Friday, March 25, 2005
The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the pubs are locked shut.
It's the sarcastically named Good Friday in Dublin. Dryday. The day no spirit but the Holy one is to be consumed. The pubs and the off-licences are forbidden to do business today. No one is to drink.
As if.
Why did the kids put beans in their ears?
No one can hear with beans in their ears.
After a while, the reason appears:
They did it 'cause we said No.
Why did the kids pour jam on the cat?
Raspberry jam all over the cat.
What could make them do something like that,
When all that we said was No?
Reverse psychology works as well on the Irish as on a five-year old child. Good Friday inspires a panic general throughout Ireland; in the run-up to it, the off-licences enjoy demand of an uncommon degree, even for Ireland. Next to St. Paddy's day, which is a genuinely lunatic affair, Good Friday is the hardest-drinkin' day of the year. Feh. Goyim.
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So I've been away a while. Did a little vacating. Barcelona was tremendous and all must go. The theft of Samantha's wallet and the rifling and replacement of mine did little to diminish its evident delights, which can be largely summed up as consisting of aesthetics and low prices. Essentially all I need to be happy. The people, though not as arrestingly gorgeous as the Parisites, are still interesting to look at, and complement the architecture splendidly (the general beauty of a population is a major concern, as it's a significant element of the architectural environment. People are architecture, and whether or not they complement their surroundings pleasantly matters quite a lot). The architecture itself, of course, is fabulous--Gaud, with his playfulness and piety borne out by extraordinary structural genius, is, I think, one of the greatest and most significant artists I've ever encountered (though of course there's more to the city than Gaudi)--and the mere fact the rain in Spain really does fall mainly on the plains, and stays the hell away from Barcelona, makes it all the more magnificent.
And the prices. Oh my Lord, the prices. Suffice it to say that there is virtually no difference between duty-free and duty paid. I came home with my baggage considerably heavier than it was when I left.
I think I shall move there for a while someday. Someday soon. The supermarket in the bottom of the gigundo department store, El Corta Ingles, is reason enough.
Off to play Ultimate now, a real game, first in ages. Friendly match with DCU. It's a perfect day for it. Jacob comes tomorrow, and it's back to London. Aight.
As if.
Why did the kids put beans in their ears?
No one can hear with beans in their ears.
After a while, the reason appears:
They did it 'cause we said No.
Why did the kids pour jam on the cat?
Raspberry jam all over the cat.
What could make them do something like that,
When all that we said was No?
Reverse psychology works as well on the Irish as on a five-year old child. Good Friday inspires a panic general throughout Ireland; in the run-up to it, the off-licences enjoy demand of an uncommon degree, even for Ireland. Next to St. Paddy's day, which is a genuinely lunatic affair, Good Friday is the hardest-drinkin' day of the year. Feh. Goyim.
<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>
So I've been away a while. Did a little vacating. Barcelona was tremendous and all must go. The theft of Samantha's wallet and the rifling and replacement of mine did little to diminish its evident delights, which can be largely summed up as consisting of aesthetics and low prices. Essentially all I need to be happy. The people, though not as arrestingly gorgeous as the Parisites, are still interesting to look at, and complement the architecture splendidly (the general beauty of a population is a major concern, as it's a significant element of the architectural environment. People are architecture, and whether or not they complement their surroundings pleasantly matters quite a lot). The architecture itself, of course, is fabulous--Gaud, with his playfulness and piety borne out by extraordinary structural genius, is, I think, one of the greatest and most significant artists I've ever encountered (though of course there's more to the city than Gaudi)--and the mere fact the rain in Spain really does fall mainly on the plains, and stays the hell away from Barcelona, makes it all the more magnificent.
And the prices. Oh my Lord, the prices. Suffice it to say that there is virtually no difference between duty-free and duty paid. I came home with my baggage considerably heavier than it was when I left.
I think I shall move there for a while someday. Someday soon. The supermarket in the bottom of the gigundo department store, El Corta Ingles, is reason enough.
Off to play Ultimate now, a real game, first in ages. Friendly match with DCU. It's a perfect day for it. Jacob comes tomorrow, and it's back to London. Aight.
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