Bonne fête nationale, mes amis!

Monsieur Gainsbourg chante sa version de "La Marseillaise," l'hymne national de la France.

Sort of.

Mon nouveau copain

Am I bleu? Non, not with Grégory Fitoussi by my side.

My new boyfriend: Incredibly talented and gorgeous actor Grégory Fitoussi from the French policier, Engrenages (English title: Spiral)--sort of a Law & Order: Paris. S'il vous plait.

This pic I nabbed from my TV doesn't begin to do him zhoos-tees!

Currently, we're seeing each other nightly on Netflix streaming. And my fantasy Grégoire never disappoints.

I practice cognitive disconance

I can't remember if I've posted this before, "French Cancan (Monsieur Sainte-Nitouche)" by Malian-French-American performer, Inna Modja.

A very catchy tune, classic '60s-'70s Gamble and Huff, one that I woke up with in my head this morning.

And a funny, quirky video, which I seem to appreciate more this morning than I have in previous viewings. Could it have something to do with the fact that I'm halfway through the bizarrely fun Holy Motors? In French no less . . . (with French subtitles; not fully there yet, not even really that close, as you'll no doubt notice from my occasional French essay posted here.)

I don't think there's any great insights to be gained from this song, the movie I'm watching, or the language I'm studying. Except maybe this: Go through your day with a clever, sexy song in your head, which will serve you well as the soundtrack to the bizarre movie that plays around you. Do all this in a half-understood language, pretending that you're experiencing life in a locale more exotic than the one you're currently inhabiting.

Trust me, it makes this reality we endure much easier to tolerate.

Temperatures rising

Is this any way to deliver the weather? In France, peut-être, mes amis, peut-être . . .

My favorite little Lolita of the Longitudes and Latitudes is at it again - TV5Monde presenter, Karine Arsene, giving the weather in a sparkly, black cocktail dress, of which this photo gives poor reflection.

No matter where you are on the planet, when Karine's temp-telling and cloud-busting, it's always 45 C in the shade with a 100% chance of va-va-va-voom.

Photographer: Roger Higgins, 1959. From the Library of Congress
Prints and Photographs Division. New York World-Telegram and
the Sun Newspaper Photograph Collection. Digital ID cph.3c19337.

* * *

Later that same day . . .

I was watching some cultural programming on TV5Monde this evening (really good documentaries and movies in the evening, often subtitled in English) and patting myself on le dos for being able to understand more French than I would have imagined possible a few years ago.

When all of a sudden I hear them talking about American author Truman Capote. Except that they didn't pronounce it Ca-po-te, three syllables, like we do in American English. No, instead, they kept referring to him as Truman Ca-pote, two syllables. Like "fruit compote."

Which of course he was . . .

Un lieu dans la campagne

Moi à la Chute Pedernales, ca. 1997

Soyez gentil, y'all. This is only my second attempt ever to write an essay en français. This one's about Fredericksburg, Texas, a favorite place of mine.

* * *

Un lieu dans la campagne que j’aime est la petite ville de Fredericksburg, dans l’état de Texas. Pendant j’habitais au Texas, je visitais souvent cette belle ville et cette région historique.

La ville n’est pas ancienne à coté des villes et des lieus de l’Europe : Des immigrés de l’Allemagne ont établis la ville pendant le moyen de la XIX siècle, bien que la région s’ait eu installée déjà par des gens indiens. 

Malheureusement, aujourd’hui il n’existe presque personne de ces gens originaux, à part des noms de lieu (que sont rares) et des reliques que on peut trouver parfois dans la campagne.  Cependant, il existe encore beaucoup de caractéristiques allemandes dans la ville. Par exemple, il y a des restaurants allemands qui servent la nourriture traditionnelle du pays. Il y a beaucoup de noms de lieu qu’on écrit en l’allemand (par exemple, « Hauptstrasse » et le « Vereins Kirche »). Il y a encore des coutumes allemandes qui sont pratiquées à Fredericksburg, inclus des fêtes, la fabrication de la bière, et de l’architecture de la ville.

Mais, cependant, Fredericksburg est une ville texane, avec une culture « cowboy » et « western. » Les rues de la ville sont très larges – parfait pour tourner une charrette et des chevaux. L’architecture inclut des motifs traditionnels de l’ouest des États Unis, par exemple, la roue de la charrette, le fer à cheval, les clôtures à bois, et les murs à calcaire. C’est la campagne du cheval, du cowboy, du ranch, et du élevage de bétail. Il y a une tradition riche de la musique « country » aussi : La région est très célèbre pour la proche village de Luckenbach et sa mode de musique, « outlaw country. » Des musiciens célèbres ont habitées dans la région, inclus Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Jessie Coulter, et plus.

Mais il y a plus de la musique et de la nourriture à Fredericksburg; il y a aussi beaucoup de belle campagne. Fredericksburg est située dans la région appelée le « Texas Hill Country. » Par conséquence, il y a beaucoup de collines et de vues panoramiques. Il y a beaucoup d'arbres, comme le chêne, le pecan, et le peuplier qui fournissent beaucoup d’ombre quand il fait chaud et le soleil brille. Malgré le chaud, il ne fait pas trop humide. Il y a beaucoup de parcs et il n’y a trop de voiture sur les chemins. La région est presque parfaite à faire de la randonnée et à faire du velo.

Mais faites attention! Voici des animaux dangereux! J’ai vu des serpents proche des rivières et j’ai vu des tarantules et des scorpions sur la terre. Il y a des coyotes dans les champs. J’ai vu une fois un puma au parc « Enchanted Rock », mais, par bonheur, il ne m’a pas vu. Même le tatou timide et mignon est dangereux – il porte les bactéries que font la lèpre. 

Don't call me . . .

A bigot? Or a beggar? I'm not sure. All I know is that I've spent years looking for this song and not knowing whether it was "bigot" or "beggar" might have been a necessary detail in my search.

The song is called "Mauvais sang" ("Bad blood"), and it's by Anouk (aka Anouk Khelifa-Pascal).

This is one of those mysterious tunes I used to hear on RFI Musique, the international, commercial-free, internet music station of Radio France International. RFI Musique has gotten better over the years with posting its playlists timely and accurately, so when I recently reheard this on the station, I was able to track it down fairly quickly.

Well . . . I was able to track down the name of the song and the artist (although there are a number of "Anouks" out there, including a better-known Dutch performer) but not the song itself. Not available on iTunes, not available on Amazon US (except as a very expensive import CD), not available as an "advanced download" from numerous sources I've . . . heard others talk about.

Note: I'm really opposed to downloading "free" music on the internet because it hurts the artists--the singers, songwriters, performers, musicians, and producers, among others. Sometimes it's a matter of desperate times, desperate measures: If I've exhausted all known possibilities, I *might* look elsewhere and I *might* partake--but only as a stopgap until I can purchase the item legally. Like most performers, I don't have a lot of love lost for the music "industry" (which in one word says everything you need to know about the mindset behind the current condition of music-making). However, I do have a lot of love for performers, high and low, good and bad, successful and struggling. I try not to do them in by making casual, frequent, and cheap raids of online mp3 sites. I encourage you to adopt a similar approach.

Lecturing aside, I love the vibe and groove of this song and am glad to now finally connect the song with a title and performer.

I don't know much about Anouk. This song was recorded in 1997 for an album called Automatik Kalamity. She has performed with Manu Chao, I believe. And that's all I got.

But I'm intrigued enough to try to discover more by her.

Legally even.

Bilingual fail

"Chignon" and "chingón" are not the same thing.

Bon jour!

This is how I get ready for work every morning.

Commence countdown to Paris . . .

* * *
A couple of possible translations of the lyrics. Not for the easily offended!

Here's Take 1. And now here's Take 2.

Apparently, the Cuizinier referred to in the lyrics is a French rapper not admired for being a nice guy.

Nevertheless, it's got a good beat and is easy to dance to. The only criteria you need to enjoy.

Cherchez le garbage can

Mesdames et messieurs, je vous présente "Cherchez le garçon" by Taxi Girl.

Save your prayers for this one.

Man, this one's so 1981, it makes my vinyl copy of Gary Numan's "Cars" ache.

My dear French people: This was incredibly cool in 1981, I'll grant you that, but I opine that you do better when you take English and American trends and make them your own. (See Mikado below.)

However you say "just sayin'" in French, that's what I'm saying.

Still, no doubt, I will be humming this lil' ditty the rest of the day.

Nous devons adorer les Français. Maintenant!

We should bow down and worship the French.

Any nation or cultural group that could create the above--"Naufrage en hiver" ("Shipwrecked in Winter"?) by early '80s French pop duo, Mikado--deserves the highest honors our universe can bestow. Something more than a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, a few phrases adapted into/stolen by English, and repeated thumbs-ups to Nicolas Sarkozy for having a hot wife.

More, definitely more.

In my mind, you could not ask for a more perfect blending of electro-pop, vocals that touch upon both ennui and seduction, and Pierre et Gilles style. And if you do want more, well shame on you.

There's no problem in America that can't be solved by putting this song and video on heavy rotation throughout the land. (At least problems of an aesthetic nature.) I see a million billion rednecks' heads exploding every time this tune is played on CMT.

Get 'er done. Now!

Un blast from le past

Last night's funny moment from French class did not involve my bellowing a very American "crap!" when I discovered I suck at math in French as well as I do in English. Nor did it involve my tortured pronunciation of "fruits frais"--I sound at best like a three-year-old asking for "fwee fway"--for which I am somewhat famous in certain circles in Montréal.

Non, last night's humo(u)r was supplied by a fellow student who shared a "French moment" with the class when she began describing the plot of the movie Bon Cop, Bad Cop, a 2006 Québec-The Rest of Canada co-production and box office tour-de-(uh) farce in that big country located somewhere north of us.

At least I thought it was funny. I had to laugh because I think I am one of a handful of Americans, let alone French students in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, that could contribute to the plot points and recall some of the jokes from the movie, which is something like the third highest grossing film of all time in O, Canada.

C'est un petit monde, or something like that, to say the least.

I first became acquainted with the movie during a job interview in Kitchener-Waterloo around the weekend of release in summer 2006. The movie was pretty much everywhere that weekend. Even one of the weekly alterna-papers at the time of release had redubbed its editors and writers as either bon cop or bad cop in the masthead. Lorne McGuinty, Bon Cop. Genevieve Simcoe, Bad Cop. You get the idea.

Despite because a huge hit in Canada, the movie never crossed south, suffering perhaps from a cultural triple whammy of Canada-made, half or more of the dialog in French, and a plot involving a serial murder among the "hockey community." I think we can all agree that pretty much spells box office death in these parts.

Eventually I found it on Netflix, and I liked it better than I thought I would. A crowd-pleaser to be sure with a fair amount of blood, gore, and some very broad humor. A couple of examples--the very graphic "body of work" you'll see in the trailer (was that really necessary?) plus this ongoing joke--hated (at least in Canada) National Hockey League (NHL) commissioner, Gary Bettman, is parodied and pilloried as a very short-statured, malevolent whiner who goes by the name of Harry Buttman.

Huh huh. Harry Buttman. Get it?

So the movie's no Incendies, nor a Jésus de Montréal, nor even a C.R.A.Z.Y. Still, it's a funny, silly, popular, if somewhat standard-issue cop/buddy flick that's actually more entertaining and less cringe-inducing than the trailer would lead you to believe.

As added incentive to watch, Patrick Huard, the Québécois lead, spends a lot of screen-time shirtless and possibly even trouserless, at least if memory serves.

Pray tell me how can this be wrong?

Except that Msr. Huard also was responsible for the scenario upon which the movie was based. So being that he probably crafted the scenes in which he appears less than clothed, he is automatically disqualified as boyfriend material on account of a raging case of ego.

Nevertheless, one can observe and learn from the poor moral choices of others.

Lolita go home shopping

Wow. And the French think we have no sense of style. Who dresses this chick--Humbert Humbert?

Say bon jour to Karine Arsene, the woman I most often see reporting the international weather on TV5Monde, the 24-hour French TV channel for which I pay Verizon FIOS $10 extra a month to keep me entertained.

So far, so very good.

This bad take on the "baby alone in Babylon" look is no fluke--our dear Karine often dresses to cause me to digress. Recently--and dang it all, me without a camera phone at the time!--she wore what looked like a floral-patterned sarong, showing off her tanned, bare shoulders, with her hair wavier and less hot-combed than usual (or whatever it is that women do to give their hair that ironed-straight-and-shiny look).

The effect made her look like Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Papeete, France's own Tahitian Treat. I half-expect her at any moment to show up in a grass skirt with a coconut bikini top, the only way forward to tell us that it's hot as a Tottenham TV in the Middle East or as cold as a job creator's heart in North America. Or maybe go really tribal with a bone through her hair and a sabre-toothed tiger print dress, à la Ann-Margrock in The Flintstones.

It's possible that Karine does indeed have South Pacific Islander heritage; France does still have a few territories Outre-Mer, after all. So my apologies if I'm being a slightly racist jerk. (Editor's note: Sometimes I will say anything for a laugh.)

Nevertheless, despite my snickering, I have to give props to Karine and French TV for going non-traditional in the wardrobe and looks department. In the U.S., so many reporters and news anchors look like the waxed fruit of Ken and Barbie's loins, with the plastic personalities to match. Their style and grooming, though, is strictly Barbie-and-Ken-get-MBAs-and-open-a-marketing-firm. Oddly very '80s Inside-the-Beltway but going just a tad lighter on the crude oil-based haircare products and rabbit-tested makeup. Still, given my nightmares of seven years of Washington fashion and fraternization, my guess is that, behind the desk, the women are all wearing sensible running shoes, and the men, well, the men "accidentally" forgot to wear pants. Again.

I do think in the U.S., despite our rugged individualist mantra, we are at times afraid to see anyone look too different than anyone else. It scares us, perhaps, or in our resolutely Calvinist, no-nonsense mindset, looking different ticks us off. Who are you to think you're so special, getting to dress and live anyway you want? You need to be just as miserable as the rest of us in order for everyone to be truly happy!

The difference pops out, nonetheless, but with fits and starts and always oddly. Thus, you can't go to a trendy restaurant in a big city without being served by a generation that shops at The Gap and Old Navy but still has time for full body tattoos and ear plugs.

Bon appétit.

My new boyfriend

Mesdames et messieurs, je voudrais à vous présenter mon nouveau copain, Laurent Debesse.



A man who no matter how tired or bitter the news on TV5 Monde always manages to look, how you say? Ah, yes, frais et savoureux . . .

I say "I would like to present"--well, I think I said I would like to; who knows?--because, hélas, il n'est pas . . .

At least for now.

Anderson Cooper, you just got served.

It's hard to imagine living in a country where someone this lovely reports the news to you every evening. How would you ever hear anything he ever said? "Le Président, Nicholas Sarkozy, aujourd'hui a annoncé que la France a entrée guerre contre les immigrés et la Belgique." (Editor's note: Or something like that.)

Oh la la. I'd miss the whole declaration of war because I'd be too busy watching Laurent's lips move and wondering what's French for "He's so dreamy!"

It's France, so already the aesthetics are off the charts, number 1 with an impeccably designed bullet. But Msr. Debesse seems extraordinarily handsome, which, in my limited imagination, can only mean a couple of cruel things--

• He is too pretty to be taken seriously, and, thus, he must just be a mere TV talking head.
• He is too pretty to be real, ergo, he's a very well done CGI simulation.

Try as I might, I couldn't find a cache of Glamourshots or shirtless snaps of cher Laurent. Which could indeed mean he is a computer simulation but might also possibly mean a couple more, less cruel things--

• He's real but considered so normal-looking by French standards that Paris Match has let him enjoy his nude romps on the beach in private.
• He's real and real serious, a reporter who just happens to look like a supermodel but is extraordinarily talented at his job. So his more enlightened countrypersons don't dare defame him by putting up posters of him in their bedrooms, culled from the pages of the French equivalent of Tiger Beat. 

Incroyable!

Je suis désolé, Laurent. I hope to fly to Paris later this year to offer my apology in person.

Drinks maybe? Dinner? You pick the spot.