Reminscing backwards and at random...

Earlier tonight, we were sardined within the Stiff Kitten in Belfast with a couple hundred other folks for the Ladytron show. I've been in tighter crowds (e.g., subway cards on the Boston T and the London Tube), but it does mean that most of my dancing consisted of thumping my feet and occasionally rubbing against the BYM; anything else risked upsetting someone's drink or jostling hips and arses and tits I wasn't ready to get frisky with. I periodically found myself wishing I had the sharpshooting skillz to take out the cameras of every idiot who didn't off their flash before blinding the rest of us, but both Ladytron and Asobi Seksu also used a fair amount of strobe tonight, so it wasn't as obnoxious as it would've been otherwise. The music was pounding and layered; I'm not sure if it's an after-effect of the bronchitis, but both here and in Glasgow the loudness of the bass made my throat tight (not unbearably so, but a physical reaction I've not had before in clubs). Fashion-wise, there was everything from plaid shirts and tees to taffeta ruffles and leopard-prints and lace bustiers; there was one lad wearing reindeer horns and his mates were wearing Santa hats and tinsel. The two women next to me are wearing black dresses with white crochet trim that would look more at home at church than in a club "where the college kids like to dance" (as a clerk at our hotel described it) (to be fair, I wore a similar style dress to my dad's memorial service ten years ago, so I'm no one to talk about being staid; it being pretty damn cold, I stuck to my original and utterly unstylish plan of gray fleece hoodie, jeans, and Docs). One of the Ladytron vocalists broke her ankle this morning - major trouper points to her for going on with the show regardless. I asked the door guy if it was normally this cold (after having heard several other locals grouse about it) and he said that it was about a month early for these temperatures.

We got to the venue earlier, so we first shared a whisky sour at the bar next door. Dinner was at Deane's Deli, which is actually a fancy sit-down place; we split a very yummy grilled goat-cheese starter (with roasted red peppers and greens and pesto drizzle) and have lamb shank tagine with polenta and green beans for mains. I treat myself to a glass of Jurancon (Ballet d'Octobre) (dessert wine) and the BYM first tries a cocktail called "A maiden's blush" (gin, triple sec, and a couple other things -- it's more red than rose beneath all the ice, and comes with a straw, so rude jokes about poking ensue) and follows it with a rioja with the lamb.

During the day, we wandered around Belfast city centre, starting with breakfast (tea and chocolate muffin/currant scone) at the Linen Hall Library cafe. It's actually a fairly active library, as well as a beautiful one: there are stained glass portraits (of Johnson, Shakespeare, Burns, Goldsmith, et al) above many of the windows, a contemporary art piece called "The Weight of Knowledge" (consisting of books and stones suspended in mid-air) in one of the landings, and a multimedia piece based on a police station's keys that were given to the library at the residents' request when the station was closed. There are colorful Beryl Cook prints in the cafe, an older man working a crossword, and various folks quietly conducting their research. The various programmes include one earlier this month about "the issues involved in documenting Queer history generally and in Northern Ireland" (apparently as part of "Outburst, Belfast's Queer Arts Festival"). Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised (and thus cheered) that Belfast even has a GLBT-friendly presence, but I am, possibly since the Eyewitness guidebook from a couple years ago that I'd borrowed had included warnings on how hard it might be to purchase condoms here.

The guidebook has steered us right in other respects, however, since it's how I found out about the Linen Hall Library cafe in the first place, as well as the Crown Bar, a Victorian gin palace that was pleasantly crowded but not too much so -- lots of locals, nifty booths, football jerseys banned at the bar but otherwise no dress code, and a bartender firmly but discreetly showing someone to the door before he caused too much trouble.

Other Belfast highlights: the gigantic Belfast ferris wheel (whee!), lunch pies at Dunleavy's (think cafeteria meets Edwarding hunting lodge meets celebrity-collecting pub with random French posters scattered in), looking at the archival exhibits at the main library (the typist got fired back in 19-- after claiming she'd been AWOL because the Easter Rising prevented her from returning back to Belfast in time; the Chief Librarian didn't buy it), the odd 21st century steeple on top of old St. Anne's, Santa waving to me from a balcony at Victoria Square, the dilapidated sculptures of buoys near the University of Ulster, street musicians playing everything from a combination fiddle-horn to accordions, deep-fried maki rolls (duck and cucumber) a noisy hip restaurant named Zen, and... it's time to go out again, so more later!