and so it is

June is a very special month for the Murray family because so very many of us, nearly half actually, celebrate our birthdays.

Today is Heather's birthday and she enters that magical target market of twenty something. That age where you graduate university, travel the world, (hypothetically) find your first of four careers, quit it, start the second and prepare to quit it, and (hypothetically) move out of your parents house for the fourth and final time.

Let's remember that those last two are hypothetical and everyone moves at their own pace.

Good luck with your pace Heavier, and make sure to keep a reasonable pace tonight.

Today is Victoria's younger brother's graduation party. Sweden (by the way I have been in Sweden for three days now) is lovely and reminds me, and the other four Canadian's with me, of Canada because it has lots of tree's, lakes and signs telling you that there is a high chance of a deer, moose or elk crossing out in front of you.

Lots of love,

--bbb

Flying

Yesterday, I went flying.

in an airplane.

One of the English teachers at the school that I work at's husband took me flying yesterday in his airplane. Its a 4 seater and so quite small and some would say scary but I say awesome.

We flew over the region of Bourgogne in France (which i think is burgundy in english, but i could be wrong)

It was awesome.

The airport itself was quite an interesting experience. Because Roger (I call him Rog) is well known at this airport (which is on a military base) we didnt have to go thru security or anything. There was a French woman running the ground control wearing a very tight short skirt and an orange reflecter jacket and heels. Her job was to tell us when it was okay to take off. Now, im not sure if it was just this particular day that she decided to wear heels or if she wears heels every day but it didnt seem very practical (or smart for that matter) for her to be wearing these heels. I felt sorry for her because she looked so awkward trying to do her job properly.

Anyways, the flying part was so great. We werent able to see the Swiss alps because it was too cloudy but was still pretty great.

your franco

my age

I am going to tell you a story that is both embarrasing and funny. The story is too god not to tell even though I will be the one and only person who will be embarrased.

The other day, Jenn and I were getting our lunch in the cafeteria, as we had done every day before then and continued to do until we both stopped working there.

In the caf, Jenn is in their computer system but I am not. I think its because I arrived a bit later and no one bothered to put me into the system. It doesnt really matter though because our meals are free but I guess they do it just to keep track of how much we eat. Normally, they check what Jenn gets and put it in the system but they dont bother checking to see what I get to eat because they cant be bothered to put me into the system. they know that we are both language assistants. Its always the same lady working the cash and she and I just smile at each other and I go eat my fantastic lunch (which is the highlight of my day every day)

This particular day, the one that was really embarrasing, there was a different lady working the cash and apparently she was unaware of the "smile and i go eat my lunch" routine. Now, before I could explain anything, the lady working the cash told me that i was only allowed to take 3 items (they consider them desserts, but i consider them apple sauce, yogurt and fruit and not desserts) and I had taken 4.. (i was hungry and i dont get to eat again until 9pm and this is just awful in Mandy world) I explained that I was a language assistant and I didnt know about this rule.. and she asked me if i was in the system and i said "non" and then finally the normal cash lady came over and we smiled at each other and i went to eat my fantastic lunch.

that is not the embarrasing part.

We were explaining what had happended to another teacher and he had said that the younger students who are in grade 4-8 are only allowed to take 3 items. SO, it seems that this cash lady thought I was in grade 8. Im 25.

People normally think that I look younger than I am but not that young.. whenever I am out with my sisters, people usually think that at least 2 of them are older than me but really, im the oldest (and i may or may not be the shortest..)

I was so embarrased.

your franco, Mandy

its my birthday

i know it is not my day to post but i give myself permission because its my birthday and i think its within my rights.

Happy Unbirthday (BONNE unANNIVERSAIRE) to the rest of you.

your francophone, Mandy

THE french meal

On Saturday, I went to Salins-des-bains with an English teacher from the school that I work at and her husband. This town is about an hour away from Dijon and we were going to her friends place for lunch. I was looking forward to it because it was going to get me out of Dijon and i was not looking forward to it because eating a true French meal is extremely stressful. It is stressful for a number of reasons, all of which I will talk about in this post.
Stress #1 Meeting new French people in general
Whenever you meet a new French person, they always do a bisoux, which is a kiss on either cheek. You might be thinking that this cannot possibly be a very stressful situation. WRONG. First of all, as an Anglophone, bisoux are foreign to me. Also: having someone up in your grill takes some getting used to. Also: i have just come to realize that if you are female and you are giving a bisou to a male, you start on the left cheek. I learned this on Saturday. (im not sure what happens when a female gives a bisoux to a female.. i have yet to figure that one out) BUT: before Saturday, i had no idea that females were supposed to start on the left and im sure i have been doing it wrong and offended French people everywhere.
Stress #2 The apperatif
French people usually have an alcoholic drink before the meal. This is also stressful because you have to make sure you a) do not start drinking before anyone else (been there, done that, got the weird look) b) you drink JUST as fast but NOT faster than anyone else (you should keep your eye on the other females, do not go sip for sip with the males) and c) you do not finish your drink too early so that they offer you another one because normally the drinks are either 1° too strong or 2° not yummy.
Stress #3 Snacking before the meal
Along with the apperatif, French people also have little nibbly snack foods before the meal. Because i am normally famished by the time we eat (we eat dinner at 830 or 9 and by then ive already been hungry for about 3 hours..) i really have to watch myself because its rude if you snack TOO much or take TOO much food at one time.
Stress #4 The bread
During the actual meal when you are finally sitting down to eat, there is always bread available (which you have to take because all French people bread with every meal) The bread is not supposed to be put on your plate. You are supposed to put the bread on the table. This took me a good solid week to notice that during meals at my host familys house, I was the only one who put my bread on my plate.
Stress #5 The cutlery
You have to pay attention to the other guests to make sure you are using the same forks from the same spots at the same time as they are. Once you pick up the cutlery you aren’t supposed to put it on the table, you are supposed to put it on your plate.
Stress #6 The conversation
This is the most stressful because as a foreigner, you need to make sure you pay attention to everything that is said throughout the entire meal. You cannot tune anything out. When you are sitting at a table and people are speaking your first language, you can zone in and out on conversation but your mind is usually aware of what is being said and if asked a question, you can answer it easily because you were kind of but kind of not listening. This does not work the same way if you are working in a different language. You have to be 100% on your game 100% of the time. You cannot let anything go by that you do not understand because of course, as fate would have it, a French person will ask you a question about the one word that you did not understand and you will have to say uhhhhh, comment? ( uhhhh, What?) And have a blank look on your face like you weren’t paying attention. I have done this many a times and its not fun because then you look like someone who doesn’t care about what is being discussed.. So, I have gotten into the habit of never letting anything go by that I do not understand and this has worked very well because a) you no longer look like an idiot and b) you learn new vocabulary.
So, now you can see why these French dinners, while very nice, are also very stressful.
I got into the car at the end of the lunch (which took 2.5hrs) with a huge headache.

Your francophone, Mandy

Read

With Mands back writing on salutmaman I need to be more aware of the space I am using. Much like picking my socks up off the floor, which i rarely do anyways, I have had another look at the junk I've had in the column for the duration of my stay. I had a chat with myself the other day about this sort of thing and discovered, much to both our surprise, that it turned out to be a constructive conversation.

However, neither of us can remember what it was we said to myself so I cannot share with you what happened. Regardless, the book list has been moved to an undisclosed location that you can find on your own if you are motivated, knowledgeable on the location of my blogger profile or if, in the very unlikely case (which would trump any of the above circumstances), you care at all what I've read while being on the road.

what has happened, and something i am very excited about, is i've finally taken a bite out of my on deck reading list. I mentioned this a few days ago so i won't talk about it again. What did I miss, however, was the link to the young woman who traded me the book. She is writing her travel blog at letsgothere-italia. follow this link.

Used book shops are a new favourite place for me to browse through. I can hang out for hours, picking through the selection and people watching those people picking through the selection. The other day, however, I was in the shop on my way to work which I was likely late for, either that or just eager to sit and read over a coffee before getting to work, and I asked for a bit of help. I was looking for a particular author, Kundera, but couldn't find him because i didn't know his name; I only knew he had wrote Unbearable Lightness of Being.

I was holding a book by Alex Garland, author of The Beach which I had found quickly and quite by accident. But attendant Jane knew his name and where to find one and making a point to point out I "was really branching out with my authors." I smiled at her sarcasm while Dad's bit about sarcasm being the mer babbling of a diseased mind reverberated through mine.

"any suggestions?" I asked, knowing she would. Not just because she worked a book store but because she had read Lightness and thus I respected her opinion.
"have you read zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance?" I hadn't but vaguely remembered at some point having told Dad that he should read it. "i think we even have one."

They did. So I put down Garland's novel, "Kundera is a better writer; at least in my opinion," and since I respect that I now have three books on the go.

Oh woe is me.

I am going to go read.

Murphy's Law

"i hate morphine” says alan
“you what?” says i
“i hate morphine” says alan again. “the man of the law. he always say the lane you are not in moves faster. Morphie is such a jerk for being right.”

traffic was moving very slow as our trek back to Cork began early that morning. We were set to be in Dublin by noon, however the que for the motorway was out to prove our scheduling wrong. nevertheless we were kept occupied with discussions of the difficulties of learning new languages and being misunderstood when using words like fork, sheet and beach.

“i have to write this down”
“why? are you writing a book?”
“not that i know of. and i am just writing it down because i think it is funny. do you mind if i write it down?”
“i don't give two sheets. do what you like”
“i won't be able to write that down though.”
“sure you can. only do not tell your maman it was me.”

we got back into cork about half an hour late for my shift at the Shel (by the way i am back working at the Shel part time) which wasn't a problem. As Alan sped along the motorway I said there wasn't any sense in getting a ticket he wasn't going to pay because "it wasn't like i was late for a wedding or an exam, it was only work and work would be there regardless of how many cars we passed". The patrons had much to raz me for when i got there, but a few cleverly passed quips about cutting them off had them in stitches and moved the conversation quickly to an overview of my road trip and finnaly settle on the weather.

Moving...

Hello, I am also not really going to be funny today. I dont have anything funny to report. I just have news.

I am officially done teachers college which is very exciting. It has taken a bit of effort, but I am finally done.

I have also moved houses. I am now living with the principal of the school that I am teaching at. This is going well as I have a whole floor to myself. This living arrangement also allows me practice my french more because it is just her and I in the house so I have to actively participate in the conversation instead of just listening. Im staying in Dijon for another 10 days or so and then meeting up with Sean and travelling around Italy.

So thats about all I have to report. That and it has rainged every day since I got here and I'm getting very sick of it.

your francophone, Mandy

Dear Mandy

Thank you for correcting me. Again. As well, I know you are not in the banner but I do promise that I will change the photo as soon as my italian friend Alan (whom you will hear more about on Thursday) comes to my house and lets me use his photoshop. However, for that day to be successful I need you to send me some photo's that I can use. Otherwise I will use the one of you when you were six with those pink glasses on. you know, the ones you tricked your eye doctor into thinking you needed.

cheers,

--bbb

back in Co. Cork

“can i get a bottle of water please?”

so often i've set out to find internet connection and felt obligated to get a coffee. something seemed more right about having a coffee next to me while jotting out ideas.

but the bottle she hands me doesn't have enough in it to brush my teeth.

“do you have anything in extra-large?”

her confused look is quickly replaced with one of understanding. she hands me bigger one, but it comes with a cost. i could have bought a round of drinks for seven in Sicily for that price i think for a moment.

“you wouldn't happen to have wireless, would you?”
“no, not here. but you can try to steel from next door, it sometimes works. the password is vibes.”

the long and the short of my life currently is that i am, despite what the banner might advertise, back in Cork. I am back at work at the Shel and I am back in my bed. I am back to staying up until six in the morning and back to getting up at noon. I am back, and I am ready to move again.

As luck would have it I have a week in Sweden booked from the 10th to the 17th. And, as Mandy said before, in France sometime in July. In a few moments I am meeting with a friend for another lesson in Swedish, she finishes work in ... now and today I am going to learn the answer to Hur Mon Dur ... which means, how are you.

I hope you are all ready for the upcoming swedish lessons.

Reading update: I traded On The Road for The Kite Runner which I have since traded for Anne Frank. A very special thank you to whom ever told me to read Kite Runner, I enjoyed it and read it very quickly; not to mention thank you to the lovely young woman you made the trade with me. You can read more about her by clicking here to get to her travel blog.

I apologize for not being funny today, i hope to make up for it soon.

(the internet decided not to work and my swedish lesson decided to be postponed)

ciao,

--bbb

to get fat/to snore

The other day, I decided to spend the afternoon in a park. Because it was finally not raining, I felt I should get outside and do something.

I brought my french book, my english book, my water bottle and my blanket. I couldn't decide what book to read when I got there so instead I took a nap. for an hour and a half.

Now, I have this habit when I'm asleep in public places to snore. I have woken myself up on buses before. It's very very very embarrasing. So, in true Mandy Murray fashion, I was in full form that afternoon. I woke myself up snoring. talk about embarrasing.

I was telling the girl that I live with that I fell asleep in the park and that I started snoring. The word that I thought was snoring in french is gonffler. Turns out that means to get fat. So, instead of telling Emmanuel that I was snoring in the park, I told her I was getting fat in the park.

The french word for snoring is ronffler not gonffler.

de la classe. very classy.

your francophone, Mandy

so here's the story

i got back into ireland two days ago at nearly midnight. dublin was as rainy and cold as the pilot had promised us it would have been just prior to our departure from Trapani airport in Sicily. I had a small burst of laughter when he made his announcement. apparently i was the only person on board who found humour in his irony.

although i am sure he was not intentionally ironic.

i am back in cork with a cup of coffee, a pad of paper and surrounded by the sent of ireland. the nostalgia nearly knocked me over as i entered the pub. sounds and smells i had long forgotten battled for significance and recognition. it was if i was walking into the bar in stratford, the one i worked so many years ago, on a weekday morning. the left over smells of the night before mixed with the residue of lemons and limes of the morning cleaning crew. a few tables are occupied by some afternoon risers that appear to have arisen in the spot they are in having only left the table through in their dreams.

working a morning shift at the bar in stratford had a way of making me feel out of place. i never discussed it with anyone, and really never thought much of it. in fact, i don't think i even understood it until i entered this pub today. the sights and sounds i recognized, but it was the time of day that didn't make sense. a place the i knew well and at the same time unwelcome.


i've been thrown back into a mix of weather and smells and sights and sounds that i know and recognize and understand and yet, and yet they almost don't feel quite right.

it is amazing how difficult it is adjusting to a new culture a second time

Dear --b,

your last post had a few mistakes that I would like to tune you into.

1) you never dryed (dried?) the dishes. Leanne always dryed (dried?).

2) We fought pretty much non-stop when we were both living at home.
The reasons we fought are two fold.

a) we have very similar personalities (but I'm the better looking one) and
b) you always being wrong and me having to correct you and you (for some reason) not liking that I was correcting you.

3)This guy that you speak of does not know that you stalked him on facebook.
This isnt really a mistake but more of an insight.

your welcome for correcting you.

--b and I are going to be meeting up in July in Paris, staying there with old roommates of mine and then travelling to London, England and back to France so that --b can learn some French and so that I can correct him again. I'm looking forward to it.

your francophone, Mandy

Canadian provinces

Today, I taught a class on the provinces in Canada. You would think this would have been an easy task for someone with 2 degrees.

WRONG.

I was going along fine, telling them where the provinces and the capitals were and a little bit about each province... the limited amount of info that i know about my own country.. but then, I got to Manitoba/Winnipeg. Ever since i was 7 or whatever the age is that you start learning about the provinces in Canada, i have always confused Manitoba and Winnipeg... and even now, after teaching two lessons on it.. I am unclear as to which one is the province and which one is the capital. Good thing I had my cheat sheet in front of me.. now, the thing about the cheat sheet is that you have to have the right answers on it. Of course, the first time I taught the class, I had that Manitoba was the capital and Winnipeg was the province. That’s apparently not right. MANITOBA is the province and WINNIPEG is the capital.

Wow. My two degrees are coming in handy. Wow.

I also taught a class on the Canadian Government which I am now an expert on. Who is the governor general? Well, I’m really glad you asked that question. Especially since I know the answer. It’s Michaelle Jean. Duh. Didn’t you know?

Jenn taught a class on Saskatchewan. The where-its-at province.
How many lakes are there in Saskatchewan? Great question. There are 105 lakes in Saskatchewan? Don’t confuse that the number 105 with 106 or 104 because one would be too many and one would be too less.

There are a lot of things going on in Saskatchewan that I’m sure you are unaware of. And, if you ever get to sit down with Jenn, she’ll tell you all about them. I on the other hand have not been asked to do a class on Saskatchewan so I’m just as much in the dark about the great mystery that is Saskatchewan as you are.

Your francophone, Mandy

Staff Meeting

When Mands and I were younger we used to wash dishes together, or rather next to each other. In fact, she did the washing and I would push her and poke her until she turned and shoved me across the room. I was supposed to be drying but the by the time i collected myself off the floor the dishes would have dried themselves and the family would have been off to bed. I think we've come a long way since then. However now we have continental Europe to share instead of the kitchen sink. Also, I am on my own island.

Dad is so very proud of the both of us.

Salut Maman had a staff meeting yesterday. Well, in fact we had a staff meeting two days ago, but we had another one yesterday. for the purposes of this story we had our meeting yesterday because i am the one writing and i am the one who can frame this story as i please.

we talked on end about several things, like how there was a new boy in her life and i hadn't met him nor seen a picture of him. which, of course, led us to browse each other's various online profiles and various online photo galleries. an hour and a half later we settled down to cover the various agenda items we would inevitably never get to.

In the end we decided that she would post on the even days and I would post on the odd days. thanks for tuning in, i am off to Galway today.

sub-clause 23: co-writer may post on non-designated days on special occasions including birthdays, anniversaries, graduations and tuesdays.

Horse Racing (concours des chevaux)

Horse racing is apparently very big in France. Who knew?

On Saturday, I went with my host family to watch the horse races not far from Dijon. There were two different competitions going on and both were very interesting. I’ve never seen horse races before and certainly not in French and so it was a whole new experience for me. The announcer sounded like an auctioneer and I found this quite amusing (maron en francais) because auctioneers are usually hard to understand in English, let alone when they are speaking in French. It was quite drole. I knew that my friend Jacquie would have thoroughly enjoyed this day. Jacquie competitively rides horses. So, we saw two different competitions (concours en francais). One was the hurdles and the other was a course. The horses were apparently especially fast this year (so says my host dad) I obviously had no idea if this was true or not and wasn’t about to argue with him especially since he is a very strict no nonsense man. I met him for the first time on Friday night (I have been here since Monday) He works 70 hours a week and doesn’t work on the weekend so he’s apparently very busy. So, if he says that the horses are especially fast this year than I'm going to agree with him. We spent the day watching these massive animals being told what to do by the riders.

It was "assez impressionante"

your francophone, Mandy

Crossing Italian Roads 101

1. Forget everything you were taught in preschool, or if you are from small town rural Ontario like myself, grade nine orientation hosted by Mr. Hurley. Ms Joanne may have made some interesting points about looking both ways and holding a grownups hand (not to mention putting it to a rhyme of some sort that i will only remember when Neil comes home from his first week of nursery school reciting it over and over again). Trust me when i tell you that those ingrained rules will only slow you down. Italian drivers appear to take pride in scaring rookie pedestrians; if you look new you're worth more for their scorecard.

2. Find a zebra crossing. If you don't know what a zebra crossing is you can ask Paul McCartney. If you don't know who he is or why he might know try your parents record collection, or your younger brothers collection for that matter, or your lanky red headed ex-roomates wall for the Abbey Road picture. If you still don't know what I am talking about it is likely that you cannot read english and should have that checked out before crossing any road at any point with, or without, a given animal as our guide.

3. remember what it was i was talking about in the first place and get me back on track.

4. standing at the zebra crossing, staring straight ahead, take a step out into the street and keep walking. not faster or slower, but maintain the same semi hurried pace of those around you. Keep your eyes straight ahead as much as you can. This will help keep your eyes on the target destination as well as keep your eyes from drifting upwards while you gawk at the pretty buildings. Looking up means you are a tourist and thus worth more points.

5. Kiss the footpath that you've just made it to. Well done, you're now a licensed Italian and understand a very important part of their culture. A part it took me two months to learn, but only moments to forget.

... but that story's for another day.

“Le Foot” (Soccer)

On Thurs night, Jenn and I played soccer with about 8 male teachers from another high school. Talk about intimidating. Jenn and I were the only girls that played. Jenn used to play varsity soccer for Laurier and so she’s very good. I, on the other hand, am very average. I’m an alright soccer player. So, Jenn has played with them before and so they all know her very well and I come in, as the new girl, scared out of my mind but determined to not only play but play well. They automatically assume that I am as good as Jenn (which i’m obviously not..) I end up holding my own and learning a whole new set of vocab words around playing a sport. I even scored a goal!!
After our soccer (le foot en français) game, we went back to another teacher’s house from the same high school to eat and have a few drinks. It was a really good night.

your francophone, Mandy

Being French

I know that i’ve written about this before, but being in France is so great. These people really know how to live. No one ever works more than 35 hrs a week (except for my host dad that I will tell you about later) This means that, because they only work 35 hours a week, they have time in the middle of the afternoon to take 2 hr lunches (because they know how to live). This also means that in the afternoon, the restaurants are packed with people sitting outside watching the foot traffic and having a cafe or a beer. Jenn and I went down to a cafe to have a beer and the place was packed. So, we sat down being very french and say beside each other outside to watch the foot traffic. Being French also means eating crepes. I finally had my first crepe of the season the other day and it was delicious (crepe au nutella). I never eat nutella at home but for some reason, when I get to France, all i want to do is eat nutella crepes, eh Dominique?!? The crepe was just as amazing as I remembered. Being French also means actually have a good H&M to shop in. So, of course, I did that as well.

your francophone, Mandy

French School System

I started observing classes at the high school last Tuesday. Their school system is soo different than ours. They take school very seriously. No one ever goes to the washroom during class, no one ever asks to leave, no one ever forgets their books and if they do, the teacher gets very upset with them and they will never do it again. They always have their homework done and if, by chance, they don’t.. the teacher yells at them and they never forget to do their homework again. At the end of their high school career, they have to take a country wide test to make sure that they are at certain level to continue on in university. This test is very stressful and quite a few people fail.

The other day, Jenn (who is also doing her internship for teacher’s college in Dijon) and I were observing a French class where the teacher is especially strict when it comes to homework. Not only do the students have to have their homework done but it has to be neat. The title of the homework has to be underlined and the title has to be capitalized. She went around and checked homework at the beginning of the class and there was a student who didn’t have their homework done and the teacher asked the students if he thought she was an idiot. She gave him an afternoon’s worth of detentions and went on with the class. Later on in the class she realized that the same student and the student beside him didn’t have their books with them in class. She asked them why they didn’t have their books and they replied that the one boy has lost his book and so the boy who didn’t have his homework done at the beginning of class had lent him his book. The boy who had borrowed the book had left the borrowed book at home by accident and so that left them both without a book. The teacher gave the boy who didn’t have his homework done and who had lent the other boy his book another detention (an afternoon’s worth) because he was stupid enough to lend someone a book and not ask for it back.

It was pretty intense.

your francophone, Mandy

Paris cont'd

While i was still in Toronto, comme d’habitude (like usual) I ended up taking things out of my huge suitcase and putting it into a self created box (Leanne created it).. i wasn’t sure if i was going to end up with all of my things that were in this box in Paris and so i was very relieved when i saw the box coming down the conveyor belt in Paris.. Leanne had written "if you find me, please return me to rr #5 seaforth.." and i was watching the other people reading this on the box as it was coming down the conveyor belt and laughing with their friends. I created quite the entertainment.
There was a man waiting for me from the organization that i went with when i arrived and i was so glad to see him.. last time i arrived in paris, it was not as easy. He grabbed my suitcase, and put it in his car and drove me to the hotel where the other lady from the organization was.. i was able to shower/nap and felt refreshed by the time i got on the train in Paris to Dijon.

When I got off the train station in Dijon, there were two women waiting for me (they had my name on a piece of paper AMANDA MURRAY just like my family does when I get off the train in Stratford) One woman is the principal of the school that Im working at and the other one was the woman who i was going to be staying with.. I was originally supposed to be staying at the principal of the schools house but that got changed and i was now living with this new woman and her 4 kids.. there are actually 7 kids in the fam but only 4 of them at the house right now.. so, she takes me to my new home and i meet the other kids who are really cute and very French. There is a girl who is 18 and she lives across the hall from me and the two of us share a bathroom. There is a son who is 21 and then twins who are 12. The twins asked me a million and one questions about Canada and spoke way too fast but they are so cute.

I will continue avec mes aventures demain but right now, i need to go to bed : )

Your francophone, Mandy

is this going to work?

bbb,

how are we going to make this work? are we going to write on the same blog?

ps, i arrived at my final destination which is Dijon, France. Im living with a family with 7 kids so its going to be quite the experience.. I start my first day of work tomorrow at the local school teaching english.. I dont think I could have packed more into the last 4 days. So far everything has run very smoothly and i have no reason to think that tomorrow will not be the same.

your francophone,

Mandy

Tears that Tear

if i could talk a bit about the pianoforte i think i could go to sleep a happy camper.

there is an instrument called a harpischord. a musician presses on a series of keys that trigger a mechanisim that plucks a series of strings; one key for every string. this might sound familiar to some of you.

the instrument is the grandfather to what we know as a piano; a name that we take from the italian name for the same instrument: pianoforte. Piano e italiano e softly or slowly or take it easy; forte e italiano e strong, hard or forceful. It gets it's name because it's grandfather, the harpsichord, had only one way to play it. no matter what amount of pressure was applied to the key, the mechanism would always play the same strength of tone. The pianoforte allows for the musician to control the sound the string makes by the pressure applied to the key. Thus playing the instrument piano e forte, softly or with strength and many imbetween.

There was a pianist I went to see in Napoles. He was a friend of my host and was playing at a small bar one of the nights i was in town. It was small, very small. We arrived earily enough to get a seat, several people arrived early enough to get standing room and others arrived early enough to sit on the laps of some of those who had arrived earlier. i was not of the arrived earlier crowd, i was of the early enough.

Pianoforte took his seat on stage. He wore a dark shirt, a dark scarf, a dark beard and dark hair long enough to tuck behind his ear and complete the personication of musical tallent; and his stereotypical get up did not disapoint. He was flanked by a large black woman with the voice of two large black women who i realized shortly into the set was a petite, white, italian woman of about my age perched on a stool. They played and played and sang and sang.

Accompaning the duo was a violinist who played beautifully when she wasn't positioning her microphone and a guitarist who gave his guitar to a girl seated next to him exchange for her number. She didn't look like she wanted to be a part of either. This was all well and good because Pianoforte and large black white girl were tearing the roof off while i teared up in the front row.

They played until three am and then we went for caffe. This is what Napolian do, and who was I to argue with good music and caffinated beverages.

le commencement

I'm not really sure how this is going to work. I am going to try to contribute to this blog because I am now en route to France to start an internship. Brad and I will be writing on the same blog (I think?!?!) is that how this is going to work, brad? i'm sure but i know that by the next time I write, Brad will have figured something out, changed everything around but hopefully he won't change the password so that i can continue writing.

So, this is my beginning. I am sitting in the airport gettting ready to board l'avion. My parents and Leanne just dropped me off. There is no one interesting to look at nor is there anyone to make fun of so I thought I would surf the web and thanks to my new beautiful laptop, I can do that in the airport. I am taking a 8:20pm flight to Paris and apparently we have to board an hour early. excellent. I can't wait.

I hope to actually keep writing on this blog and be a better writer than Brad. we always compete like that. so, we'll see..

your francophone, Mandy

Jack Bauer

What i've learned about english is that we actually have sayings that are cooler than we think. I am sure you've been in a spot where you're chatting away to someone and they'll pull out some wicked saying to express their emotions about how that bird just voided on their puma's and you stand there gapping wishing that you had something as colourful to say.

it means the son of a donkey's illegitimate child with a humming bird
wow, we don't have anything like that in english you say.


but, little do you realize, we do.


i believe the main reason we don't know about them is because we haven't had to translate them litterally into another language. in fact, our language is full of them and if you pay attention your likely used one just this morning.

a few to think about are...

eves dropping; bone head; cute chick;

and of course, one of my favourites, not her strong suit.

anyways, the reason i thought of all this was because another helpex'r said that about his girlfriend. it made me think about it, and figure out why it meant what it meant and then made me wish i knew more people who played eucher.

(consider also telling someone they have been trumped, euchered or have renagged outside the context of a card game.)

you can find more at the Dictionary for Urban Language website. There isn't a link here because we run a family blog and most of the DUL isn't for family audiences; if you want to find it, you will.

Words and Mots

I think what my firend who hates the random uses of random hates the most is that so very often tossing in odd or unexpectedly is so much more appropriate.

Example:

I was in Roma staying with a friend of mine and unexpectedly he asked if i'd like to tag along on one of his guided tours through the Vaticant Museum and Cistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica.

bum, i don't know for sure what my plans are for toda..
you wouldn't have to pay
i think something just cleared up

His client that afternoon was a group from some credit card company
which turned out not so much a group but a father a son duo; the president of whatever was showing his dad the Vaticant. Who, despite a constant effort from
the son to keep the tour moving, wanted to stop at every single bit of art.
Oddly enough it reminded me of another father/son relationship; not the one I am
part of, but one that I might resemble in a few years.

Now, on the other hand there are times when a word simply must be used because no other word can express exactly what happened.

Example:

While we were engrossed in one of my friends explainations of a peice of art I heard a gasp to my left.

A girl is walking in the vaticant museum. The tour she had taken earlier had ended and she was doubling back to take in more of what the trou guide had rushed by. She crumples up a bit of paper the guide had given her a few moments ago. "Weirdo" she says as she tosses the number into the trash bin, "i'll bet he gives it to ever girl on his tour". She looks up to some art on the wall, a tapestry of Raphiel, and notices a Canada patch a bag just up ahead. As she gets closer to the group she see's they are listening intently to their own tour guide. Instead of interupting she decides to pass on by. However, as she is passing by she recognizes the shirt that Canada patch is wearing.

I hear a gasp to my left, however before I can react the gasp has turned into a low shout.

HOLY SHIT! BRAD?

An echo rolls down the hallway shaking the tapestries and turning heads.

I can't beleive it! and neither could I. did she just say that in the Vaticant? i thought to myself. Nevertheless, standing in front of me, in Rome of all places, was Shirley.

I grabbed her by the arm and lead her away before she brought the house down with more blasphemy.

Tree Stars

Quick, name your favourite Land Before Time film...

... if your answers "what do you mean favourite, wasn't there only one?" you are absolutely correct. a few of you nay sayers out there might be alt-tabbing your way over to wiki or imdb to prove me wrong, but to you i offer this food for thought:

get a life.

we all know that the WB, or who ever made them, took advantage of our love for Little Foot, Spike, Sara and Petwee, pastered them on the covers of some 20 odd sequels and tore a bit of our childhood away.

It was hard, I know, but lets all stick together and come to terms with the fact that it was 20 years ago and we're grown adults.

Great. Now, on a totally different note there's a friend of mine writing a blog and she just shared the address with me and I wanted to share the address with you. Her name is Megan, but i call her Ducky; I have since I met her like ages ago. She spoke like Ducky and thus would be re-christened Ducky for as long as she was part of my life.

This wonderful girl is writing from Botswana, Africa as she works with a community there on AIDS awareness, gathers footage for a documetary to be shared in Canada and has the experience of her life time. Internet access is likely limited (i don't know for sure) but I image she'll post more often than I have been. The link is to the right listed as Ducky in Botswana.

Enjoy,

Pane.

(yes dan, i know it was universal studios that made the film)

io sono fame

hey brad, how are you.
fine, you?
well, well. so, what have you been up to? we've been wondering about you. it was mothers day yesterday and i didn't hear from you.
right, well, you see. i called, and the line was and some friends are in the background and i was in the process of.
what's that brad, i can't hear you over you babbling aimlessly.

... then i woke up. so, happy mothers day and all. i am ashamed that your gift isn't going to be a real post because i've just arrived in Sicily and we're going out for drinks or a beach or something. However, in the mean time here are some photos of my stay in Soverato.

The jist of it is I danced and ate and danced and sang and danced and ate some more. Enjoy!

a dream

Dear Laura Ricciuti,

i had a dream the other night. i met up with you at school. it was between classes for me and i was lulling about in the hall. a groupd of us were chatting about nothing and everthing and you mentioned Percivil was getting married that afternoon. you didn't have a date you so asked me and i ditched class, hopped on your scooter and we sped across town.

we stopped at a shop where you picked out a rain jacket. no one noticed as you walked straight out the door. no one noticed until we took off around the building. i didn't even notice until the shop keeper was chasing us.

at the green room, ast the cerimony where the bridesmaids wehre getting ready i droopped you off. here i realized all i had to wear was my t-shirt and jeans. you gave me an outfit which i put on because that was the thing to do.

i wandered to a table where Karen Murray, Leanne and Tim McClure where sitting. I joined the conversation which was focused on how Leanne and Karen were wearing similar dresses. Mandy joined the table wearin, as you might imagine, the same dress again.

This all got very interesting when I realized the outfit you had given me, the one i put on without thinking about it because i trusted you, was the same dress again that the three of them had on. i was about to get up and rush out when i realized that the entire room was watching me; they had already noticed. with as much damage done as could possibly be done i sat back down, put my arm around Tim and laughed along with everyone else.

I thought perhaps you might get a kick out of that. I had another dream a while ago that you might get a kick out of too.

ciao,

--b

Homework: get skype

alright readers, here's today's assignment. go download skype! if you have dial up you may want to think about not doing it, but for all those who have a faster connection, get it! i can call you for free, FREE, if you have it. so get it.

that is all.

As if I needed another reason

So, the main reason I started that last post was because I wanted to share with you something my host in Napoli shared with me, but only because his dentist-student friend felt that i bore a striking resemblance to a local pop icon named Jovanotti. I met the Dentist on my second last day in Napoli and for the entire night he kept prompting me to get up on stage, or start singing or shouting "you dance. you must. you jovanotti." Well, judge for yourselves.



Really, what this means is that I have added to my list of reasons to keep my beard. Let's review:
1. I look like Jovanotti
2. I don't have to shave
3. Missing my mouth when drinking no longer matters

Tomorrow: the cons of a beard (if I can find any)

[the song's title is Fango, which means mud]

Il 141 Aprire

In Napoli my host was a Med student, in his fifth year of how ever many he needs to do. In september he's going to Istanbul to study and learn Turkish; not because he needs to know how to be a doctor that speaks Turkish, in fact the classes are all in english anyways, but simply because he wants to speak Turkish. I've met a fair few people who have similar goals.

Like my host in Roma and how he was a tour guide simply because he wanted a job that had him speaking english. And his roommate, an american guy, who went to Italy nine months ago to visit and found a job teaching english; he stayed because he wanted to learn italian.

"I've already learned french, this was the next logical step" he said to me as we sat one night watching The Matrix in Italian.

There's my two roomates in Cork who came simply to learn english, that french guy who asked me one night why I would work and live in Ireland. "you speak english though" he said to which i had no reply.

After I've thought about it a bit I suppose my reasons for Ireland are simply because I wanted my animal house life to never end. Ireland is notorious for having a drunken environment and I wanted to have a taste of that fun.

Don't get me wrong. If I did it all again it would have been the same, but I know now that experiencing a countries culture is much more rewarding than the animal house life.

Because really, am I ever going to see a hilarious screen play come across my desk with an offer to star as my self in the motion picture?

... well Dan, will I?

patronizing

st. francis of assissi is the patron saint of tourist shops, or so it would seem. never before had i seen more shops with more of the same junk than i did the day i went to assissi; however, as luck would have it, that is not all that happened.

the morning i woke up, the morning that i was going to go to assissi, where francis is from, was a sunday, which, at the homefarm would have meant a morning of rushing and toast, missing shoes and car horns, and an afternoon at grandma and grandpa's house with eggs, bacon and more toast, however here, in Cortona, it meant a short train ride and a baptist mass in italian.

***

an hour and half later i am on a train heading towards the city of assissi, where francis was from. he was a modest man, lived simply and before he passes away he left his last testament saying that "all [his] possessions are to be preserved behind glass and shown to the public and small trinkets are to be made and sold in every shop of the town that i lived modestly in". we know this because his last testament is also modestly kept behind glass.

getting off the train in assissi had me waiting a short time for a bus. getting on the bus had me sitting next to a woman from kentucky of about 65 and has spent the last ten years in italy. she offered me a seat next to her.

she liked italy because they used to use wheel barrows, now she likes italy because it isn't america. we chated about farming and globalization and italian culture and learning languages. we chated about all sorts of things until we, the bus and i, arrived at the stop that was to be mine. i knew this because my new friend told me so after i asked her which was my stop. she told me to look past the tourist shops and to behave myself. i told her i would try for the first part but the second part was no problem because I had been to church that morning.

juggling juggling

we hitchhiked again two days after our trip from Trento to Lago Di Garda but after two hours of waiting, a lunch in a park-like area and another our of juggling at the bus stop while a young girl did all she could to ignore us we were hardly much closer to Cortona, where the farm was, than when we had started that morning.

but we did have the train ride to entertain us. we had a lot of fun making grayson seem like he was many people, experimenting with lights and watch the scenery go by.

we arrived to cortona, juggled some more and took a bus up the hill and around the corner where we juggled some more and waited for Margarite to find us.

and then when she did she thought my name was chuck, which was not out of the ordinary as we would soon discover.

time spent

so ... instead of spending time writing a post i spent it updating different online profiles, writing on walls and generally exhausting my eyes by viewing a back lite monitor until the wee hours othe morning. those wee hours might be a little be less astonishing as they may have been a year ago at this time, meaning that days no longer worked on the 24 hr clock, but instead on a newer, more contemporary system that involved 120 minute hours, thirty two "hour" days successfully converting the standard week (72, 7 by 24 is 28 plus 140 is 861 ... 168hrs ...) into a period that existed over two and a half days.

when abouts did i lose you?

i have arrived safely to a farm in the province of Calabria near the city of Costenza. the couple living here are in their mid fifties (born in '54), they have two daughters (neither are here) who are married or studying depending on their amount (or lack) of children.

in conclusion it is now half past one on the morning of the 27th and i hope that i haven't missed
anyones birthday. i am now going to bed.

ciao,

pane

randomly random

I don't have time for a full post, but i had access to my host's computer and felt like typing a bit. I wanted to share with you first a video I found when I searched the web for the spam I got a few days ago. It was posted to Type For You by pedro. You can watch the video on your own, it's at the end of this post.

Rome has been great. I had a very random moment that'll I'll share later, and a few other not so random moments that I may share later, and I may not. If I don't share them it is likely that in being unrandom they aren't entertaining. I once knew a guy who told me he hated it when people used the word "random" because most of the time when they used it, it was at the wrong time.

"we went to the mall and a like bought a new purse and then we found another store that had the same purse and it was like so random"

no he would say that was not random and don't you ever say that again.

i agree with him, but i use it in a very appropriate way, i assure you. but you'll have to wait for me to explain it with a story.

enjoy the video.

hitch'n another ride

part one

"This will happen from time to time where you're forced to keep hitching and hope for the best"

So we hoped and we hoped and were given a german couple about half an hour later. They liked us so much they dropped us 15km past the spot they were going to stop at; not just their turn off, but thier bed and breakfast. He gave us his email and offered a couch for the both of us for Oktoberfest!

"just make sure to tell all your Canadian friends that Germans aren't all that bad"

we waited awhile at Lago De Garda and had a beer and discussed life and other things.

We got another ride from another guy, but I mostly stared out the window. We would be arriving in Garda shortly and from there it was just a short walk to our host for the evening. My first day hitching had been exciting and fantastic and addicting. I didn't want to stop, I wanted to put my thumb out again and again and meet more and more people. The sorts of people who stop and pick you up are the sorts of people I want to meet. They have stories to tell and are genuine and kind and considerate and understand what it's like to hitch. But even though it was exciting and wonderful it was also exhausting. The ware that came from a day spent on my feet, waiting patiently, thinking everytime I said goodbye and thank-you to a ride that it will be the last ride we saw that day was showing. we also needed to eat.

a polite good-bye, a thank-you and a short walk later we arrived on Guiseppe's doorstep and juggled until he got home from work. His parents watched from what they thought was an unseen window, offered us water and cookies and did what they do in the garden and kitchen.

hitch'n a ride

on what was our last morning in Trento we didn't set out as early as we would have liked. Grayson was somewhat anxious about finding rides, but if worse came to worse we wouldn't in too bad a position if no one picked us up: we were only a stones throw from the train station and it only cost five euros.

"you want to do this eh? i've never hitched with just another guy before, i don't know how this is going to go"

"damn right i do! you're leaving in two weeks and i won't have the caurage to learn to do this on my own."

so we hauled our rucksacks to a spot that felt right and made them look small. we held out our thumbs, smiled large and watched the people pass by. 

this is it. i thought this is what i've been craving. i'll be just like Sal Paradise and Gray will be Dean ... and we will be on the road.

Cars passed by, as they do most often, and we waved politely and smiled so they could see we were pleasant travelers. It must have worked because after only ten minutes a small red pinto pulled to the side. Luca was 27, worked with troubled teans and was an ex junkie. He talked and talked and told stories of traveling and bad people in Amsterdam and his bad ex-habbits. He liked that we were hitching and spoke decent english. He dropped us off in a small town next to anther trainstation, wished us luck and sped away.

Our next ride came an hour later, cinqua minuto before we were going to give up. A man was driving his mamma who had "just had a few McBiers and wanted someone to talk to" he joked about wanting someone to talk to her that wasn't him. They both laughed and then turned to us for a response that we couldn't give because they had been speaking italiano. We didn't get to have our laugh until nearly a half an hour later when we had decoded their italian and come to the end of our ride. The dropped us in a small town with no sign of a train station anywhere.

"This will happen from time to time where you're forced to keep hitching and hope for the best"

part two

fame ill ear words

today i have the day and the house to myself. my host family left for Milan and will be gone for the night, the following morning, afternoon and early evening. I hope they're back by then because by that time I'll be very hungry.

"you can do as much, or as little, work today. it all depends on what you feel like. there's food in the fridge and beer in the cellar. don't kill the goats but if you just hope on a train and don't write. any questions?"

"nope" says I "see you in 36 hrs.

So I settled down into a long afternoon filled with coffee's and photo accounts and writing and eating. For a while there I lost their dog and I was a little worried.  Turns out I needed to either look farther than the front stoop or wait a little bit longer; I chose the latter and had him in the house long enough for his smell to linger for an entire hour after kicking him out again. He's safely outside somewhere likely making fun of the goats (I assume that because that's what I'd be doing).

Uploading photo's got me itching for some random writing. So I created some. It started out rather hoe-hum and mundane, but then I started having fun. Enjoy!

Things that interest me: 

photography, writing, languages, cycling. violins, guitars, and digital cameras. 35mm picture drawers. starting up forgotten computers and finding lost treasure. a freshly printed essay. rucksackers, the beatnik life and hitchhiking. pianos, wallet sized photo's kept in wallet sized wallets. mailbags made of old pants. using a new word correctly, ewe sing fame ill ear word sin weigh snot ewe sid beef four. self made postcards, waiting for pictures to develope, seeing pictures develope instantly, not being sarcastic, contradicting myself, and writing a novel.

 ... but that's just a start.

Signor Pane

Here's a few things about Italian pronounciation, or at least as far as I've learned. It's fairly staright forward because the language is fawnetick (unlyk inglish) and once you know how the letters opporate you'll be well on your way. mostly this is to help you along with reading my future posts about Italy because I'll be throwing in some Italian words that I learn along the way.

Oh, and you remember that theory I said I had? It turned out to be true. There is no word in Italian for spelling because they don't have that problem. A word is written exactly as it sounds and therefore there's no need to communitcate a misspelling. Neat, eh!

 The Vowels:

 a - short a

 e - long a

 i - long e

 o - short o

 u - oo

 and that's that. come si scrivre is then read like com-eh see scree-v-ray. to help you out I'll be putting Italian words in bold like I did above.

 Some Other Things:

 ci - makes a ch sound

 ch - makes a k sound

 r - rrrroll up the rrrrim to win

 j - there is no j

 g - for the most part doesn't get pronounced, except in cases where it does

 all others - pronounce them as you would but with an italian accent.

 Young Elliott has been having trouble remembering/pronouncing my name. It's not Italian so the sounds are foriegn to his ears. However, he has, like others before him, discovered the similarities between the name Brad and the word bread. He has, along with the rest of the family, taken to calling me Pane (sound it out in Italian). There was a discussion at dinner tonight to perhaps name me a specific kind of bread (such as Bagel or Bagget or whole wheat ... that was my suggestion) but in the end Elliott had the last word and would still call me Pane.

 There is a saying in italian that says buono come pane which means good like bread. I couldn't agree more.

11 am; venician park

 the farm is great. we've had a blast being here, grayson and i. before i get too much into that, however, the how of how i, and we, got here needs some explaining.

 for this story you can picture me seated on a bench in venice. it is a small park and behind me, out of view, is the bus station i just came from. beside me is my rucksack and i've my arm around it. around my waist is the uncomfortable jab of a traveler's "thingthatkeepsthemoneyandpassportsafe" (that's not so much as important for the story as it is a reassurance for dad to know that i am wearing it this time around*). in front of me is the city of venice with all it's boats and canals and sinking buildings and tourists, and here is me on a park bench wondering what it is i am supposed to do.

 beside me is also a map of the city with a circle on it telling me what park i am in; the lady who sold it to me spoke enough english to draw a circle. you might also notice that i wrote bought a map which to those who have travelled or have been a tourist in any city might be thinking what the hell are you doing buying a map, let alone paying tre euro for it (i hadn't told you the price yet although i am sure most of you could have improvised a bit and carried on as if i had). this is an odd thing, buying a map in a tourist city, because the people in the city like you to be there spending your foreign money and make it as easy as possible to get the information you need to spend the money you're carrying in the stupid thingthatkeepsthemoneyandpassportsafe.

 grayson and i had exchanged a few txt's earlier that morning, the latest informing me he was en route. i had nothing to do but sit and watch the boats go by, the tourists spend money and the old lady crawl onto the park bench across from me. she didn't bother me, and i didn't want to bother her. after all, it was her city, and for all i knew it was her park too; who was i to make any suggestions.

 a month ago i was looking into flight costs to istanbul and athens when i had found a flight for 0.01 euro, so i booked it. turns out venice was in italy and grayson was too. little did i know i had arranged for us to meet up after having been simultaniously exploring the continent for the past six months. you see, we were supposed to be in ireland last spring at the same time and would have been had it not been for my dragging of the feet and the need for some money and a certian wedding i wanted to go to.

 so there i am: on a park bench in italy, waiting on a friend whom i was supposed to meet up with a year ago and still not really knowing what i was supposed to do. do i get a boat, or a glass of wine or take out my camera? i felt like asking the old woman, but she looked so peaceful sleeping there that i just couldn't bring myself to wake her. so i did what i hadn't been able to do for a long time; i read.

 however just as soon as i fished out my book from the bottom of my rucksack another rucksack was dropped nexted to it and the top hatted dude who had done the dropping was standing there waiting for a hello. so after a hug and some stories we set off to explore the city, which is what i was supposed to be doing after all.

 

*when i was in auz i had my wallet stolen just a few days into the trip. i'll try and tell that story another time

chow mama

so, here we go. at this moment i am sat at the table with an esspresso, the house is settling after sending thomas, 7, to school and grayson is still snug in his cocoon below. little elliott, 5, has grown tired of convincing me that mom put the video game on the top shelf in the kitchen because she wanted [him] to play with it and has resorted to helping me scrivre home.

(i have now poured myself a tea because the esspresso lasted no longer than it took to write the word down)

mom, margaret, having spent the morning running her hand through her short hair in unconditionally frustrated love, is now out feeding her kashmire goats and chasing the chickens out of her garden. echo's of this morning's chaos slowly fade as the chores wear on.

where's your homework, thomas? she asks the bedroom.

it responds in italian.

no, it isn't. i packed your bag. what did you do with it.

elliott smirks at me and i smirk at him. 

"come si dicie hi mom, elloitt?" 

"chow mama." 

"gracia. come si scrivre?" 

"c-i-a-o  m-a-m-m-a"

(the word for write and for spell are the same. i don't know why, but i have a theory. i'll ask around and find out more before i share this theory lest i sound like a babbling idiot)

lost

i've missplaced the update that i was going to write out. i wrote it out this morning, kept it in my back pocket the whole day and promptly lost it before sitting down just now.

i trust that it will turn up, but until then i will have to work on more.

i am doing well. grayson leaves tomorrow. i am at a farm in tuscany and will be for another week.

i miss you all,

--b

landed

i landed in venice today. there are boats and tourists and old friends. i love it, the language and the photo's of photographers that i can take.

i miss you all.

--b

watching all the people

i want to go see jay-z
great i will go with you
really?
no. not really. i'm from the country, and i like it that way.
hmm. too bad. it's going to be awesome. it's going to be sold out
really. how are you going to get tickets? hey, do you want to camp out over night?
no.
i thought you wanted to go?
i do, but i'm not stupid. besides, you're the one that doesn't want to go.
i'm not stupid either. and it's not about the show, i just want an adventure.
you can go on your own and have your adventure.
that won't be fun.
neither will camping out over night. i wouldn't camp out overnight if i was ... camping.
nice one. oh, and ron white called. he wants his joke back.
tracy byrd called, he wants his song back.

the next morning came around and my alarm clock went off. why i ever let him talk me into waking up at eight to go wait in like for his tickets is beyond me. at least i had, or he had i can't remember, roped sarah into waiting with me. however, one look at my phone confirmed my suspicion that it was eight am and that i wasn't going anywhere until sarah told me she was already there.

the call came soon after. where are you in bed where are you in line you langer, get up.

she was waving me in as i scanned the crowd. not in the way mom gets your attention during the christmas rush at the mall food court, but in a way that said she was where she was and i needed to get there immediately. i called matty.

right on dude, is the line long.
not bad. but dude, it'll be you and most of mrs murphy's ninth grade class.
young crowd, eh.
yeah man. ha, no. i'm just taking the piss.

we bought the tickets, sarah told me the ticket girl was hiting on me and i told her that if it wasn't for her company, sarah's that is, that i would have had a date later that day.

langer.

so we sat for an hour just beside the master ticket because we were too tired to go anywhere else and watched all the people, living happily. we talked about life, relationships, love and travel. we made plans to do this when i returned from italy, and to do it once a week. i said it wouldn't happen because her beloved chris would soon be there and we were likely to never see her or him ever again. i'm not that kind of girl, ... and i believe her.

last night

my italian roommate, who had a party last night for his graduation, has photoshop on his computer and he's been nice enough to let me mop the floor and use his computer all afternoon. i am sure that if he was consious he would be apreciative of the floor having been mopped and my usage of the computer, however until he is revived i'll have to assume he would.

i'll bet he's dreaming of a way to get into our french roommates room without using the key that was lost last night at the party she wasn't at. here's hoping the landlord that doesn't know the italian graduate is living here doesn't mind giving us a new key for the room. although i'm sure he's dreaming of the pink dress he wore last night.

matty and i met our first neighbour last night, although the meeting would have been more enjoyable had it not been five in the morning, he not had his phone in his hand threatening to call the garda or had he have been sober.

there's an older man at the door, says an italian boy. he wants to know who's in charge. matt and i exchange looks and decide that it would be better for allan to deal with this one.

go wake up allan, says i. he'd know what to do. the italian boy stares blankly back with the expression of someone with enough apathy to leave out the back door, regardless of the dificulties that he might face, yet with enough empathy to continue staring at me until i decided that waking allan up, after him having been passed out for several hours, would not make for a well recieved conversation with the man at the door. fine, says i. i'll go talk with him.

i rounded the corner seperating the kitchen from the entrance and found several other italians speaking with the irish man whom at this time was holding his sober quite well. or prehaps, in hindsight, appeared more sober in his present company. somehow i convinced him not to call the guards and instead to tell me that he had a 14 year old daughter asleep inside and he had lived there for six years and some other things that i missed because i was holding back a question about him being as drunk as he was at five in the morning when he had a 14 year old daughter asleep inside. i was in the wrong, and so was the rest of the party i had with me, so we parted ways, him and i, likely never to ever speak again.

not a good first impression, perhaps i'll run into him again and have a better experience to tell about.

i did end with an appology to him and the house emptied quickly after he left. they all left for another house party a little ways away that didn't have daughters asleep next door. matty and i put the house back together and settled down to watch some march madness while we reminised about life at 141 and the craic we had. somethings never change.

spelling bee

i had the biggest headache yesterday. it was one that lasted the entire day. what a heck of a way to spend my last day off of work.

no, not that i'll never have another day off work - it's that today, rather tonight, is my "last" shirt at the shel. my "last" because i quit on the 14th, but i was kept on because i am just so darn good.

also, there was no one else.

but what the heck, right? what's another few hours, few friends, few euro's gonna hurt? i even have a few more happy customer stories except by happy i mean cutting off and by stories i mean encounters because what happened wasn't a story because stuff just ... well, happened with no outcome that means anything in any context.

first, two american girls sat, drank and wrote on their arms. i think they were twenty-one but i didn't check so who knows. turns out the one was keeping track of how much she had drank with ticks on her arm. that way when i wake up in the morning i'll know exactly the why of how i feel.

you have a serious problem that i can't even begin to discuss with you because we haven't the time nor do i have the interest i said to myself because i had had enough of speaking with her.

second, some langer went up to two women seated near the door which was handy for him becuase had they not been there he would have walked up to no on because there wasn't a hope in hell of him making it any further. i wouldn't have stopped him, his centre of balance would have. he then came up to me and had the adasity audacity to ask for a drink and the gull to have a confused look on his face when i told him the answer. he got over the rejection rather quickly and returned to the women at the table. i joined them quickly for a short while because that was all it took to convince him that following me and my beconing beckoning index finger out the door was a better idea than ... doing whatever it was he didn't know he was doing.

come here.
confused look.
no, no. come here.
confused follow
[outside the pub]
you should head home
confused look back into pub and one confident step towards the door again
no, no. don't go back in there.
look of understanding and step in the right direction

third, there is no third. i wish there was, but there isn't. perhaps next time i'll have a third and make the post complete. perhaps tonight during my 8-c i'll have a third. perhaps, for now, i've exhausted new words i can mispell.

monday morning i fly out to venice, italy. i'll be there for a week, maybe ... maybe longer, who knows. matty's not coming with me because he spent all his money on Jay-z tickets.

oh, and sorry about that last post. i had that headache i talked about and after an hour at the computer i could no longer think. i meant for it to be a series of more childhood memories, but i've now lost the direction the rest of the stories would have taken. hopefully they'll come back to me, but until then you'll just have to wait. in the future i'll try and make the posts more relevant to travelling too - unless they are making sense to people and you feel as though they are part of the greater context of the life of brad. please, let me know so i know how to write to your reading desires.

cheers,

--bbb

i am ...

i am seven and grandpa has taken me to a weekend hockey tournament. he has gone to the bathroom in the diner we are at, leaving me at the table to wait for the food.

i don't want anyone else to eat our food on us so you keep watch, he says. i
smile back.

the food arrives while he is away, but i am hungry so i eat.

growing up on the farm meant large, fast meals but fast in that we consumed all of it faster than the food could be passed around the table.

keep passing food around until everyone has some on their plate, dad would
say.

a statement which we would immediately ignore. we wouldn't ignore it on purpose, it was only because the food we were spooning onto our plate was more interesting than listening to something we'd heard everyday at every meal. we were more interested in eating, which, had it been explained to mom in that way, might have made it easier for dad to get us to pass food around first. we were really complementing mom, not ignoring dad.

grandpa returns from the bathroom and finds the table occupied by empty plates and a grandson. the server arrives at the same time with the bill. she is about twenty, brown hair in a ponytail and chews gum. the whole time i am sitting quietly watching them both.

did the food already come to the table?
yes
where's my burger then
he ate it

grandpa looks down at me. i look up at him, smiling and he starts laughing.

well, better order me another one then

I'll be at my local too

matty and the girls where out doing their thing. the girls, having skipped work, were at the brog (shoe) because it wasn't the shel because the shel was too close to work. matty was too close to work because he didn't want to miss some of his training. langer.

i had met up with brian at the shel and we left from there in a car of steven's because he was heading to a different part of town, but mostly because that's just the sort of thing you do for friends on paddy's day, which is to say everyday of the year. upon getting to the KLM we met terry and the regulars and the pool table named john. we made a point of making plans to go back to a pub near the shel because that's just the sort of thing that happens when you make plans three weeks prior; things change. this also meant that when the girls and matty took a notion to walk our way we'd likely pass them on the road.

a few phone calls, text's and several hours later we still hadn't left the KLM for the pub near the shel at which the girls and matty had been waiting for ... well, several hours. the phone call came in and i answered it and gave it to brian.
'i'm not talking to her'
'wat d'you mean?' asked a bewildered brian 'who's this?' he asked the phone. his face changed from one of a person in control and having a good time to that of a young child who had just been picked up by his father aftering pooping his pants. with eye's wider than most people would have thought possible he passed the phone to the only person who could protect him at all: his mother. who, need i remind you, has been in the pub since noon, which it is now several hours plus a few after.

mama brian delt with the situation the only way she new how which meant not dealing with the situation at all but pretending that she was speaking to a friend of hers whom she could hardly hear through the cell phone's reception which, ironically, was exactly what she thought was happening. brian turned the phone rightside up for her and moments later terry took the phone and gave directions.

the girls and matty turned up some time later and stayed for a bit, but my time has run out and i'll have to complete this again some other time.


[i hope you had a wonderful paddy's day! i posted some pictures on my flicker page, feel free to check them out.]

I'll be at my local

down to the KLM on paddy's day afternoon. it is a small pub just up the road from roy and finn's place, small and exclusive, although not because the barman says so. the regulars keep to themselves and to the people they know. they'll ask you questions if you come in, show you some kindness and perhaps even buy you a pint.

'be careful not to confuse apparent act of kindness and acceptance. there's a good chance that what you think is irish hospitality is actually them being nosey.'

this place is their's and every head will turn, and every eye stare, if no one recognizes what comes through the door.

'you'd better either know someone in there, or have some reason for going in or you'll not last long.'

we had made these plans with finn and roy nearly three weeks ago, and terry, another roommate, was to come along too. instead of coming along he was already there. finn showed up hours later when the three of us were heavy into a game of pool. it was a professional table and several thousands of euro's, or so i am told, have traded hands because of it. the bar was small and the table appeared to have been made to fit, not six feet long nor three feet wide, however, much like wonka's perception hallway the table did not look too small. it fit the room and occupied exactly as much of the area as it wanted. and as much as it fit the room, it fit the atmosphere of the crowd too: if it didn't want you to play well it wouldn't.
the barman sat on a stool, reading his paper and served drink when necessary. nothing was rushed, nothing was a bother and no one liked the temporary clover tattoo on my forehead; luckily i had brian with me, and luckily his parents were two of the four regulars there.

'wazat? u a toorist? silly yank'
'actually i'm a cana..'
'shur, shur. youwanapint?'
'ah, yeah sure. thank you'
'great then. Bill! what's in the news today? finefine, two hoinikin, when yer ready. hes payin.'
'thanks'

paddy's weekend

yes, it is upon us. the most wonderful time of the year. Ireland's national holiday, decked out in green and gold and some orange (but not much because that's the north's colours) like canadians on our national day (which i can't wait for either, but that will have to be told on a separate occation. it's be like an older brother totally taking the wind out of his younger sister's sails by coming out on a chariot, carried by four members of the rugby team, wearing a toga and olive branches only moments after she had given her speach on why she'd be a great OAC Rep. but that's only one example; i am sure you can think of others).

There's a parade on monday (wow), pubs open all over town (wow), and everyone dressed in green (wow). at home, the saying is on paddy's day, everyone's irish and here it is similar, although they add that everyone is also a tourist. shops are selling silly hats, tshirts, mugs, facepaint, flags, more hats, hairbandy thingies and pots of plastic gold.

oh, and i didn't even tell you the best part! they call it Paddy's Weekend!!!! not paddy's day... they make a whole friggen weekend out of it.

I'll take lots of pictures, and maybe even a few videos too.

all the best,

--bbb

are you kidding me?

... it's only three sleeps away?
it is. man, i can't beleive you haven't been counting.
oh, dude, i have been counting ... i just, must have lost count somewhere. what day is it, tuesday?
ha, look. Hogan Knows Best is on.
you're not even listening to me.
sure i am, i'll do them after this episode.
i already did them.
no you didn't.
but that's not my point. it's only three sleeps away and we haven't even talked about what we're going to do. it's the reason we came to here, basically, and we don't even have a plan.
how 'bout the same thing we do nearly every night?
eat, watch scrubs and fall asleep on the couch.
that's not even remotely funny. did we get this script from Mad TV?
no, but i do believe we've lost the point and, in all likelyhood, most of the audience.
right. suppose we pick this up again tomorrow?
pick what up?
i don't even know anymore.

photographed me

surfing at Foto National Park











Drinking the fresh waters of the *something* falls

tom barry's beer garden

wallflower me stood watching television, but only because i didn't know what else i was supposed to be doing. if i didn't figure out soon what what else i was supposed to be doing soon i knew i would regret it, and what's more i would be ridiculed at work; but only because i told them i was going on an adventure. what were likely the regulars kept peaking over at me wondering what it was i was supposed to be doing, while i wondered why it was they felt the need to wonder about me.

but in truth i know the why because i am a barman and barmen know these sorts of things, or so i've been told at some point or time.

the barmaids might have been wondering, although they didn't show it as they had more going on than would allow them to watch a wallflower. 'this is silly' said i, which got no response as i had learned that limiting the amount of small talk i made with myself made me look exponentially less insane.

the beer garden was full of picnic tables which were full of people who were full of conversation. none of that conversation sounded like the conversation i thought i might here. so there i was, a wallflower with an emptying pint and a regular group of wonderers noting my movements.

'this is still silly' said i again. i know, i know.

"you'll right der?" asked the barmaid as i approached the bar and she was pouring a pint.
"actually, no. is there a group meeting here tonight? couch surfers perhaps. or maybe you don't know or don't know what i am talking about" said i in a breath that had run out around tonight. 'you look silly.' i know.

liz finished the pint and answered all my questions, including the one about having heard me or not which i hadn't even asked, with a guesture to follow her out to the beer garden to all the tables full of people full of conversation that i was looking for.

"i think i'll have another one please liz"
"sure ting"

brother bear

it was a week or two ago. we were all on a patio. it was the day i reached a check point. the clay oven was burning rather quickly through the supply of wood on hand and it soon became apparent that more wood be needed if we wear to bee kept warm.

later i would have a dream about tearing down the shel, scavenging the place for bits of wood the owner, gilivan, wouldn't miss. roy was there, and a regular named a-min-d and a few of the other staff as well. soon the whole floor was ripped up the the bar was floating on the few remaining joist. with that job done i went back to the fire, which meant waking in a room full of smoky clothes.

roy's appartment is having work done, shelves removed and toilets added, and it was producing a great deal of, what turned out to be, unburnable bits of wood that, also, turned out to be too big for the clay fire. matty and i went to investigate the situtation and learned a long time after the facts described above. we had been gone a while and finn et al had some bits of stone to get rid of. they climbed on her brothers roof, just off the patio, and tossed pebbles. finn's brother had a few pebbles too, and tossed them her way. [get off d x'ng ruf] came the txt. the three of us, roy, matty and myself, returned bearing gifts of gold trim, wayne scotting and vanities, which needed to be made smaller.

luckly matty and i are ninja's.

my turn came after matt's and just before the arrival of a big angry brother ^[1]. i propped my bit of wood against the wall and would have split it in two, honest, had i not have been distracted.

before me was a bear wearing people clothes standing in the landing in front of me, guarding the only exit. it was speaking but i couldn't hear it over the sound of me pooping my pants for the second time ^[poop]. the bear, brother o'finn, inquired into the delivery of his text earlier.

Brother O'Finn told us he had to work in the morning, which was now an hour ago, and that he would appreciate if we would keep our noise to a non-existance in a tone that suggested his patience for shenanigans ^[2] had expired sometime around the mid 90's.

matty decided to leave when roy convinced himself that since Brother was up already we might as well continue on the same route to destruction we were on. i agreed because my smell was starting to discust myself.

but i don't mind because it gives me character.