28 février 2006

The curse of the nearby seat

This was going to be among the "Things I hate" series, but I started feeling like a bad version of Conan O'Brien and decided to kill that segment. Or put it to sleep for an indefinite time anyway, and I wish I were so lucky - so there'd better be no complaints...

Let's face it, I am doomed. I'm not only talking of my inability to find a suitable boyfriend or, you know, a cool job, here, but also of the fact that I strangely seem to attract the misfits of society (that's because I've decided to stop using bad language) when sitting down at the movies or the theatre. And I've been going to the cinema a lot lately. A lot. Also saw a stand-up comedian - a very cute stand-up comedian, I might add.
OK, let me digress a bit. This is going to be one mother of a disjointed post, I can tell. It might not even always make sense, but bear with me. Or don't. Your choice. Not my responsibility. Yep.
So, as I was saying, I attract the misfits of society. I've always noticed that wherever I sit at the movies, they'll follow me, a bit like that Ricky Nelson song, you know the one, right? it was reprised in Sister Act. There. My musical culture battered to death in one fell swoop. So. Easy mix-ups notwithstanding, I'll get the whispering cretins, the ADD afflicted, the knee jerking right into the back of my seat... I've made my peace with that. Kinda.
Problem is, we've now reached the proper paranoia-inducing stage. Everywhere. All the time. At the oddest times. And no I don't mean in the dead of night, when I'd basically be looking for trouble, no, no, no. We're talking even in the afternoon, when the theatres are almost empty and it should be easy to watch a movie in peace.
So let's start with the normal situation when having a brain-dead moron (oops... is that bad?) sit down next to me could seem well within the realm of possibilities. That stand-up comedian, that very cute stand-up comedian. Full house. Of shrieking girls. Or women. One of which sat down right next to me. And started giggling. And commenting. The whole fucking show (ah, forget trying to be polite: I'm just not good at this, am I?). Actually not the whole show. At one point, I sighed and the friend I was there with whispered loudly "Tell her to shut up". She took the hint.
One day at the cinema, ironically
I was watching Factotum, with all of twenty people in there, a very rancid-smelling bum sat down two seats away from me. Not far enough.
Yesterday, I was sitting two seats away from a guy who chortled quietly, more like snored, or snorted, I'm not sure, made some very irritating interest noises anyway, during the whole of Lord of War. Can you tell someone to stop sounding interested? How?
This afternoon, I went to see a lovely, lovely, lovely French film called Je ne suis pas là pour être aimé. Maybe seven people were already there when I got in. I picked a whole row to myself, and sat down in the middle of said row. Bliss. Said row being kind of at the back, a few rows more up front were still very much free. Five minutes later, a middle-aged woman gets in, spots me, zooms in - I could have read "target locked" in her eyes if I had looked, I'm sure - sat down right next to me - not even the customary in-between seat - and proceeded to snicker annoyingly during the whole movie. The two guys who sat down after her, right in front of me - don't forget I'm on the short side: it's easy to be taller, it's easy for a head to block (even a very small) part
of the screen (it might be very small but it's oh so frustrating when you think you've just found the perfect seat - and don't even try to find a moral in that story) - kept turning round to try and understand what was going on. Nothing, guys, just me and my luck - seems like I've finally managed to share some of it, though. Maybe you'll think before you sit down next time.

Oh. White rabbit, white rabbit, white rabbit.

27 février 2006

What goes around...

One year ago... gee, how time flies. To think I'm still in France. Anyway. One year ago, this happened. Go on, read it, it's... there.
Done? OK. See, I don't often say what I'm about to say, so pay attention: I was wrong.
Those two people I was talking about were indeed shooting a movie together. It's being released. Which can only mean one thing, other than I definitely blew my chance to ever marry George. It means I might be in it, one fleeting second, shot from the back - not my best profile, but hey.
"Célibataires" means "single people", by the way. The irony is killing me.

Anyway... To remain humble in the face of my pending glory, I've accepted a tag, by her.

Seven dreams before death:
- You know how they say you should never tell a wish because it won't come true? Well then.

Seven things I can't do in this lifetime: (I'm just hoping the previous "list" and this one don't overlap)
- Forget
- Be a fighter pilot
- Meet Dean Martin
- Make a good espresso
- Roll a proper cigarette
- Buy a Britney Spears CD
- Win a Need For Speed race

Seven things that attract me:
- A good poster
- The promise of fun and games
- The sun
- The stars
- Water
- Coffee shops
- And apparently, any kind of sharp corner attracts my sheen and little toe

Seven things I say:
- etc. etc. (in French)
- brilliant (in English)
- oh for fuck's sake (in French...)
- bugger (in both...)
- excellent (in both)
- oh pooooh (in both)
- etc. etc. (see? That's how often I say it)

Seven books I love*:
- Anything by Alexandre Dumas
- Desperation, by Stephen King
- Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird
- Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones
- True History of the Ned Kelly Gang, by Peter Carey
- Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre
- Cancer Ward, by
Alexandr Solzhenitsyn

Seven films I've loved*:
- My Fair Lady
- Rio Bravo
- The Sure Thing
- Jaws
- Cool Hand Luke
- Les Tontons Flingueurs
- The Philadelphia Story

Seven tags:
- Yeah. Like that's gonna happen.

*Just to add a little disclaimer there, there are many many more books that I loved, many many more films.
Also - I don't really need to link all those, do I?

24 février 2006

Small piece of advice?

If your car makes the same noise as a harmonica, maybe it's time you changed your car. I'm just sayin'.

22 février 2006

Time... for a confession

I am deep in the throes of something surely I should be ashamed of. I have this really bad crush on someone I've never met. We do that, right? There's a connection that builds between us, even with mere screen personas.
So every night when I go to bed, I take my laptop with me, and get ready for some quality time with him.
He makes me laugh, frown, snicker
sometimes even at him, because, thank god, I've retained a modicum of personality — reflect, shout (or gasp, when it's really late, but I admit that when I'm with him, I'm usually oblivious of time), cringe at the violence I sense in him, go weak at the knees at the sensitivity he tries so hard to hide, marvel at his bravery, tut-tut at his audacity and hard-headedness sometimes. The moments with him span the whole emotional rainbow, and then some.
This secret affair has been going on for some time now, and it's time I was honest about it. In fact, some of you might already know or have a sneaking suspicion about this. I was never really good at deception.
Jack Bauer, I really like you.

21 février 2006

And not even crying for help.

Ever felt like your brain is in overdrive while at the same time, well... dead? I've been feeling like that for a while now. It's hard to write, hard to hold on to coherent thought for more than half a zillionth of a second, hard to remember what I've just done... Like this evening. I went to see Prime. Maybe an hour after I'd seen it, I couldn't even remember who was in it. Now, that might be due to the fact that it's not actually a particularly good movie (I feel cheated, by the way), but whatever the reason may be, it's still quite the source of concern.
This might also explain why this page - supposedly somewhere to couch down my arguably complicated thought process - has been neither very active nor very interesting lately. Believe me, it hurts me more than it hurts you, and I certainly hope it's just a phase. Who knows, though.
It might also be linked to the fact that for the first time ever, I have been following the winter Olympic Games. You know how they say that athletes have atrophied brains... Maybe I'm being very thorough in empathizing.

The wind hates left-handed people

It's time someone stood up and said it out loud. The wind hates left-handed people.
So the other day I was cleaning the flat before my parents arrived, just to prevent my mom's first gesture being grabbing the hoover and such other torture instruments... and the weather was unseasonably warm. Like 15 degrees (C, not F
15°F is unseasonably cold even for Canada, right? Right? Please?).
I had opened all the windows to enjoy the fresh air, no electric heating, the wind blowing all the bad wintery vibes and stale cigarette smoke away, etc. And I was taking a wee breather from the noxious fumes of the floor-wiping product. And having a cigarette. As you do while airing your flat, really.
Let me say it again for emphasis: the wind hates left-handed people.
Also. It's now been raining for 5 consecutive days. Almost non stop. Where do I complain?

19 février 2006

Miss Congeniality rocks.

(Can't talk, too busy being pampered by
/annoying my parents.)

16 février 2006

Quentin Tarantino is mad, isn't he?

No, I mean that. He is, right?
Also, it seems I can't use my laptop elsewhere than on my lap.
Hmmm. This doesn't sound right. Let's try with proper words and no shortcuts. You see, I've just tried putting my laptop on my coffee table and typing, and - and this I swear on everything that is holy, like cigarettes, and some of my friends - I didn't even realize that I took it up and put it on my lap again to type. In all of maybe 56 seconds.
That seems to happen to me a lot lately. I wonder if Harvey and Michael are available. For free. Soon. I'm obviously this close to shooting my first, and oh so very successful movie.
Oh, and also, also, I love- what, again? Damn. Can't remember.

15 février 2006

Love is a many splendored thing

Monkey0 tags, and we respond.

Debra had worked on her plan for quite some time now. She'd saved a lot of money for it too. After all, it was her life-time ambition. All the unhappiness that she'd ever felt, all the frustrations, sentimental and otherwise, all of it would be eradicated. She'd quit her job a couple months prior, had sold most of her furniture, and rearranged what was left so that now the focal point of the lounge was the TV.
Suicide by bingeing. What a perfectly twisted idea. Junk food and inane TV shows, her idea of guilt-free bliss. Guilt-free because the end would certainly be punishment enough. Not that she wanted to think of the end right now. Right now, her priority was her soon-to-be-delivered meal and the rapid succession of cop shows that would make her evening. She loved guessing the culprit before the characters. That had driven Nicholas mad.
But she didn't want to think of Nicholas either. Nicholas had dumped her, and her whole life had snapped. Not that she didn't understand - he had his own problems, and hers... well, he couldn't do anything about hers. But he had been the love of her life, and her life meant nothing if he wasn't a part of it.
So she'd decided to let the madness engulf her. It was a good feeling, being free of all the constraints that "normalcy" imposed. Almost all the constraints. She still had to pretend to be normal every now and again. Like right now - the bell was ringing. She opened the door, the pizza delivery boy was cute as a button. She flashed him a coquettish smile, grabbed the two boxes while simultaneously handing him the required cash, and said:
- Mmm. I loooove pizza.

14 février 2006

Sleepless, not in Seattle

Right. Maybe you didn't know that but I'm half Corsican. Now, if you're in France, you know Corsicans have a... dubious reputation, not only for their unfortunate propensity to want to be independant when clearly no nation can live off of ewe milk cheese and cured donkey meat. No, they are also reputed lazy. In fact, they are reputed so lazy that lifting their wrist to check the time while on their siesta is too much of an effort.
That might be true, I'm not judging. But come on now. I'm not that lazy (no, not even half). I love work. Yeah, OK, maybe saying I
"love" work kind of blew my cover. But I actually miss work right now, and Canada is just not in any hurry to give me a proper answer, apart from "no worries, we love you, we want you". Maybe you do, but I'd like to see the prenup. That would be proof of your love, people.
The problem is, things are kind of unravelling these days. My sanity is holding by a fraying thread (it was always holding by a thread, so "fraying" at least gives you a sense of progression...), stress has reached levels as yet unseen in people with no professional responsibilities, yesterday was Valentine's Day, and my parents are coming over for the weekend. You get the gist.
So yeah, my insomnia is back. With a vengeance. These days, my usual bedtime hour is around 2 a.m., which is really kinda late and not reasonable by any standards. So last night, true to my new routine, I went to bed around 1:45, turned the lights off around 2:30, and was wide awake again at 3:45. Until 6.
Good news is, that enabled me to finish Ubik. Excellent stuff. Bad news is, there is no way in hell that I can be productive during the day with that kind of sleep pattern.
Also, and I guess that wasn't the point of this post, but maybe I've stumbled upon something, and who would I be to withhold that discovery from the world? Maybe the whole of Corsica isn't actually lazy. Maybe they have an insomnia problem. Maybe there is something wrong with the air (ewe milk or tanning lotion
vapors, bomb fumes, what do I know?).
Anyway. Please send help, a masseur, Paulo Coelho books, and chamomile tea. Or drugs.

12 février 2006

Extreme Makeover

What a strange show. I couldn't even stop watching, that's how strange it was.
Soooo... in the spirit of... something... Here's to the new look of my blog.

Actually. I was going to change the look of the blog, and then I looked up the templates that Blogger offered, and really nothing tempted me particularly, and even if it did, it seemed like first, everybody else already had the same one anyway, and
second, really it would be hard work to get all of the changes I'd made to this one transferred to the other one, and then I started thinking about my potential new nose, breasts and wardrobe, and realized, is this really going to change the person I am inside? No, right? It's always going to be hazardous grammar, use of words I'm not sure I understand (see hazardous), and lame attempts at sarcasm, fiction and general ugh-ness. Well, then, what's the bloody point?
So I'm back right where I was a year ago.
But it was nice to dream for a little while. And on the plus side, you didn't get a shock when you got here. You can thank me later.

Oh, and please wish my mom a happy birthday. She doesn't read this, but she will feel all fuzzy inside, I'm sure.

10 février 2006

09 février 2006

Tell me something

Sake - warmed or not?
Waterworld - how?
Tiffani Amber Thiessen - why?
Sun in February - ice in March?
Canada - will they ever give me a bloody answer?
Hunger strike - a reason?
TV commercials - why do they turn the volume up on that? So we can hear them from the toilets?
Lack of inspiration - how/why fight it?

08 février 2006

Do you like scary movies?

Is that scary? Think of your brains inside of your skull. Cooked. I mean, I don't really care for mine, because as far as I know they're boiled hard already. But yours, people, yours! Think of all the cell phones that are around, they're bound, at one time or another, to be in such a position to cook your brains. Right? I wonder if that's why some people speak horrendously loudly when they're on the phone - maybe the waves have already fried their auditive nerve and their hearing is affected? And that would make sense too - not the auditive nerve affecting the hearing, as I'm not even sure there is an auditive nerve but if there is, how does it affect the hearing? -, but the fact that the cooking process would spread from the ear up, after all, unless you speak with your little finger, à la Doctor Evil, in which case it will take a while to reach the brain. In fact, if you use your little finger as a cell phone, chances are it will never reach your brain; chances are the frying wave will ultimately feel like the David Vincent of egg-cooking cell phones, looking for a brain it never found.
OK, so that gives us a bit of time to react and decide whether or not we want to be soft in the head (I think that's funny. Then again, I'm also trying to work out how it is funny, considering it's in contradiction with the rest of the post, but I'm not past that kind of inconsistency, am I?), but what about that? That scares me witless: you never know when they're going to start attacking humans and I don't want wasps to hatch inside of me. Mind you, if my brains are fried by cell phone usage, I suppose wasp surrogacy is the last thing I'll care about... And conversely, if I'm turned into impregnated play-doh by a wasp, frying my brains is an opportunity I don't think I'll pass.
All is right with the world, both threats kind of cancel each other out. Phew.

06 février 2006


With an L.

For luuuv.

Or loser, I'm not sure.


05 février 2006

Everybody else was doing it, so why not me?

2005 was a very good year for blogging, wasn't it? Very good as in very prolific, that's not a judgement on content's quality. Suddenly realizing how important their message to the world was, everybody started blogging, and approximative grammar, along with spelling that has to be completely illegal in several countries, started spreading faster than seasonal grumpiness around Valentine's Day. Having no personality, I was bound to get infected. So one year ago, I began my quest to destroy the last dregs of reputation I may have had, not only with my friends and family, who see me, know me, and shake their heads in despairing wonder, but with people who don't know me, don't see me, and don't realize just how lucky they are.
Thank you for reading, people.
And just so you know, I intend to remain nasty and generally unpleasant, with the occasional bout of niceness. Which will probably
be alcohol- and/or disease-induced, don't be fooled.

In other news... yeah, nothing, really.

03 février 2006

Slobbering babies, for or against?

For, I say.
Slobber on, babies, I say!

01 février 2006


See, I was writing this horrible, horrible post about an EX friend of mine - what's a really childish way to say "well poo you, we're not friends anymore"? - getting all self-righteous and I'm so right this, and my EX friend is so wrong that, and I know that I'm perfect this and my EX friend isn't that, and suddenly Firefox just quit! One minute I had an open browser, a post being written (not my best, though, I won't lie to you (since I'm perfect (and my EX friend isn't))), and things were all right with the world (except with my EX friend), and the next, the only thing that was showing on my screen was my wallpaper and a slew of icons. Which reminds me that damn, I must tidy that desktop up a little.
So what happened? Well, I think my subconscious censored me. And so, with the sheer power of my mind, it just closed Firefox. No "are you sure you want to close several tabs at once, you moron?" from Firefox, no "You haven't published, don't come moaning that you've lost all your changes, you cretin" from Blogger... It's either very bad timing as it is preventing me from letting loose with some good, old-fashioned aggressiveness, and goodness knows there hasn't been too much of that here lately, or my EX friend is an avatar of Damian, in much the same way that helpdesk technicians are. Which is a possibility I wouldn't discard with a snap of my fingers.
And just so you know, even if my subconscious did close that browser*, it still doesn't mean I'm wrong. It's simply that my unbelievably pure, good and generous soul probably believes that there might be hope for my EX friend and me still, and doesn't want me to regret
later any harsh words I might have uttered today. Spoilsport.

* I had first typed "even if my subconscious did fire me". Said subconscious is clearly on a roll...

Really can't talk today

... as I burnt my tongue yesterday, and it's exquisitely painful. Plus the lisp is just preposterous.
OK, I'm exaggerating slightly, I'm simply feeling lazy. I did burn my tongue though.
But I'll brave the pain and laziness for this: it's February! Yay! White rabbit, white rabbit, white rabbit, and all that, of course.
And don't forget to visit Fence: she thinks the whole month should be a celebration of her birthday, and we do not want her to be unhappy.