#he held the Irish flag the wrong way round

[coalburiedinwarmashes]

James Marriott concert DSi photos

[theatrediva1975]

Take It or Leave It  (Chapter 1 - Leave It)

The sunlight streamed through the window overlooking the small, round kitchen table that served as Olivia Bennett’s dining room table/office desk/craft table and truthfully any flat service she needed. The apartment was tiny but efficient and just enough for what Oliva needed. The job offer to teach at a brand new charter school had come out of the blue and she had all of two weeks between the offer and her first day. Coming off a bad break up, the death of her mother and the elimination of her job in Florida, the offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Olivia grabbed this apartment off an online ad, sight unseen, and prayed for the best. She packed up whatever would fit in her SUV and the small trailer she rented and she didn’t look back. She bought some furniture and decorated her new little home. School started, she made a few friends and a year and a half later, she didn’t think she could have been more content.

Then she met Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn. Olivia smiled as she stared out the window at the flowering dogwood tree that grew on the side of her building. Recalling their “meet cute”, she smiled into her tea cup. He was the complete opposite of any man she had ever dated. Usually attracted to alpha male assholes who acted like they were the end all be all, Olivia was completely smitten by the slightly older, steadier, more mature military man. He was quieter, more introspective, softer than the others. He was incredibly intelligent, thoughtful and he had a wicked sense of humor he seemed to save just for her. No doubt, she was falling hard for her sweet sailor.

Olivia jumped at the loud rap of knuckles against the front door, splashing hot tea all over her t-shirt and the essay papers on the American Revolution she was grading at her kitchen table. Quickly grabbing a towel from the breakfast bar, she attempted to pat the papers dry.

“Keep your shorts on!” she called out as she jogged to the front door, stubbing her baby toe on a box sticking out from under the coffee table as she passed. “Dammit all to hell,” she muttered as she ripped the door open to reveal Eric Blackburn on the other side. Speak of the devil, she thought to herself with a smile.

“Hey there,” she said as she stepped back, tripping over….something, to let Eric in the apartment. “This is a surprise.” Olivia noticed the stony look on Eric’s face as he moved past her. No kiss on the cheek, no smile, nothing. And it was the middle of the day. It unnerved her.

As he stepped further into the apartment, Eric surveyed the landscape of her living room. The boxes sticking out from under the coffee table, the empty shelves that had held her DVD collection, the pile of laundry on the far side of the couch. “Yeah, kind of a last minute thing,” Eric responded with a grimace, looking around at the mess. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Olivia winced at his tone. “I got some bad news the other day,” she explained slowly as Eric turned to her. “My lease has been a month to month for a while now and the landlord decided to call it so he can move his wife’s kid brother in or some such thing.” Olivia hadn’t wanted to bring it up until she had something else in place. It had only been a few days since Mr. Leonard dropped his little bombshell on her and she had been scrambling non stop trying to find a new place to move into. She hadn’t mentioned it in their few conversations because Olivia didn’t want Eric to feel any kind of pressure to invite her to stay with him. They weren’t there yet, having only been dating for a few months. They were just enjoying getting to know each other.

“I’m leaving in sixteen hours,” Blackburn stated.

Stunned, Olivia just stared at him. It wasn’t just what he said, but also how he said it that set Olivia’s teeth on edge. It was the tone, she guessed, that he used with his team. Short, clipped, authoritative.

“Oookay,” Olivia responded, hating the slight shake in her voice. She didn’t like his tone and didn’t know where this was heading but she was starting to feel a pit in her stomach. “You’re being spun up?”

“No. I am being deployed. Two weeks early,” he said, emotionless.

Looking around the room, and the small disaster it was, Eric was getting more and more agitated. He was a military man, after all. Neat and orderly was the way he lived his life and this was the opposite of it. And with his frame of mind at the moment…the loss of Echo team, the deployment being moved up, the way Bravo was already itching for a fight. Eric just sighed and shook his head, shifting his focus from what he was going to be facing to attacking the situation in front of him.

“Deployed? Doesn’t that mean for months at a time?” Olivia was desperately trying to learn all the military lingo. Google only helped just so much and she hadn’t met anyone else in Eric’s circle, so it’s not like she could lean on any of the other wives and girlfriends.

Eric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he responded testily. “I wanted to tell you in person.”

“For how long?”

“Three months, at least,” Blackburn responded.

“Three months,” Olivia repeated. As she began pacing in the small spot in front of her coffee table, her brain kicked into gear as she put two and two together. Her brow furrowed, her Irish temper beginning to flare. He was leaving. She knew this was part of the deal with dating a military man, especially someone like Eric who commanded a specialized unit. Still, she felt there should have been some warning. Especially when that one particular word clicked: early.

“Ok, just so I’m understanding correctly, you’re saying that while you are leaving in the morning, you were already scheduled to leave in two weeks for several months and you’re just now telling me? Is there anything wrong with that assessment...Lieutenant?” she added saucily at the end. Eric took a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her. He knew he was wrong to have kept that from her but it had been so long since he had been in a relationship and things had been so good between them, he hadn’t wanted to ruin it by bringing up the deployment. But with the loss of Echo team weighing on him, the sailor in him who was looking at months of combat and handling a Tier One team was pushing the boyfriend who just wanted to curl up on the couch and help his girl find a new apartment out of the way. “Look, I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person that the timeline had changed and I’m leaving in the morning” he repeated, almost coldly. “This is my life. Take it or leave it.” The words had barely left his mouth and he wanted to take them back. This was not what he had in mind when he came over here.

Olivia felt her heart stop. “I’m sorry. What did you just say to me?”

The two stared at each other. How had things gone from zero to a hundred in less than three minutes, Olivia wondered. “You heard me,” Eric said quietly.

Tears began to form in Olivia’s eyes. “Wow.” She turned around to take a second to pull the tears back, leaning on the little dining room table. A range of emotions were rolling over her as she stood there. Anger, betrayal, fear, disappointment. Why hadn’t he told her he was being deployed? Did he plan on breaking up with her before he left? Was this the easy way for him to end it? Had she completely misread the situation? Whatever the answers were to the myriad of questions popping in her brain, she knew one thing for sure - she promised she would never let a man break her like her ex did. So Olivia squared her shoulders and stood tall as she turned around to make the decision for him.

Olivia spoke as she walked towards the door. “Well, thank you for stopping by and informing me,” she said, figuring if he was going to use his ‘lieutenant’ voice, she was going to use her ‘teacher’ voice. Olivia swept her arm in front of her in the universal sign of ‘here’s the door’. “Please, do not let me keep you away from your duties.” She knew she was being passive aggressive but she also knew she had to be or she’d do or say something stupid.

Eric sighed and moved towards her. Olivia opened the door and moved back, attempting to stay out of his reach. “Look,” Eric began. Before he could get another word out, Olivia lifted her hand to stop him.

“It’s fine,” she said quietly, opening her front door. Olivia bit her tongue to stop herself from asking him to be careful and come home safe in one piece. With her decision to just let go a moment ago waving its flag in her face, she chose to remain silent.

“Liv…”

“Goodbye, Eric,” Olivia said sadly. With one last look, Olivia quickly closed and locked the door, leaving a stunned Eric Blackburn on the other side.

Not wanting him to hear her, Olivia quickly moved through the apartment to her bedroom in the back and sat down on the edge of her bed and started crying. Shit, she thought. What had she just done?

****************************************************************

The following morning, Eric sat at his desk, staring off into space. He replayed the prior afternoon over and over, seeing everywhere he went wrong. He should have told Olivia about the deployment sooner, he should have had his head on straight before he stepped foot in her apartment, but above all else, he never - never - should have given her the ultimatum of “take it or leave it”. And he really should have just sucked it up and went back to her place last night and begged for forgiveness.

Eric dropped his head into his hands. He had never felt so torn. He desperately wanted to go to Olivia. But there wasn’t time. They were set to take off within the hour.

A light knock on the door jamb caught Eric’s attention. Adam Seaver stood leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey man. Ready to go?”

Eric shook his head. “No, not really.”

Adam chuckled. “I find that hard to believe,” he replied, sitting in the chair across from Blackburn’s desk. “What’s going on?”

Eric looked at the Green Team instructor as a thought took hold. “Can I ask you to do me a favor while I’m gone?”

Adam shrugged. “Of course, man, anything. You know that.”

***********************************************************************

After Eric left the apartment, Olivia threw herself a pity party, complete with mint chocolate chip ice cream. She went to bed without checking her emails, texts or social media. She had zero desire to do anything except berate herself for her own childish behavior and recognize that her long standing insecurities and low self esteem issues had reared their ugly heads and cost her perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to her. It wasn’t until the next morning that she learned about what had happened, finally logging on and seeing the news about the SEAL team that had been killed in Afghanistan.

By that point, she knew she would be too late to reach Eric to try and apologize. He had much more important matters to attend to than her, she thought.

Olivia worked through the rest of the week in a fog. She had made no attempt to find a new apartment and she was down to just over a week to get her place packed up and find somewhere to live. Another teacher on staff had offered to let her use her guest room for a few weeks until she found something. It was a sweet offer but she also knew that said teacher was the resident cat lady and the idea of sharing the space with her and her six cats held little appeal. She’d rather go into debt by getting a hotel room until she found something.

After an excruciatingly long Friday, filled with exams, quizzes and a less than attentive group of teenagers, Olivia trudged into her apartment, knocking into boxes along the way to her bedroom where she changed out of her heels and work clothes, stuck her hair up in a messy bun that never looked as sexy as it did in the magazines, and put on her favorite, practically threadbare, Bon Jovi “New Jersey” tour t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. After reheating some leftovers in the microwave, she grabbed a bottle of wine and curled up on her couch with the mission of not getting up until she found an apartment. Not five minutes in, there was a knock on the door.

Olivia looked through the peephole in the door to find a petite blonde woman on the other side. Not recognizing her, Olivia unbolted the door but left the chain on so she could crack it open. “Yes?”

“Hi, Olivia? I’m Victoria Seaver,” the woman explained. “My husband, Adam, works with Eric on base.”

Olivia’s eyes widened slightly, a shiver soared up her spine. Was she here with bad news? “How can I help you?”

“Do you mind if I come in?” she asked politely.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Olivia responded, shaking her head at herself as she closed the door and took the chain off. She tried to run her hands down her shirt in a terrible effort to look presentable in front of “one of the wives”. The thought of meeting a Navy wife had intimidated her for some reason. Maybe because they always seemed way more put together than she was.

As she reopened the door, Victoria smiled at her. “Oh, this place is so cute!” she exclaimed. “It’s so sad you have to move.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. How did she know that? “Um, I’m sorry it's such a mess,” Olivia stated apologetically. “I’ve been trying to pack as best I can between school and grading and everything.” Olivia scrambled to pick things up off the other side of the sofa and the chairs on either side of the coffee table to give Victoria a place to sit. “Please,” she gestured.

Still smiling, Victoria thanked her. “I hated moving so much when Adam was working his way up through the ranks,” Victoria lamented. “I mean, I finally have a system, but it took me years to develop it.”

“How did you know about…” Olivia began.

Victoria raised her hand up, again with a smile. “Eric told Adam how sorry he was to be leaving in the middle of all of this. So, we’re here to help.” The statement was said so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Olivia stared at the woman, searching for what to say next. “I-I don’t...um, help? Help with what?”

Victoria felt bad for the girl in front of her. Brand new relationship with a military man and it’s someone like Eric Blackburn. A brilliant man, no doubt. But a serious dummy in the relationship department. Victoria reached out and took Olivia’s hand. “Eric told Adam you lost the lease on your apartment. And with having to deploy sooner than anticipated, Eric asked Adam if we would take care of you so you weren’t stuck doing this all by yourself.”

Take care of her? Olivia was shocked into silence. She didn’t think Eric even talked about her to anyone at work. She couldn’t help but stare at the patient woman sitting in front of her with her jaw dropped open, then dropping her head to hide the tears threatening to stream down her cheeks. She couldn’t, however, stop the sob that fell from her, causing Victoria to drop her hands, scoot closer to Olivia and wrap her arm around her shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Victoria cooed in Olivia’s hair as the tears fell.

The comfort and support prompted Olivia to, out of nowhere, retrace the steps that led to the outpouring of emotion, telling Victoria about the afternoon Eric last visited and then began telling her all about how they met and some of the dates they had been on before finally admitting out loud what she knew she should have been telling Eric, not the sweet stranger sitting beside her. “I’ve fallen in love with him and now it’s too late,” Olivia choked out.

Victoria once again grabbed Olivia’s hand. “Olivia, I have known that man for a very, very long time and as much as I adore and admire him, Eric’s an idiot.”

Olivia’s head snapped up at the statement and saw the glint in Victoria’s eye as she chuckled at her. Victoria continued. “He is a brilliant strategist, a cool headed straight shooter in a sea of politically motivated egos and he is, rumor has it, quite a deadly shot. But when it comes to interpersonal - or should I say, personal relationships - Eric Blackburn is about as astute and communicative as a 15 year old boy.”

Both women paused for a moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Well, I guess that could be said for most men, couldn’t it?” Olivia queried, earning her a rueful nod from Victoria.

“My Adam can be just as bad,” she confessed. “But enough about the boys,” Victoria continued, eyeballing the bottle of wine on the table. “Got an extra glass?”

Olivia smiled and nodded, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass, a plate, fork and a few little snack items to offer her guest. “Sorry for all this. I am sure you have way more important things to be handling right now than some overwrought, hysterical chick you’ve never even laid eyes on.”

Victoria shook her head. “Stop it. I am happy to help. That’s what we do - we help each other,” she explained. “Being a Navy wife or girlfriend or partner, we all experience similar things. It’s never the exact same thing but trust me, we are all here for each other.” As Olivia returned to the living room, she watched Victoria pull a tablet out of her bag. “So, with that said, I took some liberty.”

As Olivia settled in, Victoria proceeded to open up the app for a local real estate site she had bookmarked, showing Olivia several places she hoped would pique her interest. “I did some research on this place and found some places that are in the area and comparable.”

For the next few hours, the two women researched the local real estate market and made phone and email inquiries on several properties Olivia liked and could afford. They finished off the bottle of wine and then finished off the remaining mint chocolate chip ice cream. By the end of the evening, Olivia had several places to see the following day, but more importantly, she found a friend.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Victoria said as she stepped over the threshold to head home. “Tonight was kind of a daddy/daughter night but Adam has several things to do this weekend before Echo…” she trailed off.

It was the first time that night that the subject of Echo team had come up that night and Olivia wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. So she just went on instinct and pulled Victoria in for a hug. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine what this is like for you all to be going through.”

Victoria squeezed her back and when she pulled away, Olivia saw the tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she began. “It affects us all, whether it’s one life or a whole team. We truly are a community, Olivia. We have each other’s backs, 100%. You’re a part of that now, too. Whether you like it or not,” she finished with a wry smile which Olivia returned. Victoria continued. “Well, Hannah, my daughter, needs a distraction right now, like we all do, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if she tagged along with us.”

Olivia shook her head. “No, absolutely not. I’d love to meet her.”

Victoria smiled and leaned in, hugging the young teacher once more. “Welcome to the family, Liv,” she said in her ear. She pulled back, catching Olivia’s face in her hands and gave her a wicked grin. “You’re stuck with us now!”

The two women laughed and waved good night once more before Victoria descended down the stairs to the small lobby below. Olivia watched her leave before going back inside.

Curling up on the couch after cleaning up the dishes left behind, Olivia grabbed her laptop. She stared at the screen, knowing what she had to do but also hated it had to be done this way - impersonally, digitally. Calling was out of the question, so this was her only option.

Opening up her email program, Olivia chewed on her bottom lip, wondering what to say, where to start. Talking to Victoria had helped Olivia achieve some clarity and understanding but more importantly, a certain amount of hope that all had not been lost. So she typed just seven words:

Come home safe, sailor. I’ll be waiting.

Olivia never imagined she would get an almost immediate response so when her email alert chimed, she froze when she saw the response.

I promise.

One tear trailed down her cheek as she closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks that all was not lost after all.

[everydayanth]

STARTING AT 21:48

TRIGGER WARNING: The thumbnail doesn’t convey the tone here. This is footage of anti-protestors “protecting” a columbus statue in a park in PA. Things get violent, over-sensory, and include mob-mentality stress. Shortly after the timestamp indicated, there is mad disrespect to Native history and culture, a lot of ignorance and generalizations about the local Black communities.

If you don’t want to watch it: I am referring to a point where many white Americans are challenging a journalist asking them about policing, BLM, and politics, and one, to paraphrase, is worried that the journalist is going to cut it to make them look racist and call them white Americans, and he wants to be clear that they are “white Americans of Italian descent with deep roots in the area!” When pressed about Native American roots in the area, they erupt in swears and cuss at him, the same guy yelling “what do you want me to do about it?” Throughout the exchange, another guy is riling them up about media twisting their stories while the journalist continues to explain that he is live streaming and it therefore cannot be cut up. The Italian flag can be seen on shirts, bags, and waving in the background.

I can’t stop thinking about this. 

I ran into this in every corner of the US except the deep south cus I haven’t really been there yet (teen years don’t count). White Americans who want to belong to a cultural community continue to cling to their heritage culture in often stereotypic ways as a a way to separate them from the “whiteness” of white America and belong to a local community.

I can’t stop seeing it everywhere. But I know there is no one line, its all grey, and belonging to something bigger than yourself is a powerful connection for humans, as social creatures with dynamic identities and emotions, it can be a grounding place. 

But when I see stuff like this, I wonder how the heritage cultures see it. What do you think video clip of this in Italy? 

What do the Dutch think of all the Calvinists and Dutch Reformed Church communities in West Michigan? I actually asked a few Dutch people once, and one old guy goes “well... they left for a reason, and no one stopped them for a reason” lol.

Cultural identities were assimilated harshly, or else held onto in unexpected ways. When I look at it, my Dziadzia is Polish, from Poland, but he was a baby when they came, or born shortly after, so his siblings speak Polish (you know I hung out with great aunts and uncles all summer), but he doesn’t, he was pushed to be American. Technically, he’s a first generation immigrant, and I’ve connected to a lot of Polish-Americans and Polish people through experiences and linguistic pieces I never considered to be Polish before. 

In contrast, my dad’s Dutch parents lived in the Dutch part of town and went to a Dutch church and read from the Dutch (well, Frisian, I was in my 20s when I learned what that meant or why it was important) family Bible and my nana spoke to us in her thick accent and the d and v sections of my schools were the largest (de- and van- surnames) and we did Tulip Time and renamed areas Holland and Zealand. So while they had assimilated, it was in a VERY Dutch area, and assimilation was quite minimal. Some of my aunts and uncles are very... white-American, while others and my dad (he’s one of 6, my mom is one of 8) are very much Dutch and stayed in the Dutch neighborhoods and churches. It took me a lot of training to start capitalizing proper nouns guys, you don’t understand, then I studied German and I turned in a paper to this really harsh English teacher and he made me stay after class and yelled at me because proper nouns had been left uncapitalized while regular nouns were capitalized... it was a bad day lol.

The Irish are critical of the Americanized St.Paddy’s day (understandably) and the souvenir shops seem to welcome Irish-Americans with open-arms and family crests on every type of knick-knack tchotchke you can imagine, while I have also heard Irish-American claims of identity dismissed in documentaries and series about Gaeilge as their own separate thing, with their own history that has become distinctly not-Irish in culture, location, language, or history (though the British enemy stayed the same).

There are tons of anglophiles in America who idealize England and watch the royal wedding and consume British media with glee. 

I’m not too sure about Spanish or French identities in America because growing up in MI, I learned the basic French from Canadian friends and their families, but I associated that with Canada, not France. When did it become different? Like Cajun, is it its own identity? Seems like it, tbh. And I associated Spanish and Portuguese language with friends from Central and South America because I didn’t really know of anyone from Spain or Portugal heritages and learned about them in school as the colonizers (along with Italian). Strange how that framing works to displace blame/responsibility, huh. In that Dutch school and I had to learn about the Dutch East India Trading Co from frickin’ Pirates of the Caribbean? Psh, says enough.

Bavarian has become the American stamp of German heritage, despite many families being from the lowlands or surrounding areas. A German friend got so fed up with the association one time, he yelled at everyone about electronic music, jumpstyle, and green energy so long that we ended up not playing soccer and just listening to him rant about what “German” was not. It was Oktober, and it was a college town, so I get it lol.

Eastern Europeans seem to often get stigmatized while Scandinavians... I dunno, seem to assimilate or keep to themselves? There’s a Danish population in a small town in MI that is very proud of its roots but beyond a parade and some flags, some round pancakes and me struggling eternally with the Danish language, there wasn’t too much of a focus on it. There’s also a large Finnish population in the UP (NOT Scandinavian, Nordic, I know, sorry), and they retain many Finnish words and phenotypic traits, flags wave over porches, but again, for the most part, they’re just... Michiganders. 

My view of this could also be very skewed because while I’ve lived in tons of states over the past 6-7 years, that doesn’t change the 20+ I spent growing up in MI, a place that is very insulated and island-cultured, making a steady clash of hot/cold and high/low-context cultures in a concentrated area.

Anyway, European friends (or anyone), do you think about this? Is this a conversation topic for you? How do you view white Americans who stand by or maintain ownership of a European identity? 

White Americans who know or claim a heritage often have a story about a family member who rebelled and came to America. Do you have those stories from the opposite POV, a wayward family member who left to America and was never heard from again?

For everyone: is there a point where a cultural heritage becomes an idealization? Where you are no longer an active participant but a bystander? Is there an American replacement or did assimilation remove that? Or did assimilation create it?

There’s an Ancestry.com commercial I think about a lot. The guy wears a kilt or Leiderhösen, I forget which one first, then does some research on ancestry, and finds that his family had their history wrong, so he traded in one for the other. Is this cultural appropriation? At what point do you lose ownership? Or do we always own our roots? What about when our roots get too tangled to trace, or cut off altogether, by our own family’s nonchalance (as in, not remembering or maintaining) or forced by a stronger power? 

Is it a different conversation when talking about personal costuming for an event vs anti-protests using their European heritage as a platform to deny change? Or is it the same act to different degrees or in positive/negative lights? 

If you are White-American, did you grow up with a heritage culture in your family or community? When did you start to notice it? How has it impacted your identity?

I know these questions also extend to BIPOC and immigrant/religious minority cultures in America, but due to histories of stigmatization, demonization, oppression, genocide, slavery, and appropriation, it seems like that has to be a different conversation. Clinging to roots when someone has cut you away or is trying to uproot you to assimilate is different than willfully leaving, which seems different than being forced out as a refugee or due to internal conflict/crises (famine, war, etc.), these are different conversations to me. 

I’ve just been thinking about this a lot. 

[hiphopandtheirishquestion]

Year Zero

The first rap album I really got into was Public Enemy’s Yo! Bum Rush the Show. Till then, it had mostly been one off singles and compilations. Public Enemy also conformed more to the traditional format of a band. Nothing as clichéd as guitars and a drummer of course, but they far were more than a DJ and a rapper. Chuck D, Flavor Flav, Professor Griff, the S1Ws and Terminator X... PE! And in June 1988 they were coming to Dublin.

PE dressed all in black, bar Flav who liked red tracksuits. The S1W’s (Security of the 1st World) were their military wing, and it was said they carried Uzi Sub-machine guns on stage. Chuck D was the front-man and was angry. He wanted revolution yesterday. He was asked if he was playing a game. No, he said, ”We’re not playing any game. Everything else is a game. This is the un-game".

I liked that. The Ungame

They were playing in McGonigles off Grafton Street, so the Def Road Massive (all two of us) made our way to the big smoke. But we made sure to get into character first. TV programmes like Rapido suggested whistles were an essential accessory for any self-respecting b-boy. And being PE, we thought plastic Uzis would be a nice touch, something that didn’t help our 17-year old chances getting served in  a pub.

Going to Dublin to see your first out-of-town concert is a rite of passage for us culchies. The fact that mine was a rap band from New York, one that most of my schoolmates would not even have heard of, gave it added weight, at least in my book. I had seen Dublin punks Paranoid Visions and The Human League in Waterford - both great experiences in their own way.  But this was different.

Public Enemy, hip hop, was mine. I could leave the other meatheads back in Tramore CBS to headbang to Quo or Van Halen or whoever they fucking liked. To the extent that any of them even knew who PE were it would have been to dismiss it as not being music. Good. Keep it that way. I’ll have my “music” you have yours, you dopey shower of cloth eared, black-shoes-and-white-socks wearing, In the naaaaaaammme of luuuuvvvvvvv singing along with, shit-for-brained bastards.

There - that told 'em.

The day began with a hip hop hors d'ouevre. PE were performing on the grounds of Trinity College that afternoon. I turned up at college green radiating as many rebellious vibes as I could, because I, of course, was a kindred spirit, coming from the crime and poverty riddled slums of Tramore.

The Golden Horde came on first. They played fast, thrashy punk music, and were great. PE - less so. They began by asking everyone to do the peace sign. We half-heartedly followed suit. The whole ‘throw your hands up in the air’, crowd participatory thing is one of the more questionable aspects of the live rap experience. Particularly in the middle of the afternoon, to a crowd of mostly curious onlookers as opposed to actual fans. The punks who had been enthusiastically stage diving ten minutes previously began drifting away, muttering ‘what the fuck is this shit? or words to that effect. And they had a point.

When PE eventually got round to playing some music, they played one song, a tuneless Bring the Noise. It didn’t bode well for main event. Bring The Noise is a banger. If that sounds shit, what hope for the rest of the gig? Perhaps the setting was wrong but I hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come. I didn’t want to spend the whole night being bequeathed to 'say yeah, throw up the peace sign, say yeah, say hell yeah', do anything really except jump around, pump my fist a bit and, in the words of Mantronix, get stupid.

In was all worth it though. Brief set over, PE left the stage and happily mingled with the handful of fans there, belying their reputation as serious, humourless militants. I came away with the inside of my jacket signed Tx (Terminator X), Flavor Flav, PE #1 (Chuck D) and S1Ws (Professor Griff). Was this the musical wing of Louis Farrakhan, the black racists who believed white people to be devils, the angriest group in the world? Lovely chaps to a man - but I looked forward to furious anger later that night.

And so to McGonigles. The music pre-gig was a revelation. I knew a track called The Terminator from a mixtape I had secured somewhere. It  sampled Arnie and The Darleks ‘ex-ter-min-ate’ mantra. Here, it made sense. The Terminator would not rest till he had taken out all ‘wack MC’s’. Chuck D had once said that rap was meant to be played loudly, not on your headphones. I now knew what he meant.

In truth, I had no idea what went on at a rap gig. Another song I loved was The Manipulator by Mixmaster Gee and the Turntable Orchestra. ‘Turntable Orchestra cut it up!’ went the refrain, before a wordless chorus of scratching. PE consisted of a quite a lot of people. Only Chuck, Flav and Terminator X had clearly defined roles. Was everyone else on stage scratching up records like a turntable orchestra? I held out some hope that this would be the case (it wasn’t).

Between the pre-gig tunes and a roomful of hip hop starved fans, McGonigles was hopping by the time the band came onstage. And despite being a bit short, involving quite a lot of between-song preaching and a dodgy sound system, it was utterly brilliant. Life-changing, even.

Nothing could diminish the impact of seeing a rap band, and my undisputed favourites at that, up front and personal for the first time. The S1Ws stood on either side looking menacing. Flav did a dance with a bunch of clocks around his neck. Terminator X stood behind the decks, huge PE logo at the front, looking cool as only a hip hop DJ can.

The quality of the sound, the fact that it took me about two minutes to even recognise Rebel Without A Pause, was irrelevant. It was a hip hop love in, and PE could do no wrong. Perhaps the Irish crowd associated with the underdog, or with the sense of standing up to a perceived oppressor. At one point, someone handed a tricolour on stage. This kind of mawkish, come-on-foreign-rock-star-say-how-much-you-love-Oireland nonsense usually makes me want to puke. But here, it was powerful.

Chuck took the flag and told us how lucky we were to have it. We’d kicked the Brits out and were independent (the words may have been different but that was the sentiment). They, on the other hand, as black Americans had nothing. No flag, no homeland, nothing. As a speech for oppressed minorities it was up there with Pearse’s graveside oration.

If there’s a defining moment in 80s Irish hip hop culture then this gig was surely it. Schoolly D and London Posse had played in Dublin, but it was PE at McGonigles that marked year zero for the new generation of B-boys and girls. Eamon Carr saw historical parallels.

‘The Clash in the exam hall in Trinity and Public Enemy in McGonigles, it’s a bit like 1916 in the GPO. We were there! There are so many others who wish they were or think they were there’.

Eric Moore, or DJ Laz-e, old skool hip hop head and DJ at RTE Gold, was another of the lucky ones.  “I remember you couldn’t breathe. It was so packed. I was only just sixteen and it was the first concert I’d ever gone to. I’d lied and said I was staying at a friend’s house. And it wasn’t like I was drinking or smoking or anything. Hip hop was my only vice.”

Unsurprisingly, considering his pedigree as a Breakdancer and soon to be champion DJ, he was never going to rock up with a mere whistle and plastic machine gun in the line of accessories.

"I had a pink feather going through a rope gold chain – I thought this is really Zulu Nation. And all my friends were in character too. We wanted to be different. We were like punk rockers. We were obsessed with this shit".

Eric’s Clondalkin crew went on to do great things in the Irish hip hop world, the likes of Sherlock, Tron, Mek and Cutmaster Jay, all of whom were in McGonigles that night, cleaning up at national DMC DJing championships over the ensuing years. The Def Road Massive, alas, remained steadfastly underground. Deep, deep underground.

As did hip hop generally, at least in Waterford in 1988. But that didn't mean we weren't right - a conviction my grandfather and the other 1916 rebels also held 82 years previously. And there would be no need for MC James Connolly to call on his followers to 'raise the roof' – the guns of the British army would see to that.  

[jessiewre]

Day 4

Weds 8th Jan 2020

Our breakfast pre-ordered for 7:10am did not go quite as planned and it turned up 20 mins late at 7:30am. Hmm we had a bus to catch and we really did not want to miss it.

Phil casually started chatting to a Belgian guy who’d just finished a 3 month programme for Biodiversity as part of his masters and blah blah blah - to be honest I just started to feel nervous about how late we were getting for our 9am bus.

We booked an Uber on Phil’s phone at 8am but it did not move at all on the map for over 5 minutes. 5 WHOLE MINUTES. Ok so this had some potential for getting pretty stressful.

To cover us, I booked another one on my phone and watched them both keenly, to try and work out which one looked like the winner and which one to cancel. Eventually we kept the first one and thankfully it arrived, despite the fact that the app said it was miles away still. Bloody Uber, can’t live with it can’t live without it.

We made it to the bus station in time and got on a bus to Kabale. Made it, phew.

This bus had the NARROWEST aisle you’ve ever seen. You had to go down it sideways. Not ideal with either bags or any sort of ass. Or both.

There was also very limited space for leg room but the seats were disproportionately large. A weird layout for a bus. But despite it being strange, overall it was fairly comfortable thank gooooodness.

A man came on to tell a prayer to the bus before we left, naturally, Phil gave him a big Amen and we travelled 7 hours to Kabale.

Early on in the journey, the ticket man handed us a menu to pre-order lunch from a place called Gaytors. The menu was kinda smart and we had high hopes. We ordered a vege samosa and the classic Ugandan snack of a rollex (similar to the watch brand in absolutely no way at all).

We eventually pulled into this really smart looking cafe and we spotted the big sign saying ‘Gaytors’. It looked really clean and we were actually pretty excited for a stretch of the legs and some food in this nice place. Yeah, things were going well.

We then saw a man running over to the bus from the cafe carrying a bag. The bus was not even completely still yet when the bus door opened and our ticket man took the bag from the cafe worker like the baton in a relay race. We then sped straight off leaving a trail of dust behind us - our chance to stretch our legs dwindling into oblivion. Also our chance to pee was gone too.

In the 7 hour journey time, the bus stopped ONCE for people to pee. ONCE. I think it was the kind of journey where the bus only stopped if someone specifically requested it. We were not aware of this so Phil went into some sort of classic Phil bus hibernation for most of the ride.

Our first rollex (a chapati with an egg in with onion kinda thing) was pretty tasty though but the samosa was even better.

Phil had organised for a pick up in Kabale through our destination hotel but there was no sign of him on arrival. Just many other people trying to hustle some business. So we pitched up in a cafe called Kadio Motel and bought a beer from the rabbit-in-the-headlights staff who looked like they’d never seen a Muzungu before (that’s us) while we asked to use their phone. After some hanging around and continual refusal to go with other drivers trying to hustle us, our vehicle turned up. It was a minibus that looked fine - until we actually got near to it and realised how many people were inside. We were under the impression we had booked a private vehicle. Imagine the opposite of that.

Well there were 4 adults with 2 children in the back aged about 7 and 1. Rammed.

I took a seat in the middle row where a man was sat with 2 kids and Phil sat in the front, then the driver came over to tell me that actually I was sitting in the wrong seat. Oh sorry mate it wasn’t massively obvious there was another option?!

He told me to move to the front and sit in the middle. I looked at the ‘seat’ he was referring to and it was the middle bit between the driver seat and the passenger seat. It was a bit of car interior with a pillow on it. And no back rest.

The reason it did not have a back rest was because IT WAS NOT A SEAT.

Well, I squashed in like a good lass and so did Phil and we began the uncomfortable 1.5 hour journey, me side-on leaning on Phil, back aching, with 11 other people in a vehicle that was made for 8. Wicked.

I could hardly say no and make someone else sit there could I.

About 20 minutes in, we passed a police vehicle. I heard the driver say a few words under his breath.

Sure enough they flagged us down and pulled us over. We realised the man sat behind Phil (the one sat in the seat I thought I would have originally) was the money man in the bus as he handed the driver a note subtley, ready for the police officer.

The officer clocked me and Phil in the vehicle and raised his eyebrows. Uh oh...

The officer moved round to the drivers side and looked at us

“Hello, how are you”

We did our best impression of comfortable happy people and said ‘Yes we are great! Excited to see the gorillas!’

Then he actually asked us if we were comfortable.

We said ‘Yes! Absolutely! So comfortable, we are fine!’

He looked at us, especially me, with my twisted back and awkward position. It must have been fairly obvious we were not being completely honest. He was having none of it.

‘I dont think you are’ he said (I mean, I definitely was not), then he asked the driver to step out.

Oh gaaaaaddd.

We thought this is it, our driver is getting arrested and we will have to pay lots of money for breaking the law.

But not quite. The officer simply demanded we moved to the seat behind and the man behind Phil moved to the seat in front. So he somehow reconfigured everyone in a way that no one was in the ridiculous middle ‘seat’.

What an absolute legend, he saved me from over an hour of pure awkward discomfort. I was still sat next to a bloke with two children, plus Phil - but it was a definite upgrade.

It was only about 20 minutes later though, that we pulled over in a little village we were passing through and TWO MORE PEOPLE GOT IN. They sat in the FRONT, basically in the space that I’d been in. The pillow thing with no back rest in between the driver and front passenger. The woman ended up sat half on the man in fronts lap and the older man just perched side-on clinging onto the drivers seat headrest to prop himself up. So now there were a total of 15 people in the vehicle that was made for 8.

It was certainly efficient I’ll give em that.

Also just for further context, one woman in the back row (remember, the row with 6 people in?) was breastfeeding and another woman was travel sick and vomited as soon as she got out of the vehicle at her drop off. Lovely.

We arrived at the Ruhija Community Rest Camp hotel and it was in a beautiful setting with lovely rooms overlooking the jungle. Nothing like the bus.

The shower absolutely did not work when hung on the wall and was barely even a trickle when held down off the wall, so washing was interesting. By interesting I mean difficult and not at all interesting.

We had a cute dinner of vegetables in sauce, rice and ‘Irish potatoes’. Phil was buzzin. It didn’t look amazing but was pretty tasty to be honest and definitely filling, so we went to bed full in the quiet of the jungle edge, (sort of) half washed.

[loveminimag]

MINI CHALLENGE: Rockingham (JCW Rd 3&4)

Words  MINI CHALLENGE   Photos  DAVID YOUNG

  Round: 3         Laps: 6             Weather: Sunny, dry Max Bladon learned from his starting errors at Oulton Park to take his maiden JCW victory in a fragmented first race at Rockingham. Bladon didn’t just have to get off the line once to notch his first win in the turbocharged class, he had to do it twice after a mid-race red flag prompted a full re-grid. When the lights went out Bladon got a great getaway to hold the lead from the charging Brett Smith as the top four held station with David Grady running third ahead of James Turkington. Charlie Butler-Henderson managed to sneak past Mark Wakefield for fifth off the line. Things stayed that way until CB-H and Turkington rubbed through the fast Gracelands left-hander. Turkington was spun off while CB-H was delayed with bumper damage. While CB-H continued in fifth, Turkington was 22nd when he rejoined. That wasn’t the end of the chaos either. The safety car made a brief appearance before the red flags flew when Will Neal’s car was stranded mid-circuit after a collision in the pack out of Tarzan corner.

Will Neal gets stranded on-track

Both delays heaped the pressure on Bladon. “Starts are like a lottery, they can go well, or badly and I could get hit or delayed or anything, so I really had to focus on both restarts,” he said.

Safety car and red flags hold up the racing

“The second standing start was way worse, as the car had lost all temperature by the point we got going so it was really stressful.” Despite his fears, Bladon nailed it and pulled a colossal 2.6s clear on the first lap as an epic battle broke out behind him. Brett Smith was forced wide through Deene when the pack ran four-abreast into the tight turn, leaving Wakefield in second ahead of Grady, CB-H and Barr.

Grady leads the rest of the pack

Not happy to settle for fifth, Barr dived past CB-H into the Brook chicane before sneaking around the outside of Grady at Tarzan to net third. He then latched on to the back of Wakefield, but couldn’t find a way past in the remaining few laps.

Reece Barr squeezes past CBH on the closing laps

“I’m delighted to get the win and clear the monkey off my back,” said Bladon, who took the flag almost five seconds clear. “The restart went perfectly and I couldn’t believe the gap I got. I was able to back off a bit and look after the tyres as race two could be a struggle on the rubber as it’s very abrasive around here.” Wakefield said: “The restart could have gone either way for me, better or worse. Thankfully it went better and I got behind Max through the hairpin. When Reece got through behind me I had to turn on defend mode and quit attacking as this championship is all about scoring solid points, not winning every race.” Barr added: “If you’d offered me third yesterday I’d have happily taken it so I was really happy with my drive. It was about picking my moments and taking every chance I got. I start three places higher for race two, so let’s see what we can do from there.” Grady was fourth, ahead of CB-H, Brad Hutchinson, Brett Smith, Scott Jeffs and Stuart Gough. Turkington fought his way back to 10th, netting fastest lap in the process. “What happened at the start was unfortunate, but I’ve got to take the positives – we had the pace in the car and I got the bonus for fastest lap. Now on to the next one!”

Round: 4         Laps: 14           Weather: Cloudy, dry Reece Barr made it four different winners from as many races this year after scoring an emphatic maiden JCW victory in race two at Rockingham. Barr, a former double Irish karting champion, showed maturity and race craft beyond his young years to storm through the pack and secure a commanding first victory. The reversed grid placed Charlie Butler-Henderson on pole, with David Grady alongside as Barr and Mark Wakefield occupied the second row, with race-one victor Max Bladon back in fifth.

Bladon and Barr in an early tussle

CB-H’s start wasn’t the best, allowing Grady past on the outside of Turn One before Bladon made an audacious lunge on the brakes down the inside on the brakes into the Deene Hairpin to secure third, as those behind were delayed. Barr was swamped down to fourth and Brad Hutchison secured an early fourth. Barr didn’t wait long to start making a move and went door-handle to door-handle with Hutchison as Rob Smith also closed in. Smith pulled off a fine move to briefly dive in front of both on the brakes at Deene, before contact with Mark Wakefield a lap later led to Smith spinning and Wakefield heading to the pits with damage.

Mark Wakefield has to pit after damage in a collision with Rob Smith

Barr slipped past Hutchison and then set his sights on the top three. He passed Bladon with a fine move up the inside through Gracelands, which he also then repeated on Butler-Henderson for second. Grady then fell victim to the charging Irishman on the brakes into Deene with a few laps to run.

Barr has CBH and champion Grady in his sights

“That was an amazing race,” said Barr. “I lost a few places in the first corners but then calmed myself down and started concentrating on pumping the lap times in and the car felt great. I had new-ish tyres on the front and the extra grip really seemed to pay off. “After the start to the weekend with the penalty this is the perfect result. It’s moved me up in the championship and I’m feeling really good ahead of the next rounds.” Grady said: “I was blown away by Reece’s pace there, I didn’t expect him to come through as fast as he did. I was managing the gap to Charlie and then he just arrived and cruised past. It caught me by surprise a bit. I’ll still take second as a good result though.”

And takes the win to make it four different winners in four races

Butler-Henderson added: “I thought age and experience pays over youth, but that little Irish lad is quick! It’s great for points and I really enjoyed it. We were all really struggling with tyres and around turn one there’s huge clumps of rubber vibrating and flying off the car so it feels like the tyres are about to blow out and it’s massively unsettling. I backed off when I knew I was sure of a podium.” Brett Smith was fourth ahead of Stuart Gough, Hutchison and Scott Jeffs. James Turkington fought to eighth place ahead of Henry Neal and Mohammed Nalwalla. Max Bladon gradually slipped back after opting to not fit any fresh tyres for this race. He wound up 11th, but said: “It’s a learning exercise really. Sure we got the call on the tyres wrong but we’ve still won a race and earned good points this weekend.” via Blogger http://ift.tt/2qzSTDI

[theworldenews-blog]

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