A wee story, involving a floor of Irishman, two Americans, and a guitar.
They came to me like two shy children asking their "cool" uncle to teach them how to go fishing (or some other equally uncle-esque activity....). Neither wanted to admit how much they each wanted me to do what they wanted me to do.
"Jeremy," David said, pointing, "Ryan is down... you know what would really cheer him up? If you played for him on the guitar."
"Fuck off, David," Ryan quickly chimed in. "It's David, Jeremy, David wants you to play for us... him... on the guitar."
I looked at them both, bemused, and then at Kevin and Barry, who were also lurking in the hallway, waiting for my answer. "You guys want me to play the guitar for you?" I asked, turning back to David and Ryan. They both nodded. "OK." I said. "I'll do it. Get Connor's amp, and we'll play in the kitchen." Off they went, scampering to Connor's room; once again, I couldn't help comparing them to a couple of 10-year-olds. Strangely, the comparison might not be so far off the mark....
We set up in the kitchen, with the whole floor gathered around to listen. It was like a camp-fire sing-along. Inside. Without the camp-fire. But there was singing along. So the characterization is half right! It took a couple goes at some Guns N' Roses songs (played especially for Ryan, who had requested them) before I was warmed up, but then I went on with some Beethoven, Oasis, The Beatles, and, well, a bit of everything in between. I'd like to point out that I'm not a particularly good guitar player; they didn't seem to mind. It seemed like they genuinely enjoyed every minute of it, and you should have seem 'em singing along during "Wonderwall!" Ahh, it was a good time....
Ryan had a go at it, of course. I think he has dreams of being a rock star. At present, he'll have to settle for being in a punk band; he can't play guitar. At all. Didn't stop him. He bashed away on the open strings (occasionally attempting - sometimes with success - to play a fretted note) for quite a while, until David, er, I'll say "politely suggested" that he pass the guitar to somebody else. Which leads us to....
"Play 'Smells Like Teen Spirit!'" This was James, a friend of the guys' who doesn't live on the floor.
"Fuck off!" Barry, guitar in hand, strummed the first chord of the song, "I hate that bloody song. It annoys me."
"Come on..." James said. "I'll sing along!"
"You'll sing along?" Moving his fingers down one string, Barry shifted to the second chord. "You're not singing."
"I will, I will...."
Barry kept playing, but James still wasn't singing. "Stop being a fucking weak poof! 'I'll sing along.' Bah!"
"I don't know the words!" James protested. "I can't bloody understand them." He hummed a few bars. "All I know is 'With the lights out.... It's less dangerous....'"
"Here we are now, entertain us." I finished the lyric for him.
"Yeah!" He said, smiling.
Barry had gone back to the beginning and got to the fourth power chord. "Fuck this!" He said for the third time. "I'm not playing it!"
"Ahhh, no, play on!" Ryan, who had been sitting quietly off to the side since relinquishing the guitar broke in. His admonition got the gang through two verses of "Teen Spirit," no singing. It seems that James wasn't the only one who didn't know the words.....
And, it's 11:00pm and I'm tired from being up late last night playing guitar in the kitchen. So it's off to bed for me. I'll try and get back on those posting re: my Eurotrip. Sorry the blog has been a little sparse lately. Now you stay classy, San Diego (and elsewhere)!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
No Place Like London (Part 1: Arrival)
I have sailed the world
Beheld its wonders
From the Dardanelles
To the mountains of Peru,
But there's no place like....
London. The first city I visited on my travels, and, indeed, one that I've dreamed of visiting for as long as I can remember. Ever since the Sherlock Holmes stories as a kid, ever since Disney's The Great Mouse Detective (a movie that I still love), ever since the books I've read and the dreams I've dreamt, London has been this semi-mythical place across the sea. A place where the famous authors, poets, musicians, politicians that I know and love have lived and died and made history. And so it was with great excitement that I rolled into Liverpool Street station on a train from the London Stansted airport; my first glimpses of the city from the train had been less than inspiring - as most of you, no doubt, may expect, the portions of the city immediately around the over-ground train tracks aren't exactly the nicest areas around. But now that I was in the thick of it, I expected things to improve dramatically. And, although it took a tad longer than expected, they did.
After arriving at the station, I had planned on walking to the hostel where I was meeting the one, the only, Ms. Shea Kinser, old friend and crusader for justice extraordinaire. Now, on the map it looked simple enough. Not even a mile away... just a hop, skip, and a jump over London Bridge... a straight shot. Trust me, dear readers, if there's anybody who can screw something like that up, it's yours truly. It's a skill. I rather pride myself in it. So I set out from the station, gunning for a bridge. Didn't exactly seem like it would be the most difficult thing to find. And it probably wouldn't have been - if I had been going in the right direction. About ten minutes later, I had realized my error, tossed my plan to walk, and gotten one of those quaint-looking cabs. Ahhh... a much easier solution. I also had a rather pleasant talk with the cab-driver, who recommended Indian restaurants in Brick Lane, which, he was quick to point out, had been the setting of a rather famous recent British novel. I told him that I had read this very novel (uninspiringly entitled Brick Lane) for a college class, but he insisted on explaining the plot to me anyway. I didn't mind. I also learned from my cab-driving friend that my accent is unexplainable: when I first told him that I had come to London from Belfast, he commented that I didn't sound Irish; when I told him that I was an American studying abroad, he told me I didn't sound American either. It makes me wonder what I sound like.... I suppose I will never quite know. Finally, I got to hear Mr. Cabbie's thoughts on the American presidential election, namely his fervent belief that if Obama gets elected, he's going to end up like JFK (which is to say, dead). Definitely an interesting fellow, but, hey, he got me where I needed to go, and he was a card to talk to.
Having thus arrived, through vehicular means, at the St. Christopher's Orient Espresso hostel, I promptly strolled into the lobby, where I found the ever-patient Shea awaiting my arrival. It's always a pleasure to see an old friend again, and, after apologizing for my late arrival and telling her about my cartographical incompetence, we checked into the hostel, went out to dinner at a nice little Chinese restaurant, and sketched out a plan for the following day. I had been in London for about 2 hours, and already my adventures had begun. And that's the way it should be.
Beheld its wonders
From the Dardanelles
To the mountains of Peru,
But there's no place like....
London. The first city I visited on my travels, and, indeed, one that I've dreamed of visiting for as long as I can remember. Ever since the Sherlock Holmes stories as a kid, ever since Disney's The Great Mouse Detective (a movie that I still love), ever since the books I've read and the dreams I've dreamt, London has been this semi-mythical place across the sea. A place where the famous authors, poets, musicians, politicians that I know and love have lived and died and made history. And so it was with great excitement that I rolled into Liverpool Street station on a train from the London Stansted airport; my first glimpses of the city from the train had been less than inspiring - as most of you, no doubt, may expect, the portions of the city immediately around the over-ground train tracks aren't exactly the nicest areas around. But now that I was in the thick of it, I expected things to improve dramatically. And, although it took a tad longer than expected, they did.
After arriving at the station, I had planned on walking to the hostel where I was meeting the one, the only, Ms. Shea Kinser, old friend and crusader for justice extraordinaire. Now, on the map it looked simple enough. Not even a mile away... just a hop, skip, and a jump over London Bridge... a straight shot. Trust me, dear readers, if there's anybody who can screw something like that up, it's yours truly. It's a skill. I rather pride myself in it. So I set out from the station, gunning for a bridge. Didn't exactly seem like it would be the most difficult thing to find. And it probably wouldn't have been - if I had been going in the right direction. About ten minutes later, I had realized my error, tossed my plan to walk, and gotten one of those quaint-looking cabs. Ahhh... a much easier solution. I also had a rather pleasant talk with the cab-driver, who recommended Indian restaurants in Brick Lane, which, he was quick to point out, had been the setting of a rather famous recent British novel. I told him that I had read this very novel (uninspiringly entitled Brick Lane) for a college class, but he insisted on explaining the plot to me anyway. I didn't mind. I also learned from my cab-driving friend that my accent is unexplainable: when I first told him that I had come to London from Belfast, he commented that I didn't sound Irish; when I told him that I was an American studying abroad, he told me I didn't sound American either. It makes me wonder what I sound like.... I suppose I will never quite know. Finally, I got to hear Mr. Cabbie's thoughts on the American presidential election, namely his fervent belief that if Obama gets elected, he's going to end up like JFK (which is to say, dead). Definitely an interesting fellow, but, hey, he got me where I needed to go, and he was a card to talk to.
Having thus arrived, through vehicular means, at the St. Christopher's Orient Espresso hostel, I promptly strolled into the lobby, where I found the ever-patient Shea awaiting my arrival. It's always a pleasure to see an old friend again, and, after apologizing for my late arrival and telling her about my cartographical incompetence, we checked into the hostel, went out to dinner at a nice little Chinese restaurant, and sketched out a plan for the following day. I had been in London for about 2 hours, and already my adventures had begun. And that's the way it should be.
Back in Belfast!!!
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack!
Please expect about a billion posts about my recent trip. They'll take a while to write, though, so don't worry. They'll probably keep going up until the semester's over....
Please expect about a billion posts about my recent trip. They'll take a while to write, though, so don't worry. They'll probably keep going up until the semester's over....
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Leaving on a Jet Plane #2
Hey guys! Well, it seems that spring break is upon us all... Ireland is no different; except for the fact that schools here get a three week break, instead of a single week. Sorry all! Since I've got a little while before I need to get back to school, I've got a little bit of a Eurotrip planned: first, I'm off to England, to explore London, visit Bristol, and then make a proverbial pilgrimage to Liverpool - the hometown of the single greatest band on earth, the Beatles! Pretty cool, eh?
After England, I'm off to Dublin to meet up with Alisha and Kana (who you'll know if you go to CMC; if not, it doesn't really matter), which should be a good time. Then I'm off on my own, off to spend three days in Paris and then several days in Pisa/Florence. Phew! Sounds awesome, but it also sounds scary. Especially because I don't speak either French or Italian.... Oh well. I guess I get to be the "dumb American tourist."
Well, anyway, since I'm off on my trip, I won't be around for a little while. Two and a half weeks, to be more precise. While I am hoping to have some kind of internet access every so often, there are no guarantees; so, if you e-mail me and I don't get back to you for a little while, don't worry. I don't hate you, and (hopefully) I'm not dead. I just don't have a computer around. So there you go!
Alright, well, I'd like to wish everyone a happy spring break! I hope that you all have a fun and relaxing time before our final push to finish off the semester! Soon, it'll be summer again and we'll get to relax (or, of course, work) as much as we want! Talk to you soon, guys! Rock on!
After England, I'm off to Dublin to meet up with Alisha and Kana (who you'll know if you go to CMC; if not, it doesn't really matter), which should be a good time. Then I'm off on my own, off to spend three days in Paris and then several days in Pisa/Florence. Phew! Sounds awesome, but it also sounds scary. Especially because I don't speak either French or Italian.... Oh well. I guess I get to be the "dumb American tourist."
Well, anyway, since I'm off on my trip, I won't be around for a little while. Two and a half weeks, to be more precise. While I am hoping to have some kind of internet access every so often, there are no guarantees; so, if you e-mail me and I don't get back to you for a little while, don't worry. I don't hate you, and (hopefully) I'm not dead. I just don't have a computer around. So there you go!
Alright, well, I'd like to wish everyone a happy spring break! I hope that you all have a fun and relaxing time before our final push to finish off the semester! Soon, it'll be summer again and we'll get to relax (or, of course, work) as much as we want! Talk to you soon, guys! Rock on!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Traditional Irish Music Fun #2
Here's another video of the traditional music troika from Fibber Magee's. In this video, you can see (several times) the aforementioned drunk lady.... She kept dancing into my shots, which was annoying, at times, except that now I can remember her humorous antics for as long as my computer's memory banks hold out. Anyway, near the end, you'll notice two other people - a couple, actually - who come into the video for a wee bit. Now they knew the appropriate dances to be dancing to Irish traditional music! Hat's off to them!
Traditional Irish Music Fun #1
Hey! Well, this past week was a great week for Irish traditional music. On Wednesday night, I went out to a pub with one of my friends and spent about an hour watching this awesome three-piece Irish band rock out with a slew of music, including typical Irish traditional and old-school American country. Heck, they even played a cover of Rat Packer Dean Martin's song "Little Old Wine Drinker Me"! It was a good time... We even got some entertainment to go with our music: this older woman (who had obviously had too many "spirits") was under the impression that traditional Irish music was made for club dancing. It isn't. But that didn't stop her... During nearly every song, she was out there on the dance floor shaking her groove thang. It was awkward. But amusing. She came *this* close to falling down so many times...
Well, here's a short video of the band. There are more to come, hopefully, but this'll do for now. I'm not sure what song they're playing; they did a number of my all-time favorites (including "Whiskey in the Jar" and "The Leaving of Liverpool"), but this is a song that I've never heard before. I also can't understand the lyrics well enough to Google it, so if any of ya'll want to give that a go, then let me know what you come up with, eh!
Well, here's a short video of the band. There are more to come, hopefully, but this'll do for now. I'm not sure what song they're playing; they did a number of my all-time favorites (including "Whiskey in the Jar" and "The Leaving of Liverpool"), but this is a song that I've never heard before. I also can't understand the lyrics well enough to Google it, so if any of ya'll want to give that a go, then let me know what you come up with, eh!
Friday, March 7, 2008
The Tensions (Like the Troubles, But Less Violent)
Hey everybody! Sorry I haven't written an update for you guys in a while... I guess I've been a bit busier recently than I expected. Anyway, here's a post on a topic that I've been meaning to write about for a while; hopefully, I'll be able to give it the attention and care that I feel it requires.
Well, I suppose that we've all heard of the Troubles. Or, at least, the IRA, Irish car bombs (NOT the drink!), and Protestant-Catholic ethnic violence. For those of you who might not be so familiar with the history of this stuff, well, it's kind of complicated and goes back a long, long time. So, simple version: the Troubles basically lasted for 30 years - from the major Catholic civil-rights protests and campaigns in Northern Ireland starting in 1968, to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998. This was a bad, bloody thirty years, and Belfast was the frontline of the Catholic-Protestant power struggle. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that I'm living in what was once the bloodiest city in Ireland.
The Troubles are over, now, of course. The provisional IRA has given up it's weapons, and Sinn Féin and the DUP (don't worry, there'll be another blog on this stuff) are sharing power up in the Irish Parliament at Stormont. But the central problem - distrust and mutual dislike between Catholics and Protestants - remains. One of the most surprising things that I've encountered during my time here has been the extent of Catholic-Protestant hostilities, or, at least, the central importance of the distinciton between the two religious groups. Let me give you an example...
A couple weeks ago, I went into my kitchen to fix myself some instant coffee (hey, it's not the Motley, but it's better than nothing...). Well, two of my floormates were in there talking religion. One of them, a clearly nationalist Catholic (I have this sinking feeling that he would be "connected" - i.e. in the provisional IRA - if the Troubles were still going on), was going on about how "deposing the government and victimless crimes don't disqualify you from Heaven." Well, I asked him what counted as "victimless crimes" and was subsequently sucked into a conversation/grilling/lesson that would last over two hours. After explaining a number of things that he believed consituted "victimless crimes" (including smuggling petrol, bank robbery, insurance fraud, and - most disturbingly, but I think he was kidding - killing gays and Gypsies), this fellow and one of my other floormates decided to find out how much I knew about Irish ethnic issues. (NOTE: all of my floormates are Catholic, with the exception of one atheist; on this particular day, since no one bothered to ask me what I was, I guess I was an "honorary Catholic").
Anyway, they grilled me for about an hour, listing off places, people, names, weapons, clothing, dates, and character traits; the task was simple: identify these things as either Catholic or Protestant. I didn't do so badly, except for the places.... Well, when they couldn't think of anything else to ask me, they decided that it would be a good idea to teach me how to differentiate between Catholics and Protestants on sight. This proved to be a revealing glimpse into common Catholic/Protestant stereotypes... For instance, if a person is wearing nice shoes, he's Protestant. If his shoes are old and worn, he's Catholic. Any male with long hair is a Protestant. If you can't drive well, or keep a messy and overgrown garden, you're Catholic. Basically, the general stereotype was that the Protestants are generally more affluent and well-to-do than their Catholic counterparts; which can, supposedly, be seen in their choice of clothing, accessories, etc.
After all of this instruction, there was only one thing left to do: test me, of course! So we had to stand at the kitchen window for about half an hour, waiting for people to pass by so that I could label them as either Catholic or Protestant. It was definitely kind of an eerie experience... I mean, you always hear about stereotyping, racism, and prejudice, but to actually be in a place where stereotypes are the order of the day - and to even participate in this stereotyping yourself - is decidedly creepy. I mean, the guys on my floor are all good guys; I don't think that they'd necessarily pick their friends based on religious differences, but their attitudes towards the whole religious split are certainly revealing.
Well, I think I'll cut this off here, for now. This Protestant-Catholic issue will probably be addressed again, but we'll see...
Well, I suppose that we've all heard of the Troubles. Or, at least, the IRA, Irish car bombs (NOT the drink!), and Protestant-Catholic ethnic violence. For those of you who might not be so familiar with the history of this stuff, well, it's kind of complicated and goes back a long, long time. So, simple version: the Troubles basically lasted for 30 years - from the major Catholic civil-rights protests and campaigns in Northern Ireland starting in 1968, to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998. This was a bad, bloody thirty years, and Belfast was the frontline of the Catholic-Protestant power struggle. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that I'm living in what was once the bloodiest city in Ireland.
The Troubles are over, now, of course. The provisional IRA has given up it's weapons, and Sinn Féin and the DUP (don't worry, there'll be another blog on this stuff) are sharing power up in the Irish Parliament at Stormont. But the central problem - distrust and mutual dislike between Catholics and Protestants - remains. One of the most surprising things that I've encountered during my time here has been the extent of Catholic-Protestant hostilities, or, at least, the central importance of the distinciton between the two religious groups. Let me give you an example...
A couple weeks ago, I went into my kitchen to fix myself some instant coffee (hey, it's not the Motley, but it's better than nothing...). Well, two of my floormates were in there talking religion. One of them, a clearly nationalist Catholic (I have this sinking feeling that he would be "connected" - i.e. in the provisional IRA - if the Troubles were still going on), was going on about how "deposing the government and victimless crimes don't disqualify you from Heaven." Well, I asked him what counted as "victimless crimes" and was subsequently sucked into a conversation/grilling/lesson that would last over two hours. After explaining a number of things that he believed consituted "victimless crimes" (including smuggling petrol, bank robbery, insurance fraud, and - most disturbingly, but I think he was kidding - killing gays and Gypsies), this fellow and one of my other floormates decided to find out how much I knew about Irish ethnic issues. (NOTE: all of my floormates are Catholic, with the exception of one atheist; on this particular day, since no one bothered to ask me what I was, I guess I was an "honorary Catholic").
Anyway, they grilled me for about an hour, listing off places, people, names, weapons, clothing, dates, and character traits; the task was simple: identify these things as either Catholic or Protestant. I didn't do so badly, except for the places.... Well, when they couldn't think of anything else to ask me, they decided that it would be a good idea to teach me how to differentiate between Catholics and Protestants on sight. This proved to be a revealing glimpse into common Catholic/Protestant stereotypes... For instance, if a person is wearing nice shoes, he's Protestant. If his shoes are old and worn, he's Catholic. Any male with long hair is a Protestant. If you can't drive well, or keep a messy and overgrown garden, you're Catholic. Basically, the general stereotype was that the Protestants are generally more affluent and well-to-do than their Catholic counterparts; which can, supposedly, be seen in their choice of clothing, accessories, etc.
After all of this instruction, there was only one thing left to do: test me, of course! So we had to stand at the kitchen window for about half an hour, waiting for people to pass by so that I could label them as either Catholic or Protestant. It was definitely kind of an eerie experience... I mean, you always hear about stereotyping, racism, and prejudice, but to actually be in a place where stereotypes are the order of the day - and to even participate in this stereotyping yourself - is decidedly creepy. I mean, the guys on my floor are all good guys; I don't think that they'd necessarily pick their friends based on religious differences, but their attitudes towards the whole religious split are certainly revealing.
Well, I think I'll cut this off here, for now. This Protestant-Catholic issue will probably be addressed again, but we'll see...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)