Intrigued

I have no time. There's no better way to say it.
I'm currently planning what's gonna become of me next year when my teaching contract comes to term. Nothing dramatic, I just have to figure it out. And start sending some applications. And try and understand the intricate ways in which the Education Nationale system works. And write introduction letters (now, aren't you jealous?).

Anyways, you're probably wondering what that has to do with this picture of me sans tattoo (it was taken in Austin by Ari, just before I got my first tattoo).
Well, since I'm an art teacher (potentially - at least my diploma says so), I have to send a portfolio with my application. And this means I have to dig in a gigantic pile of archives, papers and forgotten journals to pick whatever deserves to represent my talents (they are numerous).

So I have been digging and digging for the past few days. It was sometimes annoying, when I noticed some drawings were not as good as I remembered them to be. It was sometimes pleasant, if only to notice that I have a lot of material buried in those journals. It was funny to scroll through the trips, the long finished love stories and the lists that I have never completed.

And then, there are the things that I had TOTALLY forgotten about.
Like this.



I know. It's my tattoo. Everything is there. The graphics, the idea for the name... everything.
People always ask what the meaning of my tattoo is, and I generally try to answer, refering to the story of my first trip to New York (yes, there is a story there that somehow involves a cup of coffee, a story that I had forgotten about when I got the tattoo done, and which surfaced much later).

And now this. I don't know what to say, I just froze for a second when I was it. It's so weird.

Since we're talking about tattos, I might as well say, well, unsurprisingly, I want another one. I have ideas, but nothing's settled.
Would it be so very wrong to get another of those cute little cups?

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An evening on the Drive

It was one of those first chilly evenings… Not even an evening, but a nice 5 o’clock moment on the Drive. I had arrived a little early, before the time we had set to meet. I remember I had spent long hours on the laptop, studying and reading endlessly. In the morning, I had probably been to one of my new yoga classes, stretching and breathing and balancing. At that time, I guess I had just started and my limbs were still sore and stiff: my own indulgence, an unlimited pass that I’ve been using again and again for six weeks now. That day on the Drive, in October, that’s all I know (that period’s timeline is blurry in my mind), I wanted to have a cup of coffee and take some time to read Will Self.

Of course, on Commercial Drive, a Sunday at 4pm, there’s no way you can sit down anywhere for coffee, unless you’ve kept your position for the last three hours at least… When I pushed the wooden door of JJBean, I realized the nice dark tables, the strange U-shaped bar in the middle of the room I had coveted for so long would remain out of my reach. But I still loved the atmosphere and decided to pretend I was a real Canadian and sit outside, in the chill. In those early days of Fall, the temperature was still bearable, even forgettable with a nice warm coat and an entrancing book.

When trying to find my next read, I often go to have a look on the Internet. I browse the book pages of online newspapers, make lists, check a few blogs, but there’s one (French) website I particularly like: Fluctuat.net. Strangely enough, I tend to trust them entirely and I have that idea that the people who write there are totally unbiased uninfluenced ethical journalists – whereas I always get suspicious with more common book reviews, magazines or newspapers. In my opinion, some of the most famous French literary supplements are perfect examples of cronyism, good friends reviewing good friends, and eventually, bad books getting sold at an undeserved rate. One day on Fluctuat, I read this great interview of Will Self and an hilarious review of his last book being translated into French: The Butt.

It’s the story of a guy who’s away in an exotic country for family vacations: his kids are spoilt brats, his wife is quite boring indeed, and he’s having his very last cigarette on the private balcony of their hotel room. Holidays are soon over. Two balconies down, he spots an old man lying and resting, with a very young native woman of the interior carefully attending to his every needs. He reflects on how disgusting it is that old craps get all the pretty girls. Inhaling his last bits of delicious smoke, he flicks the butt over the balcony. And the butt falls on the old guy’s forehead. And a couple hours later, the old guy has a heart attack. That’s where problems start: in that very very weird country, ethnic rules preclude over “anglo” legislation. Here’s our poor guy being charged for attempted murder. To fix it, he will have to drive thousands of miles into the country, and face weirder situations.
This book is like the butterfly effect: you do one stupid thing and it turns into something totally unexpected and impossible to expect anyways. I kept wondering: 1. How can Will Self invent all this crazy stuff? And 2. Where is he going to stop? I guess he must have been playing a game with himself while writing The Butt, daring himself to dig into the absurd more and more and more. And even more. Usually, I’m not really a good audience for that kind of stuff, but it simply worked here, probably because there’s some kind of linkage with a Monty Python atmosphere… Anyways, a little absurd never hurts.

To read French reviews of books in English,
and then read the books in English:
Fluctuat.net
Will Self, The Butt

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About John Gall

You know that I haven't much spare time these days... meaning that I don't spend as much time on your blogs as I'd like to, or on line in general. But once in a while, I decide that enough is enough, and I go on my favourites blogs to see what's going on...

And that's how I had this interesting experience, as I was reading the Ace Jet 170 blog.
Ace Jet is not exactly what you could call a book blog - it focuses mainly on found objects, nice types and amazing graphics.

And I LOVE graphic arts.

For a while, I wanted to be a graphic artist, a plan that's still hanging somewhere in a dark corner of my head. I did a few projects here and there, worked as an intern in a magazine and then turned to academics. But. I love graphics.

I know I will come back to it someday, but I also know it's not gonna be before the end of the decade (it is actually less dramatic than it sounds.. we're in 2009, remember?).
Waiting for better schedule options, I still wander on blogs dedicated to one of my favourites graphics type: book covers (here, and there, for instance).
Those blogs are also the reason why I didn't write so much about book cover designs at first - I feel they get the job done pretty well!

My addiction for nice covers is catching up, though. Go ahead, boo me, but I'll say this loud and clear: I do judge books by their covers. Like, totally. Even if I want to read something real bad, I'll forget about it if I don't "feel" the cover. And I will buy an obscure book just so I can own a ravishing object, the design and the type that go with it.

Let's go back to Ace Jet, though. The other day, its amazing author posted this and my heart skipped a beat.

Amazing covers for all the Nabokov's works. Just Look at them ! Apparently those were inspired by specimen boxes (as stated in the DO article that features them all).

And just like that, I want to read EVERY book Nabokov has ever written.

So, apparently, John Gall is responsible for the concept, and the Eye cover. Using Ace Jet's link, I went on and landed on Gall's blog, Spine Out.

And here is what I found out (besides from another cool link..)

John Gall designed the cover for one of my all-time favourites : Remainder, by Tom McCarthy (do not get mixed up with Cormac McCarthy).
It's funny, because originally I did not like this cover so much. I bought it on line a while ago - something of a gamble because editions can vary and I do, once in a while, get a cover that I hate. The cover I got was the one on the left (see the picture below). Gall goes on to explain on his blog that he didn't want something too literal - something the other cover definitely is (you'll understand if you've read the book...).

So, now, I'm reconsidering. It might be that Gall's cover is better. And I can't very well have my favourite book in the wrong edition, now, can I?

I'm such a control freak.

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Spoken Word (a while ago and tomorrow)

I stop by quickly to (finally) post the pictures from the last spoken word venue I attended. There was one last week but I was taking a break from crazy Paris in my sweet hometown (believe me, it was QUIET, and I needed QUIET).
Anyways, I read a second 'poem' (the very word seems a bit odd to me, but let's call this piece a poem if we must). It was called: "The Baby".

I might read something else tomorrow if I manage to kick my own butt. I'll let you with the 'poem' and a few pictures, hoping tomorrow's session will top this past one because it was truly amazing and inspirational.

The Baby

The baby was born yesterday at 2 am. It was the most important thing in the world, at least for the people in the room. The baby came out of his mother's insides, made a loud pop and then produced more loudness of its own. The baby is tiny, some people would say "cute". For a few days, that word will get used a lot around the baby. The baby has no age yet, it has little legal existence and almost no hair. It's cold and yearns for care. As soon as it is born, the baby is treated according to gender expectations. Later, the baby will go to school where it will be graded, judged and rejected. The baby will learn to forget about it. It will learn to take the racket outside, to stop annoying potential siblings and, much later, it will learn to quit staring and to chill the fuck out. The baby will be growing to be what we call "a social being", meaning most of its life will be based on human interaction. The baby will be involved in all sorts of activities. First, they will be imposed by its parents, then chosen by the baby depending on the current definition of "cool" when he reaches adulthood. Some of these activities will qualify as hobbies. The baby will experiment, all along its short life. It will try numerous food types, energy drink brands and banned drugs. The baby will have to put different things in its body, and learn that this operation needs to be repeated often enough if one does not want to die. At some age - too early anyways - the baby will have sex, and will be potentially able to replicate its own self. The baby will like sex and will try to have it as much as it can, and will thus make huge mistakes, as for instance: sleep with its best friend's romantic interest. Those mistakes the baby will call experience. Soon, the baby will get tired of looking for sex, and will deflect its urges by buying cars, clothes and various overpriced props. The baby will bask in the culture of its time. It will learn who Angelina Jolie, Tony Blair and Gumby are, and why people talk about them and know their names. Sadly, the baby will not take part to the making of this culture. It will have to stand by and watch constantly –watch the TV, watch the movies, watch for its own safety because it is a dangerous world out there. One day, the baby will get married. It means it will get together with its romantic interest and say meaningful things, go on an expensive trip and receive several gifts. The baby will have a baby of its own, thus repeating everything we have just reviewed, only with a slightly different individual. Parenthood will bring emotion and trouble to its life. The baby will cry a lot, whenever its offspring does firsts, like walking, talking and going to the prom. Then the baby will say goodbye to its own baby and find out time has gone by too fast, and how little we all are, and how slightly disgusting its romantic interest has become. The baby will think of it as a crisis, a choice of terms its shrink will find accurate. Then the baby will grow old, watch its babies make babies and the same mistakes that he did, but it will not say a word to them because people have to figure out things on their own. The baby will start a lot of sentences with "people have to". The baby will look back on its life and think what the fuck just happened – and God will say "that was your life, buddy". And then the baby will die.
But not now.
Because now, just now, the baby is sucking in its momma's titties, and boy, ain't that just beautiful.

- Michaele & I -

- Me reading, in a blur -



- My (scary) sister and Charlie -

For more info on Spoken Word,
... you can now check their Facebook page, or the blog.

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A Canadian story

A bit of a photo novel, so Canadian, just before I make my official comeback on those pages I've deserted for way too long...

What's up in Canada?
The H1N1 vaccine is here, and everybody is getting crazy thinking we're all going to die soon if we don't get the needle
The Olympics will soon be here, and everybody (in Vancouver, the rest of Canada doesn't even seem to care) is getting crazy because of road closures, tax rates going up and the Olympic village is not really ready
The rain is here, believe me
And, of course, Julie is back in town, after a month that's been way to long, in some respects at least...

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Michelangelo

Let's talk about this book, at last. Not for long, I'm afraid, since my translation work took the most out of me. I was fixing the draft and sort of believed (for half a second) those last minute changes would take two minutes (and that's three references to time, in only one sentence. Good God). But if you write, you know that the last touch-ups can take for ever. Hence this day that virtually went by like a dream. All I did was hunting for spelling mistakes, translation inaccuracies, all that while listening to the mellow sounds of Chances with Wolves (which I highly recommand).

Concerning the book, though. First, it's a beautiful object. Nice colours. Amazing texture. Great type. In short, it makes a wonderful addition to my shelf, which - oh, joy - already bears a book from the same collection (Jacques Aumont's Mélange d'Images).
Those interviews are amazing. I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I don't like museums very much. I know it sounds crazy for a potential art teacher, but that's that. Anyways, sometimes I find it hard to connect with works of art, be they books, paintings, or concerts. And sometimes it has a lot to do with the type of experience that's provided, meaning the place, the allover arrangement that brings the piece to life.

It's a problem I never had with interviews. In fact, it's a problem that I feel does not affect paratext. Hence the picking of this book. Back in the days, I loved reading Renoir's words on his practice, career, and life. I love reading Henry Miller endless talks about the books he likes. I like all informal conversations with artists. I sometimes find them more fascinating than the works themselves. So evidently I liked this book.

Not I don't like Antonioni's movies. I still haven't watched all of them but those I saw I quite enjoyed (and it's quite magic to go see Zabriskie Point in a packed theater in the Quartier Latin. That last ka-boom shot totally deserves its cult status).
Anyways, those écrits were fascinating. If I had to be picky, I'd say that they were a bit redondant, but that's the perpetual dilemma, to edit or not to edit, the editors obviously chose the latter (I'm talking about the core of each text, not of the overall structure of the book which obviously was edited).

So I'll leave you with this: (I have eggplant caviar & mozzarella pizza waiting for me, what can I do ? Don't wait for pictures, it's one of these highly unphotogenic meals...)

"Je me rappelle très bien comment m'est venue l'idée de L'Avventura. J'étais sur un yacht avec des amis, je me réveillais avant eux, et j'allais m'assoir seul à la proue. Un matin, je me suis mis à penser à une jeune femme qui avait disparu il y a quelques années et dont on avait plus rien su. Nous l'avions recherchée pendant des jours et des jours, inutilement. Le yacht naviguait vers Ponza, déjà proche. Et je pensais: se pourrait-il qu'elle fût là? C'est tout.
Quelque fascinante que puisse me paraître une idée, je suis incapable de l'accepter tout de suite. Je la laisse là, je n'y penses plus, j'attends. Des mois passent, des années. Elle doit continuer à flotter toute seule sur l'océan des choses qu'on accumule dans la vie : alors c'est une bonne idée.
Un réalisateur ne fait pas autre chose dans ses films que de se chercher lui-même. Lesquels films sont les traces documentaires non d'une pensée déjà formée, mais d'une pensée en gestation."

Good advice from an older man, incidentally a great director:
Michelangelo Antonioni, Écrits, Images Modernes, 2003. Was on sale in the Beaubourg bookstore about a year ago. Might be worth a try.

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At the Track

No books today, unless.. I have been willing to go the track for a long time, and this obsession of mine has been regularly fed with Bukowski's accounts of his favorite hobby. It was not L.A, I'll give you that. Me and my friend A. had to go all the way to Vincennes, take a bus to Juvisy, and yet another bus before we could enter this temple of doom.


I really like this picture because I first misread the sign and thought it was "boutique du tricot", which hints to one my others obsessions of the moment(I like being obsessive).
More importantly, we bet, and miserably lost. We did not even get one horse right. Or maybe we did, but that's enough to win anyway. We played three races, and really got into the little routine: checking the papers for tips, going to the cashier and place a bet, get a drink, get outside in the cold when the race is about to start, lose, and start all over again.

If you're in Paris, I would definitely recommand you planned to go to Vincennes. It's a great way to get out of the bourgeois atmosphere of Paris, and see different people, different faces. And awesome architecture from the seventies. There's even a restaurant there, that we haven't tried, but somehow I wouldn't recommand it... Let me know if you ever tried the experience.

Now I'll go back to work... You guys enjoy your week-end!

To go to the track in Paris:
Take line 1 to all the way to Château de Vincennes, and then get in the bus 112 to Juvisy. You can also take the suburban train (RER A)to Juvisy. A free bus will get you to the Hippodrome de Vincennes.
More info here.

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Tuesday News

Here I am, back again.
There is so much to do these days, I thought that before I sat down and talked to you about my latest read, I could give a few news (understand : the stuff that should have surfaced here and there as I was posting, but since I was not doing my posting job...).

Back to school : things are going fine. I have three 40-or-so student groups, on two different days of the week. This is week three, meaning I got my first essays to grade. They were, like all first essays of the year, unsurprisingly disappointing. It was not the worst I have ever seen, however.

Regarding Languages : lucky for me, I don't have the luxury to miss America these day since I get to speak a lot of english. There's nothing wrong with that.
I'm also knee deep in my first translating job and found out that I LOVED it.

Nights out : too much wine and cigarettes. Otherwise I now go regularly to the Spoken Word venue and.. spoke the word myself. Yes, friends, three weeks ago I stepped up and kick my own ass to write a few "poems" and read them on stage. I flaked out on the last venue since I had nothing to read, but I'm trying to keep myself motivated for the next show. I wrote four pages of random musings last night, I haven't worked up the courage to read it again yet.

Academics : trying to write the Nerds chapter for my dissertation, I'd say pain is average for a writing job. It's getting done, at least.
Conferences, very much on maybe-if status for now. I'll keep you posted.

Apartment : my apartment, thanks to the help of an amazing mysterious Handyman, is completely changed!

Body : for about two days, I could'nt feel two of my toes. It was weird.


I hope to come back on regular posting schedule and tell you all about Michelangelo Antonioni, let's say, thursday. Meanwhile, I keep reading your blogs with interest although I can't be on this page as much as I'd like to be.
Have a good wednesday !

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