Junior, everyone in the neighborhood knows and adores Junior. We should mount a statue with flowers for my friend, for his services rendered to the community. Think about it! The incredible number of adolescents in distress that he straightened out, the young druggies or dealers of all sorts, apprentice gangsters and river rats. He taught them to pull themselves together, stand tall and work hard instead of finding themselves in prison; right there, on North First Street: “You dismantle the rotten motor of this Chevrolet and you reassemble it, you do it like this… all nice and clean, like when it left the uterus of it’s mother!” Read more…
When I discovered the piece of ginger nestled coldly at the back of my fridge, I was filled with regret. The poor morsel had it’s members trembling with cold. And then, all of a sudden, it was like a vision, a thunderbolt… almost mystic. My piece of ginger left it’s vegetal envelope and was transformed, before my eyes, into a little frog with a light ochre skin.
Be assured dear readers that I had not abused any substances, that day, of which the law disapproves. Read more…
THE real cool part is the bodysurf at the begining of the film, the best thing, feeling the water, the speed of the wave against your body, than it’s beautiful, the waves, the swell, the surf, the music, everything makes you feel you are somewhere else but in front of your screen, daydreaming. Zangs Films, for the ones who are into that: Pat Towersey is in the water, RonRomanovsky at the mike.
Something disagreeable has happened to me.
Something that proves, if one still needs proof, to what point the french administration is archaic and blind. I know that this has little to do with the highly captivating subject of fly fishing, but we must defend the honor of our dear hexagon, our dear France.
Without a word of thanks, nor encouragement, “they” returned to me by mail, the synopsis (see below) which is, if less than perfect, never-the-less superior to a great number of stories that one sees on the big screen (poor public!).
Briefly, the story is as follows: The film starts in an ultra secret tunnel dug in the desert of Nevada. There we find a group of private scientists, encouraged by an oriental scholar; they are on the point of putting the final touch on a discovery that, without a doubt, will devastate the planet and it’s inhabitants. The idea (like all the great ideas) is quite simple.
Simply put, these scientists have developed a variety of food products that have the property of being entirely digested by the body without any waste product. No more time spent in rest-rooms. No more suspect traces on the back crotch of your pants; a real liberation for humanity. Whats more, little by little, it seems that what we call the asshole will serve no purpose. Because function creates the organ, a theory, not out of the question, is advanced that this orifices will end up by disappearing from our structure. Thanks to a spy (magnificently played by Juliette Binoche) the manufacturers of toilet paper got wind of the research in the Nevada laboratories. A war without mercy takes place. Homosexual soldiers are at the forefront of the fighting. Action, non-gratuitous violence, love scenes exactly as they should be. There you have it; the broad strokes of the scenario that they refused.
Normally, this little corner of the river is my secret domain. Rarely are there other fishermen and even more rarely are there troublesome bathers to scare away the fish that amuse themselves playing in the rocks.
But this particular morning (morning, but not too early, after all…) the goddess bitch of the rivers decided otherwise, as demonstrated by the couple of immigrants from the Pas-de-Calais, their kids and their obese, menacing dog. The dog, with his olive green coat, made me think he was from the extreme right. The man, who was around 53 years old, looked at me like I was an old rusted can-opener abandoned near the water by campers. Read more…
Anton Schwartz was an old childhood friend. We often made fun of him and called him “Anton Noire” (children can be so cruel). When he was young he happily sowed his wild oats but his encounters with the justice forced him to join the Colonial forces where he brought honor to France. All of our colonies in Africa (center and north), in Asia (Tonkin, Viet Nam and others that I won’t even mention), held no secrets for my friend. He could tell you stories for hours, his voice often breaking with emotion. One day he invited me to the “Mousmee” bar where he the following story. “My dear Fleche, like you, I am crazy about fly fishing; it’s a most instructive passtime and I have a story that I think you’ll appreciate. It took place ages ago on my return from the war of Tonkin. On the shores of the Red River I had fallen head over heels in love with a delicious native whose singular name was “Long-Long”. She was an magnificent local specimen and I brought her back to France along with the whole tribe of her brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts and all the rest; you can take it from me… that was an enormous pack of yellows! It will come as no surprise to you that the surpassing culinary passion of these people is for fish. They consume enormous quantities of fish morning, noon and night. You can well understand that given the prohibitive prices of these acquatic beasts, whose freshness in our sinister french fish markets was relative, that these poor asiatics were in tears. And Fleche, you know me, you can imagine how the chagrin of these people broke my heart and gave me considerable, unexpected, inventive resources to render life supportable for my friends…. I am certainly, first of all, a christian. Well, it’s no secret that the women in that part of the world possess hair of an uncommon finess, length and solidity. Read more…