Easter memories

It has been a quiet Easter and a surprisingly low in sugar one, because of a chocolate shortage. In moments like this, I wish I was home, in the Saguenay region, where I could get the best Easter chocolate figures one could dream of, just like the ones you see on the picture on your right. These ones are from the Père trappistes (and from their Facebook page), although most of the time we bought them from Lulu. We were lucky when it came to chocolates in Saguenay. Getting the chocolate figure (one for each brother) and some extra goodies (Laura Secord's eggs, Lowney's eggs, etc.) was the highlight of Easter.

We often had an Easter brunch, either at home when we received family or, later, at Le Privilège, where there was a special Easter brunch. I remember those more, I even remember during my first year at university traveling from Montreal to Chicoutimi partially to be celebrate Easter with my family at the Privilège. Easter during my university years were not as fun, as it often happened during the end of years exams, or just before they started.Before we used to go to restaurants for Easter brunches I enjoyed Easter meals mainly for the chocolates and desserts. Traditionally, Québec's Easter meals had ham as mains. And I hate ham. I often had boiled eggs instead. Simple but fitting, and much better. I also used to eat an omelet the Saturday evening before, as I used to make Easter eggs: they had to be emptied first, keeping the shell intact. We also made our own filled chocolate eggs. I guess Easter, like most holidays, is more exciting when you are a child.

Joyeuses Pâques

Petit billet pour vous souhaiter à tous de Joyeuses Pâques. Ici il fait un soleil splendide, mais il fait seulement deux degrés, selon mon téléphone cellulaire. Quand Pâques arrive au mois de mars, il est possible que la journée soit froide. Au moins il fait soleil. Comment est Pâques chez vous?

Easter Chocolate Shortage

This is my Easter post, unfortunately a very gloomy one. Maybe I was trying to purchase chocolate too late, but it seems that there are barely any Easter chocolates anywhere! In Marks & Spencer, almost everything but a few Easter eggs were out of stocks. That said, the choice this year was so poor and unimaginative, it was depressing. Where are the bunny rabbits, the hens, the chickens, the whole chocolate menagerie? I could not find an Easter rabbit anywhere, not even the Lindt one. So I bought a few Cadbury's Easter eggs. I wanted a whole, big, bunny rabbit in chocolate. That is what I usually have. Now it seems that there is a chocolate shortage, and a creativity shortage too. And I thought Easter was all about Pagan gluttony. Not this year it seems.

Question existentielle (177)

Parce que bon, c'est Vendredi saint pour encore quelques minutes, une question que j'espère au moins un peu blasphématoire:

-Peut-on souhaiter un joyeux Vendredi saint?

Roman Passover

This is another Easter related post, with a twist. Today is Good Friday, which is a strange name for a day when Jesus was supposedly executed by Roman law. He died following the Passover. Passover is also the title of the first episode of the HBO historical drama Rome. It is one of those TV series I really love and I blogged before about it on a few occasions. The episode is aptly titled, as it pictures the events after the death of Julius Caesar. It is about the passage of power when the one who held power was destroyed because of it, only for his power to remain potent from the grave. This is one thing Jesus and Caesar share. So I decided to upload here the scene when Mark Antony manages to manipulate the assassins of Caesar in exchange for... Well, you'll see. The conspirators will end up there. But before then, leading to it, there is this brilliant scene of manipulation (with some violence too near the end, be warned, it was a bloody series):

Le poisson du Vendredi saint

Ce n'est pas tout à fait: cette photo n'a pas été prise un Vendredi saint. Elle a été prise lors de ma fête l'année dernière, c'est un steak de thon avec frites et sans doute l'un des meilleurs steaks de thon que j'aie mangés. Alors bref, on est Vendredi saint, ce qui veut dire: 1)que je suis en congé et 2)que je mange traditionnellement du poisson. Comme j'ai décidé que j'en avais ma claque des bagels anglais, qui sont en fait des beignes pas sucrés, alors le traditionnel bagel au saumon fumé que je mangeais d'habitude, je me suis décidé de le manger uniquement à Montréal.

Alors donc, il me reste à me trouver un poisson du souper de ce soir... Je songe sérieusement à m'acheter un steak de thon et de le manger bien poivré. Avec des frites et de la mayonnaise. Ca fait un bail que je n'ai pas apprêté de poisson. Je pourrais bien acheter un fish and chips, mais j'en ai mangé vendredi dernier, alors je veux varier un peu. Ah! Le maigre jeûne!

A chocolate related great unknown line

I did not blog yesterday, so I will try to make up for it today. And as I promised here, I will try to make it Easter related. Well, chocolate is Easter related, so I think it suits. So yesterday at work, a colleague (the one that gives me chocolate bribes so I can translate a thing or two) asked me, in the middle of a very busy afternoon when I was very tired: "Can I ask you something?" I replied: "If it is a new chocolate, my answer is yes, I need endorphin." I got two bits of chocolate for two translated lines. A bargain. And I needed the boost.

Val-Jalbert et ce blogue

Mon cousin Samuel m'a fait l'honneur de télécharger une photo prise sur mon blogue, celle que j'avais mise sur ce billet sur Val-Jalbert.Il l'a ensuite mise sur sa page Facebook. Il suit mon blogue depuis un temps, mais a découvert le billet par hasard, en cherchant ''Val Jalbert école'' sur Google. Il y a eu beaucoup de commentaires sur la photo, notamment sur le potentiel du village pour un film d'horreur. Okay, bon, il y avait beaucoup des miens et de Sam dans les commentaires mais quand même. Morale de cette histoire: la notoriété d'un billet vient parfois de manière détournée.

Earthly Powers, the beer

This is a quick post that is sort of Easter related (as I had promised here). My readership knows of my admiration for Earthly Powers, the novel, now there is a beer of the same name, the official beer of the Anthony Burgess Foundation. Brewed by Brentwood Brewery. I drank it at the Foundation, tired after a long train journey, then went straight to the hotel. It is a great bitter. Unfortunately I was too tired to try Chockwork Orange as well, I wanted to stay sober for the play. So why is it Easter related? Well, the novel is about the XXth century seen through the eyes of an homosexual writer, lapsed Catholic, and his friendship with a priest, who will become pope. And on the label of the beer, you can see a crucifix that also looks like a totem or some African statue. This is in itself very Burgessian, mixing the sacred and the blasphemous. I wish I could drink this one on Easter.

Obscurantisme franchouillard

J'ai lu cet article hier sur la manifestation en France contre le mariage homosexuel, mené par des éléments ultra-catholiques conservateurs. Ca m'a profondément découragé d'en faire la lecture. La France républicaine et laique, que j'admire justement à cause de cela, dans ces aspects-là je veux dire (je ne suis pas francophile comme certains Québécois peuvent l'être), qu'elle puisse sombrer dans l'homophobie la plus crasse, la plus primaire, la plus grotesque, la plus ignorante, ça me coupe les jambes. Ca me coupe les jambes. Je sais, il y a des cons partout, mais c'est toujours déprimant de les voir si nombreux. Pour une fois, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher d'éprouver une joie féroce à l'idée que la police a eu la main lourde. Bien fait pour leurs gueules. Et j'espère que le gouvernement français ne pliera pas à cette vulgaire poussée d'obscurantisme.

The Dark Side of the Moon

I thought I would blog tonight about the upcoming Easter, as it is the Holy Week and all, but I discovered today, one day late, that it was the 40th year anniversary of the UK release of The Dark Side of the Moon. So I ditched my Easter post. But not quite, I guess, as my intention was/is to show Easter in a different light. Or a different darkness. Pink Floyd made psychedelic music that could easily be considered religious or spiritual. Psychedelic is, in essence, spiritual. Or as spiritual as something can be for a Godless heathen like me. Pink Floyd is also, maybe more so, existentialist. And existentialism is what replaced Christianity in my way of seeing the world in my late teen. And it mentions a rabbit in Breathe, so it is sort of Easter related. Okay I am stretching things here. I could also say it has ten songs, like the Bible has Ten Commandments. Stretching again, but not nearly as much as saying it is linked to The Wizard of Oz. I have decided to upload tonight Brain Damage and Eclipse. Maybe Breathe would have been more appropriate, what with its rabbit digging holes to catch the sun (son?), and this verse about an early grave. But I did upload Breathe on Vraie Fiction before and these two tunes have, well, the dark side of the moon and the eclipse. So enjoy.

Spaghetti tunisien saguenéen?

Je reviens sur ce billet, car j'ai appris une chose ou deux sur le spaghetti tunisien depuis. Tout d'abord, en relisant le billet de Madame Chose, j'y apprends que le spaghetti tunisien serait un produit régional (!). Avec un nom pareil, c'est tout de même étrange, mais le shepherd's pie s'est bien métamorphosé en pâté chinois lorsqu'il a été adapté au Québec. Cette recette n'a sans doute jamais vu la Tunisie. J'ai appris de ma mère récemment qu'elle en a mangé la première fois à La Bougresse, un défunt restaurant de Chicoutimi. J'aimais bien La Bougresse, il a tenu le fort un très long bout de temps avant de fermer, je ne sais pas exactement pourquoi. Ca a déjà été LE restaurant de qualité à Chicoutimi. Ma mère m'a dit qu'ils servaient parfois le spaghetti tunisien avec des merguez. Enfin bref, selon mes recherches, préliminaires il est vrai, il semblerait que ce met soit un fier produit régional.

The Creative Process

This is another picture from the Anthony Burgess Foundation, one of the typewriters of Anthony Burgess. Not a very good one I'm afraid, I took it using my phone. I am shamelessly using the pictures I took on my last trip in Manchester. Once upon a time, writers used typewriters like this one. I could have used a picture of a computer, but the typewriter has some kind of romantic, old fashioned charm. I was re-watching the vlog of Lucia Cox about her way to work, and it made me think of the creative process. I am looking for certain methods and rituals to get the juice running, whether it is to blog or to write ''real'' fiction (I am trying my hand at crime fiction, but very sporadically).

What struck me in Lucia Cox's blog is how much creativity is a question of comfort: you need a nice seat and warm clothes (or light ones in summer). I avoid alcohol in general, except in very moderate quantities. Writing for me involves tea to stay awake during daytime and rooibos in the evening. I do often have a movie, a TV series (guess which one) or music in the background. Music is often Mozart or some old rock, or some movie soundtrack. I end up not watching/listening, but it gives some good vibes. I think the creative process should involve chocolates, or cakes, or chocolate cakes, for a boost of energy and endorphin. Something I probably need to work on.

Une anecdote sur les cigares

Cette photo a été prise à la Fondation Anthony Burgess. Mon écrivain préféré était un fumeur invétéré, ça lui a d'ailleurs coûté la vie. On le voit surtout sur les photos ainsi que ses entrevues à la télévision avec une cigarette au bec. Il était aussi consommateur de cigares. Le tabagisme n'a jamais été l'un de mes vices, notamment à cause d'une histoire qui remonte à mon enfance et qui a pour objet un cigare. Je ne crois pas l'avoir encore racontée ici. Lorsque j'ai pris cette photo, j'y ai repensé.

Mon père était amateur, voyez-vous. Je ne crois pas qu'il n'ait jamais fumé autre chose. Ma mère fumait des cigarettes, mais pour mon père c'était les cigares, qu'il fumait dehors. C'était une journée froide de printemps ou d'automne, je devais avoir quatre ou cinq ans, pas plus. Nous étions dehors et mon père fumait un cigare. Comme ça m'arrivait parfois, je lui ai demandé si je pouvais prendre une bouffée. Tout ce que je faisais, c'est souffler dans le cigare. C'est alors que mon père m'a dit: ''Il ne faut pas souffler, il faut aspirer la fumée.'' Ce que j'ai fait. Pour répéter un retentissant cliché, j'ai cru que mes poumons allaient éclater. J'ai toussé comme un damné pendant cinq minutes au moins, avec les yeux qui pleuraient. Ca m'a dégoûté du tabagisme à jamais.

Dark (K)night music

I uploaded music from the Batman trilogy before. Nolan's Batman movies are my favorite superhero movies. Tonight is a dark night, I watched, well The Dark Knight, so I thought about putting here the main theme, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

Question existentielle (176)

Je me pose la question:

-Quelle est la couleur de mars et pourquoi?

Snowy March

March has proved once again that it is a treacherous month: it snowed today and severe weather disrupted life all around the country. Weather news are often old news. There is something nastier about snow in springtime, especially when Lent is about to end and Easter is near. I remember, back in Chicoutimi, going to rent a movie (guess which one) a few days before Easter and it was freezing cold, except that there was no snow, so everything looked grey and nasty. The snow usually softens the outside world, but in Spring, even when one can still expect it, there is something unpleasant about it.

Ce que j'aimerais comme sandwich

Il neige encore! À plein ciel. À cette époque de l'année, je crois que c'est un peu trop. Cela dit, ce n'est pas un billet sur la température, enfin pas tout à fait. Je vais dîner bientôt et je me rends compte que j'ai envie de manger un sandwich de Folie en Vrac. Je n'ai pas eu l'occasion d'en manger un lors de mon dernier séjour à Montréal, malheureusement. À 5$ le sandwich (voyez l'étiquette), c'est une aubaine qui n'existe pas ici en Angleterre, pas pour un produit de cette qualité en tout cas et pour la quantité de nourriture. C'est vraiment un sandwich-repas. En général, je le prends avec végé pâté, olives, laitue, tomates, sauce tatziki et une autre sauce. Si vous aimez le navet, vous pouvez en avoir dedans aussi. Je sais que c'est méditerranéen, mais à Montréal j'en mangeais aussi les journées froides. Pour mes lecteurs montréalais, je vous envie et je vous recommande de trouver le Folie en Vrac le plus près de chez vous et de vous en commander un.

One Hand Clapping

I promised I was going to blog about it. So I was lucky enough to see the brilliant stage adaptation of Anthony Burgess' One Hand Clapping by House of Orphans. You can see a picture of the stage at your right. A small stage, where the action is very close to you. The  small, claustrophobic working class home of the 1950s-1960s easily come to life, and the omnipresent televisions, the (then and now) modern icon that is also a stultifying tool.

The hero is Howard, a used car salesman with a photographic memory, which is a gift and a curse. With it, he can remember the name of many authors, the titles of their works, etc. However, he cannot understand much of his knowledge. The story is told by his wife Janet, an uneducated supermarket employee. After winning a lot of money, first on a game show then by betting on horse races, and becoming a local celebrity, Howard and Janet start living a life of luxury, only to have Howard disillusioned and bitter about consumerism, his own ignorance, and the consensual ignorance of the British society. To make a statement he wants to commit suicide and force his wife to do the same. I will not say more so you can read the novel and appreciate its story fully. Hopefully, Lucia Cox will also give another life to the play by showing it around the country, so people can discover it. I told her it deserved a much wider audience. Three performances in Manchester is simply not enough.

The adaptation was very faithful, and efficiently managed to picture the couple's travelling to London and the United States, as well as pictures British society in a state of decay, a state you can easily recognise now, which makes the story very contemporary. One Hand Clapping is about the disintegration of civilisation and the failure of ideals, where history and culture become the matter for game shows questions and where people live happily in a state of blissful ignorance, reading only tabloids, their television set showing them through advertisement nothing more of life than the familiar content of their cupboard. Janet's life is only about cigarettes, tea, baked beans and cleaning products, she is contented with it. If Howard can see beyond his working class environment, he cannot escape it, even with his new found wealth. It is a dark comedy, the accent being on dark, which makes you laugh as much as it makes you shiver. It is also a cautionary tale, but it is not a moral tale, in the sense that it does not give a straight moral answer to the problem of Britain (I say Britain but it could be anywhere else in the West), Howard's idealism and alienation, although understandable, lead to self destruction and potentially murder. Janet does have a point when she opposes the fantasist nature of Howard's passeism to modern comfort and modern security. The great poets and writers of the past lived in times of dirt, diseases, wars, famine. Yet we may be reaching a point where comfort will replace, even annihilate, our sensibility, maybe our humanity. That there is maybe no way to escape this decay is frightening. More frightening even is to see how contemporary One Hand Clapping is.

Le vent (et Brassens)

Mars est un mois traître, qui a souvent une température qui frise l'hostilité envers la race humaine. J'ai rarement vu un printemps moins printannier et à lire les commentaires sur ce billet je ne suis pas le seul. Il semblerait que le printemps se cache, n'ayant été vu nulle part. l a venté aujourd'hui, à écorner les boeufs. Cela dit, bien j'ai appris à aimer le vent, surtout quand il souffle fort, j'aime sa simplicité terrifiante. En entendant le vent, j'ai tout de suite eu en tête cette chanson de Georges Brassens. Ca me rappelle qu'il ne faut pas médire du vent.