thotsam and jetsam

I was very leery about getting a cell phone. I've resisted becoming a gadget guy, like so many of my friends, because i treasure simplicity (i deal with extraordinarily complex systems every day -- i don't think more complexity is really something i need right now). But now i'm becoming just another degenerate addict to my Crackberry.

What this means to you, dear reader, is that i can now capture random thoughts for later blogging, with only 22 times more effort than scribbling a note on a piece of paper with my Fisher Bullet Space Pen. Tidbits that would normally pass like the wind (and rightfully so) can now be captured electronically, and added to the detritus and debris of virtual e-flotsam and e-jetsam, for the rest of eternity.

Let's think about that for a moment. Nothing is ever lost on the internet. Whatever lame-brained idea or stupid metaphor i come up with will still exist, in perfect condition, a thousand years after i'm gone. There will be a huge cache of information about my life, without the slightest hint of degradation -- an archeologist's *dream*. And what's more, absolutely _no one_ will care!

Anyway, on with the timbits. Er, i mean tidbits. Mmmm... timbits. Oh how i miss Tim Horton's coffee. I actually saw a woman carrying a Tim Horton's coffee cup, and immediately got terribly excited -- "Huh? What? Wait, whazat?". It seems the franchise has made it's way across the pond. We can, in fact, buy TH doughnuts at the local grocery store in the village. However, my informants tell me that the hard-to-find coffee places don't actually have genuine TH coffee, just the usual local rotgut in a TH paper cup. Sigh.

Where wuz i? Oh ya, i was talking about cars. So, we went to a couple of car dealerships yesterday in the Motown district of Dublin. That was an interesting experience. I've never seen so many men in dresses. [If you're lost and bewildered, that's exactly how i felt.]

It seems the Nation's Cup of rugby is in town, with the day's marquee match-up between Ireland and Scotland bringing loads of excitement and thousands of people into the downtown core, many of whom were wearing Scottish kilts. We learned about this later, by overhearing a conversation between two middle-aged women discussing the finer points of the game (which is interesting, because the smash-mouth sport only has crude points). 40-ish moms here don't talk about knitting. They talk about what formations our boys can use to try to stop France's monster, Didier, from breaking through the line. It was of the utmost urgency for these ladies to get to a pub to catch the remainder of the game.

The pubs here are awesomely great, by the way (to continue the stream of semi-consciousness). They are cavernous and warm, and full of ornate woodwork and fiddly bits. Pubs are the counterpoint to the cold and imposing concrete churches, and they are equally pervasive and central to communal life here. They are also landmarks -- at least one will be referred to in any detailed set of directions for getting somewhere. There is no grid system, so directions are of the form "Well, you go down the N to Ballycrotch, pass the Red Lion [pub] to Crinkbreaughlenlaough Lane, and it's three hoofs from the Stighgowainliangein". Uhh, right, got it, thanks. Everything makes perfect sense, provided that you and your ancestors have lived here for a minimum of 720 years, and you have an encyclopedic knowledge of every pub in the city -- which is taken as a given, naturally.

So far, the only thing we've really needed a car for is to go looking for a car. It was an hour and half journey, first by bus North to city center, then by Luas LRT West and way South again. The direct distance would be about a quarter of that. But the trip was enlightening, because we had never taken the Red Line of the Luas before. We got to see a bunch of new areas of Dublin, including some poorer run-down areas, which are a much better facsimile of the way things have been here for millenia, before the Celtic Tiger economic boom of ten years ago. We must have passed a dozen different unfathomably complex environments, each unlike anything i'd ever seen before. But i was able to shrug it off with my highly developed North American apathy and nonchalance.

One of the things i love about the Luas is listening to the bilingual announcements of station destinations. Irish Gaelic is a truly bizarre (and yet strangely beautiful) language. It sounds like a song (perhaps a traditional folk song), but it looks like some sort of strong encryption system. I've designed an algorithm for generation of pseudo-Gaelic. You take normal English words, rearrange and mutate a few letters, and then randomly insert extra vowels with roughly a one-third probably after each letter (with a particular bias toward i, a and u). Then you liberally sprinkle in some circumflexes, dots, accents, and whathaveyou, the way a chef would add herbs and seasonings to her latest creation. Voila, serve with a language soup, a syllable salad, and a nice Chablis.

I think i'm starting to get a handle on the lingo, though. One of the destinations announced by the Luas lady sounded something like "blaah-course", with a thick Irish lilt. That was the English version, mind you -- the Gaelic version was incomprehensible gibberish that went on for about thirty seconds, but it was very pretty sounding, like an onomatopoeic poem. Now, with my newfound experience in Irish word formation, i deduced that the actual destination was probably closer to "Blaughoarse" (with the usual almost Arabic haughing/hacking sound). When we arrived at the next station, the sign read... "Blackhorse". It was next to a big yellow pub with a big black horse imprinted on the side.

So, we test-drove a car (no big deal this time) and looked at a few others. Before embarking on the long journey home, we ate at a Subway. The North American corporations are moving in big time here, but i have to confess that i'm somewhat ambivalent about it. It's tragic to see the loss of yet another ancient culture, along with so many possibilities for truly edifying experiences. At same time, that familiar submarine sandwich from home was unquestionably the highlight of my very eventful day. Sad, isn't it?

Okay, silliest blog entry evaar, but it will have to hold you for an indeterminate period of time.