outwait outrun outwit





TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


08.13.12

We are always hopeful in Galway. A violinist played trad on a grassy promontory across the river basin, even as clouds gathered, shrouding the hilly Burren in ominous filaments. By the time we approached the end of the pier with fishing gear, the heavens gushed, scattering fisherfolk. For ten minutes. Even the lads with the tins of beer and cider gave up, dashing down the path with their hoods pulled tight over their curly pates. No Perseid showers, though. No night sky teeming with celestial scales sloughed by stars. It's ARRRRGUST, okay?!

//

Last week Olympic boxer Katie Taylor won a gold medal in the lightweight division. All of Ireland paused to watch, in bars and banks and offices and shops gone still, with the tellies on and radios turned up in traffic, and only tourists in otherwise empty streets.

From the New York Times: "She trains twice a day in a small crypt of a gym, a windowless former boathouse at a rundown end of the harbor. The roof is tin. The walls are cracked. Until recently, it had neither a shower nor a toilet. To use the loo, Taylor had to walk up the road 150 yards to the Harbour Bar."

//

Comment on a thread about Mary Kom, five-time World Boxing champion:

"Mary Kom should open her academy in Delhi and Other places to train women in boxing so that woman can break jaws of eve teasers."

I'd watch that movie.




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