And so it starts...

Today it was 90 degrees. That does not bode well for the the rest of the summer. Just the thought of struggling through the rest of the intolerably hot weather that is coming makes me incredibly depressed. Oh well, I have done it before and I can do it again. It is just hard for me as I thrive in colder climes, which I find strange because I don't like being cold. I guess it is just another dichotomy of my nature. So to cheer myself up I am venturing into the past. With the Playstation 3 I can download classic games so I thought I would play the original Resident Evil. There is nothing like shooting zombies to make a person feel better. I have done that many times with Resident Evil 4. I would play it just to take out frustrations after winning the game and having the unlimited rocket launcher. Eat this you infected fuck!!!!! Nothing makes you smile like blowing the head off of zombies. The sad thing is I actually have an action plan if the zombie apocalypse does come. I feel that I have seen enough movies and played enough games to know what to do. It helps that I have the zombie survival guide at my disposal plus I know where the nearest gun store is. I am golden.  So if I know and love you and the zombies were to come, hang in there, I will be coming for you.

It seems apropo.

Since today is the 100th anniversary of the tragedy of the fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory I thought I would share something I wrote for a school assignment a year ago. The fire was one of many instances that helped the union movement gain such power in the early part of the last century and is good as a reminder since the unions are under such attack right now.  

This is written as a first person journal entry that was to be in a person that reflected my personal heritage. In doing some digging in my family I found that I had much more of an Irish ancestry in my family tree then I first thought. We have a strong Irish heritage on both sides of my family, so this is written with that voice.

March 24, 1911

     When I found the news of my coming blessing, a little babby to love, I decided to put down these words of our family’s past and future. I will keep this journal reverently for you my little angel, so you will know my life before you were even in it.

     My name is Moira O’Neal, Kelly as was, and I was born in a tenement in the Lower East Side of New York in the year of our lord, 1892 the youngest of six. My Nana was forced to leave the old country, hopefully for a better life in America, when the potato blight carried off her entire family, except for me mam, who was safely in her belly. The year was 1850 and she was one of thousands who came here packed like animals in leaky ships to escape the poverty, discrimination and finally the famine that left so many dead that the bodies were left to rot where they fell. Funny how she came to America to escape all of the things that she suffered at home only to face them here as well.

     My Nana’s life was one of struggle and hardship. The Irish were not wanted in America, and there were often clashes with the Negro’s for the most menial and meanly paid jobs. One of the most violent as told to me when I was growin’, was called the Draft Riots of 1863. Many Negro’s were murdered by gangs of Irish youths and they terrorized the city. It almost made me ashamed of me Irish blood it did. Me mam grew up dirty, hungry, and poorly clothed, but it was never as bad as what those poor blighter’s of the five-points endured. Altho’ even that area has cleaned up since they burned down the Bowery in 1852.  And thanks to the good sisters of The Church of the Transfiguration, mam was able to learn to read and write, knowledge she passed on to me.  In her turn, her mam regaled us with tales of County Cork and the green of home, as always was ta’ Nana, until the day she died.

     My Da deserted us to go work on the railroad out West, when I was still in the cradle. He left me mam with six children, all needin’ tending. And tho’ she did her best, the Good Lord choose to take four of her babby’s home to Jesus. Me mam was not alone in her sorrow, as many children died before their sixth birthday in the overcrowded and dirty tenements.  Our home was no different, one smelly room with no plumbin’ and teemin’ with vermin of every sort. But me mam was unique and with her ability to read and write was able to get a job cookin’ in a fancy house uptown. It was grinding hard work, but better than 70 hours a week in the factories like her mam had to endure for pennies. She was lucky to work she was, as many places would not hire Irish, and posted signs saying “No Irish Need Apply.”

     The area where I grew up was the same one me mam called home since she was a lass. We are a close-knit lot, and I know all me neighbors. We watch out for each other in a city that would take advantage of us in a heartbeat. Many of me friends, as was, shifted through the streets begging and mischief making as was the only way to feed rumblin’ bellies many times. This closeness of community is most telling because even though I have lived in America me whole life, you’d never know it, me accent is as thick as ever me Nana’s fresh off the boat.

     This is a hard life, to be sure, but it is not without its joys, like a pint, down the pub after a hard days labor or the solace of the church on a Sunday, list’n to the Father talk of better times in the afterlife. But, the greatest joy was meeting your Da. Your Da arrived in New York the year I was born, a lad of three, and was one of the first Irish who passed through Ellis Island.  We married three months after he first clapped eyes on me at St. Pat’s and have moved into a two-room flat in the old neighborhood, like a palace it is. Happy is not a strong enough word for what we are. Your Da, Sean, works down the docks, but unlike the evil stories told about Irish, he is not a drunkard and brings his money home to me.

     He is so excited to meet you my little angel, as am I. We are moving up in life, as seems to be for all Irish in this bright new century. Maybe one day will see an Irish-Catholic President, but those are just pipe dreams. Altho’ it seems we are fittin’ in better all the time we still expect you to work hard. I am ecstatic that I was able to find good employment recently; your mam’s reading and writing skills are going to help us better our situation. I start tomorrow at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory and though this place is a sweatshop filled with newer immigrants from Russia and Italy, I will be working in the office and not on the floor, for a much better wage. I swear we will give you all the best, my love. Until next time my little angel, rest easy.

[This Journal entry was found under a floorboard of an apartment undergoing renovations. It is the first and last entry of a journal for her child, who was never born. Moira O’Neal was killed in the tragic fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory on March 25, 1911 that killed 142 people, and was buried at St. Patrick’s, the church where her and Sean met and fell in love.  After Moira’s death Sean O’Neal rose to be one of the many Irish beat cops to walk the New York Street’s until his death in the Spanish Influenza outbreak of 1918. He never remarried.]

As They say, we are doomed to repeat the past if we do not remember it and it is important to not forget the voices and those who lives were cut short due to avarice and greed. For a much more cogent and scathing analysis of this event please visit the Rude Pundit.

http://rudepundit.blogspot.com/

Things that give me big tail

When my cat Puzzle gets excited, she will start tearing around the house meowing and her tail will get all puffed up. She has big tail. So when I get excited about something I'll say that I have big tail. I learned three things recently that have given me big tailitis. I feel very out of the loop about certain things. I should know about them but for one reason or another I am late on the knowing train.

1) Beside Resident Evil, Silent Hill is my favorite console game. I just found out that they are making a new one called Silent Hill: Downpour. I saw a trailer for it and it looks bad ass. It is the only game where the best weapon is not a firearm. You want the pick-axe,  this is your friend. I will definitely be picking this up as soon as it is released.
2) One of my all time favorite shows in the 80's was The Equalizer. I haven't seen it in years but I really loved the show and Robert McCall was such an interesting and complex character. It has also always made me want a Jaguar from that period. Well, they are making that into a movie with Russell Crowe. That should be so good. He is a good choice to take on this character. Although, I have to not get my hopes up too high as it could end up being a big pile of poo. But I am excited to see it just the same.
3) My favorite author is Stephen King and apparently he has a very talented son who has written some very well received books of his own under the name Joe Hill. I can't wait to read them after reading the reviews on Amazon. It is always fun to find a new author and if his stories give me half as much pleasure as his dad's I will be happy indeed.

So there are the three things I found that have me excited.  Just thought I would share.

I'm sick of being tired and tired of being sick.

What a week it has been. The whammies just kept coming. We sold the house and found a new place to live. We decided we wanted to get moved as soon as possible. Which happened to be this last weekend. So with that over our heads we've been packing and taking over loads for the week prior. I was doing all of this with a foot I had slammed into a door jamb and injured so badly I thought I had broken my toe (whammy 1). Then I got the worst cold I have had in years, so bad I missed 2 days of work (whammy 2). This weekend of course dawned cold windy and rainy (whammy 3). The whole ordeal has been a misery. But we are in our new house now. It has a lot good and some bad but at least the move is behind us. It has been fun watching the cats adjust to the changes in their environment. My cold is finally starting to subside, I can almost walk limp free and the weather was nicer today. Let's hope that things are finally starting to look up. It would be about time.

Book Review

London's Sinful Secret: The Bawdy History and Very Public Passions of London's Georgian Age by Dan Cruickshank

 

This book takes place during the decadent times during the reign of George the IV and his descendants right through the regency. It was a time of excess, where men were dandies, in wigs makeup and high heels, and women were...well not much different then they had always been. They were still the chattel of men and had no voice in public or private life. It was this period that spawned the repressed and repressive society that became Victorian England. It was a reaction in the opposite direction to the "perversions" and "freedoms" of the previous generation. None of it changed it just went underground and was not discussed by polite society. 

 

Except there was one type of woman, who if she was smart and savvy, could live a life almost as free as any man, as long as she let those same men use her body in any way they saw fit and that is the Courtesan. Courtesan's were the superstars of their times. They were written about, were arbiters of fashion, courted by high society men while being shunned and hated by high society women.  They were the muses of painters, stars of the stage and intellectuals and some even married and became great ladies of the land like Lady Hamilton. They were also the lucky few. All courtesan's started out as prostitutes, sometimes when they were little more then children and most prostitutes died as prostitutes, used up by the time they were 25. Dead of drink, disease or abuse. And this book is all about the seamy underbelly of London that supported this vast underground of debauchery and vice.

 

For the most part, this was an extremely enjoyable book. I loved all the contemporary sources from newspapers, journals, court transcripts and books. The author talks a lot about a guide to London's prostitutes that lists where they live, what they look like and what they specialize in. This book felt very like a time capsule to me. I could almost see the 2 penny strumpets shouting out for customers on street corners, smell the dirt and filth and hear the horses. Many of the anecdotal stories and people that populated the book were of incidents and personages I had never heard of before. Others, like Kitty Fisher (muse of painter Joshua Reynolds) I had read about in other books. I found it fascinating to learn that much of London's Georgian buildings were built to support the sex trade. These buildings were high end brothels or used for support of the industry.The chapters about the poor houses and the foundling homes were for me especially fascinating.  I did find the book a little long and a bit repetitive and I don't like when a book talks about paintings and the models but does not show them. Just put a copy in the book for God sake. Other then that, I would recommend this book as a fun and informative read about a side of history not often discussed. There was just so much information written in a easy to read style. There were plenty of pictures but as I said earlier, not as many as I would have liked. This book could very easily have a coffee table companion. I look forward to reading more by this author.