Word legacies

I've been thinking about quotes we say to each other in times of sorrow or trauma; we offer another's words, because our own feel woefully inadequate.

Sometimes they're tried-and-true - words that have seen us through our own darkness - and we pass them on like a great family recipe. But family recipes are sometimes formed around an idiosyncratic oven, or a particular cast-iron pot, and don't always reproduce so well in another's kitchen.

For example, when we were kids we used to love "Keep passing the open windows", quirky advice offered in John Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire. Actually, we had myriad quotes from HNH, about sorrow and bears and inventing our lives - it's a veritable treasure trove. But the wry suicide humour of open windows, that's not going to translate easily; few people would automatically feel the solace in that line.

On the other hand, there's a Hemingway quote from A Farewell to Arms that offers a certainty of pain, and of life beyond that pain. It somehow reaches easily:
"The world breaks everyone, and afterwards many are strong at the broken places".

It's not a favourite book of mine, but what a line...

Gonzo's guide to culture

Ah, there's nothing like a waltz...



Wonder if Strauss had a sense of humour. Or kept chickens.

Starting points

Lovely weekend: somehow productive, sociable, and yet I still managed to watch all 22 episodes of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.

Perhaps more sleep is required...

I didn't get my Columbo blanket finished (yes that's right: a blanket to snuggle under and perhaps doze a little while the master sleuth is at work) but you can't have everything.

Anyhoo, the stormy weather this weekend reminded me of my arrival in West Cork: driving around country lanes, trying to follow a map to a house I'd never been in before. There was a killer storm raging, and I unpacked and huddled, then ran out and stocked up on wine, and huddled some more. The following morning it was calm but freezing, and I stood in the kitchen, waiting for coffee to brew. And a stag walked by the kitchen window - a six pointer - and he stopped and grazed as I breakfasted in awe.

A great start.

Caffeine & Valentine words

A most social, caffeinated day, both planned and unplanned. Catching up on work now: buffing & polishing the Tango short story; it is almost ready to go...

In other news (and I'll post more details on my website), a short story of mine called 'As Time Goes By' will be appearing in 24/7, an anthology forthcoming from the NLWC Carers Group, to be launched on Valentine's Day 2009. Awwwwww...

Have a fabulous weekend, folks.

News to me

Okay, I may be the last person on earth to learn this, but Aaron Sorkin (respectful pause) is writing a movie about the Facebook phenomenon for Scott Rudin. And as part of the process, he's set up his own Facebook page, which is just over here.

His footnote to the intro reads:

* I feel about this introduction the way I felt about Sophie's Choice--It could have been funnier.

I love that man.

Serving Time

I seem to have been running behind all day; straightforward things have taken eons. I've reached the point where I figure: best to concede defeat, and try again tomorrow.

One of my tangents today led me to the Clampers, members of The Order of E Clampus Vitus, one of the oldest societies in California (and a piss-take of the Masoney-type orders: their head honcho is called Sublime Noble Grand Humbug and their Latin motto is Credo Quia Absurdum: “believe because it is absurd”). These guys love the odd little snippets of history, and adore slapping plaques on things - to commemorate anything from eccentrics to cocktails invented during the Gold Rush. This from a recent New York Times article:

“It’s a common saying that no one has been able to tell if they are historians that like to drink or drinkers who like history,” said Dr. Robert J. Chandler, a senior historian at Wells Fargo Bank and a proud member of the group’s San Francisco chapter. “And no one knows because no one has been in any condition to record the minutes.”

Who thought you could ever make serving on a committee sound appealing....

News round up

I am loving The Onion's report: "Bush Tours America To Survey Damage Caused By His Disastrous Presidency" (referred by http://www.oculture.com/ yesterday).



It's almost as illuminating as their report: "Disney Lab Unveils Its Latest Line Of Genetically Engineered Child Stars"...



...and almost as hard-hitting as: "Being A Detective Who Talks To Ghosts Not As Exciting As It Looks On TV".

Angels in the mist

There was a walk planned yesterday for Mount Gabriel, close to Schull.

The Orlaith-version of the plan was weather-dependent. If fine, I would head for the mountains; if the weather was manky I was supposed to curl up on the sofa with coffee and muffins and do nothing in particular for hours, probably until it was time for Columbo.

But I found myself arriving in Schull without any rigorous weather-checking. I had some more coffee out there, met some walkers; there were a bunch of kids in our group so I figured it couldn't be that bad, and off we went. Trudge trudge, rain rain.

Apart from bronze-age copper mines all over the place, at the top of the mountain is Mount Gabriel tracking station, which controls the airspace in these here parts, tracking all craft going to/coming from the Americas. As you can imagine, lots of security, and massive golf-ball-type radar domes. On a fine day, the views are apparently spectacular.



It was good fun, despite the no-view and the rain. I have a tendency to be adopted by children, so there was much mucking around up and down the mountain. And by the time I got home, Columbo was asking his first question...

Are you new here?

Yes, the blog does look different; it's in a new place. A place with a neat layout, uncluttered by ads, a place where photos upload after only one or two attempts...

...an altogether happier place :)

What's in a name

Okay, I continue to get queries about this, so let's set the scene:

I am in Ireland. At the south of Ireland is Cork. The west part of Cork is West Cork. And along the coast there is a place called Baltimore.

It is not - repeat not - the land of The Wire. There are neither Marlo Stanfields nor Snoops; not a nail gun in sight.

Baltimore, Maryland is named (in a roundabout way) for this Baltimore, so while there is a connection between the two, it's pretty tenuous. Okay?

I'm considering the matter settled.