People are Strange When You're a Stranger

It's true though-- that doesn't mean you don't see the weirdos in your hometown, but when you are somewhere new, life's odd people seems that much more mystical. Like in Ballincollig.

First there is The Rain Woman. She is a tiny, ancient woman who changes her behavior based on the weather. On perfectly dry and sunny days, she waits in alleys for passerby. When the unsuspecting pedestrian approaches her nook she leaps out and shouts, "WAS THAT A DROP OF RAIN JUST THERE!?" When the startled pedestrian says, "No," she then latches on to his or her arm and begins chatting non-stop. "Well I very much hope it won't be an ol' drop o' rain there, tis wet enough already-- I was just telling me brother Jimmy, do you know Jimmy? He's a good lad. Went to the doctor for his liver an' the quack nearly killed him! You don't go to Dr. McGrath now do ye? I certainly hope not! I could take him to court, I should, I know, he gave Jimmy cat vitamins and cheese instead of a blood transfusion. Poor Jimmy with those cat vitamins for days. His eyes turned green! And it's gotten bad since the foreigners came and the priests should really be allowed to marry...." And so on, and so on. The pedestrian is absolutely forced to shake her off by mumbling an apology and ducking into a store lest the madness continue indefinitely. When it *is* raining she ties a cloth shopping bag over her head and waits in the bus stop shelters moaning, "Oh damn this rain!"

Next is The Existential Crisis Minstrel: he is a big, strong looking fellow in his late thirties, often dressed in a red Cork jersey. He is wont to run down the street singing, "We are nothing, We are nothing," with a deep lively voice and a surprisingly chipper tune, grinning away.

Then there is The Outside At All Hours Man: he is a much older man in a long, dirty grey-beige overcoat who wears a little green hat through all seasons and stands on the side of his house practically all day, sometimes smoking but usually staring off into space, never speaking and only going inside to eat, sleep, and use the toilet. L said he saw him cutting the hedge once, but I don't know if that's true. I've never seen him do anything but stand outside, no matter what time we walk past.

I'll add more as I see them. I think three is a good enough introduction to the social scene of this dingy dark hole. There is a problem with the sewers in town so it always smells like 12th century London. That is, it smells like human waste and misery. People never clean up after their puppies either, so not only does it smell like waste, but there is the very real presence of feces strewn all over the streets. Classy. There aren't many police here (I don't think there is a police station... maybe I'm wrong though) and scumbags are forever doing silly things like stabbing each other to death in housing complexes. And then there are the perverts who shout degrading things out the window at me (and probably every other woman). It's amazing.

There are some wonderful people too though. The Italian couple that runs Vino & Panne are so overwhelmingly sweet. They love to make recommendations and get really excited when you enjoy their food or buy the wine that they told you would go well with cheese. They call L and I caro . And then there is the French cheese monger who lets us try all sorts of cheeses and tells us about where they come from and how they're made, and all her dairy adventures in France. She's adorable and kind. And then the people who run Quay Co-op are happy and cheery too, and once gave us free Polski Chleb that fed us for a whole week. So, yes, I complain, but there are spots of magic practically everywhere I've been.

P.S. I'll start adding pictures soon.

First Book

Yaay! I finished The White Caravan for real this time and sent it to Autumn House Press this morning. I first wrote TWC as my honors thesis, but I've been writing loads of new stuff since and I finally created the book that I actually wanted to write. I cut a lot of old stuff out, put a lot of new stuff in, and now I have 53 pages worth of poetry. Now it's just a matter of a publisher liking it.

In a lot of ways I'm appreciating this amazingly long stint of unemployment and abject poverty. If I weren't unemployed, or if I had enough money to go to grad school, maybe I wouldn't have had the free time to write my first book during my first year out of college. The economy works in mysterious ways....

Plus, the volunteer agency got back to me and I have my first day of training down a dodgy alley beside my favourite pub on Wednesday. Talk about luck! I'm so excited.

Going around Cork by myself is something I haven't done since my UCC days (see Free Stylin') and I have a few rules to keep myself in check now:

1. Ireland apparently cannot handle any glimpse of my clevage or thighs. Dress modestly, no matter how difficult it is or how unaccommodating my wardrobe might be.

2. No going down dodgy alley ways with strangers unless it's for my volunteer training.

3. No interacting with hairdressing students, or possibly students of any kind (just to be on the safe side.)

4. Always wear enormous sunglasses.

5. Remember which way the cars are coming. The opposite of America.

6. Only buy hot port at The Corner House.

All very important rules. It shocks me though, the first one. I forget the way predominantly Catholic countries can be. No offense to Catholicism, but skin is not dealt with so well in places like Ireland, Italy, etc. I'd say especially Ireland. I forget this constantly. And then I get really dirty things screamed at me out of windows for wearing something that in the States would get a "Nice dress, beautiful," at best. Normally I'm a great traveller and can blend in everywhere, but it's hard when you've actually moved to a new place and have to change things in a more permanent way. When in Cork....