April 2007 Archives

Right now I'm on a plane headed to London, thus continuing my habit of only updating this site when I'm in transit. I resisted my urge to eat a full dinner at the airport, but it seems that I was the only one. Most of my fellow travelers were eating a full Irish breakfast--sausage, ham, eggs, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, beans, white pudding and of course, blood pudding. I always assumed that Irish people don't actually eat these heart attacks on plates, it must be a tourist thing. But no, they really do eat this stuff and drink Guinness constantly.

I like the way the Irish say my name. Every time someone with a strong accent says "Lina," I get a little thrill. When I was here before, I resisted picking up any of the Irish lingo. But already, after two weeks, I've found myself saying "fair play," which is one of their favorites. The Irish are concerned with fairness, it seems. "Fair play to you," is a way to show acceptance for someone's actions. Often people end their stories with "in fairness." "In fairness," they say, "he did give it his best."

"Your man" is another one that they use frequently. This is the Irish equivalent of "that dude." Say you see a guy walking by in leather chaps. The Irish would say something like, "your man over there is looking good today." The first time I heard a statement like this I squealed indignantly "he's not my man!" I got only bewildered looks.

They don't say thank you, it's "thanks a million," or even better, "thanks a mill." They don't cut out of a party early, they "leg it." One of my new friends is from Cork, and his accent is so unintelligible to me that my side of the conversation consists mainly of "excuse me" and "what?" His use of language, though, is thrilling. Even when I understand the words he is saying, I have no idea what they mean, or even if I do, the context is so strange that the original meaning has vanished. Langer, gaff, odd, locked and most often, fucked. For fook's sake.

I think it's noteworthy that 50% of my recent posts have been written in airports. LAX has now joined my most-hated airports--until now, experiencing only their domestic-terminal ambiance I had only considered them neutral. And now, here I am, stuck in yet another airport for yet another delay. This has given me the opportunity to spend a lot of time chatting and to consider my position as an almost ex-pat. Fucking weird, is all I can say.

Due to being given a really sweet relocation package, a team of movers were sent to my humble 500-square foot apartment, and instructed (not by me) to pack the whole thing up. This was an elite company, used to moving billionaires into their Silicon Valley uber-mansions, not grubby Oaklanders like myself. Out of embarrassment, I had already packed (or thrown out) most of my things. However, due to some sort of exciting insurance issue, the movers were forced to unpack all of my boxes, and then re-pack them. They clearly did not want me present for this procedure, but due to my overbearing way, I couldn't force myself out of the room. I watched for a while, and then seeing the movers bubble-wrapped a box of my tampons, I finally allowed myself--cloaked in shame--outside for a cigarette. Finally, they were done and as they piled my boxes next to the truck, I became filled with terror.

In total, there were 23 boxes, one of which was larger than those some homeless people live in. In addition to this, I've brought nearly 180 pounds of luggage (what's that in kilos?) and am having my tennis racket and 15 pairs of shoes air-shipped to me. Honestly, if I think about how much stuff I have brought with me, I become physically ill. But my plane is boarding in twenty minutes, and when I disembark, I will be a Dubliner, at least for a while. With the amount of garbage I've insisted on bringing with me, it's probably going to have to be a long while. Wish me luck.

Lina: what
Lina: untermenschen is also cute
Lina: sounds like a diminutive
Spot: i like it - he is only a part of the inferiour people - not even entitled to be labeled one of them himself. it's like being nigger-esque
Spot: or nigger-ish
Spot: you do know you will lose him if you keep up this approach ?
Lina: seriously?
Spot: did you bring your self-help books with you ?
Lina: he sent me a text referring to my big jewish nose
Lina: this is a 2-sided street, my friend
Simon: drive on sister!