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Dessine-moi un Métier : Comment on devient restaurateur de meubles ?
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Plot
Larceny, lust and lethal behavior. In icebound Wichita, Kansas, it's Christmas Eve, and this year Charlie Arglist just might have something to celebrate. Charlie, an attorney for the sleazy businesses of Wichita, and his unsavory associate, the steely Vic Cavanaugh have just successfully embezzled $2 million from Kansas City boss Bill Guerrard. But the real prize for Charlie is the stunning Renata, who runs the Sweet Cage strip club. Charlie hopes to slip out of town with Renata. But as daylight fades and an ice storm whirls, everyone from Charlie's drinking buddy Pete Van Heuten to the local police begin to wonder just what exactly is in Charlie's Christmas stocking - and the 12 hours of Christmas Eve are filled with surprises.
Keywords: attempted-murder, bag-of-money, bank, bar, bare-breasts, bare-breasts, bartender, based-on-novel, betrayal, black-comedy
Thick Thieves. Thin Ice.
'Twas the night before Christmas...
Charlie Arglist: As Wichita falls... so falls Wichita Falls.
Vic: He actually threatened to shoot Gladys if I did't tell him where the money was. But I think he was counting on a level of commitment and affection between her and me that just simply wasn't there.
Vic: Don't you want to know where the money is?
Vic: Don't be so worried. The hard part's done already. Everything worked just like you said it would.::Charlie Arglist: Yeah. I guess.::Vic: Just act normal for a few hours and we're home free. OK?::Charlie Arglist: OK.::Vic: OK.::Charlie Arglist: Uh, you wanna take the money and not me?::Vic: You wanna take the money?::Charlie Arglist: No, I-I-I don't know. I was just...::Vic: Well, if you wanna take the money... I mean, if you think you could do a better job at guarding two-million dollars...::Charlie Arglist: No, no, no. It should be you. It should be you. It's just that we didn't discuss that.::Vic: Are we through discussing it? Or is there more to say on the subject?::Charlie Arglist: No. We're done.::Vic: Cool. OK. Shut the door.::Charlie Arglist: OK.::Vic: And Charlie? Act normal.::Charlie Arglist: Yeah.
Vic: Well? How'd it go?::Charlie Arglist: Good. Went good.::Vic: How much?::Charlie Arglist: A lot.::Vic: Am I gonna have to slap the shit outta you? How much?::Charlie Arglist: Vic, it's a great, big, fuckin' pile of money: two-million - one-hundred - forty-seven-thousand dollars and change. My God, we're actually doing this.::Vic: No, we're not doing it. It's already done.
Pete Van Heuten: [standing outside his home where his wife's family is waiting to have Christmas dinner] That's my chair in there. You wanna know the truth? I can't fill it.::Charlie Arglist: Neither could I, if it makes you feel any better.::Pete Van Heuten: Listen, Charlie. Before we go in, there's something I have to tell you. It's been on my conscience, and you can punch me if you want to.::Charlie Arglist: I don't think I'm gonna want to.::Pete Van Heuten: Back when you and Sarabeth were still married, that last year... she and I were fucking.::Charlie Arglist: [not surprised] No kidding?::Pete Van Heuten: Like minks. Everywhere. Kitchen table, your bed, garage.::Charlie Arglist: Wow.::Pete Van Heuten: Jesus, Charlie, we were friends! It doesn't make you angry?::Charlie Arglist: Actually, it makes me curious. It makes me wonder who she's fucking now.
Renata: [answers phone] Hello?::Charlie Arglist: Renata?::Renata: Charlie.::Charlie Arglist: Listen. You were right. Vic and I have been skimming.::Renata: Well, duh!::Charlie Arglist: I think Roy Gelles must have found out, and I think he might have killed Vic.::Renata: That's terrible!::Charlie Arglist: So I was thinking it might be best if I left town, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.::Renata: You have the money?::Charlie Arglist: What? Which?::Renata: The money we're talking about. That you and Vic have been skimming. Try to keep up, OK?::Charlie Arglist: No. Vic had it.::Renata: So, your idea is that we should run away together and be poor?::Charlie Arglist: I thought I'd give it a shot.
Vic: Pay no attention to the man in the trunk.
Pete Van Heuten: [waking up in back of Charlie's car] Ugh... Where are we?::Charlie Arglist: We're in heaven, Pete.::Pete Van Heuten: Oh... They got pancakes?::Charlie Arglist: They got everything.::Pete Van Heuten: Good.
Charlie Arglist: It's Christmas! Everyone's nice on Christmas!::Vic Cavanaugh: Only morons are nice on Christmas.
Evagoras: Mavri, the world's gone mad! Here we are, waiting for the German's to teach the English a lesson and kick them off Cyprus, and they team up with Mussolini to take Greece... All Greeks will be slaves again!
Evagoras: I believe in God, Theofanis, but I just don't know. When I set off I knew what was good and what was bad. But I'm not sure about anything anymore. Poverty, hunger, sickness, death, injustice... a beating for 3 artichokes! People get punished for doing good, so what's the sin?
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A restaurateur is a person who opens and runs restaurants professionally. Although over time the term has come to describe any person who owns a restaurant, traditionally it refers to a highly skilled professional who is proficient in all aspects of the restaurant business.
The word "restaurateur" is borrowed (and lengthened) from the term "restaurant". The French word restaurateur (same meaning) comes from the Late Latin term restaurator (restorer) and from the Latin term restaurare.
Daniel Boulud (born March 25, 1955 in Saint-Pierre de Chandieu, France) is a French chef and restaurateur with restaurants in New York City, Palm Beach, Miami, Montreal, Beijing, and Singapore. He is best known for Daniel, his eponymous, Michelin 3-star restaurant in New York City.
While raised on a farm outside of Lyon and trained by renowned French chefs, Boulud made his reputation in New York, first as a chef and most recently a restaurateur. His management company, The Dinex Group, currently includes six restaurants and Feast & Fêtes Catering. His restaurants include Daniel, Café Boulud, DB Bistro Moderne, Bar Boulud, DBGB Kitchen & Bar, and Boulud Sud in New York City. He has also created Café Boulud in Palm Beach and the Michelin-star Daniel Boulud Brasserie in Las Vegas (since closed)
At fifteen, Boulud earned his first professional recognition: He was a finalist in France's competition for Best Culinary Apprentice. Boulud worked in France with Roger Vergé, Georges Blanc and Michel Guérard and later in Copenhagen before becoming the private chef to the European Commission in Washington, D.C..
Daniel "Danny" Meyer (born March 14, 1958 in St. Louis, Missouri) is a New York City restaurateur and the CEO of Union Square Hospitality Group (USHG).
Meyer was born and raised in St. Louis, where he attended John Burroughs School. Meyer worked for his father as a tour guide in Rome during college, and then returned to Rome to study international politics. After graduating from Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut in 1980 with a degree in Political Science, Meyer worked in Chicago as Cook County Field Director for John Anderson's 1980 independent presidential campaign. Meyer later gained his first restaurant experience in 1984 as an assistant manager at Pesca, an Italian seafood restaurant in the Flatiron District of New York City. He then returned to Europe to study cooking as a culinary stagiaire in both Italy and Bordeaux. In 1985, at 27, he began his career as a restaurateur by opening Union Square Cafe.
Meyer lives in New York City with his wife, Audrey, and their four children: Hallie, Charles, Gretchen, and Peyton.
Drew Nieporent is a New York City restaurateur. His company Myriad Restaurant Group owns and operates numerous restaurants, many of which are known for their celebrity clientele, and in some cases celebrity co-owners. Many are known for their difficulty in obtaining reservations. In an interview with Cigar Aficionado, Nierporent recalled turning down Henry Kissinger.[citation needed]
Nieporent's Nobu and Nobu London both earned two Michelin stars. The restaurants' partners are celebrity chef Nobu Matsuhisa and actor Robert De Niro.
Nieporent graduated in 1973 from Stuyvesant High School and in 1977 from Cornell University in Ithaca, New York with a degree from the School of Hotel Management. At Cornell, he was also a member of the Quill and Dagger society. His career began at New York's Maxwell's Plum and Tavern on the Green.
As a teenager in 1972, Nieporent by chance met Muhammad Ali on the streets of Manhattan.[citation needed] Nieporent puportedly pulled out a xeroxed copy of his birth certificate and asked Ali for an autograph, claiming he was "Howard Cosell's son!" Nieporent stated in a February 2007 NY Times article that Ali's autograph was his "prized possession."[citation needed]
Nicholas Lander (born in Manchester, England on 8 April 1952) is a consultant to and writer on the restaurant industry.
He studied at Cambridge University and Manchester Business School before establishing himself as one of Britain's foremost restaurateurs in the 1980s with L'Escargot restaurant in Soho, London.
Since 1989 he has been the restaurant correspondent for the Financial Times, where his weekly columns, under the byline of 'The Restaurant Insider', have tried to look at themes and trends in the restaurant industry.
Lander has written a small number of books, including Dinner for a Fiver (ISBN 0091783097, 1994).
He is also a catering consultant to a selection of British arts organisations and companies.
He is a keen supporter of Manchester United and lists it under the 'clubs' section of his entry in Who's Who. He is married to Jancis Robinson.
He has recently been a food critic on BBC's MasterChef[citation needed].
Stand up...do you hear the songs of redemption coughed
out from blackened lungs?...as the bittered martyred
voices harvest the songs to ruins...ruins...pump the
veins with blood and demons...to breed havoc baptized in
venom...the screams turn to whispers and we forget
it...do you see the streets turn cold and red?...as
millions of swollen hands are unable to close or
clinch...in a cycle of filth the rewards are reaped in
ruins...ruins...and now we're safe...with blood in our
own mouths...swallowed in faith...spit it out...the fear
soaks in...pointing the way to the horizon...do we choke
These academies packed full ready to kill for the
throne...in drone...gouging at any voice of fist raised
to piercing...state stands...in death of the
defense...the resistance falls in flock...for your
ideal...power feeds...brokering the means of survival and
liberty...when the soot falls down from the sky and hope
breaks lose...are you numbed by the blade being pointed
Born with no soul of your own so you dig for bones in the
graves of those you've enslaved and massacred....bronze
your horns and hooves with blood and sacrifice...collapse
at the altar of your barren life...frail and
yellow...your spine twists downward from shame and the
weight of your arrogance...carry the whisper that we are
nothing more than stolen bones...and the blistered
tongues of the dead carry the whisper...awake to a
bleached destiny of sorrow...do you hear the voices
escaping from the tongues that your hand cut out....the
bell that summons you to surrender prayer is the bell
that summons you to kill...in the end your own savagery
has left you with nothing...and you're the one left out
White rain falls across the walls of new jerusalem...
to the ashes of disbelief...
cry your filthy lie...
venomous embodiment of wrath and hate...
the star burns bright scorching the land clear for
repopulation....
repopulation...
swallows whole...
your zion crushes whole...
caging every life for the devil's prize...
country gutted out...
nailed through the foot...
christened in power...
the beast's power....
You don't own him...
teeth in this corpse...
builds a dying monument...
flesh and earth cursed innocent and black...
raped with tongues of steel and glass...
how could you fucking touch him?...
torn from the ashes to be...
Temples adorned with charred and suffocated bodies that
lay upon the ruins of broken hopes...
split tongues of the white prophets of a new order...
as millions of swollen, naked bodies left to rot in the
sun...hang them from their white crosses...
rip their throats out...and make them remember...
the cries for forgiveness that echo down these empty,
scared hallways...
Broken dust falls from our hands to the grasp of
eternity...
eat it all till nothings left to consume but your own
flesh...
and from the birth of Jonah...
ninety-nine names carved into hands of clay carry our