Reprendre la rue

La journ�e En ville sans ma voiture � Montr�al, vue par Web cam.
Merci � Mikel.org pour le lien.

C’est dommage qu’ils ne laissent pas passer les scooters! Je ne prends pas beaucoup de place, moi, et je peux me stationner partout!

Si vous appr�ciez l’exp�rience du centre-ville sans auto, jetez un coup d’oeil du c�t� de Voyagez F�t�, qui sugg�re des alternatives � l’auto en solo. On y retrouve aussi plusieurs liens forts utiles concernant les d�placements � Montr�al.
Merci au Carnet Techno pour le lien.

Je suis d�chir�e entre la joie de savoir que les mouvements alternatifs � l’utilisation de l’auto commencent � gagner du terrain � Montr�al, et le fait que je me cherche actuellement une voiture d’occasion. Si vous connaissez un bon filon…

47 and still counting

As some of you might already know, next month, B. and I will be moving into a house we’re about to officially purchase. Since we live in separate apartments, packing will be a complex issue that I’m only starting to face now. We’ve got a lot of stuff in double: some of it will be combined, some of it will go to the basement and, if I can help it, a lot of it will go straight to the trash can. I’m getting headaches just thinking about it.

You see, my beau is a P-R type, better known as the dreaded pack rat. He has a strange sentimental attachment to the weirdest objects and won’t let go of anything by fear of needing it sometimes down the road, and having to face the terrible, horrible fact that he threw the damn thing away. This applies to books he will never read, magazines he will never, ever look at again (anybody wants all the 1995 issues of Saturday Night Magazine ?), flyers for classes he will never take, clothes that are out of style, stolen spoons from airline companies and strings of all lengths and sizes.

B. has moved every two years or so since the beginning of his adult life, but since he hates packing, he waits to the very last minute and ends up dragging every single one of his possessions from apartment to apartment, without any kind of pre-selection. After his last move, I found a 10 year-old package of popcorn in a tin can in his fridge. He had taken that can of kernels with him on 5 different moves, without ever looking at the date on the box and with no true plan of ever eating the damn thing.

I, or the other hand, love empty space and freak out when I start realizing that I have too much stuff. My fridge always looks empty because I don’t keep food for very long and I love to see some negative space in my closets. We are planning to move into the house in about a month, so Sunday I sweet-talked B. into cleaning the content of his bedroom closet.

It would have made a perfect episode of the television show What Not to Wear, with B. modeling old clothes for me in front of the mirror and with us playing a tug of war game with some of his oldest pieces of clothing. The discarded pile grew high on the bed and I was starting to breathe better until we got to the t-shirt section.

Oh. My. God.

At first he was good about it, getting easily rid of a couple of plain white t-shirts that had turned yellow around the collar. But then we got to his « collection ». This was a geek’s paradise and my worst nightmare. Computer tradeshow t-shirts, software launch t-shirts, dead high tech company t-shirts… I kept finding them in every single corner of that closet. « We can’t get rid of this one! I wrote the software manual for it! » « You can’t make me throw away this t-shirt, it was in honor of our first beta testing. It’s a unique piece! »

I decided to count the t-shirts, just to make him realize how crazy this was. I stopped at 47 because the tears in my eyes kept me from finding any more of his « treasures ». « You’re a freak! », I said to him. « What am I getting myself into? » I couldn’t tell if the tears in my eyes were there because I was completely overwhelmed or because we were laughing so hard. Maybe it was just the dust coming out of the t-shirts he never wears.

In the end, he got to keep his damn t-shirts and we still took 3 very full bags of clothes to a local charity. I came back home, took a shower, and looked through my own closet to find something to wear. My eyes were drawn to the little pile of clothes B. keeps at my place. I looked through it and found 4 more t-shirts, 3 of them sporting computer related logos.

This must be true love or else I’m completely crazy.

Reply to Maciej

« The more I read the Quebecois bloggers, the more I admire them. Maybe it’s the helpful latitude – long, cold winters seem to make for good weblogs (says the Vermonter). Maybe it’s good old fashioned Canadian wry humor and civility. But I think a big part of it is their ability to navigate the US and French Internet while maintaining their own perspective and critical distance. I’d be curious to hear what my colleagues up North think of all this, and find out if the language wars that turned every burger in Quebec into a ‘hambourgeois’ are now moving online. »

From Idle Words, by American blogger Maciej Ceglowski.

Dear Maciej,

I am a regular reader of your blog, which I greatly appreciate, so I got nervous when I saw that you chose to write about the OQLF incident with the Quebec Urbain blog. Yes, I admit it, I was afraid that your blog would disappoint me for the first time, because I am rarely pleased by the comments I hear or read from Americans, who generally don’t understand the politics of language in Quebec.

I am glad to say that you did not disappoint me! It was refreshing to read such a tolerant and researched perspective, and it is because I appreciated it so much that I am now taking the time to answer your call for comments on the subject.

I was born and raised in a completely French speaking environment (Quebec City) and it wasn’t until I moved to California in 1990 (and lived there until 1998) that I spoke English on a daily basis. I was in San Francisco during the 1995 referendum and I was surprised to see that some of my friends and coworkers, who were never very curious about Quebec, suddenly started to ask me questions about the political situation back home. Even the most liberal or left-leaning people seemed stunned. What on earth was going on in Quebec? Was this Parti Quebecois a right-wing party? Why would anybody want to separate from a country as wonderful as Canada? (« But, you have the National Film Board! », said a lot of my friends from film school…) I took a long time to explain to each and every one of them, to the best of my knowledge, the history of our language problems and some of the reasons for a desired sovereignty.

On the night of the actual referendum, I joined a group of expats quebecois to view the results of the vote via a satellite broadcast at Berkeley (offered by their Canadian studies program). After the stunning results– and the killer comment from Monsieur Parizeau (« How dare he! », I thought, « after all the time I spent explaining to people how this was not a racially based national movement! ») – the whole gang went out for pizza. That group of quebecois included independentists, federalists, francophones and anglophones. The conversation was animated but there were no fights, no attitude, no bickering. We were all completely moved by what we had just witnessed (a very high voter turnout for a democratic election, showing how important the issue was for all quebecois) and we felt close to one another, probably because of our expat status.

8 years later, I am back in Quebec, writing a bilingual blog. Why bilingual? Because I didn’t want to lose touch with a language I rarely spoke on a daily basis anymore (until I met my beau, an anglo from Nova Scotia), because I wanted to keep in touch with my California friends who don’t speak French and because I wanted for my blog to be part of a larger network, with more potential readers. Since I started my blog, 20 months ago, I have not received a single complaint, not even a single question from a reader wondering why I’m a quebecoise francophone writing in English. No hate mail, no hacking of the site, not even a bitchy comment. One person once told me that he didn’t like it when I switched between languages in a single post. Fair enough, I thought. When it’s English, it’s English, and when it’s French, it’s French.

The OQLF incident you talked about is an isolated one. I doubt that it will happen again, at least on private sites like blogs. I like the fact that I live in a place where there is such a thing as tolerance, a place where people can say « this was a mistake » and we can drop the subject. I’m still nervous though that the anglo press in Canada will jump on this occasion to point their eternal accusatory finger at the so-called language police, accusing once again the franco quebecois of xenophobia or even totalitarianism. But anyone devoid of paranoia tendencies will tell you that this is not the way things are experienced here on a daily basis.

So next time you’re in Quebec, stop by Montreal and hang out with the amazingly bilingual crowd of YULbloggers. I’ll be happy to buy you a hamburger, which, by the way, nobody ever seriously calls a hambourgeois.