aWa's world

Hop hop hop un peu de culture en ce moche vendredi...

J'ai lu récemment Lean Mean Thirteen, de Janet Evanovich.
Ce bouquin fait partie d'une série qui raconte les aventures de Stephanie Plum, chasseuse de primes experte en boulettes en tous genres.

Avec sa collègue Lula, ex-dame de joie, elle poursuit le méchant vilain, pour souvent finir le nez dans la poussière.
Mais de Morelli, son mec, ou de Ranger, un homme en noir ultra-sexy, il y en aura toujours un pour la relever...
Je ne parle même pas de sa famille... Sa mère qui sort son fer à repasser à la moindre contrariété, et sa grand-mère dont le passe-temps favori est d'assister aux veillées mortuaires de la ville, avec un flingue dans son sac à main...

Vous l'aurez compris, je trouve cette série joyeusement délirante.
Il ne se passe pas 3 pages sans que je me trouve à ricaner...

Petite précision, je les lis en anglais, je ne sais pas ce que vaut la version française...

Voici 2 extraits, pour vous donner un petit aperçu...

The first one, ou les discussions hautement philosophiques de Stephanie et Lula...

'So what's going on with you and Tank?' I asked Lula. 'Is it serious?'
'Yeah, but only for about twelve minutes at a time.'
'Twelve minutes is good.'
'We've been working up to it. And then, if you add all the twelve minutes together, you get a whole hour. You want an hour with Morelli, you just get him watching one of them Lethal Weapon movies.'

I wasn't sure I wanted an hour. My egg timer was set on twenty-two minutes. Eighteen, if Morelli was on his game. An hour sounded like a lot of work.
And if it was divided up into five twelve-minute sessions, I suspected I'd need mechanical devices.
Although there was no doubt in my mind Morelli could manage it.

                                                        --     --     --     --     --     -- 

The second one, ou les aventures invraisemblables de Stephanie...

'I'm counting to three, Dave. If you aren't hauling ass by three, I'm going to shoot you in the nuts.'
'What is it with my nuts? Why's everybody picking on my nuts?'
'One,' Joyce said.
'You're getting on my nerves.'
'Two.'
'Screw this,' Dave said.

He grabbed the barrel of the gun, the gun discharged, and Joyce shot off the top of his pinkie finger.
Dead silence. We were all surprised.
Dave looked at his shortened pinkie, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crashed face first on the floor.

'Shit, Joyce,' I said to her. 'There's blood all over the hall and Dillon just did the floors.'
Joyce put her boot to Dave and rolled him onto his back. 'Was his nose always flat like that?'
'No. And he didn't used to have blood coming out of it either. He broke it when he fell on his face.'
Joyce took his hand and shoved it into his pants so he wouldn't get any more blood on the floor.

Bonne journée à tous ...

Pendant mes vacances en Sicile, j'ai pas mal bouquiné...

J'ai lu, donc, Pars vite et reviens tard, de Fred Vargas.

Quand le film est sorti au ciné, il y a quelques temps, j'ai juste vu la bande annonce, et je me suis dit : pas moyen que je voie ce truc.
Bref.

Et puis ma mère m'a filé le bouquin cet été en me disant que c'était vachement bien.
J'avais pas envie (mais pas du tout) de le lire, mais bon, venant de ma mère, ça collait pas avec l'idée que je me faisais du film.
Du coup, j'ai essayé.

Je l'ai attaqué genre le deuxième ou troisième jour des vacances, et puis je l'ai fini, genre, la veille du dernier jour des vacances.

Si, si, j'ai bien aimé.

Et une réplique m'a marquée...

"Dites à quelqu'un qu'il est con, il vous répondra qu'il en est fier.
Réflexe de défense ordinaire, quelle que soit l'accusation."
Fred Vargas.

Tellement vrai.

Bonjour, les gens.

Désolée si tu ne parles pas anglais, mais ici, je tiens à te faire partager quelque chose.
Que c'est mieux si tu parles anglais, parce que sinon, tu comprendras pas.

Tu connais Jason Mraz, le chanteur.
Forcément t'as déjà entendu parler.
Il a sorti un nouvel album, y a pas longtemps.

Je viens de finir Slam, de Nick Hornby.
Et je vous livre un second passage...

"We got dressed without speaking.
It was weird.

We totally felt as though we were in trouble, and I felt much younger than I was when we found out Alicia was pregnant.
We were nearly eighteen, our son was asleep next door, and we were about to get yelled at for having sex together.

One thing I can tell you, something I learned from those couple of years, is this.
Age isn't like a fixed thing.
You can tell yourself that you're seventeen or fifteen or whatever, and that might be true, according to your birth certificate. But birth-certificate truth is only a part of it.

You slide around, in my experience.
You can be seventeen and fifteen and nine and a hundred all on the same day.

Having sex with the mother of my son after a long time without any made me feel about twenty-five, I'd say.
And then I went from twenty-five to nine in two seconds, a new world record.

I didn't have a clue why I felt nine years old when I'd been caught in a bed with a girl.
Sex is supposed to make you feel older, not younger.
Unless you're old, I suppose.
Then it might work the other way round.

See what I mean about the sliding around ?"

Slam, de Nick Hornby.

Bonjour, les gens.

J'inaugure aujourd'hui une nouvelle rubrique : Lu et approuvé.

Dans les bouquins que je lis, certains passages me font penser :
C'est vrai !
... ou ...
That's exactly the way I feel ! 

Et j'ai décidé de vous livrer ici ces passages ...
Peut-être même vous donneront-ils envie de lire ces livres, dont je ne ferai par ailleurs pas de résumé ni de critique. 
Mode *flemmarde*, et mode *pas douée pour ça*.

Par contre, je lis beaucoup en anglais (mais pas que) (mais beaucoup), donc désolée par avance pour ceux qui ne comprennent pas trop.
A la fois, c'est l'occaz de le bosser un peu, nan ?

Enjoy the first one : 

"Here's the thing about me.
I can't be bad.

Maybe you think that sleeping with Alicia was bad, but it didn't feel that way, so it doesn't count as badness.
I'm talking about things where I know I'm in the wrong.

You see kids at school, and they're cussing out the teachers, and picking fights with other kids who are supposed to be gay, or picking fights with the teachers, and cussing out the kids who are supposed to be gay ...
I can't do that stuff, and I never could.

I'm rubbish at lying, and even worse at stealing.
I tried nicking some money out of my mum's bag once, and I felt sick, and put it all back.
It's like a disease or something, not wanting to be bad.

I mean, I hate Ryan Briggs more than anyone else on earth. He's a horrible, violent, ugly, scary thug.
But when I see him punch some kid in the face and take his phone off him, or tell a teacher to fuck off, there's a part of me that envies him, you know ?
He hasn't got the disease.
It's not complicated, being him.

Life would be easier if I didn't give a shit, but I do."

Slam, de Nick Hornby.