St. Patrick's, philosophy and laughter

Another St. Patrick's day, as an Irish barman at "Paddy's Bar" said: "It's an excuse to continue the Carnaval" - doubtless St. P's was another imposition of Christian dominance over older pagan festivals. St. P's day is on the supposed date of his death - seems a good reason to celebrate.  I drink in sympathy with the poor bloody Irish who suffered not only British rule, but centuries of Christian misery.

But the people who imposed it were often far from being saints:

Much of the Declaration concerns charges made against Patrick by his fellow Christians at a trial. What these charges were, he does not say explicitly, but he writes that he returned the gifts which wealthy women gave him, did not accept payment for baptisms, nor for ordaining priests, and indeed paid for many gifts to kings and judges, and paid for the sons of chiefs to accompany him. It is concluded, therefore, that he was accused of some sort of financial impropriety, and perhaps of having obtained his bishopric in Ireland with personal gain in mind.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Patrick

What a surprise.

The musicians at Ma Nolan's.

It was pleasant to stand at the door and listen to the music - apart from the smoker indulging his habit - one could see Nietzsche's terrace above Cours Saleya:

I walked along the Cours enjoying the lovely evening light:

Passing by an arch through which one could see the Med:

At the end, another example of the sick Christian symbol:

 - reminding me of Bill Hicks: "If he came back, do you really think he'd want to be reminded of that?" But the blue sky seemed more in keeping with Nietzsche's life-affirming attitude; I imagine him looking down with scorn from his terrace:

What is un-Greek in Christianity. The Greeks did not see the Homeric gods above them as masters and themselves below them as servants, as did the Jews. They saw, as it were, only the reflection of the most successful specimens of their own caste, that is, an ideal, not a contrast to their own nature.

...

All psychological invention of Christianity work toward this sick excess of feeling, toward the deep corruption of head and heart necessary for it. Christianity wants to destroy, shatter, stun, intoxicate: there is only one thing it does not want: moderation, and for this reason, it is in its deepest meaning barbaric, Asiatic, ignoble, un-Greek.

http://nietzsche.holtof.com/Nietzsche_human_all_too_human/sect3_Religious_Life.htm

Nietzsche was to pop up again this evening.

Paddy's Bar is in Rue Droite, at the end of Cours Saleya, and of course it was only fitting to have a drink there too. I said that their house red was good, the young Irish barman replied: "That"s what comes of having a French owner of an Irish pub". Ah, the benefits of European integration - Irish ambience with French gout.

The philosophy of laughter

In keeping with this Euro spirit I was going to take a break to try that very French institution, a cafe-philo, this one at Sezamo, where I'd gone for their Rock/Blues night. But in keeping with the festive spirit the subject was - laughter ! Of course the idea that this is a philosophical topic would cause considerable mirth amongst some British philosophers.

I had imagined that, despite my experience with the late start of the Rock/Blues night, they would start  a cafe-philo roughly on time. Of course I was first at 8 pm and the barman told me it probably wouldn't get going till 9 pm - again ! He smiled when I said I'd heard of the "quart d'heure francais" - but une heure was ridiculous. Fortunately people started drifting in, mainly women - perhaps there was some important football match on TV - and we got going as early as 8.30.  

But the animateur was a guy, Bruno, and the manager of the place joined him (though Bruno jokingly tried to shut him up a couple of times - unsuccessfully, he was Italian) and another guy in the audience did a lot of talking. Pretty standard behaviour in mixed groups. Of course MY interventions were valuable contributions :-)  and were sadly limited by my still inadequate French (which also meant that the jokes in French generally sailed over my head).

Bruno began by giving some academic credibility to the topic by referring to Bergson's text on laughter:

"What does laughter mean?" Henri Bergson begins his work on Laughter with this simple and general question. His intention is to analyze the things that make us laugh in order to find out how it is that they make us laugh.

Almost immediately Bergson limits his scope with three observations about comedy and laughter:

   1. Comedy is necessarily human: we laugh at people or the things they do

   2. Laughter is purely cerebral: being able to laugh seems to require a detached attitude, an emotional distance to the object of laughter

   3. Laughter has a social function

These observations are perhaps controversial, but they help us understand at least what kind of laughter and what kind of comedy Bergson is talking about.

It was quite a Nietzschean night:

Nietzsche distinguishes two different purposes for the use of laughter. In a positive sense, "man uses the comical as a therapy against the restraining jacket of logic morality and reason. He needs from time to time a harmless demotion from reason and hardship and in this sense laughter has a positive character for Nietzsche."[11] Laughter can, however, also have a negative connotation when it is used for the expression of social conflict. This is expressed, for instance, in The Gay Science: "Laughter - Laugther means to be schadenfroh, but with clear conscience."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laughter_in_literature

I referred to Arthur Koestler's "Act of Creation":

"The Act of Creation" offers a theory to account for the "Ah Ha" reaction of scientific discovery, the "Ha Ha" reaction to jokes and the "Ah" reaction of mystical or religious insight. In each case the result is produced by a "bisociation of matrices" or the intersection of lines of thought which brings together hitherto unconnected ideas and fuses them into a creative synthesis. When the lines of thought are scientic the result is a scientific discovery, when they are concerned with devotional matters the result is mystical insight and when they are on a more homely plane the result can be a joke.

http://www.amazon.ca/Act-Creation-Arthur-Koestler/dp/0140191917

The talkative guy (not me !) rather arrogantly dismissed the idea of laughter as therapy and was rebuked by a woman who cited the evidence for the beneficial effects of laughter.

I don't suppose I endeared myself to the females by referring to one of Koestler's examples of how jokes involve bisociation: Woman: "Sir, you will never win my heart." Man: "Madam, I never aimed so high." Later the Italian made some critical remarks about the British (entirely deserved) and I (having had a few drinks by now) recounted (in very bad French and almost forgetting a key line) Churchill's reply to a woman who said that he was drunk: "Yes madam, and you are ugly, but in the morning I will be sober."

When Bruno told an anti-female joke - "It's not MY joke and I'm just illustrating a point ... " - a woman told a joke which I think I got; it involved a lonely neuron in a dark male skull - which was asked why it didn't join all the others "down below".

The session drew to a close - just before the battle of the sexes broke out - and it was still St. Patrick's day. Sezamo is near the port and there is a big Irish pub there. However it was packed and one could obviously wait a long time to buy a drink. I went round the port, the hill with Nietzsche's terrace is nicely illuminated:

I headed up rue Cassini (the Nicois astronomer), back into the old town and to O'Hara's (also in rue Droite), where it was not only St. P's, but also the last night of the people who'd run it for some years.

There was just about enough room to squeeze by in the narrow first part of the pub:

I asked the landlady if the music had finished, and discovered that there was also a downstairs bar which I hadn't known about. But then it was mainly used for serving food and eating in a pub is not one of my habits. I expected a cellar bar with music to be packed on St. P's day, but there were even seats to spare. So I got another Irish music fix and a drink in comfort.

An Irish toast (quite philosophical):

"It is better to spend money like there's no tomorrow

than to spend tonight like there's no money!"

Bringing my dual-themed evening together in a kind of Koestlerian bisociation:

A good laugh always helps, and more so when it is celebration time. On the eve of St. Patrick's Day,  enjoy-n-forward these Irish jokes, for jokes are for sharing.

...

An aging man lived alone in Ireland. His only son was in Long Kesh Prison, and he didn't know anyone who would spade up his potato garden. The old man wrote to his son about it, and received this reply, "For HEAVENS SAKE, don't dig up that garden, that's where I buried the GUNS!!!!!"

At 4 A.M. the next morning, a dozen British soldiers showed up and dug up the entire garden, but didn't find any guns. Confused, the man wrote to his son telling him what  happened and asking him what to do next.

His son's reply was: "Just plant your potatoes."

http://www.theholidayspot.com/patrick/irish_jokes.htm

Louche living and some Nice history

From my diary at www.eurotrib.com

A Nice mix




Let's take another break from all this abstract EU stuff  - not to mention what Marx called "economic shit":

We recall Marx writing to Engels (in 1857!) saying that he hoped to have done with the "economic shit" within 1-2 years. I myself have studied "economic questions" for years, and have also spent years in recovery from the novicained, ashes- in- the mouth feeling brought on by excessive exposure to the "dismal science", or even to its critique.

http://www.connexions.org/CxLibrary/CX7937.htm

But this is not to say it's unimportant - don't get me wrong :

What is truly appalling today in large swaths of the left and far-left in the West is the willful illiteracy in the critique of political economy. Perhaps even more appalling, and closely related, is the willful illiteracy, boredom and hostility where science and nature are concerned.

ibid

Anyway, Jerome asked for a variety of kinds of diaries, so here's a bit more euro-louching.


I discovered from Anglo-info that there was a blues/rock night at Sezamo, on Weds. ev., on the other side of town again. But it was raining - why does it always seem to rain on my desire to parade? However, having suggested getting out more to others, I couldn't let a bit of moisture beat me. Anyway it was very gentle rain again and it wasn't cold.

After a quick red wine in a bar with a view of the tram stop, I caught one and, a few minutes later, there I was in Place Garibaldi again - ah history.

Place Garibaldi - without the xmas lights. Sadly the authorities, in their recent makeover of the square, have inadvertantly turned it into a soulless skateboard park. It could have been another Place du Tertre (Paris); there are plenty of artists down here - only allowed to give the square a bit of joie de vivre on an occasional Sunday.

I turned down Rue Bonaparte, no less:

See my diary From Bonaparte to Sarkozy - via the streets of old Nice:

http://www.eurotrib.com/story/2007/5/7/133047/4731

Then up to Rue Barla. I've walked in the latter many times, but only now checked the name:

... one of the founders of the Natural History Museum in Nice, together with A. Risso and J. Verany and the first naturalist to explore all branches of natural history on the Côte-d'Azur!

Now I find that there's a Maison Barla in Place Garibaldi:

Barla House - Old-Nice - 6, Place Garibaldi

It is owned by the family Barla, the most famous is Jean-Baptiste Barla (1817-1896), Nicois naturalist, world renowned. He paid for the Museum of Natural History in Nice, the door of his building was the entrance for a long time ... Note the architectural quality of the staircase, visible also in number 8. Continue under the arches and turn left into rue Bonaparte.

http://www.nicerendezvous.com/car/la-vieille-ville/accueil.html

That's a very useful site - with walks in old Nice and details of lots of places en route.

Anyway, back to MY walk, along Rue Barla. There is the slight apprehension about going to a place for the first time - where is it, will it be open, will it be worth the effort?

Surely it can't be THIS far, I should have brought the map. But I'm sure it is at a junction and the road leads off at an angle. At last, here it is, it's tiny, and cars coming at me. I feel like Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront  - will I have to break some glass to open a door to escape being crushed? Now it's wider, but it looks completely dead - who'd have a club here ?

At last, here it is. There's a guy outside - a bouncer ?  No, he's using a mobile, ignores me. I push open a very big door, counterweighted to close. The music hits me - it's LOUD!

It's a big place - and completely empty, apart from me and the band on stage. They finish a number. I applaud - it echoes - a guy looks at me as if I'm crazy. He tidies the tables, surely he'll come to the bar to serve me soon ? "The bar doesn't open till 9!" he shouts over the music. Apparently there's a bar which may be open round the corner. I put my coat back on, grab my umbrella and go back into the damp night again.

Smollett puts Nice on the map for aristocracy

Maybe this is going to be one of those "It aint gonna happen" nights. But hey, the next road, I now notice, is Rue Smollett - the Scot who first made Nice famous, helping the European spirit to flourish, or at least, he let the English aristocracy know where to go to escape another English winter; nobody who was anybody would be seen in Nice after April. Brown skin ? Strictly for peasants - how times change.

"Travels Through France and Italy" by Tobias Smollett was published in 1766 - it was an immediate best seller. It is still a fantastic read today and gives you a great feel for the Riviera and the wonderful city of Nice.

Smollett was an experienced and well regarded literary figure when he left England in 1763. He had had a hard time recently: he was ill with a lung condition, his eldest daughter had died age only 15 and he had just been betrayed by a high British official - he needed a break. So Smollett set off to France with his wife, the two children for whom she was gardian and an elderly servant. They had no definite plans other than to travel broadly South.

In Boulogne they met a Scotsman who suggested Nice. After 5 months of travel (staying in Paris, Lyon and Montpellier) the Smolletts arrived in Nice.

The publication of Smollett's 41 letters home during their 2 year stay practically kick-started the French Riviera's and Nice's tourist industry.

Although a beautifully evocative writer, the 42 year old Smollett - a trained physician - was a gruff and argumentative man and it is hard to think of anyone less likely to be easily charmed. Though charmed he was by Nice.

http://www.nice-city-vacation.com/nice-travel-guide-tobias-smollett-through-france.html

It's even charmed gruff and argumentative me ! - almost :-)

 You see what this night out has brought me already - another appointment with history.

"La Table d'Oc"

The bar the ticket-man suggested is closed - how can a bar be closed at 8.10 pm? Oh yes, it's France, and this is French Nice, not the touristy old town with its pubs: Brit, Irish and Dutch (De Klomp ! - no, really). No worries, as people from the land of OZ would say, here's a Bistro full of people, but plenty of room in the bar area - it's France, they're eating.

Another glass of red - and, thank goodness I got my Iphone back after dropping it in a restaurant. I check emails and reply to an ex-student, a saint who's been recording some Brit TV for me - only quality stuff of course.

Another mini-drama - almost - a young guy comes back to join his girl-friend.

Two other guys re-enter after smoking, one looks at the girl. The boy-friend gestures as if to say: "You want to talk to her, come here." Is this going to escalate ? But they know each other, there's some friendly jostling.

I call M and tell her it was a good idea I should  come alone to check out Sezamo, she wouldn't appreciate sitting in a bar waiting to go back to a place which looks as if this might not be its night. Not its night?!(echoes of On the Waterfront again) - how wrong that impression turned out to be.

Louche living at last

When I got back at 9, the audience was again - me. But there was a least a pretty barmaid now. As she busied herself with things I politely asked for a glass of red (yes, I know - the evening hadn't even really started yet :-) ). She informed me, politely, that she had to get things ready, but would be with me in 5 minutes. I really like that French attitude, none of your creepy American crap:(big smile) "I'm your waiter for the evening - what can I get you ? Have a nice day."

Another musician has come in to "jam" - there's poster for one of Sartre's plays - ah, la vie intellectuelle.

"So, do YOU think: "Hell is other people" ?




We could do with more "other people" here. Luckily the band were now taking a break, so I could talk to the ticket guy without having to shout or strain to hear. I asked him about jazz places in Nice, assuming that, as a local, he might know some. However I ended up telling him about where to find music in Nice. Nor did he know about the history of the building - so I told him a bit about the history of some of my favourite places in Paris, including one a bit like this: Divan du Monde, off Pigalle.

Situated in mythical Paris, at bottom of Montmartre, the Divan du Monde had successively: Baudelaire, Toulouse-Lautrec, Yvette Guilbert and Picasso propping up its bar.

http://www.evene.fr/culture/lieux/divan-du-monde-874.php

I went back to the bar where the barmaid was now waiting for ME, but said she didn't want to interrupt my conversation. Unfortunately, she added, they didn't have any red wine (but we're in France!) - would Sangria be OK ?  I said it was better, healthier, as it had less alcohol and more fruit - so, and to save her a bit of work, I'd have two glasses - the two in the photo.

 I explored a bit. At the back and off to the side was this room:

Must be an art installation.

A woman came in - 100% increase in audience - she looked as if she wished she had an excuse to go out again. Then a gradual trickle of people.

I refuse to stay in

A woman said something to me in English (I think the ticket man had told her I was English too). We were soon joined by her friend. Marj, the first one, told me that when she got divorced she promised herself that she was NOT going to stay in. I said I understood that it was more difficult for women to go out alone and admired her determination to meet people and have a good time. She said that this was a great place and often quite busy.

She introduced me to one of the musicians, one of several who join the band from time to time, shouting in his ear, as one had to do now the musicians had started again.

"He's ENGLISH!"

The barmaid had now found a bottle of red wine - they're so resourceful these French. I agree to have a glass of that too (I know what you're thinking :-))

"If you knew, Peggy Sue ... "

What's happening ? People are dancing ! Suddenly the joint is jumping - photo opportunities galore !

I think Marj, on the left, is being given a lesson in self-defense.

The blonde in jeans dances dionysiacally.

One member of the band is getting excited!

Marj tells me that guys who dance are really in demand here:

I continue to watch - after all, I've only had - how many glasses is it now? I shoot a bit of video, then forget I've left the camera on video setting and wonder why it's not operating as usual. I also notice that as I weave amongst the tables my balance is slightly off - but I'm feeling very good :-) It's great to get out!

Finally it's time to leave. The ticket/coats guy isn't around - it's find your own coat, hoping it's still there. But it seems a very respectable, honest crowd. Just as well, because I'd also left my bag with my Iphone hanging on the back of a chair while taking photos.

Back out into the night - I walk two minutes and there's a taxi - stopping! Trams are very infrequent this time of night. I take it. We had a bit of a chat - I vaguely remember. The next morning I see that I've already transferred the photos to the computer and that I've written on someone's Facebook "wall" and it's not only coherent, there's not even a typo!

Carpe Diem

On Weds. I also got the annual magazine of my old school association - the nostalgia ! From before my time:

Sadly, Brian, the guy who wrote the article with this photo, died just a month after writing it.

A photo like this reminds me of the scene at the beginning of "Dead Poets Society" - where Robin Williams takes them to look at the photos of former pupils, now dead: "Carpe diem!"

I was thinking I would end with that. One hour later I was reading Michael Powell's wonderful, "A Life in Films," the first volume of his autobiography, and I read this:

I am of an age when you count the days rather than the years. I have always loved each day. Carpe diem ! "Seize the day," the Latin proverb that the Reverend H. V. Tower translated "Make hay while the sun shines." It will serve as my motto.

I had to return to Sezamo on Thurs. as I lost my new brolly there (or in the taxi) and had to buy yet another one. As I approached, two young guys came out in clown outfits - it's a student night - I don't know, ask them. The young guy inside was very helpful, offered me my pick of three small brollies - sadly, none mine. The two young guys outside said: "Bon soir m'sieur" - they're so polite here - or just amused at me presumably trying to get into a student event.

La Table d'Oc and Buggery

While back in the area I took the opportunity to check the name of the bar I was in Weds. night. You see dear readers, no effort is spared to bring you accurate diaries - academic habits die hard, even in louche living. I thought it was called: the something d'Or. In fact it was: "La table d'Oc," as in Languedoc, where there had been many supporters of the Cathar religion:

For the credentes however, sexual activity was not prohibited, but procreation was strongly discouraged, resulting in the charge by their opponents of sexual perversion. The common English insult "bugger" is derived from "Bulgar", the notion that Cathars followed the "Bulgarian heresy" whose teaching entailed perverse sexual activities which skirted procreation.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cathar

It was brutally suppressed by the Catholic Church - transcripts of the trials survived and provide a fascinating picture of medieval life in the south of France. (See Emmanuel LeRoy Ladurie's Montaillou: the Promised Land of Error). There are a number of romantic, ruined castles in Languedoc, sites of the last Cathar attempts to resist.

Serendipitous Flamenco

Having come all this way, I decided to walk back via Rue Fodere, which was not far away, and came again to Café Boheme, where they had the jazz group in Jan. I thought it would probably be pretty quiet on a thurs. evening - but - what's this ? Flamenco ! I love it ! I went inside, it was packed, lots of people eating, others at the bar. I managed to squeeze in - a red wine please. Great music. I didn't bring my camera - a mistake - (always take it Ted) - so I used the Iphone - sorry. Two guys from last night came in, one the manager of Sezamo, and the musician I was introduced to was there too - nice neighbourhood. Another red, and took my coat off - but it was the break, or the end. Time to get back - but another example of what can happen if you give the serendipitous a chance

Cafe philo too!

Not only do the advertise performances of a Sartre play, they also have a cafe philo at Sezamo some evenings. Damn, I just missed the one on "liberation" on Tues ev. The next one is the 17th - topic - "Le rire." Freedom and laughter - not a bad mix.

ODS

Oh yes, and one thing the ticket man DID inform me about - the building is also used by a group called "ODS", which stands for  - wait for it:

"On doit sortir" - "One must get out"!

I'll drink to that! :-)