A Few Words About Words

St. Patrick's Day is coming up and, I know I don't usually talk about it, but my family is from Ireland.

I'll give you a moment to get over that bombshell.

I will admit that I find North American people's interpretation of St. Patrick's Day a bit comical. It's a play-by-play of every Irish stereotype wrapped up in a plastic shamrock bow. There is nothing Irish about the way we celebrate St. Patrick's Day. But it's also endearing, in it's own way: everyone in green outfits and plastic shamrocks from head-to-toe while trying out Oirish accents as they order copious pints of Guinness.

Nike decided to get on the St. Patrick's Day bandwagon this year by releasing a line of Irish beer themed shoes just in time for the big day. I, as I am want to do, had a few opinions about this.

I don't have a problem with the drink, Black and Tan, as it's not an Irish drink. People assume it is because of the standard practice of using Guinness for the top, but the drink didn't originate in Ireland and the name can be applied to any two-toned beer combination.

But the shoes. They bug me.

Never mind the fact that a Black and Tan isn't actually an Irish drink, but this is not the first time Nike has put its foot in its mouth when it comes to Ireland. Is there no one in the whole of the Nike corporation that understands how Google works?

The Black and Tans in Irish history were British military units sent to Ireland during the War of Independence. The actions of these men, many of them WWI vets suffering from shell-shock, were nothing short of horrific. Their job was to stop Irish rebels at any cost, and if they suspected that you were a rebel they took a shoot-first-ask-questions-later attitude towards handling you.

The name came from their uniforms: khaki pants left over from WWI and dark tops to denote them as members of the Irish Constabulary. You can perhaps see then why naming an article of clothing Black and Tan in a highly misguided attempted to celebrate St. Patrick's Day got my nickers in a knot.

All this leads me to a drink name I do have a problem with: the Irish Car Bomb.

In the past, I've had friends offer to buy me this drink, Hey Andrea, you're Irish. Let's have an Irish Car Bomb. Ha Ha Ha! I've always declined (and not just because of the name. Who chugs Guinness? Who ruins whiskey by mixing it with Bailey's? Or vice versa?) This is not an Irish drink and its name is offensive. You wouldn't name a drink an Afghan Roadside Bomb, so why is it okay to name one an Irish Car Bomb?

Approximately 3500 people died in Northern Ireland as a result of the Troubles, many of them from car bombs. Countless more were injured. Loyalist. Republican. Catholic. Protestant. Military. Civilian. People died and we think it's acceptable to order it as a drink. While the Troubles are officially over thanks to a bunch of politicians signing a piece of paper, car bombs are still around.

In 1998, mere months after the signing of the Good Friday Agreement, a car bomb exploded in Omagh killing 29 people and injuring over 200 more. Last April, Omagh was rocked again when the bomb attached to Ronan Kerr's car killed him. Constable Kerr was a new recruit to the Police Service of Northern Ireland. He was 25 years old.

If you really want to celebrate Ireland and the Irish this St. Patrick's Day, ask your bartender for a Durty Nelly. It's the exact same drink but with a much less offensive name.

Unless you happened to be named Nelly.

Weekend of No Crafting

I did not get any crafting done this weekend. My plans were thwarted by a f*#%ing bobbin.

My mom got a new sewing machine. Seeing as I've used various sewing machines in the past and always been able to figure them out, I wasn't too worried about it even though she specifically said there are a couple of differences with this machine.

On Saturday I drew up my ideas, figured out my measurements and then cut all my pieces. I left my progress there because I have this thing about wanting a very clear 'finish' point at the end of the day--it irks me to stop at an unnatural part of the process--so I figured I'd do all the stitching on Sunday.

I spent Saturday evening experiencing the joy of having a cable again (I got to watch Murdoch Mysteries and it made me so happy) and having a friend who lived in the area come around for a cup of tea and a chat.

Sunday morning I woke up bright and early at a reasonable time, enjoyed a cup of tea, then set about setting up the sewing machine. It had white thread and I wanted black. I got the spool loaded with very little fuss then turned my attention to the bobbin.

There was no sliding door for the bobbin compartment.

Out came the instructions and I figured out how to get into the bobbin compartment without a screwdriver.

Then came the hard part. Instead of popping the bobbin into its spot and then looping the thread through until it catches, you removed the bobbin holder, secure the bobbin in it and then replace it in the machine (with the bobbin totally hidden). I couldn't get the holder to stay in the machine. It kept falling out.

I read and reread the picture instructions which must have been drawn by the same guy who does the Ikea instructions. I stared at the instructions to remove the holder. I stared at the instructions to insert the bobbin in the holder. I looked through the entire manual for how to replace the bobbin holder. When that failed, I went back to experimenting. Then back to staring.

I was starting to feel like a bit of a idiot.

When I swore at the machine, I knew it was time to walk about for a cup of tea. I'd try again after I had calmed down. I could stare at the pictures with fresh eyes as it were.

I went to take a picture of the problem. My camera took the picture... except it over-exposed the whole thing and it washed out. I played with camera settings, location, everything. The end result was either almost black or almost white photos. I resent factory settings but that just made it worse. Now the pictures are all white.

After I ranted on facebook and then had a cup of tea, I returned to the machine.

"I never had this many problems with the old machine," I explained to it. "I could have threaded the old machine with my eyes closed."

I looked at the instructions again and saw the tiny (seemingly insignificant) step I had missed. I retried the bobbin holder and, hallelujah, it went in and held in place! I did a happy dance.

I took some scraps of the fabric I was using to play around with the new-to-me machine. No matter how I tried--pushing, pulling, pushing and pulling--the fabric would not feed through the foot evenly. After 10 minutes, I gave up. I had just reached a point where I couldn't be bothered to stare at picture instructions any more.

So my pieces are cut, now I just await the return of my mom who will (as always) have all the answers.

Heros and Ass-Hats: The 2011 Vancouver Riots

Can I just start by saying how much it pains me that I have to specify a year when talking about Vancouver riots now?

My Vancouver story has nothing unique, no fresh perspective on it, that needs to be added. I have no first hand story of being downtown because when it became apparent the Canucks were going to lose, we stayed on the other side of the bridge (I did, however, hug a perfect stranger on my walk home. He was about 21 or 22 and was sitting on the grass outside an apartment building crying, wiping his face with the sleeve of his Canucks jersey. I just felt like he could use a hug.) but given the amount I have mentioned the playoffs leading up to this, I did want to take a moment to acknowledge what happened.

Dear Vancouver Canucks: Thank you for an amazing season. Save the last 50 minutes, I wouldn't change a thing (well, maybe a certain eye injury and a certain spine injury, but you know what I mean). Being allowed to come along for the ride as a fan was an incredible experience and I love you all the more for it. You have been fantastic to watch and have achieved amazing things. I look forward to seeing what next season brings. See you in October!

PS. In a strange way, I have to thank you for losing. I would have been downtown with a 2.5 year old and her mom if you had won. Reports and interviews with some of the people stupid enough to still be down there at 10:00pm made me realise that this probably still would have happened if you had won. So, thank you? For keeping my personal safety in mind? What a kind thing to do. I didn't even know you knew me.

PPS. I have waited 30 years for the Stanley Cup to come to Vancouver, I can wait another 30 if I have to. (But please don't confuse my ability to wait with a desire to wait.)

Dear Boston Bruins: Congratulations on your win. You deserved it. Especially Thomas. Someone give that man a big fat bonus. Like, big enough that he'll want to retire and live out the rest of his life far, far away from the hockey rink. I understand Atlanta is beautiful.

Dear Vancouver Police Deptartment: I saw your tweets about people's kind tweets and that today (Thursday) people had been bringing baked goods, snacks and 'thank you's' to your headquarters. That's because you deserved them. You had a no-win situtation on your hands and I think you did an amazing job. Thank you.

Dear Vancouver Police Department Horses: Neigh, neeee-igh, neigh, brrrrrrrrrrffffff, sugar cube whinneeeeeeeeey. Neigh.

Dear CTV and specifically the field reporters/camerapersons: You kept us informed but I never felt like you sensationalized it. That is a difficult line to walk in a situtation like this. Also, thank you for all the wonderful hours of video evidence of people partaking in illegal activity.

Dear Volunteers who cleaned up Vancouver today: I wish I had had time to join you, but I didn't. You came out in droves and you were awesome! Thank you for cleaning up someone else's mess. Thank you for restoring my faith in humanity.

Ass-Hat, Douche-Canoes, Rioters (or the people who just stood there laughing and taking pictures than claimed "but I didn't do anything" because that totally means you're not guilty of being a douche-canoe): There are no words to describe how angry you made me and how saddened I was by your actions. There were people who came down that night looking to start a riot (one does not normally bring rocks in a backpack to an outdoor family event unless one is going to build an inukshuk to show the children) but they did not do it alone. There were legitimate Canuck fans in that mob. You are a disgrace to the team you support, to the city that so graciously hosted outdoor events for all the games, to the other fans who didn't need to burn things to feel better, to the province you all hail from (as I'm sure most of you were not from Vancouver-proper), and to the country that gave us the awesome sport of hockey.

I saw the people being interviewed saying "I'm not taking part, I just can't get out of downtown". I also saw the people today who all said there were able to get out of downtown within an hour so when you're telling the camera crew at 10:00pm you couldn't get out of downtown, you're full of it. Yes, busses and taxis weren't coming downtown. Yes, apparently there were delays on the Skytrain. But you know what? You have these things at the end of your legs called 'feet'. Feet are amazing things. If you lift up your right leg and move it forward, your right foot will be in a different location. Do the same with your left leg and foot. If you keep alternating, you start doing an activity that's called 'walking'. Amazingly, your body has been doing this very actitivity since you were about 18 months old. Sure, public or private transit might not have been making it into town, but you could easily have walked over one of the bridges (they were only closed going into town) to where public transit was still running.

There are riots occuring all over the world because people are being denied basic human rights and you riot because of a hockey game. Never mind jail, I'd like to round all of you up and send you to Burma, Iran, Libya, or any other oppressed nation for a year. Try to riot there and see how far you get before the police just open fire. I'd give you three minutes tops. By the way, they won't be firing tear gas and rubber bullets.