ai aucune idée où j'ai pu attraper ça. Surtout que même les Belges que je connais ne l'ont pas, enfin ils ne l'ont pas très distinctement. Je crois en fait que c'est une tare française d'être incapable d'identifier les accents francophones hors France autrement que comme étrangers. Voire même étranges. J'ai visité la Belgique une fois, je connais assez peu le pays à part pour ses bières (que j'aime moins que les bières anglaises), ses frites avec mayonnaise (délicieuses), ses moules et bien entendu Jacques Brel. Mais l'accent, je ne suis même pas capable de l'identifier, sauf quand il est outrageusement exagéré. Et encore, on me dirait que c'est autre chose et je le croirais.

No rest for the virtuous

As you read these lines, I am rehearsing for the last time until tomorrow's production of the play. But I wrote this post on Monday. I have been tired all weekend, partially due to my cold, partially due to a lot of work. I woke up on Monday feeling like I had been sleeping under a ton of bricks (yes I love this trope). But hey, suffering is part of acting, whether the pain is physical or mental (getting in character can be really painful and leave you angsty). I don't want to sound like a masochist, but the pain makes the end result worth it. It makes you appreciate it more anyway.

Question existentielle (40)

C'est la question existentielle numéro 40, comme nous sommes en plein carême (pas que j'en sois très préoccupé, mais quarante est un numéro approprié) et que c'est Pâques bientôt, je vais poser une question profondément existentielle sur cette célébration religieuse au coeur du christianisme... qui change de date à chaque année! Ce qui m'a toujours un peu agacé: parfois c'est beaucoup trop tôt, parfois un peu trop tard, parfois ça tombe sur ma fête. Alors voilà la question:

-Quel est la meilleure date sur laquelle Pâques peut tomber?

A box of chocolates

An anecdote that made my week last week: I received a present from a client last week, two boxes of Swiss chocolates. Not one, two. Nicely wrapped too, a lot of effort was put into it. You can find a picture of the chocolates on the left. They are delicious and utterly decadent. Strange that a country that has the reputation to be so strict (it was the bed of Calvinism after all) are famous for something so sweet and that pushes people so much into gluttony.It sure gets me in a gluttonous mood.

I was quite touched by it. Last time I got chocolates from work, it was some because I was leaving. And it didn't taste nearly as nice as those! It was just a friendly, gratuitious, warm gesture for something I would have done anyway. It makes me appreciate my job a bit more.

Portrait du mollah catholique Jean Tremblay

Je viens de lire cet article de Cyberpresse sur Jean Tremblay, le maire intégriste de ma ville d'origine. Je savais que ce ne serait pas un beau portrait, l'homme n'est pas du genre que je porte dans mon coeur, mais je ne m'attendais pas à trouver cela inquiétant: Jean Tremblay est autocrate, querelleur, prompt à censurer ses adversaires tout comme ceux qui le critiquent (et il y en a) et, bien entendu, un fanatique religieux.

Mais bon, il y a eu un excellent éditorial de Mario Roy pour le consoler aujourd'hui dans La Presse. Un état vraiment laïque au Québec? Sans ambiguité, sans contradiction, sans s'excuser de l'être, bien divorcé de son passé catholique, bien ferme à l'égard de tous les intégrismes, de tous les intégristes? On peut espérer prudemment.

An afternoon nowhere

This picture was taken in the Lake District last summer, in Keswick I think. I stupidly forgot to bring the camera when we went out today so could not take any pic. Anyway, as I have been wanting to do for ages, we went nowhere this afternoon. Well, it was not quite nowhere as it was a sizeable English village that was buzzing with people enjoying an April Sunday, but it was still nowhere enough: i.e. in village with plenty of countryside surrounding it, plenty of old pubs but virtually no other businesses open and no tourist around. It was warm but there was a bit of cool breeze. I enjoyed real ales in two crammed pubs, walked by the river, smelled the green pastures. England often smells of wet land, especially during spirngtime. It is not nearly enjoyable as a crisp cold autumn day, but it is still a very pleasant way to spend Sunday.

Mozart dominical

On est dimanche, alors autant mettre ici de la musique sacrée (en latin je considère ça de la musique sacrée, sans latin c'est de la zizique dévote), surtout que c'est Pâques dans moins d'un mois.J'ai donc décidé de mettre un peu de Mozart, chanté ici par Natalie Dessay. Et si on vient m'accuser de retrouver la foi (Ouch!), je tiens à rappeler que Natalie Dessay est juive (convertie, mais quand même) et je sais d'une entrevue (que je n'arrive hélas pas à retrouver sur Youtube) qu'elle ne chante pas les airs sacrés pour des raisons religieuses.

A great (if a bit geeky) unknown line from my brother

I haven't put a great unknown line on this blog for ages, I thought I would put one here now. My brother is stuck at home because of a broken leg. It might cheer him up that I immortalise a line from him. He put it on Facebook not so long ago. I am no scientist and know zilch about biometrics, but the geek in me liked it a lot nevertheless, and I found it both funny and a defence of intellectual rigour:

"Biometrics is right, if you don't have real data, don't bother submitting your article."

It is true of all research.

Je m'ennuie du Parc Lafontaine

Je ne sais même pas si j'ai déjà publié cette photo du Parc Lafontaine (La Fontaine? Je ne sais jamais.) auparavant. J'ai écouté en boucle Au Parc Lafontaine, chanson interprétée par Lucille Dumont, que vous pouvez écouter ici, même si ça saute un peu parfois comme si c'était un vieux disque. C'est une chanson presque oubliée maintenant, je ne retrouve les paroles nulle part sur Google. En général je ne suis pas très porté sur le music-hall et ce genre de truc grandiloquent. Mais je ne sais pas pourquoi, celle-là je l'aime beaucoup. C'est une chanson très osée pour son époque aussi: on parle de jeunes filles entraînées dans les buissons où elles étrennent l'amour et des frissons dans lesquels naissent les chansons d'amour. Romantique, mais disons-le pudiquement: c'est très charnel. Le parc n'a guère changé avec les décennies, quoique je n'aie jamais vu de couple y faire l'amour. C'est tout de même l'endroit où amener sa douce au moins une fois lorsqu'on visite Montréal.

When the joke is on me

As the French speakers among my readership already know, I woke up this morning with a sore throat, a bit of a runny nose and a dizzy head, the symptoms of the beginning of a cold. April Fool's Day has never been my favourite day, especially not when I am the fool in question. Destiny, or chance, has played a joke on me. At first I worried about me being able to perform my role, then I remembered that I play an old man with a raspy voice. So the joke is not so cruel, it will not be a hindrance anyway. The cough and croaking will only be more genuine. It is funny, as I usually get a nasty cold not long before performing a play. It happened back in my years at uni, every single time. Maybe my body gets more vulnerable for some reason when I rehearse intensively. It is less romantic than fate. Oh, it could be worse: my brother has a broken leg. My suffering is all relative really.

Un Poisson d'avril

Premier jour d'avril, jour du Poisson d'avril, et qu'est-ce qui m'arrive au réveil? Un mal de gorge carabiné.J,ai un début de rhume. Je ne l'ai pas trouvée drôle. Je vais donc me droguer aux médicaments, me gargariser à l'eau salée, tout pour que je puisse oublier que j'ai le rhume. Je déteste avoir le rhume en général, mais je trouve les rhumes printanniers pires. Et je sais que j'ai déjà mis Boisson d'avril de Groovy Aardvark sur ce blogue, mais j'ai la chanson en tête chaque mois d,avril et écouter du rock-grunge-néo-trad québécois (je suis nul pour trouver un genre à ce genre de chanson) à tue-tête est un des plaisirs qui me reste même malade.