guignol's madeleine

[guignol]

this morning i went sleepyeyed to the breakfast table, never easy in these wintry days when the temperature under the comfort is perfection and that of the wind in your face while you bicycle to work is anything but, and found my wife had a little surprise for me: three real madeleines, dainty little cakes in a shape somewhat elongated compared to the sea scallops they're after patterned after, but no less elegant for that. the very sight of their shape was a treat, and excited my memory and my palette, because although i often have madeleines (or rather, a kind of little cake that the manufacturer calls a madeleine) with my coffee or tea, these days they are generally in the form of a simple finger, easier to extrude out of a machine by their thousands, perhaps millions.

even to the touch these seemed different; they were softer, moister than the little bars i'd become used to, which are really no more than miniature pound cakes, and though handling the first one gently, i still damaged it, and it left a buttery mark and a small piece of its "skin" on the plate she and her two sisters had been gracefully arranged on.

i wouldn't venture to say how long it's been since i tasted a real madeleine, but i'm sure it hasn't been in lyon; perhaps in aix, but most likely at my wife's grandmother's in avignon; it was just the kind of thing she liked, and above all liked to have on hand for me since for some reason i was alway her special favorite.

i didn't go so far as to put it in a spoonful of my coffee, but i did dunk it, and took a little bite... nothing. i tried again, this time dry (not truly dry like factory pastry can be dry, but at least alone, without anything to distract my taste buds. still nothing, no little japanese houses or gardens, no 2CV or solexes or returnable wine bottles with six stars on their throats, no topinambours or blanquette de veau with green olives, no kepis on policemen, no dimanche martin (thus marking his triple disappearance).

i tried the second cake, concentrating, and realized that the answer was not in me; it was really in the madeleine; despite the delicate shape, despite the label on the cellophane reading saveurs d'antan, it simply wasn't what it appeared.

bicycling to work i saw that the little postage stamp vegetable gardens were still hidden under apartment buildings, the little factories that made music paper and "perforated metals" were still silent, and the new schools still don't have two entrances filles and garçons...

none of this, only a longing and regretful nostalgia for a quainter and more savory past, momentarily gained when i moved to france but nonetheless doomed to disappear one day everywhere, came forth, this morning, from my cup of coffee.

[SportBoy333]

I had no idea what madeleines were until I saw them in the movie Transporter 2. I saw them at my local supermarket one day and I decided to try them and they were really good.

[Pierre-Henri]

Wesh, p'tain, ziva, l'aut, là, le yanki, y parl'd'culture, j'y crois pas, p'tain !!!!! Y sait pas k'la culture c un truc de bourges à la con, qu'l'a langue c trop un truc qui vis, tu vois, j'veux dire, comme y dis Rey, parce que les, jeunes, p'tain, on s'fiche des trucs de vieux parce, que ça leur parle pas comme Fredéric Beigbeger y nou parle dans leur, tripes de vrais d'jeunz d'aujourd'hui, tu vois ? Kom y dit Bourdieu, c un truc pour les héritié ki on du fric trop grave !!!!!! P'tain, y'en a marre de ces, bourge ki s'croient supérieur parsk'il lisent des bouquins où les mots sont trop long grave et ou c écri petit !!!!!! Lé djeunz, y veule la vraie culture d'la rue, celle ki fait kiffé, tu vois, p'tain, ce que j'veux dire ?!!!! A ba l'impérialisme élitiste !!!!!! Vive Meirieu !!!!!!

(Kévin Dugenou, formateur en sciences de l'éducation, IUFM de Paris).

I'm sorry I can't rep you up, by the way.

[guignol]

the real hero of 21st century literature will be the one who does us a céline in ouech cousin.

indigence in language and indigence in thought are chicken and egg, but djeunitude does not in itself impoverish our vocabulary any more than bravitude (go ahead and throw a stone at marie-ségo, but keep the big ones for that man of "simple ideas and plain words" GWB) or the ISOjugend newspeak used in industry and commerce.

qu'l'a langue c trop un truc qui vis

indubitably, and it has done so for eons without dying; if it has terminal cancer now it's not bourdieu's fault, it's milton berle's and jimmy wales'.

je pense au présent et au monde dans lequel je suis en train de finir mon existence. Ce n'est pas un monde que j'aime*.

well, that's one man's opinion, and i can certainly empathize, but in the absence of any other, this world will have to do.

*claude lévi-strauss, who has nothing to do, cousin, with bloudjinzzes.

PS: can't rep you either, but BS isn't intended as a mutual admiration society!

[Pierre-Henri]

Louis Steffen :

Pourquoi serais-je barbare parce que les émois sexuels de Phèdre pour un jeune garçon m’ennuient. En vertu de quelle forte identification personnelle ou de quel délicieux souvenir de fac un enseignant aurait-il le droit de décréter incontournable ce texte qui peut être pour un autre homme cultivé une histoire de concupiscence ennuyeuse et plutôt grotesque ?

Laurent Carle :

L’analyse réfléchie de la transmission de l’écriture, orthographe et grammaire incite à la profanation des Ecritures. Demanderait-on au prêtre qui distribue en communion le corps et le sang du Christ de renoncer à ce mystère de la foi ? Au risque d’être parjure, aucun fidèle ne peut abjurer son serment de baptême et son vœu de fidélité au dogme de la révélation méritante. La dictée est ce rituel par quoi la foi se perpétue. Le prodige de la connaissance magique s’y reproduit indéfiniment. La dictée, sacrement laïque, n'apprend guère l’orthographe, mais elle asseoit l’autorité du maître.


Philippe Meirieu :

Je voudrais que toute l'École soit un
apprentissage à la paix. Un apprentissage à prendre du temps avant
de se jeter sur l'autre, un apprentissage à cette socialité si difficile à
construire mais sans laquelle l'humanité court vers sa perte. Car, je
suis convaincu qu'il y a bien une manière de faire des mathématiques
qui permet d'apprendre à faire la paix, comme il y a une manière de
faire des mathématiques qui est une véritable préparation à la guerre.


Sylvain Grandserre (virtuose de la reductio ad hitlérum) :

Quand on est éducateur, croire que l’on peut s’exonérer de toute critique parce que l’on a rempli froidement sa mission clinique et agi en technicien appliqué est une faute. Il est vrai que chez ces gens-là, « on n’éduque pas Monsieur, on instruit, le reste ne nous regarde pas ». Cette défense ne tient plus et un Papon le sait bien, lui dont les passagers des trains arrivaient scrupuleusement à l’heure.


Pierre Frackowiak (suivant lequel ses CE2 sont de niveau sup'éco) :

Le dialogue sur cette dernière intervention me transportait virtuellement dans une section de BTS Force de Vente ou en Sciences Eco. Mais nous sommes au CE2. Faut-il revenir au jeu de la marchande qui se pratique dès la maternelle ? Faut-il s'interdire de tels moments pour faire du Bled ? Ou faut-il changer l'école et la formation des enseignants ?


Jacques Nimier (petit exemple de théorie fumeuse) :

Dans le Pôle M, du premier axe la personne est conçue comme un ensemble de fonctions ou de polarités en interaction continuelle. L'émotion intervient sur la mémoire, la mémoire et les émotions interviennent sur l'intelligence, etc... Il n'est plus question de s'occuper d'un aspect, mais de s'intéresser à l'ensemble de la personne de l'élève. Ce n'est plus une "rencontre d'intelligences" qui a lieu en classe, mais une "rencontre de personnes" avec tout ce que cela implique. C'est l'élève qui "construit ses connaissances" dans cette rencontre avec la personne de l'enseignant. Dans l'enseignement des disciplines, on sera sensible à leur interaction (Interdisciplinarité; Travaux personnels encadrés).


IUFM de Montpellier (un autre) :

Ces manifestations groupales ne s'accompagnent jamais de plaintes, de refus ou d'accidents, malgré les importantes prises de risque. Cet attachement groupal n'est pas violent, il est compulsif. Cette compulsivité groupale s'accompagne en effet d'un accordage interactif collectif dont la précision du fonctionnement surprend. La comparaison des données étho-cliniques montre que plus l'attachement groupal compulsif est fréquent et intense, moins l'accordage interactif codé nécessaire à la pratique du judo est intériorisé par les élèves.


IUFM d'Orleans, expérience qui consiste à mettre une musique de fond pendant les cours, comme au supermarché

Pour éviter la gène causé par le silence j’ai appliqué une technique que réussit admirablement avec les adultes en formation continue; mettre une musique de fond. Et bien que ce projet ait eu lieu en classes de seconde et de première au lycée on peut l’appliquer également en collège. Il s’agit cependant d’appliquer quelques règles sérieuses et objectives.

- Respecter des instructions officielles, par exemple , l’écoute du jazz ou du hip en seconde.
- Veiller au contenu culturel et civilisationnel, par exemple, les protest songs ou la musique des hippies pour une classe de première. (musique anglophone pour une classe d’anglais).
- Proposer une musique ni agressive, ni trop bruyante (ce qui serait une entrave à la concentration des élèves.)
- Choisir des musiques éclectiques pour une plus grande connaissance culturelle.



Je m'arrête ici. Si je voulais, je remplirais des pages et des pages. J'aurais pu également citer les textes officiels, s'ils n'étaient aussi longs et confus. La situation que nous vivons ne tient pas de la faute à pas de chance. Elle a été imaginée, planifiée et théorisée avec un luxe inouï de complication. C'est de façon parfaitement volontaire et organisée qu'on interdit aux jeunes l'accès à la langue et à la culture écrites.

Cette attaque contre la culture, d'une ampleur terrifiante, ne provient pas d'une quelconque menace extérieure. Ce sont les instances dirigeantes de l'éducation nationale elles-mêmes, ses propres penseurs et ses propres responsables, qui l'ont fomentée. De façon incompréhensible, ils se sont mis à détester cette culture qu'ils étaient censés transmettre : culture forcément "bourgeoise", "élitiste" ... voire (car ils ne reculent devant aucune forme de bêtise) culture "nazie", comme le fait entendre S. Grandserre.

Les gens que j'ai cités ne sont pas minoritaires à l'éducation nationale. Ils la dirigent.

Conclusion :

Quand une société ne peut pas enseigner, ce n'est point qu'elle manque accidentellement d'un appareil ou d'une industrie ; quand une société ne peut pas enseigner, c'est que cette société ne peut pas s'enseigner ; c'est qu'elle a honte, c'est qu'elle a peur de s'enseigner elle-même.

Charles Péguy.

[squidward123]

this morning i went sleepyeyed to the breakfast table, never easy in these wintry days when the temperature under the comfort is perfection and that of the wind in your face while you bicycle to work is anything but, and found my wife had a little surprise for me: three real madeleines, dainty little cakes in a shape somewhat elongated compared to the sea scallops they're after patterned after, but no less elegant for that. the very sight of their shape was a treat, and excited my memory and my palette, because although i often have madeleines (or rather, a kind of little cake that the manufacturer calls a madeleine) with my coffee or tea, these days they are generally in the form of a simple finger, easier to extrude out of a machine by their thousands, perhaps millions.

even to the touch these seemed different; they were softer, moister than the little bars i'd become used to, which are really no more than miniature pound cakes, and though handling the first one gently, i still damaged it, and it left a buttery mark and a small piece of its "skin" on the plate she and her two sisters had been gracefully arranged on.

i wouldn't venture to say how long it's been since i tasted a real madeleine, but i'm sure it hasn't been in lyon; perhaps in aix, but most likely at my wife's grandmother's in avignon; it was just the kind of thing she liked, and above all liked to have on hand for me since for some reason i was alway her special favorite.

i didn't go so far as to put it in a spoonful of my coffee, but i did dunk it, and took a little bite... nothing. i tried again, this time dry (not truly dry like factory pastry can be dry, but at least alone, without anything to distract my taste buds. still nothing, no little japanese houses or gardens, no 2CV or solexes or returnable wine bottles with six stars on their throats, no topinambours or blanquette de veau with green olives, no kepis on policemen, no dimanche martin (thus marking his triple disappearance).

i tried the second cake, concentrating, and realized that the answer was not in me; it was really in the madeleine; despite the delicate shape, despite the label on the cellophane reading saveurs d'antan, it simply wasn't what it appeared.

bicycling to work i saw that the little postage stamp vegetable gardens were still hidden under apartment buildings, the little factories that made music paper and "perforated metals" were still silent, and the new schools still don't have two entrances filles and garçons...

none of this, only a longing and regretful nostalgia for a quainter and more savory past, momentarily gained when i moved to france but nonetheless doomed to disappear one day everywhere, came forth, this morning, from my cup of coffee.

brilliant post :)

[guignol]

in my little attempt at cynico-lyricism i made a passing reference to dimanche martin, something that's been on my mind since jacques martin died a few weeks ago.

to those who don't know who jacques martin was, it's tricky to explain. he was nicolas sarkozy's second ex-wife's first husband*, factoid which everyone these days knows but which is of no importance. he was also a pioneer of french television, witty, erudite, inventive and irreverent, something most these days don't realize, and he was lyonnais, neither of which, for my present purpose, are likewise of any importance.

above all, he was creator, producer and host of dimanche martin, a suite of programs which put end to end kept him on TV screens for NINE consecutive hours every sunday. there were sections for everybody... well, for everybody except me and probably you. imagine a fantasia of lawrence welk, ed sullivan, art linkletter, bob barker... the kind of show that disappeared from american TV when walter cronkite was young, but which would have made it to the XXI century in france if jacques martin's heart had held out.

obviously i never watched it, but it was reassuring for me to know that it was there, floating through the airwaves every sunday, the same way i'm cheered to see all the people carrying pastries or flowers even if i'm not invited anywhere, or to see older (and sometimes not so old, lyon can still be astoundingly bourgeois) gentlemen walking in the park wearing ties. monday through saturday, france has, for better or worse (well, worse, of that i have no doubt) largely caught up with the states, but come sundays, it's like the calendar has been turned back 30 years. i hope it stays that way for a long time.

*a charming anecdote about our nabot-en-chef: he was the one who married them when he was mayor of neuilly... one wonders what the little devil had on his mind while reading articles 212 to 215 of the code civil.

[Pierre-Henri]

Oh yes. I was a kid, then. These sundays were something very special, as if the TV itself lived at the same rythm than the family. The same friendly faces (what was the name of the pianist ?), a slow pace, Martin used to take his time. Now, everything is too speed. I threw away my TV in 2000, and I don't regret it.

I still have faint memories of the shows by Maritie and Carpentier. Lousy playbacks, but great songs. Something like :

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=eIEdPYrep1g&feature=related

And Garcimore ? Bless his soul...

and, of course, le slow-qui-tue :

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=oIElXj0ZKlk

1975 : I was a baby, but the tubes used to last longer than 2 weeks, then. Can you imagine ? It's so old that water-skiing was trendy. It looks like another century now.

Come to it, it was another century :o.

[Pierre-Henri]

Just found this :

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=P1n2kGNon1I

Balavoine et Michel Berger.

The day the young, under-25, good-for-nothing beatnicks we have today with their creaky voices will be able to write songs as beautiful as the one Michel Berger did...

J'aurais voulu être un aaaaaaartiiiiiiiisste.....

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=RtEIfFrzv78

[Gnafron]

I've been immune to madeleines ever since i had the luck to serve my country as a tank pilot in Commercy :D

[Pierre-Henri]

I've been immune to madeleines ever since i had the luck to serve my country as a tank pilot in Commercy :D

Did it at the School of Cavalry, in Saumur.

http://interarmees.fr/menu/annuaire/terre/ABC/abc.jpg

Never climbed in a tank, though. People there used to think it wasn't safe to give the keys of a 56t baby to teachers. Go figure :rolleyes:.

But i wanted to try the 120mm gun. Just once. Please, pleaaase, pleaaase ?

[guignol]

last night on the way home i had a visual madeleine... just as i was approaching my house i crossed a car with... yellow headlamps!

god knows how long it's been since i saw any, long enough in any case that it struck me... just as it did on a snowy night in dunkirk, the very first time i set foot in france. so unexpected and strange, yet special and warm... arriving at the youth hostel i got the same impression, slightly dingy but nevertheless comforting and inviting.

perhaps it was those yellow headlamps that first caused me to have a special regard for france that has never changed, only grown with the passing years.

[squidward123]

i thought you were from france originally guignol?

[guignol]

i thought you were from france originally guignol?hardly! i'm a california boy who came here for the very first time at 21 while making the grand tour of europe, and only settled here much later in 1991.

but there was a strange feeling of familiarity from the beginning, as if somehow i had started out here. all the curious details that made france, and europe in general, different from america seemed natural and noble, the way things do in dreams. even the ability to converse after a fashion in french (which i had only ever done before in a classroom) was more wonderful than astonishing.

of course all this is subjective, i'm certainly not claiming france is heaven on earth (although the germans do have an expression, "wie Gott in Frankreich") and it's been pointed out to me before that perhaps the world has been so good to me because i have never neglected to return the favor. there is a strong smell of carton pâte about all those first years in europe, like in an episode of the avengers, but as it wore off the smell of the real france has never been too hard to bear, kind of a fantasia of fresh baguettes, wisteria and l'heure bleue.

[squidward123]

interesting guignol...the new england and new york area of america is similar to europe though isn't it...maybe you should have tried boston lol

[guignol]

i've been to boston as well as NY, and lived some years in SF... there are some europeanish things about those cities (all very nice places truly) but it's not bricks, croissants or espresso that make france france.