My name is Cédric Bozzi and this is my blog. Mostly, it’s an aggregate of my tweets and Instagram posts, but once in a while you may yet see an actual article here.
I just realized that, now that I ping weblogs.com, that I’ve got RSS, and since I put GeoTags a while ago, I should appear on GeoBlog. Which, anyway, isn’t bound to bring me enormous traffic, but it can still be fun. Ok, it looks like it locates me more in Belgium than in France, but let’s say it doesn’t mind because the picture is small anyway…
P.S. Okay, doesn’t work. I’ve been spending twice five minutes staring at my computer in expectation of my personal red spot, and nothing comes. And yet I’m in no shortage of red spots. But I digress. So long for GeoBlog.
P.S. Okay, works. I changed the URL I ping weblogs.com with, so that it doesn’t use a redirection anymore. What’s stupid is, when I manually entered my URL in the email@example.com, it found my location, so it is indeed able to understand the redirection. Anyway, now it works, that’s what’s important, it’s useless, but it works.
This is the second time I see this trailer, and it irks me the same each time.
Have you tried… not being a mutant? Is the whole X-Men 2 movie just as atrociously dumb as this line? Or is it just the trailer’s editor who wanted to humiliate Singer by emphasizing on the most stupid line in his career?
Have you tried not being a mutant? It’s not just stupid and demagogic, it’s downright insulting to the people it’s supposed to be directed at. (Gays, in case you missed the point.) And even if I happened to be the only one taking it personally, I’d still be right. Have you tried not being a retard? Have you tried not being black? Have you tried not being a girl? I had already criticized the first X-Men for stupidly equating anti-mutantism with anti-semitism. Looks like they changed their target this time. It’s a big less serious, but it’s just as dumb.
I finally found what my short movie’s message will be. What justifies its existence, what makes it worth shooting. It was easy, but I needed the Six Feet Under season 1’s finale to realize it: life is short. No, I didn’t just realize that life is too short, but that this is precisely my movie’s message. What? It’s not original? No, it’s not, so what? It’s not original, yet it makes you cry when it’s in Six Feet Under, so why wouldn’t it when I’m writing?
(I fixed it because it would have made the thing unreadable, but I made an interesting slip: I wrote
what justifies my existence. A twenty-minute short, that will take years not to be made because it’ll be too complicated, that’s what will justify my existence. Ain’t life great. But short. That’s the idea I need to focus on, because I’ve got lyrics to write. Gee how hard it is. I have no idea how I’m supposed to do. But I already said that, didn’t I?)
By the way: what a season finale. Sniff. If I had known that episode 2.01 would be so depressing, I’d have stopped there, on the nice feelings and the
life is short, but life goes on stuff.
And I couldn’t help it: as I was in the process of adding some PHP to my site, I also implemented trackbacks. I haven’t got a MovableType setup at hand, so I can’t test it really, but it might just work. Since I never managed to get the courage to read the official specification, I vampirized b2’s code (thanks open source — well, thanks if it works), because I’ve always found it that much easier to understand source code rather than a technical documentation. Now we only have to see if it works. What I do know already is that the manual trackback form (which allows anyone to ping one of my articles, even without MovableType or another intelligent CMS, i.e. even with Blogger) works. In the meantime, I have yet to look up the auto-discovery specs, and I’ll have a real pro’s blog. As if it was gonna help me write my movie’s script…
Oh, I forgot: I also made a script to ping weblogs.com automatically every time I add an article. I don’t know what the point really would be, but… hey, why not? (You might not be noticing the efforts I’m making here to refrain from saying I only did it so that my blog would be taken into account by BlogShares…)
P.S. Auto-discovery is done; it was easy. Now I have to write the script to allow me to ping other blogs, and use it to test my own trackback ping URL. Cool, something else to do!
Voilà, I give in. I’ll come back later, in an upcoming article, to the reasons that pushed me there, but here I go, I created an RSS file for this blog. So if you’re interested, that’s where you should look. It’s in beta, it’s hand made, it’s stolen directly from another blogger’s RSS, and if your aggregator is complaining about standard incompatibilities, you should use another, because it works just fine with me. There. Comments welcome (for once). Except if you want to convince me to include the whole articles instead of excerpts, because you just won’t make it: this blog is intended to be read here, with the layout and pictures designed for it, and not it an ugly aggregator. So RSS is only there in case you want to be told when something new happens here. Nobody messes with my gorgeous design.
I’ve met my share of assholes, but I think I just saw the worst in my career—and I’ve had a long chatroom career, so it’s quite something. And I should have seen it coming: a 22-year-old boy living on the Champs-Elysées, looking like the teacher’s pet (only, not ugly), nothing good could come from there. But I only listened to… uh… to my… uh, you know, my courage, and I went there. And then… then, you won’t know what happened, unless you guess, which you won’t, because I won’t give out any hint. Just an asshole. World-class. With an ugly but sweet dog, though.
I want a husband I could call Little Bear depending on his moods. Grumpy Little Bear in the morning, Hungry Little Bear at noon, Sassy Little Bear in the evening, Hungry Little Bear at night, Avenging Little Bear after I have wet his book in bath, Faithless Little Bear after ten years of marriage, etc., you get the idea. Of course, for full dramatic effect, he’ll have to be 6’0. Trouble is, I’ve already met Ideal Little Bear last year, and unfortunately Nasty Little Bear doesn’t want to be Garoo’s Little Bear. Now I only have to find another animal, but what could be better than a little bear?
Personne pour pleurer la disparition de La séance au choix ? Non, enfin, la séance elle-même, on s’en fiche, mais c’est pour la
présentatrice, quoi, c’est dommage. Je suppose que la nouvelle orientation de Canal+ sera de la remplacer par une nouvelle bimbo speakerine.
Je ne vais pas pouvoir regarder Nice People, parce que Petit Ourson Malicieux (j’ai eu la flemme de retenir son nom en VO, ce qui m’arrive pourtant rarement) me rappelle quelqu’un que je n’ai pas envie qu’on me rappelle (et dont se souviendront peut-être avec émotion les vétérans parmi mes lecteurs). En même temps, c’est pas plus mal, ça m’évitera de passer trop de temps sur TF1. C’est pas que j’aie un boîtier Mediamat, mais, quand même, quoi, c’est une simple question de standing. Sans compter qu’Arthur a décidé de concurrencer Nikos pour le titre de présentateur le plus insupportable — c’est pas gagné d’avance, mais c’est pas perdu non plus. Bon, enfin, sérieusement (euh, si l’on peut dire), je n’ai pas suivi la présentation des filles (comme à chaque Loft), mais vu qu’il n’y a, à première vue, rien à sauver chez les garçons, je pense que je vais vraiment pouvoir allègrement m’en passer, et ça m’arrange.
P.S. Oui, forcément, s’ils les mettent tous en string dès le premier numéro, ça va être plus compliqué. Je veux un Petit Ourson Joyeux pour moi. Je vais mettre ça dans ma commande Telemarket pour la semaine. Ouin, j’en veux un. J’ai toujours aimé les tennismen, en plus. Bouh.
P.S. C’est marrant, d’ailleurs, parce que cette nuit, juste avant de me réveiller, j’ai rêvé que je retrouvais quelqu’un de mon école d’ingé et… ben, je me suis réveillé en plein rêve porno, quoi. Et il se trouve que le quelqu’un en question, justement, jouait au tennis. J’veux dire, dans la vie, pas dans le rêve. Dans le rêve, il faisait autre chose. Enfin, c’était moi qui faisais, surtout. (Et maintenant je n’ai plus qu’à espérer qu’il ne tombera jamais sur ce blog, parce que sinon c’est la merde.) Pourquoi je disais ça, moi, à part pour le plaisir de dire que moi aussi je fais des rêves pornos ? Ben, tennis. Point commun avec Petit Ourson Niais. Marrant, quoi. Coïncidence. Duh.
I had planned to have a finished script by April 30th, but I’ve got a feeling I’m not gonna make it. And yet all I have left to write are the lyrics for the two original songs (only two? doesn’t sound like much to me, but that’s the way it came to me—and at least the movie won’t last 40 minutes then, it’s just as well). All that’s left. Yeah. And I know what they’re supposed to tell, and I’m sure I’m able to write something with rhymes and rhythm. But I’m just stuck on a little detail: I have no idea how one writes a song without having the music first. How do you do that? I’ve never enjoyed poetry, why have I come up with this idea? Characters: check. Dialogue: check. Cinematography overview: check. (Although I might want to cut back on travelings, considering nobody’s offered to sponsor me with a Steadicam yet.) But the lyrics… uh… I don’t know how to, and the story cannot quite work without them. (I know that, in theory, the fact that the story doesn’t exist without the songs isn’t telling much of its quality, but then, everybody loves Moulin-Wouge.) Five days to write two short songs? Yeah, I guess it could be done. What’s nice is, by writing that, I’m almost getting some kind of motivation back. Too bad it’s only happening now that I have to go to bed.
The pictures from yesterday’s session aren’t quite good, I’m demotivated, I feel incredibly stupid for having thought just a second of directing a movie, and I want to close down this blog and replace it with a blank page saying
Either I’m being lied to, or SMS sent to me get lost. I’m not sure which is more probable, but I think odds favor the latter. I haven’t got many people to call when I’m in Paris and don’t know what to do, so at least I’d like not to lose the answers from those few people in my phone’s directory.
I don’t know why my watch decided to wake me up at 4:03 last night. It’s funny: as I think about it, I realize it was only two hours after I went to bed, and not really in the middle of the night like it felt. I was just up to the quarter of my night. So, well, yeah, it was the middle of the night, give or take a quarter. Anyway, what’s interesting is that this watch, which hates me, is able to wake me up if I need it to, someday. And also if I don’t need it to. Those little puppies beep hard. I wonder I risk killing it by trying to open it up and tear off all that looks like it could emit some noise.
Note for future reference: fill-in flash is pretty good for portraits (but it would be even better if the camera took it into account when calculating exposure time); models should avoid red clothes, because it restricts my possibilities for color correction.
An article about MacOS X as seen by a Windows user allows me to discover how the Dock really works, exemplified by this screenshot. And, uh… I don’t get it. So, user-added shortcuts are mixed with all running application shortcuts. It seems weird, but I can accept it. But the window icons are only displayed when windows are minimized?! I don’t understand the point of this. Separating applications (the executables) from documents (the windows) has always been a basis of MacOS, but then why bother displaying icons for minimized windows? If you want to reach a Photoshop window that’s hidden by another Photoshop window, the Dock is useless, and you’ll have to use the Window menu; why does it work differently if you want to access a minimized window?
OS X is weird: so many good ideas, such a good design, all spoiled by unexplainable mistakes. Now I end up being happy I’m using ObjectDock rather than a real Mac (except for the fact that no Windows dock is able to properly handle folder icons, but it’s bound to happen someday).
P.S. Post edited to fix the image address. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to code this blog to replace underscores with non-breaking space (they’re much more used in French, that’s why). Maybe I should have picked something that doesn’t occur in half the URLs I link to. But it’s a bit late now to change the system…
Sons of bitches. Non seulement des VO sautent, mais en plus ils ne sont pas cohérents d’une semaine sur l’autre dans leur façon de le gérer : cette fois-ci, l’épisode de Six Feet Under qui n’a pas été diffusé la semaine dernière ne l’a pas non plus été aujourd’hui. Pas de VO pour Ileana Douglas. Saletés. Ah, oui, c’est sûr, les abonnés à Canal+ en hertzien sont de moins en moins nombreux, et parmi eux ceux qui s’intéressent à la VO doivent être carrément minoritaires. Seulement, si j’ai bien tout compris, c’est nous qui payons le plus cher, non ? J’exige ma série en VO, j’ai payé pour !
Comments are back : Abuse them and perish
Impressive, very impressive—and yet, once you think about it, not so complicated. Check out this picture (180 KB, stolen from A. L.) and either press Ctrl-A on Internet Explorer, on save it and display it at half it size. (Caution: not work safe, as they say.) It’s certainly a very basic trick, that anyone with the slightest interest in steganography ought to know, but it’s still impressive, and magically visual. If you have Explorer 6, you can also click the button that resizes the image to accomodate the browser window, and then resize the window at will to see the effect in real time: it’s even more fun.
It’s not a rocket launching, but just the reflection of my room’s fluorescent lighting.
I hope the idea of making a French version of the Penis Blog Project will vanish before it’s too late. If I let it linger long enough, would someone else do it? And in that case, would I dare participate? And if I made the project myself, would I dare participate? And who would dare? Should I forget that idea or not?
I suppose I’d just let go of the idea if I had some kind of a sex life right now. But short-term forecasts are not announcing much of an improvement on that level, so I guess I’m screwed…
It would seem not completely impossible that some messages, that were sent via this site’s contact form, may never have reached me. Well, I’m not sure of anything, but it’s possible. Since half the visitors who write me don’t specify their address so I can answer, and there’s no way I can tell whether that was intentional, I’m going to remove the form and let you handle the task of understanding my e-mail address.
I could tell you that, if you’ve never received an answer to a message, you should send it back, but I’m not sure I want to drown in messages. But then, it would keep me busy. And it would be flattering. Hmm, yeah, flatter. So I guess you can write.
For lack of blogging material…
Oh, right, here’s why I have so few English-speaking readers: since comments are disabled, American surfers can’t come and insult me. Shall I reopen the commenting system, and write articles about past and upcoming wars in the Middle-East, in order to possibly get some referrer action?
I had good reasons to remove comments, and one of those reasons was that some readers already were quite stupid enough at the time.
Nothing says diet like not being able to put on the trousers I bought last January. And I don’t think I can put the blame on them, because the fatigues that could accomadate two of my size now fit without a belt. The Gay Pride is in two months, so I have to hurry up if I want to look like a go-go dancer by then. Well, if I do, I won’t fit in my clothes either, but at least I won’t feel bad about it. Let’s eat up my box of chocolates in celebration—if I want to start a diet, I have to get read of all the candy I have, don’t I?
Steven Spielberg directed Duel when he was 24, and it was a TV movie. True, I’m a little bit late, but at least my career plans are valid. And anyway I don’t dream of becoming Spielberg in particular: he works too much for my taste.
Si Canal+ continue à faire sauter des épisodes de Six Feet Under au gré des retards du golf ou de je ne sais quel sport idiot, je vais résilier et me faire offrir les DVD. Avec l’argent économisé sur l’abonnement, je pourrai me payer un lecteur en trois mois. Pourquoi est-ce que la série doit sauter pour que le film de 3h45 du matin ne démarre pas en retard, alors que le film est un navet qui en est à sa douzième diffusion en VF, et que c’est l’unique diffusion VO de cette série ? Ah, oui, parce que Canal+ n’a pas besoin de mon fric pour exister. On verra ça.
…ou comment aller se coucher de mauvaise humeur malgré un excellent épisode. (Quoique, excellent, excellent… le coup des pilules mélangées, c’est plutôt digne de Blague à part…)
Note to self : Quand je m’ennuie déjà à mort, ne pas regarder le nouveau télé/film de Gaël Morel sur Arte. (Ne rien regarder sur Arte, d’ailleurs.) Bon sang, je vous en prie, que quelqu’un lui arrache la caméra des mains. Et me la refile ? Oh ben, oui, si vous voulez. De toute façon, mon script est intournable.
Cette fois c’est clair, Tom Welling, a.k.a.
the hottie in the primary colors (
le Chippendale en chemise bleue, le traducteur est sous crack, encore), joue comme une bûche.
It’s fortunate that signs are multiplying to push me into keeping this short movie thing going, because I really have trouble gathering enough self-confidence to work for more than two hours in a row. Except that I’m pretty sure I recently promised myself not to believe in signs anymore…
— what did you do?
— The first draft of my script
— what’s it like?
— Well, I feel completely ridiculous, but I guess that’s the way it goes :o)
— and what’s it like? :)
I’ll make you read it when I’m up to a makereadable version
Pourquoi, quand les Guignols font un sketch i-télévision avec le Irak dans le coin de l’écran, le bord incliné du coin en question est anti-aliasé, alors qu’il ne l’est pas lors des vrais flashs info ? Les machines de chez Canal+ ne sont pas assez modernes pour faire du titrage sans crénelage ? Je trouvais déjà que ça faisait particulièrement pitié quand je regardais les journaux, mais le fait qu’en reprenant l’habillage les Guignols corrigent le problème rend toute cette histoire (histoire ? que dis-je, ce désastre, ce scandale mondial !) encore plus mystérieuse, et encore plus pathétique. Et tragique, aussi. Voilà. Tragique.
Gee, it’s today already, which means I should somewhat, maybe, write something. Well, it would be nice if I did. I hate how short days are. Ok, it’s not that bad anyway, because I had something to tell. I realized that (well, I already knew it, and people had already commented it) this afternoon: I’m unable to write an e-mail without smileys. In the aforementioned mail (actually, aforenotmentioned, but you get the idea, or maybe you don’t, but it’s too late anyway), there wasn’t a single paragraph not ending with a smiley. And that’s the way it is every time. (Not to mention chatting, it’s horrible.) It’s a good thing I have this blog to witness my ability to write without any smiley; otherwise I’d be desperate right now, and I’d have looked for a comfort in a jar of ice cream with chocolate topping, and my trousers would explode. Fortunately I have neither ice cream nor chocolate in store.
Pink TV, the upcoming gay TV channel that already had a display at the 2002 Gay Pride, should start emitting after summer 2003. And, for once, the stupidity of the people in charge of French airwaves could happen to be useful. (To someone. Namely, to me. Well, I’m a lot ahead of myself there, but I’m allowed to dream, that’s what I do best.) The administration allowed the channel to broadcast porn in exhange for devoting a ridiculously high share of their budget to French audiovisual production. (A higher share than for movie channels. Ain’t that nice logic? I guess they expect Pink TV to go bankrupt because of those requirements…) Do you see where I’m going now? No, it’s not about criticizing the CSA (Conseil Supérieur de l’Audiovisuel) for their bargaining ways, it would be of very little interest to you. The point is that French audiovisual production is me! Well, not me alone, but I’m a part of it, I mean, I will be, soon, maybe, sometime, if everything goes well and I’m lucky. As a soon-to-be director of DV movies for TV (because it’s simpler, you don’t need a whole production crew, you can produce yourself and do whatever you want), I didn’t have many outlets for my works—only that one French-German intelligent channel that nobody watches, Arte. Now there’s a whole new perspective for my career, I can direct gay TV-movies. Or even a series of TV-movies with recurring characters, I only need to think about the concept in the meantime. I can be content with a subscription cable channel’s audience, I don’t need millions of viewers, and anyway my movies will be so great they’ll become legendary and be released on DVD. My career plans just broadened all of a sudden. Now I’m really gonna have to get to the writing of my short movie’s script. And then the gay TV-movies for a ghetto channel. And then, I’m the new Spielberg. It will all come in due time.
Is there such a thing as a little freeware to replicate the sound of the ocean? Or wind? Or a waterfall? Something well programmed, with complex algorithms to make the randomness sound realistic… it shouldn’t be too hard to make. I’d make it myself, but sound is so not my thing.
Now I’m discouraged. No particular reason, it just happens. I’m bipolar, and I don’t have Rachel Griffiths to take care of me. Not a coincidence that Billy’s a photographer, by the way. Guess I’d better go to sleep, hoping my anti-social phase won’t survive a good night, because right now I feel a lot like sending one-line answers to my pending mails and throwing the mobile’s battery through the window to get ready for another two-year retreat in my cell. Maybe this time I should also get rid of the modem and the tv set?
Hey, I just remembered there was a time when people said I was funny. That my blog made people laugh. Must have been a while now, and I should get back to it before my stats sink forever. But that’s not something I can control, I think. Well, maybe it could be, but I’m not a professional comedian, and I’m not paid, and I don’t intend to ever be, except for the humorous yet realistic dialogue I’ll write in my movies, tv-movies, series, novels, and songs. The worst part of it is that, right now, I couldn’t really define what I’m missing, what would make me happy and gay (uh, well…). Love? Sex? Money? Fame? Do I need all of that and I’ll never be satisfied, or isn’t there really anything that can help and I’ll never be satisfied? Or maybe it’s just that summer has left again, and will only be back this summer. Yeah. Let’s say that, I like it better that way.
The bloggers I read don’t post enough. I’ve become too selective, I quit reading dozens of chatty blogs, and now I’m bored. What is it you say? Quality vs. quantity? Right. But what I want right now is quantity. I want to fill my stomach up with fat chocolate, and my brain with fat blogging. There you go: I haven’t gone out for a week and now I’m back to dreaming of lobotomy. I guess I’d better buy myself a subway pass for the month, it’s cheaper and less permanent.
I wish I could tell whether Jurassic Park 3 is worse or better than version 2, but that would require having at least some remote memories of the latter. How could they let such a successful franchise fall so low, and accept to shoot such stupid scripts? I mean, really, what can you expect from a movie that wants you to believe Téa Leoni could marry William H. Macy?
La pub BMW, avec les voitures qui tournent sur elles-mêmes sur fond gris, me chagrine. Pas juste parce que le principe est piqué, au choix, aux pubs Apple ou New Beetle, sans le fond blanc, mais surtout parce que les voitures ont l’air de flotter vingt centimètres au-dessus du sol. Je n’arrive pas à me faire à l’idée que ce soit volontaire, parce que ça fait juste moche, bizarre et désespérément amateur. Pourtant, ça ne peut pas être si compliqué de faire rentrer le plateau tournant dans le sol, et de surélever les voitures juste du nombre de millimètres nécessaire pour que les roues n’empêchent pas la voiture de tourner. Oh, il y a sûrement quelque chose qui m’échappe.
I should make a page somewhere to list all the freeware and various Windows accessories I can’t live without, so that I know what I have to reinstall every time I reset my system (which doesn’t happen often, I must say). But it’s too late now, there it is, everything’s set back up, I downloaded all I had to and I didn’t save the URLs. Too bad, I’ll think of it next time (not).
I wanna be a Six Feet Under screenwriter when I grow up. Not that I want to write for that show (it’ll have jumped as many sharks as there can be by the time I reach L.A.), but I want to be as good as they are. Oh, but I remember I already wanted to be Joss Whedon. I have to choose. Ok, I guess I’ll stick with Whedon so that I’m also able to write musicals. It’s just that Buffy isn’t on anymore and won’t be until next January or something. And that season 6 was such crap.
I’d like to watch again the Six Feet Under episodes I taped last week, before I overwrite them tonight, but I’m disturbed by the feeling there’s something else I should be doing. But what?
Oh, right, now I remember. Earn some money. But it’s Sunday. I’m not gonna make any money tomorrow or the other days, so I should think about it even less on a Sunday.
If you’re using XP Home, you might want to know that, by default, your computer isn’t protected at all. You think a password is required to log in? Wrong. Anyone can log in as an adminstrator, without typing a password, simply by starting in safe mode (with F8). XP Home is for the home indeed. Actually, not: that’s the kind of trick that kids will discover long before their parents. So, if you want to fix that, you have to start your computer pressing F8, log as administrator, and set a password.
By the way, there are two possibilities in XP Home that allow you to change file access persmissions in advanced mode (i.e., the way that’s available only in XP Pro). Either by starting in safe mode again, in which case the Security tab is said to appear (untested), but it’s obviously not all that convenient to have to reboot everytime you want to change access rights; or through the command line, by typing cacls, which isn’t extremely practical either, but at least a little bit more accessible.
Do you want a couple of other tricks? If you want to deactivate the Picture and Fax Viewer that loves stealing file associations (or maybe it takes precedence over them only when you open a file in the My Documents folder), you have to execute this:
regsvr32 /u shimgvw.dll
If you want to deactivate the irritating gadget that expands the file explorer’s tree view, everytime you click a directory name, you have to uncheck the
Display simple folder view in the folders list” box in the folder display options. I mention it because the option title is pretty unclear, and I never thought of unchecking it. Incidentally, it also removes the .zip files from the tree view, which is a surprising choice, but one I won’t mind.
I thought I had already blogged the ClearType configuration page, but I couldn’t find the address back when I searched for it, so here it is.
(Hey, there must be loads of blogs with this title, right?)
Great, now it’s even better, I only have ten euros left on my account, because there was nothing left to eat in the house, and I didn’t want to eat pasta all week-end. Maybe I should have, incidentally, because this time I’ve bought enough candy for a whole month. I have to work, and I don’t know how to do that. I haven’t worked for money in the last year and half, I have absolutely no clue as to how and where to find a job to do.
And the two lottery tickets I bought weren’t winning. Now there wouldn’t be, among my readers, a movie producer in desperate need for an emergency script-doctor, would there?
There. Fantastic. This is (was) April 3rd, and I have sixty euros (equivalent to rougly sixty dollars, a bit more I think) on my bank account. For the whole month. Won’t even be enough for the monthly bills. That means I’m gonna have to
win the lottery work. Or maybe I meant, work win the lottery. Either way, it doesn’t cut it. But I need to be free of material worries if I’m gonna make something of my current project (which has gained some solidity today, so it seems that, as amazing as it may sound, I may really be going to do it). I need something like 500 € per month, it’s really not much. I must be able to make a small site buy a winning ticket and be safe for three months. Or be safe for two months and buy a Firewire card (I’m sure I’ll always manage, for the cameras). Or maybe I could make a huge website for a lot of money and buy myself a DV steadicam. Right. Like, I believe it myself. Well, anyway, the point is, I need to work so that I can devote my time entirely to my silly idea. Is there a rich blogger around, to pay me a thousand euros for a brand new layout?
— Ah bon, tu prononces OS X comme ça, toi ?
— Bah… oui, tu le prononces comment, toi, OS Ten ?
— Ben, non, OS dix, avant je disais OS neuf, alors maintenant je dis OS dix.
— Ah, ouais, bien sûr, mais bon, si tu vas par là et que tout doit être logique, hein, et puis, je sais pas, je m’étais jamais posé la question, c’est la première fois que je le prononce en fait, et puis, bah, je sais pas comment c’est censé se dire.
Oh, right, I haven’t posted today, busy as I was. I spent the whole day migrating from my old Pentium III to an Athlon XP, even though I’m not that confident about using an AMD, because the performance improvement is too pleasant to ignore. My ObjectDock doesn’t lag at all, Photoshop is faster, what more could I ask for?
I took advantage of the opportunity to move to Windows XP (a real one, with a license and everything), even though it’s an XP Home, yuk (with stupid limitations, such as not being able to set true file permissions, making the system unusable outside of the administrator mode, it’s bad, but I’ll have to live with it), and boy how nice it is! I finally have ClearType, and I can’t get tired of discovering websites with anti-aliased type. As a bonus, I have semi-transparent icons (which will be interesting when I reinstall IconPackager, so I can get true OS X icons), good management of my digital camera, the ability to change network parameters without rebooting (it’s magical! ok, it’s not, I had used Linux before, so I’m not that impressed, but hey, it happens in Windows!), and… did I mention ClearType? It’s so nice. I thought that Mozilla, being Mozilla, wouldn’t benefit, but it does. Yummy. Nice. Well, doesn’t look so great in Georgia, so I might change the default font on my blog. But it’s so good. Oh, right, I forgot one last drawback: it’s a French XP, and I hate using a system in French. But it’s too nice, I have to use it.
What else? Thanks to Patterson for a cute card from Morocco (a typical moroccan street with two cats, how kawai can you get?), and thanks to Hiyami for a nice Buffy CDROM I haven’t had time to have fun with but will very soon.
Oh, and I have 30 GB free on my new hard drive! I’m ready for DV editing now! (Just gotta buy a Firewire card. Oh. And find a camera.)
Now the hot water is back, but I have no subway pass for April, and no money to buy one today. And the weather won’t be nice tomorrow. I could write the short movie’s script to keep myself busy, but first I’d need to convince myself it’s feasible, on a material level. I mean, the movie, not the script. The script I know I can do.
Eh oui, je n’ai pas passé toute la journée sur DialH, alors j’ai écrit un peu. Ca change. A quoi ça tient, l’inspiration…
J’étais relativement séduit par le nouveau single de Florent Pagny (Ma liberté de penser), jusqu’à ce que j’entende qu’il est écrit par Pascal Obispo et Lionel Florence. Je trouvais ça intéressant, qu’un grand… enfin, disons, un chanteur à succès, fasse un titre avec un petit groupe de rock indépendant, du style à la mode actuellement en France. Sauf que non, ce n’est pas un partenariat, mais de la récupération, Obispo et Florence qui jouent à faire du Louise Attaque, parce que ça se vend bien. (Bon, ok, même si ça n’avait pas été signé par eux, ça aurait été de la récupération quand même, mais il y aurait au moins eu des jeunes auteurs pour toucher le jackpot — euh, c’est vrai, Louise Attaque, ils n’en ont pas besoin, mais par rapport à Obispo ils sont quand même miséreux.) Enfin, il faut avouer que c’est bien fait, qu’ils peuvent en être contents, le résultat n’est pas mauvais, ça va marcher. Mais bon. C’est mon nouveau tic de langage, ça. Je finis mes posts par
Mais bon ou
Mais quand même. Et c’est grave, d’ailleurs, parce que ce n’est pas un tic de langage, mais un tic de mauvaise construction des posts. Enfin, c’est ça ou je ne poste pas. Mais bon, donc. Mais bon, ça a un côté un peu malsain. Heh. C’est Obispo et Florence. Tiens, je ne crois pas l’avoir écrit… plus exactement, je croyais l’avoir écrit mais je ne retrouve pas en faisant une recherche, donc on dirait que non… Sur le moment de Pop Idol (pour ne pas utiliser le titre français idiot), j’ai été surpris de voir un Lionel Florence finalement pas très sensible, pas très intéressant, avant de réaliser quelques minutes plus tard que je ne devrais pas être étonné : c’est le partenaire attitré de Pascal Obispo, après tout. Ils vont bien ensemble, ces deux-là. Ils écrivent du rock indé pour Pagny avec guitare sèche et
shit planqué sous l’étagère, tout va pour le mieux dans le meilleurs des universal, les jeunes achèteront sûrement.