Ambiguation

I might comment on this, once... But I might not... What do you guys think ?

NightLife

On Friday the 11th, I’m not going to work. Not much to do, we have prepared the exam questions with the very respectable Yannick, who is a fine fellow, and a great colleague, and we don’t know precisely if there is enough room for our little lambs to prepare their exams, so I decide I won’t show on Friday. So Thursday night, after lending a d12 and a d20 to Yannick so he can randomize the questions, I have nothing to do at all, and won’t until Friday night when we’re going to the amazing Mr. Bouddha’s new place to criticize everything, as we usually do (not really). So I get home and start an immensely cathartic Six Feet Under marathon, which just ended a few minutes ago, with me just bawling my eyes out, as it always does.

Anyway, back to Thursday… I am talking with the amazing Mr. Bouddha on MSN, and suddenly, out of nowhere, comes this seed of idea, this little stub of plan, which slithers into my brain and begins to make sense. In the interest of Science, and the Betterment of Mankind, I decide to go to a club on my own, and observe (and incidentally have a few drinks, maybe with a kindred spirit that I’ve serendipitously met there, or by myself if I have to). So when my fine fellow heads for bed, I put on my best shirt, some fiber gel in my hair, a little Jean-Paul Gaultier, and head out towards night life.

Now I’ve always been ambivalent about going clubbing. I sometimes like the people, I sometimes like the fact that they’re everywhere around me, I sometimes like to dance, but on the other hand I rarely like the music, I seldom like the dynamic of the people there, and I never, ever feel like I belong in the place. Anyway my mind was set, I had almost decided on the place, and I was all dressed up with someplace to go. So my steps first brought me to the MAD, which is a big place with sometimes good music, but whatever was filtering out didn’t appeal to me, so I went to the last place I had been, not so long ago, which is called the Loft.

The Loft is a small place, one dancefloor, a bar that closes at around 1, but it’s the place where a particular old friend used to go every week when we were younger, and as I already told you guys I had been there on December 6, after a particularly gruesome Faculty Council Meeting (I might start talking about Faculty politics sometime in the future, but it’s not something I’m very proud to be a part of), to a party thrown by the student’s association, whose door is right across mine in the hallway at work. They’re a great bunch. I digress, I digress, I know. Skip paragraphs if you want.

So, on with the show : 00:30, the stairs leading to the Loft. I am in line. I warn two persons of my master plan : the best sociologist I know and the person I’ve been clubbing with the most, you may know them as Cécé and Jojo, and then I wait for my turn. Apparently there aren’t many people. I feel the need for another digression. As some of you know, and as I’ve implied at the very beginning of this little rambling, the university students in our fair little city are preparing exams, and the next day was to be the first exam day for them, so I don’t expect to meet a lot of previously known faces (which, without further foreshadowing, I won’t). Anyhow, I am waiting in line, behind a few persons, when I hear this wet, splashing sound. A few steps below, someone is hurling his guts, splashing all those under him. The bouncer kick him out before he can even enter, so he and his friends leave. I actually hear one of them, after he’s done complaining about the state of his stained pants, tell his buddies that anyway it looks like a crappy club, and probably sucks. Needless to say, none of them apologize for the shoes of the girls which have been drenched before they’re gone.

Inside, after a stop at the bar, I started exploring.

Being the odd man in, as it were, is a bizarre experience : the alienation, at least for the person I am, is palpable. Eighty percent of the people there only acknowledge your existence when they’re pushing you out of their way. I am half dancing, leaning against a speaker, feeling the bass, and watching everywhere with half a smile. The music is mediocre at best, a sort of blend of bad R&B and so-so hip-hop, sluggish, saturated, and quite frankly a bit depressing. But I don’t lose hope of finding someone to talk to. After all, am-I not like these people (although I’m noticing more and more that they kind of look a lot younger than me…) ? I see two girls a little closer to the platform, looking lost. I wonder what their story is. Maybe they got stood up ? Maybe they came here for the same reason as me ? Sometime later I look around and they’ve been swallowed somewhere by the crowd. I hope they found what they were looking for, I wish them a good time. Maybe I resent myself a little not to have bought them a drink, but I’m not quite sure it’s why I’m here, and besides, it’s too late for that. There is another group of girls at the bar, talking and downing shots of whatever. They’re kind of in the way, and get their feet stepped on a lot. One of them rolls her eyes in a very funny way as an obviously drunk hunk tramples her pumps. Her exasperation reminds me of my cousin Sophie, who’s kind of a badass and doesn’t take shit from anyone. My smile returns in force. I’ve pretty much decided I’m not going to connect tonight with anyone, my being here is just an experiment, or a way to rationalize the fact that I’m self-fulfillingly prophesying that I’m not going to meet anyone interesting, but I start taking an interest. I’ve arrived in this place to look, to spy, to investigate, and I’m having fun just looking. As I’m thinking this, I hear a voice in my ear. “Hey ! Are you here alone ?” I turn around and see a girl with black hair, smiling at me. Busted ! So I am not the invisible, out-of-it beholder that I’ve convinced myself to have become. I suddenly become incarnate in the here and now… I could refuse to acknowledge her words, but… it would be rude, and I also start thinking I don’t have to be who I decided I was going to be tonight. So I start talking. Her name is Evelyne, she’s in High School, studying humanities to be a social worker. She asks me about sociology, I talk of Bourdieu, she never heard of him. I buy a round of vodka-strawberry shots, which is pretty gruesome, kind of like stomach medicine. She says she’s studying philosophy and sociology with the same teacher, and she knows Plato, and Marx. My feeling of conversational quicksand evaporates for a minute. Karl Marx, I say, is pretty much like God, and even looks like Him. She stops me right there : she doesn’t agree because, she says, she is a deeply religious person. She insists on the fact a few times. My famous irony, my double-entendres have led me in an inextricable impasse. I say I was just joking, but the discomfort is back in force. I laugh it off, internally, and start talking about something else, probably the weather. Then a kid approaches, one of her classmates, and starts to talk to her. She tells me she’s not going to blow me off just because I’ve now bought her a drink. As a matter of fact, she’s going to repeat the same sentence every fifteen minutes until the moment I leave.

In the meantime, I’ve talked to a very nice fellow from Zimbabwe whose locker I’ve paid for, entering, because he didn’t have coins. He seems pretty cool. We chew the fat for awhile, but my mission awaits, and I don’t want to miss my theological argument with Evelyne. I’ve danced a little. I’ve watched more people, without really noticing much, except that I’m surrounded by High School students. There is no bitterness involved : I just realize that these days are over. I am not them. I am not of them, and it’s pretty ok. My dissertation is being evaluated. I’m awaiting the results. I’ve done things I’m proud of, I have students who dig having me teach them stuff, my boss is rather pleased with me, in his own detached and weird kind of way. Besides, the shots are starting to kick in, and I’m getting pretty tired. So I go home, as I entered, alone and smiling. I didn’t waste my time. I just spent it in a very strange way, doing something I had never done before. I didn’t learn as much as I thought about the night scene, but I learned a little about myself. And maybe next time I’ll try to go to a student party when there’s hope of meeting a few of my students. All in all, it was a fun experiment. Then I fall, and sleep like a log.

The next day, when I wake up, there is an e-mail waiting for me. My dissertation director is pleased with it, and the guy he contacted to expertise it wants me to go on an internship in Chambery with his team. That’s right : I’ve finished my DEA, and have a shot at doing real research in the near future. The sun is already high in the sky. I decide to go out to get some food.

On writing

Today, I discovered that Maud, who's a good friend of Reb, has a blog, where she has posted two examples of her writing. It is always hard to judge these blog thingies, for they are both forums and diaries, showcases and windows to the soul. The latest text is pretty good, if you're into that sort of thing, the style is acceptable, sometimes brilliant, sometimes easyish... You kinda wish she'd grow up as a writer, because there's definitely something there, although sometimes deeply hidden.
Which brings me to my point : It has been pointed to me, recently, regarding something I'm working on lately but haven't shown to anyone save a select few, for reasons which I'm not even sure I can explain, it has, as I was saying before digressing, been pointed to me that my writing has improved.
I am not saying this to brag, I hadn't even noticed, I'm still not completely convinced it's true. But let us, for the sake of argument, consider this for a second : how have I improved ? In the last few years, I have been writing on and off pretty much all the time, for two very different purposes : the obvious first is the academic writing, which is basically the core of my job, producing texts of various lengths to explain what I think or have been thinking about. The second is what you read here on this blog, and have read in the green file I had in high school, or whatever. The interesting point is this : Be it in the academic field, or here in my various musings and stories, the way for me, and, I believe, for anyone who writes, to improve is to have written. If my latest work is indeed better than my previous musings, it is not because I have toiled and suffered more over it, if my thesis project is now found good by my boss, it is not because I've given it a lot more thought. In both cases, I achieved more, I hit closer to my goal (be this goal Science or Art), simply by having worked on something quite different. This is comforting on several levels :
First, it gives me hope that one day, despite my inherent laziness and insecurities, I might finish something of a reasonable length, and, maybe, consider publishing.
Second, it makes me feel better about not finishing some of the things I've abandoned for the time being, although with the hope I will finish it someday, don't lose hope.
Third, it may mean that someday I will be able, in my academic writing, to write things once and for all in the first go, which will save time.

All in all, I'm pretty glad about this great discovery. Don't get me wrong, I'm still plenty doubtful about my true potential as a writing person, but it has given me a clearer perspective on my career and on the things I enjoy doing. I hope I haven't bored you guys too much, and wish you all the best. And I hope this little post will have reassured those who maybe thought I'd not been working on more stories.

When worlds collide

Remember. In 1905, Max Weber wrote one of the seminal works in sociology. Now, here, you can finally discover (thanks to the Surrealist) what would happen if Weber turned his brilliant work into a Hollywood Blockbuster :

• I always say a kiss on the hand might feel very good, but a protestant ethic lasts forever.

• I have a head for business and a protestant ethic for sin.

• Well, here's another nice protestant ethic you've gotten me into!

• I see dead protestant ethic.

• Everybody! Everybody wants a piece of protestant ethic!

• Perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its protestant ethic.

• I love the smell of protestant ethic in the morning.

• First rule of Protestant Ethic Club is - you do not talk about Protestant Ethic Club.

• Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my protestant ethic. Prepare to die!

• My mama always said life was like a box of protestant ethic.

• When I invite a woman to dinner I expect her to look at my protestant ethic. That's the price she has to pay.

• That protestant ethic is the pure, physical manifestation of Sadako's hatred.

• You know the difference between you and me? I make protestant ethic look good.

• Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to protestant ethic.

So remember : "Every time someone says 'I do not believe in protestant ethic', somewhere there's a capitalist that falls down dead."

Japanese update

Alright, I'm not gonna write IN Japanese, but I'm using this as a kind of internet postcard kinda thing. Here we are in Tokyo, yours truly, obviously, but also my big Bro', currently sleeping in front of a computer, Val, Bouddha, and Jo, hanging about, waiting for the subway lines to come alive once again, and our curfew to be over (it is now 6:53 AM, here in Tokyo, and our Hotel closes at 1...). We went clubbing and it was good. Japanese guys are funny when drunk. We actually spoke to one or two of them. It's not as easy as it sounds. I'm simply exhausted and my feet hurt, but the D&B was fine, the club was alright, and I got my best girl online as I'm writing this. LIfe could suck more... Anyhoo, maybe we're gonna be able to get back to our quarters... which would be good, cuz I'm gonna fall right here and now. So to everyone who checks this semi-regularly : Booh-ya ! Take care, friends and lovers, and see you in Europe !

Kampai !

Used to it...

We changed. We didn’t mean to. We didn’t want to. But we did. It got complicated, but I guess all things do when they change. But hey, you get used to it. You get used to anything if you’re hungry. It wasn’t that hard, after awhile. Just going to the store, filling your cart. all wrapped in plastic, clean, hygienic. In your fridge, it gleams under the electric light. That kind of pinkish grey. That mother-of-pearl patina. Take it out, fry it, dispose of the package. Then go to bed, fuck, sleep. Maybe toss and turn for awhile, at least I used to at first. But hey, you get used to it. Even the ones working the slaughterhouses got used to it. They get up in the morning, they kiss their wives and kids, and that’s where they go. And when they come back nothing’s changed.

When it all started we would grab them off the street. That wasn’t very smart. I mean, no one was ready, no one understood. It was all so disorganized. We were hungry, maybe scared sometimes. Some of us did OK. One of my friends from work, he used to tell me he went to Thailand. They didn’t care what you did with the product over there, as long as you paid them. Still, you know… It just wasn’t fair for the rest of us who couldn’t afford trips to Asia or Eastern Europe. I mean the poor got a right to eat, too. So we tried different solutions.

In Texas, they thought the Klansmen were acting out all of a sudden. Getting riled up or something. Alright, these guys already are a bit on the crazy side, but they were never that brave. Isolated families, they just disappeared. First time they caught someone though, it was a schoolteacher from Dallas, and he never wore a sheet in his life. Hey, what was he gonna do ? The Klan fellas, they never get caught. He probably thought they’d take the fall. So the DPD locked him up. Eventually, some guys calling themselves the Bloody Dragons of the KKK started writing to him, and actually helped him escape jail. After that, they and him got holed up in some hideout in the country. That was the last anyone heard of the guy, and of the Bloody Dragons. Can’t say I missed them. Other incidents happened.

The hunger made some of us pick the poor, the hunger made a few of us pick the rich. Takes one to catch one, they say… So you caught one of yours, whatever you were. You could go for the people closest to you, they never saw it coming : husband, wife, parents, kids, anything went back then. But you know, there are only so many spouses, parents, kids one can have. And besides, some didn’t like the idea when it was someone they knew : When they’re all gone, it gets lonely. But you get used to lonely too, I guess.

After awhile, we outnumbered them. Whatever it was that changed us, it worked better and better. And we realized we would have to aim for the long run. We couldn’t afford to lose them all. So we put them in camps. We pampered them, fed them, let them breed and get fat. As we watched them in their camps, we started to realize they weren’t that smart. In fact, they were kind of pathetic, actually. They were weak, and not very bright. They were no better than children, really. Pups. Once, they tried to escape, to revolt. So we took some of their privileges away. They weren’t allowed books anymore, or radio, or television. That was pretty dumb of them, revolting like that. And besides, thy had it better than some of us on the outside, having to work for a living. All they had to do was get fat. Some of them just stopped eating sometimes, so we force-fed them with tubes and proteins. They all got fat in the end.

These days, we don’t much think about them. We remember we have the Andersons coming to dinner that night so we go to the store. We buy the blister of premium female cerebellums, but the beasts they come from are nowhere in sight. We unwrap it, we sauté it, we eat it. And we go to bed. maybe we toss and turn for a moment, but not much anymore.

Vin Diesel : A Gamer

As some of you may know, I like Vin Diesel. I don't like hime because he was "XXX" or that guy that drives that penis...errr...car in The Fast and The Furious. No, I like Vin Diesel because he is a proud gamer. He came out in Conan O'Brien's show, too, which was respectable. Lately I found a motivational poster for RPG players (at this address). Enjoy !

Quickie english update

Some weird pictures have popped up somewhere on this great internet playground. I just want to set the record straight (well, set the record bi, at least) : I look much, much cooler as a super hero, and anyone who knew the great VautourMan will testify in my favor. This has been a very interesting week so far, and as you may have noticed from the complete absence of posts I was booked and over booked, and actually spent the best of these past couple days in the basement of a weirdly named bulding (Uni-Pignon). Although there were a few weird windows in the ceiling, absolutely no girl wearing a skirt has walked over them, hence making the days dull, dull, dull... Actually it wasn't really really bad, just kind of rushin' and rushin' and rushin, Lausanne-Geneva, Geneva-Lausanne, have expressos every two hours or fall asleep on the table. I am actually not complaining, I learn many splendiferous things about many fantabulous subjects (although I will not discuss them here, it is late and I want to be thinking about something besides social psychology once a day at least). Wendy's blog has some updates about what I did today for lunch, if you have nothing better to do than check my cameos in other people's lives.

On another completely different subject, remember Vermine ? It's linked somewhere on this very site, and some of you may have had a look at it. Well, as a GM, I was a bit frightened by the universe (I would like, with this particular game, to create a playground for my players that they are entirely free to explore and act in with a lot of freedom, which means that I have to become a better GM), which led me to procrastinate quite a bit before even character creation. As of last Wednesday, my proud and talented players have built their group and their characters, and our first actual game is set to next Thursday. It's all starting to click into place now that I have a clearer idea about what my friendies seem to want from it, and it may shape up to be a very good experience.

Finally, for those of you who are eager to know more about the mysteries of Arkham, I promise I will try to continue the story next week, when things turn less hectic. Sorry about the delay, gang ! It is now time for me to bid you all goodnight.