I grew up with the traditional French daemons: fascism and globalization. They were easy enough targets, and fighting against them included chanting socialist songs in demonstrations, keeping an eye on the Front National — the French Nazi party — and watching old French movies to thwart Hollywood’s plans to take on the world.
For you guys, I created the “Citizen Of The World” button/ award.
No matter how hard I tried, I was never able to see out of my left eye. Nothing but a useless blurry picture, with a few black spots on the way. The world looks distorted in a pretty fun way but it took me years to appreciate my difference. Kids all want to look the same.
I managed to dig my way out and get the mail. Beautiful trenches, isn’t it? However, there’s not way I can shovel the driveway and back out with the car… there’s at least 60 cm of snow. The snow banks on the side of the road are almost a meter high! So I’m home, on the coach and I watch the blizzard.
Occasionally, a bunch of dark coats men wait at the next station: tickets collectors. Upon seeing them, weird things would happen: people of all age would run towards the nearest doors, some would pull washed out tickets out their bags and pockets and punch them quickly, some would distribute extra-tickets around them and the consensus would be “putain!*”.
On Monday night, while I was outside getting some fresh air smoking a last cigarette, I noticed a few flurries in the sky. But when I woke up the next day, there was just a bit of frost on the grass. So, when Tuesday night I saw flurries again, I thought it would be gone the next morning.
There’s one difference in these two pictures, taken a day apart in front of the house – can you spot it?
The shop assistant (or the owner, cause as far as I know he is here from 6:00 am to 12:00 am) looks up at me and obviously expects an answer. An Arabic language newspaper opened on the counter and no sign of him reaching for my cigarettes tells me I’m in for a philosophical moment.
See, to me, there are two kind of women: women who like shoes, and women who like bags. And since I wear size 9 shoes (40 for European readers) — but I must also say that I’m 1.75 meter ! — I rarely get the shoes I really want. So I became a bag person.
Canadian skies always amaze me: clouds can be just gorgeous!
¿ Que voy hacer ?
Je ne sais pas,
¿ Que voy a ser ?
Je ne sais plus
So, we (want) need immigrants. Preferably (young) not to old, (who won’t need any social help) educated, and (white) who will blend in easily. Oh, and (no terrorists) (preferably Catholic ) — no really, we don’t mind.
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
But she surprised me. Instead of mentioning my laziness (because she clearly remember that when she visited Paris, French were less efficient than Japanese, therefore they were lazy – some kind of genetic problem that I must have had inherited because I was very French indeed – are you following me ?) , she blamed my English.
The idea is to work your way through the eight phases of the dinner party, answering all of the questions on the way – being as honest and creative as you wish. Once your homework has been completed, please nominate any number of bloggers to host their very own “virtual” dinner party.
I wish John would shut up. But you see, John is so enthusiastic about his French training that he has to mumble vocabulary on his way to class. For now, I’m trying to open the bloody classroom door. Stuck, as usual. Or… do I have the right set of keys ?
Not only I betrayed France by crossing the Atlantic Ocean, but apparently I also betrayed French language. Oh, that’s great.
“So, here’s the challenge: make a list of five strengths that you possess as a writer/artist. It’s not really bragging, it’s an honest assessment (forced upon you by this darn meme). Please resist the urge to enumerate your weaknesses, or even mention them in contrast to each strong point you list. Tag four other writers or artists whom you’d like to see share their strengths.”
Canadians love their game, but the whole atmosphere is surprisingly friendly. Toronto is hated by everyone — hence the “Toronto sucks” jerseys wore by die-hard fans — but no hard feeling here : it’s a game. I remember the soccer games back in France where the anti-riot cops have to be there during the whole game to prevent fans to go crazy… Canadians’ passion is much more peaceful .
How did I get into this conversation, already ? Oh yeah, I’m on the #151 going downtown, and I took the last free sit, by a middle aged woman who was obviously bored and started up the conversation as soon as she saw me pulling a French book out of my bag. The conversation wasn’t about literature though.
The change of season is always dramatic in Canada. Spring goes like that : one day you’re going to work with the usual three sweaters and snowboots on, the next day you’re looking for your sandals and the backyard is flooded by all the snow melting.
Fall is similar. Right now, we’re enjoying really warm temperature, but I know that it’s only a matter of day before we enter Winter, with a cap “W”.
I don’t have too many icons on my desktop because I use a dock under Windows XP. Still, you can see a few of my folders : “to read” (bunch of pages I copy from the web) and “to print” (usually my work schedule and my students plans for the week).Here is my dock : it usually sits on top of my desktop but for some reason it didn’t show on the first screenshot (autohide probably…).