Huh?
Walking into the hotel lobby this morning to take advantage of the complimentary breakfast, I vaguely noted, in the sense that I barely noticed what everyone else would find glaringly obvious, the place was full of people wearing black, and it was deathly quiet.
Later, immersed in the paper, and wrestling with one of those muffins that lies somewhere near the roots of our obesity epidemic, the otherwise funereal stillness was punctated by laughter. More quiet. More laughter. Then a more protracted expanse of quiet, followed by even more laughter.
Which, when the rest of the obvious finally hit home, is what you get when a room full of deaf people are signing jokes. Perhaps even at my expense, intolerantly poking fun the deafness impaired.
Shortly thereafter, one of the men decided to engage me in some conversation. At first I was a bit discomfited, and not only because I had to drag myself away from the paper.
Conversation? With actual strangers? That seems a bit, well, extreme.
Reasonably quickly, though, I gathered he was probably practicing his spoken English, much as an eager foreigner might want to practice his second language skills.
So, and I'm sure this comes as no surprise to anyone, I did what all Americans do: I replied slowly and loudly. Only, since volume would be entirely wasted here, I substituted exaggerated lip movements. I probably looked like one of those carnival gold fish three days after it gets home, and about nine hours before it is floating belly up in the loo.
After answering his opening questions, I gamely held up my end of the conversation, asking "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"Oh, we are a choir."
Later, immersed in the paper, and wrestling with one of those muffins that lies somewhere near the roots of our obesity epidemic, the otherwise funereal stillness was punctated by laughter. More quiet. More laughter. Then a more protracted expanse of quiet, followed by even more laughter.
Which, when the rest of the obvious finally hit home, is what you get when a room full of deaf people are signing jokes. Perhaps even at my expense, intolerantly poking fun the deafness impaired.
Shortly thereafter, one of the men decided to engage me in some conversation. At first I was a bit discomfited, and not only because I had to drag myself away from the paper.
Conversation? With actual strangers? That seems a bit, well, extreme.
Reasonably quickly, though, I gathered he was probably practicing his spoken English, much as an eager foreigner might want to practice his second language skills.
So, and I'm sure this comes as no surprise to anyone, I did what all Americans do: I replied slowly and loudly. Only, since volume would be entirely wasted here, I substituted exaggerated lip movements. I probably looked like one of those carnival gold fish three days after it gets home, and about nine hours before it is floating belly up in the loo.
After answering his opening questions, I gamely held up my end of the conversation, asking "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"Oh, we are a choir."
posted by Hey Skipper at 5:22 PM
6 Comments:
"Oh, we are a choir."
It's this sort of thing.
The Brit matriarch was a teacher of the deaf and is involved in similar events. It's really quite impressive when you see it. 'Dance troupe' would be inappropriate, so it's 'choir'.
Re: breakfast, I've never understood how you yanks manage to swallow muffins and other sweeties first thing.
You should have something light and healthy...like bacon, sausage, fried bread, scrambled eggs, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms and black pudding.
And kidneys, ummm, kidneys
Since devilled kidneys are indeed devilishly good, I'm just going to read Harry's appreciation of them at face value and assume there's no sarcasm intended...
...But on the subject of delicious internal organs, as you Duckians are all Joyce-ignoramuses as well as soccer-ignoramuses, you won't remember his introduction of Bloom in Chapter 4 of Ulysses:
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.
Mouth-watering...
Although I cannot get them in Hawaii, I relish a broiled veal kidney.
All that other stuff, too, though I notice Bloom does not go for hog maws. Me neither.
One way to fit in to a culture that you are obviously not an original member of is to enjoy its food. Unlike some haoles (whites), I get along pretty good with locals. Part of the reason is that I am known as 'the haole who eats tripe.'
Ummm, tripe.
It works both ways. Field Marshal Sir John Dill is buried in Arlington National Cemetery (as is, surprisingly, Orde Wingate). He was much admired at the Pentagon, not least because he stooped to eating corn flakes for breakfast.
Harry - you should definitely do a gastronomic tour of the British Isles (an inexplicably unpopular pastime).
In Ireland you get white pudding as well as black with your breakfast.
But the Welsh really push the boundaries, adding cockles and laverbread (just listen to the recipe: "The seaweed is boiled for several hours: the gelatinous paste that results is then rolled in oatmeal and fried...")
Should you visit Hawaii, we will offer our patented Innards of the Islands tour, featuring:
-- Loko stew from Ah Fook's Market. (Yes, that's really its name.) Loko is the pluck of a pig, plus the chitlins.
-- Ake maka. Sliced raw liver. This is a somewhat mysterious dish. The Hawaiians didn't have any animals with livers except dogs and chickens. According to 'The Last Kings of Thule,' dog liver is poisonous.
-- And, for the piece de resistance, a stop at Asian Sports Bar & Grill for Korean intestine stew, which is, basically, chitlins boiled in kim chee. It's not on the menu, but it can be arranged.
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