A great unknown line (number 20)

I thought I would put here another great unknown line. I have not done it for a while. This is another one from me, not because I find myself particularly witty (seriously, I don't!), but because they are easier to find.

So yesterday, my parents, my wife and I went out all afternoon in a nearby town, to celebrate my birthday and make the best of a very sunny day. I had my first Pimm's of the year in a pub. It was only half a pint 9and overpriced I think), but full of orange, lemon and lime slices. After I drink, I usually eat them, I like to bite into raw lemon and lime, especially on a hot day. My wife had a Pimm's too and I was about to have her lemon slices, but the waitress came to clear the glasses. I first asked her to leave the glass, but then I thought it was really being silly for slices of fruits, so I said:

"Oh that's okay, I will get my vitamin C somewhere else."

Kind of obscure, not really that original, but still funny.

Chocolats de Pâques

Nous sommes Vendredi saint et je n'ai toujours pas acheté du chocolat de Pâques, sauf deux oeufs Cadbury's. Cette photo date d'il y a un an, c'est le lapin de Pâques que j'ai eu en cadeau de ma mère, acheté chez Eddy Laurent. J'ai une confession de Philistin à faire: je crois que pour Pâques je préfère le Lulu ou celui des Pères trappistes. Le chocolat sur la photo était absolument délicieux, mais le Lulu a quelque chose de plus simple et qui rappelle l'enfance. Et puis je sais que le chocolat noir est de loin supérieur au chocolat au lait (je n'arrive tout de même pas à convaincre ma femme), mais justement Pâques pour moi c'est surtout du chocolat au lait. Je sais qu'avec le gâteau de chocolat acheté hier on est stocké en sucre, mais je m'ennuie des extravagances de mon enfance, une figurine en chocolat par personne (pour moi ça a été tour à tour: un lapin, un ours, un écureuil, un lapin encore), plus des oeufs en chocolat (Lowney's, que je ne retrouve plus), des oeufs Laura Secord, d'autres trucs qu'on recevait... Lorsque j'aurai des enfants, j'espère leur faire découvrir les excès des Pâques familiales.

Maundy Thursday and birthday

I learned today on BBC news that it was the first time in 85 years that Queen Elizabeth celebrates her birthday on Maundy Thursday. Yes, because I share my birthday with the Queen of England, which is something, as a republican, I am not particularly happy about (but I guess it could have been worse). My birthday often happens around Easter time, which as a child confused me a bit: I thought Easter was my birthday. A couple of times my birthday cake was egg shaped or rabbit shaped. This is not as bad as being born on the 25 of December and it has advantages: there are more chances for my birthday to fall on a holiday when it is around Easter.

Marquise, si mon visage...

"Marquise, si mon visage
A quelques traits un peu vieux
Souvenez-vous qu'à mon âge
Vous ne vaudrez guère mieux"

C'est ma fête aujourd'hui, j'ai 34 ans. Je sais que j'ai déjà mis cette chanson de Brassens inspirée de Corneille sur ce blogue avant, mais comme elle se prête admirablement à cette journée je la mets ici à nouveau. Vous trouverez le poème original ici, avec d'autres poèmes sur l'âge et le passage du temps.

Last day being 33

And there is not so much time left of it, less than an hour in fact. So what to think of my thirties that will carry on and of my thirty third year of life that ends in particular? Some random observations:

-As I said to a colleague who turned 30 recently, the thirties are in many ways the new twenties. Back when I turned 30, it felt like the beginning of the end, don't know why exactly. Maybe because I was the oldest person in our group of friends going out (in Liverpool). And the only one who had just turned 30!
-I got luckier and in a better professional situation at 33 than my previous years.
-Jesus alledgedly died at 33. I will luckily see another Easter at 34.
-I am not feeling old, in spite of the grey hair I see sometimes. I felt old when I turned 30 though (see above). I think age is a question of perspective more than anything else.
-This year ended up being quite eventful: got a new job, started acting again, did more travelling, travels got delayed or cancelled, etc. I didn't get bored.
-And there is still 45 minutes to it. But in a way, about twelve hours, as I was born around midday. Birth is also subject to perspective.

Question existentielle (45)

Une question existentielle qui est un peu le contraire de la 41:

-Quel est dans l'absolu l'âge ingrat?

Waterstone's: even more stationary?

A quick post before bedtime, about my favourite chain of bookstores, which is starting to fall from grace and might end up in cultural Hell, in my eyes at least. I got this email from Waterstone's tonight, titled: "A New Chapter: Even more stationary, gifts and joyous things". Is it what a bookstore really need? Even more stationary? Don't we have other places to buy stationary? I don't go to a bookshop to buy stationary, I go to a bookshop to buy books! Bestsellers, old classics, forgotten classics, relatively unknown stuff, totally unknown stuff, I expect the place to have a variety of books! I might buy the odd pen or handbook here and there, but I go there for the books. I don't want Waterstone's franchises to be like W.H. Smith's, glorified convenience stores. And I know they have it rough with online shops pumping their clients and everything. But still, selling books is more exciting than selling stationary.

La famille

Mes parents sont en visite en Angleterre, la première fois depuis notre mariage. Je les ai vus ce soir brièvement, ils étaient encore tous groggys par le décalage-horaire. Cela fait très plaisir surtout que je ne les avais pas vus depuis maintenant un an. C'est étrange de savoir que mes parents sont ici quand d'habitude c'est le contraire et que c'est l'expatrié qui visite son pays natal. En même temps, ça rend mon mal du pays un peu plus profond.

Oh, et j'ai un peu fêté Noël ce soir: j'ai enfin déballé mes cadeaux de Noël. C'est un peu étrange de le faire en avril, alors qu'il fait beau et chaud dehors.

Reflection on masks

This is is a mask I received as a gift a few years ago, a decorative mask in papier-mâché, a strange mix of Venetian and primitive masks, made by a local artist in Chicoutimi. It is on the wall of my bedroom there.

I have blogged about masks before. It is a fascinating object: used to conceal identity, to create a character, for more prosaic, functional reasons, to decorate or a mix of many functions. Even the prosaic masks, say a surgeon mask or a gas mask, can be quite sinister in the proper circumstances. A mask is an artificial layer of skin that deforms or recreates features, or erases them. When a mask is worn, as I said in my previous blog, it reveals just as much as it hides. One of my favourite comic book characters, Batman, does not wear a mask to conceal his identity: it reveals it, it shows his true nature. Batman is the real persona, Bruce Wayne is the disguise. Of course, masks have been used in fiction to play this ambiguity between hiding and revealing. Think about Eyes Wide Shut (a criminally underrated movie). Masks should be used more often in fiction, they have such an evocative power.

Question existentielle (44)

Une autre question sur Pâques:

-Parmi tous les animaux et figures en chocolat de Pâques, laquelle est la plus propre à Pâques et pourquoi?

J'espère que personne ne va me dire Spider-Man.

The local music shop

We found at total random today the local music shop. I say at total random as it is situated out of the center of town, in a neighbourhood which you usually access by car. We went to the local brewery and stopped there on the way back. It is a very small shop, filled with guitars, a bit of music sheets and not much else. There was a clarinet, some violins, a cello, I think I saw a trumpet too, but I think they were on display just for the look.Objects can be aesthetic, even more so instrument used to practice an art.

Anyway, those guitars on display got me thinking. I think it might be the only instrument people bother to learn nowadays. That is the feeling I had walking in. It is true that it was a small shop, a local one. But I remember being a teenager and what else teenagers my age were playing, why would they go to a music shop except to buy some guitar picks? My friends used to say that sales of guitar picks got the music shops survive. I looked for some opera lyrics sheets, there was nothing. A bit of musical comedy stuff, but that was it. It speaks volume about the state of music today.

I might look like I'm thinking poorly of guitar players. I'm not. It is after all the instrument of modern music. I am also glad that any musical instrument is being sold in the days where pop stars, chick groups, boys bands and the like have plagued the music industry, maybe to the point of creative sclerosis. I had the discipline to learn music, but never enough to turn it into a profession and the only instrument I have left is my voice, which I never developed as I could have. That people develop musical talents, however modest, even as a simple hobby, and learn music, genuine music, is enough to be happy. I might stop by again, chit chat with shopkeeper. I might even buy something.

La loyauté d'un flic

Un billet de Patrick Lagacé aujourd'hui m'a fait lire un article du Devoir sur Yvan Delorme, l'ancien chef du SPVM, sur lequel j'ai déjà blogué. J'ai déjà eu du respect pour lui, jusqu'à ce qu'il prouve sa profonde incurie en tant que chef de police, à plusieurs reprises.

Ce n’est pas seulement troublant: c’est enrageant. Déjà qu’Yvan Delorme avait montré qu’il était un chef incapable, sans leadership aucun, même pas foutu de contrôler des partisans du CH paquetés un soir de séries, incapable de prêcher à ses hommes la rigueur et la probité, par la parole ou par l'exemple, maintenant on sait qu’il faut enquêter sur sa loyauté envers la police et qu’il était peut-être bien l'homme de paille d'hommes d'affaires véreux. On savait qu’il était incompétent (appelons un chat un chat), maintenant on peut le soupçonner sérieusement d’avoir été le Kim Philby du SPVM. Je sais, il est innocent jusqu'à preuve du contraire. Mais coupable ou non il dans tous les cas, hors de tout doute raisonnable, un innocent.

Passing for an Italian speaker

Today was the birthday of a colleague who is half Italian. Of course, I took it as an excuse to say a few words in Italian, eager as I am to speak the language and show off (of course when I do it usually backfires). I first said "Buon compleanno" and then when she said a few more words I said the usual "Io parlo bene Italiano ma non capisco una sola parola". Another colleague was (easily) impressed because I said it fast and asked me where did I learn Italian. I said during my first year in England, where I was hanging out with Italians and where my Italian improved much more than my English. I blogged about it before. But what struck me is that he presumed I was fluent in a language I barely know. Which is what many Italians think, until I get overconfident and make a fool of myself (see above). I like giving this kind of impression, that I can speak Italian like a native, that I am a professional actor, an almost professional baritone, whatever. I guess I suffer from a slight mythomania. I have some tendencies towards it anyway. But maybe it is just me playing a role, with me as the audience.

Question existentielle (43)

Pâques s'en vient, alors les questions existentielles risquent de porter sur Pâques pendant un bout de temps. Celle-ci est inspirée indirectement de ce billet:

-Que manger pour le repas de Pâques?

Et j'espère qu'on me trouvera une autre réponse que du jambon!

An academic critique

Sometimes life winks at you. Today, I got one of those very rare emails from my publisher, as my thesis, which has been published as a book, was reviewed. I got a copy of it and read it eagerly. It is the second time (as far as I know) that it has been reviewed.

I was not excited when the book got finally published. It took about two years to finalise the darn thing and I never felt that it was quite as good as it could have been. The formatting in itself was a terribly painful and frustrating procedure. Of course, like most academic books, it sold badly (although fairly well for an academic book, or so I was told). But this review cheered me up, for many reason. The first one I read was mixed, but this one is mainly positive. Yes, there are reservations and some criticism, but some of them I already had myself (as it was published a while ago) and the rest I think I could defend in a congress without much difficulty. But on the whole, it is very positive, sometimes even laudatory: clear style, methodological, treating a worthy subject only sporadically by others, stimulating work, etc.

I have to confess, I had butterflies reading it, first because of anxiety. I always read/listen to critiques of my work (as an amateur singer, as an amateur actor and moreso as a genuine academic) with anxiety as I am a naturally vain person who does not like being criticised. It is nice to know that a book I don't read anymore, which was central to my life not so long ago, is now appreciated among this academic world that was once mine.

Oh, and the review was also published by one of the major journals in the field. Do I need to say that it made my day?

Manger de l'agneau ou pas?

Pâques s'en vient et donc je commence déjà à penser au dîner de Pâques, qui sera je l'espère copieux et délicieux. Mais voilà, je fais face à une question éthique importante: est-ce que le repas pascal devrait avoir comme pièce principale de l'agneau? L'année dernière, j'avais évité ce problème parce que j'étais au Québec. Cette année je célèbre Pâques en Angleterre, donc je suis très tenté de renouer avec l'agneau accompagné de sauce à la menthe (et oui, c'est délicieux). Mais voilà, j'ai promis à ma femme de ne plus manger de l'agneau depuis notre voyage dans le Lake District, où la proximité avec les mignonnes petites bêtes m'a fait réfléchir sur ma nature de carnivore. À Keswick, on les voyait tout le temps, les moutons étaient timides et ne se laissaient pas toucher, mais on pouvait quand même les voir de près et marcher dans le même champ qu'eux. Difficile de désincarner la viande quand on la voit marcher.   

J'ai quand même déjà trahi ma promesse lors de ma dernière Saint-Patrick, mais je ne pouvais pas refuser un Irish stew offert et puis quand c'est en viande hachée on fait moins l'association. C'était quand même plus simple d'être végétarien à Pâques quand mes parents respectaient la tradition québécoise particulièrement dégueulasse de manger du jambon. Détestant le jambon, je me contentais de manger des oeufs cuits durs. C'était aussi pascal. Mais quand on a connu l'agneau, surtout avec du rouge, on ne veut rien manger d'autre à Pâques. D'où mon profond conflit moral. Je suis déchiré entre mon coeur et mon estomac.

A different Wednesday evening

It has now been a week since my acting course is over. I am still a bit weird about it. Not quite sad anymore, but I am not used to it. I had a full, real meal tonight (although I kind of miss the peanut butter toasts already), I did not read lines or poetry aloud, I did not do warming up exercises (maybe I should have had), spent a fair deal of time doing house chores and watching TV. I cannot spend all my evenings out, but I appreciated doing something different on Wednesday. Now, for a little bit, they will be like any other evening of the week. Maybe not so long if I go onto the next course. But until then, I have to learn to be a civilian, so to speak.

Question existentielle (42)

On a eu droit à deux jours d'avril froids, d'autant plus froids qu'il faisait chaud jusqu'à récemment. Ce qui m'a inspiré cette question existentielle:

-Pourquoi est-ce que je suis heureux de sentir le froid arriver à l'automne alors qu'au printemps ça me décourage?

Musing on city, countryside, noise and silence

Yes, this is another cheap excuse to put a picture of Montreal (Outremont I believe). One of the last posts of Cynthia on Sur un Boeing Bleu de Mer made me think about my past life as a city dweller and my present one as an immigrant living in a British town. It made me wonder if I was more naturally a town mouse or a country mouse. I grew up in Chicoutimi, technically a city, as it has a cathedral, but so spread around that it is hardly a big city. I thought I would never like living in a big city, yet I fell in love with Montreal when I started living there. And then there was Liverpool, but I did not live in the city itself, I was a few minutes away by train. Of course I slept a few nights in my life in small villages and faraway places, including Sainte-Hedwidge, which is pretty much as remote as you can be.

This is one thing that I find fascinating when one spend time in a place is its relationship with noise, particularly at night. I grew up in Chicoutimi going to sleep (often very late) in a sleeping city. When I started living in Montreal, I could hear the traffic going down Christophe-Colomb non stop. At first I found it disturbing, then I found the noise strangely soothing, like it was a big cat constantly purring. Back in Chicoutimi for the holidays, I had difficulties sleeping as the steady sound of the night's traffic was not there. But Montreal, for a "big" city, is rather calm, in some places at least, at night. I am not sure I would have slept as soundly in London, a city I grew to dislike, partially because of the noise and the frantic beat that creates it. In Liverpool, I could live it, then go home and prepare classes, mark, read and sleep in quiet, peaceful suburbia. The Victorian house I was living in got me used to silence at night, real silence. There is nothing like reading a horror story in a quiet town or village at night. It is a deliciously frightening  experience. I would ideally read my crime fiction in a city where I can hear the noisy outside world.

Il y a rock dans baroque

C'est un jeu de mot particulièrement vaseux, je sais. C'est aussi un calembour "combien pertinent" à en croire un ami de Facebook. Je m'explique: l'ami en question a mis une Suite de Rameau sur sa page de Facebook, faisant un parallèle entre la musique baroque et le heavy metal. J'ai donc sorti ce calembour, qui n'est peut-être même pas le mien. Je vous laisse juger de sa pertinence en vous laissant écouter le morceau en question, que vous trouverez plus bas.