hi.
happy anniversary, o journal. remember?

i have a neat thing all thought up and prepped to post as a sort of celebration, but at the mo i am really really sick with a really really nasty ear infection, have been since the weekend. the only reason i even have the energy or motivation to post this is because i'm just out of a strange, half-delirious, codeine-induced sleep (which i will meet again very shortly).

so. i just wanted to post and say, happy anniversary, and that when i'm feeling better, i will post the special thing :).

and apologies for not being a good talkative friend this week... in any form.

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Lavin's originally opened in the town of Swinford in county Mayo on the wind swept west coast of Ireland in the year 1889. There it stood unchanged until 1998 when it began its journey to Providence. Now this wonderful example of a traditional shop bar is centerstage in Rí~Rá Providence.

Throughout the entire pub you will find items of antiquity and interest. The iron pillars at the entrance to the pub, for example, were part of the original steam driven machinery from the cotton mills in Drogheda, County Louth. They originate from the early 1800's. The parlor bar, c. 1850, was recovered from a Georgian property in Dublin that was gutted by fire in 1995.

Of particular interest is the stain glass panel in the gothic bar. Dating from the 1600's, it is an early example of glasswork. It has been re-leaded, but look closely and you will see that the glass is uneven and irregular in thickness. Glass at that time was blown and flattened by hand before it cooled. Also of interest in the gothic bar are the pillars and paneling that came from Belfast, c.1700's. (Look closely at the wood paneling in the gothic bar and you can see the shadow of the numbers that once hung on it are stained into the grain of the wood.)

No visit to Rí~Rá Providence is complete without a look at the authentic Dublin Harp, made by Egan's of Dawson St. With its fittings of brass and carvings decorated with the original gold leaf, it is believed that this harp was once played in the Irish National Symphony.

new icon day! :D
why??
because i received the terms in the mail (see this post)!
it's fantastic...
i plan on showing it to everyone who'll watch :).

I feel your eyes, on me
I look away, coquettishly
or perhaps, merely to avoid
your constant, darting stares
your presence, unavoidable
your fascination, unmistakable

I roll my eyes, wish you'd leave
but at the same time, wish you closer
I am torn between conflicting sides
of what to do with you
and perhaps you are, too
which may explain
our extended flirtation

have you ever known someone whose skin you could be in constant contact with and be quite happy?

"You ran off with my pen last night."
"No, I didn't! I gave it to Colin."

Man, he's stingy with the black. They haven't started yet. Boo. And so here I sit, wondering if I should edit. *off to edit*

"We can't have our regulars stranded. That would be bad for business."
"I could have stayed the night. That would have been good for business, no?"
"It wouldn't be the first time that's happened!"

letting settle the hair of the dog...
These 'tenders are good. They work in packs, the best of them. Or at least in pairs. They are teasing me with this music. Sporadically playing talking laughing in between don't you dare! Oh here we go the flow flow makes me think of the meadow I haven't seen fields for so long melody meadow mirth mist not in that order of course but close flow flow I don't know I don't know what this is supposed to evoke I just keep thinking of endless fields of green grass sheep munching away and the sea going swish swish along with it now what good is any of this if I keep quoting Butcher Boy and nothing more? Oy I mean och I need a break a drink.

"Writing again?? You've been writing non-stop since last week."

There are so many reasons to keep on the pen cap but it's just too restrictive - they try to talk to me I just wish I cared er could... because that's really all it tis - the half and half stares are me relentlessly, go climb a meadow! Please let our lady have mercy oh but she can't! Why not I say? Because that's not her job the disembodied voice says. I wish I was facing the other way I could you know it's not that difficult was that humming?

I wonder if it's a Sunday problem - what a miss out considering how kickin' this place is when mediocre cover bands are here but that's just cuz it's Saturday isn't it? I was just going to write hooray for blank pages but they're not blank anymore are they? At least this one isn't this is so inspiring or maybe it's just drunk.

What is it about attraction anyway? Sometimes it's pure lust based on the physical, sometimes it's spiritual, and sometimes you just want to know a person's innards, and when it's all three, whoa-ho, look out. Especially if they have a nice smile.

So EMPTY good lord it's kinda nice but sometimes one just wants to talk to someone oh my god did I just say that? Oh sure I could talk to C & C but they're busy working though humoring randomly coquettish, mental love-starved (ha-ha) customers is probably clearly stated in their job description, still! Exactly that. Boy this is depressing let's move on melody meadow milk crate? I am too cocky so I will probably not find one tonight.

Guinness Is Good For You. Guinness is a strange thing. It has to sit for a long time I wonder why ba-ba-ba-ba no that's not a sheep just me scatting to the meadow music my it's marvelous and forced alliteration is just unfortunate but accidental is nice I don't know if that flowed but I think somehow it did - oh look at me I am on a roll! For anything of worth or importance? Probably not but at least I have finally realized the vital importance of being earnest. I need to see that again, oh Colin, Firth that is, was that some weird connection or just misplaced precognition (presque vu!) yes I rather like to think it is.

I love this fucking place I am going to miss it perhaps more than anything even if it is a chain.

EVIL. just plain evil!
ditto.

I'm either fizzling or just in need of a break.
brake? ha ha!
groan...

Blue feet. That's gotta be worth something. Even if they aren't cerulean. I was just going to say quit breathing I mean talking youse bastards but then they started now they've stopped don't tease me!

Don't look at me. I am INVISIBLE with a capitol I.
You can go away now yeah I mean YOU!

Sitting down to pee, is a biological inadequacy.

Writing really does take away any extroversion I may have within me, somewhere...
and extroversion = social!

"The ladies will lead and the gents will follow...
a real life sort of thing."

Don't call me love unless you mean it, you bastard!
and suddenly he's heavy on the black!
I guess he knows I cannot get stranded tonight.

How they can create such flawless, beautiful music...

I wonder how set they are on making good tips?
What, i.e., would they do for them?! Hee...

I should come here the night before I leave.
I can't believe I'm leaving. What then? O, that's the horror of it. But it's also the beauty of it. Not knowing. Scares the shit out of me and yet it's all I want.

Man, they should market that shit.
I say to myself, no more.
"Ready for another one, love?"
And that's all's about it!

That was neat. Gave away my copy of Twisted Love. Someone noticed!
The dude just did a theatrical poem for me. It somehow went along to the music. "I am a McFlynn!" he said, that is the only key to his identity. The rest is a mystery. He ran off with my book leaving my empty in an Irish meadow - a meadow which the thrives on the beauty of not just people but of words... and not always conventional beauty. Whatever is allowed to be free, is whatever is allowed to experience their own perspective on beauty... in whatever form it may take. How inspiring! Quick encounters such as these, durations which continue onward, in different forms. How dare he interrupt my writing! I yelp as he interrupts my writing or perhaps my writing was just interrupted. Quick human interaction when one has no solid base, seems to be that much more significant. But I don't know. I've thought of that tonight. I've been at too many places for nights within the last week. Haven't been home since Tuesday - however many days ago that is - the pen going to the music I want my potato cakes what a sweetie he opened the gate - end

In the bathroom I was thinking, why do I want someone to share things with? I've done it on my own all along, haven't I? Then I though, wait, maybe that explains a lot. Because who was there to keep me from going insane? Something to ponder...

One of the musicians reminds of me Delaney. Aw, Delaney. What a doll, even if he did only want youth by association. Youth is usually a burden, when interplayed with those older. But not always.

"We try to keep is clean around here thank you very much."
"Don't you dare talk to me in that Gaelic brogue!"
I always feel so protective of people - I don't like that woman harassing my Corky.

But being introspective can be fun, too.
You just need to learn how to do it gracefully in public.

"You charged me for 4 of these, but I think this is 5."
"Oh, that's fine, I must have missed one. Very honest, though!"

Sometimes the beauty of this music makes me want to cry -
as of yet, I haven't quite figured out why.

They seem to know that I like to wait for the foam at the end to turn into liquid and then drink it. Otherwise, they're lazy.

"If you're gonna get cancer, get it from a natural cigarette, right?"

Whistle while you work, Corky ole boy!

I am still a bit hungover, so pardon the anticipated lack of rhyme or reason.

This is a good story. Promise.

Last night I went to the Mahers as promised, with a six-pack of Guinness. Siobhain and Dennis were there, as well as Siobhain's boyfriend Chris. The two were planning on going out, and we decided to go to Ri Ra (big shock (I think I'm suffering from Irish overload (if there is such a thing, ha!))) Anyway - one of Sean's ex-girlfriends, Melissa, came along with me. When we got there, it was insanely packed. Saturday night, cover band, $5 cover charge. A first for me. We snuck in the side door so we wouldn't have to pay. (Later, I went out to get my cloves and on the way back in, they'd locked the side door. I went to the front and told the guys, "I was just here, but the side door is locked." They let me back in without charging me :).)

We got our drinks - from, of course, my Two Favorite Bartenders - and tried to find seats. We couldn't, so we resumed our standing spots by the bar ("Whatever's closest to the booze!"). At one point, this guy came over to order a drink, and in the process brushed up against Melissa. He vehemently apologized - "I am so sorry, for whatever that was!" He said, "I'm not exactly sure what I brushed up against - don't tell me! I'll get red."

To which I replied, "You already are!" He covered his face and turned away in exaggerated embarrassment.

This brought about the introductions. His name was Bob, which, he said, was just his "stage name. He said he performed on bar tops to get the crowd going. Total bullshit, of course - and for that I immediately liked this guy.

We found a table and grabbed it, sans Bob. He kept coming up to us, though - and he sure was making the rounds. He admired my tattoo and did some silly moves emulating a dragonfly - "Is that part of your act" Eventually I made some actual conversation with him. He's from Long Island, here temporarily, here in town making a film with some brothers from Federal Hill. We talked about the biz and life and whatnot, and eventually he went back to making the rounds.

When I turned back to the table, Siobhain was giving me The Look. "What's up with Robert?" she asked. I shrugged.

It was a great night. I loved hanging out with them, especially, of course, Siobhain. As I wrote in the last entry - yeah, we're very different, but we also connect in many ways. We have similar senses of humor, and she brings out my female side, which has been dormant for how many years?

That's another thing. Because as much as a tomboy as I am, as often as I feel I was born into the wrong sex, the women thing has sometimes been working for me lately. And I don't mean the girl thing. I mean the female pheromone thing. It's the not shaving, I tell ya!

Back to Bob, as that sort of came up. He was talking to Melissa, and afterwards he came up to us and said, "She really turns on the girl thing, doesn't she?" "How do you mean?" I asked. He proceeded to demonstrate how she got really touchy-feely when talking to him. I laughed. "That's funny; I don't have that at all."

"No you don't!" he replied. "You're just yourself."

During an Irish drinking song, he pulled me off my seat after a few flirtations and dragged me around in some random dance. At the end he gave me a big hug :).

At the end of the band's set, me and Bob went outside for some air. I told him I knew a good spot - on the river.

Oh, wait - but before that. As the set was ending, I knew I wanted to get his phone number. I went up to the bar and asked Corky for a pen. As he gave me one and a sheet of receipt paper he said, "Writing again, are you?"

Outside with Bob, all I had was the pen and paper. My shoes and cloves were back at the table. These are important details, I promise.

So Bob and I sat by the river and talked a bit. Goofed off, had an ice-spitting content, the whole slam. Shortly I said, "We should probably head back." Siobhain had mentioned needing to be back, because she had to work at 6:30. I felt bad running off, so I didn't want to stay out of sight for too long. On the way back, I got his phone number. He said he hoped to hear from me and we parted at the door. He ran off to the Biltmore and I ran into a brightly lit, quickly emptying Ri Ra in the process of being cleaned.

They weren't at the table. Neither were my shoes or cigarettes. I looked all around, outside. Their car was gone. "Oh, shit," I thought. I wandered back into Ri Ra. (What was terribly amusing is that I live a 10-minute walk from Ri Ra, but my stuff was in Warwick, which is 20 minutes away and I'm staying in Rockville, which is an hour away.)

Colin asked as I approached him, "Coming tomorrow night?"

"Of course!" I smiled and told him my "however I have a problem" story.

He said, call a cab? I said, they have my money. He said he'd give me the fare, granted I'd pay him back tomorrow. "Oh, thank you, thank you." With his $20 in hand, I took off for the Biltmore. How lucky I am to be a regular, eh!

I hopped into a cab. He got me there for $14. I kept laughing at my situation. He joined in on the laughter when I told him.

The pheromone thing, I'm telling ya. A regular damsel in distress. While searching outside, some guys in a truck asked me where the party was. In the cab, some other guy in a van motioned for me to come and join him. At first I thought, maybe I know him, but then I knew I didn't so it was pretty weird. Then the cab driver started saying some subtle shit (wow, that was good alliteration.) This is probably not a big deal for most women, especially if you're dressed like one (which I'm not usually, but I happened to have been!). But - I never get that. Ever. And like I said, lately it's been working for me. Now the next step is attracting someone who doesn't just ask me where the party is ;).

When I got back, Chris and Dennis were up. Apparently, I'd been at the river with Bob a helluva lot longer than I thought. But they took my cloves and my shoes and my bag, which had been in the car.

I still had the paper. I'd given the pen back to Colin.

At that point, I wasn't at all tired. It was about 2:30. We all had another drink in the basement, talked, saw 4 a.m., and crashed. I awoke at nine, and no one was up. I got my stuff and drove back to Rockville.

I am waiting to go to Ri Ra. It's Sunday night, and I promised Colin I would pay him back.

The nights, they just keep getting more interesting. If this keeps up I'm going to have a full social life just in time for me to leave the state.

I've wanted to write, but have not had much time. And now that I do, I don't know what to say. I had some ideas for entries - more philosophical, retrospective things than the usual mental ramblings - but they have all escaped me. I am thinking of last night, though. My mom and I went out for sushi, and afterwards decided to call the Mahers. Siobhain picked up. So weird to hear her voice. Such a hardcore RI accent, I never noticed before. Then again, I hadn't talked to her in five years. And before that another five years.

They had moved, around the time I last saw them, and she gave me directions. My mom had her car, I had Kerry and Laird's Jeep. When we got there, Trudy was at the door to greet us. Then, Dennis. They look the absolute same - a bit older, but that's it. Dennis still hasn't lost even a touch of his brogue - which was comforting and nostalgic. Siobhain came out as we went inside. After hug and "good to see you" exchanges, we settled down to talk. Dennis, very proud of his basement/bar, showed it to me. After our initial hug and cheek peck, he asked me how old I was now. "21." This brought forth a second, more vehement hug and peck. Downstairs, he told me he was just leaving for work, but that we ought to come and visit when he was free - Friday or Saturday.

Okay, then we settled down to talk. But not before the half and halfs. I wasn't going to have any but saw they had Harp and immediately my small amount of self-control evanesced! I was feeling like shit, though, and didn't have too much because I knew I had to drive back to CT. But I had enough to relax, not be in tremendous pain, and smoke several of my mom's cigarettes.

But relaxing, that's almost mandatory there. Still, years later and in a different house, I felt just at home as I did for so long, so long ago, after the initial re-welcoming. The Guinness coupled with this found me saying things I normally wouldn't think of or just normally wouldn't say. It found me fully in the moment, contemplating or analyzing little, just enjoying the company of and reminiscing with the two women members of the family who, fifteen years ago, adopted me as one of their own and with whom I spent some of my happiest moments.

It is great to have people like that. People one has known for so long and was so close to and even though that was years, lifetimes ago, one can always see them again and pick up right where they left off. Friends for life, indeed. Real family. Not by blood, but by a bond much stronger.

And often, with people one wouldn't think one would connect with if they met now. Siobhain, for example. When we were kids we were inseparable. I moved away and we kept in touch sporadically, and life found us on very different paths, and as very different people. I don't know what would pass between us now if we met for the first time - perhaps nothing. And, as she is stranger to me in many ways, our interacting has taught me how to get along with someone so different. And not just get along, as in hold a polite conversation with - I mean really connect with, really understand. That is difficult for me, especially lately, being so absorbed in my own path. So this was a great lesson, one I will possibly always refer to.

And now, I am at the home of other "friends for life" - the Hoppers. I grew up with them, and now their kids - especially Roseanna - are growing up with me, and I will always be in her life, in some form or another, as her parents were for me, as the Mahers were. Even if I am leaving for the next few years, I will make sure she knows that I will always be there for her.

Lord, this sounds so sappy! But I can't help it. During a time when I need support, even if it's indirect, I am getting it from sometimes the unlikeliest of places. And even if it isn't present in my every day life, the knowledge of it will always be within me.

And sometimes... sometimes people who are only in one's life for a short period of time, and very distantly at that, still manage to have a tremendous effect on one.

But that's another story entirely and I'm not ready to give credit for that just yet.

evil. just plain evil.
grrrrrrr...

sure, i could quote some intelligent voice of dissent amongst the ruckus that is the aftermath of 9/11, but sometimes it's just fun to laugh at flag-bearin', gun-totin', SUV-drivin' americans.

"As I read of the plans for rebuilding on the site where the World Trade Center stood, I wondered what has happened to the American spirit that built those magnificant structures. I hope it is not a casualty of the terrorists' attack. My vision is for a single, taller, 125-story tower. The top floor could be a special, quiet shrine, closer than even the Twin Towers were to heaven. This idea would honor the memories of all involved, within the framework of a true rebirth of a financial powerhouse. Come on, New York, come on, America. It is time to rebuild bigger and better than before!"

--Steve Gonto, Savannah, Ga. (big shock there), Time, June 14 02, Letters

"I was all twiggy that night."

. . . .

Music music what's Philip Nugent got to do with music nothing that's what - OMG it's Midget it's Francie Brady picking up my bartender that bastard what's he got that I haven't got nothing that's what. The pen somehow goes to the beat of the music something interrupts me it's Corky! Oh, that bastard too much distraction Jesus Christ - tap tap tap, on my - clap clap clap, never mind what they say I'll write about I won't be able to read this manana. STOP TALKING ABOUT ME - never ending bollocks it just never ends... never.

. . . .

"She doesn't even flinch."
"She has nothing left to fear."

. . . .

The music pursues how does she do it I do not know I try it's your turn, she says ha-ha, I say and then I try. "He is imtimidated by your writing." Oh yes, the memories of Stone Crow writing on tab paper. Where is Corky? I miss him. I like him - "oh what did she write only a paragraph" - not too much considering what I could write given the circumstances TIS MY ONE TALENT my only perhaps, I ought to change that I'd really like to be able to talk to people better what for? Only for writing of course. I wish he'd come back before she does because I'd really like to talk to him more not a writer so much but I see a lot of potential but maybe that's just the whole attraction thing as Midget says or maybe it's just the accent ha-ha that's fairly lame. Where has she gone off to to find another milk crate perhaps? Milk crates are fantastic. And I wonder if they are good footage I mean material. And guess what? That's all she wrote for now.

. . . .

"What you do behind your door is your own business."

. . . .

Go raibh maith agat agus slan abhaile.

by evan dorkin

for the last lifetime, i have been used to writing of the torment and turmoils of daily but mostly emotional, external but mostly internal, life.

now that i'm leaving that life behind, moving into the horizon where the sun shines and darkness does not reign, i will have to get used to writing about more pleasant things.

because pleasant things, properly conveyed, can be just as interesting and as satisfying to read and to write as nasty things.

stephen king, justifying the release of the complete and uncut edition of the stand in 1991.

If all of the story is there, one might ask, then why bother? Isn't it just indulgence after all? It better not be; if it is, then I have spent a large portion of my life wasting my time. As it happens, I think that in really good stories, the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts. If that were not so, the following would be a perfectly acceptable version of "Hansel and Gretel":

Hansel and Gretel were two children with a nice father and a nice mother. The nice mother died, and the father married a bitch. The bitch wanted the kids out of the way so she'd have more money to spend on herself. She bullied her spineless, soft-headed hubby into taking Hansel and Gretel into the woods and killing them. The kids' father relented at the last moment, allowing them to live so they could starve to death in the woods instead of dying quickly and mercifully at the blade of his knife. While they were wandering around, they found a house made out of candy. It was owned by a witch who was into cannibalism. She locked them up and told them that when they were good and fat, she was going to eat them. But the kids got the best of her. Hansel shoved her into her own oven. They found the witch's treasure, and they must have found a map, too, because they eventually arrived home. When they got there, Dad gave the bitch the boot and they lived happily ever after. The End.

I don't know what you think, but for me, that version's a loser. The story is there, but it's not elegant. It's like the Cadillac with the chrome stripped off and the paint sanded down to dull metal. It goes somewhere, but it ain't, you know, boss.

something very strange happened today.
i sort of feeling like talking about it, but not quite like articulating.
i might write of it, but i don't know.
i'd make it a friends-only post, because it's not something just anyone should be able to read.
but i just wanted to let you know that - something very strange happened today.

last night i saw the importance of being earnest at cable car.
i love oscar wilde :)