Thursday, November 08, 2018
Old Frenchy
-Looks pretty, no?
-But it’s crap!
-Crap can’t look nice?
-To depraved tastes, yes.
“Form’s survival conceals the disappearance of content.”
-Marguerite Yourcenar
Labels: content, depravity, form, French, history, Roman Empire, taste
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Playing With Cars
When Dorine met Dr Rodgehill, at Home Depot,
he tried to sell her a course he still had open at
the Cow Ridge Night School.
Genealogy. No interest.
So he asked her what she was interested in,
and told her he could design a course for
her and a friend or two, and get a few
others to join.
“Tell me a film you particularly like. That could
be a starting point.”
She and buddy Georgette, had watched Jules and Jim
innumerable times.
So he designed “New Wave Cinema and Lit”
and got Dr Maurice Petit from the French
Department of the university to handle it.
When Malcolm heard about it from Georgette
at his accounting firm, he decided to enroll,
knowing nothing of the field but desperately
requiring some culture.
He had a new Lexis and it seemed important
that the three arrive at the high school in it.
He worked out the logistics wherein the other
two would drive to his house. Then his wife,
Buster, insisted they bring their mates and
the three would have an impromptu party as
the scholars did their thing. Then welcome
them upon their academic return!
“Buster” because she had been a tomboy, and
it stuck.
Things became out of whack that first night,
though. Grandma was late picking up the kids,
and they left a mess in the den.
Buster attempted to sweep up up the toy cars scattered
about, but the husbands of Dorine and Georgette, Jerry
and Cart, stopped her and started playing with them.
She left to get beers and their voices drifted up
to the kitchen. A children’s language.
“You must be Stump Stumpzel, a real bastard
of a dirty driver, and I’m Joe Curley, the champ!
And you try to–-”
“You mean like this and this and THIS!” Sounds of
crashes.
When she showed with the beer, Cart asked her
to be Doris Dale, a female driver trying to break
into the boys club.
“No way! I fight that fight every day! I’m Count
Briley and I’m dying, and this’ll probably be
my last race.” Then she made great pre-launch
RMMM RMMM sounds!
“And I’ll WRECK you!” screamed Jerry over them.
But Cart tried to intercept him and wreck him
instead.
In the protracted fury, Buster ran the car into
the old broken TV console. And was killed!
Whereupon, she became Rookie Don Darling!
He’d show the other two some new tricks!
Well, the evening went this way, but they
didn’t tell the scholars anything when they
returned, primed for conversation existential.
The course lasted five more nights over three weeks
and Buster, as Holy Hodge Pettigrew, finally won the
championship race against two of the filthiest villains ever!
The excitement had faded a bit when the other trio returned.
Dr Petit, a calligrapher also, had fashioned each a Certificate
of Completion.
Labels: automobile racing, children's play, cinema, culture, existential, French, New Wave, playing, suburbs, toy cars
Tuesday, April 04, 2017
Important!
Brel finally decided
in order to get the rest
of them off his back!
Then almost immediately,
felt sick.
He confided in Rugsy.
"I feel...The Great Pretender.
Some of our friends are
rational, do things step
by step. They're happy!"
“Seem to be. Whereas you throw
the dart and then draw the
bullseye around it.”
“I give anything to know what
I was doing!”
“Ah but you do. Called doing
what the fuck you please,
and screw everybody and
everything else!”
“That bad?”
“Bottom line: You're just a
stubborn Irishman.”
“But I'm a Frog!”
“Not in this!
Labels: decide, French, Frog, Great Pretender, Irish, irrational, making decision, rational
Thursday, September 01, 2016
Deals
A Short Story--pointless as most
She taught French in the high school.
Even bought the cheeses and wine and
a Citroen. But the locals couldn't fix
the car, so she traded it in for a Ford.
And the same day, also traded her on-again
off-again for Kiffy Ners of Ners' Hardware.
In to buy a delivery truck.
And didn’t those two rush into a quick personal
deal? Temporary Insanity! Or Love.
Two daughters later, and she actually drags him
to France! Old Foursquare and Nothing Fancy.
But he takes to it! Loves it! Especially partial
to cognac, a necessity since the girls are
a cramp in the balls.
Both married now, but that hasn't changed.
Labels: France, French, marriage, Romance, romantic vs practical
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Economics etc
Best to have one you mentored
give closing remarks at your
death or retirement.
Smithy could think of no one,
for those he had helped had fled,
and left no forwarding address.
He could find them on Linked-In,
but why? Feelings always a bit
distant...his personality mostly.
Oh well! Hire a professional!
Jocelyn was bright and chipper,
and, at the sparsely-attended
banquet, praised his guidance
for her present, solid career.
He had retired to an empty house.
His Beth finally departing to live
with her ill sister.
To help, ostensibly, but never
to return.
Did the same service have “wives”
available?
Of course! In the Gig Economy, you
could hire everybody but yourself.
Riella was sent three days a week–-
a pliant and lovely individual to
clean and screw--the rest he bachelored it.
Then, one day, she was sent on special
assignment to France, and the service
dispatched Bert.
Who claimed to be more than competent
in all departments!
Smithy was doubtful and reticent, but
gave it a trial run. The men argued a lot,
but that was really a plus: feeling more alive.
A year later, Riella returned, exclaiming “Merde!”
but Bert stayed.
They left the temp company then.
The three are working things out.
She wrote and sang a French song,
Ménage à Trois.
All very complicated, and French, but Smithy figures
that The American Way should probably involve his
returning to work.
And, could do better for his mates!
Labels: American, american Way, French, Gig Economy, Ménage à Trois, relationships, retirement, temp
Thursday, April 14, 2016
French Press
Datz explained to Gloria the French Press.
Not a lover’s or wrestling move, but a way
to brew coffee.
“So okay,” she shrugged, “you spoon in the ground stuff, and add boil–“
“Not boiling, not quite.”
“Oh! So damn important! At any rate, you wait five minutes, plunge the crap down to the bottom,
etc. But there’s a rub, as Billy Shakespeare
noted in another context: In five minutes,
the mixture cools off just a bit. Defeats
the purpose if you don’t have piping coffee.”
“Ah but I left out a step in my description!
You have poured hot tap water into there
and let it stand for a minute. Pour it out
just before adding the coffee and the
really hot stuff.”
“Bingo!”
“Thus you start with a hot vessel, don’t you see?”
“I’m a hot vessel. You might notice.”
They both stared out the windows to the
foundry, where the windows glowed.
He told his mother in generalities, as if
the men under him had upset things.
“Just when you get a nice routine, some...”
“Cherchez la femme!” pronounced she. Laughed.
“You’re nobody’s fool, Mother.”
“Know the game, is all.”
Labels: coffee, French, French Press, Mama's Boy, Mother, sex, sexy
Saturday, April 11, 2015
The Next Gallic War
French banning super-
skinny models, thus
partially unboning
the absurd sashay
of anorexics, a walk both
angular and sweep-
ing to flaunt
Monsieur's rags with
attitudes of gangsters.
All the rage!
Turn the page?
I don't know, there's, too, toy-
ing with someone's living...
though resembling boys.
Snaps Marcel Floatloafers:
“Shall I foist plump
farm girls with flushed
cheeks and giggles then?”
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
Labels: anorexic, boys, Fashion Industry, French, rag trade, rags, skinny
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Working Men and Women
In the Small Office Off the Receiving Dock
Bertie laughed “I was at home...in my usual déshabillé.”
Macko opined “We’ve all become faggots!”
“Untrue! Déshabillé has taken me a long way!”
“Impress the new girl with that French baloney.
Don’t forget to add a half-sweeping gesture
with a limp wrist!”
“Helen? The face that launched a thousand ships?”
“Wrecked some, but held most in port. At any rate,
she’s using it to get her Photo-ID just now.”
“Just a little romance’d render our Macko less wretched!”
“Get a boyfriend! Closet has warped you!”
“In or out? Sauerkraut! I’m both at once!”
“Then how ‘bout the two of you taking yourselves outside? We gotta truck coming in!”
Labels: AC/DC, closet, déshabillé, French, Helen, Iliad, working
Monday, January 12, 2015
Je Suis etc
-You’re Charlie, hey? According to your homemade-spotcho T-shirt. On yellowed
stock from the Eisenhower Administration, obviously.
-I didn’t wanna ruin a nice new one.
-And speaking of yellow, I seem to remember
Cheese-eating Surrender Monkeys from your
mouth to any fellow imbecile’s right ear!
-That was then and...
-AND! your staunchly patriotic approval of
french fries being renamed FREEDOM FRIES
in the Horrid Halls of Congress.
-this is now! Plus, that’s Hallowed Halls.
-I forgot. I wonder why.
-Don’t you have...whatchacallit...with the French?
-Solidarity? Only with their idiots.
Labels: Congress, freedom fries, French, Je suis Charlie, solidarity, surrender monkeys, terrorism
Thursday, June 05, 2014
French Officials Twist U.S. Arms in Bank Inquiry *
Forgive the French
for being crooks.
In other ways, so so
très charmant! Look-
ing élégante
as others sweat
about the books.
*Times
Labels: banking, banking scandals, French
Saturday, January 25, 2014
By The Book
Vive les règles
The baker never enters the shop. Rather, leaves his
fragrant trays on tables in a room the girls call
Limbo. There, they or his wife fetch them, first
making sure he has left.
After many years, Dr André insists he slow down,
so another baker hired to assist.
Now the women know Limbo is safe when the
murmuring stops.
What they decipher: opposing points of Grammar.
Labels: bakery, French, grammar, rules
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Making Lemonade
Public TV
-She's on the board so couldn't steer her away.
She wanted to see backstage, the beating heart
of the operation.
-So what? It is what it is.
-Yeah? It's a shithole! Crap everywhere! She froze
up at the green sandwich.
-You expecting the phonecall presently?
-Inevitable.
-Hey! Tell her that sandwich is a prop from
French Cooking Now!
-The famous green bread of Brittany?
-Mais oui!
Labels: backstage, French, Public TV, TV
Sunday, September 01, 2013
The Third Way
Velvet Frog
Frenchy always found defective governor arms.
Down for two hours in which we smoked and
bullshitted while he worked and sang.
Laurette went out with him a few times.
“Its all flirty charm and manners, but no payoff.
You wait for the physical and it doesn’t, like, arrive.”
“Does the spiritual?”
“The physical IS the spiritual!”
“My ass!” responds Boss Harvey when Hairy Mac
relays their conversation. “Speaking of which, why...
not parade yours next time Frenchy replaces a
governor arm? Test him out.”
“You’re suspicioning he goes that way?”
“No...on second thought, not really. Hafta conclude
he doesn’t go any way.”
“Is that why he’s always so chirpy and happy?”
“Probably.”
Labels: date, French, happiness, sexuality, work
Saturday, July 27, 2013
How the French Do It
Chapter 4½
The wife of the Pharmacist left with the son
of the woman who owns the small hotel.
His Renault running badly, he put his attention
mostly to it.
She came back by train.
Her discussion with the pharmacist never leaked.
He spoke to no one outside work anyway. And to her,
infrequently, at the shop.
She spat “that foolishness!” though quite rarely,
with girlfriends.
The young man resumed helping his mother at the hotel
and tinkered with the Renault.
The village called him “The Old Man” when his hair
turned white shortly after.
Marcel’s brother remarked “He was unprepared
for such an adventure.”
(Said brother has his own name, but continued use of this label makes us forget it.)
Labels: affair, French, marriage
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Tie
The Tradition
-And the yearly messages from Marcel, the Farmer!
So simple and yet so exquisite. Genevieve the
cow, and Josie the cat, plus the insane chickens!
-Ah yes, Josie as a rangy beauty with tiger stripes.
Then the gentle speculation as to the barnyard Romeo-
layabout who fathered calico kittens.
-The one picture I've seen of Marcel. In misty hayloft, spare but blocky man writing his message with stub pencil on the back of a feed store bill. So so so charming.
-Who dares dispute?
-His last one, o the deepest! Stressing the Earth, the Earth, the Earth!
-Uh huh? Your triplets reflect the usual ones in his various messages. Literary attempts by a simple, good man? I think not.
-Please don't be a Frenchman, and debase and debunk
everything!
-I won't be, but yet you must pull up your Big Boy Pants, for any French person must hear one adult thought a day. And here is yours! There is no Farmer Marcel, nor Genevieve, nor Josie the cat. The first draft of each admired tome came from New York, thence to London for the literary flourishes. Last, translated to French.
-Good God! Just...give me a moment to say goodbye to my Marcel!
-Take your time. Include cow and cat.
-And my Gallic pride forever stung by this not being a purely French product! Even if a phony one. Why English at all?
-Because English is the language for utter shit.
-Horseshit or Bullshit?
-A tie.
Labels: cat, chicken, cow, English, farmer, French, hoax, language, pastoral
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Tour de France
Jeanne, in her final fit, leaves with Roger. Maurice gets
a village girl for the baby.
Coincident with this arrangement in the close farmhouse,
one thing eventually leads etc.
Ceases upon Jeanne’s return after two months, her ardor
for lover now ice.
Pauline back to her parents, therefore. Where one bright
afternoon she observes Roger’s leg and waves.
He will lean his bicycle against a dappling sycamore
for a chat light as air.
Labels: flirtation, French, love triangle, Tour de France
Thursday, November 29, 2012
So we'll go no more a-roaming–-
a political air
Yet, run to Right and Die.
Just what Wall St Hack
accomplished, in order
not to piss maniacs.
Necessary politics
and Death Wish. With
Dems would be bounce
towards Left, but that's in
mysterious coma for
the nonce.
Awaiting kiss from
Prince or Princess?
(I thought Frog, but
Frogs are so French.)
a political air
Yet, run to Right and Die.
Just what Wall St Hack
accomplished, in order
not to piss maniacs.
Necessary politics
and Death Wish. With
Dems would be bounce
towards Left, but that's in
mysterious coma for
the nonce.
Awaiting kiss from
Prince or Princess?
(I thought Frog, but
Frogs are so French.)
Labels: French, Left, political strategy, Right
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
To France
Kindly send few-
er sexual imbeciles.
Being truly generous-
ly supplied at present.
Labels: French, imbecile, sex crime
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Romantic Boundaries
They meet and
become French
art films frequented
of afternoons: laughter
and passion equally.
He’s married but she
doesn’t request papers.
Wife and kids train in
for Family Day at zoo.
Lunch at Mise En Scene thus
scrubbed, Andre puts away
their Cabernet. Blanc. Perhaps
she’ll find an empty cage
to bleed a Piaf
chanson réaliste.
Labels: affair, chanson, French, French film, Piaf
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
“Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys”
Best example of Righty wit-–yes it
does live! Target: French in this case.
Fulfills vision of self-chosen
Lords of Highest Lucre too
busy raking it in: nasty,
brutish and short.
Labels: Conservative wit, French
