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This page was my general repository file between mid-2001 and early 2003, as far as I can tell. It's reverse-chronological. |
39 miles above Texas
many people are waxing dramatic about the explosion of space shuttle Columbia.
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Saturday, April 13, 2002 1 Euro = 0.87966 US Dollar Created file work.
In any case, it's a bit of a comfort and a relief to find that the Irish are a rather foul-mouthed lot. I don't hae to worry too much if I let slip a natural phrase every now and then, given of course that the atmosphere is fairly informal. The Irish have all the same "four-letter words" that we have in America, of course. Additionally, they use a few others, and have some usages of the old standards that are different as well. Some of these are in common with the more general European English, and some are uniquely Irish. In common with European English, the Irish use "shite" and "bollocks." "Shite" means "shit." From this comes "gobshite," which basically means "shithead." I think this is Irish-English, but I'm not sure about that. This term also has a diminutive form, "gobsheen," which is perfectly acceptable for childrens' use. Also acceptable for children is "gobaloonock." "Bollocks" means "testicles." This is literal; there are also a number of ideomatic phrases made of this word:
A nice phrase of similar use to the last one is "pissed on the chips;" this is milder, of course; more incidental, and more usually said in fun. I believe this is purely Irish-English. Another use of this latter vulgarity is "taking the piss." "Are you taking the piss?" means "are you being sarcastic? (ironic, etc.)" To "take the piss out of (someone)" is to lampoon them, or satirize them. Of course, the mother of all swearwords is "fuck." Naturally, the Irish have a great many varieties of usage which I'd not heard in America:
Also, in common with European English, the Irish use "fuck-all" to mean "dick, squat, jack," as in "I got paid yesterday; today I have fuck-all." This term also has a diminutive form--naturally. "Feck ye" has a more playful tone, and can be a rather convivial response to a pool-table insult, for example. (Not that most people would get upset about a full-on double-barreled cursing, all in good fun.) The variant of "fuck" can be acceptable for children, also; the youngsters might be allowed to curse their feckin' troubles, without offending the adults.
From Kilkenny, Ireland
Simon's website address: http://br.geocities.com/britishteachers http://www.cambridge-efl.org.uk/.html Cambridge TEFL page
So I showed her the correct door back to the dining area. She was about forty years, long dark hair, and thin. She wore a light, bright string-shoulder top that exposed the tops and sides of her breasts, which were nice. She wore leather pants. It's amazing what some women will wear," I said to Gillian and Dennis in the kitchen. It bugged me, a little bit. "I'm surprised," said Gillian, "You're from America; I'd think you'd seen it before." Yes, I'd seen it before. I never quite understand it, though. I try. "It's like she's saying 'Fuck me if you can.'" Gillian objected to this rather strenuously. I've seen that before, too. She cast it as if that's typical male attitude. But I was having none of that. I suggested that Gillian's position was a denial, but I don't think that's accurate, exactly. Her attitude, wholly typical, is probably not intentionally deceptive. (And after all, it would make me no friends to propound that women are intentionally obscuring their scheming ways.) I would suggest that women generally may not know that what they do is for the man, because no advantage would come from that knowledge. [And let's face it; if sexy attire is not for the men--or women, if that's the orientation--it certainly then is done with bold disregard for their peace of mind.] --------- Made file effortyourself When I went in to speak with Mauricio, the owner of the restaurant Mex Rock, he said we would give it a try in a couple of days "to see how you move in the kitchen." Naturally, this meant I had a job, barring outlandish disaster. So, cool. I had a job in Seville. Your coworkers speak some English, he said, so you shouldn't have any trouble; "But you really must effort yourself to learn some Spanish." Of course, I agreed--I was in Spain. On my first day at work, I was in the kitchen with Eugenia, a woman from Madrid who would become my friend. Eugenia couldn't put three words of English together. On the floor, only Rie, a Japanese girl, spoke a functional English. The others on the floor were Gaston from Argentina, (what an accent that is) and Carlos and Paco, cousins from Mexico. The other cook, with whom I worked on the second day, was Juana, a Sevillana (and what an accent that is--very difficult.) How in the fuck we ever learned to work together, I can't even remember. We liked each other, I believe was the key. My Spanish was minimal. Id had three hours of class per week for one year 16 years prior--and had been in Spain for about a month. I didn't speak the language. But, with whatever combination of pointing and showing and repetition and food-service instinct (it's not any of it all that difficult with a little cooperation)--well, we did indeed work together. We also played together, out for some late Spanish nights around town, from that first night when we all went up the street to Al Ambique for cervezas. Eugenia and I spent a lot of time out together for coffees and beers. She talked a lot, and didn't mind me mostly listening most of the time. Being a Madrileña, and so of a clear accent and proper usage, Eugenia was a good conversational-Spanish teacher. I learned quite a bit of Spanish from her, and, to a lesser extent, from working at Mex Rock. Made file dublinbuildingalarms It's hard for me to comprehend that Ireland doesn't have a noise-pollution law for the burglar alarms that are constantly sounding from Dublin buildings. These are shrill, oscillating tones or a ringing clangor--loud--and they last for usually about fifteen minutes. This is an eternity if you're sitting in the adjacent park, or enjoying your one cup of coffee for the day. There is never any apparent reason for the incidence of the alarm, which is wholly ignored by official and pedestrian Dubliners alike. They raise aboiut as much concern--if even as much--as a car alarm in an American city; but they are about twice to three times as loud and--as I say--last for fucking ever. I say they are constantly sounding--this seems like an exaggeration. But I suspect it to be literally true; I believe that at any given time there is at least one building alarm activated in central downtown Dublin. Apparently there's nothing to be done about it; sometimes I've wished somebody would give the building a little something worth the alarm. "We could live at the present time without a Plato, but a double number of Newtons is required to discover the secrets of nature, and to bring life into harmony with its laws." --Dmitri Ivanovitch Mendeleyev (To be) after This phrase is used often. I did not even "hear" it, though, until I'd been living in Kilkenny for a month. Once I started to hear the phrase, I've found it prevalent. "(To be) after" is infused in Irish conversation to the extent that it is often not overtly noticeable, and sometimes has no independent semantic value. For example, "I was after going to the store" could mean simply "I was going to the store." But, it could otherwise mean--more literally--"I was going to go to the store." And, in yet a different setting, "I was after going to the store" could mean--even more literally, in a sense--"I had gone to the store" (and was then "after" that time. It's a strange one. I'm still working on it. Management reserve the right... Management reserves the right... When refering to a group--an affiliation or an organized body--European English will use the plural case; American, the singular. Another example: "Denver wins Superbowl;" but "Ireland win World Cup." Sent message to Budget Travel: I've been living in Europe for a year and a half. I came here with a bit of money, but for the last year have been living by my wits and by the blessing and curse that I know how to work in kitchens. I've been working on a personal website about these and other matters. Comments are always helpful. "Estamos cerado," Kiko said. We're closed. The guy just wanted to play a song. So okay. He strummed and sang flamenco. His guitar was ill-tuned and missing strings. His voice was great, scratchy and bad but coming on with feeling. After the song, he came over to the back end of the bar where we were--Eugenia, myself, Kiko, and his girlfriend Elo, and another guy. The musician asked us each for change, monedas; I gave him 100 pesetas and didn't worry about his further negotiations. I was poor. Kiko held out and asked him to sing more. Wouldn't give him a bottle of water, as he requested, or anything. Taking a place standing just behind Eugenia and myself, he played on for about fifteen minutes. It was entertaining music. He played "Es Como Agua" twice. That's a great song. One of his battered old strings broke while he played. It was sad and funny. He kept playing, and commented on it only at the end of that song. After he had finished playing, he asked Kiko again for a bottle of water. Kiko gave him one, and gave him a 1000 peseta note as well. The Taliban left without a fight. There is talk they went to Kandahar; further south anyhow. There is concern about the behavior of the Northern Alliance, but the population seem to have welcomed the change. Some of the men are shaving their beards,and some women shedding their burqas. Northern Ireland The police guard on the route to Holy Cross primary school was doubled on Monday after a confrontation-related death on Sunday evening. A 17-year-old boy on the Protestant-Unionist side of a 1."fierce riot" was apparently intending to throw a pipe bomb at the police when it exploded and killed him. Seventeen, hell; he would have been 17 this coming Friday. The police presence on Ardoyne Road on Monday was increased because the route to Holy Cross is another area of recent trouble. From about 12 weeks ago, when the schoolyear began, Protestant residents of Ardoyne Road have assembled along the street to demonstrate against the passage of Catholic schoolkids on their way to and from school. There has been some violence there, and verbal pressure and menacing is the daily course of events. There have been talks lately, of concessions and progressive agreements on the Ardoyne Road problem; the pressure even eased during one recent day when students were taking an important academic exam. But in the last few days things seem to have slipped a bit and trouble there continues. On Monday, about 400 police officers lined the road in what must have been a virtual gauntlet of security. Even so, there were some "minor scuffles2." 587 The crash on Monday of American Airlines Flight 587 in New York City was apparently an accident. The Airbus A300 seems to have suffered a mechanical failure; no evidence from the cabin voice recorder indicates that there was interference with the flight crew. The engine, made by a subsidiary of General Electric, has come under scrutiny. In the spring of 2000, some of the CF6-80C2 model suffered failures that sent metal fragments flying3." I'm not sure why the engine would have fallen off; but then with the rotational and thrust force involved, any change might be catastrophic. It might have just popped off in a fit of gyroscopic trauma. Apparently more than 260 people died, including all the airliner's passengers and some of the residents of the neighborhood where the plane fell, in the borough of Queens, three minutes after taking off from John F. Kennedy Airport in New York City. The city closed all bridges and tunnels that morning, evacuated the Empire State Building, and took other like precautions elsewhere. I remember the relief on hearing that the crash was "only" an accident. The sense must have been palpable in New York City; indeed it must have been so in the States overall. Obviously the stock markets took a deep breath for some reason on Tuesday, with the Dow up about two percent and the Nasdaq up more than two-and-a-half percent. It's strange and twisted how such a tragedy can seem so acceptable when compared to other possible explanations. I pick up my copy of the International Herald Tribune at a shop in the Market Cross shopping center. The lady there has said she will hold a copy for me every day that it comes in. The International Herald Tribune doesn't come in every day. Printed in the UK, it must be off the ferry when the truck leaves Dublin, or I don't get one. Once a week, probably, it doesn't come to Kilkenny. I pick up my copy at a shop in the Market Cross shopping center. The lady there has said she will hold one for me every day that it comes in. The Irish Times is a good paper; at least, I can pore over it for a while, as I can the few papers that I like. And, for the fact that it's Irish, it's worth reading in Ireland. I can really only have the time to read one newspaper a day. The IHT is hard to resist, because it's "published with the New York Times and Washington Post." To me, the practical effect is of a sort of a "NYT Lite," with other stuff thrown in. It's not that I mean to disrespect the Post, but I like the New York Times. It is for the writing of the Times that I buy the IHT. The daily New York Times is unavailable in the little bit of Europe that I've seen. I found the Sunday edition in a couple of places in Amsterdam. But that's it. The International Herald Tribune costs about a dollar and a half. It's 16 pages, normally. It includes Doonesbury, Dilbert, and reprints of Calvin and Hobbes. M.L. Dore's on the high street of Kilkenny has a copy of the Irish Times for the customers to read. ---- M.L. Dore's on Parliament Street in Kilkenny, is a great place to read a newspaper and to write. The second floor ("first floor," in European English ) doesn't come to the front of the shop, and two tables up there have the balcony effect over the front service area of the deli, and out the tall, windowed front wall. Built with a lot of blond wood, the interior is decorated with antique miniatures, many of them statuettes--many of these Laurel and Hardy. Antique and reproduction posters and signs are on the walls. Dore's carries a house copy of the Irish Times. The coffee is bad. The coffee is dire, and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. The Chocolate box a couple of doors up the street serves a good espresso drink. Kafe Katz, by the Hibernian, does too. made file dores made file ihtinkilkenny made file workbooktemplate --bring format to main workbook
made file newspapers --undeveloped It is an ancient game, going back to God-knows-when; played by figures of legend, fiction, and everyday life. It has survived concerted efforts to stop its play. On the field, each player carries an lopside-flathead ash stick called a hurley. This is used to control a hard ball about the size of an American baseball. A player must pick the ball up off the ground with the hurley or the foot. He may carry the ball for up to four paces in hand, and may carry it on the hurley indefinitely. Often this is done with a short "dribbling" bounce down the field when the action permits. With a pop and a swat, the ball is passed or sent in toward the goal. The field, or pitch, is about 150 by 80 meters. At either end is a pair of high goalposts. At about the height of the top of a soccer goal-cage is a bar, and indeed below this bar it is like a soccer goal-cage. A goalie carries a hurley; it is a bit larger than the field version. When a player hits the ball into the lower region, it is a "goal," worth three points. Above the bar, between the posts, it is a "point." "Smack her," Molly joked. "No, but you see, men go to jail for that kind of thing." "What's that?" asked Luke. "Smackin' bitches." Molly laughed. Luke didn't, but didn't get noticeably upset. His dad used to beat his mom. see why englishdoublel.html doesn't work. see why irland.html is quirky to file Euroenglish (different) pram infant stroller dear expensive nappies diapers (spelling) sceptic skeptic cooker stove drink driving drunk driving "management reserve" "management reserves" plural versus singular In European English, the tendency is to speak of a group in the plural; in American, it's the singular. Example: "Tipperary win All-Ireland;" but "Denver wins Superbowl." to file Irish English: in bits broken, wiped out (tired,) a mess (the kitchen, etc.) "Are y'alright?" "How are you doing?" Or, in shop or pub "May I help you?" garda police plural, gardaí
--3 Nov. 2001 In the United States, cell phones--as they are there called--the telephone systems have a couple of differences that prevent the equal popularity of mobile telephony. One is the matter of standards, of which I know too little to comment upon. I do know that an American telephone will not work outside of the States. European mobile 'phones are more mobile. The other principal difference is pricing. One reason that European "mobiles" are affordable is that land-line telephones are expensive. A customer pays for even a local call here, on a land-line. The fee will not be as great as with a mobile, but it is an added detraction. The mobile itself can be purchased cheaply, and without a contract. For $60, one can get a basic model including maybe $20 of credit. This credit is charged at between 18 cents/minute and 60 cents/minute, depending on the plan and the time of day/week. And--significantly--one is not assessed for incoming calls. In America--at least it was true when I left--cell 'phone users are charged for airtime even to receive a call. The standard now in debut phase in Europe, the so-called 3G networks--all hype and skepticism considered--brings with it one big change; that is the fuller integration of the internet and portable telephony. Now, while the U.S. clearly has the lead in internet communications--not least, I think, because local land-line calls are free within a flat monthly rate--Europe is clear to help revolutionize portable internet access. Maybe no big deal. But I'd bet otherwise. --30 Oct. 2001 Made file Mobiles Justin said he'd called a friend's mobile telephone to invite him over for a bit and contacted him in "Bally." "I don't know where that is," I said. There are a gaggle of towns in Ireland called "Bally-" something; Ballyragget, Ballymon.... "Oh, it's down by Indonesia..." "Oh, you mean Bali; in the south seas?" Yeah, Bally, he said. "I thought you said Bally, like it was a town in Ireland." But, no; he'd called his friend and gotten through in Bali--which is remarkable, really. And funny, too; that's a bit far to come for a cup of tea. Last week, the Gaelic Athletic Association decided to review Rule 21, with an eye toward eliminating it. Votes are currently circulating through the counties of Ireland. Rule 21, instituted in 1886, prohibits membership in the GAA to members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary and British defense forces. Additionally, it prevents GAA members from attending social events with such folk. It is unusual that a sporting body is so blatantly political--but this is the GAA. This has been a quasipolitical organization since its inception in 1884. Advocacy of Gaelic games, indeed, was an act of patriotism, and love of sport was blended with a defiance of cultural domination. In practical terms, Rule 21 has probably had little real effect; few of those disallowed from the GAA have been likely to want to join. But the issue is divisive by its nature--obviously--and remains contentious. Votes in Derry this week--which like Armagh opposed the change--coincided with bomb threats at two Derry clubs. On 23 October, 2001, the IRA decommissioned a cache of weapons--the first time ever. The next day, the British governance in the North dismantled four armed watchtowers there. The Royal Ulster Constabulary itself is to be disbanded, and a new policing force will replace it. It is possible that some members of the GAA will want to join the newly-forming police force; this may provide a dynamic that will offer further reason to review the statute, in addition to the generally changing atmosphere in Ireland's politics. In any case, the matter is up for a vote. If it's been a while since a sporting rule could be considered of historical importance, the GAA's Rule 21 is candidate. Disculpa mi Español, por favor. Quiero intentar escribir in este lingua. Vivo en Kilkenny, Ireland desde 11 Septiembre. EscuchEdel ataque cuando fui en el autobus desde Galway hasta aqui--que horor. Pero, Kilkenny ha sido bien por mi vida, por mi cabezza, y todo. Es un ciudad piqueño y comodo en el sur de Irlanda. ¡De la Puta Madre! ¿Puedo comunicarme un poco en Español, o no? Pues, intento. Mi diccionario ayuda me a veces. Tengo alojamiento en el centro, inmediatamente abajo el castillo. El castillo no es muy bonito, pero detrE los arboles y la vega componen un parque precioso. Visito este lugar frequentamente. Mi piso es en el calle "Rose Inn Street," hecho por los Normans en A.D. 1200, mas o menos. Al otro lado es "Syd Harkins' Pub," y al lado de Syd's es "Web Talk," donde uso internet. Trabajo ELautrec's, que es muy cerca. Laurtrec's es un restaurante. Mis comañeros de trabajo Justin y Molly had sido mis amigos desde empezEtrabajar. Muchas veces despues trabajo, bebimos copas ESyd's. Syd's tiene una mesa de billards. Justin y Molly juegan muy bien. Yo no, pero siempre es un buen sitio. He encontrado otras buenas personas alli porque Justin y Molly tienan buen amigos. Pienso que me voy a quedar aqui por un tiempo. Tengo que decir algo de los asuntos del mundo, porque soy Americano. Es horible que ha pasado alli; y es claro que los EE.UU tiene que hacer algo. Por mi parte, quiero la paz. Espero que mi pais busca la paz tan mucho que puede. Violencia crea violencia, y creo que tenemos que ser inteligente. Tenemos que pensar, y cuidarnos. Espero que mi pais respecta la gente de otros paises. ¿Por que escribo lo a mis amigos Españoles? No lo se. Entonces, basta. Desde he sido en Irlanda, he empezado un otra vez Eescribir por mi "website" personal. Es todo en inglés (ahora.) Lo siento; pero quiero compartir mis labores, hasta ahora. ¿Por que? No lo se. Bueno. Recuerdo vosotros. Espero que vida es buena. Steve onmousover how to color links Html reference http://homepage.tinet.ie/~earrings/kilkenny.html Kilkenny City (earrings) Make file contacts web sites http://homepage.tinet.ie/~earrings/kilkenny-canice-tower-1.jpg round tower image Irish English
created file irishenglish.html http://www.rootsweb.com/~irlkik/klinks.htm Kilkenny links
"Its (AOL's) expanded broadband content takes advantage of Time Warner's vast array of entertainment programs."
"The finding of a woman's body, which the gardaEare treating as suspicious."
If a piano were traveling at the speed of light, its 88 keys would be infinitely narrow. Well now that would be if said piano were traveling sideways. If the piano were traveling forward or backward, those keys would be infinitely short. But, then, so would the piano player's fingers. So I bet the music would be just as good. Or bad, dependin' on one's experience. euroenglish.html There are some differences in the English language of Europe from that of North America. For some reason, I find it entertaining to "collect" these. Some words in European English are spelled differently. Some words are just as different as if of two separate languages. Additionally, of course, there are phrases I'd not heard in America.
make file euroenglishspelling.html Some words are spelled differently in European English than in North American English. Many of these differences are in the endings of words otherwise the same. A few words are just plain spelled differently. I've discovered a difference that settles an old confusion for me.
I just heard on the radio that a county counselman learned that a connecting road is going to split his family's farm. He says that he does not withdraw his support for the road. Weights and measures I still haven't figured out whether Irealand has really gone metric or not. Dunne's sells produce in kilograms. The produce shops Aubergine and Roots and Fruits sell it in pounds. People talk about places being so-many miles away. They use feet, inches, meters and kilos, liters and pints. Beer is in pints at the pub--but in half-liters by the can or bottle. They talk about peoples weight in stone--a stone is 14 pounds. Stone is also used for potatoes. But alongside a half-stone bag, they will be sold by the pound. Indeed, potatoes can be bought by the stone, by the pound, or by the kilogram.
made file isirelandmetric . Need to create file Ireland
"What did you do yesterday?" asked my Canadian friend Jesse. "I went to the Winding Stair, read the newspaper, did some writing." "In other words, nothing." --Oct. 16 2001 Last night at Syd Harkins', a large group of people were singing songs and drinking. They had been at it for a bit; we got off work right about the time of last call. I said "I like this song;" they were on "Whiskey in a Jar." Justin said "Yeah--they're Dubs." Dubliners. He predicted that pretty soon they would sing "Molly Malone." It wasn't ten minutes before Justin said "What did I tell you?" They were singing "Molly Malone." We could see them down through an opening from the pool-table room, about a meter higher and in the back of the house. The group, of about 20 folks, were singing loudly, clapping hands and hitting the table with their palms. Around one-thirty, they all stood and sang the Irish national anthem. They finished drinking and left. --14 October 2001 Write about Simon Embed link in templates I just can't forget the Gulf War, when American boys chanted "USA!..." for what? "At least we'll be able to use the weapons we've spent so much money on," said Martin, a friend of my flatmate Tim. And nobody called for American-led justice when Slobodan Milosovic clearly presided over the massacre of civilians for years and years. Americans are crazy for war, but conflicted by morality. Now, they don't have to think about that. America has been attacked. Anthrax Pulmonary cases, like Mr. Stevens's, require inhaling a large dose - E8,000 to 10,000 spores - usually in enclosed spaces protected from direct sunlight. NYT Not contagious Third case in Florida. Examination found spores in woman's nose
— 11 Oct. 2001 made file cashedmycheck.html made file thekilkennypeople.html Kilkenny is a small town. Well, it's a town. A small city. The debate rages on. By ancient charter, it's a city. But the atmosphere is decidedly smalltown. "This is our calling," said President Bush. He's found his purpose. Kilkenny is a trusting place. At the hostel where I first stayed, the desk is unattended at night. I got a job without using a resume. I cash my check at a supermarket without showing my identification. On the radio, I heard the announcement last week that somebody had found money at the Market Cross parking lot.... "If you lost money at the Market Cross car park, give this station a ring." I cashed my check at Supervalue, as suggested by Luke, a coworker at Lautrec's. He'd said to have them give me a call if I had any problem, but that I probably wouldn't. They cashed it, without a problem, and without asking to see my identification. At work the next evening, Luke said he'd spoken with John, who had told him he cashed my check. "You know you're in a small town now," said Justin... "Next week it'l be in the Kilkenny People." The Kilkenny People is the local newspaper. It comes out on Wednesdays and costs a whopping £1.20; more than the Irish Times, as much as the International Herald Tribune. Its redeeming feature for me is that it posts local classified ads. Well, it's a quaint paper, too, and worth a look. It's got news in it, alright, and news that would be important to some. Controversy about a large Dublin-Wexford road coming through the area. Some talk about the city counsel. There was an armed robbery last week. That's notable. Somebody with a marked Dublin accent. By numbers, by far the most prevalent news is excessive drunkenness. My favorite: "Walked into dustbin and a lamppost... A young man was so drunk that he walked into a dustbin, Kilkenny Court was told. Gda John Carroll recalled seeing Michael Kennedy or Adbawn, Tullaroan, walk out onto the road in Rose Inn Street at 4:05 a.m. on April 6. He was extremely drunk. "He walked into a dustbin and then he actually walked into a lamppost," said the garda.... Kennedy admitted being so drunk that he might endanger himself or others. --file cashed check --10 October 2001 I feel that religion is dangerous, and that fanaticism grows in the festering pool of ideas that is the naturally-occuring environment around the obsession with and reverence for a piece of text. I don't know the Koran. I do know the Bible. The Bible has driven people to--or has been used to justify their involvement in--attrocities of the first order. The Bible itself contains stories of its best and brightest behaving in the nastiest possible ways. Moses was a genocidal maniac. Nobody who reads the Bible for religious purposes seems to really read it. [I have to say that I haven't read the Bible for many years, and write "off the cuff" in this case--I have no current interest in reading the thing.] If I had my way, God would be liberated from these stiff books, these rigid pieces of text written by people. In any case, it seems a good time for real skepticism. Nobody has a monopoly on truth, and the idea that anybody does is volatile. It is an irresponsible idea, and it is not an idea that is supported by any evidence I've ever seen. made file kilkennyroundtower.html made file kilkennywater.html -*make file riverishigh.html -*search Rose Inn Street lads--"you guys" (gender-neutral) I worked for a couple of days in Galway, at a restaurant called The Malt House. I got the job ten minutes off the bus from Dublin; I'd spoken with Brendan, the head chef, a couple of weeks before. Francis, the young guy who was training me, was discreet. But, clearly, he was relieved that he would soon be leaving. "Usually you don't know how they want it done until you do it wrong," he said. And "You'll get used to it." I had my doubts about that part. Brendan was the problem. Brian, second chef, was very serious and direct--but I got a sense that he was "for real," at least. Brendan was a poor communicator, and he implied threat. He even pretended to throw something at me from my periphery, a wake-up call sort of play--but I could see it was fake and just got disgusted. During lunch the second day Brendan said at a point "Don't make any more salads" (side salads, in small bowls).... It was early, on a busy day. there were four of them left, and the lunch was not nearly over. Not five minutes later, he called for four salads--now there are none and of course this is inexcusable. I think this was when I decided, aloud, that Brendan was a true wanker. I was working split shifts, ten a.m. to 3 p.m.; 5 to 10:30 p.m.; prep cook and salads. My favorite quotation from Brendan: "This is your second day; you should know the menu by now." Maybe. Maybe not. I could have done a lot more in a workable atmosphere. On day three, I arrived at ten a.m. and started to make a bit of coffee. Brian said "Don't worry about the coffee." "Huh?" "You need to get to work if you'd wanted to make coffee you could have come in ten minutes early. [fair enough...] "In fact," he continued, "that seems pretty cheeky to me." And he didn't stop there. He went on about how that was really the height of something or other. I just stood there looking at him. He asked me why I was just looking at him. He told me I could get to work or I could leave. I went to my work area. But then I turned around, got my sweater and bag, and said goodbye to Francis who was getting dressed. I left. Brian, as I left, said "It's a tough industry." I said "Yeah, I know--that's not the point." Irish expressions
chalk and cheese (different as...)
Irish humor These are some items I have heard while in Ireland. Q. What do you call a sex-change operation for a woman? A. Strapadictomy Jump You Fucker
Jump, you fucker jump Your Picture
I got your picture yesterday 26 September, 2001 Oh hell what do I want to write. That, I don't know. Colum and Mina were talking last night about floods. Nah, that's not what I want to write about. I wrote a letter to Chris. I'm considering a letter to Aliselina. She sent one acknowledging friendship in wake of the attack. I don't know what to feel, how I feel. A blankness numb emply in my forebrain. Eric offered to send my Bible to me. Good to have the word of God on hand. That surprised me. My atheistic friend waxing religious about the Bible. Kind of discouraging. Now it's I've got fifteen minutes and it's as if I'm just writing to fill the time alloted. I don't know what I want. I want 22 September, 2001 Osama Bin Laden, chief suspect in the September 11 attacks, has no common cause with the impoverished, innocent civilians of Afghanistan who are already miserably oppressed by the Taleban, a virtual creation of United States' anti-Soviet policies. But that's something I know nothing about; stick to what I know. I'm worried about America now; I'm more worried about what it will do. America must be very careful not to worsen the self-righteous hatred of international terrorists. America ought to nurture and develop the new sympathies it has from allies old and new, and former adversaries. Friday the 14th of September was a national day of mourning in Ireland, and Kilkenny where I live was all but completely shut down. The pubs were closed--all day. This does not happen. The show of solidarity with the United States was not confined to Ireland--whose citizens by the way have been just grand in their empathy--but is worldwide. Civilized individuals everywhere have felt for Americans. I want to see America embrace this international support. This is a great opportunity. It is too easy for Americans to adopt a frontier attitude; but the U.S. now needs the wider world. The problem of international terrorism is just that--international. Shit. This is getting nowhere. I'm worried that Americans are going to start killing civilians. Killing civilians is murder. Americans are a civilized people. If the United States begins killing innocents again (whether it ever stopped is something I know too little about to comment,) that's murder. That's not civilized. In terms of common sense, America needs to embrace the new empathies that the tragedy of September 11 have brought from all around the globe. New openings are available, with allies new and old, and former adversaries as well. It is also very important that actions are calculated so as to solve the problems of terrorism, and not to make them worse. But in terms of morality--and let's face it, morality has been left to the religions for too long now--there can be no excuse for indiscriminate killing of innocents. This is not collateral damage. This is murder. I'm worried that The United States is going to start murdering people who have no common cause with terrorists; who just happen to be in the wrong place when American bombs, guided by incompetent intelligence, fall on them, unhindered by an American public who merely "stand behind our president." I don't want to see American soldiers die needlessly, and I don't want to see innocent civilians die needlessly. I do not have confidence in the American intelligence operations and I feel strongly that skepticism is very important right now. Dissidence was a defining feature of America's founding, and doubt is a part of the free speech guaranteed by the Constitution. I think we need it now more than ever. Resoluteness is great, if the goal is clear. This is a time for thoughtful people to think. The warriors are already going full-bore into God knows what; and it sometimes seems they were just awaiting an excuse. So we don't need to worry to much about action being taken. There is action being taken. I think it's time for thoughtful people to think, as I mentioned, and for their voices to be heard. There is too much at stake to leave this in the hands of the experts. They will get us all into more trouble than we can imagine. If they have their way, that is. They Dissidence is if not the defining feature of America, it is certainly one key factor in what it means to be American. If it is heresy to question the purpose as "our boys" fly off to war, so be it. It is better to ask an honest question than to line up lock-step and surrender free thought. After all, what is America? Which part of it is worth defending? 18 September 2001 I met Melissa at the hostel this morning. She's a lovely aussie lass. I told her in email she's lovely. Why not. Going to work tonight. Lautrec's. Stopped by the archaeological site a fellow told me about. I'm going to visit there tomorrow morning between 9 and 10. That seems like a good thing. Could be very neat. "It's not the most brilliant archaeology," a woman said. But a good job. I'm worried about America now. I'm worried about what America will do. I don't want to see the United States kill civilians. This is murder, and unacceptable. Also, I want the United States to keep the amazing international goodwill that has become available since the tragedy of the attacks of September 11. I am afraid that George W. Bush, clearly only too happy for the chance for war, is being handed the power to throw people away like gamepieces--and to murder civilians in other nations. Last Friday was a national day of mourning in Ireland, and this country shut down. In wider Europe, it was apparently similar. America has a great opportunity. It is time for the United States to join the world. Please don't let this nasty little man have his "crusade." I'm not antipatriotic--it's just that that's completely beside the point. I don't like to keep hearing about all these flags and cheering for "USA!"... But that's just me. I don't know what I'm trying to acheive. Just expression--my favorite American freedom. Steve 13 September, 2001 Tomorrow is to be a national day of mourning, and virtually all businesses and governmental offices will be closed throughout Ireland--indeed, throughout the country. The feeling is prevalent that the world feels this event very strongly. Today I went to the grounds of Kilkenny castle, and walked the pathway around the perimeter. This is a very peaceful place, and very comforting. Later, I went to Crotty's coffeeshop, but it was very busy at the end of lunchtime. I said hi to a very sweet Welsh girl who works there, to whom I'd spoken to yesterday. There was no place to sit, so I would have to postpone my newspaper-reading and my writing. I went to the hostel to prepare some food. When I went back to the coffeeshop, a woman employee said "She's inside right now. She'll be out in a while. Lindsay. Her name is Lindsay." I laughed nervously, asked another employee for a cafe Americano. The machine is broken. I asked for a regular coffee. Went and sat down. I felt uncomfortable; now I felt I would have to ask Lindsay to go out with me. So, in a while, I did. I went back toward the back of the cafe, where she was sitting. Introduced myself. Friendly but then I felt I had to get to the point. Another error, evidently. But it was all in error. She has a boyfriend. I do not understand why that woman had to make it so overt that she assumed I was there only to speak with Lindsay. I do not understand why I felt that discomfort, and I feel crappy that I walked right into her "I have a boyfriend" trap. I don't want to be alone tomorrow. But then, I seldom do. It's a sickening feeling. Of course there are bigger problems in the world. But that's just the point, too. I don't really want to wander around alone all day tomorrow. I want to send an email to Rachel, whom I met yesterday at the Kilkenny Tourist Hostel. Some hesitation, don't know what to say maybe I ought to wait but maybe I ought not. Who knows. Just sent an email to Rachel. Cool good enough. I hope she responds to me soon. Maybe she will think I'm a dork, but I doubt it. No sense trying to be cool with her. files kilkenny, kilkennycastle I visited Kilkenny castle just a few minutes ago. The castle is just across the street from the internet cafe where I write this. I can't say enough good about this site. This, though the castle itself is certainly not the most beautiful I've seen. Indeed, the castle has no particular esthetic appeal, nor is it particularly charming. To be fair in disclosure I have not taken the guided tour of the interior--that's not really my style. I may or may not do so. But the castle grounds are truly awesome. This is so not only because they are impressive, but because it is a great place to be. I will visit often and spend time there. The castle is in the shape of a squared "U." The open end of this shape faces out onto the grounds, which is a long stretch of closely-trimmed grass with a low-rolling hill about 300 yards out. On one's right is a walkway along the stone wall, and trees. On the right is a walkway through trees. Up on the small hill, the grassy area widens out a bit to the left. Bordering this is a beautiful forest of various deciduous and evergreen trees. A large metal sculpture stands at the far end of the grassy area. Into the forest and beyond, I do not know. It is a beautiful space, unto itself and peaceful. Entry to the castle grounds are not restricted; they are open until 6:30 in the evening. --file kilkennycastle.html I had decided the night before to travel to Kilkenny, Ireland, from Galway. Having been restless in Galway--as in Dublin before that--I had a conversation that convinced me to make a move. I met a German girl named Christine in the Sleep Zone hostel in Galway. 3 September, 2001 Some smart guy--it was Joyce, really--said a good challenge would be to walk across Dublin without passing a pub. (A friend of mine commented that this could be said of any city; but there are a lot of pubs in Dublin, and some good spots to have a pint.) A true Dublin challenge, in year 2001, would be to cross town after midnight without passing a whole lot of puke. I've never seen anything like it. I don't like to think about puke, and I don't like to talk about it. But this is an important feature of Dublin; its prevalence contributes to the long-term, subliminal effect of the city upon one's brain. It never goes away, though one may get used to it. Vomit really is on every route through town, on every route across town. And I don't really want to write about it any more. One of the first nights in my North Strand Road flat, I saw a tiny bug walking on the white sheet of my bed. I watched it for a secon and--this is true--it dropped a tiny round turd. I flicked both off my bed. A later night, I saw another bug--a bit larger. I smashed it. It smeared blood on the sheet. Red blood, red like mine. In denial, I didn't think about this. I started to notice bumps on my skin--the nape of my neck and the backs of my elbows. By the time the bumps started to itch--and grow--I had been bitten extensively, and it was bad, bad, bad. I found a colony of the little pests folded in the sheet between mattresses. I vacuumed the room. But that didn't five me peace of mind, no way. And I continued to see a bug or two. the old bites grew and their itchiness increased for several days. The tops of my feet, the backs of my elbows--absolutely torturous itching. I told Olivier, the landlord. He said "I'll have to take a look at it." Yeah, right. Anyhow, I knew what to do. I set off a bug-bomb of my own device, the old chlorine-bomb fumigator. I got some bleach from work, tracked down some ammonia at a local "chemist--" EuroEnglish for "pharmacist." Mix in affected room, seal room. Wait. Hold breath, open window, air out room. Enjoy bug-free environment. I don't recommend it because it's dangerous. But it works, and it's cheap. I've killed other bugs this way too. It is customary in Dublin to share a room. This is strange; but it is true. This comes from the hard fact that Dublin has grown so explosively in recent years that the stock of housing is critically short. I was living on Mountjoy Square when I started working at Boulangerie des Gourmets. Rent there was ?0 per week to share a room. Turns out Olivier, the owner of Boulangerie, didn't want to advance me enough money to live. As I'd had a week without work--and had opted for a trip to Galway with my pals Jesse and John, who were to leave the country soon--money got real tight. And Olivier didn't want to give me any. "If I give you an advance, everybody will want one." (This was echoed by his ballboy manager, Damien.) Really annoying. Well, it didn't get better. (To say nothing of the working conditions, which were typical of mass-production gourmet shitty capitalist unit-pumping.) I told Olivier "I'm going to lose my flat if I don't pay the rent." That's when he suggested I move into a flat that he owns. Goes without mentioning that I disliked the by the mere principle of it. Nice flat. Room of my own. Nice room. Bedbugs. But a nice room. Shitty housemates. Well, only Ludevic really sucked badly enough to be notable. But he fouled the whole house. A real ignorant punk. I worked with him too--hence the vehemence. Bigoted, unimaginative, brainless wonder; bogglingly alogical. And arrogant. Hard for me to bear. It was uncomfortable there--not least because I felt I had been trapped into the place. Made file bedbugs need corresponding files olivier and northstrandroadflat 01 September, 2001. Yesterday I quit my horrible job at Boulangerie des Gourmets, and moved out of the house that my erstwhile boss owns. I had told Olivier that I was quitting to move to Galway, where I'd found a job. It is true that I had found a job in Galway; intervening circumstances, however, have kept me in Dublin, so far. Let's back up a bit. About two weeks ago, I decided to make it out of town. I was sick to death of my job, and really uncomfortable with my relationship with the boss. He had been very miserly about giving me an advance against the monthly pay. And parental. That galled me in a way that made me physically repulsed. When I finally told him that I was going to be evicted if I did not get money from him, he suggested that he might have a place for me to live. I didn't like this, but okay. I didn't have much choice. Which galled me miserably, and added to the discomfort of being in this man's sphere of influence. Anyhow (when I feel obliged to stay, it's time to leave) I quit my job yesterday. I'd had Olivier agree to pay me then, the 31st, knowing that if I did not maintain the pretense of leaving town he might not pay me until the 3rd, that being the Monday following. As implied, I had already decided I may stay in town a bit longer. Again--about two weeks ago, I had decided to leave Dublin. On that trip, though, I met a cool Spanish woman who made me start thinking about remaining here. She lives and works in Dublin.
Yesterday, I went to get my check. I felt very uneasy about the situation, knowing--as we say where I come from-- that I wouldn't trust Olivier as far as I could throw him. Knowing, too, that I am working illegally in Ireland and have limited rights if any at all. Olivier asked me "do you have the keys?" He wanted me out of the apartment before he would give me my check. Fair enough. Dirty bastard. So I went home. I slept for a couple of hours and went back to get my check. Didn't get my stuff out of the apartment, because I would not have time to make it downtown to the hostel and back, in time to get my check and go to the bank. But before I went to sleep--before I could--I had to sit down and calculate what I was going to expect in pay. And I figured it out down to the minute percentages, not because I would demand perfection but so that I would represent my case with strict confidence. And, of course, I needed it. Olivier did not propose anything that would demand the tight figures that I had memorized, but he did hand me a check that was missing something--it was too slight. I asked to see the mathematics that he used. He said "You worked eighteen days, right?" "No, twenty-one." He questioned me, but not very strongly. He knew that I would stick to this. He probably knew I would sit there until we hassled it out. He aquiesced. And why not? The son of a bitch is getting wealthy on the backs of workers like myself, paying them barely enough to survive. Most of them are placid. I'm not; and for the price of a couple of meals high on the town, he could be rid of me forever. Plus, he knew I was right. He could see it. So I was glad I'd worked out the figures so meticulously. 14 August, 2001 I just got an email from Calvin Keogh, the Irish guy who suggested that I come to Dublin. He's very glad and enthusiastic. Just emailed Eric and Ashley. They got married. Sent me some photos that a friend took. ---------------------------------------------------- 13 August 2001 I have an idea, a six-month plan. I'm working at Boulangerie des Gourmets, a French bakery factory in Dublin Ireland. I have an idea. I want to save some money, and go somewhere else to take an English-language teaching course. I want to get certified, and then... teach English. Been doing some studying about the Cambridge English-teaching course. How to get the most out of CELTA http://www.english-international.com/CELTAadvice.html I need to make a link to a currency converter that is easy to use. Dictionaries too. Workbook page. -------------------------------------------------------- 3 August, 2001 Tim finally left Cobblestone's. He went to Rotterdam--with his huge box--to do shows at a festival. I haven't started my new job yet I'm effectively broke--I borrowed ?0 from Jesse. My new employer Damien told me to quit my old job too soon. -* tools I need a link format embedded where it's easy to use I cannot make a link to be copied from text. It plays tricks. This morning I heard some Irish kids cursing a man who was passing. "Foawk you." "Oh, foawk your mother," the man said, and kept walking. "Foawk off..." (in a lilting pitch rising delicately at the end.) "Foawk you..." etc.--the boys kept cursing as the man just kept walking. "knocked down"--"run over" from NB 10 July 2001 Discovery comes before recognition --Abbe Henri Breuil a great cave-art researrcher Red Bull and vodka Mobile telephone creative investigator Row of cells, search engines, templates, dictionaries Accepting understanding attempting to comprehend the growing reality of globalization. Earthpeople are getting more integrated connected. The picture fades in, shifts fades and finally pops into view. Languages I've been thinking lately about what it takes to learn a language. By no means an expert, I nevertheless think that my late-starting amateur efforts can lend some unique perspective. I need to work on my templates--invisible links to new page and to file manager and to workshop or visibly link to workshop The modern walkway overhanging on the North wall of the River Liffey. Don't ask what I was doing out there. Let's just say I had a couple of notebooks and a book. Irish kids outside my living-room window this morning (to adult stranger passing where they were playing.) I'd seen the boys earlier, going to look when I had heard somebody break something. There were three of them, 11 to 12 years old. They didn't cause any more trouble, after cursing the gentleman. I'm going to learn some French. I worked at Ciao Bella Roma in Dublin for about a month. We spoke English, most of us; here is a bit of the Italian that I have learned. Also, I am living with two Italians, and one Spaniard. Italian is their common language, though we speak English when I'm there. I don't feel bad about that, having just been in Spain and having many difficult to incomprehensible Spanish conversations. I just got a job at a French Bakery here in Dublin. My friends Brigitte and Marilyne, whom I met here in Dublin at the Cobblestone's hostel, just went back to France.
Currency converter
Sometimes all I want to do is to get stoned and write. Today, I drank some pints of beer, then bought a can of Redbull Energy Drink so that I could make a pipe of the can, and smoke hashish. Which I did, of course. This is file greatfile.html. This is the online successor to General Repository, et. al. In this file, items are entered almost verbatim. I say almost because for example I changed energy drink to Energy Drink, above. I call them items even though not all that I enter here will be what you could call items.
hidden
--written on IHT
means that I want to embed, in my templates, two items in the left-side column.
I just discovered that alt. ([left] or [right]) arrow moves to the page back or page forward, respectively. I think I will have to edit this at the end. It's the least convenient, but most intuitive. make hidden links for templates. Look up oil rigs.
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