Un volcan et un certain air de déjà vu

Je lis les nouvelles aujourd'hui, et je ne peux pas m'empêcher de penser à l'année dernière. À peine plus d'un an plus tard et un autre volcan islandais se met à faire des siennes. Ce sont grosso modo les mêmes nouvelles, les mêmes images, les mêmes chambardements... Mais ça n'arrive pas à moi. Pour faire changement, ce malheur-là arrive à d'autres voyageurs. Encore heureux que je n'aie pas pas choisi de prendre des vacances en mai!  

Quand même, quand j'étais enfant, mes frères et moi (surtout PJ) étions fascinés par les volcans. Comme par pleins d'autres trucs, mais les volcans ont fait l'objet d'une attention particulière. Ils étaient les lieux terrifiants de bien des jeux enfantins. Maintenant, ils font annuler les vols. Il n'y a pas à dire, ça les rend déjà plus banals.

Windy days

This is a picture from the inside of the Temple of Aeolus in Kew Gardens. I decided to put it here because it fits the topic of this post and because, well, it is a beautiful monument that fascinates me. Like I said in this post, the temple is visited by the elements. Which is kind of neat.

So yesterday and today were very windy days. Yesterday was sunny and windy and quite nice. Not very warm but not cold either, it was just a nice windy day, good enough to fly a kite. Then today it was mostly cloudy and miserable and the wind was much colder. It didn't feel right as I was not wearing warm enough clothes. I was not exactly freezing and I spent all day inside anyway, but when I was out it was not comfortable.

I love windy days, either hearing the wind from inside, or walking out dressed appropriately (like I did yesterday). In this strange month of May that sometimes almost looks like autumn, I would love to spend more time walking in it.

Un air sérieux et un nom espagnol

Une collègue hispanophone m'a dit aujourd'hui alors que je retournais de la pause du midi (que j'avais écourtée à cause de la pile de travail à faire) que j'avais donc l'air sérieux. Bien sûr que j'avais l'air sérieux: une pile de travail à faire, c'est lundi, il pleut, il vente, j'ai une pile de travail à faire, ai-je dit que j'avais beaucoup de travail? Cela dit, je ne crois pas que ça ait rendu ma journée plus facile d'avoir l'air sérieux. Alors je vais tenter de faire comme elle m'a conseillé et de sourire. Mais je déteste avoir le sourire forcé, ils ne sont pas naturels et ils ne rendent pas plus serein.

Autre anecdote: elle m'a appelé Guillermo, qui est bien sûr mon nom en espagnol. Mes amis italiens m'appelaient parfois Guglielmo, j'ai entendu plus rarement quelqu'un m'appeler par un autre variante. Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais cette anecdote a fait ma journée. Peut-être parce que ma mère m'appelait parfois Guillermo quand j'étais enfant, allez savoir pourquoi. Peut-être parce que, comme l'a commenté un ami sur ce billet, ça démontre une fois de plus que je suis un genre de Zelig. Ca n'a quand même pas amené l'Espagne ici...

Where to write

Maybe it is because Leigh Russell will be hosting a creative writing workshop in the South of France and because Mozart's Girl blogged about Beatrix Potter and the Lake District, anyway I thought quite a lot about writing places. I mean you write in a setting, a place where you can get your mind focused on the task ahead and which hopefully gives you inspiration, whether it is to blog like I do or to write a novel or whatever. J.K. Rowling started writing Harry Potter in a train, which is a lovely place to read when the journey is long, but I never thought it was the ideal place to write. She used to write in cafés too, which again I find a lovely place to read, but too public to write. During my years as an undergraduate, some cafés in Montreal were simply overcrowded with aspiring poets and writers. I wonder if they published anything.

I always dreamed of having an attic room to work in. This would be for me the best place to write. It is usually quiet, you feel closer to the elements, far away from the busy rooms of the house, it just fits writing. And you can always look out the window when you cannot find inspiration. I sorely lack an office in an attic room in this attic flat. I guess the basement could work well for writing. A garden too, if it is quiet enough and if the weather is nice.

Now if we widen the focus and thinkof writing environment, the ideal place depends of what you are writing. For any kind of fiction, the French midi seems like a pretty good place. Since I consider crime fiction mainly an urban genre, I think I would rather write it in a city (you know which one), with just enough noise and a crime history for source material. If I ever write horror stories, I hope my attic room will be in a quiet English village. There is nothing more deliciously sinister as quiet English villages. If I wanted to write fantasy, I would probably choose an English village too. But of course, one would have to be quite wealthy to afford the luxury of writing in so many places, depending of his mood and what he is writing. I suspect this is why successful writers often owned many houses. Others have to compromise. Given the choice, I would choose an attic room, wherever it might be, to write anything.

Où trouver Fantômas

Je blogue souvent là-dessus, mais quand je suis sur une lancée autant la continuer, même si je sais que Fantômas n'intéresse peut-être bien que moi (et ce serait une erreur). Enfin bref, je sais maintenant où trouver le Fantômas de Chabrol. Enfin! Bon, je ne sais pas si je vais acheter la série, bien qu'elle ne soit pas chère, mais c'était déjà bien de pouvoir voir des extraits. Pas aussi brillants que je l'aurais cru ou espéré, mais pas mal. C'est tout de même supérieur aux parodies minables de Hunnebelle. La série de Feuillade, dont j'ai vu les deux premiers épisodes (brillants), je sais déjà où la trouver (et je vais donc sans doute me taper du noir et blanc muet bientôt).

Ever growing readership

I was happy to see that Vraie Fiction recently got new readers. According to my followers list I now have 26. This is ridiculously small compared to many blogs I have seen, but it is still a good number. Not bad anyway, for someone who had started with only his family. One day, who knows, when I will have thousands of readers, I might even get paid to do this. Or maybe this day will never come. Too bad, I was planning on this for my retirement plan.

But seriously, here are some of my new readers: Eliza Keating, according to her Google profile she is a NHS nurse and children book writers (so my second writer here after Leigh Russell), I am the Guinea Pig (qui pour une raison quelconque n'apparaît pas sur la liste, Émile Couture and an Italian with the pen name of Gatto999 (bienvenudo). To all, welcome. I am curious on how they found this blog and what made them stay at Vraie Fiction (apart from clicking on "follow" by mistake). Please feel free to tell me your story in the comments section.

I will soon have to beef up the blogroll again.

Un peu de Fantômas

Je cherche toujours la série télévisée de Chabrol, que je ne retrouve nulle part. Mais j'ai eu la chance de retrouver deux nouveaux extraits sur Youtube. Assez intéressant, je dois dire. J'aime bien le retournement de situation du premier extrait, tout à fait dans l'esprit des romans, bien rocambolesques avec juste ce qu'il faut de ridicule. Incidemment, Richard Martineau chronique aujourd'hui en mentionnant Chabrol. Il y a quelque chose de décadent dans la première scène, où je crois (quoique je n'aie pas le contexte) la sympathie du spectateur va à Fantômas, malgré son aura sinistre, il a le charme du diable. Dans le second extrait, où il fait avec indifférence des dommages collatéraux, il est tout aussi inquiétant, mais beaucoup moins charmant.

Keeping my feet on the ground

I just couldn't let this one slip. I know very little about the Rapture, they didn't bother teaching us about it during my Catholic childhood. Probably because our teachers and the religious people who were coming at school trying to prevent us from thinking knew it was utterly ridiculous. I knew zilch about it as a Catholic boy, I know little more as a heathen. I really enjoyed Therefore Repent, a graphic novel that uses it as the basis for the story.

Some fundamentalists are going to pray and hope to leave this world (but why? it ain't so bad), while most Christians look embarrasingly the other way (I cannot blame them), many atheists/humanist groups are supposed to party about it (that's a good excuse as any) and I totally forgot about this non-event. But I find it suiting that whatever happens (or more likely not), I will keep my feet on the ground.

L'accent québécois (encore!)

On m'a dit aujourd'hui au travail que j'avais l'accent québécois. Par une Québécoise expatriée en France, que j'avais cru française. Ca m'a rassuré: je neutralise mon accent naturellement quand je parle ou quand je crois parler à des Français. Ca m'a aussi rassuré de voir que certains le neutralisent plus que moi. Je pense qu'il me faut un contact régulier avec mes compatriotes pourqu'il soit entendu à pleine capacité. En fait, mon accent est québécois dès mes premiers mots lorsque je parle à ma famille au téléphone.

Cela dit, ça me choque toujours un peu quand on trouve mon français difficile à comprendre, ce qui peut parfois arriver. Je déteste la condescendance, qu'elle vienne de Français ou pire, de non francophones. De la part des Français, ça prend souvent la forme d'erreurs grossières. Pour les francophiles anglais, ça prend souvent la forme d'une sorte de dédain pour ce qui est francophone, mais n'est pas français. Je déteste quand un Anglais (mettons) me dit que je n'ai pas un français compréhensible.

When the trains run late

I got late to work today and got home late in the evening, because the trains were running late, because of some accident on the railway.

So this morning, I was waiting for the train, and waiting some more, like other commuters, until a bunch of taxis came, one of the drivers saying the train had been cancelled and the ride was paid by the by the train company... Then when I got in one with fellow unfortunate commuters the driver said that the ride would cost us £20 then the train company would pay back. I think he was trying to pull a fast one, but anyway we decided to get out. I hate scammers, especially when they are so unsubtle. It was like he thought we were really thick. So we waited for other taxis, or some bus or something, getting some rubbish info from the train line. A guy made this joke, which deserves to be a great unknown line: "The trains are not working again, we suck at everything!" I made this other great unknown line: "On the plus side, help lines seem to be working smoothly." But yes, there was lots of complaints about how trains work so well everywhere in Europe but here. Finally, and even though the train had been cancelled, it appeared a few minutes late. Even the helpline guy was clueless: he had said taxis or buses were on their way. But at the next stop the train remained still for a few minutes, so I arrived at work thirty minutes late.

Then when evening came the train didn't come, because of the same accident. We waited and waited and waited. When it finally arrived, it was an hour late. And it stopped one station before final destination (mine and the train's). So the rest of the commute was done in a taxi, in company of unfortunate commuters, but an elderly gentleman paid for it.

In spite of the frustrations of those journeys, in spite of the exhausting day I had because of them, I have to admit it was not all that bad. I managed to read a lot in the train, something I don't have much time to do anymore. On the way back, I talked a lot to a colleague I had never met (he works in a different department than mine) and a young guy who was doing his A Levels in drama. Yes, a fellow actor. Actually, he is more of an actor than I am, taking a path which at his age I did not even consider. When time stops like this, it makes you get in touch with your fellow bipeds, people you see every day without meeting, until that time when you are in the same boat (so to speak), sharing the same experience.

Question existentielle (49)

J'ai eu une journée difficile (voir mon prochain billet), alors je me suis posé cette question existentielle:

-Quels moyens prenez-vous pour vous réconforter lorsque vous avez eu une journée de merde?

No acting tonight

It was the right decision, however difficult. Still, it feels strange. I talked to my teacher yesterday, she was sad but udnerstood and she wants to do more with me. She is also planning a course with more experienced actors. I think I need this, something a little bit more challenging, when I can push myself a bit further. And I will have more time to blog about acting. I only mentioned glimpses of my recent experiences. I think I need to reflect on it further, it might also inspire me for the future.

Procrastination

Je déteste ce mot comme la peste, mais j'en suis un exemple flagrant ces temps-ci. Pas au travail, là je ne remets rien à plus tard (je me ferais taper sur les doigts), mais dans ma vie domestique, je suis incorrigible: j'ai un certificat-cadeau d'Amazon depuis ma fête, mais n'ai encore rien commandé (et ce n'est pas comme si je ne savais pas quoi commander), je n'ai pas appelé certains amis alors que je veux le faire depuis des semaines (ou des mois), je ne me suis pas encore acheté de manteau , je n'ai aucune idée du moment où je vais prendre mes vacances et je lis à un rythme d'escargot.

Et je me demande bien pourquoi je procrastine comme ça...

A taste of Salzburg

Somebody brought Mozartkugeln at work today. I managed to control myself and had just one. Not that I am that keen on Mozart chocolates, I mean sure it's chocolate so I love it, but it reminds me of my one and only trip to Austria and Salzburg, on the 200th anniversary of Mozart's death (20 years already, I am not getting any younger!). I ate it there for the first time, been eating it very occasionally after. I loved Austria in general and Salzburg in particular, so these chocolates reminded me of the place. And of course, it reminded me of the composer. I don't want to sound like Proust (which I barely read), but in one bite I was sent back to Salzburg, my eyes full of images and my head full of music. Because of a small piece of chocolate with a marzipan center.

And since it made me think of Mozart, this is just a good excuse as any to put a duet here, the Papageno-Papagena one. I worked a bit on some of Papageno arias, but I never got a feel for German as I did with Italian (basically my German is as bad as my Italian is good). But German I feel is the proper thing to listen when one thinks of Salzburg. I think I had a look at this particular duet when I was studying opera. The Magic Flute is maybe one of the most accessible opera one can find. It is certainly popular with kids as I happily discovered myself. But anyone can appreciate its beautiful simplicity.And for some reason I always wanted to sing this duet. Never had the chance.

Les mouettes

Alors que j'attendais le train sur le chemin du retour, j'ai entendu un cri familier. J'ai cru un instant que c'étaient un des chats qui geignait, puis je me suis rendu compte de ma stupide erreur: c'était des cris de mouettes. Il y en avait quelques unes qui volaient. J'ai eu une impression d'étrangeté, parce que nous sommes loin de la mer et que bien sûr les mouettes sont associées à la mer.

Leur présence est un signe que, malgré la température pas particulièrement estivale, l'été s'en vient. Enfant, j'associais mouettes et goélands aux vacances d'été, surtout quand on passait du temps à Tadoussac. Ca et au vol de frites: ces oiseaux sont particulièrement gloutons. Quand ils volaient l'été à Chicoutimi, ils formaient le bruit de fond de nos aventures marines (les jeux que l'on jouait autour de la piscine).

Oh, et cette photo a été prise à Vancouver (ou Vancuuuuver). Il y en avait plein.

Musing on cats again

There is a tabby cat in the neighbourhood, I mentioned it before (I think it's the same anyway), he has been around lately. By the door, or nearby, he usually waits for us to show up and then he goes and rubs against us and gets very cuddly. He is not feral: he has a collar and seems very well fed. But today he seemed eager not only for us to stay with him, but to follow us into the block. It was a strange sight: every time I was getting up and moving towards the door he was making big predattorial strides and blocking the way, then purring and rubbing against me. I think he would have got into the flat had we let him.

I felt guilty all evening for not letting him in, but I couldn't: we cannot accomodate a cat and we don't have the right to own pets here. And his owner might be one of our neighbours on the ground floor. I said owner, but this cat I am sure, like other felines, own humans really. I said in my post last year that I wanted to adopt him if I could. I said the same thing today and yesterday, but I think it would be the other way around: he was ready to adopt us and take over our place. And like a sucker I came this close to let him in. I came back to my senses, but I thought a lot about that tin of tuna in the cupboard. With milk, that was the only thing I could have offered him.

Petite nature?

Il a fait en fin de semaine un temps passablement misérable: il a plu, mais surtout il a fait froid. Enfin, je dis "froid", je veux dire plus frais qu'avant. En fait, j'ai eu froid toute la journée. Je suis en général plus à l'aise avec les températures plus fraîches, mais j'ai trouvé celle d'aujourd'hui difficile. Il va sans doute faire beau demain, mais je me demande si je ne suis pas devenu un peu une petite nature.

Strange May

May has been really strange recently: while it was pretty much a heatwave back in April, the temperature has now cooled down to make it feel as if it was almost autumn. Not an autumn going in full force, but like the beginning of autumn, when the temperature is getting cooler. If it was not for the green leaves, the sun coming down late, it would have felt like September.

Oh, and I miss Walpurgis Night, springtime's Halloween (for those like me who are already missing the holiday). I used to blog about it, I haven't since 2008 actually, when I was unemployed and had plenty of time to blog. Back in April, it would have been strange, with the quasi-summer weather. Today, it would have been appropriate.

Question existentielle (48)

Une autre question existentielle, de nature culturelle celle-ci:

-Des accents de locuteurs natifs, qu'ils soient nationaux ou régionaux, quel est votre préféré?

Je songe surtout au français mais pas seulement.

A somewhat painful decision

I will not do the next acting class, that was supposed to start this Wednesday. I thought at first I would, but I will not. For various reasons, each one of them not enough by itself, but on the whole it was sadly the right decision: it is out of town, I will have to hang out for two hours until class starts, I will be very busy at work, it would take a lot of energy I am not sure I have right now and furthermore the course is not quite what I need right now. I want to go back on the stage, and this is more voice work. I would learn something, even something useful, but it is still not quite I am looking for.

I felt guilty saying no, especially since I wanted to do more acting. And because I know I will miss many aspects of the class: the exercises, the people, the whole creative process. But I don't want to feel that it is a chores, that it is something I feel forced to do. I want acting, and the whole learning process, to remain fun. And being exhausted doing something I did not quite sign up for is not exactly fun. It saddens me, but I will have my Wednesday evenings free. I still want to act, but I might take another path.