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January 17, 2005

old stories, being tired, don’t listen

I remember a few years ago someone sent me a zipped .doc file of Salinger uncollected stories, but not having good enough print-power I had only managed to go through a few, on the computer screen. The inverted forest left the most vivid impression, and I still consider Hapworth 16, 1924 to be Salinger’s most humourous work, but then I just forgot about it, until today where a fresh new link was found on the link-o-matic. Hurrah for the wonderful distraction! It began in the midst of children’s laughter, with their laughter will it end.

So my laserprinter is humming nonstop, as I run back and forth, assembling and stapling neat little piles of these old war stories. My boss looks at me through the window, rubbing his hands and smiling. He must be very happy to not see me napping under my desk, or sticking various instruments into coworkers eardrums, for a change. Candidates for personality assessments haven’t exactly been taking the office by storm lately. But why,I wonder! We have all these new tools! And they are very sharpened! Mm.. perhaps I am scaring clients away, brandishing my bloodstained money stick with such exuberance.

I have had random tidbits of songs in my head all weekend, so much so in fact, that one would think the neverending SAQ workers strike(SAQ = Société des Alcools du Québec, government-owned liquor stores) has just ended. Sadly, it hasn’t, and from the latest news, it seems like it never will. Deprived of SAQ, one has to make do with cheap wine from overheated dépanneurs, a perilous experience that can nevertheless be enhanced with a pinch of sugar and a previous burning-numbing of tastebuds with very hot coffee or a couple of 3 months old cigarettes. Mm. So despite the SAQ strike, songs have filled my head all weekend. I don’t remember them very well though. Beginning to see the light by the Velvet Underground, as we entered our new little favourite hang-out. And Electrelane as we exited. So good. Then in the depth of the night, Gilles Vigneault’s fantomatic presence, singing with large gestures and oppressing high collar, brought back to me all these old ballads my grandmother used to die for — my love we are neither beauteous nor true! die a very sharp death, that I fo-ooo-llow you…

well I would have try to finish this entry and make a little sense but it is now 5 o’cl

Posted by nathalie at January 17, 2005 5:00 PM