21 avril 2007
A fène a l3wacher ?
Ce samedi est le premier samedi depuis septembre où je me lève sans ressentir la nécessité d'ouvrir un livre traitant d'un truc finissant en -logie. J'ai enfin passé le foutu concours qui m'avait servi d'excuse pour rendre ce blog complètement désaffecté. Au passage, comme je m'arrange toujours pour faire un truc atypique, je me suis arrangée pour le passer dans une autre ville que celle où j'avais prévu de le faire (Rabat, calme et tranquille, plus d'arbres que d'habitants au centimètre carré), ce qui fait que maintenant, les urgences du SUC de Morizgo (nom de baptême Ibn Rochd) me sont confiées 12 heures par mois, et un autre service m'accueille le reste du temps. Ne paniquez pas, ne fuyez pas la ville si vous y habitez, je suis encadrée par des professionnels.
Je vais retourner à ma séance de vautrage intensif. Life is good..
05 avril 2007
No title required
I've always been a bit of a late bloomer.. I'm saying this because I've begun to show all the symptoms of a burgeoning crush on Leonardo Di Caprio. So lame. But as I said, given that I'm almost a quarter of a century old, now, the situation is also quite unusual.
I mean, the disease would have normally appeared on girls of my generation (or boys, but that's far less frequent, and even far lesser admitted by the concerned), aged 13 to 13 and 7 months old. It would start with frequent sighing when presented with pictures of their Idol. Then, there would be the necessary rite of going to watch TITANIC on the nearest theater (a titanic flow of female hormons, indeed..). And, on the latest stages of the illness, compulsive buying of every single magazine that would sport him on its pages.
Let's just say I laughed on the final scene of the said movie. I mean, seeing him drown down on the cold sea seemed utterly hilarious to me. It was the cheesiest cheesy scene ever shot, in my opinion. All the drama around that cute face of his disappearing in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.. Of course, my friends and the two thirty-something ladies that were seated behind us got utterly disgusted once they managed to see my beaming face, through their tears.
But this was 10 years ago. I witnessed Leo go through his "I don't want to be a sex-symbol phase", gain weight, try everything to get rid off all his Titanicness (not to mention the Romeo+Juliet stuff..). I sympathized with his struggle, but from a distance. I mean, I didn't put my heart into it. Poor chap suffered from having a face that satisfied all the requirements of Occidental aesthetics. Too bad for him.
It all ended a few weeks ago, when I saw "The Departed". I initially went for it because it was a Scorsese movie, and the other available option was "Happy Feet" (not that I don't like animated movies.. You can expect me to write soon about a developping interest on penguins once I'll see it). I just sat there for 2 hours, loved every single member of the cast (yes, even Mark Whalberg !), jumped off my seat from time to time (the plot has some interesting surprises under its belt), and changed my mind about that L D C : he was intense, without being a Nespresso, tortured without being pitiful, and, most importantly, he'd lost his baby fat and the blond fringe that made him famous worldwide. It was then only a matter of time before I went back for another fix of my newer addiction.
As soon as I could watch "Blood Diamond", I went for it, and there, again, he was perfectly convincing as a diamond-thirsty smuggler with few scruples. The movie in itself was excellent, because it felt like a behind-the-scenes feature of a newscast. It put faces on tragedies, which was a welcome change from the aseptized version we get on TV. It was violent, and it reflected the truth of what is happening in many African countries. The fact that there is no one to protect you, your family, your belongings, because factions are too busy fighting each others. The fact that human lives get crushed in between. And the fact that this happens because in other countries, people need to have a little "bling on their ring".
Anyways, to end on an airheaded note (my personal trademark), I've got a dilemma to share : should I go for Danny Archer or Billy Costigan ?