Why do I always have to spend hours sniffing and blowing my nose until it bleeds, before my brain notices there’s a box of Rhinadvil sitting next to me and it would do me some good?

Looks like it’s questionnaire day over here.

1/ What’s your method to mark a book page?

I leave Mozilla or Word open, and try to memorize where the scrollbar was, in case the program would crash. What? I already said I don’t read books.

Anyway, when I do read, I either use a bookmark, or leave it open, pressed on a flat surface. It’s funny that I wouldn’t dare to imagine folding a page corner, but I don’t mind ruining the binding. However, the whole concept of folding corners is beyond my grasp: it doesn’t stick out of the book (unless you’re an origami expert, of course), so it doesn’t really allow you to find back the page quickly and directly, does it?

2/ Have you ever been tempted to display a frame bought in a store, leaving the template picture that was supplied with it?

Yes, for fun. But I’ve been saved by the fact that I only ever buy a frame when I’ve got a specific picture to put inside, so I’ve got better things to do than leave the original picture inside.

3/ Is there a set of things you love to sort out and classify?

Uh, that I love to sort, no. Because it takes time, it’s tedious and all. But I do sort and class my files, organize my pictures collections, etc.

4/ Someone is about to introduce you to someone after they’ve told you: "You’ll love him/her, he/she is really like you. Same humor, same tastes, everything…". How do you feel about that?

I fear the worst, and get myself ready for the worst vexation of the month. On the one hand because most people just don’t know me well enough to make me meet someone who’s really like me; on the other hand because someone who’d be that much like me would probably be just a pain in the ass.

5/ Do you have a ritual for falling asleep?

Nope, I get under the blankets, close my eyes, and zzzzzz.

6/ Do you think the Nobel peace prize should reward a person’s action, or what you think they really are?

I think the Nobel peace prize, in itself, is a weird idea: you’re not a good samaritan anymore if you get rewarded for your deeds. As I was searching for a confirmation that the peace prize was the only Nobel that didn’t go with a large sum of money, here’s what I find: Why does the world take interest in what the Norwegian Nobel Committee decides on who has done the most for peace? Why indeed.

The confirmation I didn’t found: there are a million euros to be won. Which makes the idea even more ridiculous than I thought. And I want Chirac to get it even less. Imagining Chirac getting a million euros—for his action toward peace, of all things! Apocalypse has to be real close, what’s the next step?

7/ Swimming pool.

No, thanks. I’m shy, and I heard that supervisors don’t like people messing around.

8/ Did you have a poker-like activity during school recess (marbles, pogs, etc.)? If so, what was your best take?

I played marbles at some time, but I don’t remember that much abuot it, and I don’t know if I won or lost. At least marbles weren’t as unfair, as capitalistic, as today’s trading cards: we didn’t have to buy loads and loads of marbles to find the right one that would beat all the others.

9/ You’re home alone, in complete silence. Suddenly, for some reason, you say a sentence out loud. How do you feel afterwards?

There never is complete silence around me. Even witout TV or radio, there still are fan noises, and computer beeps, or at least some shouting from the other side of the door. So it just can’t happen to me.

10/ In which circumstances do you have to use pen and paper, witout even imagining being able to use a computer?

None, I think. Which is a pity, because I really enjoyed writing—the pen touching the paper, the screech-screech, and the magic of seeing little intricate designs born of the contact of a metal stick on a sheet of paper. But now I do everything on my computer, and it feels much more natural than anything else. So I guess the only circumstance where I couldn’t envision using a computer would be when I’m writing down blog notes in the subway. In that case, even if I had a Palm or something, I’d… uh… wait, maybe not actually. If I had a small, inconspicuous thing like a Danger hiptop, I think I could use it.

1. If a movie was made about your life, what actor should play your part?

He would have to be an outstanding actor, the kind who transforms crap into gold. I mean, otherwise, the audience would be dead bored, and I’d be offended. Or else he’d have to be amazingly beautiful, and naked throughout the whole movie. But it wouldn’t be my life anymore. (Because I’m not a naturist.) At least it’d be interesting, and I could hang out on the set all the time, and he’d want to know me better so he could understand my character, and… must be weird sleeping with someone who’s supposed to personify you.

Anyway, who? I guess it’s up to others to tell. And this is not me asking for your opinions, because I’m sure half the answers would vex me.

2. What is the weather anchor really useful for?

To fill up air time, I suppose. On TF1, they employ people with a strange sense of humor; on Canal+ they show breast-girls. But in both cases it serves no real purpose. I never watch the weather reports anyway. And Canal+’s Thal(l?)ia has an absolutely unbearable voice.

Mmm… bad calculation—I’d better write Thalia (Thallia ?), and it’ll get me lots of new visitors from Google. Does Google reduce the weight of words that appear in the same sentence as Google? It should.

3. How long does it generally take you between the time you get angry, and the time you realize it was trifle?

I don’t get angry about trifle businesses. Shut up. Are you trying to mess with me? You talking to me? You talking to me? Even in writing, I don’t know how to play anger. I never get angry. The most I can do is sulk. But the question is about anger, so it doesn’t apply.

4. Looking in your environment, can you give out an example of indecency?

There isn’t anyone in my environment not reading my blog, so I guess I’ll pass on this question, thanks.

5. What money games do you, or could you play?

Is that about games where you can win money, or where you can lose some? For the former, I try and play a free online lottery as often as I can; for the latter, except a lottery ticket once in a while (quite rarely actually), I don’t play, and I don’t bet. I hate the idea of losing money so stupidly.

6. What aspect of your life won’t you ever reveal in your blog?

Heh. Lots and lots of things. Basically, everything that’s not so pretty, and I won’t get into detail here either, because I don’t want to give out any clues. And yet, there’d be some material there…

7. If a virus destroyed all the data on your hard drive, what file would you regret most?

I’d miss everything: emails, IRC logs, pictures, Photoshop source files, and all the other stuff. I always keep everything, and the idea of losing it frightens me. Well, I know I’d survive, but still it would be quite stressful. There’s no hierarchy, everything’s important, because these files make up all my life over half a dozen years. Oh boy, I can’t believe I just wrote that. Let me just get my head in the oven, and I won’t be right back.

1. Can you list all the ways you use paper towels?

Uh… well, mainly one precise use, for which it is very convenient.

2. What do you do with your shoes right after you’ve taken them off?

Well, I put them down on the floor. So there.

3. If you had to explain what freedom is to a child, in three lines, how would you do it?

Freedom doesn’t exist. But, if anybody asks, it’s when you do what you want to, and you don’t do what you don’t want to. And it doesn’t exist in real life, so don’t get your hopes too high.

4. Could you name spontaneously two women who weighed down on the world’s history?

Spontaneously, no. If I think about it, I should. But, as a consolation, when I replace women with men in the sentence, I still have trouble answering. I’m that good with history. Actually, even thinking about it, I don’t know what to answer.

5. A friend of yours has helped you a great deal in the past. Now, he asks for you unconditional support in a something you don’t want to invest in. How do you answer him without sounding ungrateful?

I didn’t create this blog to write about foreign politics. Especially when it would lead me to support Chirac. I already called out to vote for him once (against Le Pen), I’m not gonna flatter his foreign politics, don’t push it.

Anyway, in real life, I’d… uh, lie, I suppose, and make up an excuse.

6. Could you pay to keep on reading a blog you like? Why?

Heh. I didn’t check out what others answered this question (I try not to read the answers to questionnaires I haven’t answered yet but plan to, so I don’t get influenced). But considering the success of my garoothon, I hope there aren’t too many hypocrites who answered yes.

So, as a matter of principle, yes. I don’t know which blog(s) I’d do it for, but I could.

7. How interested are you in events affecting the blogosphere (e.g., Google buying out Blogger)?

Well, that one event is affecting more the bloggersphere than the blogosphere. But, otherwise, I’m interested, and I blog about it.

1. If archeologists were to analyze your keyboard, what could they find out about you?

That I haven’t cleaned the dust in my room since, uh… ever. And also I eat too much carbohydrate food that ends up sending crumbs in the keyboard. Although I try to avoid those (crumbs, not food), because I’ve got a nice keyboard, and it works well, and it took me eons to find one that would suit me. And it’s encased in metal, isn’t that cool?

2. When you grab your phone, do you always know who you’re going to call, or do you sometimes browse through the directory in search for inspiration?

I feel like I’ve already answered this question. Oh, right, I should: I had already answered this questionnaire once, but I eventually decided to go to bed without posting it. So I’ll check back my notes to see what I had written, and I’ll be right back.

I never grab my phone. At least, seldom of my own will. However, when I’m in Paris, alone and not knowing what to do or where to go, I sometimes take my phone and check out the directory, looking for a name I could call. Which usually leads me to conclude that there’s nobody I want to see, and then I quietly take the train back home.

I don’t like phones. Did I already say I don’t like phones? I don’t like phones.

3. What is the last thing that vexed you?

If I think about it again, it’s gonna vex me again, so I might as well not. Must have been someone who snubbed me on the Internet, probably.

4. What was the last snail mail you sent about, and why didn’t you e-mail it?

Two questions in a row about memory, that’s too questions too many. Ok, does it count when I’m sending checks to my banks to pay them in? Otherwise, must have been documents for the Maison des Artistes (which collects taxes and stuff for, well, artists), and they’re so modern and all that they’re not gonna be on the web anytime soon.

5. At home, are the doors more often open or closed?

Since I’m living with my parents, I always double-lock the door to my room. Well, not exactly, since there’s no lock, but I removed the outside handle, so no one can come and interrupt while I’m… uh, eating or, uh, surfing or, uh, blogging. So, door’s closed. But if I lived alone in a big apartment (and I’m so optimistic these days that it’s an if and not a when), I think doors would be more often closed than open. So that monsters and burglars (but mostly monsters) couldn’t get into my room unnoticed. Well, yeah, that’s important.

6. What will your refrigerator never be short of?

Uh… I don’t know, anything can always miss. I mean, some day or another. Well, I don’t know. Nothing.

7. Do you consider important respecting public property, and has your behavior evolved in time?

I don’t put my feet up on subway seats, I throw garbage in the cans, I don’t tag, I don’t destroy bus stops with a baseball bat… yes, I respect public property. And, no, my behavior hasn’t changed, because I’ve always been a timid and fearful boy who’d never have done anything that could get him noticed.

There definitely is something hostile in the morning atmosphere. It can’t be temperature, since I get the same feeling in summer as in winter. Actually, the way I react to this has changed in time: when I was a kid, I loved the times we had to get up early, before the sun rised, because I felt like I was visiting an unknown country, braving the dangers of an inhospitable universe, exploring a new world. Which feelings left me when it became more of a routine, and it wasn’t motivated by travels, but by classes, too early, too far from home.

I wonder if this particular atmosphere is created by the light, or if it’s only psychological. After all, it’s all possible: the light wavelength could be different in the early hours, and have an impact on the brain. Or it could be me. That would make sense as well.

Finally I’ve discovered my vocation as an alcoholic. I had been looking for it for years! All I needed was going to the Piétons (a cool, not stereotypical bar in the Marais) and try the melon liquor. Next time I go out, I’ll know what I can order to get drunk.

I need to start watching daily weather reports, or bookmark the Météo France website and check it out everytime I go out. There’s something wrong with breaking a sweat in Paris in February (pictures available soon) (pictures of Paris, not pictures of me sweating). Especially now that I’ve found the backpack I wanted, and I don’t need to carry my jacket all the time. It’s not that simple, though: one of the little drawbacks of having lived as a hermit for two years is, I have completely forgotten how to make the connection between what the breasted anchor is saying on TV, and the clothes I’m supposed to wear (contrary to said anchor) in order not to be cold and not to be hot either, and not die of a pneumonia in a dark and cold and soulless hospital room stinking of other clients’ vomit.

Oh, and I also have to find (again) what to do with my life, since the option I had considered achieving by week’s end seems to turn out completely unrealistic. Back to square one: write a novel. Ideas, anyone?

There. Since sex doesn’t seem to want to be satisfying, and my remaining Nutella is dry, and I decided not to renew my supply of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, I filled up my belly with what I could find in stock: one pound of curry rice. It’s all warm inside, it’s sweet, but it’s not all that fulfilling on a psychological levels, like, you know, feelings and sentiments and all. But at least I may be done with eating for the day.

Or maybe it’s just because of my testosterone levels, and my blog will be back to normal right at the same time as my charts.

Well, no, I don’t feel like writing. I don’t know whether it’s because of the bilingual blog, the weather, a temporary lack of inspiration or if I’ve done everything I had to do with that medium, but anyway I’m not dead. I don’t feel like writing, so I don’t write.

I want an Ethan Hawke for myself.

Great idea tonight: going out in Paris to make a few night pictures. Nevermind that half of them are blurred, because the whole point of a digital camera is shooting everything three times. What’s more of a problem is I was that close to having both of my thumbs amputated. Which wouldn’t be convenient for photography (or for many other things: thumbs are important to press the Space key). Do you think someone would have warned me it was—literally—freezing tonight?

The pictures are not ready for publication yet, they need some editing. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to make much of them anyway: G3 reviews showed that the 400 ISO mode was hardly usable at all because of the noise levels, and I must say I do understand why the automatic mode never goes into 400, even if it implies more motion blurs. Anyhow, I’m not in the mood for Photoshopping tonight. I think I’m more interested in my libido these days. And then, I need to make some room on my hard disk. It’s the first time in a year I’m using my CD burner; first time ever I can reach the old drive’s 6x speed (which I could never use on my former computer); first time in months I have more than 600MB free on my drive. I still have exactly ten CDs to burn. Times two, because I’m completely paranoid about my data. I hate spending hours watching the Nero progress indicator move…

As I was setting foot on the rue de Rivoli, I knew I was gonna be sorry for hurrying to buy a bag for my camera on a Saturday afternoon. I hate humanity—or, more exactly, I hate human individuals, but as a whole. Those who take their time, those who change lanes on the sidewalk, those who think they’re in a hurry but actually slow down those who really are (and I always am), those who shout on the phone in the subway, those who rush to another counter even though you’ve been waiting for longer than them, those, those, those. All of those, and the others too, I hate. And I couldn’t find vanilla incense in the shop where I bought some a couple of years ago. And the bag I bought is huge, ridiculous and terribly conspicuous, but at least it’s all padded. And, more importantly, it exists, it’s there, it’s mine, and my camera’s inside. Add to this the fact that a fr.rec.photo.numerique regular told me the noise my G3 makes is perfectly normal, and all of that means I can finally, at last, now, really and definitely start making pictures. I’m beginning as soon as tomorrow—well, maybe, if I find someone I can shoot, because Sundays aren’t quite ideal for taking landscape pictures in Paris).

This should be the happiest day in my life. Well, maybe just second after the first day I ever ate chocolate. There. Now. I’ve got a Powershot G3. A beautiful digital camera, high resolution, with lots of complex settings, so that I’ll be able to fill up my (ex-)picturelog and my recently reworked portfolio.

But there’s a hitch. Something inside is making a nasty click sound every time I switch from recording to playing, or when the camera’s getting ready to make a picture. Like a mirror, a filter, a something that seems to be switched. Just like the mirror’s noise in an SLR, except that it’s not an SLR and there shouldn’t be a mirror in there. Should there? I’m sure I had read a forum thread about that someday, but I can’t find it back. (Maybe because I’ve been searching for a G3 bug, and it was actually about the G2?)

Anyhow, I’m gonna have to mess with the customers service. Which is never pleasant, but is even less so when it’s about a birthday present. There should be a law against defects in presents. At least, at the time people offered wooden toys, they could test them before. Why doesn’t anybody offer simple, cheap wooden toys anymore? Huh? I wish I’d had one, instead of a top-of-the-line digital camera I’ve spent two years asking for.

Okay, in the meantime, it does work, and it should make nice pictures. Tomorrow I’ll buy a bag for it (the beast is so much bigger than I thought, it’d never fit in my jacket’s pocket) and I’ll be filling up my portfolio in no time.

If everything works out fine.

That’s frustrating. It’s typically the kind of idea I should have had. I already wrote a virtual card script (as seen on gayattitude (w)), and I’ve been thinking for a while of adapting it to garoo.net, in order to use my pictures. And I’ve also been thinking of creating a funny shirts shop on cafepress. But I never did consider combining both ideas, and making alternative cards for holidays. I’d note-to-self that I should make some for the next holidays, but I know I won’t remember. Besides, you can make funny stuff about Christmas or Valentine’s Day, but there’s not much to be made of Easter cards or whatever.

I missed writing. During the two days I spent redesigning my portfolio, I didn’t realize: I didn’t miss it, I was fine just minding my business. But right now, after I’ve written just a couple of posts, I see I missed it. I like writing. So maybe that’s what I really am. A writing. Uh, a writinger. A… writing person, y’know. It’s late, and just logged back on to type this, though I was about to slip into my covers. It’s that bad. Or that good.

I feel so much more accomplished now that I filled up my daily quota of words. So I am actually addicted. Help!

If you have an idea you’re too lazy to implement, someone will end up having the same thought and doing it themselves: looks like it doesn’t only apply to websites, but also to blocked sinks. Apparently, it grew bored of being blocked and seeing nobody seemed to care, so it just fixed itself. If only it could work the same way for everything…

It’s a recurring debate—the last instance I remember was when a Stargate SG1 episode was aired several months ago. Would it be possible to survive a sudden decompression?

I always thought the human body should be resistant enough, adaptable enough to go through that. Well, it turns out that not only has the question been largely documented, but it looks like it did happen once in real life, which allows scientists to be pretty sure about what happens:

In 1966 a technician at NASA Houston was decompressed to vacuum in a space-suit test accident. […] He lost consciousness in 12-15 seconds. When pressure was restored after about 30 seconds of exposure, he regained consciousness, with no apparent injury sustained.

This pretty much settles that. You double in size for a while (it’s written elsewhere in the article), but afterwards everything’s fine (there are risks of temporary blindness and stuff, but globally you have a fair chance of surviving it unharmed). Isn’t the human body an extraordinary machine?

Oh, and a tiny detail for those of you kids who might be tempted to try this at home:

Note that this discussion covers the effect of vacuum exposure only. The decompression event itself can have disasterous effects if the person being decompressed makes the mistake of trying to hold his or her breath. This will result in rupturing of the lungs, with almost certainly fatal results.

So the Stargate version, where Carter told O’Neil and Teal’C to exhale in sync with the decompression, was as realistic as can be. Except that, when they were in vacuum, they should have swollen to double their normal volume, but I guess it would have looked too nasty for TV.

While we’re at it, the same memepool post points to a live-action remake of the famous gore scene in Alien 4, only with a crab instead of the alien. And I’ve got only one word to describe that: Eww. I can only hope the poor thing is in crabs paradise by now.

Phew. It took me three days, but here we are: the new portfolio is online. Now, you’ll think it’s not quite spectacular, and it wasn’t worth spending two days without posting, but you’re wrong. I know that, because I read your thoughts (or maybe they’re just very predictable?), and because I’m so much more intelligent than you I can’t be wrong.

I spent a day and a half sorting through my pictures, making new thumbnails (because 50 pixels was just a little bit small), adding a few images, and reorganizing everything. But what’s most important is I worked on the code for a day: the original point was that the portfolio would be easier to update, that I would be able to add pictures in just a few minutes—not having to edit files in a dozen directories each time, and launch a general makefile that would only work one time out of ten. The previous version was actually a bit awkward, and as a result I hardly ever bothered adding new pictures when I made some. And I figured it was a pity, me making pictures and not uploading them. And it would only be more of a pity in the future. In the coming weeks. Maybe even by the end of this week, if everything goes as well as it can. Because I may soon make much more pictures. Because. I may. If everything goes as planned, if the ground doesn’t open and swallow me, and I don’t break an eye in the meantime. Pictures, pictures, pictures. Soon, soon, soon. Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Garoo, photographer. At last. With a portfolio. Updated often.

By the way, and as a consequence, the picturelog has been removed: it made no sense to have on one hand a photolog updated regularly, and on the other hand a portfolio updated just as regularly. All past pictures have been moved to the blog, and in the future I’ll have a choice between posting photos here, or just inserting thumbnails with links to the portfolio. It didn’t make much sense to separate text from images anyway.

Pictures. Soon. Garoo. Everywhere. Can’t wait.

Maintenant qu’il y a des centaines de blogueurs qui wannabe sur camstory, est-ce que ça ne serait pas le moment d’exploiter le nom du concept du nom, et de mettre en place des votes pour choisir quelles cams doivent retourner en division 2 ?

(Note to self : Quand j’ai de la fièvre, je me mets à faire des comparaisons footballistiques. Me suicider.)

Not much blogged these days. That’s because the window, uh, shutters? are broken. So it’s cold at night, and my throat hurts, and I’m now thinking it’s not because of the Buffy soundtrack. And my head hurts, too. And I want to eat all the time but there’s not enough room in my stomach. (Though that part is hardly new.) And my blanket isn’t warm enough—and, no, I don’t need a human blanket, because in a couple I’m always the one heating up the bed (and I’m not saying this with sexual innuendo, although on second thought maybe I should). And, uh, well, so, as I was saying, the nights are cold because it’s my birthday, uh, that is, because it’s February, so I, uh, did I mention I’m sick? Cause that was pretty much the original point of that post. So if I didn’t mention it, it’s time I do. Or maybe I’d better go to sleep, but the main reason I’m not going is that I’m afraid it’ll be worse tomorrow. And the day after, and so on and so forth until I die of pneumonia in front of my computer screen. (Because obviously the last of my strength would be devoted to moving the keyboard and screen next to me on my bed; what do you think a blogger would do in his last hours?)

I’m not the kind of blogger who changes his layout every month, oh no I’m not. I’m quite stable for that matter—and for any matter, for that matter. I’m a stable boy, I’m quiet and wise and reliable, you can count on me, personally and professionally, and I’m… uh… yeah, whatever.

Considering that, right now, I’m looking for a contract… Well, considering that I’m somehow loosely looking for something that would kinda make me earn money and… Well, let’s say I’m basically waiting for someone to come to me and ask me to make their site, and they’d be rich, and generous, and nice and kind, and not a pain the ass, and the site they’d want me to do would be an interesting and motivating project, and it would happen just when I’m in the right mood, and… uh… yeah, whatever.

Since I need money right now, I had to get a more graphic homepage. The horizontal banner was nice and all, and I didn’t mind that my blog looked just as original as 75% of the other blogs, but it didn’t quite give out the impression that I’m a Photoshop wizard. (But am I? Hey, that’s way beside the point.) Hence the new layout, to show off that I can not only use Photoshop, but also make 3D pictures. Ok, simple, easy 3D pictures, but still. I’m here to sell myself, so please be quiet, will you? Now ain’t it pretty? I like. It’s not necessarily prettier than the previous version, but it’s not less either: it’s just a bit more graphical. Which is good, because that was the whole point.

Now I can go on not working and not looking for work, but at least have the warm and satisfying feeling that the client of my dreams will just find me by himself. Because the client of my dreams is like the boyfriend of my dreams: he can and will find me. That’s precisely what defines him.

P.S. The way the G is distorted by perspective already bothers me, hardly one hour after I uploaded it. So I guess the picture might be slightly modified one of these days. But a good night of sleep comes first.

Monsieur Monoprix du Perreux, si vous lisez mon blog, je voudrais bien que vous réintégriez à l’inventaire les sachets de blé Ebly au curry prêt en deux minutes au micro-ondes. Ca serait bien gentil. Merci d’avance. Allez, on se dépêche, j’ai pas que ça à faire. Parce que le riz à la sauce tomate qui marche au micro-ondes aussi, c’est pas mauvais, mais ça empeste pendant les deux jours qui suivent…

You have absolutely no idea how much I hate this man. You can’t imagine. I tell you, don’t try, you can’t. And would you think he’d at least have the decency to be a lousy singer? Ok, you can only hear it for a few bars, since the demo included in the album is Something To Sing About, but I like his way of singing the Spike part better than Marster’s—more appropriate to the musical context. I’d quite like to hear the demo of Rest In Peace, to see what it was supposed to sound like.

(Thanks to Matt for the CD, I’m playing it non-stop since this morning.)

Les nouveaux trains de banlieue de la Gare Saint-Lazare sentent bon le car neuf, comme au Mondial de l’Automobile. Mmm.

Of course. Obviously. As chance would have it. Two days before my 27th birthday (i.e., yesterday), what do I see in the mirror? Yes, me, but, besides? A white hair, sparkling merrily to defy me.

Alright, so I’ve already said that I didn’t care all that much about my age per se, and it doesn’t really traumatize me (well, it’s always better than losing hair). But, still. Two days before my birthday—isn’t that precisely the ideal moment? Life is a bitch and it loves making fun of me, I tell you…

(Not to forget that, on the same day, my little brother got a laptop for his birthday—he’s twelve. No need to mention how great my mood was when I went out to meet a boy. Well, two boys actually.)

1. Which comedians entertain you or not? Why?

Okay, well, I guess there’s not much point in translating my answer to this question? I mean, there could be, but my answer was les Robins des Bois, and you’re quite unlikely to know them if you’re reading this.

2. What could persuade you to go and see a movie you weren’t interested in?

Being invited. Or having a monthly pass and nothing else to do. Or hearing everyone I know tell me how great the movie is. Well, whichever, I’d need to be invited, considering the sorry state of my bank account.

3. How do you view productions like Pop Idol or Popstars?

I won’t translate the specifics here, because they’re as relevant as my answers to question 1. Let’s say I’ve got nothing against real-TV (when it’s done well, and it’s not often, but even when it’s done badly, like the French Big Brother, I can still watch regularly), and nothing against fabricating recording artists (when it’s done well, too, which isn’t always the case, either).

4. If you had the power to erase an event or a period of your life, how would you use it?

A period? Then can I say from zero to twenty-seven? Alright, let’s say I’d stop at twenty-six, because that’s the year I created my blog, and it’s quite a constructive move. (And, no, I’m not really ironic and, yes, it’s all the more pathetic.)

However, I’ve always very sincerely believed in What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Truly. So I wouldn’t seriously want to erase everything, since I survived all that (or at least it seems, maybe I haven’t been notified?) and it contributed to make me what I am now. But if I could erase all that’s coming afterwards…

5. How would you react if you found out someone close to you is doing drugs?

Uh…

Well, it happens that, if you don’t count my best friend, who doesn’t drink doesn’t smoke doesn’t do drugs, the other two people I spend most time talking to are, at least, somewhat heavy drinkers.

So, uh…

I’d like to go all soap morals, say how bad it is to alienate oneself and stuff, but… well, it doesn’t fit.

I wondered once what I could tell a friend who wants to kill themselves (which is more or less the same thing). And I came to the conclusion that, considering my current situation and my past experiences, I wouldn’t have that many convincing things to say.

So, uh…

Is it too late yet to skip that question?

6. When was the last time you felt unsafe? In retrospect, was that feeling justified?

I don’t know, probably in the subway at midning… But I’m not one who panics. That’s my fatalistic side: if I must get slaughtered someday, it’ll just happen, whether I panic or not, so I might as well wait quietly and look the other way so as not to provoke fate.

No, seriously, I’m not kidding, that’s really what I do. (Well, I don’t act like a complete unconscious jerk who doesn’t realize what risks he’s taking: I’m careful in desert streets, I make up karate moves in my mind when I’m in a train car with suspicous people, etc.)

7. Have you ever stolen something?

Yes, I have. And although it’s been a long time ago, I’m not gonna go into the specifics. But it was just one time, and I regretted it for months. Not that I was discovered, but that’s the way I am, I feel remorse when I do something bad. Oh, yeah, it does suck, and my life would be so much simpler if I could behave like a dirty bastard. But life is not supposed to be simple, is it?

I just discovered a new mail-order catalog of trinkets, gadgets and generally old-fashioned unusable unthinkable unbearable stuff. Even though most of the items are lethally dainty(*), I could just spend hours watching the pictures and imagining how I’d decorate a room, how I’d arrange furniture and accessories in the empty space of my brain (oh, how it’s empty and windy and lonely in there).

But that doesn’t make a good motivation to find a job and a flat and a life and a dog: because dogs keep messing things up and breaking everything and they’re just filthy and… wait, no, that wasn’t where I was going. Because I’m not stable enough: I’d keep buying and buying and buying new stuff to replace what I’d be bored with, and I’d end up as broke as I am right now. Now there’s something classy about going bankrupt over egyptian hippos, isn’t there? There isn’t? Well, I guess I won’t invite you home then. Your loss. Yeah. Really.

(*) I just hate it when my French-English dictionary gives me words I’ve never seen and don’t know how to use. I’m lucky enough (well, it’s not luck, it’s actually knowledge and talent and general greatness of me) that it doesn’t happen too often. I know most of the vocabulary I need to discuss software, TV, or sex, but when it comes to pewter figurines I’m pretty much lost (and I don’t actually feel the need to get too much documentation). So I just wanted to apologize if anything comes out awkward in this post or another. Because I’m not gonna apologize each and every time, so this will be it. Now on with the psychedelic hippos. Well, I was all done with them, actually.

I already knew that texan judges (it’s a documentary about Odell Barnes) were elected and that it necessarily influenced their decisions. But I didn’t know that the judges themselves choosed which lawyer to assign to poor defendants. I just can’t comprehend that. Wouldn’t anybody have somehow figured it would be nice to set up some kind of independence in the process? Hello?

Cut to an interview of Bush Jr. explaining that there’s no way any innocent would ever have been sentenced to death in his state. Right. Oh boy, I so want to throw up, but it’s late and I’ve got to go to sleep instead. I’m not sure this movie is the best thing to watch right before bedtime, though.

Oh, it’s snowing again. Too bad I haven’t got a subway pass for this month. Too bad my digital camera is not autonomous yet. Too bad I’m lazy. Too bad we’re living in a country where not enjoying the snow outside makes you feel like you miss the opportunity of a lifetime. Oh well, I’m quite used to that feeling of missing something now, so it doesn’t bother me anymore. And there’s a subway strike anyway…

Comment, en 2002, les réseaux de rencontres téléphoniques arrivent-ils encore à trouver des pigeons ? A vivre dans un univers où tout est gratuit (encyclopédies, dialogues, musique, porno…) on en oublierait presque qu’il existe encore tout plein de blaireaux neuneus malheureux qui n’ont pas accès à ces facilités. Fracture numérique indeed. C’est assez incroyable que la gratuité sur le web ait pu subsister si longtemps dans un monde pareil.

Ouais, ok, c’est ni super profond ni super original, mais au moins je poste. Plaignez-vous. Mais dans votre coin, en silence.