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Context: This happened in February 2010.
A friend of mine is visiting from out of town so Wife and I take him around Walnut Creek to enjoy some beer and people-watching. Walking down one of the main drags, we pass a place completely new to us. It's called "1515" which is what I assume is the address, a two story building gives customers the chance to look outside to the street below and it sounds like a good plan for our next stop.
We go inside, walk past security to go upstairs and find a table next to the window. Wife proceeds to the bar to order drinks and I look around the room. Immediately something doesn't seem right. I can't put my finger on it, but I am uneasy.
A few minutes later, the DJ turns the volume up from five to seven and the crowd starts to non-chalantly dance wherever they are standing. Time passes as we chat with each other, catch up on the past couple of months, and watch people passing by below.
We all exchange some confused and worried looks when, later the volume goes from seven to nine and we can't hear each other talk. That's when I realize it : I am in a game of "Which one of these things is not like the others?" and we are the outsiders.
My first thought is "I do not have nearly enough gel in my hair to fit in here."
My second thought is "I also do not have nearly enough hair on my face to fit in here."
I look to my left and one of the girls has written letters on her knuckles with a ballpoint pen. When she puts her fists together they read : LADY GAGA.
I look around the room and it's teeming with guys in their early twenties wearing their plaid shirts and Livestrong bracelets like badges of honor.
We leave immediately. If any readers saw me walking out of there - that's the explanation. It was an accident, please don't assume I have any desire to be around (or be like) that crowd.
In the future, I'll be sure to ask the doorman what the percentage of hair gel to actual hair the clientele usually has and make an informed decision.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Northern Ireland - Part 3
Context: This was in May of 2002.
We wake up on our final day and sign up for a local tour that takes us through some of the grittier parts of Belfast. I wasn’t too frightened, after all, I’ve lived near major cities most of my life and I firmly believe that if you mind your own business, you are usually safe.
The main division in Northern Ireland is along a combination of political and religious lines. On one side you have the British/Protestants and the other the Irish/Catholics. Our first destination is a neighborhood where everything is painted the colors of the Irish flag (sidewalks, fire hydrants, lamp posts, houses, fences, everything.) Shortly after, we pass through one for the opposite side where the theme is the Union Jack.
The driver has a running discourse on the various acts of violence that have happened and I wonder just how much is fabricated just to make things sound more dangerous. We pass by a pub that has a gigantic metal barrier covering the entrance and he explains that, when it became difficult to throw pipe bombs inside, they started to drive cars through the front of the pub to blow it up. The barrier looks new and this is where I begin to get nervous.
Our next stop is a neighborhood where the sides of two-story houses had huge murals – each one describing someone brave soldier fighting for their side of the cause. The driver motions to one in particular which is of a man called “Mad Dog Adair”, whose nickname pretty much describes his behavior and propensity for violence.
He story ends with, “Oh! And there’s your man right there!” and standing on the other side of the street, smoking a cigarette, is Mad Dog himself glaring at our bus. This is where I start to get really nervous.
Leaving the neighborhood, I note a group of about fifty armored police gathering up the street. The driver explains that every year they have a march which proceeds right in front of the other faction’s church – so rather than have the factions kill each other (sparking yet another blood feud), the police step in between and fight them directly. I let Wife know I am ready to go back to Dublin now.
Arriving home, I read the news and there were over thirty injuries but only a few deaths, so it is reported as “relatively calm”. Belfast is definitely one of the most sobering places I have ever seen, but I am pretty sure I would go back to learn more about the city itself. They say that children going to school together is slowly breaking down the division, but only time will tell.
We wake up on our final day and sign up for a local tour that takes us through some of the grittier parts of Belfast. I wasn’t too frightened, after all, I’ve lived near major cities most of my life and I firmly believe that if you mind your own business, you are usually safe.
The main division in Northern Ireland is along a combination of political and religious lines. On one side you have the British/Protestants and the other the Irish/Catholics. Our first destination is a neighborhood where everything is painted the colors of the Irish flag (sidewalks, fire hydrants, lamp posts, houses, fences, everything.) Shortly after, we pass through one for the opposite side where the theme is the Union Jack.
The driver has a running discourse on the various acts of violence that have happened and I wonder just how much is fabricated just to make things sound more dangerous. We pass by a pub that has a gigantic metal barrier covering the entrance and he explains that, when it became difficult to throw pipe bombs inside, they started to drive cars through the front of the pub to blow it up. The barrier looks new and this is where I begin to get nervous.
Our next stop is a neighborhood where the sides of two-story houses had huge murals – each one describing someone brave soldier fighting for their side of the cause. The driver motions to one in particular which is of a man called “Mad Dog Adair”, whose nickname pretty much describes his behavior and propensity for violence.
He story ends with, “Oh! And there’s your man right there!” and standing on the other side of the street, smoking a cigarette, is Mad Dog himself glaring at our bus. This is where I start to get really nervous.
Leaving the neighborhood, I note a group of about fifty armored police gathering up the street. The driver explains that every year they have a march which proceeds right in front of the other faction’s church – so rather than have the factions kill each other (sparking yet another blood feud), the police step in between and fight them directly. I let Wife know I am ready to go back to Dublin now.
Arriving home, I read the news and there were over thirty injuries but only a few deaths, so it is reported as “relatively calm”. Belfast is definitely one of the most sobering places I have ever seen, but I am pretty sure I would go back to learn more about the city itself. They say that children going to school together is slowly breaking down the division, but only time will tell.
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