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.
Tiens, l’avalanche de spams coïnciderait bien avec le fait que quelqu’un a donné mon adresse à cdiscount.com pour me signaler une offre.
Comment on peut être chanteuse avec une seule corde vocale ?
AbFab : Gay sera diffusé dans la Nuit Gay du 29/11.
"Hold down Ctrl+Alt+Shift while loading Photoshop, which will clear your preferences. The reason why reinstalling does not fix the problem is that the preferences directory is not stored within the program directory, so it doesn’t get deleted when you uninstall." J’aurais dû m’en douter, plutôt que de faire une recherche dans Regedit.
En prime, mon hébergement rame à mort.
PowerDVD semble avoir tué mon Photoshop.
Pas de liens aujourd’hui. Cf. le photolog.
Un ennemi s’est amusé à mettre mon adresse e-mail sur toutes les listes de spam de la planète ? Je suis submergé par le spam, d’un seul coup !?
"You’re talking to the girl who stuffed barbed wire up the chimney to prove there’s no Santa." (John Doe 1.15)
La version album de O Compagnons (de Raphaël) est nulle. Quelqu’un dans la salle aurait la version radio ?
Mais que fout Raphaël avec Star Academy ?
C’est bizarre, j’ai l’impression de n’avoir vu Fight Club qu’une fois. Il n’est pas passé sur Canal+ ?
Putain, Brad Pitt…
Les permalinks sont de retour.
iTunes semble être assez utilisable en réduisant la taille du buffer (ça semble un peu illogique, non ?). Test en cours.
C’est vrai qu’on mange moins sans télé.
When in doubt, Shift-Reload.
A lépoque où je lisais Car & Driver pour me familiariser avec langlais, le mot miscellaneous me fascinait.
Musically, I like Raphaël’s new song. It would just be nice to find the lyrics somewhere so that I could, uh, know what it’s about.
So it’s about a double agent who, in front of the man who ostensibly discovered him yet gives him the opportunity to make an outside phone call, tells his daughter, just when he’s about to get tortured or killed, not to take the highway because it’s jammed. And, obviously, Rutger Hauer isn’t alarmed at all, because he knows he’s only a guest star and, whatever happens, he’ll be dead at the end of this episode or the next. I don’t mean to complain, but it’s just a little stupid to have overlooked the starting point for such an important episode.
As for the second one, well… despite the presence of two Ethan Hawkes, including one naked (the face does get a bit old, but the body shows that someone’s been intent on staying in shape; not like Tarantino being absolutely ridiculous the previous year) and even though I’m rather happy we’re rid of the annoying roommate, it’s far from great. Not only that I’m not interested at all in the Face/Off rip/off, but I find much less charm in this sub-James Bond invention than in Rambaldi’s antiques, as far as science-fiction goes. Well, let’s just say it was an exposition episode, introducing the Francie replacement.
Anyway, I can’t wait to find out how the writers intend to fill the time now that the Bristows aren’t double agents anymore. And I want to make a public apology to them writers, by the way, for all those times I was desperate to see the accumulation of improbable twists to endanger then save the Bristows, those times when I thought the show was going to dive into monotony quickly, whereas in fact it was part of completely coherent construction leading to the show being turned upside down in the course of one single, unannounced, unexpected episode, after only a year and a half (funny how I feel like I’ve been watching this for three or four years now, with all that already happened). Summarized in one word: Bravo.
This post was sponsored by my mother’s TV. Now I have to decide if I want to have a new TV set before Sunday’s 24 episodes, and whether I’m ready to pay the price. (You can’t imagine.)
I should probably go and live under a bridge.
As a bonus, I could go on Popstars or Pop Idol later and get everybody’s pity.
Though there’s no reason to hurry, it will happen soon enough anyway. No, not Popstars.
The advantage of being French is that spam is easily recognizable by the English titles. It must be so much harder for the English-speaking, having to open each message in case that person jumping at them saying
Hi! How are you? would be a forgotten acquaintance.
After I happened on a photography critics site while I was putting my bookmarks in order, I went browsing my galleries in search of something I’d be proud enough to submit there, and… I have to admit it: I make pretty damn nice portraits!
I must really get back to it. I haven’t made pictures since May. But walking around Paris looking for a place to photograph does get boring; and recruiting models, then meeting them, and photographing them, is… exhausting. Entire days spent on the web, being shot down because I can’t afford to pay models. (Are they dreaming or what?) I should try recruiting straight men and women for a change: it would certainly be simpler. But I don’t know how to do that, and even less where to find them.
I once thought of printing some kind of a business card, a little folded leaflet presenting a couple of my pictures, printed in color, which I could give out when I encountered an interesting face in the subway (there was that one young woman, with a resemblance to Pascale Bussières, who was sitting in front of me that time, and I was dying to ask her if she’d like her picture taken), but… can you imagine me going up to someone to offer a photo session? Heh. I can’t.
Since the last few weeks, every time I sneeze, LeChat meows. I wonder whether she’s expressing her resent because I woke her up (I tend to be a noisy sneezer — well, I’m not sure there are some noisier than others, but if there are then I’m definitely among them), or answering me. As communicative as she is, I tend to believe more in the former. It’s too bad, I liked the idea she’d be answering
Gesundheit in her own way.
There it is. It had to happen. Well, no, it didn’t have to, I didn’t want it to, I just knew it was about to happen. My big TV set is dead. Since last week, I couldn’t turn it on from the remote anymore, so I knew there was something wrong going on, I knew it was going to die on me, and I’d end up stuck without TV, in the middle of an Alias season, and right when the first Lord of the Rings movie is about to be on Canal+. Do I really have to explain how serious all of that is for me?
Well, it’s simple. It’s an emergency, it’s vital, I need a TV capture card (no need for a tuner, I use the VCR’s) and a little video card that could be recognized as a second card in Windows. If I remember correctly, the 14 inches screen that’s laying around somewhere in a corner of my room should still work fine, so it would make a fine replacement TV. Ok, two little video cards, or one that has video in and out, that shouldn’t be too expensive. Does anyone here know of a store where I could get that for ten euros?
I don’t know if removing comments is contributing to my posting more or if it’s just a coincidence. I think it does play a part, because I’m less worried about how each article will be perceived, how each reader and potential commenter will react, and I can almost force myself to validate a post that I would otherwise have stored in a cold room until I found time to reformulate it (which I never do). Regardless, it feels weird writing so much in one day.
Well, not that it’s going to move my life forward, though.
Looks like e-commerce is going to go through a nice boom in the next few days: two specialists (I didn’t pay attention to their introduction, but anyway nobody pays attention to who’s really who, they’re here as specialists and that’s that) just firmly declared on French TV that you should never ever give your credit card number on the net.
Well, ok, they did mention in passing that most French banks can let you create virtual card numbers that can only be used once. But, somehow, I can hardly imagine the wider audience bothering with that, instead of just remembering not to buy online, period. (By the way, would a virtual card allow me to pay my ISP subscription each month, or would it self-destruct before? And does it work as a Visa card abroad? Too lazy to check.)
Anyway, the show gives the opportunity to remind people that they must be careful, when they type their code on an ATM, and hide the keyboard from a miniature camera that could be over it; or systematically try to tear out the card slot, in case it’s pirated. (No idea whether this is a French exclusivity, but I see no reason for that. Except for the fact that almost all French credit cards — well, actually, debit cards; credit cards aren’t popular here — are Visa, which means they’re valuable worldwide.)
This is what happens when an American writer falls in love with the movie Irrésistible. Except that this backwards construction doesn’t work for ER, because there are too many subplots and characters, too many distractions, whereas the whole point of the thing is to focus on the person who will eventually become a victim. Except, also, that Luka and Erin are pretty much the least charismatic characters of the show (I know that some would disagree with me about Luka, but I don’t think so about Erin), which means it’s a waste to dedicate a special device to them. Oh, and, basically, I’m not such a fan of those ER episodes that just rely on plagiarizing a movie in order to get noticed.
C’est bien, le service marketing de Niquitin doit être bien content d’avoir enfin trouvé un slogan français qui utilise le verbe
quitter. Ca devait être frustrant d’avoir un produit au nom super bien trouvé en anglais (nicotin + quit, comme dans
I quit smoking) et de ne rien pouvoir en faire en français. C’est juste dommage que ce soit aussi nul, leur slogan.
L’envie de fumer vous quitte. Il valait peut-être mieux continuer à s’en passer, c’est carrément moins marquant que des cigarettes géantes qui se prennent des prises de karaté dans les gencives. Même si ce n’est pas plus con.
Lack of animal contact. Human contact would even be better, but I could be content with a big labrador sleeping with its head on my knees. Too bad that the human body is wired in such a way that putting your hand on your own stomach doesn’t feel the same as on another living being. Just like tickling, it doesn’t work on yourself, except that I prefer touch over tickle. Just that: putting my hand on something warm and alive. The cat’s heat cycle is over, so I can’t abuse it anymore and spend ten minutes stroking its belly anymore, that’s over, and it only lasts for a few days every six months. And as for contact with human beings… sure, I’ve had lots of contact this summer, but none of it was quiet, relaxed, sitting or laying in a corner with each one’s hands lying on the other’s skin.
Still the same problem. Chicken and egg. Love and
work earning a living.
Au moins Max Evans est redevenu mignon, merci au coiffeur.
Nuit Blanche in Paris: special events throughout the night all across town. I don’t know why, but I was convinced that suburbs trains were operating all night long tonight. Don’t know what I’m confused with; it’s not like there’s a more appropriate opportunity to run trains all night.
Anyway, I didn’t want to go there at all. Yes, it’s true, the pictures they showed on the TV news looked nice. But I miss lots of nice things in my life, and I got used to that a long time ago. And particularly crowded events. I did the Fête de la Musique once, and swore to myself I would never go again; ditto for the July 14 fireworks; and even though Paris-Plage lasted a month or two, and I was often a hundred meters away, I didn’t go and see. Of course, there’s the Gay Pride, but it’s different: it’s political. Or maybe it’s because I secretly and absurdly fantasize meeting my soulmate there (did I mention that someone hit on me there, this year?). Regardless, there are reasons to go. The Nuit Blanche ? There’ll be reruns on TV.
Besides, suburbs trains won’t even be running all night.
Pff, c’est malin. Zazie joue le rôle d’une mygale dans Sol en cirque.
Yes, comments are gone again, for better or for worse. I realized that I’ve been censoring myself too much for a while. I’m already not quite motivated to write in the first place, so when I throw away three articles in a row after I have written them, it’s getting quite annoying. Now, what do comments have to do with anything? I’m not sure, at all, but it’s possible that the prospect of having to face some comments (and I’m not even talking about my trolls, as they don’t really affect me) would contribute my self-censorship. So it’s experimental, and if it doesn’t help at all then maybe comments will come back. But I wouldn’t consider that quite likely.
Starting again from scratch now for a brand new year of garooism (oh, right, birthday must be soon now). Trying to.
P.S. Oh, and I’m also going to try translating more posts into English. I still won’t do those about French TV, because it’s still unlikely to be of any relevance to you, but I’ll try and translate my posts about movies and TV series. After all, they won’t be that less interesting for you than for French readers.
As flattering as it may be to see my part played by Hayden Christensen (well, my part, but not for all of it, I have to reassure those who saw the movie), it had been a long time since I last saw a movie so despicable, and shouted at my TV like that (or laughed, too, thanks to a script that miraculously manages to get even stupider scene after scene). A diamond, this movie, in that so characteristic genre that only American cinema is capable of offering us.
Of course, I only watched the whole movie because I was shocked to find out that Hayden is cute, with dark hair. I think George Lucas must have a definite talent for making his actors look bad, especially with wigs. Oh, and it’s true that black hair and black eye makeup makes everyone look great — or, maybe not everyone, but at least Hollywood twinks. Why wouldn’t I try? For Halloween? Not that I’m a Hollywood twink, even far from it, but I’d have to test.
I’m amazed at the structure used in building American houses. Before I saw it, in this movie or in a past Gilmore Girls épisode for instance, I couldn’t understand why, in American movies, houses were totally reduced to ashes after a fire. All wood, air and wood? I can imagine it dates back to the Far West pioneers or something, but… not to mention cement, haven’t they heard of stones since then?
Living in a house made entirely of wood, such a nightmare for me. (Won’t go into the specifics.)
I’m lucky that my trusted (somehow) TV guide wrote a good review for Shallow Hal. Otherwise, I’d have thought I was going crazy. Or that it was a symptom of depression and I should get a doctor. But, no, it’s alright. I just didn’t expect a movie that would cite The Crying Game as an example.
Heh. Cool. And well written. (Apart from the soapy, slightly ridiculous aspect of the candle-lit dinner, of course. But I don’t care, it’s Emily that matters.) I’m not sure whether I got used to seeing her mask, or Faye Dunaway had better makeup or lighting, or she did an emergency lifting right before shooting and it hadn’t quite, um, dried yet when she first appeared on the show.