Heliotropic wrote:

crevecoeur wrote:

Sly Bug wrote:Hé reste cool. Pas la peine de se prendre le chou pour ça...

On peut pas dire qu'ils aient complètement tort non plus et il faut bien reconnaitre que:
- les français à l'étranger font souvent un complexe de supériorité, et je veux bien croire qu'on passe pour arrogants,
- on n'est pas spécialement accueillant chez nous non plus en général.

Quant aux vidéos que tu as postées, interroge 100 français, garde les plus gratinés et tu auras un reportage du même acabit. Ce serait pareil avec n'importe quel pays.

C'est vrai que j'ai rencontré de bons crétins aux Etats Unis, mais je suis sûr qu'on a les mêmes chez nous.

Yop !
Mais je suis cool ! y a pas de souci
Je voulais juste insister sur le fait que ce sont des stéréotypes éculés, et que je vois pas l'utilité de rebondir sur ça de la façon dont il l'a fait... Evidemment que les vidéos que j'ai postée sont aussi débiles, c'était juste une façon de lui montrer que ça marche dans les deux sens...

Frenchies conspiring in their native moon language! On this fine American message board! I am ENRAGED.

Steve can read French so I guess it's ok.
Sorry about that

Heliotropic wrote:Frenchies conspiring in their native moon language! On this fine American message board! I am ENGORGED.

fyp

crevecoeur wrote:

enframed wrote:perhaps i should add "lack a sense of humor." sheesh.

perhaps i should add "lack a sense of 2nd degree humour".

perhaps i should add "lack a sense of 3rd degree humour."

enframed wrote:

crevecoeur wrote:

enframed wrote:perhaps i should add "lack a sense of humor." sheesh.

perhaps i should add "lack a sense of 2nd degree humour".

perhaps i should add "lack a sense of 3rd degree humour."

perhaps i should add nothing.

On a whim I put Aleister Crowley's The 1910-1914 Wax Cylinder Recordings album on. I don't know why. I haven't listened to it in years. He's got a funny voice.

There was a knock on the door. A friend who is taking our couch sent two of her friend to pick it up. I invited them in. We were preparing the couch to move, and one of the guys says, "You go to CCC?" I tell him I don't know what CCC is. He explains it's the church that he and my friend belong to. "Oh, I don't go to church," I tell him.

All the while Crowley is ranting at high volume.

These two church guys share a look. A "concerned for former couch-owning occultist"-type look. It was funny.

Marsupialized wrote:Fog, pretty much every flight canceled at midway 80% of them at O'Hare

I should have contacted you to FedEx me home.

I got up at three this morning to catch a shuttle to the airport. LAX is ass.

I've spent six of the last 28 hours in airport shuttles in Los Angeles. That is a whole lot of time listening to the Smooth Jazz of LA's 94.7 The Wave. (Go on. Click.)

The first shuttle guy was the bus driver from the Simpsons. I shit you not. He turned off the Wave after an hour and put on Ornette Coleman, which was great. If I could have heard it over his incessant talking. He sipped it up for ten minutes. We were on the freeway, doing about 90. After this brief respite, he shook his head back and forth and said, "Whoa. I really spaced out for a minute there." That was kind of funny.

This morning, finally on a fucking plane, some Vin Diesel douche sits next to me and proceeds to tell everyone in earshot that he is the forthcoming baron of the mint industry. "Altoids, that is over!" His catch is that they are marketing them to men. Everyone around gasps in awe at this genius plan and future kabillionaire amongst us. A fey flight attendant exclaims, "Nothing is marketed to men!"

Vin points both thumbs at himself and says, "I'm the first" with the grin of the douche with the biggest pre-fab home on the block.

I envy these people. They have somehow avoided beer commercials, Maxim magazine and Bose speaker ads. And they are awed by mints offered in a tin the shape of a tool. "Man's icon, dude."

It wasn't a hammer.

I spent the flight with Tobias Wolff's "Old School". Ignoring the douche and eating a lot of cinnamon Altoid's. Really liked that book. Not his best, but thick and came away with a big reading list.

Got off my flight an hour and a half ago and went right to work. I'm listening to Quiet Riot.

2/5/08

my new short boss wants to buddy up with me and go surfing, he's never been. he asked me if i wear a helmet and life jacket in the water, then he brought into my office a catalog of kayaking gear.

something tells me he's not a good swimmer.

edit: it was the fifth of february; today.

enframed wrote:2/8/08

my new short boss wants to buddy up with me and go surfing, he's never been. he asked me if i wear a helmet and life jacket in the water, then he brought into my office a catalog of kayaking gear.

something tells me he's not a good swimmer.

Are you from the future?

I've been told by my grandma yesterday that my Grandpa was found on the bathroom floor on Monday morning, after a whole night collapsing.
He's in hospital right now, and don't know nothing about it, he don't talk and when he does he talks bullshit, he didn't recognize anyone and was enable to tell his name, raise his left hand when the doctor asked him to raise his right one....he's out of nowhere, just fixing a something vague in the air...

i have mixed feelings, i feel sad, i feel helpless, and in the same time i'm pretty aware that there's nothing to expect when this kind of shit hit you and you are 84 years old....
the brutallity of life hit me this morning.

Sorry to hear about your grandpa Crevecour.



I was just crossing Hyde Park, at the Kensington Gardens end, on my way to work, when I looked up to see my old friend Jeremy Irons walking his dogs along the path towards me. Of course, I greeted him instantly and we struck up a lively conversation about his thick grey moustache, which was a new accoutrement since I'd seen him last. It gives him an air of slightly dishevelled elegance, I have to admit. In fact, overall, he looked quite scruffy; wearing a battered-looking flat cap (back-to-front), a scarf tossed loosely round his neck and over the shoulder, with his fists rooted deep in the pockets of his rumpled coudrouy trousers.

Of course, I'm not really friends with Jeremy Irons, but I did just pass him in the park and spent the rest of my way across the park mulling the name 'Jeremy Irons ' over and over in my head.