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Redémarrer avec le français : Un voyage après 30 ans

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English translation below.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic. (in English/en anglais)

J’ai toujours aimé la langue française, depuis mon enfance. À l’université, j’ai suivi quelques semestres de français en tant qu’option libre. Même mes enfants ont été exposés à la langue dans leurs jeunes années, avec des phrases françaises glissées dans mes conversations. Mais voilà, c’était il y a longtemps ; aujourd’hui, c’est une autre histoire.

Cela fait maintenant plus de 30 ans. Bien que je capte encore des éléments de la langue de temps à autre, il y a bien longtemps que je n’ai pas regardé un film en français ou lu Le Monde. L’attrition est rapide, et c’est bien pour cela que je souhaite me remettre en selle.

Je partais souvent en voyage avec mes livres et mes albums vinyles — je sais, je suis un peu démodé — mais tout cela a été perdu dans un incendie. J’ai donc dû repartir à zéro.

Aujourd’hui, je n’ai même pas l’impression d’être un B1. Honnêtement, je dirais que viser un niveau A1 serait déjà ambitieux. Ma force a toujours été la lecture, mais mon vocabulaire en pâtit. Ensuite viennent l’écriture, suivie de l’écoute et de la parole, bien loin derrière. Bref, voici comment je compte m’y prendre pour retrouver au moins le niveau B.

Ma méthode

J’ai commencé par des matériaux de lecture basiques. Et quand je dis “basiques”, je parle de livres pour enfants. Je sais qu’il faut choisir un contenu qu’on peut lire à 98 % sans dictionnaire. Personnellement, je me permets 90 %, mais je ne cherche pas systématiquement à vérifier un mot.

Dans la pratique, je lis jusqu’au bout pour comprendre le sens global, en notant des mots ou des conjugaisons que je ne connais pas. Quand un mot m’est inconnu, je le note. Parfois, je le retrouve plus tard, et il m’éclaire. À une deuxième lecture, je cherche les mots qui restent obscurs. Comme un puzzle, tout commence à prendre sens.

Mon premier choix a été la version française du manga One Piece. Mais, comme j’avais l’impression de ne pas respecter ma règle des 90 %, j’ai vite dû abandonner. Premièrement, il y avait trop de termes maritimes à cause du thème pirate. Deuxièmement, les éléments de bande dessinée m’ont déstabilisé.

Je me suis ensuite tourné vers Le Petit Prince. Un classique, n’est-ce pas ? Eh bien, il est un peu daté. Et il ne respecte pas entièrement ma règle des 90 %, mais je persiste. En restant fidèle à ma méthode, j’ai opté pour des histoires courtes pour adultes débutants. Chaque histoire est suivie d’un résumé et de questions de compréhension, avec des réponses en français, ce qui est un bonus pour l’autocorrection.

J’ai aussi consulté des ressources en ligne pour améliorer mon écriture et ma compréhension orale. Et bien sûr, il y a trop de vidéos YouTube pour les compter.

Mon point faible reste… eh bien, mon point faible. Alors, j’ai demandé à ChatGPT des idées, histoire de ne pas avoir à engager un tuteur de langue. Petite confession : j’ai essayé une application de langue basée sur l’IA, mais je l’ai trouvée plus frustrante qu’autre chose, alors j’ai vite abandonné. ChatGPT m’a suggéré d’utiliser la fonction “saisie vocale” de Google Docs, paramétrée en français. Je l’ai testé. En lisant des passages de mes histoires disponibles, l’application comprenait parfois ce que je disais, parfois pas. Bien que cette approche ait des limites évidentes, cela m’a permis d’évaluer ma diction et de la corriger en conséquence.

Je viens de redémarrer mon parcours. J’espère trouver le temps et maintenir l’endurance nécessaires. D’ici là, voici donc le premier rapport de cette nouvelle aventure.

ENGLISH VERSION

Getting Back to French: A Journey After 30 Years

I’ve always loved the French language since I was a child. At university, I took a couple of semesters of French as free electives. I even exposed my children to it in their younger years, peppering my speech with French phrases. But that was then; this is now.

It’s been over 30 years. While I still catch bits and pieces incidentally, it’s been a long time since I watched a French-language film or read Le Monde. Attrition sets in quickly, and that’s why I want to get back in the saddle.

I used to travel with my books and record albums—dating myself, of course—but they were lost in a house fire, so I had to start over.

These days, I don’t even feel like I’m at a B1 level. Honestly, A1 feels like a stretch. My strength has always been reading, but my vocabulary has suffered. Next comes writing, followed by listening and speaking, which are far behind. Anyway, here’s my approach to getting back to at least the B-range.

My Approach

I started with basic reading materials. And by “basic,” I mean books for children. I understand that one should choose content they can read 98% of without using a dictionary. I allow myself 90%, but I don’t reach for one anyway.

In practice, I read to the end for comprehension, marking words or conjugations I don’t know. If I come across a word I don’t know, I make a note of it. Sometimes I’ll see it again, and it will click. On a second pass, I’ll look up any still-unknown words. Like a puzzle, it starts coming together and making sense.

My first choice was the French version of the One Piece manga. But, as I wasn’t following the 90% rule, I quickly had to abandon it. First, there were too many nautical terms because of the pirate theme. Second, the comic book elements threw me off.

Next, I thought of Le Petit Prince. A classic, right? Well, it’s a bit dated. And it doesn’t fully adhere to my 90% rule, but I persist. Staying true to my method, I grabbed some A1 short stories for adult beginners. Each one is followed by a summary and comprehension questions, with answers in French, which is a nice bonus for self-correction.

I’ve also engaged with some online resources for writing and listening comprehension. And, of course, there are too many YouTube videos to count.

My weakest link is still… well, my weakest link. So, I asked ChatGPT for ideas short of hiring a language tutor. Full disclosure: I tried a language-learning AI app and found it more frustrating than not, so I ditched it. ChatGPT suggested using the voice typing feature in Google Docs set to French. I tried it. Reading passages from my available stories, the app sometimes understood me, sometimes didn’t. Whilst there are clear limitations to this approach, it allowed me to assess my French pronunciation and correct it accordingly.

I’ve just restarted my journey. I hope to find the time and maintain the stamina. Until then, this is my documentation of step one.

Bullshit Jobs

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I’ve recently decided to take a sabbatical from what passes for economic literature these days — out of a sense of self-preservation, mainly — but before I hermetically sealed myself away, I made a quick detour through Jorge Luis Borges’ The Library of Babel (PDF). Naturally, I emerged none the wiser, blinking like some poor subterranean creature dragged into the daylight, only to tumble headlong into David Graeber’s Bullshit Jobs.

This particular tome had been languishing in my inventory since its release, exuding a faint but persistent odour of deferred obligation. Now, about a third of the way in, I can report that Graeber’s thesis — that the modern world is awash with soul-annihilatingly pointless work — does resonate. I find myself nodding along like one of those cheap plastic dashboard dogs. Yet, for all its righteous fury, it’s more filler than killer. Directionally correct? Probably. Substantively airtight? Not quite. It’s a bit like admiring a tent that’s pitched reasonably straight but has conspicuous holes large enough to drive a fleet of Uber Eats cyclists through.

An amusing aside: the Spanish edition is titled Trabajos de mierda (“shitty jobs”), a phrase Graeber spends an entire excruciating section of the book explaining is not the same thing. Meanwhile, the French, in their traditional Gallic shrug, simply kept the English title. (One suspects they couldn’t be arsed.)

Chapter One attempts to explain the delicate taxonomy: bullshit jobs are fundamentally unnecessary — spawned by some black magic of bureaucracy, ego, and capitalist entropy — whilst shit jobs are grim, thankless necessities that someone must do, but no one wishes to acknowledge. Tragically, some wretches get the worst of both worlds, occupying jobs that are both shit and bullshit — a sort of vocational purgatory for the damned.

Then, in Chapter Two, Graeber gleefully dissects bullshit jobs into five grotesque varieties:

  1. Flunkies, whose role is to make someone else feel important.
  2. Goons, who exist solely to fight other goons.
  3. Duct Tapers, who heroically patch problems that ought not to exist in the first place.
  4. Box Tickers, who generate paperwork to satisfy some Kafkaesque demand that nobody actually reads.
  5. Taskmasters, who either invent unnecessary work for others or spend their days supervising people who don’t need supervision.

Naturally, real-world roles often straddle several categories. Lucky them: multi-classed in the RPG of Existential Futility.

Graeber’s parade of professional despair is, admittedly, darkly entertaining. One senses he had a great deal of fun cataloguing these grotesques — like a medieval monk illustrating demons in the margins of a holy text — even as the entire edifice wobbles under the weight of its own repetition. Yes, David, we get it: the modern economy is a Potemkin village of invented necessity. Carry on.

If the first chapters are anything to go by, the rest of the book promises more righteous indignation, more anecdotes from anonymous sad-sacks labouring in existential oubliettes, and — if one is lucky — perhaps a glimmer of prescription hidden somewhere amidst the diagnosis. Though, I’m not holding my breath. This feels less like an intervention and more like a well-articulated primal scream.

Still, even in its baggier moments, Bullshit Jobs offers the grim pleasure of recognition. If you’ve ever sat through a meeting where the PowerPoint had more intellectual integrity than the speaker or spent days crafting reports destined for the corporate oubliette marked “For Review” (translation: Never to Be Seen Again), you will feel seen — in a distinctly accusatory, you-signed-up-for-this sort of way.

In short: it’s good to read Graeber if only to have one’s vague sense of societal derangement vindicated in print. Like having a charmingly irate friend in the pub lean over their pint and mutter, “It’s not just you. It’s the whole bloody system.”

I’m not sure I’ll stick with this title either. I think I’ve caught the brunt of the message, and it feels like a diversion. I’ve also got Yanis Varoufakis’ Technofeudalism: What Killed Capitalism on the shelf. Perhaps I’ll spin this one up instead.

A Shepherd, A Wolf, and a McDonald’s Happy Meal

Posted in fiction, identity, intelligence, modernism, morality, nature, perception, philosophy, postmodernism, psychology, societyTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

A Grim Allegory of Modernity

As the clock ticks us into 2025, a peculiar tale has surfaced in the blogosphere: a dark twist on the classic fable of the “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” served with a side of nihilistic absurdity. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find the original story over at Blog for Chumps. It’s a biting little narrative that turns traditional moralising on its head. Here’s why it deserves your attention.

Audio: NotebookLM Podcast on this topic.

The Tale in Brief

A hungry wolf, tired of dodging vigilant shepherds, decides to forgo subterfuge altogether. He waltzes into the flock, making no effort to hide his predatory nature. A naïve lamb follows him, and predictably, the wolf claims his meal. Later, the wolf returns to the sheepfold, where the shepherd — instead of protecting his flock — teams up with the wolf. Together, they butcher a sheep before abandoning the scene entirely to indulge in McDonald’s, leaving the traumatised sheep to accept their grim new reality.

Not exactly bedtime reading for the kids.

Themes: A Cynical Mirror to Our World

This tale is not merely a grotesque subversion of pastoral simplicity; it’s a scalpel slicing into the rotting carcass of modern society. Here’s what lurks beneath its woolly surface:

1. Cynicism Towards Authority

In most fables, the shepherd embodies protection and care. Here, he’s a collaborator in senseless violence. The shepherd’s betrayal critiques the notion of benevolent authority, suggesting that those entrusted with safeguarding the vulnerable often act in their own interests or, worse, align themselves with destructive forces. Sound familiar? Think political complicity, corporate greed, or any number of modern failures of leadership.

2. Normalisation of Atrocity

The sheep, described as cognitively intact, accept their grim reality without resistance. This isn’t a story about oblivious innocence; it’s about the horrifying human capacity to adapt to systemic violence. It reflects how people, faced with injustice, often acquiesce to their oppressors rather than challenge the status quo.

3. Inversion of Expectations

The wolf doesn’t even bother with the traditional sheepskin disguise. His audacity mirrors the brazen nature of modern exploitation, where bad actors operate in plain sight, confident in the public’s apathy or resignation. It’s a commentary on the erosion of shame, accountability, and even the pretence of decency.

4. Absurdity and Nihilism

The shepherd and wolf ditch their victim to grab fast food, trivialising the violence they’ve inflicted. The juxtaposition of archaic brutality with banal consumerism is absurd yet disturbingly resonant. It suggests that, in our era, even cruelty can be relegated to a footnote in the pursuit of comfort or convenience.

Symbols: Layers of Meaning

The tale brims with symbolic resonance:

  • The Wolf: A stand-in for unchecked greed or predatory systems, the wolf’s brazen behaviour highlights the dangers of apathy and unchallenged power.
  • The Shepherd: His betrayal symbolises the failure of institutions — governments, corporations, or other entities — to protect those they claim to serve.
  • The Sheep: Far from being simple-minded, the sheep’s acceptance of their grim new reality is a biting critique of societal complacency.
  • McDonald’s: A modern symbol of triviality and consumerism, it underscores the absurdity of senseless violence in a world driven by shallow comforts.

A Stark Commentary on Power Dynamics

At its core, the story is a brutal satire of power and complicity. Though ostensibly adversaries, the shepherd and wolf unite to exploit the powerless. It’s a chilling reminder of how often power structures protect their own interests at the expense of the vulnerable.

The sheep’s passive acceptance is equally damning. It forces readers to confront their own role as silent witnesses or even complicit actors in systems of oppression. What happens when we’re no longer shocked by atrocity but instead integrate it into the fabric of our existence?

The Satirical Edge

What makes this story particularly effective is its dark, sardonic, and unapologetically hyperbolic tone. It revels in absurdity while delivering a grim truth about human nature. The shepherd and wolf’s nonchalance is as hilarious as it is horrifying, making the tale an unsettling mirror of a society where injustice and apathy often go hand in hand.

Final Thoughts

This fable may be short, but its implications are vast. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of complacency, the betrayal of trust, and the absurdity of modern priorities. More importantly, it’s a call to resist the normalisation of harm — to recognise wolves and shepherds for what they are and demand better from ourselves and those in power.

So, as we usher in a new year, let this tale serve as a grim reminder: the wolf doesn’t always need a disguise, and the shepherd isn’t always your friend. Sometimes, they’re just two blokes on their way to McDonald’s.

Slow News Day

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This post is primarily throwaway content—a boast, really. November 2024 was the busiest month for this blog since I started it in January 2017. By the end of November, this blog had twice the visitors it had in the entire year of 2023. Hooray for me.

My most popular story has been the book review of Thomas Ligotti’s ‘The Conspiracy Against the Human Race‘. In fact, anti-natalist and pessimistic philosophy are the top performers. What’s a bloke to do?

Book Review: Conspiracy Against the Human Race

This isn’t the only place I publish, though I give it the most attention. I’ve been publishing online since the mid-’90s. Unfortunately, some of the blog hosts went out of business, so the content it lost to history.

One of my favourite pieces is a publication I wrote in 2013: Cultural Impact on Digital Design. I wrote it while working at Critical Mass, a digital marketing agency. It’s been viewed just shy of 20,000 times. I revised it today because I couldn’t recall the name of Geert Hofstede, a reference I am including in my Language Insufficiency Hypothesis book.

Speak of my book, time to refocus. Ta!

Choice and Blame: Why We Forgive Some and Condemn Others

Posted in agency, free will, identity, modernism, nature, perception, philosophy, psychology, society, videoTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

A recent parody video making the rounds on social media shows a man at a kitchen table, his girlfriend, and their cat. In a desperate attempt to gain his girlfriend’s attention, he knocks a cup off the table. The moment it hits the floor, she turns on him, scolding him for his clumsiness. Quick to deflect, he blames the cat, and suddenly her anger dissipates. She shifts from reprimanding him to lavishing affection on the supposedly guilty feline. The tension lifts—until he sheepishly confesses that it was, in fact, his doing all along. Her response? An incredulous, “Are you kidding me?”

What’s fascinating about this skit isn’t the comedy of the man’s mischief or even the cat’s unknowing role in the charade. It’s the girlfriend’s starkly different reactions to the same act, depending on who she believes committed it. The cat, in her eyes, can do no wrong; the boyfriend, however, is immediately culpable. It’s easy to laugh at the scenario’s absurdity, but the dynamic it portrays is familiar and, dare I say, quite telling about human behaviour.

The Double Standard of Blame

Why is it that we’re quick to exonerate some and just as quick to indict others? The phenomenon is more than a quirk of personality; it reveals our deeper, often unconscious, biases. While it’s understandable that the girlfriend might think the cat incapable of intentional mischief, her reaction also suggests a predisposition to forgive certain actors—whether due to perceived innocence, attachment, or simply habit.

This dynamic isn’t limited to pets and partners. In families, workplaces, and social groups, we often see a similar pattern. One person becomes the perennial scapegoat, bearing the brunt of blame for any and all misdeeds, while another enjoys a seemingly unshakeable immunity. Think of the “golden child” and the “black sheep” within a family. One can rarely put a foot wrong, while the other’s every move is scrutinised, questioned, or condemned.

Beyond the Blame: Motivations and Consequences

The reasons behind these imbalances can be complex. Sometimes, they stem from past behaviour: if someone has repeatedly erred, we may be primed to expect the worst from them, even if they’ve reformed. Other times, they arise from emotional bonds or biases: we excuse those we love or admire because acknowledging their faults would cause us discomfort or cognitive dissonance.

This phenomenon isn’t just about playing favourites; it can have significant psychological consequences. For the person perpetually cast as the villain, the burden of unwarranted blame can lead to feelings of resentment, anxiety, or self-doubt. Meanwhile, those consistently exonerated may internalise a skewed perception of their own infallibility, which can be equally damaging.

A Broader Reflection on Accountability

Returning to the video’s context, the girlfriend’s swift switch from reproach to indulgence once she believed the cat was at fault, and her subsequent anger when the truth was revealed, invites us to question our own responses to perceived transgressions. Are we, too, guilty of selectively assigning blame based on who we think is responsible? How often do we let our preconceptions shape our judgments, favouring one actor over another without truly weighing the evidence?

The parody is amusing, no doubt, but it also serves as a subtle reminder: our reactions often reveal more about our biases and expectations than about the actions themselves. The next time we find ourselves quick to blame or forgive, it’s worth pausing to ask: are we reacting to the act, or to the actor?

In a world increasingly marked by polarised opinions and knee-jerk reactions, cultivating this kind of self-awareness is crucial. We need to be vigilant not only about how we judge others but also about why we do so. For, in the end, it’s not just about who knocked the cup off the table—it’s about who we believe deserves to be scolded for it.