Sonoma, July 14, 2024

July 14th, a famous date in history, when the Parisians stormed the Bastille, liberated 7 prisoners, and did away (temporarily) with the French monarchy.

The good people of Paris celebrated this event by chopping the heads of all the aristocrats at hand. Eventually, King Louis XVI and his wife Marie-Antoinette were also led to the scaffold and beheaded, accompanied by the jeers of the “tricoteuses”.

Since then, July 14th has become a national holiday, and the French people usually celebrate with parades, fireworks, and street dancing.

We had none of this yesterday in Sonoma, but fortunately, we had among us, the embodiment of the French spirit in the body and voice of Jean-Michel Poulnot.

Every year Jean-Michel dons his tricolor outfit (including the French béret) to call all the citizens to arms, with an enthusiastic version of La Marseillaise.

It feels so genuine, that we almost feel that we have to grab our muskets, and erect barricades (which in the future doesn’t seem too far-fetched.) Fortunately, we are not there yet, but a mob (any mob) is always unpredictable.

Otherwise, there was just a regular tournament with 18 “triplettes” competing for the big loot. Considering my venerable age, I chose to abstain from the competition and strolled on the field around 11:00 am, accompanied by my regular entourage of assistants.

We didn’t linger too long, due to some unexpected fatigue experienced by our junior set. I still managed to take a few pictures to share with you, and you can watch them by clicking on the link called “My photos”.

Later, at home, I received a message indicating who won the Concours. So here it is:

Concours:

1st place: Duncan,  Jean-Michel, and Bernard P.

Congratulations fellow gunslingers, on another notch on your respective pistols!

Alain

Objectivity

A person is considered objective when he/she is not influenced by personal feelings or opinions when considering facts.

However, true objectivity is almost impossible to achieve. When evaluating facts, we are almost always unconsciously influenced by biases: she is a woman, he is Black, she is Jewish, he is wealthy, he is poor, he is too young, he is too old, he is too rich, he is gay, etc.

So, regardless of the issues, nobody is truly objective. This brings us to the question of the day: is Joe Biden too old for a second term as President of the United States?
Advancing age has nothing to do with it. In the age of broadcasting, it is the appearance that matters most. And this is why some aging performers are rightfully turned down for roles requiring youth and vitality.

Some people look extraordinarily fit at 80, but if you appear old, you are considered old, regardless of your actual age, and therefore unfit for the part.

When I was around 22, I served in the French Army, and one of the men in my unit was nicknamed “Pépère.” In French, old men are often called “pépères,” a term which can be friendly or derogatory depending on the intention. This fellow was about my age, but he was already married, wore a large mustache, smoked a pipe, wore slippers when off-duty, and was forever concocting some brew on a portable stove. He was therefore considered odd, and out of step with the rest of us.

As a leader, you must appear dynamic and speak forcefully when the situation demands it. Unfortunately, this is not the image that candidate Joe Biden projects. He shuffles, stumbles, and speaks with a tenuous, whispering voice. This is not the leader the public wishes to see, especially someone who has to handle bullies of all shapes and colors.

The common man often yearns for a strong leader, a law-and-order man… even someone with glaring flaws. But a leopard cannot change his spots, and when the public plebiscites a “strong man” their honeymoon can be brutally short.

I believe Joe Biden to be a decent, honest man who cares about common folks. But for the good of the nation (and the world), he ought to pass the baton to a younger, more dynamic-looking individual. Too much is at stake in this election, and allowing a known bully to reoccupy the White House would be dicey.

People ought to remember what happened when they allowed vain, old foggies (Hindenburg, Pétain) to continue meddling with the affairs of the state after their prime.

This year, Republicans and Democrats picked unsuitable candidates to lead the country. Both sides are wrong, and if worse comes to worst, I will stick with the candidate who still believes in democracy and doesn’t seek immunity for all  his past and forthcoming contentious deeds.

Alain

Tamalous Redux

Some private clubs are very exclusive and require significant endorsements for membership. Tamalous Inc. however, is a different kind of animal. It will pluck you and incorporate you into their ranks without your knowledge.

The more prestigious the organization, the harder it is to infiltrate. But lesser groups, eager for members, are not as particular and will shanghai you into their ranks under the cover of darkness. The Tamalous are notorious for their wicked tactics. Like the Foreign Legion, they will seduce you and with few exceptions, they will accept almost anybody.

How do they do it? It’s simple and ingenious. After a certain age, various body parts start to conspire against you. Your knee, hip, back, or any other part of your anatomy begins to complain and demands attention. You start by taking painkillers, hoping they will make the pain vanish. It might… but only temporarily, and sooner or later, the pain returns… sometimes with relatives.

Your frustration grows with the pain, and soon you start discussing that concern with your friends. You then discover that all your pals are experiencing the same discomfort and have been enrolled in the Tamalous without their knowledge.

So, when you meet with your chums, instead of discussing women, food, or politics as French people typically do, the first question they ask is “t’as mal où?” which in colloquial French means “Where do you hurt?” And surprise, everyone (even seemingly robust-looking fellows) discovers that they are now full-time members of this famous organization.

Club Tamalou is a vast international outfit, with members in nearly every country, even in prudish Iran. There is no discrimination whatsoever—male, female, gay, transgender—if you hurt, you become automatically part of the Big Brotherhood of Lamentations.

Of course, unknown to outsiders, we have a secret handshake to communicate with each other… and that is all I will say about this confidential matter. We don’t have a flag yet, but we are working on it, and I am confident that one day we will have a special holiday to acknowledge our status.

The Tamalous, like the Freemasons, unite for mutual support and fellowship… and the glamor of their secret ceremonies.

T’as mal où?

Alain