Monthly Archives: June 2012

Color me London

24 Sunday Jun 2012

Posted by in Life in style, Places, Theater

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It’s been a while.

Since I went to London and since I last posted. Flying from the USA takes some time, y’know.

But…Here I am, at last. L-O-N-D-O-N.

Union Jacks here, Union Jacks there, Union Jacks displayed everywhere…

And I mean…everywhere…

Even Jamie is harvesting on the big bargain of this overdose of Jacks.

Still, it is a joyful sight. Especially when it’s wrapped with humour and wit.

Jubilee souvenirs are available in every imaginable form, and souveni

r short-bread tins can make unforgettable keepsakes. That, if you live in England’s capital, you know already. If you are a tourist you know that also, and you may have also purchased some to bring home.


Every body knows that. That and the other  that.

 That  = the next Olympics taking place in LDN.

(That is, you know it, unless you live on a desert island and your wireless is broken down, or you are ans ostrich with the head buried down in the sand….Of course)



Anyway. Not only did I wondered about these Royal delights and Olympics pride, I also walked an awful lot, like maybe 5-6 hours a day, taking too many pictures, stopping too many times in a caff or a tea house, and once a day in a pub (after theater or before, for a London Pride)…

Musing in animated streets, having a coffee in nice caffs, stumbling upon beautiful shops, riding the Double deckers to here and there, spotting an indie movie scene being shot at Marble Arch (indian music blasting and wind blowing everyone’s hair in their face… quite a funny sight), chatting with fellow members of  Urban Walks over a beer in a pub after a 3 miles stroll in South Kensington, discussing soccer tactics (well,  listening mainly, as I prefer rugby), soaking into the exquisite models of theatrical decors in the section of the V&A dedicated to Theatre and Performance…these have been the highly pleasurable activities I became entitled to those past days.

 

 


I particularly appreciated a boutique of fine chocolates, in Kensington High Street, Hotel Chocolat, and the friendly staff provided me with a good deal of information about the ideas behind the concept,while sipping a great caramel hot chocolate and delicates truffles and chili chocolate bouchées. (They kindly allowed me to take pictures.) Service was excellent, and the chocolates were fantastic. Thanks.

 

 

 

Went to the theatre twice so far, saw The Woman in Black (great effects, great play) at the Fortune, a small delightful theatre, and Sweeney Todd, at the grand Adelphi , amzingly Art Deco, and extraordinary décor, which I had seen already as a miniature in the V&A. (Imelda Staunton is amazing…).

War horse is COMPLETELY sold out. Oh, Dear. I’ll have to wait until it tours the USA then…

I’d like to see the 39 steps too, and Henry V, if possible (and if playing now).

With all those UK flags printed or wrapped everywhere, I’m thinking about getting my own Jack and wrapping myself into it as a night gown, before going to sleep, each night…I could do so for the entire duration of my stay, just to infuse the very Britishness of it all deep down into my bones and reconnect with this British part added to my blood and DNA by a Great grand mother and other Norman ancestors.

 

It’s chocolate, tea and shortbread time at this hour for me, thanks to Mr Jetlag…

Color me London tonight…..

So long, dear readers.

FlorevaChocolat

Hotel Chocolat
163 Kensington High Street
London
W8 6SU

Tel:             020 7938 2144

http://www.hotelchocolat.co.uk

Twee-ee-ee-ee-eet, tweet, tweet, tweet

09 Saturday Jun 2012

Posted by in This world we live in

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We all know the Everly brothers and their song “Dream, dream dream”.

Source : wikipedia, Everly Brothers

Have a try, replace the word “dream” by “Tweet” and you’ll get the picture. It works with the entire song, without becoming (too) silly 😉

I decided to bring some fun in my Tw*tter bio (life is so short, you know and a smile is always worth a bit of taking (small) risks* (my account being suspended?), and I have taken the pledge to “update” it  everyother day, with a funny aspect of my life/aspirations/whatever momental inspiration, hence my post here.

*hey buddy, that’s “auto-derision” and ironic, of course …

Check it out and let me know if you smiled. Good day to you.

PS : More seriously : one screenwriting idea : “What if Julius Cesar was utterly shy and short-sighted, afraid of horses, and keen on playing  chess all day  but at one point got kicked in the ass coached  by his wife to conquer the world ?

What do you think about that one?

Too Mel-Brook-ish ? Not new? (maybe)

😉

In memoriam Mallory and Irvine. A song for George and Sandy

08 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by in Mt Everest, People, Places

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Mallory and Irvine. They lost their lives on the Great Mountain, exactly 88 years ago.

A song for George and Sandy. (©FlorevaF-2012)

No more waiting, let’s go! And before we die, let’s drink! For we shall celebrate, if we must sink, the entirety of our rustling days-madness! On the threshold of the black horizon -the night. The awaited departure is announced, and there, everything’s bending towards the urgent desire to climb, without our really choosing it.

To climb always, to climb again, towards the Gods who decide our life, towards the Heavens awaiting our death. Diving naked into agony, suffering deeply from the unknown, pierced by the atrocious but demanding spire of reaching -at last- this high and yet difficult silver fang which steals, while weakening them, the breath, the reason and the strengths worn on the soul like a coat of arms.

Another effort, tearing the entrails, the summit is just there! After this cruel battle at last, soon, it will touch our fingers. The skin of rock sparkles again under the scorching caress of the star. The sunbeams flash and shine behind the clouds embedding themselves into the proud and hard womb of the mountain. For his country, ready to break open all the bottles of champagne, and requiring from him sometimes to forget his purity, the climber accepts this new intention : to print on the snow and in the sky, for his homeland the glory, and for himself his destiny.

Courage again! As it is there, let’s climb! The alpinist slideslipped and fell short, his hobnail boots, meager crampons, humble and altogether solid allies, ensure his safety.

Exhausted and breathless, short-winded, deprived of good oxygen to restore his diminished stamina, close to asphyxiation, weak and in pain, anxious nonetheless to keep in himself and for his companion an intact joy, an altar onto which sacrificing his wounds and his euphoria, he leads and mercilessly draws from  his bruised muscles the inspiration and a sacred fire. The surpassing of himself  for the mission soon to be achieved still instills tenacity in the pain needed to be muzzled -and to avoid being destroyed- the tiredness, the exhaustion, the sudden repulsion, hideous temptation of withdrawing, and to crush the doubt that creeps into himself.

The brotherhood of the rope supports his determination, the day stoops to greet this trying ascent. His silent companion fights the crucifying suffering of the frost on his throat, his cheeks, his hands, without failing. Against the hourglass of Time, the days are short and run faster if one hasn’t discreetly, for oneself, found a reason to explain all this. The question remains, embracing us, powerful and vain in turn : why climbing, why leaving, why? It digs an endless furrow, a shadow terrible for its shapelessness, in the memory of the men who never can give an answer.

“Listen to me, humble travelling passer-by, accidental hero, deeply moving man. With me will you stay forever to engrave your name on my rock and prove your love? Is your soul honest as this snow piled into millenaries under the moraine and in my sides and that you tear carelessly? How will your courage be? Are you brave, are you sincere? Pure as the ephemeral snowflakes covering those crimes done by others, that long after you will be like stigmas on all my faces? I let the lunar disc bless those I chose. Your rope companion too, later, will give his life to me. It is you tonight that I shall take to be mine in the infinity and in the clear kiss given to me in the middle of the night, before exalting my immortal glow to the stars of the galaxy, the white star listens, relishing when of you I speak. By your actions and your choices, the icy wind flurries and takes your answer as a glittering frost up to me. Now it’s time : sing a last song and give yourself away.”

Inserted into the intimate dialogue of his secret soul, the climber of the impossible recovers the purity of his sight, cleared of the vacuity of the world and of the scoria saddling the soul. He approaches eternity, he knows he’s entangled in a fresh start.

“Mother-Goddess of the World I am yours eternally. I had a life, but I didn’t know that from the minute I set eyes on you, an immense and devouring fire would torment my soul and consume my blood. Without a break I have fought to escape your call, frivolously I have broken the news flow, as I am torn. Patiently and without a sound you have eaten my heart. This fact throws me into raptures as much as it terrifies me. I am not myself anymore and my life does not belong to me any longer. For in every aspect my existence has transfigured into yours. You occupy my spirit and you govern my body which trains to espouse you while climbing all your buttresses.  In spite of my will I am not strong enough to no longer desire you, even though I abhor you. I love you like and old wound not hurting anymore, because from you will come the relief for my distraught soul. Unique and mysterious your hymn has reached me, following me like a shadow. Look, I have come back.

I know what you want, you’re waiting for my life, and I , finally, find the path. Everything ends here. You disclose yourself, I become your beloved child again. With this cold crystal-clear clarity submerging me, I approach ataraxy. In the absolute light of your frightening beauty, this water at last quenches my thirst, a gentle peace embraces me, my creased young years finding now their place, in the shape of a stained-glass snowflake, and fall asleep over my limbs while everything fades away…”

George Leigh Mallory and Andrew “Sandy” Irvine lost their lives on Mount Everest June 8th, 1924. Exactely 88 years ago.  In Memoriam Mallory and Irvine.

(A song for George and Sandy. ©Floreva V.SturmFox 2011-2012)

(Special thanks to Mrs Scottish Smith for the proof-reading)Photo (taken with my cellphone) of the Book on the Expedition that discovered Mallory’s body in 1999, J. Hemmleb, L.A. Johnson, E.R. Simonson. The Mountaineers Books.

Just brew it.

05 Tuesday Jun 2012

Posted by in Cafés, Life in style

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Mr. Coffee is one of my best friends.

 

 

Comforting, strong, warming. He’s a good chap, never willing to override the ideas that belong to others. On the contrary, he helps in developing them creatively (ask Voltaire).

He’s a good co-worker to work with, supportive and quietly present.

He does not take much space in my office, and he is reliable. I can always count on him to perk me up and instill stamina when days are set on the gloomy side. He always agrees to come with me in fancy places to meet some friends and usually seeks to please me in every way, cool and subtle in summertime or warm and spicy when cold winds swirl around my shivering shoulders.

I am never bored in his company and he can reach my most inner thoughts and nodd silently like an old trusted friend.

Although his great old  fame grants him access to the table of the most influential people ;  although he is praised all over the world, with  thousands of people working for him, he never becomes pretentious nor patronizing.

He is humble, and when correctly handled, can bring out the best of you, by giving you the best of him. His scent is unmistakable.

 


Whether ready to use or in need of a little preparation, he is surely bound to give you his best. Just brew it.

 

Tea and Thor, the though guy who changed.

04 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in Entertainemt, Movies, Writing

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It’s 4 pm, and at this moment, I need a cup of tea.

Coffee is more a morning affair, a routine to fuel my lack of energy to sit at my table (my desk, or an anonymous table in a coffee house or at the library), get to what I have to do, figure out how the things must develop onstage (for the musical project I am currently working on), finish the work, retrieve the scene where I left it (for the techno-thriller), having allowed  the hero to breathe a little more before throwing him into an unbearable dilemma, when I switched the laptop the night before.

The perfect cuppa is better enjoyed with an episode of a great TV series, after 8 pm, when I am not out.

I am addicted to tea and telly paired together (well, not the telly, rather the TV series on the telly). While busy with my favorite vice,  I can’t help but analyse the product I am served.

I suppose it’s what everyone suffering from the same disorder does : We shell the tricks of the screenplay, anticipating moves of the action or of some characters, expecting them to react in a particular way. I like it when I have a right guess, I feel the screenwriter has done his job properly, by having followed the rules and that the director has done a good job too with the clues, letting the audience to recall them on time and find the path to enlightenment.  I like when the series is so cleverly crafted that if leaves me puzzled or amazed. It’s highly enjoyable when this feeling lasts a bit more and makes one smile. It’s always better when the trick/twist end/resolution is cleverly chiseled and not set on a short fuse.

For instance, I felt quite disappointed with “Thor”. But not with “Pirates, band of misfits” that I saw last Sunday.

Ok, so…Thor.

Thor is a nice guy. He is about the become king of Asgard.Check. Strong, big, handsome, chiseled 6-pack, charming smile, his father is proud of him. He is the hero. The hero is a though guy (with loads of special FX, too much), he wants war. Check. Special FX. Check. Special FX again. Cheeeeeeck.

Thor has a jealous brother, Loki (Nemesis character), conspiring against him. Check. But he is shot-tempered (Thor, not Loki. well, Loki too). This is his main drawback (coupled with an unquenchable thirst for revenge upon the people of Frost Giants). The Frost Giants interrupt and try to steal a casket, followed by Thor and his friends (reflection characters). Battle takes place.

(Special effects,I, II, III, IV)

Odin is terribly disappointed. His father, the king of Gods (all this is inspired by Norske tales and the marvel comics) banishes him from the Scandinavian Olympus and the brother is seeking to seize the throne after this banishment. Check.

Special effects.

Thor is a shallow, smooth character inside, a little guilty on the edges (well not that much) when he learns that his father is dying. Loki has layers that add depth to his dilemma (his is the adopted son of Odin, an offspring of a killed Frost Giant Chef).

Special effects.

Later, Thor faces the dilemma : inner motivation : striking back, showing he is not that short-tempered and he can change and become king . Outer motivation : to regain his father’s esteem and redeem his right to the throne (and regain his immortality and his powers). Check. Check. Check. Special FX.

On Earth, he meets Natalie Portman, the pretty scientist (she embodies both (a little) the reflection character and the romance character). She lives and work in a RV, with her assistant and a tutelary personification of the father (= authority, credibility, etc).

Special effects.Special effects.Special effects.Special effects.

Thor is accustomed to be served by servants, right? He does not know how to clean a table, cook an egg (furthermore in a kitchen on our planet, he is a God from Above the Clouds), or understand why it’s important to be polite to others, right? (Special effeeeeeeects)

He must face a dilemma : he must understand that making war is bad bad bad. He should be torn between his blossoming attraction for Natalie and his duty and his anger to show his father that he has all rights to seek revenge over the people from the icy world, right? Especially when his brother comes down to whisper the song of  war and brute force to crush them and regain his throne, right?  His brother wants to use those feelings to destroy Thor forever, and seeks to excite his appetite for blood and fight. The audience expects to see the dilemma plastered all over his blond face, his hands twisted with remorse and regret and duty and courage and anger…

It must, it should, it needs to last some minutes, and could be shown in several micro-scenes, inserted in the flow of the linear construction of the timeline, even in parallel actions, to add tension and thrill and build the suspense.

But not Thor. He does not give a toss to our expectation of tension, thrill, or supense.  He has his magic hammer (well, ok, ok, it is still stuck in a mud bed, with all the FBI, CIA, whatever agency agents all around sent to observe the unknown device, and the rain is pouring, and it’s night and it’s thunderstrom everywhere, and Thor escapes the security to retrieve his hammer and he  meets Natalie again and….), his blond suntan skin and his surfer hair, he is tough (remember?) AND he has changed.

We know that because he said so, while piling the eggs sunny-side-up into Natalie’s plate, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder, with a nice apron and a perfectly peaceful gaze at his bro, Loki, who just can’t believe his ears (just as the audience, BTW, this was dumbfounding, I daresay).

“WHAT? No war? what about your anger, and your will for revenge? And regaining your hammer and its power and your powers? Those people are our ENNEMY from the beginning of time, blablabla…” (he tries really hard to shake the king-to-be-banished-but-not-really-and-already-forgiven-by-Daddy). Special effects.

But no. It’s written in the script, so there goes Thor  : “I HAVE C-H-A-N-G-E-D, nanana… No war. Peace and love, bro. “

Can you believe that? What happened to the screenwriter? Why frustrating the audience like that? There are rules, in the good book of screenwriting rules.

See? Special effects can’t be all. And I need a tea. Tea and Thor, the guy who changed. Not the perfect match. Too bad, it was promising, even the second seeing is frustrating.

So long, though guy.

Floreva, TVseries addict forever.

Ordinary week ?

04 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in This world we live in, Writing

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It’s been an ordinary week. For me, for friends. For most. Work, entertainment, family, gatherings, thoughts on our western way of living, news from far away, recycling,  harvesting tomatoes in the garden, switching on green power as much as possible…. Ordinary week of an ordinary citizen of the world in an ordinary city of the western world.

Saturday : wedding day (not mine).

At the Arboretum, in the woods. Reception took place in a residential district of town. 

Sunday : writing, misc., gardening and later, dinner with friends.

I gave to the host a poem I had written for him, inspired by a precise fact of his family history, and the hostess (his beautiful girlfriend) was given a bouquet of roses.

The cocktail Planteur I was served was one of the best I have ever tasted, made with old Rum from Martinique and honey from the grandfather’s beehives. Wonderful evening.

Monday : Memorial Day in the USA. Some rare places open, otherwise everything is closed.

A day to honor all American soldiers who have died in service.

(Gettysburg American Civil War Memorial).

My Flag stood outside the house. There is Remembrance day, or the 11th of November. Another occasion to honor the the simple soldier does not seem redundant, so hereby I pay my respects to all those beings, men and women who lost their lives in service, or as casualties of war.

The same cemetery before the Second World War

(Neuville St Vaast, German cemetery WWI. Photo ante WWII) Photo: Zinsel

I remember the war cemeteries I visited in Normandy and in the Somme.  I remember them in Besançon, Bretteville-sur-Laize, Saint-Avold, Colleville-sur-Mer, Bayeux, La Cambe, St Mihiel, Vimy, Loos, Douaumont, Ypres and Vladslo, Gettysburg, Ayette, Bapaume, Bray -sur-Somme,  Florence, Delville, Fricourt, Thiépval, Neuville-Saint-Vaast …

I remember the battlefields in Scotland, England, France, Belgium, America, Germany, Poland, Italy, India… There are so many I have not seen yet.

Recycling and gardening most of the day. A stroll on the bayou, fresh air.

Tuesday : working on the musical project .

My proof-reader came over for lunch and chat about our work (my writing , her reading my prose).

Wednesday : can’t remember.

Working on some corrected material probably. Oh, yes. Saw one ep. of “Damage”, a series with Glen Close. Liked it. Took steps in going more green, tried (again) the raw cooking.

Thursday : Alert for dangerous storms and lightening.

Water was pouring. Good for the plants and the water reservoirs. Had to cancel an appointment.  I read comments on the newly elected  French President in the papers. Skyped with my family members. Took a shot of caffeine with my fave Dinosaur (he’s on a diet, no sugar for him).

While sipping my coffee, I remembered a sentence I read on a sticker on a car : “Fight stupidization”. Nice quote. Then I felt cynical : Ok, but how? By educating people? And who wants to fight stupidization? That’s an odd job. Don’t we all want to be educated, not in the perspective to change mentalities, but to get a higher-paid job, to be able to buy stuff ? More and more stuff to stuff our closets and our shallow conversations and our empty minds and brain and hearts?

Friday :

I worked on corrections again on the techno-thrilller, wrote a poem about some oddities of life.

Later in the afternoon, met a friend at the “Beach” (a pool that looks like a resort, with sand and a lake), enjoyed the sun, a nice chat, a nice friendship, before welcoming friends for a typical Jura (French with wine) meal. Uber wonderful evening with great people.

Over that period of time, naturally, extraordinary things happened too, don’t get me wrong.

The constant flow of bad news brings the world closer. And frustrating enough, the impossibility to escape the role of dismayed witness. The Houla massacre, the crash of the plane in Lagos, the news (not new yet, dated April 19th) of another discovery of a little girl (hours old) under a tree in Gurgaon, abandoned after the  birth because she is a girl. Such a behavior is epidemic in Asia. Sex-ratio birth is unbalanced there, in India and in China. And because this violence against women and girls  has not come to an end YET (I am above anger, although this is more than revolting) , the gap deepens between number of boy birth and number of girl birth. They are lacking 10 millions girls. The deficit of girls in Asia leads now to raids in the neighboring countries to kidnap baby girls.

You read correctly.

Is is still possible that we are witnessing such stupidity and deshumanization of  mankind, in the 21st  century? After all the atrocities or proven stupidities of the past decades? After the Red Khmers, multiple wars, deadly diseases provoked/spread by stupid behaviours, uber-liberalism and reign of finance, communism, various dictatorships, hazardous childbirth policies, genetic modification of plants, overexploitation of natural resources, pollution of water, soils and air? After all those systems or concepts that have proven their limits and their inaccuracy for the sake of Earthbound livings?

 Along with Cicero, I ask thy, Earthling : Cui bono? (For whose benefit is it?)

When will “influent” people realise that money is not edible? That our brains need to be used  with intelligence? What are we waiting for? Is mankind waiting for the last leaf to drop from the last tree to start changing its behaviour?

Who said we live in a safer world? (Have you noticed? The cynical in me is back, and is seeking to become a permanent lodger).

Let’s hope HOPE HOPE that humans have not ENTIRELY lost their common sense.

But still, is there any reason why we should not think  massive stupidization of humanity is not knocking at the door?

Is the artist now still in charge of denouncing the system and the perversion of the soul by materialism and absence of ethics? Or has he also chosen money over purity?

Let’s nurture our minds, and our common sense. Let’s read Plato, Socrates, Kant, Lévi-Strauss (the anthropologist and ethnologist, not the founder of a pants company), Jankelevitch, Proust, the Good Book and more poetry…

And let’s have another bar of emergency chocolate.

Another ordinary week  awaits us…Full of surprises, fears, stupidity, intelligence maybe, act of generosity, virtues not yet defunct, and so much more. Whose side are you on?

Wishing mankind all the best not to speed up its decadence…

Floreva, very disappointed and cynical tonight, but still full of HOPE.