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Hello, how are you? Did the weekend go as you planned? Were you able to go for a run, do some yoga, surf, go horse-riding, treat yourself by buying a pair of our shoes?

Were you able to cuddle as much as you wanted? Make out to your heart's content? Bathe in a Dom Pérignon Jacuzzi? Dance on a table and slide on a puddle of warm beer?
Did you enjoy yourself? Because that's the only thing that counts. The rest is TV hogwash.

So what happened on October 5th? A lot of not-so-cool stuff and a few things of little interest, such as Michel Denisot filming shots of his cheesy movie with Dubosc on Place des Vosges. There's also Forrest Gump coming out in France. A very nice idea, well developed with a not too bad soundtrack that covers all the standards of the periods mentioned.

But what could have gone through Zemeckis' head to give the role to Tom Hanks, who is so insufferable in it? He'd already done Big, so what was the need to repeat his clumsy performance? Big will never be surpassed, especially as it was written by Spielberg's sister and directed by Penny Marshall (who was married to Rob Marshall - director of Princess Bride). Zemeckis should have stopped his career with Back to the Future II and become a priest in Calabria.

But we don't care, because the only thing that counts is what we like and what coats our souls with lube, or lotion. And now, I'm going to tell you about the best thing I've read since Patricia. Yes, the autobiography of your favourite shoe designer. I'm talking about Born To Run, another autobiography, this time by Bruce Springsteen, also named after his third album, released in 1975, whose title track is the best in rock and roll. It took him 7 years to write it. It will take you 7 months to read it.

This imposing book of almost 700 pages contains every conceivable cliché about the youth of a future rock star: a father who drinks, is mute and violent, a mother who worships him, one side Italian, the other Irish, two founding nations of the USA, a sanitised version of the native Americans. Bruce picked up his first guitar, it's a miss, then a second one, the right one. He surfed, had a hard time, nearly killed himself in a van (another thing he had in common with Patricia), founded his own band, then another, thought he was no good, had depressions, then triumphed. This is without doubt one of the greatest adventure books ever written.

It's simple and sincere. But not the sincerity of an Instagrammer, no. A sincerity that makes him one of the biggest stars in his field. And yet I'm not a huge fan of his music, apart from a few tracks, but the story of his life is as powerful as his coarse voice, or a good hip thrust. So, thanks to whom? Thank you Mrs Blanschtein.

This is the kind of old school rock that's good for the rear end:

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