Lions and Holy-Rollers

Lest you think I'm about to enlighten you with some sort of Morality inducing religious parable, let me put your mind at ease... Read on without fear that Jerry Falwell might pop out of a dark corner to save yer soul (for a price of course.) Anyway, I digress...

The good news is that I have been working like an absolute slave lately. I am a freelancing whore available by the hour, day or week...haha. Got a weeks worth of work last week for a studio, then a logo design project, then more packaging design work for another studio, then a little project for DIT. It is lucrative as hell (or maybe just seems it since I haven't yet paid any taxes on it) but it's also a bit stressful going into new working environments all the time and trying to always be at the top of your game. But really, I'm not complaining. Have to say that I love owning my own time and can make my previous monthly salary at the Spoiltchild in less than two weeks of freelance work. Can't complain about that. I've also joined a softball team which had its first two practices last week so while not chained to my computer, I went out and ran around in the rain and attempted to catch flyballs hit by burly Irish men.

So all this is good stuff no doubt...but I still kind of feel like my head is going to explode. Spent the last three days (including Saturday) working like mad to get this packaging design done for a pitch on Monday. In between time was spent drinking whiskey with temporary co-workers... On Saturday afternoon when I was doing last minute bits and pieces at the studio, the managing director threw me the keys and the alarm code and said he was off and I could just finish up and lock up if I didn't mind. I suppose it's a great compliment that he assumed that I wouldn't abscond with twenty computers or all their secret recipes or what have you but it was a little freaky to have the entire responsibility for a large, kitted-out studio that I had never before attempted to lock up. Yikes. Mostly it went smoothly, I finished up and managed most of the closing up tasks except for one of the security locks which I just couldn't get locked. If they go into work on Monday to find all of their shit stolen, I suppose my freelance career might take a bit of a hit... ;) They already probably think that I'm a religious freak ;). I was in the studio a few days ago sitting at a desk across from this really nice girl (who stole me Cadbury chocolate from the front desk) when she sneezed. I automatically responded, as you do, by saying, "Bless You." One of those moments followed where you imagine that everyone goes quiet and stares and points at you. I guess Irish people don't say, "bless you," when a fellow cohort sneezes. They just ignore it. (Rude Bastards... ;) ) Anyway, given that they might think I'm the next Tammy Faye and they might get their studio ransacked, I'd say it's all gone very well....haha Here's to self-employment.

On the wild beasts front, I was out last night at the Market Bar with Michelle and Bryce telling them my sneezing story and Michelle was telling me her culture-shock tales from when she first moved to Boston. Soon after she arrived in Boston, she was out with a few of her new co-workers and mentioned that she couldn't wait to have a lion this weekend. Everyone was baffled. A lion? huh? She was actually saying that she couldn't wait to have a lie-in meaning that she wanted to sleep in but everyone thought she wanted to go to the zoo ;). Now come Friday, Bryce will say that he can't wait for a tiger or a mountain lion this weekend. Grrrrr. Must say, after my packaging and security related frenetics, I had quite the lie-in this morning. And amazingly enough, it's a beautiful sunny day. Time to run as far away from this computer as possible.

Hope you're all well.

Tramp Co

Ok, so it's actually Tram Co and is the name of a cheesy as shite bar in the student ghetto of Dublin but I've been thinking it's a suitable name for my local post office as well. By tramps, I mean not only women with ten children and make-up that would make a transvestite cringe but also the trainspotters-in-training in their dirty jeans looking like they might keel over and die any second. Not to mention the young disinfranchised males travelling in packs and the neighborhood busibodies who loudly complain about anything and everything. God, I love my neighborhood.

Today was tax day. Unfortunately, even moving out of the entire USofA does not exempt one from paying Uncle Sam his due. Since I am a woman of forsight and organisation, I was, of course, running off to the post office today with my Massatucky state taxes in hand desperately seeking an April 18th postmark. I arrive to find what appears to be a large crowd of the aforementioned demographic watching an older man trying to break into the Post Office. Somehow, the lock jammed and the post office had to hire some guy to literally crow-bar the door open. After a half hour wait in between a young blondie and an old lady with a crutch who literally tried to run me down to get a better spot in line, the lock was broken and like Metallica fans trying to get an autograph, we all squeezed in the door. Waiting in the que, I had in front of me one group of young rough-and-ready guys trying to cash their dole checks without proper ID, several screaming children picking up pieces of the crowbarred door and getting yelled at by their mother, and a good dose of cranky old ladies stepping on my heels to get their stamps. Oh joy. I did finally get my stamps and proceeded to put a stamp on the wrong side of the only envelope I could find in my apartment to hold my nearly overdue taxes because I was busy hating all humanity. Bastards. Maybe I should just give in, shoot some heroin, pop out a few sprogs, and draw my eyebrows on. At least I would fit in.

What do I know about Basketball? I'm Scottish!

Spoken in a loud pub in the financial district of Dublin by a slightly tipsy scotchy bemoaning his loss in the fantasy basketball pool. Ah well, maybe ya had to be there. Well, it's been too long my fine friends, but here are a few more linguistic gems for your coffers...

Rapperbait: Hoodlum, Hooligan, Skanger, Skiprat. There are so many words for these little scoundrels...I do wonder why??

Wingnut: Someone with ears like our old friend Steve-o of auto-defenestration fame. Ears like satelite dishes. Ears like this wierd guy on the North American Sports Network whose ears are not only huge but also pointed oddly forward as if they've been ripped off Reservoir Dogs style and sewn back on. yum.

The Jacks: Les Toillettes of course. Don't ask me why.

Giz us a...: Used in many a northy sentence as in, "Giz us a fag." Translation: I'd like a cigarette please (not a gay man thank you very much.) In case yer still confused, it's Give us a fag. The royal we in effect. Me and my imaginary friends.

Manky: Something that's icky, bad-tasting, slimy or otherwise gross. Like Irish cooking...haha.

Yous: What would seem to be grammatically incorrect English is widely used and I fear, like all the rest, slowly sneaking into my vocabulary. Usage: "Would yous two ever shut up. Yer doin' my head in," or "What would yous'uns like for yer dinner?"

Fierce: Used mostly in the South I think. Usage: "That man is fierce tall" or, "I've a fierce thirst on me." (For what, you might ask? But really you should already know.) Up north it would be a powerful thirst instead of a fierce one. Buncha parched lads in these parts.

Pong / Pongy: Smelly, smelly. Usage: That lad has a pong on him...he's a pongy fecker.

Poxy: Little, insignificant, shite.

There are so many but I hear them, tell myself to write them down for future blogging and then have another whiskey and forget. Alas, that's all yous get today.

French Drivers = NYC Cabbies on Crack

Yes, it's true. They drive like absolute maniacs. After realizing that the cars would swerve between lanes like they drank beer for breakfast, that mopeds and motorbikes would appear out of nowhere like loud flying hairdryers and that noone seems to know what their indicator it for, I gave up the driving to Tommy. Once the stresses of driving were firmly on Tom's shoulders (poor lad) we had a grand time. The southern coast of France is kind of like a southern Spanish mountain town, a tropical island and South Beach, Florida all rolled into one. There is money, money and more money everywhere...giant yachts the size of small oceanliners dot the coast. Cannes' main boulevard is a who's who of high-end retail, omega, fendi, prada, louis vuitton etc... etc... But if that can be overlooked (cuz I'm not particularly moved or awed by riches) the natural surroundings are amazing, the people are much friendlier than Parisians and the geographic proximity of Italy means that the food is divine. In the spirit of South Beach, Art Deco is also alive and well on the French coast...from typography to architecture to landscaping, it is Art Deco heaven (if yer into that which I am.) And all of this Deco-ness was interspersed with timeless French architecture with it's wide wooden shuttered buildings with ornate wrought-iron balconies. Add to the mix, the mediterreanean influence of the red tiled roofing, the tropical plants in terracotta pots, ornate mosaic tiling and marble sidewalks and you have the South of France. A melting pot of loveliness. My only compaint is my own gluttony. When it comes to cheese, I have no brakes...There were thin crust pizzas covered with gooey mozzerella and fresh vegetables. There were salads with thick slices of goat's cheese. There were cheese plates with melting triangles of brie (and a whole baguette to spread it on.) There was creme caramel and creme brulee with a perfectly caramalized, crunchy, sugared crust. There was fish with creamy sauce and fresh herbs. There was gelato, hazelnut flavored and honey and pine nut flavored and plain old chocolate flavored. And it was all love and all good. In addition to the olive oil, and pistacho nougat, and apricot jam, and ceramics and sunglasses that I brought home to Ireland, I also brought home the world's worst dairy induced stomach ache ever...I may have to go on a vegan detox now ;) but hell, it was worth it.

One of Many Artists on the Square - Cannes, France

Saturday Market in Cannes
Originally uploaded by di_juice.

Click the pic to see Cannes, Saint Tropez, Nice and Monaco. All stunning.