#star

#star

#Giant

#Giant

Stranger Things S1

Well I’m always a bit late. Just watched 6/8 episodes of Stranger Things. Though I did not watch any trailer, I knew what it was about : a spielbergian game in the eighties.

I don’t watch series. And I feared to be like a target (E.T. was in theaters in 1982 and I was 16 years old then) and… it went off without a hitch.

So yessss it’s funny to find the mood of this time : tapes, biking around, Star Wars culture, and to find winks and nudges to Spielberg (the cabin in the garden and the lamps searching the light (E.T.)) and to others things : Stephen King’s links, the kids on railroad (Stand by me).

And also deeper shit :

1. The brother is a River Phoenix lookalike (and a good one).
2. The music is so Tangerine Dream (listen to Exit, or Tangram)… and suddenly you really hear some (in the fight scene).
3. The… pace of these times is pretty well pictured.

 

But what I like the most is, apart from of course the two mean kids and “bad scientists”, every character acts with a great dose of kindness. And kindness is pretty rare in the movies : you have the brave heroes and bunch of hysterical, mean or dumb persons. So, from cops to people in stores, Winona’s ex, or even the wealthy boyfriend, each time the writers could have pictured mean traits, they just don’t. It’s really interesting…

Tomorrow is the 31th, I’ll watch Bogdanovich’s “What’s Up Doc?” (which is the most hilarious film EVER (said my daughter Eliette)). Stranger Things two last episodes the day after (if I can wait).

Have a nice day!

#Family

#Family

What do you do in a trustless world?

What do you do in a trustless world?

First of all : is “trustless” even a word? I know how English build/uses words, hence (or therefore) I can invent “trustless”. Voilà. I’m pretty sure to be understood, here.

What do you do in a trustless world?

Hmmm I think you need two different tools, which are a FILTER and a MACHINE.

1. The Filter is the Comical/Grotesque one. This helps to tolerate, to bear the world around.
2. The Machine is the wordy one. Accounts, Stories, Tales. This is it. The tendency to tell, to write, to invent ideas or stories from the craziness.

 

Where d’you see that? Which one do you choose? What is efficient, for you? Where does the “I wear a mask” intervene here? Do you hide your filter? Do you hide your machine?

What about this event, this process : “Abandonment of the Mask”? Another article. I know.

Thanks for reading!

 

 

Frozen

from Instagram: http://bit.ly/2EOvdm2

What one remembers/What one sees

When I visited my kindergarten school as an adult, I was surprised how everything seemed so little…

I found this little tool in a book about Modern Arts : Umberto Boccioni (1882-1916), an Italian painter, was part of a group of artists who founded the Futurism movement.

Movements in a line (and amounts of possibles)

“While the impressionists paint a picture to give one particular moment and subordinate the life of the picture to its resemblance to this moment, we synthesize every moment (time, place, form, color-tone) and thus paint the picture”.

I love this idea, “synthesize”, so I extracted the tool :

“The synthesis of what we remember and what we see”.

Inventing entities is interesting. Here, it’s made of, for example, “the successive forms of a moving object”, and the tool number one becomes SIMULTANEITY.

OK, these are on my table. What now?

I remember I read a Victor Hugo poem yesterday : Olympio’s Sadness. Revisiting memories… and the place, this poem is dancing weaving… what one remembers and what one see!

“How little time it takes for you, Nature, with your unwrinkled brow, to change everything, disregardingly, and, in your acts of transformation, to snap the mysterious threads that bind our hearts.”

Well, it’s just fun to apply this “synthesis of what we remember and what we see” tool elsewhere. Marketing? Photography? Teaching?

For sure it creates a tension: will we art it?

Thanks for reading!

Tristesse d’Olympio
Les champs n’étaient point noirs, les cieux n’étaient pas mornes.
Non, le jour rayonnait dans un azur sans bornes
Sur la terre étendu,
L’air était plein d’encens et les prés de verdures
Quand il revit ces lieux où par tant de blessures
Son coeur s’est répandu !

L’automne souriait ; les coteaux vers la plaine
Penchaient leurs bois charmants qui jaunissaient à peine ;
Le ciel était doré ;
Et les oiseaux, tournés vers celui que tout nomme,
Disant peut-être à Dieu quelque chose de l’homme,
Chantaient leur chant sacré !

Il voulut tout revoir, l’étang près de la source,
La masure où l’aumône avait vidé leur bourse,
Le vieux frêne plié,
Les retraites d’amour au fond des bois perdues,
L’arbre où dans les baisers leurs âmes confondues
Avaient tout oublié !

Il chercha le jardin, la maison isolée,
La grille d’où l’oeil plonge en une oblique allée,
Les vergers en talus.
Pâle, il marchait. – Au bruit de son pas grave et sombre,
Il voyait à chaque arbre, hélas ! se dresser l’ombre
Des jours qui ne sont plus !

Il entendait frémir dans la forêt qu’il aime
Ce doux vent qui, faisant tout vibrer en nous-même,
Y réveille l’amour,
Et, remuant le chêne ou balançant la rose,
Semble l’âme de tout qui va sur chaque chose
Se poser tour à tour !

Les feuilles qui gisaient dans le bois solitaire,
S’efforçant sous ses pas de s’élever de terre,
Couraient dans le jardin ;
Ainsi, parfois, quand l’âme est triste, nos pensées
S’envolent un moment sur leurs ailes blessées,
Puis retombent soudain.

Il contempla longtemps les formes magnifiques
Que la nature prend dans les champs pacifiques ;
Il rêva jusqu’au soir ;
Tout le jour il erra le long de la ravine,
Admirant tour à tour le ciel, face divine,
Le lac, divin miroir !

Hélas ! se rappelant ses douces aventures,
Regardant, sans entrer, par-dessus les clôtures,
Ainsi qu’un paria,
Il erra tout le jour, vers l’heure où la nuit tombe,
Il se sentit le coeur triste comme une tombe,
Alors il s’écria :

” O douleur ! j’ai voulu, moi dont l’âme est troublée,
Savoir si l’urne encor conservait la liqueur,
Et voir ce qu’avait fait cette heureuse vallée
De tout ce que j’avais laissé là de mon coeur !

Que peu de temps suffit pour changer toutes choses !
Nature au front serein, comme vous oubliez !
Et comme vous brisez dans vos métamorphoses
Les fils mystérieux où nos coeurs sont liés !

Nos chambres de feuillage en halliers sont changées !
L’arbre où fut notre chiffre est mort ou renversé ;
Nos roses dans l’enclos ont été ravagées
Par les petits enfants qui sautent le fossé.

Un mur clôt la fontaine où, par l’heure échauffée,
Folâtre, elle buvait en descendant des bois ;
Elle prenait de l’eau dans sa main, douce fée,
Et laissait retomber des perles de ses doigts !

On a pavé la route âpre et mal aplanie,
Où, dans le sable pur se dessinant si bien,
Et de sa petitesse étalant l’ironie,
Son pied charmant semblait rire à côté du mien !

La borne du chemin, qui vit des jours sans nombre,
Où jadis pour m’attendre elle aimait à s’asseoir,
S’est usée en heurtant, lorsque la route est sombre,
Les grands chars gémissants qui reviennent le soir.

La forêt ici manque et là s’est agrandie.
De tout ce qui fut nous presque rien n’est vivant ;
Et, comme un tas de cendre éteinte et refroidie,
L’amas des souvenirs se disperse à tout vent !

N’existons-nous donc plus ? Avons-nous eu notre heure ?
Rien ne la rendra-t-il à nos cris superflus ?
L’air joue avec la branche au moment où je pleure ;
Ma maison me regarde et ne me connaît plus.

D’autres vont maintenant passer où nous passâmes.
Nous y sommes venus, d’autres vont y venir ;
Et le songe qu’avaient ébauché nos deux âmes,
Ils le continueront sans pouvoir le finir !

Car personne ici-bas ne termine et n’achève ;
Les pires des humains sont comme les meilleurs ;
Nous nous réveillons tous au même endroit du rêve.
Tout commence en ce monde et tout finit ailleurs.

Oui, d’autres à leur tour viendront, couples sans tache,
Puiser dans cet asile heureux, calme, enchanté,
Tout ce que la nature à l’amour qui se cache
Mêle de rêverie et de solennité !

D’autres auront nos champs, nos sentiers, nos retraites ;
Ton bois, ma bien-aimée, est à des inconnus.
D’autres femmes viendront, baigneuses indiscrètes,
Troubler le flot sacré qu’ont touché tes pieds nus !

Quoi donc ! c’est vainement qu’ici nous nous aimâmes !
Rien ne nous restera de ces coteaux fleuris
Où nous fondions notre être en y mêlant nos flammes !
L’impassible nature a déjà tout repris.

Oh ! dites-moi, ravins, frais ruisseaux, treilles mûres,
Rameaux chargés de nids, grottes, forêts, buissons.
Est-ce que vous ferez pour d’autres vos murmures ?
Est-ce que vous direz à d’autres vos chansons ?

Nous vous comprenions tant ! doux, attentifs, austères,
Tous nos échos s’ouvraient si bien à votre voix !
Et nous prêtions si bien, sans troubler vos mystères,
L’oreille aux mots profonds que vous dites parfois !

Répondez, vallon pur, répondez, solitude,
O nature abritée en ce désert si beau,
Lorsque nous dormirons tous deux dans l’attitude
Que donne aux morts pensifs la forme du tombeau,

Est-ce que vous serez à ce point insensible
De nous savoir couchés, morts avec nos amours,
Et de continuer votre fête paisible,
Et de toujours sourire et de chanter toujours ?

Est-ce que, nous sentant errer dans vos retraites,
Fantômes reconnus par vos monts et vos bois,
Vous ne nous direz pas de ces choses secrètes
Qu’on dit en revoyant des amis d’autrefois ?

Est-ce que vous pourrez, sans tristesse et sans plainte,
Voir nos ombres flotter où marchèrent nos pas,
Et la voir m’entraîner, dans une morne étreinte,
Vers quelque source en pleurs qui sanglote tout bas ?

Et s’il est quelque part, dans l’ombre où rien ne veille,
Deux amants sous vos fleurs abritant leurs transports,
Ne leur irez-vous pas murmurer à l’oreille :
– Vous qui vivez, donnez une pensée aux morts !

Dieu nous prête un moment les prés et les fontaines,
Les grands bois frissonnants, les rocs profonds et sourds
Et les cieux azurés et les lacs et les plaines,
Pour y mettre nos coeurs, nos rêves, nos amours ;

Puis il nous les retire. Il souffle notre flamme ;
Il plonge dans la nuit l’antre où nous rayonnons ;
Et dit à la vallée, où s’imprima notre âme,
D’effacer notre trace et d’oublier nos noms.

Eh bien ! oubliez-nous, maison, jardin, ombrages !
Herbe, use notre seuil ! ronce, cache nos pas !
Chantez, oiseaux ! ruisseaux, coulez ! croissez, feuillages !
Ceux que vous oubliez ne vous oublieront pas.

Car vous êtes pour nous l’ombre de l’amour même !
Vous êtes l’oasis qu’on rencontre en chemin !
Vous êtes, ô vallon, la retraite suprême
Où nous avons pleuré nous tenant par la main !

Toutes les passions s’éloignent avec l’âge,
L’une emportant son masque et l’autre son couteau,
Comme un essaim chantant d’histrions en voyage
Dont le groupe décroît derrière le coteau.

Mais toi, rien ne t’efface, amour ! toi qui nous charmes,
Toi qui, torche ou flambeau, luis dans notre brouillard !
Tu nous tiens par la joie, et surtout par les larmes.
Jeune homme on te maudit, on t’adore vieillard.

Dans ces jours où la tête au poids des ans s’incline,
Où l’homme, sans projets, sans but, sans visions,
Sent qu’il n’est déjà plus qu’une tombe en ruine
Où gisent ses vertus et ses illusions ;

Quand notre âme en rêvant descend dans nos entrailles,
Comptant dans notre coeur, qu’enfin la glace atteint,
Comme on compte les morts sur un champ de batailles,
Chaque douleur tombée et chaque songe éteint,

Comme quelqu’un qui cherche en tenant une lampe,
Loin des objets réels, loin du monde rieur,
Elle arrive à pas lents par une obscure rampe
Jusqu’au fond désolé du gouffre intérieur ;

Et là, dans cette nuit qu’aucun rayon n’étoile,
L’âme, en un repli sombre où tout semble finir,
Sent quelque chose encor palpiter sous un voile…
C’est toi qui dors dans l’ombre, ô sacré souvenir ! “

Frenchness?

When you’re French, you always hear about one quality which could be the core of Frenchness (of Frenchiness, who knows…) : “La mesure”, measure, which is weaved with moderation, elegance, analysis and a certain casualness.

Of course it’s always compared to Italy (more sun), Belgium (freer/crazier) or Germany (order, discipline) or America (power, efficiency)

It’s just in the cultural air, I never heard about this :

1. In music, it’s Debussy : it never cuts or scream like Prokofiev, it’s not German (Wagner, Brückner). It’s Boulez, the orchestra director, who is the contrary of Bernstein : analysis and precision… creates beauty (certainly not “trance”).
2. In poetry it’s Baudelaire, like a tamed complex clever romantic – there’s a critic in the poet’s head, controlling and judging the… rushes.
3. I always heard about the French elegance about cars design. Ferrari is Italian and can not be French. Google “French elegance classic car design”.
4. And tell me about La Parisienne, the French women who have “this” irritating fashion gift to be casually elegant with anything, pffff.
5. Cuisine?

So what? La French touch? I asked around me and I got a few more words : subtlety, freedom, a way to refuse vulgarity (Ferrari not French). And a pinch of arrogance, I know…

Chanel, Stendhal, Ravel, I don’t know… I steal ideas in Valéry, and maybe find that what I’m looking for is maybe paradoxical, maybe a free, casual way to play with both sides of life.

It’s abstract, but it can be fiery (if we want, so there!). It’s drier, lighter (Satie). It’s… contained, but lyrical – but contained (Baudelaire). It’s elegant (but casually). Lines. Tone. Formulas and arrows. It wants quick ways, fast spirits. Maybe a little insolent. Seeking to be ageless, probably. Very personal, and disconcerting like a game. Sending out rules and dogmatism.

Of course I claim to be like that! 🙂

One figure here : Serge Gainsbourg. This composer/singer was casual (and never shaved) and so subtle and romantic. He was a great thief (of genres or classical music themes, from Brahms to Chopin). No dogma : easy listening, reggae, rock, he tried everything. Arrogant, for sure… and so subtle. Heavy, but harmonically very sensitive, etc.

You’ve never finished, with the French!

Traits are interesting. I exactly know what I like in Italy, in the USA, in the British culture (Beatles, Bowie). I smiled each time I am amazed by a musician from Northern Europa, Norway or Sweden. They have something (which is : extreme care of harmonic forms : Loney Dear, Abba, Royksopp).

What about yours, your… countriness?

Thanks for reading!

http://www.academie-francaise.fr/la-pensee-et-lart-francais

Movements in a line (and amounts of possibles)

Just a little pattern to play with :

Valéry writes about what came, in literature, after Romanticism – example : Baudelaire after Hugo.

That’s this : Movement B comes after Movement A. It comes :

1. To distort it
2. To bring corrections to it
3. To bring contradictions to it
4. In the end, to stand in, to take his place

 

…what we are, what we can, what we want

Amounts of possibles?

1. Unexplored domains
2. Paths to trace
3. Fields to exploit
4. Cities to build
5. Relations to establish
6. Processes to spread

 

Can B bring exact responses to B? Is B a retaliation to A? Is this answer a energy source in order to gather? What are the desires in play? To be more solid, more clever, more… pure? What is the adolescence of newness? Why is it an advantage? Where are the imprudences, vulnerable spots, the impurities? Wisdom, move, perfection : when (after) do they come? What and where is the loss, when B crystallizes? How do audiences move around these?

Where do we see that? Between personalities? In Art only (fashion, architecture, etc)?

 

Have a nice day!

 

 

There are two people on this picture…

I wanted to write “There are two persons on this picture…”, is it incorrect, too formal?

I talked yesterday with a smart grandma whose son-in-law “just bought a bid deal camera”. We laughed, because the guy always took photos of his daughter, asking her to stop moving or to strike poses.

“It’s not the proper way to photograph a kid”, she smiled…

Indeed! Kids are so alive and funny to watch : you just have to be there around and ready, watching.

This lady was pretty aware and skilled, she had a camera for years and took many pictures around the world. Hence we talked a bit about people who don’t really know what they do…

Hence, thus or therefore? I found https://painintheenglish.com/case/4452/ and now I don’t understand that much…

I took this picture of my Eliette in 2009, she was eight years old, and the way she held her stick was so…

I affirm there are two people on this picture. The one you can see, and the photographer, the observer, the watcher, the guy who is focused and ready, who lets go and watches out for…

For what?

For what “happens”, or for what he wishes to capture (and to show)? There a dial to watch here…

I always have in mind : Intention of effect kills effect, though I think I can count of other people’s indulgence.

The watcher or the future watcher (who can be the person on the photography, right?) will have to decide where to place the dial : to guess who is on the picture and what does she think, but also : what did the photographer wanted to show? What did he see? Why?

Thanks for reading!

How the light plays

Santa Santa

Christmas is a revealer, in a way. I asked many people about what they do in this special evening. Big family tables (shambling or not?) or lonely happiness, two lovers, or “just the kids and us”.

I always loved Christmas, though I’ve been through sad lonely ones. When a family breaks, this special day becomes pretty hard – two years ago I just got drunk, ate a cassoulet from a can and went to bed at 10 PM.

“Every other year, I can be with my son”, said a young divorced man I know. Therefore he was invited on a big table, with no desire to be there at all…

I always liked The Happy Lonely Christmas Liars

I did with my daughters what I lived in the past : the good meal in “just all us four” with candles and a great movie (Mary Poppins!), then you put your slippers under the Tree because Santa Claus is coming in the night while you sleep, treasures.

I remember their little sweet little faces in the morning, marveled by the colors and the boxes and the presents.

– How does Santa Claus come into our apartment, daddy?
– We don’t know, dear, we sleep. But you know : he’s magic, right?

Some people ask someone to disguise. Santa becomes like a delivery guy with a beard, seen from a bedroom window or worse, knocking at the door. Pffff…

Opening presents on Christmas Eve? Eeekkk!

My parents did it for me once, asking my best friend Eric’s father (I was probably 6 or 7) to Santa-disguise. I got my toys with my brother, then it was done, we went to bed, and the day after I asked to my father if Eric’s father will do this the next years, hahaha.

Thanks for reading!

One Sky

Artification

I sold a book to a lady who is writing a thesis about… Artification.

I asked her : “What is this? The way Art spreads into society?”

“Noooo”, she answered. It’s the way Art extends its own definition : some things were NOT considered Art before, and now it’s Art.

Of course, you know me, we immediately had a little chat about resistance to Artification. I told her about authors who talks about decadence and “c’était mieux avant” (it was better before).

But I write this article because it’s a pattern, right?

It’s not Art Spreading in society, it’s more things becoming Art in society.

It really makes me think…

It’s a difference. A mutation more than a spread?

It’s a problem of definition (“What is Art and what is not”), it’s a problem of… field.

The field is not extending becoming larger (like Art coming to stations or malls), the field extends by mutation.

OK. Where else do we find this? Can you help me?

Thanks for reading!

Standing Up Revelations : Chronicle 54

Words I learned today : teal, pier, unfurling, to cling…

OooO

Following the article I wrote yesterday about creativity, I think that the most effective tip, the simplest one, is to walk. It just works : as soon as you’re outside walking because you have to buy a French baguette and two croissants for the breakfast with your lover, you have ideas. Ideas for life, obviously (solutions), but also ideas to write about if you’re a person of words.

I’m slightly disturbed in this process sometimes because I am a little photographer, therefore here am I with my eye, seeing lights and frames, watching trees, doors and gutters.

The creativity book told that walking for ideas works also inside, it’s the movement that works, even around a desk. I was not so sure then I remembered things, like this film editor who always worked standing up in front of his machines. He said that to create (and a film editor creates scenes) you have to “feel”, to be ground-linked, a state you do not have when you’re sitting on a chair.

I heard about many writers or artists (Flaubert for sure, Stravinsky maybe) who wrote/composed standing up in front of a lectern…

And maybe bloggers, I suppose, know this : when your article is done, you post it then you stand up to sip orange juice or to shower or to check your postbox, and bim you’re flooded by new paragraphs, extensions, corrections and new words or pitched four words sentences : you have to run back on your chair with this rush…

OooO

An intern told me about some funny little UK series like “Black Books” and “The IT Crowd”. So I gave it a try (in English with English sub). I’m not used to this humor which is : casual, dares everything, childish and very smart at the same time – messy haired, hilarious, stupid, inventive, poetic and clownesque tout à la fois.

Apart from Friends, what are you’re best funny (unknown) TV series?

OooO

With Christmas coming I miss time but I’ll begin next week : to find 4 or 5 “Best Albums of 2018” lists on the web, study them, YouTube them and try to find nuggets and marvels…

OooO

I’m working a lot on GuruShots, a perpetual multi-challenges full of photographers. It’s really interesting to try to please this crowd while staying myself (and not bending my work towards the community hidden standards (which are ugly to me)). In a way there’s a part of manipulation, excitement (a single picture can get hundreds of likes within minutes), challenge (you have to build some pictures, like this tortoise one) and thinking (you have to prepare, schedule and decide about the little tools they provide you), all this to climb in the hierarchy.

When I write and article about a great photographer, I am flabbergasted : these masters would never win anything in GuruShots : too inventive, too dark, too strange, too empty. They are out of the box…

OooO

“One doest not fit” within his parents or the milieu they grow in (think : “Matilda”), it’s really annoying but also gives a rush to witness… I wonder how many writers came from that, writing to flee…

OooO

So it’s the old story of directors who give everything in their life then become to make bad films (Hitchcock, De Palma, Argento), but it’s not true for everyone (Lean, Kurosawa, Spielberg). Del Toro, I dislike everything, thus I watched The Shape of Water skeptically, and I’ve been amazed by everything : a perfect casting, great music and decors, dialogs, scenario. The traps were many (like to push too far the Jeunet/Amelie mood), and it’s been perfectly done.

Have a nice day! Thanks for reading!

Jean-Pascal

A few photos I took, just like that…

Creativity for Bloggers & others

I took this picture in a French book and I’ll list the creativity tips for you. Apply them on blogging, then on sex, then on photography, OK?

1. Call evidences into questions : have a “why?” conversation and use it on everything.
2. Feed from everything : be curious, and be curious out of your field.
3. Identify your “box” and get out of it : what is your routine?
4. Go see elsewhere : what will you explore ?
5. Steal ideas : and let others steal yours, observation & appropriation.
6. Test your ideas (with whom?) : listen and improve.
7. Jump into the pool, then learn how to swim : dare, have fun, experiment.
8. Learn how to fail : get smarter.
9. Pick yourself up… endlessly; create by mistakes.
10. Highlight the process, more than the goal.
11. Flexible and agile : be fast and elegant and gathering…
12. Stay open, knock down walls : learn, listen to the propositions of life. Who are those who don’t think like you?
13. Walk : inside or outside, even around your desk! Walk and see ideas blossom.
14. Write, always write, even imperfectly, even if you feel you have nothing to say. Everyday.
15. Disconnect and tame boredom.
16. Do much, with little : even if little is “money” or “time”, or “ideas”.
17. Work relentlessly.
18. Love mess, love order too.
19. Don’t judge (too early) : let your work grow, then you’ll see.
20. Let go, and trust : de-control-freak yourself?
21. Surround with the good persons.
22. Keep your brain in movement : talk with younger people!
23. Pace yourself. Nap. Don’t be jealous, it’s a loss of time.
24. It’s never too late

Extend in : can I go too far? Then what?

Try this : prove they’re all wrong.

Then try this : apply to teaching, marketing, military.

What if you don’t have to be creative?

I’d add : listen to propositions, explore your other side, invent your golem

Houses & Nights : Todd Hido, American photographer

Objective Ns of little happy baby goats

One of the most stupid and dangerous diseases of companies is evaluation.

There are books, entire books about this curse.

Today, everything about your work is measured with percentages and numbers…

And people in the field know that this doesn’t show anything.

I wrote an article about the N/N-1 stupidity : N/N-1 Business Bullshittery

So today if you accept that game, you work to “make numbers”, not to work well.

For example : for a moment French police officers where “evaluated” according to the number of identity checks they made in a day, which led to absurdities, and they complained that you shouldn’t check identities to “reach your objective”, but when you perceive you should do it.

So a “good” policeman was the one who goes over his objective, and the “bad” policeman was the one who just work normally.

When you’re under a hierarchy, you have to understand it’s a play, a game. You can run and jump like a little happy baby goat, of course, to “reach your objectives”, or you can perceive what’s under, and do your job the best you can (it’s the deal).

That means that you don’t expect to be valued correctly. You’ll be valued negatively, most of the time, because you don’t reach your numbers (which will climb next time if you do it, as you can expect). You thus have to be valued… by yourself.

Work well, and smile in your belly.

Thanks for reading!

Digits Masters Detrimentors

 

Le pochon et la chocolatine (OK French is a mess)

Don’t learn French, it’s… complicated. And there are so many letters we don’t pronounce, you’ll never get it!

For example, for “water”, we write “eau”, which are three vowels, right? But we pronounce it “o”. That’s right.

OK.

This little cake is like a croissant with another shape, with one or two chocolate bars in it, it’s delicious (try it with coffee) and very common. We call it “un pain au chocolat” (a bread with chocolate, which does NOT make sense).

But in the North of France (where I live), you HAVE to say “un PETIT pain au chocolat”, petit meaning “small” (and this is useless and stupid, I know).

We make fun of these silly French in the South West, using “une chocolatine”, hahaha. Just imagine that, they are wrong, that’s all. Right?

Some people in Belgium say “une couque”, and others in the east “un croissant au chocolat”. We roll eyes, that’s all.

OK.

For the sachet, we say sachet in the North. Some French say “un sac” (a bag), some others “une poche” (a pocket – which we find ridiculous) and others “un pochon” (that’s ridiculous, silly, come on, shut up).

Voilà. Visit us, it’s funny! And the food’s good.

Thanks for reading!