Eerie Boston.

The streets are empty. People glance nervously and suspiciously at each other. The sound of rotor blades fills the sky. Sirens blare intermittently in the distance and then fly by you with no notice, as you jump within your own skin. Everyone is on edge.

A light breeze throughout the city brings you noises from afar. The sound of flag lines thumping off their poles make more noise than the traffic on the street. A strange lulled silence has fallen over Boston today. The city is on lock down - people are advised to stay indoors. Cars are not allowed to be removed from garages.

This is what living in a curfew is like.

People are eager for information. Every television station has up-to-date news pictures. Various street scenes fill our screens, as we await the end game of the second suspect.

For most, the conclusion cannot come quickly enough. Emergency crews and police officers have to be applauded for their swift response to such an extraordinary event. The advent of social media and the everyday availability of camera phones and CCTV footage has no doubt aided the investigation. In these circumstances, having cameras everywhere will bring these insane individuals down.

Police crews have pulled out all the stops. They are working on twelve hour shifts, constantly bringing a security presence and keeping everyone on alert. In times like this, you are comforted by their professionalism and dedication to duty, to bring these evil perpetrators to justice.

I am sitting in my hotel room in Boston right now. I glance between the television screen and out my window onto Huntingdon Avenue. Public transport has been shut down for the day. Workers have been advised to stay home. Only a couple of convenience stores are open.

The next few hours may tell another tale.

Hopefully the city of Boston will get closure and get back to some degree of normality.

The What If.

 

Last night I finished work with a heavy heart.


The events in Boston hit me hard. This was a world event that directly affected me.

Boylston street was bombed twice yesterday. I have walked down this street many times - most recently last Wednesday.

Last week I stood in a shop on this street. I talked to the manager of Marathon Sports. This is the store next door to where the first bomb went off. The store is located near the finish line of the Boston Marathon.

The manager was in great form, talking about the impending marathon. It's normally their busiest time of year, where they get an inordinate amount of runners into their store. They were crazy busy, and the staff were smiling and working hard.

But now people will visit this area for another completely different reason. They will visit to take pictures and say "This is where it happened!"



Some person, and I'm being extremely polite here, decided to take the lives of others whom they don't know. They took the lives of innocents for their own selfish and ludicrous reasons.

Upon watching the television reports, the realisation started dawning on me. Seeing the senseless loss that occurred and the familiarity of the surroundings that were being shown on every screen, I started wondering "What If?"

My first concern was for myself and my wife. She arrived home from Boston just yesterday. She could well have been down at the finish line, taking pictures.

I have run a few marathons, and always wanted to run Boston because it always has been a runners marathon.

If I was in Boston yesterday, I would have been down at the finish line.

I would have been watching the elite marathon finishers.

I would have been in the crowd, outside Marathon Sports. I would have stayed for a while watching people achieve their own personal glory of finishing a marathon.

But then I realised that we can't live your life wondering "What If?"

Otherwise these bastards will have won. Life is for living - not for gauging your own mortality and questioning your potential actions.

 

 

 

 

 

Car Crash Theatre.

Two nights ago I was entertained by a form of theatre I had never experienced before. It made me wince and feel uncomfortable. It made me shake my head in disbelief and question my own sanity. But did I look away? No, I didn’t. Why? Because it was fun.

At the TD Garden in Boston on Tuesday night, a good friend of mine and I made a decision to go watch WWE Wrestling on a whim. We got cheap tickets and for two hours we watched grown men and women dance, cavort around a ring and mock punch each other. It was hilarious. For pure unadulterated entertainment, it has changed my own perception of wrestling. But only just slightly.

What was more worrying (and more entertaining) were the attitudes and characters in the audience around us. Some views were abstract and quite narrow minded. Grown men jeered the wrestlers onstage calling them homophobic names – yet they had bought a ticket to come watch buff, athletic men fight other fit men in tight shorts. And I’m talking budgie smuggler tight.

But despite some ignorant name calling, the vast majority knew their wrestling. They knew all the names of the moves, throws and the types of slams. But the kicking and punching is the funniest part of the show. They barely even make contact. But on television, the reaction of the person being punched or kicked sells it. But some of these punches ‘land’ from two feet away.

This form of entertainment is huge in America. This show tours all over the country, selling out everywhere they go. They sold more tickets last year than U2. So why is it so popular? And then it hit me with a mock punch – it appeals to all people, young and old. No one really gets hurt, good normally triumphs over evil and everyone goes home having being entertained by a spectacular show.

The vast majority of the crowds are middle class Americans, who had come with their young children to be entertained. Of the twelve or thirteen thousand that attended, I would say three or four thousand were children under the age of ten. A lot of the slogans and hooks that each wrestler has have a positive message. John Cena’s slogan is “Never Give Up.” That’s positive reinforcement for any budding young American.

But leaving the stadium, we saw the fanatics. I know every sport and form of entertainment has their own eccentric type of fans, but these were bananas. And most of these eclectic fans were grown men who worshipped these wrestling icons. They truly believed the spectacle of what was being sold.

I’m not really sure if I need counselling after it. But the crowd, the show, the outfits, the acting and the pure madness will live with me for a long time.

Only in America.

     

 A Six Year Old Celebrity.

The golfer, Seve Ballesteros, was a man I admired greatly when he was alive. I was lucky enough to meet him once. But it was a quote he made many years ago that stuck with me more than actually meeting him.

A journalist asked Seve after he won the British Open in 1979, what motivated him. Seve had played a shot from the tarmac of the car park, which had everyone around the world talking about his prowess and talent.

“It’s not how good your good shots are, it’s how good your bad shots are.”

The same could be applied to your working day. It’s not the good days you remember as they can be quite forgetful. It’s normally the bad days that are stressful or eventful. But every once in a while, you remember a very good day for all the right reasons.

I had the occasion of meeting a young lady this week that made everyone smile. Her name was Saoirse and she was six years and three months old. This young girl had just spent five days in Euro Disney with her grandparents and was on her way home to Dublin.

She had an amazing time and told us of what characters they had met. But she was also looking forward to seeing her friends again.

Saoirse was not an incredibly chatty young lady. She was quite shy, but once we all kept talking to her, she slowly came out of her shell. Her face lit up at every turn of phrase, seeing wonderment in everything the world threw at her.

Her grandparents were very kind and sincere and you could see this characteristic of theirs rubbing off on Saoirse. She offered me one of her Wheelies (crisp snack) and some of her chocolate. Her gran stated that she had been like that since infancy.

I wondered why her grandparents had accompanied her on the trip, and not her parents. I asked rather delicately and politely why her parents hadn’t made the trip instead. The gran was quite upfront and honest.

“We thought that we’d give them a break themselves. Sure they haven’t had a holiday since Saoirse was born.”

“A break?”

“Saoirse has Cystic Fibrosis.”

This young lady showed no outward signs of having anything physically wrong with her. She was a beautiful child with blonde pigtails, sparkling blue eyes and the most disarming face. She was of average build and height for a six year old. She was one contented and relaxed child.

The granddad was fiercely proud of his granddaughter.

“It was our absolute pleasure to take Saoirse away for a few days. I’ll never forget this trip. The time together was amazing – she loved every minute of it.”

I could tell by the pride in his eyes that he enjoyed it too. But then he revealed something that made me just realise that I had been chatting for the past hour or so, to an actual celebrity.

Saoirse is the new face of Cystic Fibrosis Ireland. She recently had a photo shoot with Miriam O’Callaghan for the organisation to help promote their cause.

So when you see a bus shelter advertising, an ad in a newspaper or a big poster on the side of a double decker bus – you will see the prettiest and most gentle looking face peering back at you. And I’m not talking about the RTE television host.

 

 

I’m talking about Saoirse – the six year old celebrity.   

Blinking Indicators.

It's something that annoys us all - bad drivers. They are everywhere, as we scream from the comfort of our own cars. I had a great teacher from Navan, called Paddy Pryle- himself a former taxi driver. He frightened the bejaysus out of me on my first lesson. He instilled in me the life and death responsibility you have when you are behind the wheel of a car. You are responsible for the lives of others.

But not everyone has such a fine teacher as I did. I was only driving with a provisional licence for six months but I had picked up so many bad habits in that time. It took many hours of driving practice but Paddy knocked them out of me.

I don't often get frustrated in life, but I do behind the wheel of a car. People are idiots behind a steering wheel, and I am no different. But I am a considerate driver.

One thing that utterly irritates me most, is the lack or incorrect use of the indicator. It is such a simple tool. Today, I nearly had two accidents and neither of them were my fault and I still got abused.

Incident one was when I approached a roundabout in the right lane. I was turning right and had my indicator on to go that way. In the left lane at the traffic lights beside me was a woman who had her indicator on, going left. Nothing wrong there so far.

But then she turned right. Into my lane. I had to jam on.

As we approached another set of red lights, I pulled up alongside her. I made the universal sign of 'wind down your window down'. I asked her if she realised what she had just done - but she didn't see any wrong on her part. And then she told me to piss off.

Fifteen minutes later I encountered a taxi driver who was multi-tasking. I drove behind him for about two minutes while he talked on his bluetooth device, whilst pressing buttons on his digital display. His car was wriggling in and out of two lanes, his focus clearly not on the road. I stayed well back.

 

As we approached another roundabout and he took the second exit off the roundabout - again without indicating. Then he started his lane-squirming again. I beeped my horn to get his attention and he jerked his wheel left to pull into the left lane. I moved into the right as I was turning right. At the lights, he beeped at me. He opened his window and began shouting expletives at me for beeping my horn at him. How dare I use my horn for safety!

I think he used the words "Are you blind? Could you not see where I was going?"

If he had used an indicator at all at any stage, I would have known where he was heading. But my powers of telepathy were on the blink.

 

 

The Mood Changer.

It's amazing the power it has on us all. I always thought the theory of something you consumed could change your character or mood so much, but it does. It's only as I get older that I'm beginning to enjoy it more.

What is this miraculous product? It's chocolate.

Chocolate had been scientifically tested for the impact it has on us. These range from supporting cardiovascular health to showing a reduced risk of certain types of cancer. Of course, the type of chocolate you consume has differing medical benefits. Best for your heart and body is dark chocolate with a high level of cocoa of 70% plus. It's a bit bitter, but so good for you.

These benefits are well researched and I wish I had been involved as a test subject in one of these studies. One study involved men and women melting chocolate in their mouths. These lucky people were hooked up to all manner of analytical machines. They found out that chocolate races your heart a little faster and gave an increase in brain activity. Nothing alarming there, but they also measured the long term effects it had compared to another activities that also races the heart. They compared the satisfaction of eating chocolate to kissing. Melting chocolate in your mouth was found to have a far more intense sensation by up to four times than that of kissing. That sounds like a terrible day at work - eating chocolate and kissing people.

Another study in the USA was on the impact it has on headaches. They found out that the increased daily intake of chocolate reduced the symptoms of migraines. Talk about it being brain food! The same study also stated that regular dark chocolate consumption showed a modest reduction in blood pressure.

Survivors of heart attacks were tested too. They found that those who consumed chocolate two or three times a week reduced their risk of death by up to three times than those who didn't eat any chocolate. Like hello? Why would you not eat chocolate to reduce your risk of actually dying? Unless you were actually allergic, of course.

One Swiss study tested a group of smokers. Twenty smokers were each given 40 grams of chocolate and told to go away and enjoy it. The scientists then hooked each person up to an echo-cardiogram machine to measure their blood flow two hours after consumption. They found that their echo graphs showed that black chocolate with a cocoa content of 74% or more dramatically improved their blood flow. They tested the smokers as they would have narrower valves than those who didn't smoke.


By-products of chocolate are also beneficial. Another USA study was on chocolate milk and they tested athletes post exercise. They gave one group your atypical high carbohydrate sports drink and the other group low fat chocolate milk - all with the same amount of calories. They found out after just one week, that the chocolate milk speeded up muscle recovery twice as fast as the sports drink.

One final study was concerning the link of chocolate consumption to intelligence. We all feel more empowered after eating a square of chocolate. Nobel prizes are awarded each year to the brightest and most imaginative of minds all around the world. Who has the most Nobel winners per capita in the world? And who has the highest per capita consumption of chocolate in the world? The answer to both questions is Switzerland.

So go out there and get some chocolate into you. As many of it's long term benefits far outweigh the negatives of putting on a few pounds.


I suddenly feel peckish. How about a Kit Kat and a cup of tea?

 

 

 

Deflating a Male Stereotype.

Yesterday morning, over breakfast in London, I changed my thinking about a particular set of people and the perception that we all have about them. I was advised by one of my work colleagues to visit a cafe on the Kensington High Street.

We all have this image of the site construction man - he is a gruff, fall out of bed, unshaven Neanderthal man who barely has respect for himself or others. He wolf whistles at passing ladies and has never heard of wearing a belt to keep his trousers up. He eats the breakfast roll stuffed with sausages and bacon while the ketchup drips down the front of his hi-viz jacket. And he doesn't wipe it off.


The media portray this type of working man as semi-educated - he swills beer at lunchtime with his pork pie. They work hard and they play hard. They display the farmer's tan in summertime and stick to working nine to five.

This establishment had everything you could possibly think of for breakfast. I entered, with only one other table occupied. Within fifteen minutes, the place was full of hard hats and orange jackets.



I was surrounded by approximately a dozen workmen. My preconception was what may come out of their mouths might be uncouth, sexist and chauvinistic. It was anything but any of those notions.

After all of these men had ordered their food, a young beautiful woman walked in and sat at the only remaining table - a small two seated table in amongst all the men. They barely even glanced at her. I found this utterly remarkable.

As I enjoyed my breakfast, I took a quick glance around at what the men were eating. They ate toast, cereal, fruit and muesli. Some ate poached eggs while others ate scrambled. They ate wholemeal bread. They chatted quietly without being anyway raucous.


They read papers that didn't fit the stereotype of the building site male. No sensationalist tabloids here - they read The Times, The I and The Guardian. No Daily Sport or Sun.

Their conversations were the most surprising. They talked about five-a-side football leagues and getting to bed early. They talked about religion and attending church more often. Others talked passionately about their children and the cute things infants, do and say. They even talked about the stock market and buying and selling shares.

They also chatted about the one thing everyone talks about - the recession. They came up with their versions of how to solve it in the short term and long term. They were far more informed than I was.

Not at any stage were they ignorant. If anything, they were the most polite men I had the pleasure to encounter yesterday - and I met many men afterwards, in over-priced suits that were far ruder. Your clothing is definitely not necessarily an indicator to someones personality.

And did I mention that I was the only one in the cafe - eating the full English breakfast??

 

 

 

 

Breakfast Noise.

We barely had a need to speak to each other. Such was the noise and entertainment levels around us.

 

I suggested to my wife, that we brave the icy air and walk ten minutes to one of my favourite breakfast eateries in Chicago. The gush of warm air as we entered was a pleasant welcome from the frigid gale blowing outside. This pancake house is famous in the city and the tables are packed quite closely together. You have no option but to hear your neighbour's conversations.

We had just taken our first sips of coffee when we overheard the fraught negotiations over photographs on our left. The photographer, a man in his fifties, was trying to sell professionally taken pictures of the young man opposite him. They were of the young student's graduation, and he was deciding on which one to send home to his parents. This student like any other around the world – he was high on confidence but low on funds.

Then the noise volume of the restaurant suddenly became amplified.


On our right sat two young ladies with a two year old boy. They swapped stories and drank fruit juices. The little boy was like any other two year old – rambunctious and full of chat. Except the more he shouted, the less attention he received. The two ladies were only there to talk to each other – minding the child seemed to be a little inconvenient for them.

We thought that one of these ladies must be the mother of the child. But neither showed anything remotely like love, for the young boy. Then it hit us – they were Au pairs. That explained the reason why the main topic of conversation between them - was about young men!

The surround sound was complete with two other women sitting behind us. The dynamic was similar yet different here. It was of an elderly lady and her impatient daughter. The old lady was hard of hearing and the daughter revelled in pointing out her mother’s deficiencies. The daughter patronised her at every opportunity and genuinely seemed to get her kicks from putting her down.

Every diner moved their steely gaze of ‘shut up I’m trying to eat my breakfast in peace here’ from the two year old, to the snotty daughter. I could see faces around me look at the old lady with pity in their eyes. They needed not have worried. There was venom in her tongue and she was holding it back in reserve. She knew how to deal with the bully in front of her.

As our food arrived, the bitching between mother and daughter continued. The elderly lady, despite her age, had a very good appetite. She ordered eggs, bacon, home fries and toast. The daughter protested at her ordering such a substantial breakfast, saying she was only thinking of her heart. In truth, she was saying that because she didn't want to wait around. The uninterested daughter guzzled her coffee and two small slices of rye toast in an effort to hurry her mother up.

Then we had a standoff.

The daughter was sick of waiting for her mother. She undermined her ability to cut up her food and grabbed the knife and fork from her. She stated that she eaten enough and asked for the cheque.

While her daughter was distracted, the mother simply leaned over to another adjoining table and grabbed another set of cutlery. By the time the daughter looked back at her she was shovelling another large slice of bacon into her mouth. We tried our best to stifle the laughs.

But the final, loud, all-involving, insult was coming.

“You’re gonna have to eat something before we come to the pancake house the next time. We have a doctor’s appointment and you’re going to be late!”

We sat open mouthed at this vile, ignorant comment. Why would someone have to eat before they came to a restaurant? But this elderly lady was made of stern stuff.

“Ah shut the hell up! I’m enjoying my breakfast and that doctor isn’t going anywhere! He’s seen me for thirty years and I’m always late. And you sure as hell aren’t going to pick up the tab here!”

Everyone in the diner was short of clapping her response.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diner Envy.

What is it about human nature that invokes such a strong emotion as jealousy? To be envious for no apparent reason - to someone you don't even know or have never met before - seems odd to me. That kind of negative thinking is either built within you from birth, or takes several years of mistrust and bad influence to grow and fester. Like someone seeing a glass as half empty rather than the other way around.

Last night my wife and I, went for dinner to a favourite restaurant haunt of ours. We know the staff well enough to call ourselves regulars. We are creatures of habit, and normally go for the same dinner and drinks every time. The food is excellent and the service is very good. We always sit at the bar for quick service and to chat to the staff - who are always friendly.

Along the bar, the turnover of people coming and going in this establishment, is high. People come in on their own, have one drink and a bite to eat and are gone within 30 minutes. Others have a drink at the bar, whilst waiting for their tables to be vacated by other diners. It's a hive of activity - and a great place to people watch.

But sometimes you don't have to look too far to spot a negative character. Body language can give it away - long before a word is uttered. And when this body language displays all the characteristics of one of the seven deadly sins, everyone starts to walk a little more gingerly around such negativity.

Over my right shoulder last night, I could sense the begrudgery as he sat down. He took an age to take off his long black coat, scarf and gloves and drape them over his high stool. He almost knocked over three plates a server was delivering to a nearby table, as he swooshed his coat off. He tutted as the server finally got by.

His stool was more than two feet away from mine, yet he still managed to brush off me as his bottom made contact with the leather cushion of the stool. And he wasn't a big man. No apology was forthcoming, and this gave me an indication of what kind of character was now sitting beside us. My wife copped it too, yet we said nothing. We see these people on a regular basis.

His bar server was quick to meet and greet him, yet she got little more than a grunt from him. Muted one word answers were his norm. His shoulders sagged and his elbows propped him up on the bar counter. Bad manners and posture afflicted him too.

His server found it difficult to understand him from less than five feet away. Irritation entered his voice at repeating his order of "Bloody Mary" - which sounded more like "Blah Mar". We determined quickly enough that he wasn't a man who depended on his communication skills to get by in life.

While we waited for our food, we chatted with two of the servers behind the bar. They had time to do their jobs and still be courteous and polite to everyone.

Then we felt a stare. Like we were monopolising the servers with our chat. For a man that could barely communicate seconds earlier, he was now eager to order his food.

He had spent about five minutes reading the menu and ignoring the servers. As soon as they were interacting with us, he wanted attention. He struck me as a man who was used to others waiting on him. He was impatient and regularly interrupted others. God forbid he had to wait.

Then came the bitchy, snide comment. Our server asked if he was now ready to order. Two of them has asked him at least once each, if he was ready. He never had the decency to even look up as someone spoke to him.

"While you two were too busy talking, your other colleague took my order."

Our server, well experienced and quick as a flash - put him back in his place.

"Oh really sir? What did you order?"

"Prawns and bisque."

"Great choice! The prawns are excellent. How is your Bloody Mary? Would you like another?"

This time she got half a smile. She didn't even acknowledge his attitude and rose above his level of negativity - this seemed to bring slight appreciation from him. He had baited her with a put down, but she spotted it and complimented him back.

He was looking for a snarly response but she was far more professional than he would ever be. He slurped his soup and left shortly after. No one was entertaining him. Everyone along the bar appreciated his departure. Even the faces of the servers looked relieved. His disposition was draining.

The man was envious of people having a bright and positive personality - something he never obviously possessed.
 

 

 

New York, New York.

So good they named it twice. I'd forgotten how amazing this city is. It is truly, jaw dropping. I wondered why my sister and her new husband chose New York as their honeymoon destination initially - but now I understand. This city tests and tries you on so many levels.

It's been about five or six months since I was last in this great city. I promise not to leave it as long until the next time I frequent. It's not just the noise and the neon lights - it's the assault on the senses. It's the level of intimacy with the locals and the famous attitude they possess.

The noise, no matter where you stay in New York, is never ending. For those of you that ever wish to visit Manhattan and want a quiet holiday - don't bother coming here. It's Noise City Central. The sirens roar at all times of the night, no matter where you are sleeping. I remember trying to sleep on the twenty fourth floor of a hotel about two years ago - it was located next to an emergency ward - I may as well have been working in it as being 24 floors above it.

The smells of the city are equally as invasive. I do remember my first trip here almost fifteen years ago. You can get a disgusting odour one second and then an enticing, alluring smell the next. The concentration of businesses and competing shop owners is full-on. They all want your business, and will do anything to entice you into their shop or to their stall. Would you blame them really? They want your business.

One thing you can taste for free is the underground. Or the Subway, as they call it in New York. I'm reliably informed that this is where the sandwich shop franchise of the same name, was taken from. If you pass over any one of the grilles on the street in the city, you are liable to get a blast of hot, smelly, rustic air. The kind of air you want to cough back out of your lungs. It's no wonder that many residents and visitors avoid even walking over them - even though they are safe to do so. It's just because they are smelly - no other reason really.

One taste that everyone must do is the streetside vendor hot-dog. You might think that these are seriously dodgy health-wise and to avoid at all costs. But no! I actually encourage this! This is the ultimate complete New York experiment that everyone should enjoy. I remember my brother-in-law eating six of these in one day alone - and he's still alive.

I jest of course - he actually ate seven and paid for all seven for himself. And paid for my seven too - it was his first visit to the USA and he wanted to pay. Neither of us had belly ache that nigh. True story.

The views of New York from wherever you are standing are simply stunning. Whether you are taking a picture of the Meat Packing District, Greenwich Village or any of the 59 districts inside the five boroughs of New York - you aren't going to take a picture of any city like this one. Each district and borough has unique perspectives and perceptions from behind a camera lens, that no other area in the world can offer.

Some people might find New York a bit rough around the edges. A trip to a city that may not be "quite their taste." It may be the personality of the people, the noise of the streets or the proximity to other people in close quarters. If that's your preference, go to Alaska or the Southern Arctic. Penguins will absolutely love you there. Polar bears will eye you with salt and pepper as they lick their lips.

Believe me when I say that New Yorkers have their full sense of entitlement and empowerment back in abundance. Their confidence in themselves had taken a knock over the past ten years or so, but it is now fully reinstalled. I got major attitude from a stall seller this evening, when I didn't tip him on a $3 bottle of water. He really expected a tip for passing me a small bottle of water! From a stationary mobile fridge! Really?

That's one of the reasons I really like New York. They contain a certain cynicism and sarcasm that other most US states don't possess. The have the ability to converse with the outside world (outside of the USA) in a way that is unique. You could nearly say that they speak, like Europeans. After all, this city's personality is based on the attitudes and cultures of all European nations.

No wonder they get sarcasm - that's maybe why I like them so much.