rlbourges

A moment of foolery, or *

In Current reading, Drafts, Food, Fun, Games, Hautvoir, Revision, Sanford Meisner, Sundays, Theater on May 8, 2016 at 7:58 am

*or why I don’t waste my money on buying the magazines, but read those I find devoid of their sealed plastic covering :

The five-page article gives telling anecdotes from the lives of young persons born to the toiling/unemployed classes (known as classes populaires in these climes) who’ve taken the social elevator through access to the better schools frequented by those young persons born in the upper classes (known as la classe supérieure in the singular around here). This is followed by a two-page interview with a woman who describes the social climbers as trans-class – something like transgendering applied to social categories. In this interview, the woman informs the readers that no one is responsible for his or her class of birth.

With this stunning revelation in mind, I return to the day a young man by the name of Pierre – whose dad is a mason and his mom a lingère – goes for a meal at his new girlfriend’s home. On the menu: something to which he refers as purée de patates (that’s mashed potatoes for the likes of most English speakers). The girlfriend’s mother gently chides him: no, no, these aren’t mashed potatoes, she says, this is un écrasé de pommes de terre (the closest translation I can think of: a smash of earth apples.)

If there’s an afterlife – and Molière not otherwise occupied – he’ll be glad to learn Les Précieuses Ridicules are alive, thriving, and pursuing their mission of civilizing the great unwashed.

Five magazine pages of learning how to wear your Ralph Lauren shirt so as not to give away the fact you were born and raised in a ZEP. That’s a Zone d’Education Prioritaire i.e. the kind of town in which I live and where I coach school kids and – gasp! – get paid to do it too. No benefits, no paid holidays, but paid, Madame I gently inform you, so I can buy my own potatoes, hold one up and ask it for the plain truth: “Life form, how dost thou prefer to be eaten – boiled, fried, mashed or smashed?”

***

Meanwhile? Meanwhile, in Act 5 Scene 1 of Twelfth Night, or what you will,  Orsino, Duke of Illyria, asks Feste how he fares and the following ensues :

Feste : Trully, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for my friends.

Orsino: Just the contrary, the better for thy friends.

Feste: No, sir, the worse.

Orsino: How can that be?

Feste: Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused: so that, conclusions to be as kisses. If your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends and the better for my foes.

The rest is excellent too. But I digress because, writing-wise, I’m still trying to figure out scene breaks and where the reader goes next. Revising, in other words.

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