Category: Fourre-tout

Last week my wife coerced me into going to San Francisco to view an art exhibit. She used the usual veiled threats (booze, food, sex) to bring me to surrender.

Our midweek excursion day took place on a drizzly Wednesday and I never expected finding such a high number of art groupies at the same time.
Like hungry blackbirds, they flocked to the de Young Museum to peck at the “Girl with a Pearl Earring” exhibition.
I could not help but notice that men were outnumbered by women fifty to one.

Inside the museum we were immediately surrounded by a sea of very determined looking amazons. Many were carrying a water canteen (and various combat items) on their bulging clothes and they looked like battle-hardened veterans ready to storm a well-defended bunker.

If a man were looking for a place to meet a woman, this would be the spot but unfortunately attractive women were few in number. I gather that they have better things to do than watch Flemish art.

To be honest, museums are not my cup of tea. They attract too many people at the same time and I just happen to be allergic to crowds.
When it comes to art, I aim (like a good brandy) to take it in small doses and quietly savor the moment.
I don’t like to be crowded by pushy gawkers.

Museumgoers tend to be broad-butted individuals who are prone to hogging well-known pieces. They camp (for a long time) in front of a painting and are not inclined to share.
I also noticed that they are impervious to nasty stares.

Personally, when I go to an art exhibition, I don’t want to look at a lot of stuff and I definitely don’t want to share my feelings with anybody else.
I want a private moment with a few pieces and I aspire to leave almost immediately after that.
I am definitely not a serial art watcher.
After an hour of continuous art watching I tend to get a rash.

Around noon, by general consensus, we decided that we had had our fill of art and left the building.
I decided to take my fellow adventurers to a little restaurant called “Chez Maman”.
I didn’t know much about it but I liked the name. With a name like this, could the food be bad?

This place is located in the Hayes Valley, at the intersection of Gough and Hayes.
It is small and we had to wait for about fifteen minutes before being seated.

The menu showed “Escargots de Bourgogne” and we all spontaneously went for it.
I also noticed that the word Escargot was erroneously spelled as “Escarcot” but I decided to overlook this.
Then both of my guests ordered grilled Mahi-Mahi and I chose “Mussels Poulette” for myself.

It must have been Maman’s day off, and a Mexican cousin must have filled in for her, because once more the Escargots were tasteless. Alas, alas, alas!

When we brought our concern to the host’s attention he looked surprised (don’t they all) and offered to bring us a fresh batch.
We declined and ordered instead some “soupe a l’onion” and “une assiette de merguez” also misspelled as “meguez”.
(I have noticed that when people misspell the word of a foreign dish, they rarely know much about it.)

The onion soup proved satisfying and so was the Mahi-Mahi.
The mussels “sauce poulette” were OK. Not great, just OK.

At the end of the meal, the host (probably to atone for the kitchen’s sins) offered us a glass of very good Muscat.
Smart fellow.

Would I return to Chez Maman?
Maybe, making sure first that Maman is in the kitchen, and second that she boned up on her “escargot” recipe.
Just to remind you Maman: the ingredients are butter, garlic, parsley and salt. That’s all.

All together, I dare say that our lunch was a tad more fulfilling than the “Girl with the Pearl Earring” exhibit.

Alain

 

I like taking action shots, and during a tournament I can capture between 350 and 400 photos.
That’s a lot, and after I have transferred all these pictures to my computer, I try to bring that number down by weeding out everything that I deem unworthy of publishing.

The criteria that I use for publishing photos are as follows:
First, the picture has to be properly focused; second, it should be candid and third I will favor an elegant boule thrower versus a clumsy one.

Ideally speaking, I would like to retain the most elegant pictures, but sometimes I keep and publish some shots that are not particularly graceful.
The main reason for doing this is my innate sense of fairness.

Most of the people like to see pictures of themselves, but few people have the natural ability to display elegance in motion.
Some people tend to look clumsy, and I try to spare feelings by not displaying unflattering shots.
Just like beautiful people, players showing an elegant form get better coverage than clumsy looking ones. It is not fair but every grownup should be resigned to the fact that life is not particularly fair.

But good form doesn’t necessarily equate with effectiveness, and vice-versa. A player can be highly photogenic but ineffective, while another one can look ungainly and be very successful.
And depending on age, infirmities or athletic abilities, some people are unable to display a fluid playing style.
Should they be shunned for it? No. I think that they deserve the right to have their moment in the sun like anybody else.

If you want to improve the way you look, you might ask a friend to videotape you. That’s what was being done when I was skiing.
Then you could show the clip to your friends and ask them to give you an honest assessment of your playing style.
You will probably lose most of your friends but you will definitely understand why you are not featured in Sports Illustrated.

I understand that Marco Foyot (a renowned French pétanque player) is coming to our area very soon.
If you don’t particularly like the way you look on pictures, now is the time to book him for a few private lessons and a complete pétanque makeover.

Alain

 

A little while ago somebody suggested that I watch a show called “Big Love”. Being the obliging chap that I am, I did so.
Big Love turned out to be an unusual marital marathon.

It is an American television show that first aired on HBO, and it features a polygamist Mormon family living in Utah.
In this story, a businessman is wedded to three different women who live in adjacent houses.

There is Wife Number One (the oldest), Wife Number Two and Wife Number Three (the youngest). They call themselves “sisterwives” and form an uneasy alliance that includes nine children.
The husband, under the dual umbrella of religion and duty, shares the bed of a different wife every night. Needless to say that this job requires exceptional mental and physical stamina (and occasional chemical assistance).

Some men might think that is cool, but it appears that polygamy it is not all what it is cracked up to be.
Being married to a single woman is taxing enough, but having to deal with three women at once time strikes me as the pinnacle of lunacy.
The man has to fulfill the emotional, sexual, and financial needs of three different females and this is more than any fellow can handle.
Then there is also the ever-present stress of keeping this cozy arrangement secret for the high-minded neighbors must not know about this unconventional modus vivendi.
This is not a job for Joe Schmo, it is a job for the Man in Tights.

Fellow men, a word of advice if I may.
Don’t be a tightrope walker and don’t bite more than you can chew.
A single woman is more than a match for you.

If the same daily offering easily bores you, don’t get embroiled in any kind of matrimony… and absolutely not in polygamy.

Opt instead for the glamorous role of perennial bachelor (see George Clooney).
This exalted status will keep you in good standing with your neighbors, female admirers and will allow you to spread your benevolence evenly (and without strings) to all of them.

You need to remember that matrimony is not for the faint hearted. According to statistics, more than fifty percent of marriages end up in divorce.
If marry you absolutely must, make it clear from the outset that you need some elbow room.
Instead of a “prenup” suggest separate living quarters or at least a very large apartment that will afford some privacy.
When in need of company, send flowers to your wife and arrange for an amorous encounter.

You have to admit that seeing somebody on a date is more thrilling that seeing somebody in bathrobe and curlers.

So again be wary of matrimony, and if you know what’s good for you never succumb to the siren song of polygamy.

Alain