Hi! Do you remember blogs? Well, this used to be one. Now it just serves as an archive for my multiple Twitter accounts.
It has to be when I don’t have a subway pass, and I’m more or less stuck in my room, that the sun finally comes back. And, additionally, both my supermarket and the web store seem to have removed Ben & Jerry’s ice creams from their catalogs.
Oh, and I still haven’t much to tell. Though, being locked home and getting bored with There’s (understandable) poor performance on dialup, I may write more this week-end. Or not.
And I thought I was wasting my time when I watermarked some of my picturelog photos. And I thought I would enjoy starting a moblog and uploading pictures directly from a cell phone. And I thought I would be flattered if someone stole my pictures.
Well, I’m not flattered. All I can think of right now is curse words.
Ca intéresse quelqu’un, des fraises Tagada régurgitées à la becquée ? Je viens de manger tout un paquet, j’ai peur que ça fasse un peu beaucoup.
Oh, oui, je sais bien, j’ai déjà fait largement pire.
Feels weird knowing that Matt has moved. I mean, real-life moved. It’s so… so something I’m not going to do any time soon. I’m jealous. And then, he’s still there, in his little ICQ window, in the exact same spot on my screen as before. So his life hasn’t changed that much, has it? It would show, if it had. What’s that fuss about moving all about, then, if it doesn’t change the most basic stuff in life?
There’s something good about the heat wave’s return: it’ll discourage me from ordering any chocolate-covered food again next week, considering how everything I have is joyfully melting in my corridor cupboard (because if I stored chocolate in my bedroom, with the rest of the food, it would be dripping between the floorboards in ten minutes). I haven’t dared check my weight for the past couple of days, must have gained three or four pounds. Well, it doesn’t matter, now that I know I can lose them.
Apart from that, still nothing to tell here. And yet, There’s servers are down for two days (until Wednesday afternoon), and you’d think it would make me post something. Nah. Maybe it’ll get better within the week, when I get my subway pass. Or maybe not. Oh, well, it’s August, so there’s probably nobody around anyway.
(Yes, I know you are here. I was exaggerating. Voilà.)
It’s really terrible getting to that point. These days, I’ve got no idea, I don’t tihnk anything, I’m in complete limbo. Holidays, somehow. Except that my bank account isn’t on holidays. So it would be nice if, right now, I could have an idea that would earn me some money. You know, something, what’s it called, a… no, no, not that. Nothing, then. How do you do in this world to make some money? I know how you’re supposed to do in There, but not in here.
I was browsing an old Sciences et avenir, and look what I found: the lifter. You know what they say:
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Could electrical space shuttles be available soon?
J’ai mis du temps à le reconnaître, mais Cyrille Thouvenin #, en auto-stoppeur errant façon chat perdu avec les cheveux mi-longs et la raie au milieu et pas trop de maquillage bref ça ne serait pas flatteur pour beaucoup de monde*, n’empire pas en vieillissant, c’est le moins qu’on puisse dire…
— J’arrive pas à me rappeler dans quoi j’ai vu l’acteur sur France 2.
— C’est une voiture, pas un acteur.
— Ah, c’est peut-être pour ça.
— Je vois pas…
— En tout cas il a un joli sourire de prédateur, c’est pas étonnant que je me souvienne de lui.
— De fait. Oui, il a une belle gueule.
— Argh, il est très mimi quand il dort.
— Merde, je me demande si c’est pas Cyrille Thouvenin.
(Avec la participation de Xarro #.)
* Quoique, le petit ami de Rory, dans Gilmore Girls, a exactement le même profil. Mais en plus grand. En trop grand. Et en américain. Donc Cyrille Thouvenin a plein d’avantages. Je suis sûr que je pourrais me contenter de lui. S’il n’était pas taureau.
Coinless slot machines. Pas marrant. Mais je ne joue pas de toute façon.
Well, no: I haven’t put up a single pound. I have eaten like a pig and not walked out of the flat for a week, and yet I haven’t any gained weight. Sometimes I really wonder how I managed to put up all those pounds I lost last year. But I remember it had been a long, regular process. And then, at the time, I had never done any kind of sports in my life. Whereas, now, I’m someone who has used a rowing machine for three months. One year and half ago. That’s something, compared to brand-new toothpastes that act for twelve hours!
I’m not dead (or at least, I’m only temporarily so, until the end of the heat wave). I even have a long article in my notes, but I won’t publish it before I can connect to There and make the screen capture that has to go along. And, anyway, you won’t be interested in that post. But, at least, it’ll fill up the page.
Est-ce qu’il y a des gens qui détestent l’odeur de leur transpiration ? Parce que, moi, je pourrais me mettre en position foetale dans mon lit et sniffer mon pyjama pendant des heures. (Qui a dit
Vivement le blog en odorama ?) Tiens, je vais faire ça, ça m’occupera, je suis trop fatigué pour sortir ce soir.
D’abord les Triangolini ont arrêté d’être équilatéraux. Maintenant, ils ne sont même plus cuits. Et ensuite ? Les sachets seront vides ?
Dans Télérama, un article sur le manque de culture générale (!) des Français cite un scientifique (!) :
Les Français parlent de “téléphone portable”, terme flou qui accentue le caractère magique de l’objet, quand les Anglais disent “cellular”, du nom de la cellule qui se trouve dans l’objet.
Alors, pour information, et vérification faite sur Google parce que je préfère vérifier avant de poster, je signale à qui ça peut intéresser qu’un téléphone est
cellulaire parce que le réseau d’exploitation est divisé en
cellules géographiques, de quelques pâtés de maison ou quelques kilomètres carrés.
Ca n’a aucune importance et tout le monde s’en fout, mais ça m’a hérissé le poil de lire ça. Et c’est pas évident, pourtant, vu comment mes poils sont collés par la sueur. En plus, je ne suis pas très poilu.
Those Americans are so funny: Wired is praising There’s economy (well, at least, they’re dedicating a two-page article to it). Here is the official standing of There Inc’s CEO:
When people get together, one of the most fun things to do is congregate around the flea market. When you look historically at various virtual worlds or metaverses, the fact that they did not have (internal) economies was shocking and surprising to me. For us, it’s sort of an obvious natural feature. It’s sort of a requirement.
So I guess this settles the debate I tried initiating on There’s forums, in which I hadn’t found much support (even though most players I talked to in-game agreed with me). And yet I didn’t ask for much: I only wanted everyone to be millionaires. Because paying for a game in which I have to work in order to buy what I want, well… I have that in real life, thanks, and I’m already refusing to participate in real life, so you can imagine I won’t do it in a game.
It’s sad, because the whole universe’s design is superb. Avatars are beautiful, the world is as well, the chat management is quite elegant, and after two weeks of play I’m already thinking 24/24 in There emotes. The technology is uneven (there are far too much redundant data traveling between server and client, which saturates both the server and my dialup connection; as for their choice of mixing DirectX, Internet Explorer and Flash for the interface, well, I have nothing else to say than
God help them) but it’s a world you’d want to live in. Except that you have to take your wallet out all the time. Compared to an average American (let alone a California CEO), I feel like I’m a communist. What, giving money to everyone? Allowing every player to buy all the game’s gadgets, to have a house and decorate it? Are you serious? Capitalism, for Europeans, is a way of life. For Americans, it’s an ideology—no, it’s beyond ideology, it’s just not refutable, even for a virtual world where real-life constraints don’t need to apply.
As a result, as far as I’m concerned, and just as my first design got approved (well, half-approved, because the submissions process is in beta too) and you can see the first T-shirt mage by garoo on the picture, I’ll only stay until they start charging (which should happen soon, even though it’s far from ready—seems like it’s a common disease for online games). Because, as I wrote time and again in their forums, without much of an echo, I don’t feel like paying to be part of a world that frustrating (I mean, even if I could afford to pay—and the pricing plan for beta testers is expected to be particularly advantageous).
Note: If, when reading this post, you were thinking
But there are lots of online games where you have to build your wealth over time, that’s the point of the game! then you’re missing the point of the There world. (Well, it’s understandable, considering its creators themselves seem to have lost that focus at some point during development.) As their website puts it:
There is the first online getaway that gives you the freedom to play and talk naturally while having fun and making friends. It’s not an online role-playing game, it’s a meeting place.
That said, it’s a bit strange they’d want to make an international language yet reject totally the influence of any non-latin language. It’s not an interlanguage, it’s only one more language derived from Latin. You might want to remind them that, regardless of foreign politics, English is used around the world, and even as close to us as in that big island north of France.
Rediffusions de Sex and the City à partir de dimanche sur M6 (oui, tous ceux qui ont le câble s’en fichent, je me doute, mais je blogue pour moi).
Je deviens gâteux, avec la chaleur. J’ai oublié de récupérer les images sur mon appareil photo avant de publier ce post.
I’m wondering: is there any meaning to having a blog’s archives displayed in reverse chronological order?
I’m not saying this for my blog, because in my case it works through next/previous buttons, so it would be disturbing to start reversing articles all of a sudden. But, for blogs managed through Blogger, Movable Type or whatever, where archives are grouped by month or week, wouldn’t it make more sense to display articles in chronological order? It’s not like you need to see in a glance what has just been added to the archives, since they’re archives…
All guys are assholes. I should know, but I keep forgetting.
I have often considered my ability to forget and rediscover everything over time to be a good thing, but I wouldn’t say it applies to this.
On the other hand, if I didn’t have hope, however delusional it may be, what would I become?
(These days I try and write my posts in English first, for a change, and so that the English version is better—because otherwise it tends to look too much like a translation—but now I can’t find a French word conveying all the meaning of
delusional. Well, not that you’d mind.)
Va falloir regarder, maintenant.
Pepsi Vanilla. C’est pas juste un peu trop du plagiat, là ?
AOL Time Warner embarrasse AOL. C’est marrant, il y a deux mois, c’était l’inverse.
Ok, là, quand je vois Roselyne Bachelot égréner ses recommandations, j’ai vraiment l’impression de voir son Guignol. Oui, arrêtons donc les climatisations des voitures et des appartements. C’est pas comme si la chaleur pouvait être mauvaise pour la santé. Et puis, après tout, son job, c’est l’environnement ; la santé, c’est pas son problème.
Mais combien Sarkozy a-t-il bien pu payer Raffarin et Chirac pour avoir le privilège d’être le seul ministre à avoir l’air compétent devant les caméras ?
I finally found Vanilla Coke in my supermarket. Less spectacular than I expected—tastes a bit like Chupa Chups, it’s nice, but the Coke’s taste is still a bit too strong. Well, yeah, I got used to Pepsi Max, so now I can only wait for Diet Vanilla Pepsi to materialize on this side of the ocean.
Since I know you’re interested, I also bought a new pen (Pilot V-2000), because I’m a pen fetichist, but I don’t like the way this one makes me crite, together with a new deodorant (Ushuaïa Pendjab), that I’ll have to try over time; at least, it’s a deodorant for men, for a change (why are vanilla-ish deodorants only for women?).
Nah, a blog isn’t just made of uninteresting articles. Not 100% at least.
Sweaty Bush. And we thought we had it bad with out little local heat wave (well, it did kill a couple thousand elder people). Is there gonna be a baby-boom of little New Yorkers again within nine months? (Considering not only the blackout, but also the heat, hormones, thunder, sweat, you get the idea.)
That’s just what the world needs: more Americans. A demographic explosion of New Yorkers could only be good for the US. Not so sure about Detroit, though.
Google Calculator. Bizarre.
I just found a new toy (the heat wave is finally over, so my brain starts computing again, all is well): FOAF, for
Friend of a friend. I had been seeing this acronym around some high-profile blogs for a while, but never really bothered to look it up. Seemed complicated, yet it isn’t at all. Everyone knows Friendster #? Well, it’s just the same, except it’s stored on your webserver and you control it by editing an XML file (not necessarily by hand: automated editors are available on the web). Depending on your geekiness, you may think that difference is an advantage or a drawback, it’s up to you. I know I like it.
So here’s how that works: go to the FOAF-a-matic, fill in the form and create a foaf.rdf with the contents the form gives you back. Upload that file to your webserver and you’re done—except that, for now, it’s only showing the world that you don’t have any friends, but at least you can now be listed as someone’s friend.
Next step: use FOAF Explorer to display someone’s FOAF data in human-readable form.Here’s mine (yeah, pretty empty so far, I know; that’s why I’m talking about FOAF here, so that people I know get in it and I can fill up my profile). If you find someone you know, whatever kind of relationship that is (friend, acquaintance, parent or even enemy, the file format gives many possibilities—none of which sex-related, though, which may be a problem for FOAF’s adoption), just click the little (unreadable) red smiley with a green plus sign, and the site will guide you effortlessly into adding that person to your FOAF file. Just click the right buttons and paste the resulting updated XML into your foaf.rdf file, and you’re set.
What’s the point? I don’t know, but that didn’t prevent Friendster from becoming a cult site over a few months. I don’t even know whether I’ll be really using it over time—misanthropic as I am, I’m not sure I’d want to add so many people to my FOAF; moreover, the concept of publicly stating the nature of my relationships with people means very high chances of offendind part of them, since I’m not the kind who’d list everyone as friends. But it’s just a cool gadget, so I thought I’d give it some more exposure, particularly for the French bloggers, who seem to be massively missing the FOAF boat, even though I’m sure most of them would love to publish that kind of information.
— ’Scusez-moi, vous connaissez la rue d’Argenteuil ?
— Euh, non, désolé.
— Non ? Vous connaissez pas Paris ?
D’où il m’insulte, lui ? C’est quoi, ce provincial qui croit qu’il y a dix rues dans Paris et qu’on les connaît par coeur ? J’ai pas fait taxi dans une vie antérieure, moi.
I guess I might be able to get used to night buses after all (Paris has a dozen lines of buses that go across the city every hour at night—twice an hour on weekends). It doesn’t last as long as I thought, the bus riders aren’t that creepy, and there’s some kind of satisfaction to getting on a bus in the center of Paris and being delivered 500 meters away from my home without any transfer or wait. Now, come to think of it, there was a time, many years ago, when I was indeed used to taking that bus, but I forgot in the meantime. That would be due to the fact that, when you’re spending forty-five minutes in a bus, you experience time much more strongly than when you’re walking home from the train for half an hour, so it doesn’t leave a good impression on your memory.
— Are you a fireman or something? Because, you know, the way you walk, well, you just get noticed.
— What? A fireman? The way I walk? Uh, you… you mean that in a good way, right?
— Well, yes, of course.
O–kay. Welcome to the twilight zone. You know, I’m really beginning to feel like I spend the summer in some kind of bizarro universe where I’m a hunk, I walk like a fireman or something or whatever that means, and I can get boys I like to like me (well, that one guy in the dialogue I didn’t really fancy, but still he was young and rather good-looking), and I’m afraid that by summer’s end it will all be over and I’ll be back to my nerdy, unattractive self again. Well, it’s either that, or I just wasted the first 27 years of my life believing I was a useless spaz, when in fact all I needed was the right clothes and the right haircut and a couple months rowing and… self confidence. Yeah, that. I guess that’s what I really missed.
So this is the latest twist in the garoo’s life: I look like a fireman. A Paris fireman, mind you—you have to know that Paris firemen are famous for being particularly handsome, it’s an acknowledged fact. Now, I’m aware that the thing was basically a pick-up line, so it should be taken with caution. But it was a sincere pick-up line. Uh, wait, that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, it was said with a straight face, it wasn’t mockery, it wasn’t meant to be ridiculous, the guy just kind of meant it.
All in all, it’s positively amazing how your perception of yourself can be at the opposite of the way people see you. I’ll have to get used to the idea that I’m not that ten-year-old loser with improbable clothes and an improbable haircut that nobody saw (well, I thought I was invisible; further experience suggested that it may not have been exactly true, although I’ll never know for sure). And I’m not that 20-yo pimple-faced slightly overweight doofus either. I may actually be a young adult now, and if I weren’t home in gnawed pajamas I might have added
attractive to that. What a change. In just a couple of months.
So it’s all really getting in place to accomplish the grand scheme of things, is it? Yeah, I know what I mean.
Color-coded. Non, sérieusement, c’est pas bête.
I would post, oh yeah would I post, if I didn’t have a light fever (well, I say it’s light, but I didn’t measure it, maybe I will tomorrow if I don’t survive the night). So let’s say August is my month off and we’ll be back to whatever normal schedule is, well, when it’s not August anymore. Or earlier. Or later. Or tomorrow. Whatever, that’s what a blog is. My head hurts and, since I moved some furniture around in my room, my 17“CRT is a foot away from my eyes. Not helping.
Without a reply from you by August’s end, we remind you that we’ll have to terminate your dial-up unlimited access as soon as next September, at the anniversary date of your subscription.
Wahhhh. I still haven’t found a reader kind enough to set up a WiFi hotspot in my neighborhood. Where are you, samaritan? (Who here said that a samaritan should rather make sure I’m out of net access so I have to get a life and stuff? Do you really want my blog to be closed?)
Am I going out tonight or not? I can’t decide whether I want to see aunt Cécile* or not. And since I’m afraid my fever of the last two days might be linked to the fact that my devitalized tooth got broken (I just realized that this afternoon—arg, I’ll have to go get some dentist’s hands and tools in my mouth again), I don’t know if it’d be such a good idea.
* Since the linked post is in French, let me sum it up: with the arrival in France of a couple of easy blog publication systems (even simpler than Blogger, and in French, hence more easily used) there’s a massive birth of uninteresting blogs (yeah, I know it’s subjective, I’m not launching a debate here, just explaining what I’m talking about) characterized by the fact that bloggers tell what they did today even though they did nothing at all, which is all summed up as
the syndrome of dinner at aunt Cecile’s.
The French (or European? don’t know…) Heineken ads are really impressive. So much work over alcohol commercials reminds me of the time when there was a new Absolut visual on the back of each Wired issue, and their anthology could have made a Photoshop Wow! Book # by itself. But, in that case, it was justified: Wired is a publication for wealthy hipsters, and I reckon Absolut has the same target demographic, so it was worth taking time working on the pictures. Whereas… Heineken? Is Heineken a luxury beer? Does it really deserve hiring the best graphics artists around, when you could just take a picture of a naked girl?
However, as compared to the Absolut ads, Heineken’s have a big flaw: they all look the same. On Absolut visuals, only the composition was fixed: a bottle in the center, always the same shape, and the Absolut typo and catchphrase somewhere; the rest was open. All Heineken ads are the same: same green background, same green and yellow objects, same fresh droplets: as a result, a new ad doesn’t really differentiate from an old one at first glance, and hence doesn’t catch the eyes as much as it could. Too bad.
Oh, by the way, abusing alcohol is dangerous for your health, and for the health of people who cross the road while you drive. Do as I do, drink only when you’re invited to a karaoke bar.
Une année de BrowserCam à gagner (pour vous et pour moi).
I just found out that one of the only two people in the world who had the chance to read my short movie’s script (you know, the one I gave up on a few months ago) didn’t tell me what he thought of it because… he didn’t read it entirely. I really trust people I shouldn’t. No, that’s not true, I didn’t especially trust him, and I didn’t expect that much from him actually. It’s just that I’m very right to be completely misanthropic. Trustworthy people are… no, wait, what am I saying… people with a bare minimum of manners and politeness are appallingly rare these days (well, they’ve always been rare).
That also struck me in There. The main reason I’m unlikely to waste money in it when it goes live is not so much the economy I don’t like, but more importantly that I’m getting bored with the social aspect, because I think many of the players are uninteresting. Not all of them. But many. Just like anywhere. But my blog, Caramail or IRC are free. (Yeah, I know, technically, my blog isn’t free to me. But it could.)
This to say… what, that I hate people? Nah, not more than before. I don’t hate you. I just wish you’d quit mingling with me.
Gee, how can he be so unapolegetic about it?!
Amicalement vôtre, Batman, Belphégor, Chapeau melon et bottes de cuir, Dallas, Drôles de dames, Dynastie, Falcon Crest, Ivanohé, L’homme de l’Atlantide, Le fugitif, Le prisonnier, Les mystères de l’Ouest, Les saintes chéries, Magnum, Ma sorcière bien-aimée, Monty Python Flying Circus, Santa Barbara, Super Jaimie, Thierry la Fronde, Xena la guerrière.
Ahem. Bien sûr. Dans la liste, il y a bien deux ou trois séries que je vois avoir leur place sur PinkTV. Vaguement, très vaguement. Mais cette section du questionnaire (et le fait que le reste du sondage soit assez idiot aussi) me fait peur. Ca veut dire que PinkTV va faire comme toutes les autres filiales de TF1 et M6, et récupérer une partie de leur catalogue de vieilles séries, celles qui restent et ne sont même pas assez bien pour leurs autres chaînes du câble et satellite ? Qu’est-ce que c’est prometteur…
Yay! Season 2 of Gilmore Girls is finally reaching French TV. Only problem is, the show has been bought by France 2, and they are infamous for treating their shows badly. Stopping Judging Amy, for instance. Showing Millennium over half a dozen summers in 2am slots. Reportedly buying Babylon V and not airing it at all. Summer programs end soon, and I’m quite afraid Gilmore Girls might disappear with them. Well, we’ll see.
You know the best part about this show? Even the translation is good. And that’s really worth mentioning.
Considering that all new viruses lie about the sender’s address, maybe antivirus programs could stop sending messages back to say
You’ve got a virus, couldn’t they? I’ve been spammed by a virus for two days, and now I’m spammed by antivirus messages saying I send out viruses (no I don’t, because I don’t use Outlook, thank you very much) and by mailer-daemon messages (notifying me that someone sent emails in my name to non-existent addresses—guess there’s not much that can be done about that).
E-mail. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.
I finally was able to buy something thanks to the few (four, actually) pieces of clothing I sold in-world. Well, ok, it’s ugly, but at the time it seemed like a good idea.
I may have found a new layout I’m happy with for this site. Well, I’m happy with it because it isn’t that new: just the same format, but less sad. Anyway, I’ll wait until tomorrow so I can look back at it—and also because I’m not into making HTML out of it right now.
J’ai peur. D’autant plus que ma chambre est un sauna six mois par an, et que c’est loin d’être recommandé.
Paris Segway Tours. Je crois bien que je les ai vus, et qu’ils ont l’air encore plus ridicules en vrai. (Enfin, je suis sûr d’avoir vu des groupes de Segway, je suppose juste que c’était eux.)
There you go, the new version is online. If it looks broken, reload completely and make sure the stylesheet is reloaded too. The change isn’t dramatic, the format has stayed, as I said it would, but I got rid of the oppressive dark background on both sides of the text. As a bonus, the big background image is 10 KB lighter than the previous version. Aren’t you glad?
As for the stolen icons, well… let’s say it’s temporary, until I find something better.
Forget what I said about the French version of Gilmore Girls: it’s quite obvious that the person who translated the beginning of the season stopped when they interrupted the first showing, leaving only a few translated episodes unaired, and the translator who picked up the job for this summer’s remaining episodes is much, much less good at it. For the past three days I’ve been noticing huge mistakes, before I even check the original script. Which is the sign of an extremely poor translation. Sniff. Well, anyway, they’re stopping in September, so it doesn’t really matter anymore.
Si quelqu’un a trouvé de l’intérêt aux Liaisons dangereuses de TF1, je serais assez curieux qu’il me l’explique. A part, bien sûr, l’avantage que ça dure plus de trois heures, et qu’il y ait donc moins de coupes par rapport au livre (que je n’ai pas lu, donc je suppose seulement) que dans les autres adaptations. Sinon, quoi ? La réalisation sans intérêt ? La musique insupportable ? Les acteurs plats ?
Rupert Everett, mal doublé alors qu’il a visiblement joué en français… et Deneuve en Merteuil. Je suis le seul à ne pas la trouver crédible une seconde ? En costumes, ça aurait peut-être marché (et encore), mais dans le contexte elle ne fait pas très prédatrice. Fanny Ardant, il aurait fallu Fanny Ardant, c’est évident, je ne sais même pas pourquoi je n’y ai pas pensé tout de suite. Il faut que je fasse un remake avec Fanny Ardant. Sauf que les scènes les plus importantes ont déjà été tournées dans Ridicule, alors ça n’aurait que peu d’intérêt…
La question la plus importante, c’est : Pourquoi diable Josée Dayan a-t-elle une si bonne réputation qu’elle peut décider Catherine Deneuve à tourner pour la télé pour la première fois ? Mais non, je refuse de croire que c’est juste pour l’argent. Deneuve a dû se laisser entraîner par tous ceux qui, eux, oui, admirent Josée Dayan juste pour l’audimat et l’argent qu’elle engrange.
Circa the mid-’90s, the scourge of Internet email wasn’t spam — it was mass-forwarded chain letters. I was there then.
Copenhagen pothead utopia terminated. Je crois que je l’avais vue dans le doc de Wizman sur les slackers.
Pop Idol, and all those poor, lame candidates who have complete support from their family… it seems so foreign to me, almost science-fiction. Of course, it’s not all positive, because it also incites you to get ridiculous in front of TV cameras, but I’d still like to experience that feeling, out of curiosity.
And then, there’s Emily Gilmore. Maybe what I really needed in life was getting pregnant when I was 16, too. But I didn’t date at the time.
Vraiment prometteur, une espèce de Caméléon en beaucoup mieux. Prometteur, donc, sauf que tout le monde semble s’accorder à dire que l’utilisation du personnage sur la longueur est très décevante. Et, accessoirement, sauf qu’on sait déjà que la série n’a qu’une saison et pas de fin.
Tiens, je viens de lire (plus ou moins par accident) l’explication posthume donnée par les producteurs, et c’est plutôt joli, je trouve.
I feel like skipping the short movie step, since it’s not really my thing anyway, and write a feature film right away. I just read an article about the Dangerous Liaisons adaptation that was made for French TV and was just aired this week (with Catherine Deneuve and Rupert Everett, the latter’s voice being dubbed because, hey, how could the average audience cope with Valmont having a slight British accent?) makes me want to write my own adaptation, but I guess it’s a bit too ambitious (and, besides, it’s just been done). But I could very well come back to the couple of ideas I have in store—among which are some other book adaptations.
So right now this is what I’m wondering: If I spend some time writing a script, and if it’s good (it would obviously have to be, because I’m gifted, as you all know), would it really be possible to sell it? I’m not even expecting anyone to let me direct the movie, but just to buy my script. (You’ll note I have given up on the thought of producing it and directing it myself. That’s because I find it a bit unrealistic for a feature film. Maybe if I had a bunch of would-be actors and techniciens for friends, but I don’t. Anyway.)
You know how I like to believe that coincidences don’t exist (and yes, I know that will kill me; but, on the other hand, it’ll be part of the themes making my Immortal Oeuvre what it’ll be, so please don’t throw those snide comments at me when it’s obvious you just don’t know anything about Art). As it happens, the reader I met a few months ago (I’m not sure I told you about that—maybe I was right not to, by the way, because I wouldn’t want you to think there’s any kind of remote possibility of meeting me at all) told me about a friend of his who had written a script, and was offered a big load of money by some producers. I’m not even asking for a load of money, but just an open door. Oh well, and a bit of money too. So… maybe it’d be possible? I never really thought about it that way.
Now I have to decide which story I could write first. I have lost enough time as it is, I’m not going to write three scripts simultaneously.
- At 7:16:00 and for 30 seconds, stand still like a statue, in the position in which you are.
- At 7:16:30, fall to the ground as if you fainted and don’t move for 30 seconds.
- At 7:17:00, stand up and applaud for a full minute while looking toward the main entrance on top of the pyramid. Try and clap your hands in unison as if for a show call-back.
Oh my… It’s a good thing I wasn’t too interested in the French flashmob adaptation, a good thing I didn’t subscribe to the mailing-list, a good thing I didn’t participate, because I’m quite sure I would have left as soon as the instructions paper was given out. First, because giving out paper is absurd considering flashmobs are intrinsically linked to modern communications. Second, because what I find interesting in the flashmob concept is just making a quiet, silent mob, that just comes and goes. Not a theater act set up by some frustrated director longing for extensive media coverage (because extensive media coverage they did go for). I know it’s a bit absurd, criticizing an event I didn’t attend even though everyone who participated seemed to enjoy it. But I’m not gonna let that stop me.
When I see something I consider poorly organized, it always makes me want to take the idea back and make it better myself. Luckily I’m not that passionate about the flashmob concept, so I’ll probably forget about it as soon as I have posted this.
Christopher Sticken (j’ai oublié d’où je tiens le lien, désolé).
Je zappe sur Star Academy après la fin de la série sur Canal+, et je tombe sur deux des nouveaux élèves qui chantent en duo en s’accompagnant eux-mêmes au(x) piano(s). Ca fait un choc, on est tombés où, là ?
New: I thought it looked good on Ruxor’s blog # not to ask for your nickname in the comments form when it was already saved in a cookie, so I added a few lines of code to the form. Should work. Tell me if it things are broken.
PS. I just found out the script I had uploaded didn’t work at all. Now it works at least a little.
I don’t know if he gets collagen, botox or cortisone injections, but I’d rather Ricky Martin stopped them and look a bit more his age (whatever it is, I don’t care all that much) rather than look so much bloated. Or is it just me?
Satreelex - The Iron Ladies : Jeanne et Serge meets Priscilla, c’est prometteur.
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