Today, for what seems like the dozenth time in my life, I’ve had to explain to someone that where I come from, everyone sounds like Dennis Leary when they talk.
How hard is it to understand accents? People from central Massachusetts just talk that way. Comedian Dennis Leary grew up in Worcester, 30 minutes from where I grew up.
And honestly I don’t think I talk like that. My parents are from Philadelphia and I had their accent when I was little, and it still comes out when I visit relatives. People from Massachusetts don’t hear me speak and think of me as a townie, to them I could be from anywhere.
But sometimes when chatting with people not from Massachusetts their eyes show a glimmer of recognition and they say “Hey, do you remember that comedian Dennis Leary? You know, the asshole guy? Are you a big fan of his or something?”
What? No. Is everyone from England a Ricky Gervais fan?
If you don’t know Dennis Leary, this is his Magnum Opus:
Speaking of assholes, last week I attended Mass at a church where you have to cross a busy street to get to the parking lot. There is a crosswalk with a traffic light. An old man was waiting patiently for the light to change but the cars stopped anyway to let him go. A few more of us decided to take the opportunity to cross with him. A middle-aged motorcyclist a few cars back started heckling us: “Hey people, don’t you know the traffic laws? What, you think you are above the rules?”
“But”, protested the venerable choir master, “there is a crosswalk.”
“You have to wait for the light!” retorted the motorcyclist.
My guardian angel must have flown down from heaven to shut my big fat mouth, so I said nothing. Instead I looked the motorcyclist in the eye, spread my hands, and gave him a big smirk as if to say “Cry about it, bitch” as I jaywalked like a boss.
For some reason that triggered him. “Fucking asshole!” he cried. I had a good laugh.
Eh. Maybe they are on to something.