Sunday, December 31, 2006

The Postcard list

This is how it will work. Everywhere I'll be going during my trip, I'll buy a bunch of postcards (if available, of course). Then, I'll walk around, look around, pretty much breathe and live, then I'll sit down and write about what one particular postcard makes me think of, always in this weirdly referencial, comical and pseudo-philosophical way I pretend to write. Each postcard will be unique, either in french or english, with bits of italian to make them sound authentic. Only then, when I'm done writing them, will I decide to whom I send it. Those postcards won't (shouldn't actually, you never know, I might change my mind) be personal. Sure, they'll be personal about me in a way, but they won't be meant for anyone else.

Those who will receive them will own unique creations, and if I ever get famous for some reason or another, they might one day be worth something. So, I guess I'll see you on eBay!

To receive postcards from me, write me an email in which you tell me why I should spend money on you, rather than on anyone else. Leave me an address, and it's likely that I'll send you postcards (not just one, several). The address you give me must be valid, and it should preferably be yours, or the one of someone you know, otherwise you might not receive any postcard at all!

There's no actual limit to the number of people to whom I will mail postcards, so don't worry about not being selected for the postcard list. The only reason why I wouldn't send you postcards would be not having the slightest idea of who you are. If you're a complete stranger, you have never told me a word, either in a comment to my blog, in some form of instant messaging or another recently or way back in the days, or emailed me, or met me in the street, in a fastfood restaurant, in college, high school, kindergarten (I love german words.. I love spy novels... Sicherheitsdienst!!) or on a golf course, then don't bother. We should at least have had some kind of contact, as in a two-way communication where you and I have exchanged structured thoughts towards each other. I'll also accept to send postcard to the cute girl who was sitting on my left in my french class, in 98-99, even though I don't think I've ever told her three coherent words in a row.

That's about it. And remember, people: the sun rises to the east.

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Oh Abitibi!

I just came back yesterday from a short four days trip to Abitibi, a far-off region of the province of Québec. I can't help but feel sad whenever I see all the abandoned houses over there, since jobs are getting scarce. In the village where my grandparents live, I saw two kids walking down the street (actually, one was walking and pulling what I assume was his little brother in a sleigh), and wondered how much they could have living there. The land is desolate. But Abitibi has its beauties, and I enjoy the 11 hours road trip. My motto is: Being bored at home, being bored on the road, I'd rather be going somewhere.

I saw one of my cousins' baby girl. Once more, a baby girl was attracted to me. She kept looking at me. Maybe it's because I didn't shave and I was the only man with a beard out there, so she was wondering what it was. But I prefer to think I'm great with babies. Take notice, women: I'm great with babies.

It seems I'm the only one left without a thing going on in the extended family, except the two younger cousins who are 16 and 13. Even them, I can't count them out, because they've probably had more boy/girlfriends than me by now. But I have nothing. No girlfriend. No family in the making. I hope next time I go over there, I'll have someone to introduce to the family. I don't want to go there alone again, wondering when, wondering who. Always facing the same old questions: when will you bring someone? Is there someone waiting in the wing? Etc.

My grandfather even tried to match me. He was going through all the girls of his village, until he realized there was absolutely no one of my age. Either much too old or much too young. That had the practical purpose of eliminating that village from the list of places to go to find my dream girl.

Also, it was fucking cold.

Monday, December 25, 2006

Christmas IS the dullest day of the year. I'd rather be bored to death right now. On christmas, things taste bitter (not better). I just can't be happy on christmas. I think next year I should spend christmas away, alone perhaps... just kill the time. Maybe even ignore it and only realize I missed it two days later. Even I didn't expect this christmas to be as void of interest as it is.

What's wrong with me?

Sunday, December 24, 2006

And so this is christmas

Just so you know, I got my camera. It works better than I expected. When I get back from italy, I'll burn a DVD of my videos and I'll sell it $20! or not. I'll have to work on the soundtrack, though. I don't have any idea what it will be made of. Probably brit pop for the time I'll spend in england, and obviously not italian music for my time in italy, because italian music sucks. Don't try to convince me otherwise, it just sucks. Romanian pop sounds better than italian music. I'm not talking about opera singing and this kind of thing, which is very well recorded. I'm talking about italian "rock" and pop. I wrote "rock" between quotation marks, because it's actually an insult to rock. They also have a blooming metal scene, but after listening to some of it, it's just as poorly recorded as rock. It's not that they can't play. It just sounds like crap.

Oh right, it's almost christmas... as if I cared. The only thing I enjoy at this time of the year is watching my nieces being all excited. Am I the only one who hates receiving presents? They're often just useless, and when it's something you personally asked for, it's just not exactly the right one. When I need something, I buy it. Why should doing something nice for someone else be a thing of two days a year? Christmas and birthdays are the two yearly focal points around which people concentrate their love and appreciation. Am I just naive and foolish to think that we can be nice, considerate and appreciative a little every day? Don't people care about smiles? A smile can make my day. Damn... even the mere memory of a smile can make my day. Nowadays, people only expect their smiles to come when one unwraps presents on two days of the year. If I was caught in such a relationship, beside the one I'm already stuck in with my family, I just couldn't tolerate it. My rule would be: no present for christmas, just be nice all year long. We just pay too much attention to dates. We miss out on 363 days.

Can you see that I hate christmas? I also hate my birthday. Scheduled love and appreciation. No spontaneity. I deserve and ask for spontaneity. If someone can ever show me this, I'd be truly and wholeheartedly grateful.

Sometimes I have the feeling I'm weird, troubled and sick. But I'm not. I'm truly sane, perhaps one of the only sane people in this world.

You see... christmas ostracizes me.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Just blurting

Cheap rhyming scheme. I'm so lame, I know.

I'm so obsessed, it's depressing.
I'm so stressed, that's the thing.
That's the paralysis, the shortened breath,
The overanalysis, the slow death.
The problem here, what I must overcome,
Is me.

I'm pathetic, I know. Tonight, I read a quote on her blog, saying: "Stalking is just another way of saying 'I love you'." And on the moment I thought "Yeah, but I'm not a stalker". But I am. I just realized it. I'm a stalker. Everyday, several times a day, I take a look at her blog, waiting for the next words she'll write down. Try to guess where she's at, what she's feeling. Holding on to the non-existent chance that she might give me a shot. I guess she's realized that. I have the feeling she's aware of the fact that I'm obsessed and every word she tells me just inputs energy in this perpetual motion machine of my mind, one that already doesn't need extra energy to remain obsessed. We haven't chatted in a while. She doesn't reply to my emails. Maybe that's the right thing to do. I need not to be encouraged, not to be fueled any more.

But I just can't ignore her. She's been on my mind for over three years. Let's hope running away to italy will heal me. She's my tumor. She's the cause of my atrophy. She's not responsible for it, because it's my fault really, but the cause nonetheless. It's much more than running away from her, though. It's also running towards something else. At this point, anything else. A life, for example. Anyone else. Sadly, it seems to be very difficult to find smart and beautiful (I'm not even that picky on the beauty criterias) women who are going to be interested in me as well.

Am I aiming too high? Should I just settle for less?

But I can't ignore her. Trying to ignore her is just so unrewarding. Perhaps it unrewardingness lies in that I don't actually try very hard. I pretend to try, then fail miserably, perhaps even mingling misery with faint hopes. That's because in being miserable, I wish to share my misery with someone. I often say the only thing humans can truly share is misery. It's the only thing that people are totally, openly and honestly selfish about, therefore able to share without holding anything back.

I'm a dam holding water back. So many things, so much pressure. There's a name, hers, that's been on the tip of my tongue for the last three years now. I'm constantly afraid it might slip out at any moment. If only I could have her in front of me, look into her eyes and tell her: "___, I love you. Sadly." Maybe she could look into my eyes, tell me she's sorry, then turn around and introduce me to her friend who is a hot astrophysician, who has minored in ancient history and is passionate about architecture and baseball, and loves to travel. That could be the greatest day of my life. Am I aiming too high?

I've never found that girl anywhere. I typed "hot astrophysician" in Google and got no result. If Google can't find her, how can I? Should I settle for a non-hot astrophysician, or a hot non-astrophysician? When I relativize like that, I consider myself reasonable when only asking for one girl, this girl, to love me. I'm not aiming too high or too low, and it isn't a question of beauty or astrophysics knowledge. It's just about knowing her and knowing myself, and wanting her and feeling that if I had her, I would never have to ask anything from life, destiny, fate, god or the universe, ever again. I could be content. Happy is a strong word, it's a chemical delusion. But content is fitting. It's appropriate, the way I see it, the way I feel. I feel I could make her feel the same way too. Perhaps I could even create some chemical delusion in her as well.


Ô jeune fille, jette-toi encore dans l'eau pour que j'aie une seconde fois la chance de nous sauver tous les deux!

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Keren Ann
Not Going Anywhere

This is why I always wonder
I'm a pond full of regrets
I always try to not remember rather than forget
This is why I always whisper
When vagabonds are passing by
I tend to keep myself away from their goodbyes

Tide will rise and fall along the bay
and I'm not going anywhere
I'm not going anywhere
People come and go and walk away
but I'm not going anywhere
I'm not going anywhere

This is why I always whisper
I'm a river with a spell
I like to hear but not to listen,
I like to say but not to tell
This is why I always wonder
There's nothing new under the sun
I won't go anywhere so give my love to everyone

Tide will rise and fall along the bay
and I'm not going anywhere
I'm not going anywhere
People come and go and walk away
but I'm not going anywhere
I'm not going anywhere

Monday, December 18, 2006

Back in the frozen hell

I'm back from Boston and I can now officially say that I hate the province of Québec... except for our road indication system, which kicks ass compared to the american one. It's much easier to know where you're at at any time.

When I was at the border, last night, entering Canada, I noticed something. American side: nothing. Canadian side: snow. I hate snow. First thing I saw when I got out of my car, once I got home, was the ice I had to be careful about stepping on. I hate ice... ice in the driveway, that is, because ice can be nice for playing hockey. But it isn't all about winter, which pretty much starts much earlier in Québec than in Boston. It's the city. Boston isn't a dump like Montréal (my opinion). Boston is twice a big as Québec City, yet it doesn't have this overcrowded feeling. I love the buildings, the streets, the park. Even the subways, which aren't the nicest.

Honestly, Boston is a city where I could live for a few years. It wouldn't be a problem for me, if I was to be forced to live there.

This short trip to Boston was just a first taste of this "elsewhere" I've aspired to experience for years. I now feel more ready to face Europe. I'm starting to believe it and to trust myself a little more. Three days in Boston has changed me some. I spent most of these days exploring the city with a man who has survived a cancer he should have died from, and from talking with him, I tweaked the way I think and see the world a little. I may not be such a worrier anymore. I'll worry still, but I don't think it will paralyze me as much, to the same extent.

If I meet such an interesting and important person in each city I visit, I'll be a very different man back from Italy, in two months and a half. Of course, I probably won't meet one everywhere, certainly not every day, but two or three of those could have a significant impact on me.

People, I know it's hard to believe, but I'm now and even greater man than I was last week. It's true.

Don't be afraid of loving me, embracing me. I might just change your life a little as well.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

I'm leaving for my weekend in Boston in less than 12 hours.

Oh the excitement!

See you on Monday!

Monday, December 11, 2006

The Digital Camera saga... what?! It's not over?!

Earlier today, I emailed the company I bought it from for news, good news, and a tracking number for the package, as previously promised by them. They sent me a tracking number... one that wasn't registered anywhere in the postal services database. So I wrote another email. I enjoy writing emails.

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

Hi again,
This tracking number suffers from a severe lack of record. By that, I mean that USPS can't confirm, therefore can't track my long awaited camera. The question follows the ":" that follows: What use does a tracking number have when it doesn't track anything? It's basically just a number, which makes me, despite my highly mathematical (and apparently sarcastic) mind, even less happy than I was 10 minutes ago, before I received this "number".

Tell me, can I have this simple and supreme information before I go on and grow pissed by the hour: when, oh when, did you ship the package. I mean, the date, not the moment of the day. For example, if you shipped is on November 30th, I'll know what to expect to a relative extent. I'm all about relative certainty. As Albert Camus wrote: "We're all relatively something". And I'm relatively disappointed.


Relatively yours,

Frank


¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

I'm pissed.

Life update

Plane tickets : Bought!

January 15th, I leave. January 16th, I'm in Heathrow. A few days later, I'm in Paris. A couple of days later, I'm in Italy!

The mirage is becoming real.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Confusion of trays

I live in a world of fantasy. I use my imagination to compensate for my lack of experience. The same old world of what-ifs I've been inhabiting for the last... hmm... 19 years, I guess. I can't remember a point in time when I wasn't imagining myself a more interesting life.

I'm pathetic.

I can't stop wondering what my life would be like if some things were different. What if I was 5 inches taller? What if that girl was attracted to me? What if I was more normal? Cross that last one. Should I ever wish such a horrible thing, I should be thrown in an asylum.

I keep dreaming about her, this beautiful, smart, funny girl. Not just daydreaming, which would be in my control, but dreaming, at night, when I don't regulate anything. My blackhole has drawn me to her, and I'll never return. My mind is caught up.

But I'm still trying, hoping, wishing, to find someone else, somewhere. But again, instead of really trying, I try 2% and wonder 98%. The other day, I was ordering some junk food, a galvaude with extra cheese at Ashton's, and there was this girl just before me (actually I was before her, but I waited longer for my change and she got in front of me in the line). She was cute. There were a lot of people and a lack of space, and a confusion of trays in which she was caught. So, I told her something like "This is a jungle", just a comment to deflect attention from the fact I was about to burst in laughter because of her situation. It worked. And she laughed, polite laugh, probably. When I went away with my galvaude and extra cheese, I just kept imagining a conversation with her. You could say I went 2% of the way once again. 98% of imagination relates to 98% of regret.

Just like the girl I dream about. In her case, I probably went 10% of the way. You could call that progress. But it's still 90% disappointment, regret. Imagination is awesome when you're a writer. It isn't so fun when you don't write. I have turned into a confusion of trays in the fast-food of life.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Quotes of the day

Work is the curse of the drinking classes.
- Oscar Wilde


Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.
- Steven Wright

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Quote of the day

"There he goes, one of God’s own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind, never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die."

Fear and loathing in Las Vegas

Saturday, December 02, 2006

I am a spy. The truth.

My fascination with spy novels has returned. Maybe, some part of my mind always wished to be a spy. Maybe it's just a reaction to my complete and irrational fear of exploring the unknown. Think about it: I've never traveled. I don't really have a network of contacts. I don't care sharing secrets with people, telling the truth and being 100% authentic. I'm basically the anti-spy!

Or maybe that's what I want you all to believe. I'm Frank by day... who knows what goes on when I'm not online, though.

Now that I have you wondering, look behind you!


P.S. Boo!

Quotes of the day

All of us learn to write in the second grade. Most of us go on to greater things.
- Bobby Knight (a basketball coach who doesn't like reporters)

Accomplishing the impossible means only that the boss will add it to your regular duties.
- Doug Larson

Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.
- Isaac Asimov