March 17 - Irish

I'm going to keep this short and sweet and just say Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone. It's good to be Irish.

For real Irish. Not "Irish" as in "I put on a stupid green plastic hat and a t-shirt with some witty saying so I can get drunk at 10am on a Saturday in the name of someone else's ethnic pride." That's not Irish. As my friend Bill and I found out, if you don't chug your Guinness, you're not really Irish.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Go chug a Guinness.

January 8 - Perception

One of the things that always gets me when I travel, or when I go somewhere where I am surrounded by thousands of strangers (like Wrigley Field) is just how small and insignificant my life is to the vast majority of the other people on this planet. Not to say that my life is unimportant in general, just that everyone has their own things going on - their own circles of friends, their own stresses, their own joys - and as they see my face walk by in a crowd, it doesn't even really register that I have this entire life of my own of which they are completely unaware. I'm just a face. Just as they are to me.

And then there are the few with whom your life intersects for just a short while. Long enough that you may remember the encounter years later, but still brief enough that you don't get to know them as a well-rounded person. I've known a few of those. When I worked in the bagel shop in high school, there was a man who came in every weekend for one of the herb-cheese twists and a cup of coffee. He almost always had exact change and a smile for me, but I never knew his name. There was another man when I worked in the video store who took full advantage of the $0.99 rentals on Monday-Wednesdays and would rent two movies a day for each of those days, every week. He always had his rental card and $2.11 ready as he approached the register. I knew his name at the time from scanning his card, but have no idea what it was now. I probably couldn't pick him out of a crowd these days, but I was always happy to see him come in back then.

It's funny to me, too, that I am that person to others. In high school, the cute guy at the gas station knew me as Clover Girl, because I wore a four-leaf clover necklace all of the time. I'm sure the people at the sandwich shop around the corner from where I work now know me as Falafel Girl because I only ever get the falafel sandwich - it's their only real vegan option. They are always polite and greet me with a smile, and half of the time, they've started making my sandwich before I walk through the door. But that is all we know of each other - I eat falafel, they make sandwiches.

I wonder, sometimes, how I will be remembered by some of these people, if I am remembered at all. My tattoo artist in Dublin said I looked familiar and Facebook stalked me a bit before working on me, and asked a couple of times what my most famous movie was. I told him I do more theatre than film, to look out for Hamlet: the Series, and that he should remember my face because in ten years, it is going to be everywhere. He took a picture with us when we were done and I wonder how long it will be before he forgets what marks he left on us, or why he even took the picture in the first place. I wonder how much the flight attendant on my fourth screwed-up flight in ten days complained to her life partner about the bitchy woman who was pissed they couldn't find her special meal because someone had spelled the name wrong. I wonder if the woman walking her dog on a bright Dundalk morning will remember the two Americans who couldn't find their hotel and if she will think of us fondly. Will my repeated thanks to the cabbie be remembered as polite or insincere? Will the last man I kissed remember my name ten years from now?

I know all of these are rather insignificant moments in the grand scheme of things, and in all truth, the other parties involved have probably already forgotten their interactions with me. But I wonder, because I remember all sorts of things. Not everything, and not everyone, but loads of things and loads of people who have floated in and out of my life in a matter of moments. Am I also so thought of?

I kind of hope so. And I hope most of those memories are positive.

December 27 - Update

I think I'm in love with Ireland. 

The weather is a little crazy and gross, and in all truth, I'd probably go batty living in a very rural area. But I'm having a lovely time and I've just barely been here 24 hours. 

We asked for a pub recommendation last night, somewhere with food that was open because a lot of places are closed on St. Stephen's Day. We took a cab to the Windsor, and the cabbie was lovely, so we didn't mind too much when the Windsor was closed. We walked down a block or so and found a pub that was open. I think there were only four women in the place (including the bartender and I), but I was completely comfortable. We had a pint and watched the Manchester City/Liverpool game. Exactly what one should do in Ireland, right?

Then it was off to find food, and we found a nice little completely empty Indian restaurant with really good food. And after a bit of a walk in the rain, we found another pub. I mostly wanted to absorb some Irish atmosphere, and we found it in spades. 

Again, there were many more men than women in the place, and the women were dressed up much nicer than the men. We're talking sequins, fur, and bling. While the men were in sweaters or button down shirts and jeans. After a little while, one guy standing near us came over to apologize for his friend's flatulence (it was rank), and chatted with us for a while. He talked to Bill more than to me, and I'm not sure if it was because he thought Bill was cuter or because he thought we were a couple and didn't want to step on anyone's toes. But he welcomed us to Dundalk, bought us a round, and left before we could return the favor. We finished our drinks and took a cab back to the hotel. 

All in all, a lovely evening after a long day of traveling. And today we're off to a wedding. It's already going to be hard to leave.