The Dogwalker Debriefs: A Series

Scarlett & Dru.  Walk, 12 - 2 p.m.  Shelly Banks. Well-behaved.  Had good run around...mainly chasing each other. Thank you, Barry.

Fancy a Takeaway?

Let's order from Turnham Green Chinese on the corner!

 

 Or, perhaps not...

(Snapped this on a recent visit to London -- no photoshop, I swear!)

Vocabul-Eire: You Alright?

Confession: I spent a lot of time in pubs when I first moved to Ireland.  It was my mid-20s and I had evening hours/money to spare and steady stream of equally thirsty work colleagues to keep me company.  For the most part, it was an entirely pleasant experience, but I did run into issues when ordering drinks. 

Sidling up to the bar, I'd catch the eye of the barman/woman and our conversation would go something like this:

Barman: "You alright?"

Me (a little taken aback -- do I not look alright?  Am I slurring?  Running mascara?  Is it my accent?): 

"Errrr, yes, I'm fine thanks."  [Pause.]  "And you?"

Barman (gives me quizzical look): "Er, fine, yeah." 

[Another awkward pause.]

Me: "So, um, can I order a drink?"

Barman: "Yeeees, that is the idea...what'll you have?"

And I would get my pint (I could afford to consume pints back in the day when my liver processed the alcohol fast enough to avoid the twin evils of hangover and cellulite) and move quickly on, wondering why barmen insisted on having these awkwardly protracted conversations about my well-being... 

As it turns out, however: Irish barpersons are interested not a bit in the state-of-mind/general health of their patrons.  "You alright?" is simply the nationally accepted barperson-speak for "what can I get you?"  The only acceptable responses, in turn, are: a pint of ___, a glass of ___ wine or a ___ and Coke. 

For the record, I'm now a highly proficient drink-orderer in Irish pubs, though I still rue the lack of imagination when it comes to actual drink offerings.  (What's a girl gotta do to get a Cosmo 'round these parts?)  But that's a post for another time and day.  

In the meantime, yes, barman, I'd love a glass of white wine.  Anything but Chardonnay, and make it snappy.

The Dogwalker Debriefs: A Series

"Dru & Scarlett.  Walk 12 - 2:30 p.m.  Shelly Banks.  Well behaved.  Had good chase around.  Scarlett was unhappy when puppy joined in, but got on great with other dogs.  Barry."

Avocan Nights

M's aunt threw an Arabian Nights themed costume party a few weeks ago.  A girl after my own heart, when she throws a party, she REALLY goes for it.  HUGE marquis set up in the back garden, anything standing still for more than 30 seconds draped in rich gold and red cloths, the music, the carpets...

Needless to say, I got way into the outfits.  M and I thankfully passed on dropping 40 EUR for a questionable man's Bollywood get-up -- all the costume shop had -- in favor of ripping up some sheets and adding an artfully folded pashmina to the mix.  Apart from the freckles and verdant greenery, I feel they look quite convincing?

As for me, I had a disturbing number of items appropriate to a bellydancer costume already in my wardrobe.  The result, channeling "I Dream of Jeannie," as follows (on right):

Still working on that whole twitch-nose-do-magic thing, but in the meantime, I'll let the riot of color and candlelight speak for itself...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Glory Days

Bruce Springsteen was born on September 23rd, 1949 in New Jersey, which makes him a couple months younger than my mother (I hope she doesn't mind this admission.  Trust me, Ima, I'm going somewhere with this...)  

Now: my mother has serious amounts of energy for any age -- she is constantly doing/going/planning/cooking/gardening/organizing.  To the point where I need to gently remind, when I visit, that I'm there for vacation.  IE: I need to feel okay with being lazy, so could she just sit down and read a book with a cup of tea in the afternoon for at least 15 minutes...?  That way, I don't feel like such a massive sloth watching her simultaneously polish silver, plant geraniums and whip up a batch of my favorite tomato-fennel soup.  

However!

I think even my formidably energetic mother would be hard-pressed to perform the rollicking 3.5 hour rock 'n roll set that Bruce "Almighty" Springsteen graced Dublin with on Wednesday night.  He. Was. Amazing.  And, even after 30+ years of selling out to massive crowds, delivering multiple critically/commercially acclaimed albums and incessant touring, he still manages to convince the audience there's no place he'd rather be than up on that stage, singing his heart out for them...

At one point, he brought a six-year-old kid up to help him sing a few verses of 'Waiting on a Sunny Day.'  I know a few MASSIVE fans, who would give their left arm/leg/testicle for this very opportunity.  And I can't help feeling that, for that little boy, life can only get more disappointing from here on out...he must have been LEGEND at school yesterday.

 Also, I'm not entirely proud of this behavior -- oh, who am I kidding?  Am secretly delighted with myself -- but a friend and I managed to make our way [sneak] into the pit, despite our lack of blue, purple or any other color wristband.  As easy as "just walk in through that entrance, past the men in hi-viz jackets, and act for all the world like you're supposed to be there..." Sure, we had to spend the rest of the concert hiding our left wrists from view of surrounding fans and stewards, but it was a small price to pay for being in concert-cam vicinity to The Boss.  

He finished his blistering set and encore at 11 p.m. with 'Rocky Ground,' a song he called "a prayer to Ireland" during troubled economic times.   In the final verse, he trades lines with his backing singer, interspersing the bleak with the hopeful. 

"We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
There's a new day coming

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
(I'm a soldier!)

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
Oh, a new day's coming

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
(I'm a soldier!)

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
Oh, a new day's coming

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
(I'm a soldier!)

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground
There's a new day coming

We've been traveling over rocky ground, rocky ground..."

It's testament to Bruce's trademark humility and magnetic, graveled voice that when he tells us things'll get better, we BELIEVE.  The mood of a nation distilled into perfect verse. 

 It also doesn't hurt that he's still a total hottie.  (Damn that groupie gene.)