[Leica] in-COMMUNICATION PROJECT

[imra at iol.ie (Douglas Barry)]

"Mitch Zeissler" <zeissler at mac.com> wrote
>>>>>>>
> I completely agree with you.  We have summer interns that arrive every May 
> and leave every August.  This year I noticed that they hardly interacted 
> when outside as a group; all of them were engrossed in their smart phones 
> and no one was talking to one another or even watching where they were 
> walking.?
<<<<<<<

Interesting point Mitch, I took the train (Dart) into Dublin today from to 
meet up with four guys I went to school with, and have lunch. Sitting on the 
Dart engrossed in last weekend's FT Arts section (best coverage of 
photography in the BI, I might add) with two people in front of me and four 
in the similar seating across the passageway, I noticed how life has 
changed. All were tapping, listening to, or flicking their mobile phones, 
and none of them - even though one pair were together - were talking.

Then, as we were nearing my stop, an overpowering smell of alcohol arrived 
beside us, encasing a body covered in tattoos, and brandishing a biro and a 
rumpled scrap of brown paper bag. "Ehh, can any of youse spell Clodagh? Yis 
know - the girl's name? Clodagh? I need to get the bleedin' spelling right. 
Clodagh? How do yiz spell that?" An awkward smirking silence ensued as 
everybody made eye contact with each other and looked at the smell's source. 
The slurred beseeching continued. "Clodagh? I jus', I jus' I can't spell it 
right.  How's it go?"

More amused eye flicking followed several "I'm not sure"s, before someone 
ignored their mother's advice "Don't ever, ever engage with drunken 
strangers. Don't draw them on!!" and said C-L-O-D-A-G-H. "Kay, uhh, 
C-L-O-D-A-G-H???" The pen wouldn't write on the crinkled brown paper, and 
desperately the Smell started to write on the small bit of the back of his 
hand that wasn't covered in tattoos.

"How do yiz spell that again?" as he laboriously wrote C-L-O on the only 
pristine bit of skin, "C-L-O?? What's next?" C-L-O-D-A-G-H that's D-A-G-H. 
"Uhh" said the Smell, "D-A-H-G?" No, came in unison from the seats 
"D-A-G-H!, C-L-O-D-A-G-H!!" He started to write again as I rose to get off. 
As I hopped off the train and walked towards the stiles, I looked back as 
saw the Smell staggering along the platform a good bit behind me.

Walking down along the Liffey towards the restaurant (Chez Max - nice French 
near Dame St), I spotted a sign which said "BLU TATTOO" with variously 
decorated members of society lounging and lurching around the doorway. I 
thought to myself that Clodagh better be worth it. When I got to the 
restaurant, I casually asked my friends had any of them a daughter called 
Clodagh :-)

Of course, I had broken my own rule and left my camera behind.....

Douglas