Film of the year

It’s about a guy who wants to walk on a wire across the twin towers

I had a strange experience this year. I had to learn to walk again. You know how you think you know how it works but in fact you couldn’t describe it because it’s like breathing, you never really think about it. Well, when the physio told me, I refused to believe him. Nope, Sir. I don’t walk like this. Never have, never will.

When you listen to this guy, nothing seems impossible.

And then I started start thinking of the stories my parents told me about how I was so eager to walk when I was like 10 months old and how I kept falling but kept trying again and again until the day I made it and I walked across that living room.

The man on wire is walking with grace in the sky of New York now. When he’s done –he knows it already – his life will never be the same. He’ll lose his friends and he’ll lose his fiancée. Then the towers will go too. And soon, there will be nothing left but his memories.

I am walking to the Christmas tree and I see that green bike and it is everything I ever wanted.
I am walking a girl home, she must be 15 and she is beautiful, and the walk seems so short I feel like I’ll never have the time to take her hand.
I am walking back home in the early morning, my first walk of shame.
I am walking along this long corridor before my oral exam, my heart pounding because the job of my dream seems so close and so far at the same time.
I am walking into a bar and I meet Madame Red.
I am walking with her in so many cities and so many countries.

And so his friends are crying and his fiancée too. They’re crying because what he did, what they did, was so perfect and beautiful. And they’re crying because where he’s going now he thinks he doesn’t need them anymore

And then, one day, I walked again. One of the most natural, simple things I’ve ever done.

And then one day, they made a film about it. One of the most wonderful films I’ve ever seen.

Meilleur film de l'année

C’est l’histoire d’un type qui veut marcher sur un fil tendu entre les tours jumelles de New-York.

J’ai vécu une expérience étrange cette année. J’ai dû réapprendre à marcher. On croit qu’on sait comment ça se passe mais en fait on serait bien incapable de l’expliquer, parce qu’au fond c’est un peu comme respirer, on n’y fait plus attention. Quand le kiné m’a expliqué, j’ai répondu non. Je ne marche pas comme ça, moi. Ni avant, ni maintenant, ni plus tard.

Quand on écoute ce type, plus rien ne semble impossible.

Alors j’ai commencé à penser à ces histoires que mes parents me racontaient, comment quand j’avais 10 mois, j’avais tellement envie de marcher et pourtant je me cassais sans arrêt la figure. Mais je recommençais encore et encore jusqu’à ce qu’un jour j’arrive à enfin à traverser cette salle de séjour.

L’homme sur son fil marche avec grâce dans le ciel de New York. Quand il en aura terminé –il le sait déjà – sa vie ne sera plus jamais la même. Il perdra ses amis. Il perdra sa fiancée. Même les tours s’en iront à leur tour. Bientôt il ne lui restera plus que ses souvenirs.

Je marche vers le sapin de Noël où je trouve un vélo vert qui est tout ce que je voulais, et plus encore.
Je marche avec une fille, elle doit avoir 15 ans et elle est très belle, mais le chemin passe si vite qu’il me semble que je n’aurai jamais le temps de lui prendre la main.
Je marche dans les rues au petit matin, avec les habits de la veille, pour la première fois.
Je marche le long de ce couloir où m’attend une porte, un jury, et peut-être le travail dont j’ai toujours rêvé.
Je marche jusqu’à ce bar où je rencontre Madame Red.
Je marche à ses côtés, tellement de villes, tellement de pays.

Et alors ses amis, sa fiancée, tous se mettent à pleurer. Ils pleurent parce que ce qu’il fait, ce qu’ils ont fait ensemble, est tellement beau, tellement parfait. Et puis ils pleurent car là où il va maintenant il n’a plus besoin d’eux.

Et puis un jour j’ai remarché. Une des choses les plus faciles et les plus naturelles que je n’ai jamais faites.

Et puis un jour ils ont un fait un film sur eux. Un des plus merveilleux que j’ai jamais vu.

Pastime of the year

Last summer, Less Tall invited me to join his fantasy football league. Why not, I thought. I know a thing or two about football, don’t I? In some circles, I am proud to say that my opinion is valued – yes, these circles are Madame Red’s mainly, so what ?

I proceeded to pick a name for my team and, most importantly, the colour of their outfit. Upon Madame Red’s advice, I decided on blue. It conveys seriousness, I believed, and most certainly symbolizes something deep and meaningful in some part of the world or another.

I then proceeded to pick my players: the easiest part, really, a piece of cake. I couldn’t stop laughing at my own cleverness.

Except that after 19 weeks, I’m doing miserably. Just Tall and Less Tall are way ahead of me and I am left with a mid-range team that is consistently underachieving. Actually, in real life, I would have been fired a long time ago. I am the Kevin Keegan of fantasy football. But the good thing is I have been learning and I can safely say that I will come back stronger next year.

So, here are my ten commandments for a good fantasy league manager:

- Thou shall not, under any circumstances, pick up a ginger player. And yes, this rule is for you Dave Kitson. And it’s for you too, Nicky Butt.

- Thou shall not pick players you like too much. I still have fucking Carvalho on my roster despite the fact that he has been injured forever. It’s just too costly. And it’s not like they’re sending you Xmas cards to thank you for your confidence and support. In fact, I might be wrong, but it generally looks like the players do not give a damn about fantasy football.

- Thou shall not pick players you despise. Next year, just to remind me of how important this rule is, I will name my team :

“Ishallnotpickchristianoronaldoevenifhescroresahattrickonopeningday”

- Thou shall not spend hours in front of the computer trying to decide which player is going to have a breakthrough week, BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE ANYWAY. So instead, take your wife for a drink and have some fun.

- Thou shall not follow any of your gut feelings. Yes David Bentley, where is this wonderful season I thought you were going to have? Where exactly has it gone?

- Thou shall not panic buy. Brad Friedel? When I had the cash to buy Petr Cech? What the fuck?

- Thou shall not mess around with your captain. Give the freaking thing to Lampard and get a good night sleep.

- Thou shall not TUI (Transferring under the influence). I’ll just give you that one to meditate on: Eboue for Fabregas in week 7. Tell you what, this Californian wine is seriously nasty.

- Thou shall not trust Rafa Benitez. His turn over policy will screw you week after week. Sometimes it actually looks like he has cracked my password and decides not to play the guys I picked, just out of sheer meanness. Hyppia over Agger? C’mon, man!

- Thou shall not buy a player who did well the week before. It’s too late! You should have got him a week ago. Probably why I just bought Mikel Arteta and broke at least three of the aforementioned rules…

Over all, though, I can only thank Less Tall for his invite. I am having a lot of fun.

Will you invite me again, then?

Shop of the year

That's where the coffee ceremony takes place everyday:

Grab cup
Pour coffee
Put sugar
Pour milk
Grab stirrer
Stir
Grab a cardboard thingy so you don’t get burned
Grab a lid

$2.18

Have a good one.

I play it simple but people here are a bit fussy with their coffee.

So I sometimes have the pleasure to see a guy from Guatemala or Costa Rica or Mexico preparing coffee for his co-workers who are waiting for him in the truck.

So Jesus wants hazelnut and non fat milk, Antonio likes a lot of sugar and a shot of vanilla, Raùl wants a dark roast with half and half milk…Or was it? There is always a moment when the guy starts scratching his head looking at the mugs in front of him. He gives a quick glance at the pick up outside hoping that no one will realize that he has no clue what he’s doing.

I can only imagine the what the fuck did you put in my coffee that ensue but they put me in a very good mood.

Magasin de l'année

C'est là que tous les matins a lieu la cérémonie du café.

Prendre un mug
Verser le café
Verser le sucre
Prendre un touilleur
Touiller
Prendre un truc pour en carton pour pas se cramer les doigts
Prendre un couvercle en plastique.
$2.18
Bonne journée.

Moi je la joue simple, mais les gens ici sont assez compliqués avec leur café.

Alors j’ai parfois le plaisir de voir un guatémaltèque ou un Costaricien ou un Mexicain qui prépare le café pour ses collègues qui l’attendent dans le camion.

Alors Jesus lui c’est de la noisette et du lait écrémé, Antonio le prend avec beaucoup de sucre et de la vanille, Raùl lui c’est de l’Arabica avec du semi pasteurisé… Attends, c’est ça non ? Il y a toujours un moment où le gars commence à se gratter la tête en regardant les cafés devant lui. Il jette un petit coup d’œil dehors en direction du pick-up en espérant que personne ne va s’apercevoir qu’il est en train de faire n’importe quoi.

Je ne peux qu’imaginer les putain qu’est-ce que t’as mis dans mon café qui s’ensuivent mais ils me mettent de bonne humeur à chaque fois.

Sexist election of the year

Thanks to Obama’s victory in November, thousands of black kids across America now know they too could become president of the USA one day.

Thousands of boys, that is.

Girls of every colour already knew they would have to wait some more to get to dream about this kind of things.

Anyway, girls are not really interested in this kind of things, are they ?

Election macho de l'année

Grâce à la victoire d’Obama en novembre, des milliers d’enfants noirs partout en Amérique savant à présent qu’il leur est possible de devenir un jour président des Etats-Unis.

Des milliers de garçons surtout.

Les filles, quelle que soir leur couleur de peau, savaient déjà depuis le défaite d’Hilary qu’elles devraient encore attendre pour rêver à ce genre de trucs.

D’ailleurs ce genre de trucs n’intéresse pas les filles, hein ?

Insult of the year

"Do you know David Lynch, the director ?"

Insulte de l'année

"Tu connais David Lynch, le réalisateur ?"

Best TV commercial

Here in the US, you don’t just buy a mattress. You buy THE mattress that will adapt the best to the kind of sleeper YOU are.

“So, what kind of sleeper are you?” the gentle voice asks.
“Me, I’m a tosser” the man says in a cheerful voice.

Seriously, it never gets old.

Un mot de sagesse avant un torrent d’âneries

J’ai été plutôt discret ces derniers temps.
Je le sais bien.
Je ne faisais que suivre cette vieille règle : si tu n’as rien à dire, tais toi.

Mais me voilà de retour.

A partir de demain, je vous proposerai le best of de mon année.

A word of wisdom before a storm of nonsense

I’ve been quiet for a while.
I know.
It’s just that I was following an old rule: if you have nothing to say, shut up.

But I’m back now.

From tomorrow on, people, I’ll do my own round-up of the year.