Hi! Do you remember blogs? Well, this used to be one. Now it just serves as an archive for my multiple Twitter accounts.
Let’s all celebrate the moodlog’s return! I don’t know how long it will stay, but it should at least be there until tomorrow (though you can never be sure of anything these days).
And that’s probably all there is to say about tonight.
Comments are sent back where they belong: in a popup, because they’re not really a part of this site (it’s my blog here, comments shouldn’t be emphasized). I also added a configuration variable that allows me to activate or deactivate comments in a few seconds depending on my mood, so don’t be surprised if they disappear and reappear from one day to the next.
C’est un peu énervant, après avoir détaillé hier les principales raisons pour lesquelles j’avais détesté le film, d’être maintenant en train de me demander s’il n’était pas plutôt réussi. Mes objections tiennent toujours, mais c’est le genre de film qui tire plus son intérêt du souvenir qu’il laisse que du moment qu’on passe à le regarder… Le genre de film qu’il est hors de question de regarder une deuxième fois, et dont seuls comptent, donc, les flashes qu’il peut laisser gravés dans la mémoire.
Je n’ai plus qu’à vous donner rendez-vous dans un
Irréversible (ter) où j’essaierai d’analyser pourquoi ça me dérange autant d’envisager de dire du bien de ce film…
Hmf. Saleté de film à retardement.
Fuck… it’s the first time since I changed banks that a payment is rejected—and not only it costs seven euros that I already didn’t have, but I haven’t got any income planned for the next few days. Or weeks. Or decades, actually. I should close down this account and go sleep under a bridge. The weather’s so sweet right now. Or I could sell all my computer equipment, shut down all my subscriptions except TV, and spend all my time in front of it until I’m brain-dead. There may be quicker solutions, though. Such as lying down on a railway to protest against SARS, or make a website for money. But I’ve got that feeling it would be easier for me to climb the barriers around high-speed railways than to find clients.
No matter what, I need to do the former or the latter before Thursday, so I have a good reason not to spend 36 hours working on the renovation of a crappy countryside house. Gotta remember to play the lottery next Wednesday.
I have installed a Miranda plugin that associates individual sounds to messages received from your contacts, and I’m now facing a metaphysical dilemma: what sounds am I gonna find for each of them? And then I got the idea: I’m officially asking each of my ICQ contacts to send me (through ICQ or by mail, but you know I don’t like heavy mail attachments, don’t you?) a .wav file in which they go
uh-oh with their mouth, à la ICQ’s default sound. There. I’ll remix all of it in Dolby surround and edit a CD and DVD you’ll find in your local record store very soon. Uh, nah. I’ll just use the sounds in Miranda for a couple hours, until I grow out of it.
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It had to happen. It just had to. I’m sure that, if I switched to DSL (and it’s not gonna happen right now, I’d need to have a bit more cash ahead of me first), my provider would start not working just as soon as I’d get used to its comfort. Well, it’s Murphy’s law, everybody knows it already. So now my ISP saturates and I have to call three or four times in order to get a line (which amounts to about twenty attempts per day, considering I’ve been regularly disconnected for a few weeks now) and I’ve got this nagging feeling it’s not going to improve over time. Before computers existed, you didn’t have all this problems. To think that I could be quietly breeding goats in Larzac, if only I had never known about the Internet.
Yesterday’s factoid is that unstable brick piles are unstable. And that falling from atop an unstable brick pile unto bricks scattered by the unstable brick pile’s fall, well, that hurts. My middle finger has doubled in volume through the night, but apart from that everything’s fine, as long as I can still type. Is there something you’re supposed to do in order to get a minor wrench to stop swelling, or do you just have to wait?
Well, when I say that everything’s fine apart from that, it’s not quite right. I also completely wasted my diet in a cafeteria. I guess the mille-feuilles was the finishing touch I should definitely have avoided. On the other hand, it’s nice to see that I felt like I was gonna die of asphyxia afterwards, whereas a couple of months earlier I would have felt just fine after eating all that stuff. So I’ve trained my stomach a bit.
A short documentary yesterday about animation techniques gave me an idea: until I have a genial idea for a short movie, maybe I should make some Flash animations by rotoscoping DV shots. Would keep me busy. The stake would be much lower (it would only mean a few hours or days of work to publish a short on my website) so I should be able to find something to do with that format. Got to think about it some more. I shouldn’t post it, or I’ll forget: I always forget anything once it’s blogged.
Je suis amoureux, et ceux qui n’ont pas regardé On ne peut pas plaire à tout le monde ce soir ne peuvent pas comprendre. Quoique, l’avoir vu en concert il y a un an et demi, ça aide aussi. C’est incroyable ce qu’il a changé depuis ses premiers passages télé : faut croire que ça l’a bien décoincé, le succès (même limité). Dommage qu’il soit (aux dernières nouvelles, j’ai la flemme de vérifier) scorpion. Enfin, pas dommage, parce que ça me fait ça en moins comme frustration ; il vaudrait mieux que je me concentre sur les mecs que je ne peux pas avoir qui sont sur DialH, ça en fait déjà suffisamment plusieurs.
Vergès veut transformer Canal+ en TF1 : Quelle surprise, vu qu’il a un peu été engagé pour ça
Who created the legend that people would get wiser and more reasonable when they grow old? Cause it’s wrong. It may even be the opposite. Oh, right, I remember: it’s been invented by parents, so they could always be right when talking to their children. So I can’t really, scientifically assert that it’s bullshit (although I think it is) because I’m not a parent, and I’m gay, and I’ve got that damn Peter Pan syndrome. Not as much as the average in the gay community, though, I should point. As an example, I’m not lying about my age on chatrooms. Well, not yet. Won’t last, but let’s pretend I didn’t tell you.
As a result, the zipper broke on my brand new trousers I bought on sale this winter. And it’s not the right time to go wasting, what with the few wearable clothes I have, and the little spendable money I got. So, now, I’ve got a broken zipper that’s blocked by hand-sewn black thread, and I don’t know how to sew. So decadent.
And I’m only posting this because I find my blog too empty these days.
Since I reinstalled Windows (on my brand new 80 GB hard disk, I don’t know if I mentioned that—now I could be editing hours and hours of DV on my computer, and I’m only missing… ideas), when I use Ctrl-Left or Ctrl-Right to move one word at a time in a Miranda dialog window, it considers accented letters like word separators. Like two word separators. So if I’m typing, for instance,
prémédité (French words are funny, they’re full of accents), I have to press Ctrl-Left six times in order to reach the beginning of the word. I know nobody cares, because almost nobody uses those keyboard shortcuts, but I’d really like to know why, suddenly, on a new Windows, and while I’m using my previous Miranda installation (hence, no plugin or setup changes), it now behaves stupidly. I suppose I’ll have to reinstall Miranda in case it puts something in the registry, but I find that quite weird.
Mais où trouvent-ils les chats qui sont photographiés sur les sachets Whiskas ? Je veux l’adresse de leur élevage, moi. Même si je n’aurais pas les moyens d’y acheter un chat. Quoique, en échange d’un site web ?
Cette fois, la section
Je me lancerais bien dans les stock photos de chats (ça marche toujours), mais notre LeChat n’est pas tellement du genre à poser. Enfin, sur le coin de mon lit, oui, mais ça ne fait pas un très joli décor. Bon, et puis, vu le succès du Garoothon, de toute façon…
P.S. Saviez-vous que Whiskas, comme Frolic, Pedigree et Kitekat, est une marque Mars Incorporated ? Ca donne envie de manger des Mars, des M&M’s, des Maltesers, des Milkyway, des Snickers et des Twix. Mais pas des Kit Kat qui, contrairement au Kitekat, n’apparaissent pas dans la liste des trademarks Mars. C’est bizarre. Ou peut-être qu’ils mélangent, et que c’est en fait le même produit, au
E sur le conditionnement près.
P.S. On me signale que Kit Kat est fabriqué par Nestlé. Il va donc falloir se rabattre sur l’hypothèse B : Mars Incorporated a lancé Kitekat pour emmerder Nestlé. (J’utilise plein de gros mots, en ce moment. Ca doit être parce qu’au fond de moi je n’ai pas envie de poster, alors je vous le fais payer à ma façon, en postant des articles totalement inintéressants et pleins de gros mots.) Et ce n’est pas la peine d’aller chercher qui a créé sa marque en premier, parce que, fondamentalement, si c’est faux, je m’en fiche, je préfère ma version. Même que je préférais la version précédente. Kit Kat Chunky, comme les chunks dans les boites de Kitekat !
P.S. Et le site américain de Whiskas ne répond pas, donc je ne pourrai pas voir si chez eux il y a des photos des chats des pubs. Ni si ce sont des chats français ou américains.
Aaaarg. Ca fait trois fois que je vois la VO de Great Expectations version South Park, et trois fois que Malcolm McDowell se présente en disant
I’m a British person. Terrible, non ? Non, ça, c’est ce qui est drôle. Ce qui me donne envie de hurler, c’est le sous-titre :
Je suis une britannique personne (sic, donc). Je sais que ce n’est pas donné à tous les adaptateurs de comprendre en quoi c’est drôle qu’un acteur anglais passablement connu se présente en disant
Je suis un britannique, mais est-ce vraiment une raison pour traduire n’importe comment ?
Je suis bilingue et je tape vite, ça n’intéresse personne ? Ca serait plus intéressant pour moi que de faire un site web, surtout que je ne sais plus comment trouver des clients (et on me dit régulièrement que c’est une mauvaise période pour les graphistes indépendants, en plus, alors ce n’est même pas vraiment la peine d’essayer de commencer à penser à voir comment je pourrais chercher un semblant de contrat). Et j’ai besoin d’argent, là. Un livre à traduire ? Un film à sous-titrer ? Appelez Garoo au 1-800-TRANSLATE !
I have a strong urge to gut with my bare hands the marketing guy who decided to create the Ford Centenium series (which seems to be a French creation) to celebrate Ford’s hundredth anniversary. It’s enough that they have to find stupid names to sell their cars, you’d think they could at least care a bit about proper spelling!
P.S. Oh boy, and it’s not over. Here comes Saupiquet’s isy-pil. Which is pronounced
easy-peel, designates the opening system on their tuna cans, and doesn’t mean anything at all in French.
P.S. And there are also other reasons not to buy a Ford Centenium.
— C’est marrant, dans 100% Question, des fois ils ont l’air de gibier pris dans les phares d’une voiture, et des fois y’en a des mignons.
— Souvent, y’en a de très mignons.
— Arf, souvent, souvent, je dirais pas, non.
— A chaque fois que je regarde je me fais la réflexion moi. Ils sont souvent très cute.
— Tu as plus de chance que moi, alors. Ou tu es encore plus en manque, mais je ne suis pas sûr que ce soit humainement possible.
Ca fait bizarre de penser que je passe la plupart de mes après-midi sur France 5 depuis plusieurs semaines, typiquement de 13h30 à 18h30 (avec la tv-cam, je ne peux pas tricher). Moi. Devant France 5. Manquerait plus que je me mette à regarder Arte (mais, là, y’a un peu de marge, quand même).
And comments I consider merely unpleasant (not “abusive,” “merely unpleasant” is enough) will be blasted into the ether with extraordinary swiftness, so kindly keep it upbeat, please.
Damn, that’s the line I should have taken. If I ever open commenting again, I’ll just do that. Then all I have to do is recruit someone to filter out bad comments before I read them, and it’ll be even better.
I want another life.
I want another world.
I don’t t see what I could want that would solve my problems.
Heh. Heheh. Finally, e-male, a free bimonthly gay magazine that’s offered in most gay bars and clubs and stores in Paris, has an article about blogs that mentions me. Just me and one other blog. Check it out if you will. Here’s a quick translation of the part about me, because, well, that’s what matters, right?
On garoo.net, a young gay French boy tells his life on a blog. His journal is rather well written and has the advantage of talking about everything: he shares his experience, his finds on the Net… Here the visitors can also react to his words, which gives nice dynamics. You’ll also find pictures, links… In short, a universe quite pleasant to discover.
Heh. And the generic part about blogs does not convey the usual bullshit on the topic. Mmh, how that feels good. Oh. Maybe I should have written that at the post’s beginning instead: Sorry for bragging. Can’t help it. Feels too good.
I would never have thought I could spent such a good night in a club. I’m not saying a surprisingly not bad time like the other day, but a real good night. Two hours filling up my stomach with orange juice (that helps: next time I go, if I’m not invited by alcoholics, I’ll have to make sure I get the tank filled in advance), two hours dancing, and half an hour, uh, cuddling (of course, it could have been a bit better if that last part had been a little bit more developed, but it’s alright for a start), and I won’t say anything more because writing up what you felt dancing requires a talent I don’t have. So all I’ll say is, this time again, thanks to Paumé for inviting me.
To think that, not long ago at all, if a guy had been telling me he was ten years younger than me, policemen would have been waiting for me by the door.
Oh, and I need to remember that: next time, wear jeans instead. Ok, it’s just salt, but it still doesn’t look that good when you get out of the club with company at six in the morning.
Wow, quatre épisodes d’un coup ! Sans indigestion, mais sans entrain particulier non plus. On est loin, très loin de la nullité de la saison 6 ; là, on serait plutôt au niveau de la médiocrité de la saison 4. Clair que, si ce n’était pas la dernière saison, ça pourrait parfaitement attendre le passage sur M6.
Un peu plus de détails ? Oh, pas grand chose à dire, surtout que j’ai eu la flemme de rédiger ce post juste après avoir vu les épisodes, qu’on est donc le lendemain, et que ça va me pousser à faire encore plus le tri sur ce que j’ai à dire.
Japanese truckmods : Si on pouvait conduire ces choses sur les routes françaises, j’en voudrais un.
Chaotic digestion of the pound of bread I bulimia’ed last night, missed haircut that looks like I just got drafted, I wonder what will be the peak of the day. Oh, no, I already know: I’ll realize I missed the recording of yesterday’s Six Feet Under episodes. For starters, I already almost missed Family Guy right now.
So, now, there, redesign done. It’s not quite pretty, it’s even almost not nice, I don’t know why I did that, but I wanted to change the site’s structure, make some kind of a calendar, something not so cute and not so interesting but integrating the minilog more naturally.
And you should consider yourself lucky I didn’t go as far as the idea I had for the home page.
And when I want to I’ll post something interesting. I just don’t want to.
Quand je vois ce que Nicola Sirkis est devenu (ou plutôt, ce qu’il n’est pas devenu, à savoir : vieux), je me dis que le complexe de Peter Pan en général, et le mien en particulier, a de beaux jours devant lui. Je sais bien que ce n’est qu’un exemple parmi de nombreux autres, mais il se trouve qu’il me touche particulièrement pour plusieurs raisons distinctes. Toujours est-il qu’à son âge moi aussi je serai couvert de blanc de clown et je cacherai mes rides avec mes cheveux pour bouger dans la télé.
I missed my anniversary because of this redesign. Yesterday (or the day before, I’m not sure, and precision is of little importance in my book), there were 1993 posts in my database (or something close, I’m too lazy to check my ICQ logs). Today, right now, before I publish this text that I’m typing and you’re reading thanks to the magic of time relativity, the count is up to 2098. Obviously: the purpose of this redesign was to merge minilog and blog, implying that everything that was in the minilog has been transferred to the main database. Since that was the purpose. Which means I missed my postiversary. And a postiversary like this one only happens every, what, eight months? (Quick and unchecked calculation that I won’t discuss.) (Well, it would be easy to guess, but the thing is I’m so tired right now that I’m not sure of my division, so I’d better not elaborate.) Besides, the next one will happen in the middle of Christmas and New Year and my birthday; I would have liked the opportunity of a great (virtual, necessarily virtual) celebration in June, just before… Oh, right, there’s the fête de la musique and the gay pride during the next ten days, so it’s okay, I’ll have the party anyway. Tomorrow I’ll be going to the pre-gay pride night in the Tuileries park with a party hat and the whole apparel.
Or maybe I’m just bluffing.
I had a good night out (again? again!). And, now, I’m depressed and upset. Happens a bit too often, methinks. So, for the sake of this post, I’ll try to get back into my past state of mind and pretend I wrote this post six hours ago.
First of all, thanks to XIII for giving me an invitation to the gay pride night at the Tuileries: free party, free fair, free food (with restrictions; I’ll get back to that later). Since the guy who was originally supposed to give me one had disappeared, I was that close to missing the whole thing.
So that’s done. What else did I want to say? That I think too much. I should focus on the good memories, look at the bright side of things like an Aquarius is supposed to do (or so I heard), and instead, well… I’ve said it and asked for it before: lobotomy!
Anyway. I’m not easily influenced, it’s just that I need someone to push me into doing things that I’d like to, but don’t dare. (Don’t even think of using that sentence against me regarding work. It’s not the same thing. At all.) Why am I saying that? Because I’ve been feeling sick for 45 minutes after I went onto a ride I would never have contemplated trying just a couple of years ago. I only needed an excuse, someone in the group who’d insist on doing it. So… clubbing, rides… the only thing that’s missing now on my list is karaoke. If I ever do that one, I can promise you that chances are I won’t tell you. Ever. But that would be the peak of my career as a living person.
What else… Thing is, I spent four hours there (by the way, midnight is a bit early for closing; it should have started earlier, or ended later), so I have to translate that into a long and uninteresting post. Did I say uninteresting? Yeah, that’s what I meant. (You have no idea how comfortable it feels to have removed the commenting system: whatever I write, I don’t need to worry about reading stuff more stupid than mine tomorrow afternoon, as I wake up).
Oh, right, I remember (actually, I don’t, I took some notes, but they’re as much of a mess as my brain, it’s four in the morning now). I’d really like to know how the stall keepers are paid back for this. Calculating the compensation for rides is easy, but how about food and drinks? I wonder, is the remuneration so small that they have to make it last long and only serve four wafers an hour (with extra-light dough and only a few grams of sugar on the side), or are they making a huge profit by getting large earnings from the gay pride sponsors?
Last item on that messy post: what’s nice about a gathering of all gay people in the area is, you get to see people you know but, more importantly, dozens of faces already seen in chatrooms. And I’ll only say this: when I see how 99% of those guys look ugly as compared to their pictures, I feel that much less guilty for slightly improving my pictures (very slightly: I could do a lot worse). Out of the, say, thirty faces I recognized, there’s only one that looked as good in real life as on pictures. Wow.
So. Party. In short: a gay-only free party in a fun fair at night, how much more romantic can you get? That’s such a fantastic place to… spend the night alone. (Well, not alone, but with online acquaintances. But that doesn’t count as romance.)
So I did manage to write, and translate, this horrible post. Did you manage to read it all?
You’ll have to agree it’s nicer this way, with a few pink touches and a nice 49.4 KB background! Now I like it.
In fact, I just can’t redesign both the structure and the graphics at the same time: on Thursday I did the latter, adding daily
in short articles to the blog and implementing my 32-hour days (which is not so trivial); yesterday I managed to make nice design around it all. Pretty, heavy and full of tables within tables: all of garoo in one layout!
Oh, I forgot: motivated by yesterday’s revelation that everybody looks nicer on pictures than in reality, I made some pictures of myself when I came home. Thinking back about it, I have to say I’m not so sure about the relationships between the two, but then it was two in the morning.
What’s that you say? It’s too small, you can’t see a thing? Yeah, I know.
Of standards (again), of their zealots attacking me, and the others defending me (yet they’re not nearly as many). Because, well, I don’t like to think there’s all this crap on my home page, so it’s been moved to the article’s long version. It’s already sad that I’m wasting my time with them, I’m not going to waste yours in addition.
So now it’s done, comments are back online, not for long, and maybe even for just a few hours. And I’m warning you right away: this time I’ll go by the rules I quoted earlier, and delete any comment I want to, without warning or justification, just before I like to. This is my home, and I’m free to throw out whomever I want.
P.S. Is it because of the Fête de la musique, or have intelligent and stupid people got together to launch a comments strike?
Best of Thé ou café, l’excellente émission de France 2 que personne ne doit regarder vu l’horaire, et je ne dirai qu’une chose : chère Catherine Ceylac (que j’aime beaucoup), changez de coiffeur. Pour le reste, ne changez rien (enfin, si, l’horaire, évidemment), mais perdre ou gagner vingt ans d’une émission sur l’autre, c’est un peu dommage.
Moi aussi je veux aller à une soirée barbecue.
Oh, un reportage sur le Belem sur France 5.
The TV-cam, which worked perfectly for weeks, is completely erratic since I reinstalled Windows XP. It disappears, crashes, chooses the wrong camera… since I don’t feel like testing again (and again, and again, ’til death do us part or something) other programs than the one currently running (actually, currently non-running, even though I don’t remember rebooting since this morning), I think the TV-cam is going to be removed from the site pretty soon. (How much do you want to bet that the screencam is going to follow?)
This can’t be true?! Damn, it can’t be true?! In OS X.3, they managed to put brushed steel as far as on the Finder?! Their designers have really lost grip at this point, and they’re beyond the point of no return. I’ll summarize by quoting Daring Fireball:
Metallic Finder Windows: Good god, shoot me.
And there’s also that Windows -explorer-like sidebar, which I’m sure everyone could have done without. Has the three-pane, NeXT-inherited finder window completely disappeared in the process? If the point of it all is to make OS X look more and more like Windows, well, thanks but no thanks, I’ll stay on Windows with the Stardock software.
A nice idea: integrating Secure Empty Trash (which rewrites seven times over deleted files so they’re unrecoverable) directly in the system is quite interesting. By the way, if it doesn’t exist as a freeware Windows extension, it could: all it’d take would be to add an item in the trash’s context menu. Neat;
Exposé is a nice use of Quartz, that Microsoft should use as inspiration for Longhorn (whose graphics engine copies Quartz, basically generalizing Windows 2000/XP’s layered windows concept to the whole system). Since all windows are in bitmaps, you can scale them down and arrange them temporarily on the screen any way you like without messing with the user’s desktop arrangement. Great idea.
On the other hand, I find it hard to believe they had to wait until OS X.3 to have a keyboard shortcut bringing the desktop forward. I never use the shortcut in Windows, but still. Well, I guess it’s a bit like the labels reappearing just about ten years after the switch from OS 9 from OS X…
I had something to say. I think it had something to do with the fact that, for the first time in a while, I went for a drink in the Marais. With three straight people among the group of six, though, so that should lower my score. So I had something to say; something a little less uninteresting than this. See? You’ve missed an interesting post, because I have forgotten what it was about. Ain’t that a pity?
Instead of which I’ll give you a thought that’s been lingering in my notepad, and that’s unrelated to anything: I can hardly imagine there was a time, not so long ago (well, actually, a dozen years ago, so it’s been a while, come to think about it), when, as the class was reading Voltaire’s Candide, everybody (well, especially boys, interestingly) had exclaimed that it’s impossible to rape a man. (Because Candide is hard stuff—if I had a better memory of it, I would dare compare it to Oz.) I just can’t believe I would ever have been that innocent. Must be that I didn’t have Internet access at that time.
Google Adsense is Google’s latest strategy to capitalize both on their good reputation and their robots. And that’s neat. Except that their instructions aren’t so clear on many levels. The FAQ specifies that only sites in English can participate, even though this scripts gives me ads in French if I enter my site’s URL. Then, more confusing, they say they can work with webmasters from all over the world, but they ask for a
Tax I.D. in order to pay them, and that doesn’t sound at all like something foreigners can give. Screwed.
So, in short, it sounds quite good, but I’m waiting until French bloggers test out the field for me and let me know how it goes. It’s up to them.
Using a hands-free phone while driving is just as dangerous as a regular phone, they say. Only trouble is, it seems they didn’t test a simple discussion with a car passenger, although it should pretty much yield the same results. And I can’t imagine a government passing a law to ban talking to your passengers while driving. At least not until cars are driven by robots.
S’il n’était pas si tard, je vérifierais si Anne Parillaud rend regardable un film de Catherine Breillat. Mais il est si tard, il est même tellement si tard que le jour se lève, alors il faut que je me précipite dans le lit pour dormir avant qu’on soit demain. (Est-ce que vous comprenez mieux le concept des journées de trente-deux heures, là ? Non ? Tant pis.)
Back to Google AdSense: there was a page I hadn’t read. And now it says that
AdWords ads may not appear on personal pages. Getting more and more confusing: is a blog with tens of thousands of daily readers (what? well, yeah, I’m talking about myself here, why? or maybe I’m just thinking about others, or maybe I’m just making stuff up) considered a personal page or not? And if they do exclude blogs (the FAQ also recommends to
[p]lace ads on content pages that don’t change frequently, I feel kinda targeted by this), who else will be interested by their system?
I may not be getting their business model quite right. Especially since, so far, I’ve only seen Google ads on a few (highly popular, tech-centered) blogs. So what? I’m gonna end up having to write them for information, but… oh well, nah, that would be too demanding, and let’s say the weather’s too hot for that.
Surtout, ne commencez jamais à grignoter un paquet de céréales Lion. Jamais, en aucune circonstance.
I too want a black baby retriever, so cute, so playful, so nice, jumping around and on me with its big dirty paws. She was so cute, and her master seemed not to care (I don’t know about you, but if I were walking my puppy I wouldn’t let it jump all over people or get eaten by another dog, but maybe that’s just me, I don’t know). I need someone to offer me a retriever. And a house to go with it, otherwise the poor thing will be so sad. I’ll call it Pinky, and I’ll teach it not to disturb daddy in the room when there are guests (yes, guests, because there’s no point of having a house if you’re not taking advantage of the space) and I’ll bring it with me when I go cruising on the river banks and we’ll go ride the bumper cars together and we’ll eat spaghetti and… uh… ok, what I want is not a retriever but a husband. But I’d still like to have the house, too, you know.
Crap. Just found out about that, although it seems not to be quite new:
Sarah and Gert officially announced that k’s Choice, as a band, is taking some time off, as both brother and sister will each be developing their own solo career in the months and years to come.
Ok, I’m sure a solo album by Sarah Bettens will be neat, but still: Damn.
Wow. Well, on a personal level, I don’t really care, and there are more important matters elsewhere, but still, wow. Looks like the anti-sodomy laws that remained in some American states have finally lost their right to exist. Finished, now even Texans are allowed to do whatever they like. That’s cool, even though Texas didn’t rank high on the list of states I want to visit.
Funny (well, funny…) that Florida (Miami et al.) and Louisiana (Mardi-Gras et al.) were among the last thirteen states where those laws still existed.
La France se prépare son petit DMCA, ça promet.
Le Contre-Journal a aussi fait sa fête de fin d’année et fin de tout à la fête foraine des Tuileries. Je me demande s’ils ont aussi eu droit aux queues interminables et aux crêpes au sucre, les gentils people amis
Ca doit être le bon plan, de passer ses fins d’après-midi aux Tuileries et d’attendre que ça devienne soirée privée. Pour le plaisir de voir, euh, Dieudonné et, euh, Tibéri et, bon, on va oublier.
Bad night out, and not the least of a motivation to go to tomorrow’s Gay Pride. Even less to make pictures there. But not much more to walk like an idiot, alone or with company. Smells like spending the Saturday in front of TV.
Actually, that would be a great day for jumping into the river, but, oh, well… staying home is that much simpler.
Oh, right, I forgot: I hate men. All of them. I can’t see any exception to be made, just destroy them all.
Ok, so I should be writing a very long post about yesterday’s Gay Pride, all the more as I haven’t posted anything all day. But I haven’t got much to say. I took pictures so I didn’t feel like I was wasting my time, but they’re not quite interesting, because, basically, there wasn’t much to be pictured. The thing lacked some party—I think it was on purpose, so it would look more political, and I even think I wrote the exact same thing last year, but it’s still true. (Maybe I shouldn’t have arrived late and missed the first two or three hours: it always becomes more dull towards the end.) And there wasn’t enough sun because of the itinerary they had been given this year. And I didn’t find my soulmate! (Well, we were 500,000, so it’s understandable he could have missed me.)
Soon, maybe, a few pictures from that session, but, well, there’s not much to be done with them, so I’m not sure there’s any point. There weren’t even many nude men on the floats (and there weren’t many festive floats at all, as I already told) so, really, there’s not much to be done.
Oh, I forgot the after gay pride: the whole Marais open all night long, and the night spent with two Belgians including a renowned blogger, and thanks to that I didn’t come home as depressed as I usually do after a gay pride.
I can’t convince myself today is Sunday, and I don’t even really know why. It’s not that I’d have to work tomorrow, heh. Not that the gay pride was yesterday, because it feels like it was two weeks ago (weird: I have only slept from seven to half past noon, and I’m not sleepy at all—I guess I will fall like a brick at midnight sharp). Must be that this week has been over particularly fast. That’s the drawback of going out every night, and I had forgotten it. When you look back, the months seem to have been well filled, but on the spot they go by faster. When I didn’t do anything at all, it was the exact opposite. I’m not sure which I prefer. Uh, nah, actually I’m quite sure.
If something incredibly positive doesn’t happen tomorrow, I’ll have to contemplate the possibility of not buying a public transporation pass for July. Well, contemplate it for two seconds. At least I should. I’ve been pretty much out of my mind for ten days now, and I don’t really know what can put my neurons back in place. Maybe winter will. Or maybe they never have been. Yeah. Might be that.
Pff, as if it had the most remote chance of working out with him. (It’s not the same him as late last year—and you may have no idea what, uh, who I’m talking about, because the blog wasn’t bilingual at the time—but he’s got the same birth sign so it’s not gonna be that much easier. More information? Nahhh.)
And here we go for that one post in the week where I make a complete fool of myself.
There has been (at least in France, maybe abroad too) an Adidas commercial using Ella Fitzgerald’s It’s Too Darn Hot for a while. And everytime I heard it I felt like she was singing off-key, a bit flat or something, even though she is Google-famous for singing particularly on tune. And I have the same feeling about another commerical tune (for the Toyota Corolla, and I suspect that one is only shown in France). So I wonder. Have years of hearing real-tv candidates sing completely blown off my ears? Have old recordings (both pieces seem to date back to the fifties or sixties) been deformed by exposure to excessive heat? Have I been spoiled by modern electronics, generating exact notes by the hertz (or even more precisely than that, I suppose), into being disturbed by old recordings from the time when instruments were hand-tuned with a (necessarily imperfect) diapason? Or am I just a lame listener?
And is this really a good time to ask why nobody reacted when I begged to be dragged into a karaoke bar?
It’s always, every day, the same shock when O. appears online on ICQ. Ding dong, it’s the end of the work day for people who work and have an income, there you are, it’s night time. And I have only been up for four or five hours. Incidentally, I particularly like the fact that, in summer, the sun doesn’t come and remind me that I wake up a bit too late to enjoy life. (And it all depends on what kind of life you want to enjoy anyway.)
And, no, I don’t only have slackers on my contact-list (well, I should say something like 75% of them—and that would probably be an underestimation), but O. is the only one who has a normal person’s schedule, and doesn’t log into ICQ from work. Which, actually, doesn’t make him a normal person, does it?