Stephanie Booth's online ramblings
My stepmother complains that she got the Harry Potter virus from me: I gave her the first book for Christmas, and she has now ploughed through the whole series – twice.
Unfortunately, it seems that she is not the only victim of the teenage wizard. I highly suspect they curse the books in the shops to force you to swallow them down straight in one go.
[link courtesy of the Incomparably Leaky Cauldron]
Congratulations to Romain who has christened his newly-born weblog: it’s a miracle.
Books won’t die, I tell you. Because you can read your book in the loo, can’t you?
If people love paper, there must be a reason for it. And there is. It is highly portable (you can even read it on the loo), infinitely flexible (when was the last time you were able to scribble on an electronic document?) and embodies very high-resolution display technology, which consumes no battery power. And it doesn’t have to be booted up before you can read it.
Plus j’avance dans la vie, et plus j’ai l’impression que l’important, ce sont les petites choses. Les petites attentions que l’on se fait, où que l’on fait à l’être aimé.
Parce qu’au fond, la vie, nous la vivons dans le quotidien. Ce sont les repas de midi, la pause avec les collègues, le retour à la maison, et encore la douche du matin qui font notre vie, bien plus que les vacances aux Maldives ou l’expédition annuelle au Luna Park.
Soignons les détails.
Don’t make a fool of yourself in cyberspace. It will catch up with you one day. There is the google usenet archive and the Internet archive wayback machine, too – remember.
Oh, and don’t send spam! (Yes, sending me your résumé in hope of employment is spam – especially if you’ve sent it to dozens of other people as well.)
Ce sont les petites choses qui me posent le plus de problèmes. Les grandes, vois-tu, je peux les commencer sans courir le risque de les finir.
He held up a mirror of words in front of me. I peered into it – only to be greeted by a stranger’s face.
“That’s not me!” I squealed.
“Of course it’s you,” he replied calmly. “When you look into a mirror, you see yourself, don’t you? It’s you.”
“Yes, but— but those are your words, aren’t they? I mean, this isn’t a real reflection, it’s gone into your eyes and back!”
The reflection broke out of the mirror and set off to greet my friends, waving to them.
Bagha has developed a new habit during these last few weeks. He’s discovered he has a tail. And he’s having a nice time chasing it.
For some strange reason, he seems to enjoy doing it in the bath-tub. I am thus greeted by dirty paw-marks on the white enamel and a fair amount of fur when I rise for my morning shower.
Now tell me – why did he have to wait until he was five to discover he had a tail? That’s something kittens usually do, don’t they?
En ce qui me concerne, un bon résumé de la situation par Jacques Poget (rédacteur en chef de 24 heures – dernier article de la page indiquée ci-dessus).
Le drame de l’après-11 septembre, c’est que la réaction reste superficielle. Confrontés à un assaut d’une cruauté uniquement imaginable dans les superproductions hollywoodiennes, l’Amérique et l’Occident peinent à s’attaquer aux racines du mal.