Speaking of sexy

It's just about impossible to find anyone teaching Icelandic, let alone real Icelanders, but I found the mother lode on YouTube. It's a start at least. I really like something about the sound-shape of Icelandic. It makes for a nice accent when Icelanders speak English. I think it's the aspirated sound between voiceless consonants and the way the vowels move. Sexy stuff.

It's the same for all of Scandanavia, really. I want to go to Sweden too. To see if I feel the same kinds of stirrings. Maybe you can feel that stuff. Your genes, I mean. They say I have a bit of Swede in me. And I've been missing Ireland lately. It could have something to do with chatting up Scandinavians living in Dublin, but I think it's more than that.

I was thinking about that Moroccan pub in Galway, and how I used to go to that wine bar with the Germans to hear Maika play jazz piano with the best of them. And I was reminded last night of the first snakebite I had, that night I took the bus back into Dublin when Aer Lingus went on strike for a week.

I miss Europeans. There is something comfortable about them, and I miss that magical old feeling. The feeling of people staying put for a long, long time. Only they don't really stay put. And they seem to be right at the edge, doing their thing, and defining modernity.

Then again, I get wistful about Americana too. In my cowboy boots, playing banjo. Speaking of which, now is a good time for a little banjo.