The story of an American dream

A few months back, I attended a story-telling class during one of my visits to Seattle. The team at Assembly Intiman provided us with precious advice and guidance on how to bring anecdotes to life, to insufflate in paragraphs sparks of emotion that will take your readers or your audience on a journey. The inspired us with vivid examples from The Moth. They explained how by bringing the story to life through with personal examples and necessary details, whilst never losing sight of the greater purpose, you could turn a story line into a richer experience. One of the exercises consisted in randomly selecting a topic and elaborating a plot on the back of that situational teaser... I picked up: "Your first crush". Here is how it ended up, after a few minutes of reflection:

"Close your eyes, and imagine. In a few months, my wife, two kids and I will move to Seattle, WA. The winter will be over and a truck filled with our boxes will be parked in front of the house we have just bought. The last reminiscences of snow will be still melting in the shade of the large evergreens. I have taken a big job at Microsoft, and I am about to embark on a career path that should be rewarding in many ways... A dream. Some would even call it the American dream.

But let me share a French dream. Her name was Nathalie. I was a young teenager attending the local high school in a small town back home, in the Alps. I was then relatively good academically, certainly good athletically and socially... well, I had friends. I did not drink. I did not smoke. And in that picture of perfection, the only thing missing was The Girl.

The year before, though, I got to know Nathalie during drama classes. As others performed the year-end play, we were exchanging connivent smiles in the promiscuity of the improvised backstage. No words. Just candid glances and smiles. As the summer broke, we parted ways for the holidays, but as our respective birthdays came, letters made their way to our mailboxes. Innocuous pieces of paper, peppered here and there of clumsy attempts to infer some sort of feelings. As many mountaineers, I am probably better at dealing with the grandeur of my surroundings than with the depths of my inner self.

Nonetheless, as school resumed, I rushed to the school gate to see in which class I was, and I could not avoid searching for her name, secretly hoping we would be able to continue that flirt between maths and geography. And she was there, her name just a few rows above mine on the pupil list of class 7D. I remember smiling at that discovery... Until she arrived and went straight in, without a look for me.

Nathalie the perfect girl. She was smart, and beautiful. Her eyes were green with hazelnut shards scattered around her iris as if a glass marble had been crushed into her eye. It is funny that thirty years later I still remember that detail because for months I was unable to look at her. I stared at her, timidly, but was unable to make eye-contact. I spent hours listening to lectures, half-present, with my gaze wandering her golden locks and my respiration slowly getting in tune with her own. I have looked at her back for hours, for days, for months in fact but without the courage to ever face her. But then came the warm, inspiring month of April. Encouraged by the bourgeoning nature (and the encouraging whispers of friends), I dared to call her out as she strolled across the schoolyard:

- Hi?
- Hi.
- Do you want to go out with me?
- No!

She had replied without the hint of an hesitation. So, as a good French, I turned around, shrugged and went back to my friends as if nothing had happened. Disappointed, deeply hurt, but utterly dismissive of the whole situation (as you rightly do when out of touch with your feelings). I was a teenage boy after all. What would you expect?

But she came running at me. Not Nathalie, her best friend. She confessed that, although Nathalie fancied me, she did not want to hurt one of her own friends who also had feelings for me. Yes, that made sense. Somewhat. Deceived by my own success... That was good enough for my ego, even if disappointing for my libido.

That same best friend called me back a few years later. She had found my number in the phone book and although we had respectively moved to different parts of town, she thought it was a good idea to let me know that Nathalie was still very much into me, but that she could not dare to reach out, after the schoolyard anti-climax. So, in a non-act of emotional courage, I grabbed my phone immediatl... a couple months later, and called her to invite her out. We went to the cinema, spent the afternoon together and as I walked her home our hands touched. An almost imperceptible brush of skin. We looked at each other. Eyes in eyes. I tilted my head. She titled hers. Got closer, and as our lips touched each other... Nothing.

Just like that, years of fantasy vanished in a brief exchange of saliva. So as I reopen my eyes, and look at these boxes that we have just finished to pack, I cannot avoid but think that my American dream may well just be another fantasy. But, you know what? I don't really care, as it is still very much worth living these dreams."

A mountain dweller in the Washington valleys

A couple years back I had the opportunity to discover Seattle on business, and have since returned quite few times in that city. But I knew there was more to the North-Western region than the SeaTac airport and taxis commuting between my hotel and the company's offices. So this summer, I decided to dwell a little longer than usual in the Washington state, and to discover the Ocean surrounding the liberal harbour of Seattle. If I had been amused by some traits of the Space Needle's home (the passion for salmon, the doubtful kindness, the SUV contradictions, etc.), the Evergreen State brought its lot of interesting cultural encounters...

Size definitely matters.

Yes, let's start with the blatantly obvious. It is so overused a cliche to describe the US as the country of superlatives. Everything is the "world best...", "world #1...", etc. That is at times laughable but one thing you cannot deny is of course that everything is big. Feet, portions, roads, people, drinks, cars... The caravans are so huge that it is not uncommon to see one of these trailers actually pulling a 4x4. You read me right, Dutch reader of these lines, on the other side of the pond, mobile homes are towing the car, and not the smallest! That is probably the so-call American Dream for you, our European summer migrators who every summer cross the French territory, looking for a sunburn...

As said, everything is oversized. Even roadkills are! No flatten hedgehog or mouse on the tarmac of Washington roads. The smallest animal I have seen on the side of the road was a deer... A deer! I mean how can you even run over such a beast? Probably not with a Renault Twingo. But that is probably more understandable when you put yourself in the shoes, or behind the wheels I shall say, of one of the locals... Were you driving one of these giant pick-ups that dwarfs the most ostentatious SUV in Chelsea, it would be hard for you too to see what happens below 2 meters from the ground. They cannot do things small, I tell you... So beware when you cross the road!

Into the "wild".

During our trip, we spend some time touring the stunning Olympic Peninsula. After the great British summer we had in London, we had to extend the pleasure... However the name of this region is not connected to athletic performances, but to the presence of an eponymous Mount Olympus in the middle of its national park. That Park is the host of a rainforest, several Indian reserves, magnificent lakes and equally surprisingly deserted beaches. No wonder this region is inspiring authors of all styles.

Hurricane Ridge for instance is coming straight out of a Disney movie. After a good hour drive uphill amongst enormous trees on a beautiful road, you finally arrive at a pass from which start walks and other alpine wanderings... But rapidly you are welcome by the local "wildlife", with elks crossing your way, giant black grouse singing whilst chipmunks drum the beat... You think I overdo it? Not at all. It was so surreal that we were expecting any minute to see a props man jumping out of a bush and shouting "You've been pranked!".

On the other hand, when you walk along the wild beaches of the western side of the peninsula, you feel you have landed in another type of literature. An eery one. Snow White has bitten the apple and the evil witch is enjoying her supremacy by the sea. The rugged landscapes, bathed in creepy fog and cluttered by rotting log trees were not without reminding me Tolkien's Mordor. I was once pretty sure I saw the shaddow of a troll in the woods, unless that was a pupil walking back from school... That is also possible since, as I eluded to it earlier, the locals are not the smallest beings either. Anyway the eery views of that area inspired  Stephenie Meyer for her bloody trilogy.

Stretching to greatness?

This leads me to my third literature reference... The town where vampires and werewolves supposedly fall in love with girls a lot younger than them (a few centuries younger... Is that legal or should we report this idyll?), Forks proved that the principles outlined by Philip Kotler in his marketing bible have been well assimilated. "Brand stretching" is about using an established brand name in order to introduce unrelated products. Well, the following pictures speak for themselves (click for full screen view):

Arguably that is a bit too much, but had you lived in that same tiny little village before the books' release and seen an influx of +600% in tourists, you too would have probably jumped on the bandwagon and taken these novels as a blessing. Because frankly outside the blockbuster reference, Forks really epitomises the concept of "uninterestingness". The problem, however, is that once you embrace that gorry kitsch, you cannot avoid but seeing vampires everywhere, let alone in medical notifications or native artefact's (is that me or that totem has got pretty sharp teeth???):

Depressive back country?

I seem to be a bit harsh with Forks, but do not let that anomaly derail my overall take on that beautiful region well-managed by the Quileult tribe. We loved hanging around at La Push and watch the sun set on the sacred rocks. That was even a poetic conclusion to that part of our trip, because we then headed South to Oregon and had to drove through less enthusiastic neighbourhoods. If the wild beaches were eluding to a literary devastation, further down it is a lot more literal. Aberdeen in front of all. Besides a river and the "Highland Golf Club" at its outskirt, that town has little to compare with its charming Scottish cousin. The rest is indeed pretty much despair, ruins, closed-down shops... This was home for Kurt Cobain, and frankly you may assume that it was in itself a source of inspiration for the grunge movement!

The logging industry which pulled the regional economy for decades is slowing down nowadays. Smaller towns are drained out in favour of Seattle or Portland, the two urban poles in that part of the country. Although often compared as eternal enemies, the two cities have got a lot in common. As I was saying in introduction, they are liberal harbours in the middle of what is often depicted as the western redneck America. If Canadian proudly sew their flag on their backpack, Seattleites and Portlanders state their beliefs directly on their skin. I am impressed by the amount of ink people carry on their skin around there. Could that be to ensure that people do not see the original colour of their neck?


Anyway... I really enjoyed discovering that region which surprised me in many ways. I was promised rainfall and greeneries. If we indeed saw as much emeralds as last year, not a single drop of rain came to refresh the scenery, which clearly contrasts with our drenched Irish holidays. I liked the possibility to sneak away from the urban jungle and to dive into the rainforest. In light of my origins, I also loved hikking in Mount Rainier, its reflective lakes and its blossoming meadows. I am pretty sure at this stage that with such a description of these alpine surroundings you are expecting blonde Maria coming out of the evergreen woods and complement my list of highlights with a "...Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens; Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens; Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things...", but I don't care. No matter how unlikely Seattle may sound as a summer holiday destination, it is now in my list of recommendations... As long as you can walk around on 2-meter stilt, of course!


To read further:

• A mountain dweller on the Copacabana Beach
• A mountain dweller in the Great Lake valley
• A mountain dweller in the Washington Lake valley
• A mountain dweller in the Þingvellir valley
• A mountain dweller in the valley of Kerry

And some more pictures of that trip:

Slick chop-stick-style.

Japanissimo.

Just bumped into this vlog (video blog) about an American in Tokyo. Kevin Cooney is a writer, comedian and performer born and raised in New York but currently residing in Japan. His approach is somehow aligned with my own take on life that I try to capture in my own blog: cultural differences are interesting, even if they can make you smile at times.

Since I have myself walked the streets of Tokyo and Japan, his stand-up resonates to me. But I guess it would to anyone genuinely open-minded about what is available out there. What I liked about Japan was that the cultural choc is not biased by a so-call difference of economic development. This country is as advanced if not more than most of the Western countries. They have simply adopted a different route which drove them in a different place. Not better, not less enticing. Simply different.

Here is episode #1 of the series of mini-clips, shot in 2006:

To read further:

• Eat your Japanese carrots, Boy!, an article about food, drinks, health and puzzling labels.
• A breeze of fresh air, a sneak peek at Japanese high-tech though hygienic gizmos
• Japanese pictures, a self explanatory post packed with my pictures of the country of the Rising Sun

Watch your moves

Credit: picture by Piers Nye, PCGN7 on FLickr

It's Time.

It has been a while since I last focused my attention on a peculiar idiom of this brilliant Shakespearian language, but I think it is now about time to come back to my first loves and shade some light on why I am still taken aback when my colleagues use certain expressions.

Obviously, an idiom is "an expression whose meaning is not predictable from the usual meanings of its constituent elements" as dictionary.com puts it. Most of the time they use an image, a metaphor to deliver a message. So when a non-native has managed to identify that the words which were pronounced by their interlocutor were not the usual meanings of its constituent elements... this person will attempt to decipher the message by visualising the related image. And that is when things can get nasty.

Ironic French sex?

Each culture has its own iconography or visual referential scheme. Let me take you through an example. In my previous life one of my clients had an idiom she kept on banging. She was in her late forties, not really attractive but not repulsive either. She was more like a school teacher than a Demi Moore if you see what I mean. And yet, I remember her looking me straight in the eyes and saying that she really likes "tongue in cheek".

Obviously her last three words do not mean what they usually mean in their literal context. I cannot see her wandering around with some chunks of tongue in her cheek. So there must be a hidden message. I blink. Red flashing light in my head. A drop of sweat goes down my neck. I find it hard to swallow... No, she cannot have meant that. No, no, no. Think again Cedric, think again. Another drop of sweat, colder this time. I blink once more with a nice commercial smile on my face to avoid showing my puzzled inner self. What the heck does she mean, in her very own language, because the images this idiom triggers in my home references is not appropriate either to the situation or to the person facing me. Is it?

I am conscious that I am surrounded by colleagues. My client is also aware that I am about to get married in the next months or so. And finally she did not whisper it but rather said it aloud, so my executive seated next to me should have clearly picked up her sexual harassment line. And yet he is not blushing like I would probably have if a client had overtly declared to my manager that she liked oral sex...

Tongue twister and twisted minds.

I already know a few of my English readers thinking "what are you saying you French perv'?". But let me inform you that if the literally translated idioms "tongue in cheek" has absolutely no meaning in French, the gesture in return has a meaning. And quite a dirty one. If one day you happen to put your tongue in your cheek in a French crowd, be aware that you are genuinely offering some "oral treats" to your audience. Why? Well look at yourself in a mirror when mimicking the idiom. Now mentally call to your mind the French meaning. Ah, ah... Suddenly who's blushing? Do you remember yourself in the bespoke situation and realise only now why you had suddenly so many friends in that Parisian bar?

The sexual connotation is obviously miles away from the English meaning of the expression. When you say something with "tongue in cheek", you say it ironically or mockingly. It's a form of humour, not a sexual position. It took me a while to really nail that one (I mean the expression not my client), but every now and then, when I hear that expression I cannot refrain myself from shivering. A memory from that painful moment of loneliness I assume.

White men can't jump

But they can make fun of themselves...

Some time ago I landed, a little bit by chance I dare say, on Canadian Christian Lander's website, a blog having, in his author's own words, "a scientific approach to highlight and explain stuff white people like". It is obviously controversial, but extremly witty and highly ironic.

Obviously, as someone interested in cultural differences, I had a go at "Stuff White People Like", going through some of the 100+ posts which highlights the clichés and absurd sides of life of the average white guys. Interesting also to go through the thousands of comments and rants that any entry generates... Just as if white men have no ability to take a step back and mock themselves.

This Blog reminded me of what a wise man told me one day:

Happy are people who can make fun of themselves, because they are not about to get bored.

Here are some of the recent entries of what White People seem to like:

#115 Promising to Learn a New Language

#108 Appearing to Enjoy Classical Music

#105 Unpaid Internships

#102 Children’s Games as Adults

#100 Bumper Stickers

#95 Rugby

Have also a go at the conference the author gave to Google on July 14th 2008 (on Bastille Day...) on how he went from an anonymous student to a viral icon. A bit long, but extremely insightful. Enjoy!

In Betty we trust.

The Empire Strikes Back.

Not so long ago I wrote a post about the future attempt by my fellow citizens to restore French royal heads in the UK. The Buckingham response was not long to come, and H.M. Elizabeth had the following email sent around earlier today:

To the citizens of the United States of America from Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately. Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas,which she does not fancy).

Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded.
A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.

To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect (You should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary):

1. Then look up aluminum, and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.
2. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour', 'favour', 'labour' and
   'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut'without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise'. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up 'vocabulary').
3. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as 'like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as U.S. English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take into account the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of -ize.
4. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.
5. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for shooting grouse. If you can't sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not ready to shoot grouse.
6. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. Although a permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
7. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
8. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.
9. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.
10. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting Nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of British Commonwealth - see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.
11. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.
12. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body Armour like a bunch of nancies). Don't try Rugby - the South Africans and Kiwis will thrash you, like they regularly thrash us.
13. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.
14. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.
15. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).
16. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 pm with proper cups, with saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (with cream) when in season!

God Save the Queen!

Love turf war is on...

Tribute to Sergeant Pepper

Large cities like London, Paris or Berlin are renown for being reservoirs of lonely hearts. Online dating is, as you can imagine, a major online business and the current challenge for the various players is to recruit a sufficient customer base to monetise it properly. A few days after Valentine's day, love brokers are consequently investing loads of money to increase their brand awareness and traffic to their website.

But where to intercept the young urbans who constitute the core audience of these sites? Well, the Tube has got a very high likeability to be selected since the bespoke target market is very likely to use public transports to commute. As a result, for a few weeks now you have been able to enjoy a few advertising campaigns in the London tube. And since the media planning strategy of the two dominant brands tend to be convergent, that leads to some awkward and funny situations like the one pictured above.

In the left corner, DatingDirect, the new acquisition of French giant Meetic in the UK. Created by advertising agency V, the campaign describes how the rules have changed in the traditional game of seduction. In a society where everyone agrees that it is about time to finally get rid of sexism, the adverts demonstrate how girls are now applying the Spice Girls' creed: Girl Power. After all why wait for charming prince to come riding his white battle steed when you can put your hand on him... Literally! See the TV commercial at the end of this article for more vivid images of this concept. But for the time being, this mini poster will do the trick: "Let him make the first move" pretends the headline, whilst you can already see in her glance that she is not ready to wait that long...

What makes the situation even more incongruous is that, a few meters away, their competitor, match.com, seems to answer with their own poster. In their advertising, the US-originated site epitomises the two mythical deities involved in love relationships: Cupid and Fate. The creative relays in the personification of these two characters as anti-heroes on which you cannot apparently count any more: they hang up at the pub, play video games... And in our tube carriage they do aerobics! Ironically could this be the above-mentioned "first move" DatingDirect was referring to? Moving your body in rhythm...

Anyway, the war is on, and such a personal service calls for always more creativity to stand out of the clutter. So as a advertising fan, I am delighted because these jousts are likely to bring the various players to new areas of disruption. Unfortunately for them, I am extremely interested in their marketing moves, but little in their product. Have I mentioned that I was married since October 2007? Sorry... Too late, mates!

Finally, as promised, here is the UK TV commercial for DatingDirect released late 2007 (thanks Raphael):

And for the full length version, unfortunately with French supers but images are self-explanatory:

And to remain unbiased here is one of the Fate&Cupid videos available on their microsite alongside with games:

Who wears panties?

Return on experience

If you are a regular reader of this blog, or even if you know me personally, you are certainly well aware that I recently got married. This major change in my matrimonial status is also a fantastic opportunity to exchange with other people, other cultures, on a very intimate topic. It is also a source of cultural differences.

Girls want to know all about the bride's dress and her hair style, boys prefer to share the discovery of the bride at her father's arm. The French want to know the menu, the English the location. Some inquire about our choice of texts for the celebration. Others want to know the first dance and whether we learned the three steps of waltz... But the most interesting inquiries came from our friends in Canada: they wanted to know if my wife will keep her maiden name.

Gender-neutral society

This question is indeed critical over there. As a matter of fact, Canada is not only the first nation of Hockey as you can have learned here, it is also a country where the disparities between the two genders have completely been eradicated. Everything is now set so that men are not privileged for obscure reasons like this is unfortunately still the case around here. And obviously neither are women.

This is quite puzzling for foreigners. For instance, forget the courtesy rules that are the basics of French etiquette: in Montreal, a man should not hold the door for a woman, that could be considered as breech in local manners. So you can probably imagine what the most feminist of our friends felt when she received her third door in the face... She actually started to miss the good old traditions!

Anyway, back to our wedding story: why should a girl lose her name when she gets married? It could be perceived as a sign of allegiance to her husband... And as a result, many Canadian women keep their maiden name when a ring is slot at their finger. Do I need to mention that it is a true nightmare for genealogists, especially when you know that the children tend to follow the same norms: the son would have the father's name, while the daughter would be named after her mother. So brothers and sisters might not share the same name!!!

Tradition and rules

In France, there is rule and tradition. The later is that the bride takes the groom's name. However this is not the law, which is in fact not restricted to the tradition. Probably motivated by the same philosophy as in Canada, the French regulation is quite flexible, even more than in Quebec. In France, a bride is allowed to take her husband's name, to retain her maiden name, to associate both... And the husband can do the same. So he could choose to be named after the maiden name of his wife.

To be honest, I have not met anyone who had opted for the last option. Consequently I assume that the main reaction would be surprise. In France, and I think in the UK too, we have an idiom that says "he/she wears the pants in the family" in order to identify who rules the household. In fact, in that specific instance, the word "culotte" that we use in French for "pants" is an old word that translates nowadays in "panties". Call me a sexist, but I imagine that if the husband was to drop his name for his wife's, people would probably claim he has let the ownership of the panties to the lady of the house... However when you know how appealing and disconcerting a bride's lingerie could be, you could probably forgive him, couldn't you?

An advert for Aubade lingerie part of a long-lasting campaign named "the Lessons of Seduction". This is lesson #57: "distract the opponent". Quite efficient, isn't it? More lessons here.

Quote of the day

"Entering in a relationship is like starting a journey. You have to go far away to see if you are close."
from The Russian Dolls by Cedric Klapisch (1961-...).
I strongly recommend any films by the above-mentioned director, and more specificaly Pot Luck of which the Russian Dolls are second opus. I watched it again tonight and this line stroke me particularly since it has become so relevant to me... Whoever followed my trips in the most exotic valleys will certainly agree with this excerpt. Official outcome on Octobre 20th!

Wirefull tribe

Me "Cedric", you...

This week I have started a new job and joined one of London main digital agencies. As I stepped in a building full of web designers and other funky programmers, I realised I was entering a new civilization, with its own totems and taboos. I felt like one of these anthropologists who are invited in a tribe and are miming the autochthones to demonstrate their goodwill and understanding. I had to demonstrate and display obvious signs of my technophilia...

In my new reference frame, how would I be perceived or judged by my new counterparts? I am not a nerd, but I tend to consider myself as technology savvy. As a matter of fact I tend to accumulate hi-tech gizmos. So, to mark my territory and show that I was one of them, I started to empty my pockets: an iPOD, a Pocket PC, a photo-phone, a synchronisation cradle... I was like Santa 2.0 emptying his bag with nice tacky toys.

A wireless world?


And suddenly I realised the mess that was lying on the table. Although IT advertisements keep on hammering that we have entered a wireless revolution, I seriously doubt it. This is for instance a snapshot of my desk once my Centrino-enabled laptop had been plugged and connected to the desktop display, the optical mouse, the above-mentioned synchronisation cradle... The dozen wires regurgitating from the computer were merrily intertwining my neighbour's in a sort of plastic orgy.

I will assume this is just an embodiment of what we commonly call: "connections".

In the bike of my mind

Literally. Crazy.

Another French expression found its literal embodiment recently. To depict someone insane, French people sometimes use the idiom: "Avoir un petit velo dans la tete" (Having a little bicycle in the head).

This French guy has decided to take it personally. And literally.

A few months ago, he quited his job as a Regional Sales Manager for a Food & Beverage multinational, and decided to ride his bicycle from Paris to Jerusalem. He confesses this is no pilgrimage, just an opportunity to go through a personal introspection while getting across a great number of countries and populations along the road.




He has indeed decided to follow the Northern Mediterranean seashores. Around 10 countries, 15,000 km, 6 months, a bike, a tent, few clothes and a great amount of courage. His objective is to fully grasp the daily life of the different populations. He will therefore avoid hotels and try as much as possible to be hosted by locals...

So if you read these lines, and could give him some help: do not hesitate... All the best to him.

So British

For me this is the perfect example of English humor: non-sense, understatement... All the ingredients for a good laugh.

Don't lose your head, or your temper(ature).

Home sweet Lab.

We had some friends from France at home this week-end. It was interesting to see how my fellow-citizens evolved in a British house. As a matter of fact I start to get used to my new environment and new laboratory rats were welcome. I watched them carefully. I looked at them engaging their feet in the same paths I walked through earlier, facing the same questions or astonishment... It was rejuvenating and rich in new learnings.

A window to our past.

If you are a regular reader you might think I am some kind of a window-fetishist, but trust me, I am not. You must nevertheless acknowledge that they do play an important role in our houses. And to be totally transparent... they are interesting.

For instance, British homes enjoy numerous sash windows, this typical two-panel frame that you only see on this side of the Channel. They are typical and they are practical. But it is intriguing to see how the French cope with them.

We slide them up. Close them down. And finally stare at them with dubious looks. As a Latin people we enjoy appearing at our window and look at the outside life. But amazing enough, we tend to avoid this habit in England and so were our friends this Sunday. Why? We seem not to trust the way sash windows hang on their own, waiting for someone to get his neck through to finally fall... It is probably part of our collective unconscious, subtly referring to our "glorious" past of beheaders.

Binary decision in front of a mirror.



Talking about (headless) kings... the other puzzling element of the British homes happens to locate in the Throne Room. When facing the sink to wash my hands, I feel the urgent need to curse this country. And by the blasphemy I heard through the door, my opinion is shared by some of my fellow-citizens.

Most sinks actually feature two taps: one for cold water, one for hot water. That leaves you the choice between burning your hands or freezing them... How come this country has not adopted mixing taps by now? Why cannot we enjoy mild temperatures on our skin?

The heat of love.

I know that French language and culture cultivates nuances, and I expected the Brits to do so. In a sense, their plumbing system reminds me the way Germans tackle love. And I am not referring to some debatable metaphor for pipes and holes…

When we pull out the petals of a daisy, we accompany each leaf with a litany that translates into: "she likes me, fancies me, loves me, is passionate about me, is crazy about me, she isn't, she likes me...". Hence covering the entire spectrum of love. On the other hand Germans approach love in a binary way, and sing: "Sie lieb mich, sie lieb mich nicht, sie lieb mich..." ("She loves me, she doesn't, she loves me...").

Water and love are the like... You have to choose the exact degree to fully enjoy it. Maybe this is a tip to understand why French are said to be great lovers. Using the right word, the right nuance can make your partner lose her head. And trust me no sash window is needed to achieve this.