Tuesday, 21 March 2017



“think of New York City cab drivers, many of them immigrants, who leveraged themselves for three generations to buy a cab and now have had their investment gutted by Uber. This is the human cost of disruption, which, if you don’t happen to be poor and drive a cab, is supposedly a wonderful thing” (full story here).

There is Richard, and Roger, Cohen, one at the WP, the other at the NYT, and both write extremely well.



Monday, 20 March 2017

I am sorry to say…


…the guy is profoundly unhinged




He definitely needs help. Urgently


Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Like my own


So I go all over the place announcing I love them like my own, what is a darn easy thing to say since I don’t have any of my own, and given my goddam fucking sterility I’m not about to have any of my own am I.

So who am I to say I love them like my own.

Like my own. It means just plain nothing. Like my own. I love them. They are my own. How could I love them any harder, any more, any better, any whatever, than I love them ?

Correct, I did not push them out of me, I did not suckle them so no they aren’t my own. I am not their mother. They are not my children. But however I do, I love them, they love me, and that’ll have to do.

My babies. My Louis, my Charles. µiyovo. Their mammy.

Fuck you.


About currency

An honourable correspondent asks me about the currency Doublezon.
Well, dear correspondent, just go and read Boris Vian, Froth on the Daydream, and you’ll know about it.
I just decided the x-rate DBZ – EUR is 1.000 and will be till hell freezes. Or till I’m pregnant. That’s about the same.
Cheerio, honourable correspondent. We are mightily honoured, visits to our blog, our Facebook page, our Google+ account, you name it, pleases us mightily.
We are your most obedient servant,
Image result for l'écume des jours

µiyovo ceviki

Life’s unfair


So. Driving to school. Talking about the coming Easter holiday in Arcachon. Louis: “it’s unfair. Charles will have Amandine in the holiday, and I won’t have Céline”. Charles: “I have Amandine only in the holiday. You have Céline the rest of the time”.

Chuck – Louis 1 - 0 I’d say.


Saturday, 11 March 2017

That period of the month, you know.


With the regularity of a hormonal cycle, I am reminded that this time around, yet again, I am not pregnant. In actual fact, every other 28 days or so, with the regularity of a hormonal clockwork, I am reminded that I won’t ever get pregnant.

Bang, take that in the face, girl. Your period has begun. You know what it means, don’t you. Visits to fertility clinics notwithstanding. Like this morning. Yet again. Nice, friendly, understanding doctors and nurses. Kind, sweet people, who listen and hold my hand. Yet again: the same rigmarole. The same words. The same genuine sympathy, if not sorrow. They mean well. But it always ends with the same words. Sorry, Madam, it can’t be helped. That’ll be 300 doublezons, thank you.

I will never be pregnant. I should accept it and stop wasting money on so called fertility clinics. I was told once, why do I need to be told tens of times. Costs money and brings only grief.

PregnantWell, sure, I know. There are many children around me. Wonderful children.

There are Louis and Charles, and I say I love them like my own, and it is true, I swear, I love them like my own. More perhaps, how could I know. I never had my own, did I. Louis and Charles, they love me like, I don’t know, if not a Mum, pretty darn close to it anyway. Do I go to jail at Monopoly ? No, because Moms don’t go to jail do they. So, here you have it. I love them like my own and they love me like their own.

There are little Yvonne and Celia, there are my nephews, so many of them, on the Ceviki and on the Lavallier side, each of them so nice and lovely and I love them dearly and they love me.

Except, none of them are my own, aren’t they, and all my pretending won’t help fill the emptiness and void in my soul. And in my barren womb. I love them all with all my soul and somehow the ache does not subside. The wish. The want.

I am good at pretending, and I guess I fool most people. But I hardly fool myself, do I. I will never have a baby, and it crushes my soul. I wish I could find peace of mind, but it eludes me. Every other 28 days or so, it hits me bang straight in the face. In the belly. In the heart. Wish someone who’s been through this shit would show me a way out before it drives me nuts.


Friday, 10 March 2017

Drakes and witches. Knights and princesses


Children have immense fantasy. This morning, school rush, but we take the time to talk in the car on the way to school, and Louis explains the last game at school. Boys say they are knights, girls say they are princesses, and each princess chooses her knight, who will have to defend and protect her, and in exchange, he’ll be allowed to hold her hand and to kiss her.

Louis’ princess is of course Celine. And Victor’s princess is Edwina. And Timour’s princess is Agathe. Louis says he likes to kiss his Celine because she tastes so nice. So when I ask how he knows Celine tastes nice, Louis says because they kiss with the tongue, because they are very much in love.


Or should I be alarmed that a precocious little slut is perverting my innocent little boy ? I can’t remember when I let a foreign tongue in my mouth for the first time, but surely I was older than 10. Or was I ?


Saturday, 4 March 2017

Si tant fort tellement beaucoup bis


A very long time ago, Chuck was a little child. Now he is almost 8, and at that age you are a child. Certainly not a little, or a small one, no, you are a child, and before you know it you’ll be a grown-up like Dad and µiyovo.

Long ago, Chuck told µiyovo “je t’aime si tant fort tellement beaucoup” in a typical Chuckian turn of phrase. The locution “si tant fort tellement beaucoup” has become a private joke between little Chuck and µiyovo. They use it whenever they can (like “careful, the soup is si tant fort tellement beaucoup hot”) and tease each other with it, and they smile and high five and have si tant fort tellement beaucoup fun with each other.

Chuck continues to think µiyovo smells si tant fort tellement beaucoup nice. She continues to think Chuck is her little boy whom she loves si tant fort tellement beaucoup that she needs to hug him every other minute. And for no money in the world would she change brands of baby soap, baby oil, baby shampoo or antiperspirant lest they no longer think she smells si tant fort tellement beaucoup nice.

Chuck and µiyovo, and Dad and Louis, they are si tant fort tellement beaucoup happy together. Sometimes, µiyovo wonders what she did to deserve si tant fort tellement beaucoup happiness.

And then Chuck comes along and he says “I want a chocolate cookie” and all she has to say to that is “not before you say please will you have a chocolate cookie” and he says “si tant fort tellement beaucoup pleaaaaase” and he gets his cookie and he is not µiyovo’s biological son, but she’s his, and Louis’, Mommy all the same, and she’s so grateful to Dad for having given her her own place in their family.


Thursday, 23 February 2017



Trying to survive for a week now without internet connection. Hard, above all because no Deezer. Creepy how these things become indispensable without one really noticing.

And next week, holiday, high up in the mountains, skiing our heads off (and µiyovo on a ski slope is a public menace, be warned, we’ll be in Valmorel, get off my way or else), and in the evenings we’ll be so knackered I wont care for internet anyway.

What a decadent life…


Thursday, 16 February 2017

I could be Ambassadress to Austria


“Working in philanthropy, Park told Trump, was not unlike serving as an ambassador: It’s all about dealing with people, promoting the country. His response? ‘I think you would be very good at that, and I think that would be good for you,’ recalls Park. They even talked about where Park might serve: A good fit might be Austria, because Park has a background in music and a long history of fundraising for the arts. “It’s a very cultural nation,” he says.”  

Can you believe this ? The required qualification for the Ambassadorship to Austria is “a background in music”. Oh yes, I forgot, he has also seen The Sound of Music "like 75 times.", which explains why he gets the job (since I also have a background in music, I could claim the job, couldn’t I, except that I won’t let him grab my pussy).  (http://bit.ly/2lmKY9P)

Can you believe so much vulgarity ? The qualification for the Ambassadorship to France is what ? To like garlic ?


Wednesday, 15 February 2017

The guy is going beserk


Just go to twitter.com/realDonaldTrump.

The guy is cracking.


Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Read in the Guardian

“The only things protecting Trump from impeachment for his egregious behaviour are his poll numbers and the false sense of security they give to Republicans in Congress.

Sadly for Trump, those numbers are tumbling faster than the ratings of Celebrity Apprentice. In just three weeks, Trump has lost 5 points in his Gallup approval polls to hit 40%.

It took Richard Nixon four years to reach this low point, just a year before he quit the presidency. At this rate, Trump will reach Nixon’s all-time low of 24% approval before the end of April.”
So, there’s hope this could be short-lived then.



We’ll move on Friday. It’s something, moving outta here, I wouldn’t have thought it’d affect me, but it does. Of course we move to a big big house with a big lawn and a wood at the back of the lawn, and it’ll be perfect. Of course Jules moves in here so the place remains ours somehow. But still.

Image result for moving houses

And the work, it’s killing me. Boxes and boxes and boxes. Our whole life in cardboard boxes. Strange.


Monday, 13 February 2017

Musical education


The other day I was playing the piano and I asked Chuck to turn the pages for me. Of course, he can’t read music, so page turning for him is a rather complex skill. He has to know where to stand, he has to recognize my subtle hints, he has to know how to move and come close to take the page in his little fingers, then when and how to turn it, and how to go back to his seat and get ready for the next page. It is not half as easy as it seems, believe you me, but we approach the thing as a game and provided it does not last too long, Chuck enjoys “playing music with µiyovo”.

I remember seeing Ivo Pogorelich in concert some years ago here in B., and the page turner was clearly annoying him, Ivo almost shouted at him “OK stop, sit back, don’t make a move, I’ll do it myself” and he did (turn the pages himself). Painful.

But this brings me to my point: there is absolutely no, zero, zilch, nada, niente musical education in primary schools (or secondary for that matter) in these regions. And I find that a great great shame. Don’t ask a kid to explain, even very summarily, the sonata form. Or to tell you what instruments make out the strings group in a symphonic orchestra. Or to explain if, and how, some percussion instruments can be tuned. Don’t ask a kid to explain words like pianissimo or tutti. They simply haven’t got a clue, and how could they unless Dad or Mum insists and sends them to music school.

Not that they need these notions to become adults. But to become fully equipped, fully functional adults they need to learn to enjoy classical music, and it is my firm belief that having a minimal musical education is a prerequisite to be able to understand, and enjoy, music. Well, that’s my opinion and I won’t change my mind.

And this being said, Louis and Charles will go to music school as of September. The only choice they’ll have is the instrument. And if I could, I’d send their Dad too.

They’ll hate me but I don’t give a hoot.


An idiot in Washington


Read this:

“And while Mr. Obama liked policy option papers that were three to six single-spaced pages, council staff members are now being told to keep papers to a single page, with lots of graphics and maps.

“The president likes maps,” one official said.”



Lots of graphics and maps because the President likes maps. Christ Almighty.

Image result for child reading comics



Sunday, 12 February 2017



Everybody who knows about adoption law and knows our case, or anybody who wants to be nice to us, readily admits that our case is a self evident one. An obvious one. A no brainer. A slam dunk. Even the best adoption law specialists that (a lot of) money can buy, and that we thus bought, agree: this isn’t even a case, it’s a walk in the park.

Think about it. Man marries and fathers two children. Then marriage goes south and ends in a reasonably amicable divorce, with the parents sharing custody one week you one week me. Then man meets girl falls in love proposes she accepts they get married the children, every other week, stay with them and everybody is happy (except the anti-Semite grandma, but that’s another story altogether) .

Then catastrophe strikes. Twice.

First, the biological mom gets a nasty and aggressive blood cancer and dies. Second, surrogate mom discovers her piping is crooked beyond repair and she is barren, as the Sahara. She’ll never have babies. She contemplates suicide but rapidly Dad and Surrogate Mom decide for the obvious: she will adopt the children, become Pregnanttheir legal Mom. They won’t have come out of her womb, but aside from this little unimportant technicality, they will be her children. So they go for it, and everybody tells them “plain sailing, no worries, obvious case, no brainer, slam dunk”. Except that they then say “well it’s gonna take about three years, but since you hired the very best (lots of) money can buy maybe, just maybe, if we’re kind of lucky, it’ll be done in two instead of three. And that is because yours is plain sailing, no worries, obvious case, no brainer, slam dunk. You don’t want to know how long a difficult case can drag on.”

Big deal.

Meanwhile, kind of every day, the children ask “when is it you will have managed to adopt me finally. Why so long ? What’s wrong with you, or me, or us ?” Not later than this morning, little Chuck, moves in my bed, says “hold me”, and goes “µiyovo, why are you not my legal mom yet ?” And what can I say ? Hey, Mr Lawyer who costs a fortune, what am I supposed to tell my kid ? Hey, Mr Judge who seems so ensconced in his bubble, what is the answer you suggest ? Hey, anybody ?

Meanwhile, my oh so very dear and marvellous darling lover boy has to explain to his boss “listen, there is just no doubt, I want that job in Chicago, and µiyovo wants it for me too, and as soon as we can we’ll hop on the plane and be there and pick up the assignment (and the promotion), but please understand, we just can’t leave now, it would ruin the whole deal, please Fulton, I swear to you, we’re not dragging our feet even if it may look like we are. I want but I can’t. We want but we can’t”. If this lingers on, they’ll loose their patience in Chicago, and that’ll be the end of that dream…

See the rotten deal we’re in ? But we will see this through. We WILL see this through.


Wednesday, 8 February 2017

Missing my Grandma


She was handy and knitted lots of sweaters, shawls, gloves and prettycripple-pussyhat-cateven socks when I was small. Was she still around, I’d ask her to knit as many pussyhats as she can so that I could give one to each and every one of my BFF’s and we’d wear them and there’d be no doubt as to where we young women stand. Come and grab our pussies if you dare, twerp.

I like this model here, my Grandma would have needed only a couple of hours to knit me something like this. Can you imagine me wearing this going to work ? I am on my (sweet round little) ass howling with laughter.


Not cool

The kids are reading a book, well, Louis is reading, Daddy is helping 51HFQgbABEL._SX321_BO1,204,203,200_with the difficult words and Chuck is asking questions much to the annoyance of Louis.

Now I am immensely pleased that Louis is reading a big, fat, difficult book at his young age (Dad and µiyovo remember vividly their first big book, the first one that wasn’t a comic strip, and we were both older than Louis, so as parents we are mightily proud) but I am sorry to have to say that the book is plagiarism and that is not cool at all.

I remember clearly that my own Dad had a big fat book by James Clavell titled “Shogun” and I read that (it was kind of OK, not much more than kind of): the story of John Blackthorne, a XVIIth century English pilot who wrecks his ship on the reefs off the Japanese coast and has to survive in Japan. Well, the young samurai is Jack Fletcher, a XVIIth century son of an English pilot who wrecks his ship on the reefs off the Japanese coast and has to survive in Japan. And Jack goes to a school for young samurais, with his friends Yokiko and Yori, where he meets the evil Oba Kazuki and his crony Nobu. Any resemblance with Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron, and Draco Malfoy and Crabbe and Doyle is purely accidental.

Not cool.

But good on you, Louis, I’ll get you the sequel.

Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Let’s not get confused


An honourable correspondent from Loro Ciuffenna Italy (he will recognize himself) suggests one should not get mad at the Donald, one should get mad at the people who voted for him.

Although often inconclusive, analogies can sometimes help clarifying issues. Here’s one, let’s see what it tells us.

We should not get mad at Adolf Hitler, we should get mad at the people who elected him. But if you know your history well, you will know that Hitler did not win the 1932 elections. He got power all right, but until he installed his dictatorship in 1933, he had never had neither a parliamentary majority, nor a popular vote majority.  So the majority of Germans never voted him in.

I rest my case, so far so good for the analogy.

So let’s get mad at the voters. But which ones ? The 62,985,105 who voted for him, or only some of them ? Remember, he had exactly 2,868,520 less votes (yes, Donald, LESS; loser), so blaming all his voters is, IMHO, slightly overdoing things. So if not all of them and only some of them, which ones ? The 51,360 ones in MI, WI and PA who made all the difference in the Electoral College ? Or should we blame the voters who did not bother to go and vote, and then, only those who would have voted for Hillary, and then only just enough of them to offset the 51,360 difference ?

Mmmm. Maybe we ought to get mad at the crazy US electoral system that makes it possible for someone with close to 3 million (Donald: three million. That’s a three and six noughts. That’s a lot, Donald, a yuge lot. Loser) votes LESS than his opponent to be elected despite the incongruity of ignoring the majority.

If you’ve been paying any attention, you’ll have guessed where I am going: it is a lot simpler, and easier, to get mad at the Donald.

The more so that he makes it easy. Ever seen anything more vulgar than this picture:


If you have ever seen something more vulgar, let me know (look at the hands. Yuk).

Arrivederci, Loro Ciuffenna.


Monday, 6 February 2017

The beast is awake…


and is tweeting his usual nonsense (at 6 am local DC time):



Negative news ? FAKE news ! Easy peasy.


The sad, despondent musicians


If you’ve been attentive, you know that on most Saturdays, me and my mates spend the afternoon playing music. Usually, this is an enormously enjoyable affair, with dear dear friends from many many years spending a precious moment together, enjoying ourselves tremendously. Last Saturday though we were all a bit despondent, and we did not play well, and we knew it, and we were hating it, and so after a while we agreed to stop and we agreed our hearts were not in the task, however pleasant it all should be.

I must say, my heart was bleeding, because it is the first time that this happens: we were together, happy in each other’s company, but we were unable to enjoy our music, and if you know anything about music you’ll know that if you don’t enjoy it, then the music simply cannot be good.

We are a bunch of handsome, strong and attentive guys, and young, pretty, funny, witty gals. We come from all over the world. Henry is English but he hates the idea; however hard he tries, Image result for syldavie borduriethere’s just no way he could pass as a Scot (we understand him when he speaks, except when he is drunk, and that is exactly the opposite for your average Scot) or Irish or Welsh or whatever, so he must be English, but he hates the idea. Pavel is from somewhere in the Balkans, he doesn’t know himself he says, so we decided he is Syldavian. Lafize was born in Lahore 08_bigPakistan. Emma is Brazilian. Litimi is from Finland. Roro, Jules and I where stupidly born here, talk of banality. No black guy or gal in our musical group, but one of my BFF is Nigerian, incredibly good looking, black as night and queer as a football bat. No slant-eyed ones either, but my sister in law, and hence my nephew and niece, are yellow all right. So you see, diversity, we know about it. We live it. We praise it.

And yet, we are all sad and despondent and it’s time it’d stop and what we need to do is, we need to stop worrying about the Donald, but that is kind of difficult because it is almost a moral imperative to worry about him.

Listen, I don’t give a hoot if he repeals Obamacare and millions of Yanks find themselves without proper health coverage (it’s not true, I do care, but let’s pretend I don’t).

I don’t give a shit if he dismantles the very few and lax rules and regulations around firearms, and if every day tens, hundreds of people shoot each other down (it’s not true, I do care, but let’s pretend I don’t).

I do care about his trying to repeal Dodd-Frank, because I know the banking sector from within, and repealing Dodd-Frank is asking for trouble. I don’t give a shit if US banks fail, but I am not naïve, the collateral damage outside of the US will be yuge (!).

I do care about what he is about to do to clean air and clean water, because the planet is already quite sick, adding any more will make it all the harder to save mother Earth, and our children need to survive too.

I don’t give a shit about artificial islands in the South China seas, and nobody has yet explained why I, you, why anybody should worry about them islands. But I am scared shitless the moron in the White House will end up going to war allegedly for them islands.

I do care a lot about Australia, a nice place, full of nice people, even though some of their immigration policies, in Manu Island and Nauru, stink to high heaven, and it’s just so plain idiotic to seek a quarrel with them Aussies.

I don’t give a hoot about his rough, vulgar style, his foul mouth, his stupid use of Twitter. But he is affecting our lives, every day, and it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better.

He’s even taking our music away.


Monday, 30 January 2017

Stark raving mad


This is from the Donald’s speech at Langley, CIA headquarters, last week:

Pussyhat“I said, it was almost raining, the rain should have scared them away, but God looked down and he said, we’re not going to let it rain on your speech.

In fact, when I first started, I said, oh, no.  The first line, I got hit by a couple of drops.  And I said, oh, this is too bad, but we’ll go right through it.  But the truth is that it stopped immediately.  It was amazing.  And then it became really sunny. “


This is serious. The guy is totally delusional. God looked down on him, and God said “no rain for Donald’s inauguration, come on, sun, shine on my favourite son, shine on the Donald !” and the sun did what God had ordered and it became really sunny.

If you have watched the inauguration, you will have noticed it poured with rain non stop.

The guy is totally screwed up. 



PS: like Jules’ pussyhat ?


Friday, 27 January 2017

Aw bloody hell

lucky bitch

Dear Donald

  1. the crowds at your inauguration were no more than a third the size of Obama’s eight years earlier
  2. you lost the popular vote by about 3 million votes. You're a loser, Donald.
  3. you have small hands, thus you have a small dick. And that, dear Donald, makes you utterly ridiculous. Small dick, Donald. Ridiculous, Donald.
Come grab me by the pussy if you dare.

Yours truly,

µiyovo ceviki

Tuesday, 24 January 2017




A new national pride stirs the American soul and inspires the American heart. We are one people, united by a common destiny and a shared purpose.

Freedom is the birth right of all Americans, and to preserve that freedom we must maintain faith in our sacred values and heritage.

Our Constitution is written on parchment, but it lives in the hearts of the American people. There is no freedom where the people do not believe in it; no law where the people do not follow it; and no peace where the people do not pray for it.

There are no greater people than the American citizenry, and as long as we believe in ourselves, and our country, there is nothing we cannot accomplish.

NOW, THEREFORE, I, DONALD J. TRUMP, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim January 20, 2017, as National Day of Patriotic Devotion, in order to strengthen our bonds to each other and to our country -- and to renew the duties of Government to the people.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this twentieth day of January, in the year of our Lord two thousand seventeen, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and forty-first.


Monday, 23 January 2017

The Donald


‘a reckless, unstable, ignorant, inane, infinitely vulgar, climate-change-denying white-nationalist misogynist with authoritarian ambitions and kleptocratic plans’ (Rebecca Solnit in the London Review of Books)

Spot on.


Roth on Trump


If you have been paying any attention, you know about my admiration for Philip Roth (see here if you haven’t been paying attention). Now there’s a piece in the New Yorker about Roth’s take on the Trump election and the parallel with the Plot Against America,  you gotta read it (here).

Just one sentence:

I found much that was alarming about being a citizen du-ring the tenures of Richard Nixon and George W. Bush. But, whatever I may have seen as their limitations of character or intellect, neither was anything like as humanly impoverished as Trump is: ignorant of government, of history, of science, of philosophy, of art, incapable of expressing or recognizing subtlety or nuance, destitute of all decency, and wielding a vocabulary of seventy-seven words that is better called Jerkish than English.

I subscribe to this.



No kidding


According to the Washington Post, when visiting the CIA Headquarters in Langley on Saturday January 21st, 2017, the Supreme Leader asked the rhetorical question ‘Is Donald Trump an intellectual ?’

According to the same Washington Post, the Supreme Leader answered: “Trust me. I’m, like, a smart person.”

What do you expect from the Washington Post, that biased, unfair, fake news machine, huh ?


Sunday, 22 January 2017

Here we go


Crime against the State No. 1: No citizen shall attempt to lessen the enthusiasm of the inauguration of the Supreme Leader.


This was the largest audience to ever witness an inauguration. Period.

Prediction: There will be a poll, out next week, that will show 70-80% of Trump supporters believe the Mall photos are fake news.


Saturday, 21 January 2017