Monitor Me

Why don't you go ahead and recommend your favorite happy music to me. Check out this post for the details.

There's this thing going around the internet that I thought was pretty cool. It's called the Great Interview Experiment, and you can read all about it here. Basically, Neil of Citizen of the Month, decided he wanted to see if he could connect bloggers, and make it pretty clear that each personal blogger has their own skillz, talents, and a pretty amazing story to tell. So he set up this interview process, which is pretty elegant in its simplicity. I signed up, and I got to interview the delightful Commis Chef of Primitive Kitchen. Check it out.



What's your opinion on those replica Fifties Diners. I'm talking about the ones that have jukeboxes, and checkered tablecloths, and the servers all have to wear period costumes. Do you have those in England/France?

I’m sure they exist in both countries in some incarnation or another, but I can’t think of a specific chain. Replica fifties diners smack of insincerity. They are completely contrived. Everything from the napkin holders to the fixtures and fittings are utterly inauthentic. It’s sterile. You might as well be eating in a hospital.

These days, nothing is really ‘authentic’ but I’d still pick an independent restaurant over a disingenuous chain any day. I’m assuming it would be a chain restaurant because of the period costumes. What is it with chain restaurants and making their employees look like complete twats? Is it really necessary to completely degrade them on top of only paying them minimum wage?

TGI Fridays is a case in point – what’s with the braces, the hats, the ridiculous badges and the totally over-the-top persona they’re forced to adopt; ‘Hi I’m Wendy and I’ll be your waitress this evening! How is everyone today!?’ What? I want to be served by a person, not a robot. I know that Wendy doesn’t really care about how I am, and rightly so, she’s just reeling off the lines they’ve told her to. That makes me feel really sad. There’s nothing genuine about it and it destroys my faith in humanity.

This answer just about broke my heart, actually, but then I remembered that my favorite fifties diner is actually independently owned, and is not soul-crushing. Go Broadway Cafe!

You seem to be fascinated by culture. I'm not just talking about French culture, or literary culture, you're obsessed with culture in general. What's up with that?

I don’t think I even recognised this until I studied Art and Visual Culture at uni. It developed my ideas and cemented for me exactly what it is about it that I love. I got really interested in so-called ‘low culture,’ and specifically, cultural experiences that were often overlooked and therefore, undervalued.

Like going to a greasy spoon. I started to think, hang on, who says going to an art gallery or a museum has more cultural worth than going to a greasy spoon? Surely there are valuable things to be gleaned from both? Then I started making artwork about it, but the relationship between the ‘high art’ I was making and the ‘low culture’ I was talking about was problematic and I wasn’t sure how these issues could be resolved. Ultimately I decided that this blog was a much better venue for me to examine them.

Why don't you think you can speak French more fluently? Just how fluent do you want to become?

As I’ve found out, there’s more to learning a language than just memorising some vocabulary, learning a bit of grammar and sticking the two together. It’s a question of confidence. First you have to know the basics and then you’ve got to get to the point where you really don’t give a shit about making an arse of yourself. I’m totally there, now, it’s just a matter of time. Of course, if me and TTRL could remember to speak French at home for more than five minutes that would help.

For me, the most frustrating thing about not being fluent, is that without the language it’s impossible to really be me. On top of that there’s so much lost in translation that it becomes apparent that to really be integrated in a culture you first need the language to put some shape to it and reap its rewards.

So, in answer to your second question, only being fluent like a native will suffice. I’m resigned to the fact that it’s going to take years.

Why don't you work? Are you living some luxurious lifestyle that
permits you to lounge about all day and not worry about money? Whatever the reason, I'm totally jealous. I hate working. It's for suckers.

I’m definitely not living a luxurious lifestyle. I do in fact constantly worry about money, you know, I need to eat. I teach English for a bit of cash and I just don’t buy anything that isn’t absolutely necessary, except for wine. Sue me. I already have everything I need. Luckily I don’t think TTRL will let me starve.

To be honest with you, (apart from the fact that the thought of working scares me to death), nothing would please me more than having a job. I’ve had a job since I was 15, I’m definitely not work shy and I could really use the euros. But unemployment is high in France and even jobs cleaning or waitressing are competitive. Against 10 other applicants who all speak French fluently I don’t really stand a chance. Without the language my qualifications and experience are completely redundant.

It’s not through a lack of trying though!

And anyway, you’re right – working’s for suckers.

You're funny. Do you blame your parents, or do you come upon this naturally?

My parents aren’t exactly known for their side-splitting sense of humour, so it’s definitely not them.

I’ve got no idea. British people in general have a great sense of humour. I reckon it’s partly a defence mechanism; when you live in a damp, dull country where it rains on 300 days of the year, a good sense of humour is not just a coincidence – it’s a survival tool. We need to release that serotonin somehow. Comedy essentially makes life more bearable. I think it’s really important for your own well being to be able to take a step back and laugh at yourself, your friends, your family, your situation, your culture and your country.

Never underestimate the power of ridicule.

From what I can tell from your archives, you've lived in France, England, and America: Which is better and why? Is there some unknown locale that supersedes all of these?

Are you sitting comfortably? On second thoughts you might need a cup of tea to accompany this one.

She means it. I would go get tea. This is the part where we find out that Commis Chef is really opinionated, but also really quite smrt. Go, Commis Chef!

Ok, ready?

I lived in America between the ages of 8 and 12. There were things that I both loved and hated about it, but it wasn’t until several years later that I was able to put the whole experience into perspective. The more I saw it from this perspective, the more I didn’t like what I saw.

I want to make it clear here that I don’t in any way dislike Americans. On the contrary. My beef is with the government, the long established systems and structures, and the blind patriotism, which winds me up no end.

I remember being asked to rise for the pledge of allegiance on my first day of school. I didn’t know what the word allegiance meant, but after listening to the rest of the words I vowed to myself that I would never be pledging it. I was British after all.

Back in England I began thinking about what that whole exercise really did. Every pupil from 5 onwards is taught the words and then mindlessly, unquestioningly repeats them, every single day for the rest of their school lives. Not only do they say the words, but they stand up, face the flag, (there’s one in every classroom) and put their hands on their hearts. And no one ever asks why.

Couple this with the relentless displays of patriotism; the flying flags, the bumper stickers, the frequent singing of the national anthem, (even at little league games for crying out loud), and the excessive use of the phrase ‘God bless America,’ and is it any wonder that Americans truly believe they’ve got it good? Everyone’s talking about it. They all seem pretty convinced what a fantastic country it is. It’s been drilled into them since day one and it’s seeped into the depths of their very being. They are convinced that America is the best country in the world, never mind that they have never experienced living in another one.

Running beautifully parallel to this, is the promotion of the American dream, which fundamentally, sells the idea that in America, it doesn’t matter where you come from, anyone has the potential to ‘make it.’ Don’t bother with the statistics, or the likelihood, or the systems which are stacked against the majority, (such as outrageous university fees, and no healthcare system), the belief that in America anything is possible is unwavering. Maybe one day, if they just work hard enough, they could be one of the lucky few living the highlife, instead of waiting tables in a ridiculous period costume in a replica fifties diner for minimum wage. And for a few lucky sods, this possibility does become a reality, in turn keeping the dream, however unattainable, alive.

So, first the belief that they are one of the lucky few to be born in the ‘land of the free’ is pounded into them from all angles. Then, the potential of wealth and riches is hung in front of them like a carrot in front of a donkey; forever out of reach, but the mere fact of its existence enough to keep them plodding forward. And even in the face of all the inequality and all the obstacles, that dangling carrot will be defended because it represents a way of life that’s been steadily indoctrinated into them since birth. Then ready and waiting, right on cue, their blind patriotism kicks in and seems to justify all that is wrong in the world. As such, blind patriotism is the thorn in the side of change.

It encourages beliefs not based on fact and teaches people merely to accept that the country is great because everyone says it is. As such they are taught not to ask questions. Teaching people not to ask questions, is to teach them not to think. Asking questions is a healthy and, actually, essential component of any decent society and one that is absolutely vital for change. It can only be described as irresponsible and dangerous to view criticism of a government as unpatriotic.

So in answer to your question, America is not what I would view to be the better country by any stretch of the imagination, because for me there are far too many ingrained political and patriotic problems that affect daily life.

Don’t think this implies that I think Britain and France are without problems. They aren’t. I’m totally unqualified to analyse France in the same way, but in Britain we have a monarchy for fucks sake. What’s that about? Basically, right now America wins the most fucked up country award, hands down, and that’s why I’ve written about it here.

Well, that was a bit heavy, wasn’t it?

If there’s some unknown locale that supersedes the three, then I don’t know about it. Every place is a place in its own right, different from all the others with its own good points and bad. I enjoyed living in all three of the countries. Each one has left an impression on me and shaped the person that I have become. I wouldn’t change any of my experiences in them. Culturally speaking each country has been enriching in its own way. Every experience has something valuable to give. I don’t think you can really appreciate your experiences somewhere until you’ve got somewhere else to compare them to.

But I must admit I do have a fondness for British culture, even if I am a bit biased, and this is probably evident throughout my blog. I live in France though and look at it through rose tinted glasses.

What's with all of the heavy food in England? You never see pictures of English salad, you see pictures of mutton stew and dark beer. Is there some kind of dietary standard that the rest of the world doesn't know?

Salad?

I think British people eat the way we do because of a combination of history, tradition, cold weather and a complete disregard for our impending obesity epidemic. We’ve grown up on stodgy comfort foods and we’re not giving them up without a fight. British cuisine is the source of much amusement around the globe and not without good reason. However it’s quite unjustifiably unappreciated. Lets examine this classic dish, the English breakfast:



First, take a look at all its component parts. You’ve got your baked beans in tomato sauce, (a British classic, mercilessly ridiculed by the French… until they try them), your sausage, your bacon, your eggs, your hash browns, your fried tomato, your fried mushrooms, and underneath it all two mouth-wateringly buttery slices of toast.

There is something undeniably hilarious about it. Look at it for god’s sake. It’s so elementary as to appear stupid. Note that, bar the toast, which has been smothered in butter, none of the other individual parts have been perverted with any other ingredients. Except of course, oil and salt. Each item is cooked and then piled on the plate. It’s simplicity at it’s best. Less really can sometimes be more. Frankly, I think its nothing short of genius.

Have you been able to really dedicate time to your painting, or does it get put on the back burner? I find I almost have to force myself to write sometimes, even though it's one of my passions.

It’s not even on the stove at the moment.

Basically, I like culture. I like thinking about it. I liked making art work about it, but I like writing about it even more and I find it to be a much more appropriate means for what I want to say. I find it consumes a lot of my time, but it’s rewarding. Sometimes I do have to force myself to write. It’s never as good though as when I’m really in the mood for it.

Perhaps it’s time to admit that I’m not an artist. There. I said it. I’m out.

Who says writers aren't artists? Words are an art to themselves. I know that we have terms like writer and poet, and artists are for those who work with visual media, but I don't think that an artist has to be limited to words or paint or anything. I like how you express yourself, Commis Chef, I hope you keep doing it in whatever form you like.

What's the story with The Thin Red Line's name?

The Thin Red Line is one of those lucky bastards who can eat whatever they like and stay as thin as a rake. His wardrobe is entirely composed of white, black and red. He’s so slim that when he turns to the side, he completely disappears. Only the thin red line of his clothes can be made-out.

And there it is. An interview that spanned several timezones, and made it difficult at times to communicate back and forth, but a really interesting look into another person's life. Sometimes when I stop and think about all of the blogs out there that are written by so many remarkable and fascinating people, I wonder why it is that we don't know more about each other. Then I think that the sheer numbers of it all is what must prevent us from it; basically, the cream does rise to the top, but there's just a whole crapload of cream, and it gets too thick to get through. I'm glad I participated, though, you should sign up too. I like the principals behind this experiment, and it's a pretty cool way to get to know another person.