Category: Fourre-tout

“If you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me.”
Alice Roosevelt Longworth

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Here we go again. As the end of the year approaches it is time once more for virtuous commitments. So here are my well thought out New Year resolutions.

1- I will lose weight
This one is probably on everybody’s list. But as you very well know, it is more easily said than done. It might have something to do with the fact that “diet” is a four-letter word and that many people won’t have anything to do with such a word.

2- Quit smoking
I put this one on my list because I know for sure that I can do that. I can easily score some points here this since I never smoked. But hey, there are no small victories, only sore losers.

3- Stop twerking
I will stop twerking, I swear. An obnoxious brat completely turned me off this secret practice of mine. No more hips or booty shaking for me. Sorry girls.

4- Drink more water
I will drink more water. I won’t (like demented urban trekkers) carry a bottle of water everywhere I go, but I will force myself to increase the level of moisture in my already magnificent body.

5- Become a vegetarian
I will become a vegetarian. I put this here, because each time I see cattle in a field I feel sorry for the animals, thinking of the fate that awaits them. But unfortunately I still like a piece of meat once in a while. This is going to be a tough one.

6- Keep on clobbering religion
I will keep on deriding religion. This medieval practice has no place in modern society. It is like believing in Santa Claus. After a while astute grownups stop giving credence to this unhealthy fairytale.

7- Quit farting so much
I will try to curb my flatulence. Cows across the freeway already produce enough methane to light up Marin County for 6 months. I must stop contributing to Global Warming.

8- Stop fondling my iPhone
I will stop acting like a lovesick teenager and fondle my iPhone every 5 minutes. I know that it can cause blindness or grow hair in the palm of my hand. But I might fondle the top of my head to coax my hair to grow again.

9- Dress more stylishly
I will dress more stylishly. I will stop wearing jeans and start dressing in stretch leggings to emphasize my curves. I owe it to myself (and to the world) to be fashionable.

10- Adopt a pet
I will adopt a pet. Sorry, it is already done.

11- Befriend my friends’ friends
I will befriend new people and steal their ideas. I will dine and wine them to extract their most valuable secrets to benefit my secret slush fund.

12- Get off prescriptions drugs
I will try to convince my medico to wean me off prescription drugs. I take too many of these colored pills already. I know that Big Pharma needs the money, but I am pretty sure that it can survive without my help.

Those, my friends are my righteous goals for 2016.
Do yours compare favorably?

Alain

PS: Percent of people who are successful in achieving their resolutions: 8%

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For Santa Claus, December and January have always been busy months involving a lot of traveling. From the North Pole he routinely treks to the four corners of the world, even to Russia where he is affectionately known as “Дед Мороз” (Grandpa Frost).

Santa had always been careful to avoid diplomatic “faux-pas”. Wherever he went, he dressed according to local tradition, and because of that he always carried in his trunk more outfits than Lady Laga on a world tour. It is only natural that after that busy period of the year Santa seeks a little solace far away from the hue and cry of big cities.

Usually, at the end of the holiday season, Santa Claus takes refuge in the South of France, in a little village of the Provence area. It just happened that Santa liked to play Pétanque and there is no better place for this than the little village of C. where the noble sport of Pétanque have been practiced since time immemorial.

Santa had been going there incognito for years and he had become a fixture of the local Pétanque court.
When he first arrived, he gave his first name as Noel, and ever since, because of his portly and debonair appearance, the locals took to calling him “Père Noel”. Little did they know…
Noel, never betrayed his identity. Upon arriving in C. he would wear sandals, a pair of shorts and an old Hawaiian shirt that he had collected in his travels. He would also don an old straw hat and a pair of sunglasses.

The locals did not know much about him except that he was some kind of a businessman and that he was a “Northerner”. For most of the “Provençaux”, anybody hailing from north of Valence is a Northerner.
But Noël proved to be a jovial and congenial fellow and everybody adopted him.
Everybody, except a certain Léandre.

Leandre was a skinny and quarrelsome fellow who resented the popularity of this “Northerner” while he, (a native son), was routinely disparaged by his own people.
Noel played mainly as a “pointeur” and everybody praised his uncanny ability to “deliver the goods”. In a pinch you could always rely on Le Père Noel to place a winning shot.

Léandre was known as a “tireur” (shooter) and a good one.
So it was not unusual for Noel and Léandre to cross boules in the arena.
When Noel placed a great ball hugging the cochonnet, Léandre would shoot it out of the way. He was a good shooter, but not a gracious one. He would always accompany his shots with disparaging comments about his opponent. After a while, despite his sunny disposition, Le Père Noel grew tired of Leandre’s remarks and demeanor.

He challenged Léandre to a “friendly little game” and to sweeten the deal he stipulated that the loser would reward the winner with “un cochon de lait” (suckling pig) and a case of Chateauneuf du Pape.
Léandre, confident in his skills and enticed by the tempting prize, accepted the challenge without any hesitation. The game was to be played in 15 points with 6 balls for each player.

Alerted by the local gossips, the entire village gathered to watch the historic match between skinny Léandre and rotund Noel. Heavy bets were placed on each contender.
The “cochon de lait” and the case of wine were there for the winner to take home.

Le Père Noel started very well, placing superb balls near the cochonnet, only to be displaced and scattered all over the field by the murderous accuracy of Léandre.
But Le Père Noel persisted and Léandre started to get a little tired.

The lead went back and forth between Léandre and le Père Noel, until Léandre hit the cochonnet by mistake and pushed it a good 20 meters away from the starting circle.
Le Père Noel had 2 balls left and Léandre 3.
The score was now 14 to 12 in favor of Léandre. He needed only one more point to take the cochon de lait, the wine and the everlasting glory home.

Le Père Noel aimed carefully and placed a great shot about 3 inches in front of the “cochonnet”.
Léandre, almost without aiming, shot his first ball and missed by a few inches. He threw his second ball and missed again. He cursed loudly. Summoning all his strength and skills he shot his last ball and hit a stunning “carreau”. His boule hit and took the place of Noel’s boule.

That ball was now about 2 inches in front of the cochonnet and Le Père Noel had only one ball left. He was not known as a shooter, and at this distance (about 20 yards) with a wall of balls in front of him, the situation looked pretty hopeless.

Le Père Noel walked slowly to the cochonnet to appraise the situation. Léandre watched him with an ironic smirk on his face.

Le Père Noel went back  to the starting circle, wiped off his sunglasses and after a few seconds he let his last ball fly. It winged its way slow motion-like and hit Leandre’s boule “carreau-like”.
With a strange, almost plaintive sound, Leandre’s ball broke apart and dispersed in a multitude of small pieces.

The crowd stood still for a few seconds and erupted in wild cheers. Vive le Père Noel, they cried, vive le Père Noel.
Léandre looked stunned. He stood paralyzed, incapable of any move or any sound.

The crowd started to rush toward the Père Noel when an odd swishing sound was heard. A sleigh drawn by nine snorting reindeers swooshed down from the sky and Le Père Noel carrying the piglet and the case of wine under each arm jumped aboard, never to be seen again.

To this day, the villagers are still talking about this strange turn of events and the mythic “coup du Père Noel”.
Léandre left the village never to return.

There are some rumors that le Père Noel was last been seen playing Pétanque in Copacabana.

Alain

« La liberté des uns s’arrête là où commence celle des autres.”
“One’s freedom stops where others’ freedom starts.”

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 I am a “middleroader”. I don’t go for extreme positions… except maybe for people who are cruel to animals or small children. For those individuals I am strongly in favor of public flogging and a prominent “scarlet letter” (preferably on the forehead).

Otherwise I am a mild-mannered person and expect reciprocity from others.
That’s why I am against any type of extremism, political, social or religious.
I have opinions but I will never coerce anybody into sharing them with me.

I am particularly weary of people who hold extreme views. Especially crusaders consumed with a single burning passion. I think that there is something scarily weird about them. An emotional void that needs to be filled with extreme rhetoric or violence.

Personally I don’t have a single obsession; I have varied interests and therefore my energy is split and diffused among all of them.
I certainly don’t want to bump off or decapitate anybody who beats me at pétanque.

I don’t like evangelism, Islamism, Judaism, absolutism, Biblicism, chauvinism, creationism, dogmatism, fascism… basically it seems, almost every word ending in “ism”.
Hoplophilia by the way (erotic interest in guns) is also on my no-no list.

Extremists remind me the Lilliputian quarrel over the practice of breaking eggs.

“Traditionally, Lilliputians broke boiled eggs on the larger end; a few generations ago, an Emperor of Lilliput, the Present Emperor’s great-grandfather, had decreed that all eggs be broken on the smaller end after his son cut himself breaking the egg on the larger end.
The differences between Big-Endians (those who broke their eggs at the larger end) and Little-Endians had given rise to “six rebellions… wherein one Emperor lost his life, and another his crown”.

 How dopey can you get? Doesn’t this remind you of what’s happening in the Middle East?

My innovative solution for extremism is therapeutic sex.

Therapeutic sex is typically a process by which sexual contact and intimacy are used as therapeutic treatment for a variety of emotional or psychological issues. 

 It is no secret that most fanatics are sexually deprived.
Let western governments allocate some money and send battalions of patriotic “escorts” to the Middle East.
I guarantee that after a roll (maybe two or three) in the hay most fanatics would be less inclined to die for the dubious prospect of scores of virgins in the sky.

It would be less costly, less bloody and way more effective than thousands of “boots on the ground”.

Eh Washington, what do you think?
It works in prisons (conjugal visits), why wouldn’t it work in Jihadi-land?

Alain

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Please watch my new photo album titled “A walk in the park”.