Not much happening over the weekend. Flatmate Suzie and friends went to Sligo to surf and sit in seaweed baths. Evidently the heat and the oil from the seaweed are very good for your skin. Dunno, but it sounds like I need to investigate some weekend soon. I took the opportunity to release my inner Monica Gellar and clean the freaking apartment. By Monday morning, I was exhausted. So exhaused in fact that I managed to get up on time and make it to the train station by 7:45 for my 8:20 train to Glaway that left at 7:20. Some days it just does't pay to get out of bed. So I made the 3 hour trip in order to meet Co-worker Kate for lunch and then turn around and come 3 hours back to Dublin. Needless to say, I didn’t make it to Pilates last night.

Friday was yet another going away bash for yet another co-worker. Unfortunately only 5 of us showed up. Poor guy… To be fair, he was a summer intern and we really didn’t get to know him. I had a celebratory beer and when I realized I was going to be left with Scary Polish Guy I walked out with the girls and decided to take myself for a glass of wine before I headed home. It was a glorious night in Dublin; about 70 degrees, no wind, the sun still sets after 9:30. I went to a bar Joe favours, the Bailey which is just off Grafton Street, the main pedestrian shopping street. I got my wine and took my place on the patio, watching the parade of people wander by. A couple of tour groups came by; one went into a neighbouring bar, the other came to the patio, pointed up at the building, had a short conversation and then left after taking some photographs of the members in front of the bar they never went into. Curious. While I was still puzzling that one out, a guy wandered by and in true cartoon fashion, noticed me, looked shocked and then looked behind himself to see if I was looking at him. Now keep in mind, there is a patio full of people across the street and people wandering by in-between. He walked on and I said to myself, within 5 minutes he’ll be here talking to you. Sure enough, I turned around and there he was. I turned my back to him and that seemed to amount to a ‘come hither’ because the next thing I knew, he was beside me asking how I liked the wine. Suave, isn’t he? He prattled on for a bit, realized that I, too am American and after the usual “Why I’m here, what do I do, do I like living here?” conversation he just started to talk. And he wasn’t exactly interesting. Some guy from New York talking and talking about I’m not sure what. He didn’t order a drink, didn’t offer to get one for me either; he just stood there and talked. Now I’d just been discussing this with Irish Joe and German Marcus the week before; I hesitate to speak to Americans visiting here because there is always this awkward moment when I hand the camera back and they want to talk. As if we’re friends because we’re fellow countrymen. We’ve never met before, if I spoke German, you’d thank me and never give it another thought. But because we’re Americans, we’re much nicer to each other than we would be in the States and suddenly they feel they need to have a conversation with me. I don’t understand it. If we were on the same tour, perhaps… but merely on the street, nah…

So back to Talkey Bronx Boy. He prattled on, I said very little and then there was a critical pause. I thought I’d spaced out and missed something but no, he was just taking a breath and looking up at the sunset. Just as I’d sensed my escape, he looked at me, smiled and said “You never asked what I do. Aren’t you curious what I do for a living? To be fair, I basically just told you…” That’s when I decided to sneak out of the bar. Yes, yes, I was listening, however obliquely and he was a voice over announcer. Not an actor, not good looking enough to be on TV, not a good enough voice to be in radio, just good enough to boom out car announcements. And really, I could care less. This is my biggest pet peeve: people who think they are what they do. I don’t care what you do for a living. It’s the living you do that I care about. How much material can we get out of voice-over work really? It’s like that guy in the movie Sideways… I’m supposed to be fascinated by what 4 out of 5 dentists recommend? And that’s really all he had. His job. He had nothing else to bring to the conversation table. Well, we were standing, so there wasn’t really a table to bring anything to. I hate talking about my job to people I don’t know. I hate talking about my job to people I do know. For some reason, people seem to think architecture is a creative, highly rewarding, highly lucrative career that is fascinating. It’s not. It’s an office job with occasional trips to construction sites. Not much to talk about unless you want to discuss the new ADA regs or U-values of materials. In which case, please move on, because I don’t want to talk about those things. This is one of the reasons I was so anxious to get out of the US. Most people define themselves by their career. I can't stand it. Surely, you are more than those 8 hours a day. You don't have hobbies? Or dogs or kids or neighbors that film porn in the back yard?! Anything really would be better than "So then I moved the pin to the side and eased the slim jim into the lock..."