And I'm done! Just sent in my last exam.
I'm coming home on Sunday! And then flying back on December 27, spending a week in Ireland with Tara and Katy, and then heading off to do a solo trip to Germany. Life is pretty good right now.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Londytown
After the horrific traveling, I finally got to spend time in my favorite city!
It's probably not the best thing in the world for an Irish-American currently living in Ireland to admit, but I. Love. London. I don't know why, honestly. It's like an American city, but somehow sharper and cleaner and classier. I like cities that are neighborhood-structured, and London is definitely that. You probably don't hear this a lot, but I honestly think it has great food. I love going to pubs over going to some gross and sweaty nightclub, and London has no shortage of pubs and late pubs. I love the Tube. I love the diversity of the city (it honestly gives New York a run for its money in this respect). I love that I have an American accent so everyone thinks I'm a visitor (which this time, to be fair, I was) but I love surprising Londoners with my knowledge of the city. It's just unexpected or something and I relish it. I love how old it is and how they aren't afraid to show it. This is going out on a really hypothetical/tangential/theoretical limb, but Ireland is obviously an incredibly ancient society. However, they were really poor for a really long time (due to to Londoners... let's just ignore that detail). So when they got money, they tried to modernize really really fast and I think they lost of a lot of their heritage along the way, at least with regards to aesthetic detail. In a lot of ways, Ireland tries to be like America with regards to economics and politics and the brands they buy, etc, but they also try to look like America with regards to urban sprawl and the chains they choose to bring in, etc. In large part, this is obviously an attempt to forget about British imperialism, but it's still sort of jarring when you see how rapidly they've attempted to reinvent themselves and modernize. London doesn't even mess with that. They modernized naturally and didn't force it. Obviously this is due to external factors, like them having the money to do so and depriving Ireland of the right to do the same, but that doesn't change the modern-day nature of both societies and the bald fact that London just feels more NATURAL. They're like, "We've been around for forever and we're not pretending our country just started within the last 50 years." When I broke my foot in London, the hospital I went to had been standing since the 18th century. I mean, that's INCREDIBLE. It had obviously been revamped and remodeled, but stepping inside honestly felt like I was walking into a Dickens novel (or hobbling into a Dickens novel). Ireland is all new and shiny and modern (in a lot of ways... there are obviously exceptions), and London's like, "we'll build this new stuff, but let's not do it at the expense of tearing down this gorgeous old house that's been here since 1692." Anyway. That was a long diatribe but you get a sense of the ancient and timeless in London that can't be replicated anywhere in America or anywhere I've yet found in Ireland (although I'm sure I will and I'm also sure this is much more possible in Ireland than in America). I mean, you'll just be walking down a whatever street in London and you'll see a blue plaque that is like, "here's where George Orwell wrote 1984." And it's just part of the scene! I mean, when I was in Dublin, I remember walking around and seeing this old decrepit building that had a plaque that said, "This is the setting of some scene in Ulysses" (shamefully I've never read Ulysses so I don't know what scene it was). Next to that was a huge sign that said, "SLATED FOR DEMOLITION." ANYWAY. That's why I like London.
So on Saturday, after I finally got to my cousin Emmy's (she's going by Emily now, but I'm sorry, I can't make the switch... I just can't, it sounds unnatural in my mouth) she and her husband Bryan were in the midst of making a lovely Thanksgiving. They have a daughter, Tegan, who's a year and a half. They invited over two other couples and their small children and it was great to meet their friends and play with a ton of little kids. (By a ton, I mean three.) It was great times.
Sunday was a walk down memory lane. Emmy had a little kids' party to go to and Bryan had to work, so I decided to use that day to explore the old 'hood from when I studied abroad. I walked to my old apartment building and enlisted a 50 year old man who was smoking outside the pub across the street to take this picture:
hahaha YES. The Notre Dame kids who study abroad in London now have actually moved buildings, so I didn't like, happen to run into any kids that looked like juniors in college and ambush them and be like, "AHHHHH NOTRE DAME," but it would have been really fun to do so. Alas.
I also walked to my old school, got to stroll down Oxford and Regent Sts (two of the main shopping drags) and see how decked out London was for Christmas. I felt like I was in Love Actually. I found London's first Chipotle and ate a delicious burrito. London Chipotle has this weird curry taste to their food. It was not as good as America, but it was better than nothing. I hung out in Trafalgar Square for awhile and listened to the buskers and watched the street performers and it was just great.
On Monday and Tuesday (I didn't have class til Wednesday so I got to stay awhile) I hung out with the fam. Tegan is so. cute. Check her out:
she is all bundled and ready for the snow! We hung out and watched movies and went out in Putney (the neighborhood in which they live) and it was great.
On Tuesday, I had another terrible travel day but I don't want to talk about it. I got home safe and it's fine and let's not dwell.
Sooo weird... I will be home in 10 days.
Love to everyone!
It's probably not the best thing in the world for an Irish-American currently living in Ireland to admit, but I. Love. London. I don't know why, honestly. It's like an American city, but somehow sharper and cleaner and classier. I like cities that are neighborhood-structured, and London is definitely that. You probably don't hear this a lot, but I honestly think it has great food. I love going to pubs over going to some gross and sweaty nightclub, and London has no shortage of pubs and late pubs. I love the Tube. I love the diversity of the city (it honestly gives New York a run for its money in this respect). I love that I have an American accent so everyone thinks I'm a visitor (which this time, to be fair, I was) but I love surprising Londoners with my knowledge of the city. It's just unexpected or something and I relish it. I love how old it is and how they aren't afraid to show it. This is going out on a really hypothetical/tangential/theoretical limb, but Ireland is obviously an incredibly ancient society. However, they were really poor for a really long time (due to to Londoners... let's just ignore that detail). So when they got money, they tried to modernize really really fast and I think they lost of a lot of their heritage along the way, at least with regards to aesthetic detail. In a lot of ways, Ireland tries to be like America with regards to economics and politics and the brands they buy, etc, but they also try to look like America with regards to urban sprawl and the chains they choose to bring in, etc. In large part, this is obviously an attempt to forget about British imperialism, but it's still sort of jarring when you see how rapidly they've attempted to reinvent themselves and modernize. London doesn't even mess with that. They modernized naturally and didn't force it. Obviously this is due to external factors, like them having the money to do so and depriving Ireland of the right to do the same, but that doesn't change the modern-day nature of both societies and the bald fact that London just feels more NATURAL. They're like, "We've been around for forever and we're not pretending our country just started within the last 50 years." When I broke my foot in London, the hospital I went to had been standing since the 18th century. I mean, that's INCREDIBLE. It had obviously been revamped and remodeled, but stepping inside honestly felt like I was walking into a Dickens novel (or hobbling into a Dickens novel). Ireland is all new and shiny and modern (in a lot of ways... there are obviously exceptions), and London's like, "we'll build this new stuff, but let's not do it at the expense of tearing down this gorgeous old house that's been here since 1692." Anyway. That was a long diatribe but you get a sense of the ancient and timeless in London that can't be replicated anywhere in America or anywhere I've yet found in Ireland (although I'm sure I will and I'm also sure this is much more possible in Ireland than in America). I mean, you'll just be walking down a whatever street in London and you'll see a blue plaque that is like, "here's where George Orwell wrote 1984." And it's just part of the scene! I mean, when I was in Dublin, I remember walking around and seeing this old decrepit building that had a plaque that said, "This is the setting of some scene in Ulysses" (shamefully I've never read Ulysses so I don't know what scene it was). Next to that was a huge sign that said, "SLATED FOR DEMOLITION." ANYWAY. That's why I like London.
So on Saturday, after I finally got to my cousin Emmy's (she's going by Emily now, but I'm sorry, I can't make the switch... I just can't, it sounds unnatural in my mouth) she and her husband Bryan were in the midst of making a lovely Thanksgiving. They have a daughter, Tegan, who's a year and a half. They invited over two other couples and their small children and it was great to meet their friends and play with a ton of little kids. (By a ton, I mean three.) It was great times.
Sunday was a walk down memory lane. Emmy had a little kids' party to go to and Bryan had to work, so I decided to use that day to explore the old 'hood from when I studied abroad. I walked to my old apartment building and enlisted a 50 year old man who was smoking outside the pub across the street to take this picture:
hahaha YES. The Notre Dame kids who study abroad in London now have actually moved buildings, so I didn't like, happen to run into any kids that looked like juniors in college and ambush them and be like, "AHHHHH NOTRE DAME," but it would have been really fun to do so. Alas.
I also walked to my old school, got to stroll down Oxford and Regent Sts (two of the main shopping drags) and see how decked out London was for Christmas. I felt like I was in Love Actually. I found London's first Chipotle and ate a delicious burrito. London Chipotle has this weird curry taste to their food. It was not as good as America, but it was better than nothing. I hung out in Trafalgar Square for awhile and listened to the buskers and watched the street performers and it was just great.
On Monday and Tuesday (I didn't have class til Wednesday so I got to stay awhile) I hung out with the fam. Tegan is so. cute. Check her out:
she is all bundled and ready for the snow! We hung out and watched movies and went out in Putney (the neighborhood in which they live) and it was great.
On Tuesday, I had another terrible travel day but I don't want to talk about it. I got home safe and it's fine and let's not dwell.
Sooo weird... I will be home in 10 days.
Love to everyone!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Hands Down the Worst Travel Experience I Have Ever Had
I have been in London for about ten hours. I hope to have many epic times here and write in detail about them. However, I knew that if I didn't get this down while it was fresh in my mind, I would compromise important parts of the story.
Today, I had arguably the worst day of my life, and definitely the worst travel day of my life.
The journey began at 1 a.m. on Saturday morning (or Friday night, however you choose to look at it). I was merely taking a cab to the Galway bus station, so I could get on a bus to go to Dublin so I could get on a plane to go to London. Easy, right?
No.
I get in the cab. The cabdriver seems pleasant at first. We're chatting about this and that, I'm telling him I'm going to London, he's telling me about how his daughter lives there, whatever, when another cab cuts my cab off. Fine. Whatever. Out of line, he shouldn't have done it. However, MY cabdriver's reaction? He rolls down his window and yells, "You ain't in the jungle anymore, matey!"
At first this didn't register with me. Then, I looked over to see that the other cabdriver (the one mine was yelling at) was black. It was unbelievably uncomfortable. Just so out of line! Wildly out of line! But it didn't end there. We get over that fiasco, we're driving, we're driving, and a black pedestrian tries to flag down my cab, like to go somewhere. My cabdriver stops and is like, "Sorry, man, I already have a passenger," which is obviously totally fair. But as we're driving away, he mutters, "Like I'd let you in the cab anyway." He then raised his voice and said, "Sorry if I sound racist [editorial note: IF???] but some of our multicultural friends just don't seem to get our ways." I sat there petrified. We were in this part of Galway that is sort of between the bustling area and the bus station, and I desperately wanted to say something, but I knew if I argued this asshole was probably going to end up throwing me out of the cab, and the last thing I wanted to do was wander around Galway at 1 a.m. looking for a cab when I'm on a timeframe anyway. I just sat there staring out the window and put my headphones in, even though I wasn't playing music, so when he talked to me I looked like I had an excuse to not respond. It was one of the most uncomfortable car rides I've ever taken.
So, we reach the bus station. Don't worry, there is a LOT more ahead of me. I go inside, get on my express bus to the Dublin airport, am finding my seat, etc. The bus was supposed to leave at 1:45. At, I'm not kidding, 1:43, a drunk man gets on and demands passage to Dublin. The bus driver says, "All right, ten quid." The drunk man says, "Well, I ain't got any money." The bus driver responds with something like, "well, then get off the bus." What follows is an actual conversation and an actual event:
Drunk man: So you aren't going to take me to Dublin?
Bus driver: Well, if you don't have any money...no.
Drunk man: I just want to get home to Dublin.
Bus driver: ...I'm sorry, but I can't let you on if you don't have any money.
Drunk man (yelling): You're a sorry, cold-hearted bastard if you won't take me home to Dublin!
Bus driver: PAY ME OR GET OFF THE BUS!
Drunk man: I JUST WANT TO GET HOME!
Bus driver: I CAN'T TAKE YOU TO DUBLIN IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME ANY MONEY.
At this, the drunk man honestly sits down in the aisle and won't budge. The bus driver says something along the lines of, "Oh, PLEASE do not do this right now," and starts telling him we're all going to the airport, have flights to catch, etc. The drunk man then, swear to God, begins CRYING. He's SOBBING. He's crying about how he's lived his whole life in Dublin, but he lost his job and he got this new one in Galway, but he hates Galway and he just wants to go home to his friends in Dublin, and why is this sorry bastard not taking him home?
It was SO. UNCOMFORTABLE. The bus driver, at a loss, begins to try to reason with him - tells him this isn't going into Dublin at all, it's just going to the airport, he should go to the ATM and get out 10 euro, come back and get the 3 a.m. which is going to the city, etc. The drunk man literally just keeps sobbing about how he hates Galway and he just wants to go home to Dublin and he doesn't understand why the bus driver won't take him home to Dublin.
Everyone on the bus is exchanging these panicked glances. I was on a pretty tight timeframe (which turned out not to matter so much... more on that later) and I was pretty worried I was going to cut it realllllyyyy close to my flight. The drunk man, meanwhile, is still sobbing and is now rocking back and forth on the ground in the fetal position. His lamentations are getting louder. No one knows what to do. The bus driver is now standing over him, begging and pleading for him to get off the bus. Finally, a couple of honest to God POLICE OFFICERS come on the bus and escort him off. I missed the exact happenings because I was kind of far in the back, but since our bus wasn't leaving I think someone from inside the bus station got curious as to why and came out to check. They saw the shenanigans and I think called the Garda. It was insane.
So, we get on the road. I slept through the entirety of it. I'm sure, given the rest of my day, something absolutely bizarre happened while on the road, but I was not privy to it. We arrive at the Dublin airport, I check my bag, go through security, everything is fiiiiiine.
So my flight was supposed to leave at 6:40. Due to (I am not kidding) a HALF-INCH OF SNOW ON THE GROUND, "extreme weather conditions" were declared and we were delayed. Annoying enough. We told we'd be delayed 30 minutes. Then an hour. By the time we boarded, our 6:40 a.m. flight had turned into a 9:10 boarding time. I. Was. Livid.
(N.B. I avoid using specific details when possible, like the airline, because I don't want this to turn into a huge issue. I have this blog to keep my family and friends updated on my life while I'm abroad. I don't want people flipping out at this airline for one really stupid clerk. Although I plan to write a letter, I'd like to keep specific details at bay because I doubt this one horrid woman represents the airline [which I've had nothing but pleasant experiences with in the past] properly or completely. I also want to view this more as a "of course this happened to me" story rather than a "can you believe what's wrong with the world today?" story. ANYWAY.)
So I get up to the front and hand the woman my boarding pass. She squints and says, "Sorry, you must have the wrong flight," and hands it back. I'm like, huh? No, this is my flight. She says, "Sorry, someone already checked in at seat 7D." She cocks her head at me and says in this condescending tone, "This is the 6:40 to London Heathrow."
I say, "yes, I know. That's my flight. That's why I'm in this line. I don't know what the deal is, but this is my flight and I need to be on it."
She says, "Sorry, but someone's already checked in. You're not on this flight."
I try to show her my boarding pass and passport. "Listen, look. This has all the information. This is my flight, this is my name, this is my picture. You HAVE to let me on this flight."
She waves them aside. "I don't need to see those."
Me: Ummm... it's just that I feel like they'd kind of prove my point.
Her: I don't know what to tell you. You can't be on this flight. someone already checked in for that seat.
Me: Well, I don't know what to tell YOU, but this. is. my. flight. Please go check who you checked in at seat 7D. I don't care what you do, but I have to be on this flight! You already delayed me like three hours, I CANNOT catch an even later one.
Her (extremely condescendingly): Maybe you have the wrong date.
I actually began to cry at this point. I was exhausted, this was absurd scenario #3, and I just did not have the energy for it. I broke down and cried. I was waving my boarding pass at her and saying, "This is my flight! I need to be on this flight! I have to get to London! You have to let me on this flight!" I think this totally freaked her out because she sighed and was like, "fine. I'll go check who is in *your* [said in a mocking/condescending tone] seat."
She returns with a mid-20s/early-30s gentleman who looks bewildered. She turns abruptly to me. "Okay, so that was my mistake. The guy I let onto your seat wasn't supposed to be on the flight. He was supposed to be on a different one. Sorry. You can go on the plane now."
I stood there absolutely speechless. I can't even begin to comprehend the things that were wrong with this picture. Let's just make a list:
1) I am by no means a paranoid person about terrorism. I do not walk around terrified that my flights are going to blow up nor do I worry that I'll be the victim of some extremist violence. BUT WHAT AN INSANE BREACH OF SECURITY. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???
2) She acted as if I was the idiot. ME. When I was trying to show her my boarding passes and telling her I was sure I was on the right flight, and I ended up being RIGHT. How did this guy get past her in the first place??? Did HE have to show a boarding pass or passport?
3) Her apology was insane. INSANE. Although I did petition for (and receive) a free coffee when on the flight. They tried to charge me and I stared daggers at them and was like, "Really? Seriously? You're going to make me pay 2 euro for this after what just happened?" It was a small victory, but I felt like I earned it after her failure to apologize.
4) If I had not cried/gone mildly crazy at the gate, she probably never would have checked and I never would have gotten to London.
Also, I am writing a letter to the airline and I am really hoping for some free flights.
Don't worry, there's still more.
So we land in London, like 4 hours behind schedule. I studied abroad in London and am still fairly familiar with the city. I also kept my Oyster card from studying abroad. They're the cards you use on the Tube, and they're actually sort of expensive to buy for the first time - like 4 or 5 pounds. I kept my one from studying abroad because I knew someday I'd probably need it. Today was that day.
I'm off the plane, I'm feeling pretty good. Like, some insane shenanigans have happened, but now I'm in London, on terra firma, all I have to do is catch the Tube to my cousin's house.
I go to the top-up station in the Tube stop that's underneath Heathrow airport. My Oyster card expired. 5. days. previous. Are. You. Effing. Kidding. Me. I kept that card for OVER TWO YEARS AND IT EXPIRED LESS THAN A WEEK AGO?????
But at this point, whatever. It honestly doesn't even faze me. Like, why would something go easily for me today? So I wait in like a 20 minute line to buy a new card, blow 5 pounds on something I SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO BUY, load some money on the sucker and get on the Tube.
I found a seat, am chilling, whatever. I'm relaxing. All I have to do is ride the Tube for ten stops, transfer to another line and go to my cousin's. So. Easy. Smooth sailing, right?
Except I make the mistake of twisting around to study the Tube map on the wall behind me. I just wanted to gauge how long I had, etc. The guy next to me says, "You visiting too?" When I say yes, I am then forced to spend the rest of my supposed-to-be-relaxing Tube ride looking at a middle-aged Australian man's pictures from his trip to Greece. I had to make mmmhmmm and wow noises the whole time. All I could think was, "This is not happening. This is not happening. This. Is. Not. Happening." I was ready to start sobbing again by the time I got off the Tube.
But then I got to my cousin's house. She lived there while I was studying abroad, so I remembered where it was and found it really easily. She and her husband made an absolutely delicious Thanksgiving, they invited over two other couples and their little kids, and it was really, really, really fun. It was a great night. We ate really good food and drank good wine and told good stories and had good chats and it was really, really nice. I got to play with my first cousin once removed (I know genealogy, thank YOU) who is absolutely adorable and who voluntarily sat on my lap and cuddled with me while we watched Toy Story 2 (she's one and a half! I realized how creepy that might sound if you didn't know how old she is). So overall, the day was probably a win. Both because I had a lovely time with my fam and because now I actually have a travel story to beat my "traveling home for Christmas 2009" story. (This is the one where the man ahead of me attempted to bring a handle of Jack Daniels and a hunting knife on the plane, and then a woman tried to give me her baby and walk away. If I've never told you it, ask me it sometime. Although it's probably now less amusing than this sucker.)
And I have three more days in the best city in the world! This day was definitely a win.
Today, I had arguably the worst day of my life, and definitely the worst travel day of my life.
The journey began at 1 a.m. on Saturday morning (or Friday night, however you choose to look at it). I was merely taking a cab to the Galway bus station, so I could get on a bus to go to Dublin so I could get on a plane to go to London. Easy, right?
No.
I get in the cab. The cabdriver seems pleasant at first. We're chatting about this and that, I'm telling him I'm going to London, he's telling me about how his daughter lives there, whatever, when another cab cuts my cab off. Fine. Whatever. Out of line, he shouldn't have done it. However, MY cabdriver's reaction? He rolls down his window and yells, "You ain't in the jungle anymore, matey!"
At first this didn't register with me. Then, I looked over to see that the other cabdriver (the one mine was yelling at) was black. It was unbelievably uncomfortable. Just so out of line! Wildly out of line! But it didn't end there. We get over that fiasco, we're driving, we're driving, and a black pedestrian tries to flag down my cab, like to go somewhere. My cabdriver stops and is like, "Sorry, man, I already have a passenger," which is obviously totally fair. But as we're driving away, he mutters, "Like I'd let you in the cab anyway." He then raised his voice and said, "Sorry if I sound racist [editorial note: IF???] but some of our multicultural friends just don't seem to get our ways." I sat there petrified. We were in this part of Galway that is sort of between the bustling area and the bus station, and I desperately wanted to say something, but I knew if I argued this asshole was probably going to end up throwing me out of the cab, and the last thing I wanted to do was wander around Galway at 1 a.m. looking for a cab when I'm on a timeframe anyway. I just sat there staring out the window and put my headphones in, even though I wasn't playing music, so when he talked to me I looked like I had an excuse to not respond. It was one of the most uncomfortable car rides I've ever taken.
So, we reach the bus station. Don't worry, there is a LOT more ahead of me. I go inside, get on my express bus to the Dublin airport, am finding my seat, etc. The bus was supposed to leave at 1:45. At, I'm not kidding, 1:43, a drunk man gets on and demands passage to Dublin. The bus driver says, "All right, ten quid." The drunk man says, "Well, I ain't got any money." The bus driver responds with something like, "well, then get off the bus." What follows is an actual conversation and an actual event:
Drunk man: So you aren't going to take me to Dublin?
Bus driver: Well, if you don't have any money...no.
Drunk man: I just want to get home to Dublin.
Bus driver: ...I'm sorry, but I can't let you on if you don't have any money.
Drunk man (yelling): You're a sorry, cold-hearted bastard if you won't take me home to Dublin!
Bus driver: PAY ME OR GET OFF THE BUS!
Drunk man: I JUST WANT TO GET HOME!
Bus driver: I CAN'T TAKE YOU TO DUBLIN IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME ANY MONEY.
At this, the drunk man honestly sits down in the aisle and won't budge. The bus driver says something along the lines of, "Oh, PLEASE do not do this right now," and starts telling him we're all going to the airport, have flights to catch, etc. The drunk man then, swear to God, begins CRYING. He's SOBBING. He's crying about how he's lived his whole life in Dublin, but he lost his job and he got this new one in Galway, but he hates Galway and he just wants to go home to his friends in Dublin, and why is this sorry bastard not taking him home?
It was SO. UNCOMFORTABLE. The bus driver, at a loss, begins to try to reason with him - tells him this isn't going into Dublin at all, it's just going to the airport, he should go to the ATM and get out 10 euro, come back and get the 3 a.m. which is going to the city, etc. The drunk man literally just keeps sobbing about how he hates Galway and he just wants to go home to Dublin and he doesn't understand why the bus driver won't take him home to Dublin.
Everyone on the bus is exchanging these panicked glances. I was on a pretty tight timeframe (which turned out not to matter so much... more on that later) and I was pretty worried I was going to cut it realllllyyyy close to my flight. The drunk man, meanwhile, is still sobbing and is now rocking back and forth on the ground in the fetal position. His lamentations are getting louder. No one knows what to do. The bus driver is now standing over him, begging and pleading for him to get off the bus. Finally, a couple of honest to God POLICE OFFICERS come on the bus and escort him off. I missed the exact happenings because I was kind of far in the back, but since our bus wasn't leaving I think someone from inside the bus station got curious as to why and came out to check. They saw the shenanigans and I think called the Garda. It was insane.
So, we get on the road. I slept through the entirety of it. I'm sure, given the rest of my day, something absolutely bizarre happened while on the road, but I was not privy to it. We arrive at the Dublin airport, I check my bag, go through security, everything is fiiiiiine.
So my flight was supposed to leave at 6:40. Due to (I am not kidding) a HALF-INCH OF SNOW ON THE GROUND, "extreme weather conditions" were declared and we were delayed. Annoying enough. We told we'd be delayed 30 minutes. Then an hour. By the time we boarded, our 6:40 a.m. flight had turned into a 9:10 boarding time. I. Was. Livid.
(N.B. I avoid using specific details when possible, like the airline, because I don't want this to turn into a huge issue. I have this blog to keep my family and friends updated on my life while I'm abroad. I don't want people flipping out at this airline for one really stupid clerk. Although I plan to write a letter, I'd like to keep specific details at bay because I doubt this one horrid woman represents the airline [which I've had nothing but pleasant experiences with in the past] properly or completely. I also want to view this more as a "of course this happened to me" story rather than a "can you believe what's wrong with the world today?" story. ANYWAY.)
So I get up to the front and hand the woman my boarding pass. She squints and says, "Sorry, you must have the wrong flight," and hands it back. I'm like, huh? No, this is my flight. She says, "Sorry, someone already checked in at seat 7D." She cocks her head at me and says in this condescending tone, "This is the 6:40 to London Heathrow."
I say, "yes, I know. That's my flight. That's why I'm in this line. I don't know what the deal is, but this is my flight and I need to be on it."
She says, "Sorry, but someone's already checked in. You're not on this flight."
I try to show her my boarding pass and passport. "Listen, look. This has all the information. This is my flight, this is my name, this is my picture. You HAVE to let me on this flight."
She waves them aside. "I don't need to see those."
Me: Ummm... it's just that I feel like they'd kind of prove my point.
Her: I don't know what to tell you. You can't be on this flight. someone already checked in for that seat.
Me: Well, I don't know what to tell YOU, but this. is. my. flight. Please go check who you checked in at seat 7D. I don't care what you do, but I have to be on this flight! You already delayed me like three hours, I CANNOT catch an even later one.
Her (extremely condescendingly): Maybe you have the wrong date.
I actually began to cry at this point. I was exhausted, this was absurd scenario #3, and I just did not have the energy for it. I broke down and cried. I was waving my boarding pass at her and saying, "This is my flight! I need to be on this flight! I have to get to London! You have to let me on this flight!" I think this totally freaked her out because she sighed and was like, "fine. I'll go check who is in *your* [said in a mocking/condescending tone] seat."
She returns with a mid-20s/early-30s gentleman who looks bewildered. She turns abruptly to me. "Okay, so that was my mistake. The guy I let onto your seat wasn't supposed to be on the flight. He was supposed to be on a different one. Sorry. You can go on the plane now."
I stood there absolutely speechless. I can't even begin to comprehend the things that were wrong with this picture. Let's just make a list:
1) I am by no means a paranoid person about terrorism. I do not walk around terrified that my flights are going to blow up nor do I worry that I'll be the victim of some extremist violence. BUT WHAT AN INSANE BREACH OF SECURITY. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???
2) She acted as if I was the idiot. ME. When I was trying to show her my boarding passes and telling her I was sure I was on the right flight, and I ended up being RIGHT. How did this guy get past her in the first place??? Did HE have to show a boarding pass or passport?
3) Her apology was insane. INSANE. Although I did petition for (and receive) a free coffee when on the flight. They tried to charge me and I stared daggers at them and was like, "Really? Seriously? You're going to make me pay 2 euro for this after what just happened?" It was a small victory, but I felt like I earned it after her failure to apologize.
4) If I had not cried/gone mildly crazy at the gate, she probably never would have checked and I never would have gotten to London.
Also, I am writing a letter to the airline and I am really hoping for some free flights.
Don't worry, there's still more.
So we land in London, like 4 hours behind schedule. I studied abroad in London and am still fairly familiar with the city. I also kept my Oyster card from studying abroad. They're the cards you use on the Tube, and they're actually sort of expensive to buy for the first time - like 4 or 5 pounds. I kept my one from studying abroad because I knew someday I'd probably need it. Today was that day.
I'm off the plane, I'm feeling pretty good. Like, some insane shenanigans have happened, but now I'm in London, on terra firma, all I have to do is catch the Tube to my cousin's house.
I go to the top-up station in the Tube stop that's underneath Heathrow airport. My Oyster card expired. 5. days. previous. Are. You. Effing. Kidding. Me. I kept that card for OVER TWO YEARS AND IT EXPIRED LESS THAN A WEEK AGO?????
But at this point, whatever. It honestly doesn't even faze me. Like, why would something go easily for me today? So I wait in like a 20 minute line to buy a new card, blow 5 pounds on something I SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO BUY, load some money on the sucker and get on the Tube.
I found a seat, am chilling, whatever. I'm relaxing. All I have to do is ride the Tube for ten stops, transfer to another line and go to my cousin's. So. Easy. Smooth sailing, right?
Except I make the mistake of twisting around to study the Tube map on the wall behind me. I just wanted to gauge how long I had, etc. The guy next to me says, "You visiting too?" When I say yes, I am then forced to spend the rest of my supposed-to-be-relaxing Tube ride looking at a middle-aged Australian man's pictures from his trip to Greece. I had to make mmmhmmm and wow noises the whole time. All I could think was, "This is not happening. This is not happening. This. Is. Not. Happening." I was ready to start sobbing again by the time I got off the Tube.
But then I got to my cousin's house. She lived there while I was studying abroad, so I remembered where it was and found it really easily. She and her husband made an absolutely delicious Thanksgiving, they invited over two other couples and their little kids, and it was really, really, really fun. It was a great night. We ate really good food and drank good wine and told good stories and had good chats and it was really, really nice. I got to play with my first cousin once removed (I know genealogy, thank YOU) who is absolutely adorable and who voluntarily sat on my lap and cuddled with me while we watched Toy Story 2 (she's one and a half! I realized how creepy that might sound if you didn't know how old she is). So overall, the day was probably a win. Both because I had a lovely time with my fam and because now I actually have a travel story to beat my "traveling home for Christmas 2009" story. (This is the one where the man ahead of me attempted to bring a handle of Jack Daniels and a hunting knife on the plane, and then a woman tried to give me her baby and walk away. If I've never told you it, ask me it sometime. Although it's probably now less amusing than this sucker.)
And I have three more days in the best city in the world! This day was definitely a win.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Thanksgiving #1, Harry Potter and Annemarie's Birthday
Sadly, there are no creepers to report for this blog update. I feel like that is rapidly becoming a mainstay of my life here in Ireland. I have a creeper magnet or something. But it's all relatively tame this time around.
I am rapidly set to have more Thanksgivings in Ireland than I ever had at any point while living in America. Last Thursday, Annemarie hosted a Thanksgiving at her house for me and her Irish rooommates (and one of her roommate's friends). It was, in a word, lovely. I am not the biggest Thanskgiving food fan in the world, but she had Stove Top stuffing her mom had sent her and she made a turkey and we found apple (sadly, no pumpkin) pie in a store. It was really fun and totally delicious and awesome. It also looks like I'm set to have two more. On actual Thanksgiving, I'll have class (obviously) but my classmates want to take the other American in my program and me out to a Thanksgiving lunch. Something tells me we'll search for a long time and end up eating turkey sandwiches in a pub, but it's a really nice thought of them. And then on Saturday I'm headed to Londytown for my cousin's Thanksgiving! SO excited to go back to London. I fully intend on going to the Landward (the apartment building I lived in while studying abroad) and enlisting some random passerby to take my picture in front of it. I also fully intend on eating schawarma and I'll be able to have CHIPOTLE. Thank god I googled Chipotle that once and discovered it now exists in London.
Anyway, Saturday was Annemarie's birthday! We went to a matinee showing of Harry Potter and it was AWESOME. I already want to see it again. The best part about breaking the 7th book into two movies is that they really didn't have to cut anything. I'm biased, though - the movies could be the worst things ever and I'll still think they were about the best thing I've ever seen. It was so good. Then later that night, we went out on the town for her birthday, which was also a great time, one of the best nights I've had here so far. So overall, it's been a very successful week!
Now I'm just trying to kind of keep my head down and grind out the last of my papers, exams, etc. I have a huge paper due this week that I'm actually really worried about, but I have to convince myself at some point to stop editing it before I edit it so much it turns completely crap and totally unrecognizable. I'll also be home three weeks from today! I can do this, I can do this.
In other news, ND plays USC next Saturday, which means it's time to break out my favorite picture of all time:
In conclusion, I am so close to surviving semester #1 of grad school. So close! miss and love you all...eyes on the prize.
I am rapidly set to have more Thanksgivings in Ireland than I ever had at any point while living in America. Last Thursday, Annemarie hosted a Thanksgiving at her house for me and her Irish rooommates (and one of her roommate's friends). It was, in a word, lovely. I am not the biggest Thanskgiving food fan in the world, but she had Stove Top stuffing her mom had sent her and she made a turkey and we found apple (sadly, no pumpkin) pie in a store. It was really fun and totally delicious and awesome. It also looks like I'm set to have two more. On actual Thanksgiving, I'll have class (obviously) but my classmates want to take the other American in my program and me out to a Thanksgiving lunch. Something tells me we'll search for a long time and end up eating turkey sandwiches in a pub, but it's a really nice thought of them. And then on Saturday I'm headed to Londytown for my cousin's Thanksgiving! SO excited to go back to London. I fully intend on going to the Landward (the apartment building I lived in while studying abroad) and enlisting some random passerby to take my picture in front of it. I also fully intend on eating schawarma and I'll be able to have CHIPOTLE. Thank god I googled Chipotle that once and discovered it now exists in London.
Anyway, Saturday was Annemarie's birthday! We went to a matinee showing of Harry Potter and it was AWESOME. I already want to see it again. The best part about breaking the 7th book into two movies is that they really didn't have to cut anything. I'm biased, though - the movies could be the worst things ever and I'll still think they were about the best thing I've ever seen. It was so good. Then later that night, we went out on the town for her birthday, which was also a great time, one of the best nights I've had here so far. So overall, it's been a very successful week!
Now I'm just trying to kind of keep my head down and grind out the last of my papers, exams, etc. I have a huge paper due this week that I'm actually really worried about, but I have to convince myself at some point to stop editing it before I edit it so much it turns completely crap and totally unrecognizable. I'll also be home three weeks from today! I can do this, I can do this.
In other news, ND plays USC next Saturday, which means it's time to break out my favorite picture of all time:
In conclusion, I am so close to surviving semester #1 of grad school. So close! miss and love you all...eyes on the prize.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Swim Meet
So I feel like I'm rapid-fire posting these days, but I promised some people I would write about the swim meet that occurred on Sunday. But first, a quote from an email sent by my friend Derrick (and he says he never gets shout outs. HA!)
"Ok, the suspense is killing me. How'd you do at the swim meet?
Best case scenario I've been imagining: You somehow walked in to pro-America intro music (pro wrestling style) wrapped in an American flag as the assembled Irish crowd (huge, in my head) boos and yells anti-American slurs. Then as you win every race, they slowly come over to your side, Rocky IV style, until you win your last race and they all chant U-S-A! U-S-A! And maybe you make a speech that ends Irish terrorism (in lieu of the cold war)
So, is that how it basically went?"
Well, no. That is not basically how it went. In fact, it went about as far opposite that as you can imagine. First of all, and not surprisingly, collegiate swimming doesn't really draw the crowds (in Ireland or America). There were about 10 people in the audience. They were my friend Annemarie, about five Spanish kids (one of the guys on our team is from Spain and is studying abroad here for a year, so I presume these people were all his friends from his Spanish university), and a couple random friends from other people on the team. Secondly, I did not win every race. I also did not enter wrapped in an American flag, and no one U-S-A'ed (although in retrospect, it would have been fairly hilarious if Annemarie had).
However, here is what DID happen. I did swim fairly well! The times mean absolutely nothing to me, because they're short-course meters, which is something you NEVER see in America - it's either short-course yards or long-course meters (short-course pools are 25 yards/meters, long-course are 50 yards/meters, but you'd virtually never see a 50-yard pool). I honestly don't think I've ever swum scm before, and even if I had, I have no recollection of what I would have swum. It's just been far too long. But I placed really well, which I guess it what counts!
There were no time pads, just stopwatches. I've been to high school and age-group meets better organized than this. No heat sheets or anything like that. There wasn't even a publicly posted piece of paper that listed the order of events - you had to keep harassing the coach, who apparently had the only document of this sort.
But University College Dublin was actually pretty good! I'd say they'd make a fairly dece D3 team in America. I was shocked to learn afterwards that not only do they win Irish nationals every year, there were many OLYMPIANS on the team, and I saw them swim that day! I would never have pegged anybody I saw swimming that day for a national-level swimmer, much less an OLYMPIAN. It's so surprising sometimes to remember that Ireland is only 3 million people. I mean, really, that's half the size of CHICAGO. But yeah, I saw some Olympians swim on Sunday! Preeeetttyyy cool.
We have another meet coming up. They are not sure when. Seriously. It's either this Sunday or next, and it's IN Dublin, against Dublin City University, who apparently is terrible. If it's this Sunday, I'll definitely go, but if it's next, I've already got a ticket booked to London. My cousin Emmy lives there and we're going to do a little mock Thanksgiving. It will be adorable and precious and American. And maybe we'll watch Rocky IV.
So that's that! Miss everyone lots!
"Ok, the suspense is killing me. How'd you do at the swim meet?
Best case scenario I've been imagining: You somehow walked in to pro-America intro music (pro wrestling style) wrapped in an American flag as the assembled Irish crowd (huge, in my head) boos and yells anti-American slurs. Then as you win every race, they slowly come over to your side, Rocky IV style, until you win your last race and they all chant U-S-A! U-S-A! And maybe you make a speech that ends Irish terrorism (in lieu of the cold war)
So, is that how it basically went?"
Well, no. That is not basically how it went. In fact, it went about as far opposite that as you can imagine. First of all, and not surprisingly, collegiate swimming doesn't really draw the crowds (in Ireland or America). There were about 10 people in the audience. They were my friend Annemarie, about five Spanish kids (one of the guys on our team is from Spain and is studying abroad here for a year, so I presume these people were all his friends from his Spanish university), and a couple random friends from other people on the team. Secondly, I did not win every race. I also did not enter wrapped in an American flag, and no one U-S-A'ed (although in retrospect, it would have been fairly hilarious if Annemarie had).
However, here is what DID happen. I did swim fairly well! The times mean absolutely nothing to me, because they're short-course meters, which is something you NEVER see in America - it's either short-course yards or long-course meters (short-course pools are 25 yards/meters, long-course are 50 yards/meters, but you'd virtually never see a 50-yard pool). I honestly don't think I've ever swum scm before, and even if I had, I have no recollection of what I would have swum. It's just been far too long. But I placed really well, which I guess it what counts!
There were no time pads, just stopwatches. I've been to high school and age-group meets better organized than this. No heat sheets or anything like that. There wasn't even a publicly posted piece of paper that listed the order of events - you had to keep harassing the coach, who apparently had the only document of this sort.
But University College Dublin was actually pretty good! I'd say they'd make a fairly dece D3 team in America. I was shocked to learn afterwards that not only do they win Irish nationals every year, there were many OLYMPIANS on the team, and I saw them swim that day! I would never have pegged anybody I saw swimming that day for a national-level swimmer, much less an OLYMPIAN. It's so surprising sometimes to remember that Ireland is only 3 million people. I mean, really, that's half the size of CHICAGO. But yeah, I saw some Olympians swim on Sunday! Preeeetttyyy cool.
We have another meet coming up. They are not sure when. Seriously. It's either this Sunday or next, and it's IN Dublin, against Dublin City University, who apparently is terrible. If it's this Sunday, I'll definitely go, but if it's next, I've already got a ticket booked to London. My cousin Emmy lives there and we're going to do a little mock Thanksgiving. It will be adorable and precious and American. And maybe we'll watch Rocky IV.
So that's that! Miss everyone lots!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
I'm Back, Nerds
(re: the title - I just wanted to make a Liz Lemon reference.) A number of semi-humorous things are currently happening in my life. I'll just make a list.
1) I went to see The Social Network the other day. This, in and of itself, is not terribly humorous. What is funny is how it happened. I was working on a paper Tuesday afternoon and got really stuck. I couldn't think of anything to say, my thoughts weren't going anywhere, you know the drill. I decided to look up the times for The Social Network, thinking if there was one later that night I could invite some people and make it like a reward for working hard throughout the day. You know, motivation for finishing my paper. When I googled the times, I discovered the only showing that day was at 3:30. It was currently 3:10. Impulsively, I decided to change my reward into a study break. I also decided to go alone. This was the first time I had ever been to a theater by myself, but I've always thought that that wouldn't be weird. I mean, once the lights go off, you can't talk to whoever you came with anyway. So I grabbed my coat and off I went to a matinee of The Social Network by myself.
Once I got there, I tried to go to the ticket booth. No one was standing there. I rang the little bell they put on the counter like 4 times. No one came. I tried shouting, "hello!" No one. I was the only person in the lobby besides the guy working the concession stand. I went up to that guy and asked him how to buy a ticket. He asked if anyone was at the ticket booth, I said no. He shrugged and was like, "Don't worry about it then. Just head on in." I was like, "Wait... seriously? Without buying a ticket?" He was like, "Sure, no problem. Just go on into the theater."
So in I went. I was the only person in the theater designated for The Social Network. As 3:30 drew closer, I began to wonder if anyone else was going to show up. No one did. And they played the movie for me anyway. I got a free private screening of the film. It was kind of awesome. What was awkward, however, was during the funny bits. I would laugh out loud and be the only person in the theater. That felt kind of weird. But overall, it was a very pleasant, although somewhat disconcerting, experience. Can you imagine someone in an American theater being like, "eh, just head on in without buying a ticket?" No. Never.
2) I am participating in a swim meet on Sunday. Or, as the Irish call it, a swim gala. I am swimming the 50 fly, 100 IM, and 100 free, plus two relays. Now. Keep in mind this is a collegiate swim meet. In America, you are not allowed to swim 50s competitively once you are eleven years of age. 50s are strictly for 10 and unders. (with the exception of the 50 free) Here, the only 100 available to swim is the IM and the free. I am swimming the 100 free because my coach wants to see me do "distance." The 100 free is distance. This is incredible. Also, I am 23 years old and a graduate student. I have not swum competitively in 5 years. I really feel like I'm in a time warp. I think the meet will be incredibly humorous. We're swimming against University College Dublin, for what it's worth. I just can't believe I am actually doing this. Annemarie is going to come, and she claims she is going to make a sign.
3) At a party last night, an Irish guy told me I was smart "for a woman." I don't even want to editorialize on that. I'll just say that one. Although I will tell you I was so enraged that later that night (probably two hours later), I was still fuming about it to anyone who would listen. The woman who sold me my chicken nuggets at McDonald's. My roommate when we met in the kitchen at around 3 a.m. I made Annemarie and my friend Mike listen to me rage about it at least three times each. I sent emails about it. I. Was. Furious. And probably pretty humorous to watch. I can't really think of anything else that has made me that angry off the top of my head. Now, in the light of day, I guess I can see it's mildly humorous that someone can both think that way and ADMIT OUT LOUD they think that way in the year 2010. Maybe humorous isn't quite the right word, but that's probably the correct word for what I'm sure was an outrageous display of rage in my reaction.
I will be home in less than a month!
1) I went to see The Social Network the other day. This, in and of itself, is not terribly humorous. What is funny is how it happened. I was working on a paper Tuesday afternoon and got really stuck. I couldn't think of anything to say, my thoughts weren't going anywhere, you know the drill. I decided to look up the times for The Social Network, thinking if there was one later that night I could invite some people and make it like a reward for working hard throughout the day. You know, motivation for finishing my paper. When I googled the times, I discovered the only showing that day was at 3:30. It was currently 3:10. Impulsively, I decided to change my reward into a study break. I also decided to go alone. This was the first time I had ever been to a theater by myself, but I've always thought that that wouldn't be weird. I mean, once the lights go off, you can't talk to whoever you came with anyway. So I grabbed my coat and off I went to a matinee of The Social Network by myself.
Once I got there, I tried to go to the ticket booth. No one was standing there. I rang the little bell they put on the counter like 4 times. No one came. I tried shouting, "hello!" No one. I was the only person in the lobby besides the guy working the concession stand. I went up to that guy and asked him how to buy a ticket. He asked if anyone was at the ticket booth, I said no. He shrugged and was like, "Don't worry about it then. Just head on in." I was like, "Wait... seriously? Without buying a ticket?" He was like, "Sure, no problem. Just go on into the theater."
So in I went. I was the only person in the theater designated for The Social Network. As 3:30 drew closer, I began to wonder if anyone else was going to show up. No one did. And they played the movie for me anyway. I got a free private screening of the film. It was kind of awesome. What was awkward, however, was during the funny bits. I would laugh out loud and be the only person in the theater. That felt kind of weird. But overall, it was a very pleasant, although somewhat disconcerting, experience. Can you imagine someone in an American theater being like, "eh, just head on in without buying a ticket?" No. Never.
2) I am participating in a swim meet on Sunday. Or, as the Irish call it, a swim gala. I am swimming the 50 fly, 100 IM, and 100 free, plus two relays. Now. Keep in mind this is a collegiate swim meet. In America, you are not allowed to swim 50s competitively once you are eleven years of age. 50s are strictly for 10 and unders. (with the exception of the 50 free) Here, the only 100 available to swim is the IM and the free. I am swimming the 100 free because my coach wants to see me do "distance." The 100 free is distance. This is incredible. Also, I am 23 years old and a graduate student. I have not swum competitively in 5 years. I really feel like I'm in a time warp. I think the meet will be incredibly humorous. We're swimming against University College Dublin, for what it's worth. I just can't believe I am actually doing this. Annemarie is going to come, and she claims she is going to make a sign.
3) At a party last night, an Irish guy told me I was smart "for a woman." I don't even want to editorialize on that. I'll just say that one. Although I will tell you I was so enraged that later that night (probably two hours later), I was still fuming about it to anyone who would listen. The woman who sold me my chicken nuggets at McDonald's. My roommate when we met in the kitchen at around 3 a.m. I made Annemarie and my friend Mike listen to me rage about it at least three times each. I sent emails about it. I. Was. Furious. And probably pretty humorous to watch. I can't really think of anything else that has made me that angry off the top of my head. Now, in the light of day, I guess I can see it's mildly humorous that someone can both think that way and ADMIT OUT LOUD they think that way in the year 2010. Maybe humorous isn't quite the right word, but that's probably the correct word for what I'm sure was an outrageous display of rage in my reaction.
I will be home in less than a month!
Monday, November 8, 2010
More Procrastination
Today was one of those days when I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was reminded of how much I love grad school, how much I'm beginning to feel at home in Galway, and how much I actually love what I'm studying. I think I pretty much have to be a student for as long as possible and then become a professor, because I actually can't think of anything else I want to do with my life. Mostly, I'm beginning to realize there IS a practical, real-world outlet for the insane, at times debilitating, nerdiness I've possessed since my earliest days of childhood. It's called academia, and it's probably the only place I belong, as sad as that may be.
ANYWAY. In keeping with the above and being a nerd, on Saturday I went to see Due Date with Annemarie. In the first place, it's pretty fun. I'd definitely recommend seeing it. It's no The Hangover, which is sort of what I was hoping for, but it was truly very funny. In the second place, there was one awesome joke that Annemarie and I laughed hysterically at, into a completely hushed and quiet theater. The joke was that Robert Downey Jr and Zach Galifinakis (I know I spelled that wrong, but since I acknowledged it, it's okay) are at a Western Union in Birmingham, Alabama, and Robert Downey Jr's wife is supposed to wire them money. Long story short, Zach Galifinakis's character gave the wrong name, so she wired it to the wrong name, so RD Jr says, "oh, so now my wife has to get back in her car, drive to another Western Union, and wire me money again?" The clerk says, "yeah, but she'll have to go do that tomorrow. We're closing in five minutes." RD Jr looks at his watch and says, "It's 6:35." The clerk then says, "Yeah, but I gotta meet my boys. We have dinner reservations at Chili's." RD Jr deadpans, "You have reservations... at Chili's?" Obviously no Irish people got it - I mean, why would they? - but Annemarie and I just died. It was probably the best part of the movie, or at least one of them, and the joke was totally lost on pretty much everyone in the audience. I also can't think of an Irish equivalent of Chili's, so I can't really think of a way to explain it to anyone I know should they happen to see it.
In totally unrelated news, my cousin Emmy just sent me an official evite invitation for her Thanksgiving in London. (sidenote: there is some serious irony inherent in the idea we're celebrating Thanksgiving in England.) I'm so excited! I get to see my cousin and her husband and her kid and also be in London. I will go to the Landward and the ND center and I will eat schawarma and Chipotle and I will walk along the Embankment and I will ride the Tube and it will be so awesome. LONDON I MISS YOU EVERY DAY YOU ARE THE MOST PERFECT CITY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.
Full disclosure: I'm writing this update to avoid working on an essay I currently have writer's block on, and I've now run out of things to talk about.
Love love!
ANYWAY. In keeping with the above and being a nerd, on Saturday I went to see Due Date with Annemarie. In the first place, it's pretty fun. I'd definitely recommend seeing it. It's no The Hangover, which is sort of what I was hoping for, but it was truly very funny. In the second place, there was one awesome joke that Annemarie and I laughed hysterically at, into a completely hushed and quiet theater. The joke was that Robert Downey Jr and Zach Galifinakis (I know I spelled that wrong, but since I acknowledged it, it's okay) are at a Western Union in Birmingham, Alabama, and Robert Downey Jr's wife is supposed to wire them money. Long story short, Zach Galifinakis's character gave the wrong name, so she wired it to the wrong name, so RD Jr says, "oh, so now my wife has to get back in her car, drive to another Western Union, and wire me money again?" The clerk says, "yeah, but she'll have to go do that tomorrow. We're closing in five minutes." RD Jr looks at his watch and says, "It's 6:35." The clerk then says, "Yeah, but I gotta meet my boys. We have dinner reservations at Chili's." RD Jr deadpans, "You have reservations... at Chili's?" Obviously no Irish people got it - I mean, why would they? - but Annemarie and I just died. It was probably the best part of the movie, or at least one of them, and the joke was totally lost on pretty much everyone in the audience. I also can't think of an Irish equivalent of Chili's, so I can't really think of a way to explain it to anyone I know should they happen to see it.
In totally unrelated news, my cousin Emmy just sent me an official evite invitation for her Thanksgiving in London. (sidenote: there is some serious irony inherent in the idea we're celebrating Thanksgiving in England.) I'm so excited! I get to see my cousin and her husband and her kid and also be in London. I will go to the Landward and the ND center and I will eat schawarma and Chipotle and I will walk along the Embankment and I will ride the Tube and it will be so awesome. LONDON I MISS YOU EVERY DAY YOU ARE THE MOST PERFECT CITY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.
Full disclosure: I'm writing this update to avoid working on an essay I currently have writer's block on, and I've now run out of things to talk about.
Love love!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
I Haven't Updated In Awhile
Now that I've devoted my last two entries to people who have called me out for never mentioning them in my blog, I hope that stage in my life has passed and I can move on and only mention people I care about. Kidding. Or AM I?!?!?
I am morphing into potentially the lamest person I know. I just don't want to go out anymore. For awhile I thought, "Maybe it's because it's cold," and then I remembered I used to live in South Bend, Indiana, and even 15-foot high snow drifts weren't stopping me during that period of my life. I once went to an outdoor keg race in a blizzard. That's a true story. Although I don't fully remember why it was outdoors, especially considering it was November in northern Indiana. And then the opposing team completely cheated and as a result, my team lost. I'm still not completely over that. And then I thought, "Maybe it's because I'm a grad student." But that doesn't really seem to be the problem, either. This is pretty comparable to the amount of work I did in undergrad and that never stopped me then, either. "20-page paper due tomorrow? House party? OKAY!" I think I'm just getting old, which is really depressing, but also saves me a lot of money because I don't have to do things like spend money on beer all the time anymore. Like now, for instance, I'm updating my blog at quarter to 11 on a Saturday night, trying realllyyyyy hard not to be ashamed of that fact (and failing) but at least I'm not spending 40 euros painting Galway red. That saved money will really come in handy when I go to AUSTRALIA!!!!
By the way, I'm going to Australia.
My cousin/best friend Beth, who is basically the coolest person I know (I mean that very seriously) has decided to move to Australia. Why is she doing this? Because she's really awesome, more awesome than I will ever be. I forget when exactly she's going - various months have been batted around - but she's going there, and she is going to live in Melbourne, and she will be awesome at it. I have always wanted to go to Australia, and when she told me she was going, I was like, "Perfect! This is the perfect time to go. And here are the reasons. 1) I will not have to pay for hotel rooms. 2) I won't have to find someone to go with me. 3) Flights to Australia from London are soooo much more reasonable than flights from Chicago to Australia, and I can fly to London for something like 30 euro. 4) I want to go to Australia." And then she told me our friend from high school/who she also went to college with (Christina) is ALSO moving to Australia, and I wept with joy.
So that is that. I am going! I am going to go after my second semester classes have ended. I'm spending my summer writing my dissertation, so I figure this will be a good little interlude between classes and dissertationing. I thought about waiting til August when I will have officially mastered the arts, but then I realized I could very well actually be broke by then, and if I blow a lot of money on Australia in May at least I can eat noodles all summer as penance. I also made her promise me that she'll take me to New Zealand, and she better make good on that, because that is one flight I'm not taking twice. I looked up flights already. I probably have to stop in Kuala Lumpur! KUALA LUMPUR! WHAT IS THAT? What in the world? MALAYSIA?? That just makes me think of Zoolander. I don't fully remember the plot of that movie, to be honest, but it had something to do with Malaysia. I think.
But Beth is going to Australia and I am going to invade her life for a really long time (2 weeks+, probably... like I said, one flight I'm not taking again) and it will be awesome. Anyone who's been, recommendations are welcome.
Other than that, not too much to report. Classes are going well - waiting to get back an essay I'm mildly stressed about, mostly because it's not on literature and let's face it, the only thing I can really speak with any kind of authority on is literature. And 30 Rock. But sadly, no academic classes are yet offered on 30 Rock. But if they were, I would teach them.
Oh, and this might seem really cavalier, but it's not meant to be. I just haven't updated with any kind of substance since this happened. I think on October 27, but I might have that date wrong, a Notre Dame junior named Declan Sullivan was tragically killed in an accident involving a hydraulic lift. This is really old by this point, and I'm sure most members of the Notre Dame community have read it, but seriously, if you want to be moved to tears by your alma mater, or if you're not an alum and you don't understand why all alums (myself included) are so obsessed with Notre Dame, this might help: http://amyunsettled.wordpress.com/2010/10/29/declan/. Also, Father Jenkins (ND president) recently released a statement taking responsibility for Declan's death, and honestly, after reading it, I wanted him to run for president. I'd link to that as well, but it was sent to me as an email and I can't find it online. Seriously, Father Jenkins. You do EVERYTHING right, or at least it really seems that way. That guy really makes me proud I went to ND. But really, so do a lot of things.
And then that's really it.
I am morphing into potentially the lamest person I know. I just don't want to go out anymore. For awhile I thought, "Maybe it's because it's cold," and then I remembered I used to live in South Bend, Indiana, and even 15-foot high snow drifts weren't stopping me during that period of my life. I once went to an outdoor keg race in a blizzard. That's a true story. Although I don't fully remember why it was outdoors, especially considering it was November in northern Indiana. And then the opposing team completely cheated and as a result, my team lost. I'm still not completely over that. And then I thought, "Maybe it's because I'm a grad student." But that doesn't really seem to be the problem, either. This is pretty comparable to the amount of work I did in undergrad and that never stopped me then, either. "20-page paper due tomorrow? House party? OKAY!" I think I'm just getting old, which is really depressing, but also saves me a lot of money because I don't have to do things like spend money on beer all the time anymore. Like now, for instance, I'm updating my blog at quarter to 11 on a Saturday night, trying realllyyyyy hard not to be ashamed of that fact (and failing) but at least I'm not spending 40 euros painting Galway red. That saved money will really come in handy when I go to AUSTRALIA!!!!
By the way, I'm going to Australia.
My cousin/best friend Beth, who is basically the coolest person I know (I mean that very seriously) has decided to move to Australia. Why is she doing this? Because she's really awesome, more awesome than I will ever be. I forget when exactly she's going - various months have been batted around - but she's going there, and she is going to live in Melbourne, and she will be awesome at it. I have always wanted to go to Australia, and when she told me she was going, I was like, "Perfect! This is the perfect time to go. And here are the reasons. 1) I will not have to pay for hotel rooms. 2) I won't have to find someone to go with me. 3) Flights to Australia from London are soooo much more reasonable than flights from Chicago to Australia, and I can fly to London for something like 30 euro. 4) I want to go to Australia." And then she told me our friend from high school/who she also went to college with (Christina) is ALSO moving to Australia, and I wept with joy.
So that is that. I am going! I am going to go after my second semester classes have ended. I'm spending my summer writing my dissertation, so I figure this will be a good little interlude between classes and dissertationing. I thought about waiting til August when I will have officially mastered the arts, but then I realized I could very well actually be broke by then, and if I blow a lot of money on Australia in May at least I can eat noodles all summer as penance. I also made her promise me that she'll take me to New Zealand, and she better make good on that, because that is one flight I'm not taking twice. I looked up flights already. I probably have to stop in Kuala Lumpur! KUALA LUMPUR! WHAT IS THAT? What in the world? MALAYSIA?? That just makes me think of Zoolander. I don't fully remember the plot of that movie, to be honest, but it had something to do with Malaysia. I think.
But Beth is going to Australia and I am going to invade her life for a really long time (2 weeks+, probably... like I said, one flight I'm not taking again) and it will be awesome. Anyone who's been, recommendations are welcome.
Other than that, not too much to report. Classes are going well - waiting to get back an essay I'm mildly stressed about, mostly because it's not on literature and let's face it, the only thing I can really speak with any kind of authority on is literature. And 30 Rock. But sadly, no academic classes are yet offered on 30 Rock. But if they were, I would teach them.
Oh, and this might seem really cavalier, but it's not meant to be. I just haven't updated with any kind of substance since this happened. I think on October 27, but I might have that date wrong, a Notre Dame junior named Declan Sullivan was tragically killed in an accident involving a hydraulic lift. This is really old by this point, and I'm sure most members of the Notre Dame community have read it, but seriously, if you want to be moved to tears by your alma mater, or if you're not an alum and you don't understand why all alums (myself included) are so obsessed with Notre Dame, this might help: http://amyunsettled.wordpress.com/2010/10/29/declan/. Also, Father Jenkins (ND president) recently released a statement taking responsibility for Declan's death, and honestly, after reading it, I wanted him to run for president. I'd link to that as well, but it was sent to me as an email and I can't find it online. Seriously, Father Jenkins. You do EVERYTHING right, or at least it really seems that way. That guy really makes me proud I went to ND. But really, so do a lot of things.
And then that's really it.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Also, Derrick Testa is Great
And so is everyone else I have failed to mention at any point. I am done with this now.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The Birthplace of Halloween
I'm getting really excited at the prospect of Halloween in Ireland. Halloween was INVENTED here, yo! As a result, Ireland takes Halloween VERY seriously. And it sounds really exciting. Also, kids get to trick or treat ON Halloween here! How cool is that? I wish I had gotten to trick or treat on the day. That would have made the experience even better.
At the risk of veering into politics, which is not what I want this blog to be about, I'm pretty set on going as Christine O'Donnell. It's not terribly creative and I wasn't sure if it would translate well to Irish culture, but when I asked Siobhan if she knew who she was, Siobhan immediately was like, "oh yeah! That's the woman who claims she isn't a witch, right?" So I bought a witch's hat for 2 euro, and a white t shirt for 3 euro, and I'm going to write "Christine O'Donnell for Senate" or something on the front, and on the back, just "I'm not a witch. Also, I'm you." (for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzHcqcXo_NA, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGGAgljengs, and http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-13-dumbest-christine-odonnell-quotes. It's well worth your time. I promise. I love my Republican friends, I don't love your politics, but I really feel like this is something we can all come together on.) Added bonus: I will probably be the only Christine O'Donnell running around Galway, while in pretty much every major American city, I imagine this will be one of the most popular costumes.
Although, it must be said, nothing will EVER top Jen/Katy/my Planeteers costumes or Tara's GIANT SQUID costume from 2008. Honestly, I think Tara will always win this contest, but I like to point out that the year she came up with the best costume EVER, I was a Planeteer.
You'll also note the differences between my friends and the majority of girls. Most girls treat Halloween as an excuse to go out in their underwear. We decided to go out in high-wasted hiking shorts, tennis shoes, and vests, while our other friend dressed up as a giant squid. (sidenote: I remember before the holiday, Tara told someone she was going as a giant squid, and he was like, "what?? Why??" Tara, totally calmly and like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, responded, "They are my favorite marine predator.")
AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY (on Halloween) ALANA DIPESA! Now I really hope you read this. And note the labels.
At the risk of veering into politics, which is not what I want this blog to be about, I'm pretty set on going as Christine O'Donnell. It's not terribly creative and I wasn't sure if it would translate well to Irish culture, but when I asked Siobhan if she knew who she was, Siobhan immediately was like, "oh yeah! That's the woman who claims she isn't a witch, right?" So I bought a witch's hat for 2 euro, and a white t shirt for 3 euro, and I'm going to write "Christine O'Donnell for Senate" or something on the front, and on the back, just "I'm not a witch. Also, I'm you." (for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzHcqcXo_NA, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGGAgljengs, and http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-13-dumbest-christine-odonnell-quotes. It's well worth your time. I promise. I love my Republican friends, I don't love your politics, but I really feel like this is something we can all come together on.) Added bonus: I will probably be the only Christine O'Donnell running around Galway, while in pretty much every major American city, I imagine this will be one of the most popular costumes.
Although, it must be said, nothing will EVER top Jen/Katy/my Planeteers costumes or Tara's GIANT SQUID costume from 2008. Honestly, I think Tara will always win this contest, but I like to point out that the year she came up with the best costume EVER, I was a Planeteer.
You'll also note the differences between my friends and the majority of girls. Most girls treat Halloween as an excuse to go out in their underwear. We decided to go out in high-wasted hiking shorts, tennis shoes, and vests, while our other friend dressed up as a giant squid. (sidenote: I remember before the holiday, Tara told someone she was going as a giant squid, and he was like, "what?? Why??" Tara, totally calmly and like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, responded, "They are my favorite marine predator.")
AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY (on Halloween) ALANA DIPESA! Now I really hope you read this. And note the labels.
Monday, October 25, 2010
I Can't Conclude This Essay
ver after reading those two sentences, multiply that by about 1,000 and you might be sort of close to where I am right now.
The essay is meant to be 2,500 words. I have 2,200 words. Literally all I need is a conclusion. I have been staring at my open Word document for close to two hours now. I have made a Christmas playlist on iTunes and have danced to it while doing dishes. I have done two loads of laundry and watched two episodes of Friends and one of Gilmore Girls. I don't even like Gilmore Girls. I find the dialogue way too staged and I think Rory (Alexis Bladel or whatever her name is) is one of the worst actresses to ever get a job on a TV show airing on a major network. I have aimlessly paged through the textbook I'm supposedly referencing throughout this essay. I have also invested way too much time into deciding precisely why I don't like Gilmore Girls. Now I'm updating this blog.
The one thing I literally cannot bring myself to do is write a conclusion to this essay.
I know a lot of people are probably groaning that I'm complaining that I can't finish an essay that is due on Friday. But I'm fully aware that I don't really know what I'm talking about in this essay, so in an ideal world, I need to finish this essay today, let it sit for a few days, and go back and read it on like Wednesday to see if it makes any kind of coherent, logical sense. And I actually cannot bring myself to write 300 words so I can just close my computer and get on with my day. I wish I had Mean Girls on DVD. That would be an excellent time waster.
This is an illustration of what I might do later today if I still don't have a conclusion to my essay written. Instead of using it to dis on girls from my high school (mostly because there were about 10 girls in my high school and I liked all of them and also that would be beyond pathetic) I may create the first Burn Book for Tea Party candidates.
One time in college (sidetrack) I watched Mean Girls three times in a row. This was due to two factors: 1) a lack of desire to do anything actually productive with my day 2) I was home alone and I couldn't get off the couch to remove the movie from the DVD player. Not like a mental block - I was actually, physically restrained from getting off the couch because every time I picked up my head even a tiny bit, the Long Island Iced Teas from last night began throbbing in my skull and my entire body begged for mercy. It was one of the worst days ever, and is also an excellent example of why you should always enter the Backer with a strong and clearly delineated idea of the amount of Long Island Iced Teas you plan to allow yourself to consume. Eventually Katy came home and fixed problem #2 for me. But right now, watching that film three times in a row actually sounds like a phenom way to spend six hours.
Anything. But. Writing. This. Conclusion.
Oh, Erin Wash, if you're reading this - I also read about ten entries from your blog. So thanks for that. It was really helpful, informative, fun, and interesting. How many more synonyms do you think I can come up with to describe your blog?
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Ramblings about Dublin
I've realized I don't update this very often, and I'm sorry for that. It's just that no one wants to read a blog that consists of, "Today, I woke up and I ate breakfast. Then, I went to class. After that, I ate dinner. Then I read, then I went out for some pints, and now I am home updating this blog." And let's be realistic, that is pretty much what the vast, vast majority of my days consist of.
But I actually had a lovely little jaunt this weekend. I spent a day in Dublin! It was really nice to get out of Galway, only if for 24 hours. Don't get me wrong, Galway is great and I love it, but it is TINY. For people from home, it's approx the size of the Illinois side of the QC. Yeahhhh. For people who AREN'T from home, think of stories I've told you about my hometown, then divide that in half. Except the people are friendlier and there's more shops and restaurants and it's about 1,000x prettier than Moline/Rock Island. I sense I'm getting sidetracked here, so let's reorient.
POINT BEING I went to Dublin on Monday (which is still technically my weekend as I don't have class). My friend Erica, who was two years behind me at ND, was over for fall break. We sat in a pub and relived Scholastic and laughed over the ridiculous things our fellow staffers used to do and talked a LOT about BOB FRANKEN. (Scholastic was the
magazine I worked for/lived at in college, and BOB was our adviser. He had the best talk about libel and slander you could ever hope to hear. EVER.) Obviously, there was much talk of circuses and Britney Spears and getting the staff to respect us and meeting Captain Morgan. I mean, obviously.
So anyway, I also got the opportunity to explore Dublin a little bit. I've been there... twice now? But both times with my parents. (Who, by the way, read this, and I want to make clear my parents are fantastic human beings and I love them very much and clearly they are wonderful people to explore a major world city with.) Actually, maybe I've been there three times? REGARDLESS now that I had the chance to kinda do my own thing there I loved it! What a great city! I was almost getting angsty that I decided on studying in Galway instead of at Trinity or UCD, but then I reminded myself a) the program I wanted was at Galway and b) after a year in New York and six months in London (yes, this was a long time ago, and no, my bank account has not recovered), my finances (or lack thereof) legitimately could not handle the strain of another cosmopolitan world capital. I also discovered this exists. YES! I've already decided Katy and Tara and I will be going to this museum while they are here for New Years, so expect to see a lot of new obnoxious/potentially mildly offensive facebook pictures of us imitating the ND leprechaun outside the front doors of said museum. The pictures will probably look a little something like this:
(That's my house in college, and yes, one of the guys who lived there before us painted the leprechaun on the wall upstairs. When we first moved in, the landlord offered to paint it over for us, and we were like CLEARLY YOU ARE INSANE AND CLEARLY THIS IS SOMETHING WE WANT TO KEEP ON OUR WALL. That probably should have been a warning bell that our landlord was a nutjob, but no, that's a lesson we had to learn painfully. And slowly. And brutally. Also, this pose was Tara Brito's idea and from her facebook album, so credit goes to her. Sorry for pilfering. Sorry for partying.)
So the takeaway from that extended little ramble about my day in Dublin can be summed up as follows:
1) I went to Dublin.
2a) If you put any two ND alums in an enclosed area they will inevitably end up drinking and then talking about Notre Dame too much (Erica is not an alum yet, but this works for the purposes of this list).
2b) I miss Notre Dame and Scholastic.
3) I want to go to the Leprechaun Museum.
4) My house in college had a leprechaun in the upstairs.
That's the basic distillation of my main points, I think.
Go Irish (the ND kind),
Molly
But I actually had a lovely little jaunt this weekend. I spent a day in Dublin! It was really nice to get out of Galway, only if for 24 hours. Don't get me wrong, Galway is great and I love it, but it is TINY. For people from home, it's approx the size of the Illinois side of the QC. Yeahhhh. For people who AREN'T from home, think of stories I've told you about my hometown, then divide that in half. Except the people are friendlier and there's more shops and restaurants and it's about 1,000x prettier than Moline/Rock Island. I sense I'm getting sidetracked here, so let's reorient.
POINT BEING I went to Dublin on Monday (which is still technically my weekend as I don't have class). My friend Erica, who was two years behind me at ND, was over for fall break. We sat in a pub and relived Scholastic and laughed over the ridiculous things our fellow staffers used to do and talked a LOT about BOB FRANKEN. (Scholastic was the
magazine I worked for/lived at in college, and BOB was our adviser. He had the best talk about libel and slander you could ever hope to hear. EVER.) Obviously, there was much talk of circuses and Britney Spears and getting the staff to respect us and meeting Captain Morgan. I mean, obviously.
So anyway, I also got the opportunity to explore Dublin a little bit. I've been there... twice now? But both times with my parents. (Who, by the way, read this, and I want to make clear my parents are fantastic human beings and I love them very much and clearly they are wonderful people to explore a major world city with.) Actually, maybe I've been there three times? REGARDLESS now that I had the chance to kinda do my own thing there I loved it! What a great city! I was almost getting angsty that I decided on studying in Galway instead of at Trinity or UCD, but then I reminded myself a) the program I wanted was at Galway and b) after a year in New York and six months in London (yes, this was a long time ago, and no, my bank account has not recovered), my finances (or lack thereof) legitimately could not handle the strain of another cosmopolitan world capital. I also discovered this exists. YES! I've already decided Katy and Tara and I will be going to this museum while they are here for New Years, so expect to see a lot of new obnoxious/potentially mildly offensive facebook pictures of us imitating the ND leprechaun outside the front doors of said museum. The pictures will probably look a little something like this:
(That's my house in college, and yes, one of the guys who lived there before us painted the leprechaun on the wall upstairs. When we first moved in, the landlord offered to paint it over for us, and we were like CLEARLY YOU ARE INSANE AND CLEARLY THIS IS SOMETHING WE WANT TO KEEP ON OUR WALL. That probably should have been a warning bell that our landlord was a nutjob, but no, that's a lesson we had to learn painfully. And slowly. And brutally. Also, this pose was Tara Brito's idea and from her facebook album, so credit goes to her. Sorry for pilfering. Sorry for partying.)So the takeaway from that extended little ramble about my day in Dublin can be summed up as follows:
1) I went to Dublin.
2a) If you put any two ND alums in an enclosed area they will inevitably end up drinking and then talking about Notre Dame too much (Erica is not an alum yet, but this works for the purposes of this list).
2b) I miss Notre Dame and Scholastic.
3) I want to go to the Leprechaun Museum.
4) My house in college had a leprechaun in the upstairs.
That's the basic distillation of my main points, I think.
Go Irish (the ND kind),
Molly
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Irish Television
Irish television is actually phenomenal. It's borderline my new favorite part of living here.
I just got a TV today (long story). I have spent the majority of my day parked in front of it grading papers. I have watched a show called "Fat Families" where a mean British host basically takes on a fat family and tells them how to eat right and exercise. There is also a segment where he ambushes people who are just out walking around and tells them that they are fat and how many calories are in whatever it is that they are eating. I then watched, "Take Me Out," where Irish women go on this game show-type thing and compete to be taken out on dates. They are inevitably blond and fake-looking and say things like, "I want a guy with a big.....(extended pause)....HANDS." You are supposed to laugh because you thought she was going to be saying something different! GEDDIT?!?!?!
They also show "Friends" which, if you have ever met me, you know how excited I am about that. But the best part about it is that Irish television must have less strict controls than American television, because they show some of the dirtier parts on television that they can only show on the DVD extended version in America. (yes, I can tell when something is from the DVD extended version. I'm not exaggerating when I say I've seen every episode at least 8 times.) The ads are also absolutely OUTSTANDING. I could probably land a job now in the advertising biz in Ireland with absolutely no experience in PR or marketing.
There is also apparently a show called "Father Ted." I haven't seen it yet, but people LOVE it. The most I can gather is it's about a lecherous and/or idiotic priest. Maybe you can only get this if you went to Notre Dame, but this bothers me for a very obvious reason. Father Ted = Father Ted Hesburgh, and Father Ted is probably the best person who has ever existed in the history of the world. I don't like lumping him in with some fictional weird creepy priest. That's just not okay.
Even with that, though, basically, this is perhaps the happiest I've been since moving to this country. I actually cannot wait to see what other things Irish television holds in store for me. I can't believe how long I've gone without a TV. To couch potatoing!
I just got a TV today (long story). I have spent the majority of my day parked in front of it grading papers. I have watched a show called "Fat Families" where a mean British host basically takes on a fat family and tells them how to eat right and exercise. There is also a segment where he ambushes people who are just out walking around and tells them that they are fat and how many calories are in whatever it is that they are eating. I then watched, "Take Me Out," where Irish women go on this game show-type thing and compete to be taken out on dates. They are inevitably blond and fake-looking and say things like, "I want a guy with a big.....(extended pause)....HANDS." You are supposed to laugh because you thought she was going to be saying something different! GEDDIT?!?!?!
They also show "Friends" which, if you have ever met me, you know how excited I am about that. But the best part about it is that Irish television must have less strict controls than American television, because they show some of the dirtier parts on television that they can only show on the DVD extended version in America. (yes, I can tell when something is from the DVD extended version. I'm not exaggerating when I say I've seen every episode at least 8 times.) The ads are also absolutely OUTSTANDING. I could probably land a job now in the advertising biz in Ireland with absolutely no experience in PR or marketing.
There is also apparently a show called "Father Ted." I haven't seen it yet, but people LOVE it. The most I can gather is it's about a lecherous and/or idiotic priest. Maybe you can only get this if you went to Notre Dame, but this bothers me for a very obvious reason. Father Ted = Father Ted Hesburgh, and Father Ted is probably the best person who has ever existed in the history of the world. I don't like lumping him in with some fictional weird creepy priest. That's just not okay.
Even with that, though, basically, this is perhaps the happiest I've been since moving to this country. I actually cannot wait to see what other things Irish television holds in store for me. I can't believe how long I've gone without a TV. To couch potatoing!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
One More Crazy
I actually forgot about this until just now, but I had another very odd conversation with another very odd man.
This one occurred before one of my classes. It's a long story, but I go to this undergraduate class sometimes not for credit. Right before it started one day, an older man, clearly a mature student, turned to me and asked me the time or some similarly simple question. When I answered, he was like, "Oh! You're American!" and I was like, "yeah, guilty." He then asked me if I was from Boston. I said, "No, Chicago," (as I'm telling people I casually meet in situations such as these I am from Chicago) and he says, "Oh! You ever go to Canada?"
Now, I have never been to Canada. (When I told this story to Katy over Skype, she shrieked, very loudly and very Katy-ly, "WHAT??? YOU'VE NEVER BEEN TO CANADA???" I know this is unusual, so I sort of laughed and said, "no, never been to Canada." Katy: AHHHH!!!! WE HAVE TO GO TO CANADA!!!! I then mentioned if we went to Canada together, we would have gone to every North American country together as we went to Mexico for spring break, and you can imagine the shrieking and screaming and Canada-insisting that happened then.) ANYWAY. This gentleman, upon my telling him I have never been to Canada, says, "Oh! But it's just right there!" Confused, I say, "No.... it's probably like a 10-12 hour drive." "From Chicago??" "Yes... well... yes." I couldn't think of anything to say, really. I mean, it's a drive to Canada from Chicago.
He then says, "No! It's like, an hour, tops. I know geography." "Um... no. Because you have to drive up through Michigan or Minnesota first." Although, at this point, I will say I was starting to doubt myself. As I don't ACTUALLY live in Chicago, I started to wonder if there was a way to get to Canada from Chicago that I was just overlooking. But then he made it all better by saying...
"But those lakes. Isn't there a bridge or something that you can use to get across?"
As Annemarie said when I told her this story, "Uh, what? Those lakes are bigger than some OCEANS." I mean, not really, but you get the point. No, there is not a bridge going across Lake Michigan to Canada.
After I cleared up that misconception, though, there was more. "So, Chicago, eh? You read any German newspapers?"
"I... don't...uh... speak German."
"Well, right, but do you read any?"
"Um... no."
The only thing I can think of for this is perhaps he knew, in the back of his head or something, that Chicago was a big Polish immigrant town. Maybe he sort of knew that, and then got Poland and Germany confused... I don't know. I mean, it's a stretch, but it's the only way I can think of to legitimize that one.
I then explained to him that the Windy City was not named for the winds (although, to be fair, I think I told my dad or someone that this summer and whoever I told had never had any idea), told him that I was sorry, but I didn't know when the Great Fire was (although I did know Mrs. O'Leary's cow started it, which was a bit of trivia he was impressed with), and that, yes, Barack Obama is from Chicago, and no, I do not know him. (And to be clear, all this imparting of knowledge was because he asked me all these questions, not because I was volunteering Chicago information.) He was also about to ask me something else but class started.
So, yeah. But I do want to be clear about something. I was telling this story to some people in my program, and one guy was like, "Man, you're going to go home and tell all these stories about these weirdos, and everyone is going to think Ireland is full of crazy people." Although I have met two extremely odd men, the vast, vast majority of people (and men) in Ireland have been incredibly nice and haven't asked me odd questions about America's third-largest city or assumed I was a gangster. (Although, now that I'm thinking of it, both these odd men were somehow tripped into asking me odd questions by the mention of Chicago. Hmm.) So yeah. The crazies are just the ones who stick out in your mind.
This one occurred before one of my classes. It's a long story, but I go to this undergraduate class sometimes not for credit. Right before it started one day, an older man, clearly a mature student, turned to me and asked me the time or some similarly simple question. When I answered, he was like, "Oh! You're American!" and I was like, "yeah, guilty." He then asked me if I was from Boston. I said, "No, Chicago," (as I'm telling people I casually meet in situations such as these I am from Chicago) and he says, "Oh! You ever go to Canada?"
Now, I have never been to Canada. (When I told this story to Katy over Skype, she shrieked, very loudly and very Katy-ly, "WHAT??? YOU'VE NEVER BEEN TO CANADA???" I know this is unusual, so I sort of laughed and said, "no, never been to Canada." Katy: AHHHH!!!! WE HAVE TO GO TO CANADA!!!! I then mentioned if we went to Canada together, we would have gone to every North American country together as we went to Mexico for spring break, and you can imagine the shrieking and screaming and Canada-insisting that happened then.) ANYWAY. This gentleman, upon my telling him I have never been to Canada, says, "Oh! But it's just right there!" Confused, I say, "No.... it's probably like a 10-12 hour drive." "From Chicago??" "Yes... well... yes." I couldn't think of anything to say, really. I mean, it's a drive to Canada from Chicago.
He then says, "No! It's like, an hour, tops. I know geography." "Um... no. Because you have to drive up through Michigan or Minnesota first." Although, at this point, I will say I was starting to doubt myself. As I don't ACTUALLY live in Chicago, I started to wonder if there was a way to get to Canada from Chicago that I was just overlooking. But then he made it all better by saying...
"But those lakes. Isn't there a bridge or something that you can use to get across?"
As Annemarie said when I told her this story, "Uh, what? Those lakes are bigger than some OCEANS." I mean, not really, but you get the point. No, there is not a bridge going across Lake Michigan to Canada.
After I cleared up that misconception, though, there was more. "So, Chicago, eh? You read any German newspapers?"
"I... don't...uh... speak German."
"Well, right, but do you read any?"
"Um... no."
The only thing I can think of for this is perhaps he knew, in the back of his head or something, that Chicago was a big Polish immigrant town. Maybe he sort of knew that, and then got Poland and Germany confused... I don't know. I mean, it's a stretch, but it's the only way I can think of to legitimize that one.
I then explained to him that the Windy City was not named for the winds (although, to be fair, I think I told my dad or someone that this summer and whoever I told had never had any idea), told him that I was sorry, but I didn't know when the Great Fire was (although I did know Mrs. O'Leary's cow started it, which was a bit of trivia he was impressed with), and that, yes, Barack Obama is from Chicago, and no, I do not know him. (And to be clear, all this imparting of knowledge was because he asked me all these questions, not because I was volunteering Chicago information.) He was also about to ask me something else but class started.
So, yeah. But I do want to be clear about something. I was telling this story to some people in my program, and one guy was like, "Man, you're going to go home and tell all these stories about these weirdos, and everyone is going to think Ireland is full of crazy people." Although I have met two extremely odd men, the vast, vast majority of people (and men) in Ireland have been incredibly nice and haven't asked me odd questions about America's third-largest city or assumed I was a gangster. (Although, now that I'm thinking of it, both these odd men were somehow tripped into asking me odd questions by the mention of Chicago. Hmm.) So yeah. The crazies are just the ones who stick out in your mind.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Because I love Tara
Tara Brito claims I don't update my blog enough. She's probably right. I don't have a ton to say but I'll update because it's Sunday and I'm still in my pajamas and realistically, what else am I going to do?
I. Love. Graduate school. This hit me last night when I was reading a book of literary theory before going out. Yes, mock me all you want, I know that was a nerdy sentence. But it was like 8 pm on a Saturday, I'm sitting in my going out clothes and highlighting a dense book of theory, and all of a sudden I was just like, "wow. I love this. I love school." I think my plan right now is to take another year off and work a job that actually pays me money while I apply to Ph.D programs. I want my professors from my master's program to write me my letters of rec, and I can't ask them to write them now - they've known me like, a month. What could they possibly say? But yeah. Man. I can't imagine doing really anything except being in school for as long as possible, and then teaching people in a university setting. Basically, that stereotype of the liberal professor in the ivory tower who couldn't hack it in the "real world?" More or less, I want to be that stereotype. A month of graduate school has clinched this conviction for me one hundred times over. I spent a good portion of my morning googling Ph.D programs. This is what I do for fun.
ANYWAY. Moving on. On a slightly, but not very, less nerdy note, Annemarie and I have started a running regime. She is running the Connemara marathon in April. I am not doing this thing, but I told her I'd run with her until she gets up to the level where I have to back out. I mean, I like being in shape, but I draw the line somewhere. And that line is in the 5-7 mile range (if not sooner). But yesterday was our first day and my legs are KILLING me. We didn't have a pedometer but we came home and googlemapped our route and we ran somewhere in the 2.5 mile range. I ran pretty frequently already, but it's sooo much harder when you're with someone else because I tend to cut myself off early and allow myself a lot of walking breaks. Brutal, but good.
I don't really know what else to say. I booked a flight to London to visit my cousin Emmy in November, and we're going to do a Thanksgiving! Not on the actual day, because I have to go to class and stuff, but on the Saturday after Tgives. Just found out my little sister is coming to Ireland over her Christmas break, right after Tara and Katy leave. (Tara and Katy are coming for New Year's, which I am SO excited about and literally think about on a daily basis.) I'll still be on break when she's here, and we're thinking of going up to Northern Ireland to see where our family is from. (yeah, they're from Northern Ireland.) We did this once before when we were much younger. I don't remember a ton about the trip except suspicious old ladies eyed us wherever we went and literally wouldn't speak to us until we assured them we were Catholic, and by extension, Irish and not British. It was actually sort of spooky, now that I'm remembering it better. Oh, and on the same trip, we spent most of our time in the Republic and kept commenting on how great it was to be in a place that wasn't overrun with corporations and urban sprawl crap. As soon as we crossed the border into Northern Ireland/the UK, the first thing we saw was a Safeway next to a McDonald's. So... yeah. That'll be fun.
I'm off to the farmer's market today. I've been meaning to go and it's not raining so it seems like a good day to finally make that happen. Love and miss all of you!
I. Love. Graduate school. This hit me last night when I was reading a book of literary theory before going out. Yes, mock me all you want, I know that was a nerdy sentence. But it was like 8 pm on a Saturday, I'm sitting in my going out clothes and highlighting a dense book of theory, and all of a sudden I was just like, "wow. I love this. I love school." I think my plan right now is to take another year off and work a job that actually pays me money while I apply to Ph.D programs. I want my professors from my master's program to write me my letters of rec, and I can't ask them to write them now - they've known me like, a month. What could they possibly say? But yeah. Man. I can't imagine doing really anything except being in school for as long as possible, and then teaching people in a university setting. Basically, that stereotype of the liberal professor in the ivory tower who couldn't hack it in the "real world?" More or less, I want to be that stereotype. A month of graduate school has clinched this conviction for me one hundred times over. I spent a good portion of my morning googling Ph.D programs. This is what I do for fun.
ANYWAY. Moving on. On a slightly, but not very, less nerdy note, Annemarie and I have started a running regime. She is running the Connemara marathon in April. I am not doing this thing, but I told her I'd run with her until she gets up to the level where I have to back out. I mean, I like being in shape, but I draw the line somewhere. And that line is in the 5-7 mile range (if not sooner). But yesterday was our first day and my legs are KILLING me. We didn't have a pedometer but we came home and googlemapped our route and we ran somewhere in the 2.5 mile range. I ran pretty frequently already, but it's sooo much harder when you're with someone else because I tend to cut myself off early and allow myself a lot of walking breaks. Brutal, but good.
I don't really know what else to say. I booked a flight to London to visit my cousin Emmy in November, and we're going to do a Thanksgiving! Not on the actual day, because I have to go to class and stuff, but on the Saturday after Tgives. Just found out my little sister is coming to Ireland over her Christmas break, right after Tara and Katy leave. (Tara and Katy are coming for New Year's, which I am SO excited about and literally think about on a daily basis.) I'll still be on break when she's here, and we're thinking of going up to Northern Ireland to see where our family is from. (yeah, they're from Northern Ireland.) We did this once before when we were much younger. I don't remember a ton about the trip except suspicious old ladies eyed us wherever we went and literally wouldn't speak to us until we assured them we were Catholic, and by extension, Irish and not British. It was actually sort of spooky, now that I'm remembering it better. Oh, and on the same trip, we spent most of our time in the Republic and kept commenting on how great it was to be in a place that wasn't overrun with corporations and urban sprawl crap. As soon as we crossed the border into Northern Ireland/the UK, the first thing we saw was a Safeway next to a McDonald's. So... yeah. That'll be fun.
I'm off to the farmer's market today. I've been meaning to go and it's not raining so it seems like a good day to finally make that happen. Love and miss all of you!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Hot Like Mexico
Last night, before going out, I went over to Annemarie's (she's other Notre Dame grad in Galway). We found "Knocked Up" on TV and decided to watch it before hitting da streetz. A commercial for Old El Paso salsa came on. The announcer said something very close to this:
"At Old El Paso, we're convinced our salsas are the best you can find. We're committed to bringing you innovative and creative ways to enjoy our product. So why not get a tortilla, put some meat, lettuce, and cheese in, and top it off with our delicious salsa. We guarantee you'll love it. For more Old El Paso recipes, please visit our website."
The commercial ended and Annemarie and I burst out laughing. Because what Old El Paso described as an innovative new recipe was, of course, a taco.
I really, really, really miss Mexican food. If anyone wants to try to figure out how to ship me Chipotle, I would be grateful and for the rest of my natural-born life I would get you a really great Christmas present.
UPDATE: About ten seconds after writing this, I decided to be a masochist and google Chipotle and just look at the pictures of the burritos. I then discovered that in April 2010, Chipotle opened its first UK store! THERE IS NOW A CHIPOTLE IN LONDON!! I may be making weekly pilgrimages. Seriously. I'm so overcome with joy at this revelation that I'm even prepared to suspend my rage at them for not building this in the spring of 2008. (Also, for any of my co-study abroaders... this Chipotle is on the Charing Cross Road, aka about a 5-minute walk from our classroom building. WE COULD HAVE EATEN IT EVERY DAY.) But I'm trying to move past that and focus my energies on being happy that there is now a Chipotle in the best city ever. Even MORE incentive to go back to my second-favorite place in the world (first favorite being Notre Dame, Indiana, obvs).
"At Old El Paso, we're convinced our salsas are the best you can find. We're committed to bringing you innovative and creative ways to enjoy our product. So why not get a tortilla, put some meat, lettuce, and cheese in, and top it off with our delicious salsa. We guarantee you'll love it. For more Old El Paso recipes, please visit our website."
The commercial ended and Annemarie and I burst out laughing. Because what Old El Paso described as an innovative new recipe was, of course, a taco.
I really, really, really miss Mexican food. If anyone wants to try to figure out how to ship me Chipotle, I would be grateful and for the rest of my natural-born life I would get you a really great Christmas present.
UPDATE: About ten seconds after writing this, I decided to be a masochist and google Chipotle and just look at the pictures of the burritos. I then discovered that in April 2010, Chipotle opened its first UK store! THERE IS NOW A CHIPOTLE IN LONDON!! I may be making weekly pilgrimages. Seriously. I'm so overcome with joy at this revelation that I'm even prepared to suspend my rage at them for not building this in the spring of 2008. (Also, for any of my co-study abroaders... this Chipotle is on the Charing Cross Road, aka about a 5-minute walk from our classroom building. WE COULD HAVE EATEN IT EVERY DAY.) But I'm trying to move past that and focus my energies on being happy that there is now a Chipotle in the best city ever. Even MORE incentive to go back to my second-favorite place in the world (first favorite being Notre Dame, Indiana, obvs).
Friday, September 24, 2010
Redneck Children Who Eat Pizza for Breakfast
Nothing terribly huge to report, but it's been about a week since my last post and I have awhile before I have to be anywhere, so I figured I might as well update this sucka.
I continue to be amazed at the immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and New York City. Scratch that. The immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and ANYWHERE IN AMERICA. For instance, the other night, at about 9 p.m., someone knocked on our door. We weren't expecting anyone, and I could see through our door's mottled glass that the person on the other side was not someone I knew. My first instinct was, "Well, OBVIOUSLY this man is here to rob us. There is obviously no other logical conclusion. He clearly has a gun or a knife, and as soon as I open the door, he is going to threaten me and then take everything of value that is in this house." I scampered up the stairs and was planning on staying there until he went away. (SEE: The Cherry debacle of 741 N. Eddy St, approx 2008-2009.) I mean, right? That's safety rule #1 - NEVER OPEN THE DOOR IF IT'S NIGHT AND YOU DON'T KNOW THE PERSON ON THE OTHER SIDE.
My roommate Siobhan, on the other hand, is still downstairs. I'm assuming she'll cower in the living room until the man gives up and leaves. What, instead, is Siobhan's reaction? SHE OPENS THE DOOR. I'm upstairs thinking, "God! What is she doing! Why would she open the door for this man? Is she crazy?" I crept to the top of the stairs to listen to their conversation to see if I needed to start googling the Irish equivalent of 911.
Old man just wanted to know if we knew where his buddy lived. He gave us the guy's name (we didn't know where he lived, incidentally) and a long, rambling story about how he left his glasses at his buddy's store but he doesn't know where the guy lives and his store is closed and he can't see without his glasses, y'know, because he's farsighted... omg. I almost died from relief. I wanted to hug that old man for not being Cherry.
(for non-Notre Dame alum readers, Cherry was a...neighborhood friend who knocked on our front door incessantly senior year looking for anything from money to a ride somewhere to... I can't remember what else she asked for. She instilled a great deal of fear of strangers in me, however. That's pretty much her biggest lasting contribution. Oh, also she once jumped in front of my moving car and scared the living daylights out of me. She wanted to use my cell phone that time.)
Anyway. Moving on. Yesterday was Arthur's Day, which is a made-up holiday in Ireland. Who made it up, you ask? Why, Guinness made it up! In America, Hallmark makes up the holidays and we get crap like Valentine's Day. In Ireland, GUINNESS makes up the holidays and we get a holiday where at 17:59 (Ireland is on military time, so 5:59) everyone is meant to have a pint of Guinness and everyone holds up their pint in the pub and simultaneously shouts, "TO ARTHUR!" Arthur was the founder of Guinness, and the brewery was founded in 1759 (hence the 17:59 time). It was a great deal of fun. I went with people from my class and Annemarie, and what started as one pint stretched into the entire evening. It was sort of the first time I've been out with people from my class, so it was really good to hang out when we weren't talking about modernization theory and representations of blackness. Nice change of pace.
During a conversation with my roommates, Rebecca said something that I personally believe to be one of the funniest things I have ever heard. I have tried to re-tell the story and it wasn't received terribly well, so maybe you had to be there, but I'll give it one last shot. I was recounting a story where, earlier in the day, my professor had said (in the context of the reading, this made sense): "Now, do my American friends know what ewes are?" I paused, thinking this was a trick question, then said uncertainly, "A... a female sheep, right?" He nodded assent and said, "Forgive me, but once I saw this television programme where some chef went in front of a schoolroom of American children and held up a potato, and not a single child knew what it was." I was mildly insulted for two reasons: 1) I should hope he thinks I'm more intellectually advanced and worldly than a classroom full of elementary school children and 2) that's just a weird story.
so I came home and told my roommates this. Rebecca was cutting something, and she slammed her knife down and looked at me. "First of all, I SAW that programme! It was Jamie Oliver, and it wasn't a potato, it was a TOMATO!"
Me: Well... in all honesty, I'm not sure that's too much better.
Rebecca: Well, whatever. But the point is, that was a schoolroom full of redneck children who had eaten pizza for breakfast! (she pointed the knife at me) Are YOU a redneck child who's eaten pizza for breakfast??
It may not sound funny now, but trust me, it was. I hope somehow someone found that funny.
Love and miss all of you!
Molly
I continue to be amazed at the immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and New York City. Scratch that. The immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and ANYWHERE IN AMERICA. For instance, the other night, at about 9 p.m., someone knocked on our door. We weren't expecting anyone, and I could see through our door's mottled glass that the person on the other side was not someone I knew. My first instinct was, "Well, OBVIOUSLY this man is here to rob us. There is obviously no other logical conclusion. He clearly has a gun or a knife, and as soon as I open the door, he is going to threaten me and then take everything of value that is in this house." I scampered up the stairs and was planning on staying there until he went away. (SEE: The Cherry debacle of 741 N. Eddy St, approx 2008-2009.) I mean, right? That's safety rule #1 - NEVER OPEN THE DOOR IF IT'S NIGHT AND YOU DON'T KNOW THE PERSON ON THE OTHER SIDE.
My roommate Siobhan, on the other hand, is still downstairs. I'm assuming she'll cower in the living room until the man gives up and leaves. What, instead, is Siobhan's reaction? SHE OPENS THE DOOR. I'm upstairs thinking, "God! What is she doing! Why would she open the door for this man? Is she crazy?" I crept to the top of the stairs to listen to their conversation to see if I needed to start googling the Irish equivalent of 911.
Old man just wanted to know if we knew where his buddy lived. He gave us the guy's name (we didn't know where he lived, incidentally) and a long, rambling story about how he left his glasses at his buddy's store but he doesn't know where the guy lives and his store is closed and he can't see without his glasses, y'know, because he's farsighted... omg. I almost died from relief. I wanted to hug that old man for not being Cherry.
(for non-Notre Dame alum readers, Cherry was a...neighborhood friend who knocked on our front door incessantly senior year looking for anything from money to a ride somewhere to... I can't remember what else she asked for. She instilled a great deal of fear of strangers in me, however. That's pretty much her biggest lasting contribution. Oh, also she once jumped in front of my moving car and scared the living daylights out of me. She wanted to use my cell phone that time.)
Anyway. Moving on. Yesterday was Arthur's Day, which is a made-up holiday in Ireland. Who made it up, you ask? Why, Guinness made it up! In America, Hallmark makes up the holidays and we get crap like Valentine's Day. In Ireland, GUINNESS makes up the holidays and we get a holiday where at 17:59 (Ireland is on military time, so 5:59) everyone is meant to have a pint of Guinness and everyone holds up their pint in the pub and simultaneously shouts, "TO ARTHUR!" Arthur was the founder of Guinness, and the brewery was founded in 1759 (hence the 17:59 time). It was a great deal of fun. I went with people from my class and Annemarie, and what started as one pint stretched into the entire evening. It was sort of the first time I've been out with people from my class, so it was really good to hang out when we weren't talking about modernization theory and representations of blackness. Nice change of pace.
During a conversation with my roommates, Rebecca said something that I personally believe to be one of the funniest things I have ever heard. I have tried to re-tell the story and it wasn't received terribly well, so maybe you had to be there, but I'll give it one last shot. I was recounting a story where, earlier in the day, my professor had said (in the context of the reading, this made sense): "Now, do my American friends know what ewes are?" I paused, thinking this was a trick question, then said uncertainly, "A... a female sheep, right?" He nodded assent and said, "Forgive me, but once I saw this television programme where some chef went in front of a schoolroom of American children and held up a potato, and not a single child knew what it was." I was mildly insulted for two reasons: 1) I should hope he thinks I'm more intellectually advanced and worldly than a classroom full of elementary school children and 2) that's just a weird story.
so I came home and told my roommates this. Rebecca was cutting something, and she slammed her knife down and looked at me. "First of all, I SAW that programme! It was Jamie Oliver, and it wasn't a potato, it was a TOMATO!"
Me: Well... in all honesty, I'm not sure that's too much better.
Rebecca: Well, whatever. But the point is, that was a schoolroom full of redneck children who had eaten pizza for breakfast! (she pointed the knife at me) Are YOU a redneck child who's eaten pizza for breakfast??
It may not sound funny now, but trust me, it was. I hope somehow someone found that funny.
Love and miss all of you!
Molly
Saturday, September 18, 2010
I'm officially a student again... ho boy
So I have survived my first week of graduate classes!
I can't remember if I've said this in an earlier post or not, but I only have classes three days a week - Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. I'm taking either 3 or 5 classes, depending on your viewpoint - I have two that aren't for credit (an undergraduate lecture course and a research seminar) which is why I say that. The three classes that I'm taking for realsies are: Colonialism in 20th Century Cultural Theory, Approaches to the Study of Colonialism, and Decolonization: The Politics of "Development." They all sound incredibly similar, which I think might be confusing until I get the hang of it. There are either 6 or 7 people in my program - I say this because 7 people were there the first day, but one girl hasn't shown up since, so I'm not sure what her deal is or if she's coming back.
Anyway. The first class, Colonialism in 20th Century Cultural Theory, looks at how colonialism has shaped the culture of subject colonies and of the conquering country (i.e. Great Britain). Approaches looks at the problem of imperialism and colonialism from different literary viewpoints: from theatre, from British literature, from Spanish literature, etc. The last one I thought was going to be my least favorite because it's about economics and policy and other things of that nature. I have never taken an economics class and have never had a desire to. If anyone from high school is reading this, you know AP Calc literally reduced me to tears. Literally. And as this past year demonstrated, policy ain't really my thang either. So I thought it would be one I just had to grin and bear. Surprisingly, though, it's interesting (at least so far). I also think I can handle it. So go me!
I find the workload extremely manageable. In our research seminar, we all had to go around and voice a concern we had. I said just that since I've been out of school for a year, I'm worried about losing my study habits, etc. Everyone else said they were worried about the amount of reading. I am now worried that I'm NOT worried about the amount of reading, if that makes sense. It seems really comparable, maybe even slightly less, than ND was. Maybe I just had outlandish expectations of what graduate school reading loads would be, but this seems totally doable. However. I am now stressed that I'm not stressed. If everyone else is worried, my thinking goes, shouldn't I be, too? Maybe I think I can do more than I really can. I don't know. No point in worrying about it until I do the first load of reading for class next week, right? Right.
Interesting things I learned (not academic things, just interesting things mentioned in class):
My program used to be a huge magnet for former IRA guys. I forget which professor was saying this, but he or she was saying that they have a distinct memory of some guy walking around with a limp and when asked why he limped, saying it was from a British bullet. So. There's that. It makes sense, given that the subject matter is colonialism, but still. I thought that was really interesting. Sadly (or not, depending on your viewpoint), I don't think anyone in my current class has fought with the IRA.
One professor claimed that American schools were better at teaching writing than Irish and British schools. I find this incredibly difficult to believe, given the abysmal state of public education in America, but if it is true... go us. USA! USA!
I thought I learned one more interesting thing but now I can't remember it. Must not have been that interesting.
In other news:
It rains. All. The. Time. Here. ALL THE TIME. it's unbelievable. I didn't know the sky could PRODUCE so much water! I now assume every day that it is going to rain. I may not know when, and it may start pouring out a clear blue sky, but it WILL happen. It's like Ireland is experiencing a perpetual monsoon! Apparently we get the worst of it, too, because we're in the west.
I have now met both my roommates for real! Rebecca (she's the one I hadn't really met as of my last blog entry) is incredibly nice. She is an art student, doing what she calls interior architecture which I assume without knowing for sure is just what we'd call interior design. She's very, very sweet. Siobhan is also great. We went out together one night last week (see post below) and she was very fun. I'm so excited that I get to live with such great girls. ND kids, I also hang out with Annemarie McGrath a lot here, if you knew her. She is also doing a master's program at NUIG.
Stupid things I have done:
We all know my hearing is pretty abysmal. I was talking to the other American in my program (her name is Katie) and she was saying how she's been looking into clubs to join and how she's going to join the Sinn Fein Society (Irish political party: say like Shin Fayne). I, however, heard that she was going to join the Champagne Society. I was like, "ooohh, that sounds fun! What do you do there?" Her: "...talk about politics..." I must have sounded like such an idiot.
I was early to class one day and needed to go to the bathroom, so I set off looking for it. The building all my classes is in is basically DeBartolo. It's just this big, impersonal building full of classrooms one after another. I combed that damn building for close to half an hour looking for a bathroom. At one point, I muttered under my breath, "What, people don't PEE in this country???" and someone overheard me and I'm sure assumed I was insane. I'm not kidding, though. Bathrooms appear to be INCREDIBLY scarce in that building. Eventually I found them, but I walked past the same people multiple times on my circuits through the building. I suppose I could have just asked them, but I am desperately trying to give off the impression that I belong, so all those people saw as they were sitting and studying or socializing or whatever was this girl stomping angrily by them once every ten minutes.
This is quite long, so I'm going to sign off. Miss all of you!
I can't remember if I've said this in an earlier post or not, but I only have classes three days a week - Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. I'm taking either 3 or 5 classes, depending on your viewpoint - I have two that aren't for credit (an undergraduate lecture course and a research seminar) which is why I say that. The three classes that I'm taking for realsies are: Colonialism in 20th Century Cultural Theory, Approaches to the Study of Colonialism, and Decolonization: The Politics of "Development." They all sound incredibly similar, which I think might be confusing until I get the hang of it. There are either 6 or 7 people in my program - I say this because 7 people were there the first day, but one girl hasn't shown up since, so I'm not sure what her deal is or if she's coming back.
Anyway. The first class, Colonialism in 20th Century Cultural Theory, looks at how colonialism has shaped the culture of subject colonies and of the conquering country (i.e. Great Britain). Approaches looks at the problem of imperialism and colonialism from different literary viewpoints: from theatre, from British literature, from Spanish literature, etc. The last one I thought was going to be my least favorite because it's about economics and policy and other things of that nature. I have never taken an economics class and have never had a desire to. If anyone from high school is reading this, you know AP Calc literally reduced me to tears. Literally. And as this past year demonstrated, policy ain't really my thang either. So I thought it would be one I just had to grin and bear. Surprisingly, though, it's interesting (at least so far). I also think I can handle it. So go me!
I find the workload extremely manageable. In our research seminar, we all had to go around and voice a concern we had. I said just that since I've been out of school for a year, I'm worried about losing my study habits, etc. Everyone else said they were worried about the amount of reading. I am now worried that I'm NOT worried about the amount of reading, if that makes sense. It seems really comparable, maybe even slightly less, than ND was. Maybe I just had outlandish expectations of what graduate school reading loads would be, but this seems totally doable. However. I am now stressed that I'm not stressed. If everyone else is worried, my thinking goes, shouldn't I be, too? Maybe I think I can do more than I really can. I don't know. No point in worrying about it until I do the first load of reading for class next week, right? Right.
Interesting things I learned (not academic things, just interesting things mentioned in class):
My program used to be a huge magnet for former IRA guys. I forget which professor was saying this, but he or she was saying that they have a distinct memory of some guy walking around with a limp and when asked why he limped, saying it was from a British bullet. So. There's that. It makes sense, given that the subject matter is colonialism, but still. I thought that was really interesting. Sadly (or not, depending on your viewpoint), I don't think anyone in my current class has fought with the IRA.
One professor claimed that American schools were better at teaching writing than Irish and British schools. I find this incredibly difficult to believe, given the abysmal state of public education in America, but if it is true... go us. USA! USA!
I thought I learned one more interesting thing but now I can't remember it. Must not have been that interesting.
In other news:
It rains. All. The. Time. Here. ALL THE TIME. it's unbelievable. I didn't know the sky could PRODUCE so much water! I now assume every day that it is going to rain. I may not know when, and it may start pouring out a clear blue sky, but it WILL happen. It's like Ireland is experiencing a perpetual monsoon! Apparently we get the worst of it, too, because we're in the west.
I have now met both my roommates for real! Rebecca (she's the one I hadn't really met as of my last blog entry) is incredibly nice. She is an art student, doing what she calls interior architecture which I assume without knowing for sure is just what we'd call interior design. She's very, very sweet. Siobhan is also great. We went out together one night last week (see post below) and she was very fun. I'm so excited that I get to live with such great girls. ND kids, I also hang out with Annemarie McGrath a lot here, if you knew her. She is also doing a master's program at NUIG.
Stupid things I have done:
We all know my hearing is pretty abysmal. I was talking to the other American in my program (her name is Katie) and she was saying how she's been looking into clubs to join and how she's going to join the Sinn Fein Society (Irish political party: say like Shin Fayne). I, however, heard that she was going to join the Champagne Society. I was like, "ooohh, that sounds fun! What do you do there?" Her: "...talk about politics..." I must have sounded like such an idiot.
I was early to class one day and needed to go to the bathroom, so I set off looking for it. The building all my classes is in is basically DeBartolo. It's just this big, impersonal building full of classrooms one after another. I combed that damn building for close to half an hour looking for a bathroom. At one point, I muttered under my breath, "What, people don't PEE in this country???" and someone overheard me and I'm sure assumed I was insane. I'm not kidding, though. Bathrooms appear to be INCREDIBLY scarce in that building. Eventually I found them, but I walked past the same people multiple times on my circuits through the building. I suppose I could have just asked them, but I am desperately trying to give off the impression that I belong, so all those people saw as they were sitting and studying or socializing or whatever was this girl stomping angrily by them once every ten minutes.
This is quite long, so I'm going to sign off. Miss all of you!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Leave the gun, take the cannoli
Approximation of a conversation I just had in a pub:
My roommate, Siobhan, my friend from ND, Annemarie, and myself are all at a pub in Galway. We are talking, laughing, having a grand old time. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I return, I notice a man sitting at our table who was not there before. He had a slightly... crazy look in his eyes, and as Siobhan and Annemarie were not talking to him, I decided to ignore him as well and just carry on as if he was not there. He actually did get up and leave. All of a sudden, I feel someone's breath on my neck and this voice REALLY close to my ear:
"Mind if I join you?"
I think I jumped and yelled something like, "Oh God!" This man takes a seat at our table.
Man (again): Mind if I join you?
Me: No... uh... you're fine... you just scared me.
Man: Oh, now that's an American accent.
Me:...yep.
Man: I don't have a problem with that or nothing.
Me: That's nice.
Man (to Annemarie): What's your name?
Annemarie: Annemarie.
Man: And where from, Annemarie?
Annemarie: Philadelphia.
Man: Ah, Philly. I've been there.
Annemarie: Sweet.
Man: D'you believe me?
Annemarie: That you've been to Philly?
Man: Yes.
Annemarie: Sure... I guess so.
Man: Cuz I have. It's tough. You know. There on the South Side. But I'm from Kilkenny, you see. That's very tough. Tougher than Philly. Tougher than any city in the world. And where YOU from? (swiveling abruptly to me)
*(N.B.: I have decided to tell everyone I meet in Ireland that I am from Chicago, because the idea of explaining the concept of Iowa/rural Illinois every time someone asks sounds exhausting. Until I get to know someone, I'm from Chicago. So.)
Me: Chicago.
(This man stares at me. I think he hasn't heard. I raise my voice.)
Me: CHICAGO.
(continues to stare. Not even cocking his head, like "I acknowledge that you've spoken, I just can't hear you." No. Nothing. No notice he's heard a word.)
Me: CHICAGO.
Annemarie (helpfully): The Midwest.
(blank stare from man)
Me: CHI. CA. GO.
(beat. No one says anything. He continues looking at me with crazy look in his eyes. I stare at him, trying to figure him out. Then:)
Man (to me): WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME???? (turns to Annemarie)I'll never visit America. Know why? IT'S A FASCIST COUNTRY. (meaning he has NOT been to Philly)
Neither of us could formulate a response to this.
Man ( to Annemarie): Are you on holiday then?
Annemarie: No, we're both students. At NUI (National University of Ireland).
Man: National University of Ireland at Galway?
Annemarie: Yes. (bear in mind we are IN Galway, and although there are other NUIs, why would we be in Galway if we were attending the one in say, Maynooth?)
Man: I go to GIT (Galway Institute of Technology). You're better than me.
Now what in God's name are you supposed to say to that?
At this point, the man's friend comes over. As Siobhan said, giving credit where credit's due, the friend seemed to be acutely aware how creepy his friend was. After listening to a few more bizarre lines of dialogue, he said, "All right man, let's have a talk." The creepy man was reaaaalllyyyy resistant, but finally he let himself be pulled away. But not before this:
Man (to me): I can tell you're a member of a crime syndicate.
(Annemarie actually choked on her drink at this.)
Me: ...what?
Man: Chicago. Gangsters. You're part of it. I can tell.
(meaning he DID know what Chicago was the whole time!)
Man: THE CAPONES! YOU'RE IN IT!!!!
Me: I'm not a Capone, man.
end.
My roommate, Siobhan, my friend from ND, Annemarie, and myself are all at a pub in Galway. We are talking, laughing, having a grand old time. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. When I return, I notice a man sitting at our table who was not there before. He had a slightly... crazy look in his eyes, and as Siobhan and Annemarie were not talking to him, I decided to ignore him as well and just carry on as if he was not there. He actually did get up and leave. All of a sudden, I feel someone's breath on my neck and this voice REALLY close to my ear:
"Mind if I join you?"
I think I jumped and yelled something like, "Oh God!" This man takes a seat at our table.
Man (again): Mind if I join you?
Me: No... uh... you're fine... you just scared me.
Man: Oh, now that's an American accent.
Me:...yep.
Man: I don't have a problem with that or nothing.
Me: That's nice.
Man (to Annemarie): What's your name?
Annemarie: Annemarie.
Man: And where from, Annemarie?
Annemarie: Philadelphia.
Man: Ah, Philly. I've been there.
Annemarie: Sweet.
Man: D'you believe me?
Annemarie: That you've been to Philly?
Man: Yes.
Annemarie: Sure... I guess so.
Man: Cuz I have. It's tough. You know. There on the South Side. But I'm from Kilkenny, you see. That's very tough. Tougher than Philly. Tougher than any city in the world. And where YOU from? (swiveling abruptly to me)
*(N.B.: I have decided to tell everyone I meet in Ireland that I am from Chicago, because the idea of explaining the concept of Iowa/rural Illinois every time someone asks sounds exhausting. Until I get to know someone, I'm from Chicago. So.)
Me: Chicago.
(This man stares at me. I think he hasn't heard. I raise my voice.)
Me: CHICAGO.
(continues to stare. Not even cocking his head, like "I acknowledge that you've spoken, I just can't hear you." No. Nothing. No notice he's heard a word.)
Me: CHICAGO.
Annemarie (helpfully): The Midwest.
(blank stare from man)
Me: CHI. CA. GO.
(beat. No one says anything. He continues looking at me with crazy look in his eyes. I stare at him, trying to figure him out. Then:)
Man (to me): WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME???? (turns to Annemarie)I'll never visit America. Know why? IT'S A FASCIST COUNTRY. (meaning he has NOT been to Philly)
Neither of us could formulate a response to this.
Man ( to Annemarie): Are you on holiday then?
Annemarie: No, we're both students. At NUI (National University of Ireland).
Man: National University of Ireland at Galway?
Annemarie: Yes. (bear in mind we are IN Galway, and although there are other NUIs, why would we be in Galway if we were attending the one in say, Maynooth?)
Man: I go to GIT (Galway Institute of Technology). You're better than me.
Now what in God's name are you supposed to say to that?
At this point, the man's friend comes over. As Siobhan said, giving credit where credit's due, the friend seemed to be acutely aware how creepy his friend was. After listening to a few more bizarre lines of dialogue, he said, "All right man, let's have a talk." The creepy man was reaaaalllyyyy resistant, but finally he let himself be pulled away. But not before this:
Man (to me): I can tell you're a member of a crime syndicate.
(Annemarie actually choked on her drink at this.)
Me: ...what?
Man: Chicago. Gangsters. You're part of it. I can tell.
(meaning he DID know what Chicago was the whole time!)
Man: THE CAPONES! YOU'RE IN IT!!!!
Me: I'm not a Capone, man.
end.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Holiday in Spain
So after I got all moved in, my mom and I went to Spain! The island of Mallorca, to be exact. Why Mallorca, you ask? Well, because Ryanair flew there out of Dublin and the ticket was cheap and the sun is warm there. That was, more or less, our decision-making process. We had originally been planning to go to Prague but for a number of really boring and long-winded reasons, that didn't work out.
That is a picture of my mom and me in Spain. (I figured out how to upload pictures but not how to make captions.)
So the vacay began with some drama. We were supposed to take off from Dublin at I believe 7:30 p.m. or thereabouts. We didn't take off until closer to 9 because the air traffic controllers in France were on strike and our flight plan had to be re-routed so we didn't fly over France and you know, hit another plane and die in a fiery explosion. Ah, France.
And then there was the flight itself. Ho boy. I don't know how I avoided it, but when I studied abroad in London junior year, I managed to only take one Ryanair flight the entire time. I have absolutely no idea how I accomplished this. I traveled plenty, but for some reason, I flew to cities where Ryanair didn't go or other airlines were somehow magically cheaper. The only time I ever flew Ryanair was to Venice. The flight left at 4 a.m. on March 1. My birthday is February 28. I had turned 21. You do the math on how alert you think I was for that flight.
So what I managed to block out/never really knew was how HORRIBLE Ryanair is. First of all, THE SEATS DO NOT RECLINE. THEY DO NOT RECLINE. YOU MUST STAY IN THE UPRIGHT AND LOCKED POSITION FOR THE DURATION OF YOUR FLIGHT. However, this probably isn't that surprising, because I learned from my dear friend Dave Onuscheck that Ryanair is currently petitioning the EU for standing-room only seats. Yes. You read that correctly. STANDING. ROOM. ONLY. Hypothetically, they would take out the last ten rows of seats on each aircraft and proceed to strap each passenger against the wall or against makeshift poles and/or walls that would be implemented for this very purpose (I swear to God I am not making this up). They are also contemplating you $1.50 every time you use the restroom. NEVER FLY THIS AIRLINE. EVER.
And they NEVER stop talking to you. NEVER. They are ALWAYS hawking something for you to buy. Food. Booze. Lotto tickets. You can't sleep because they are always on the intercom trying to get you to buy something "from the trolley." The only enjoyment I got out of any of this was hearing them say "trolley" and imagining I was in Harry Potter. That is, before the hard plastic non-reclining seat started digging into my ass again and I was brought back to reality sharply.
Anyway. So we land in Mallorca, an hour-hour and a half after initially we were supposed to. We then wait an hour for our baggage. Why? Oh, because they don't want to hire flight attendants AND baggage handlers, so the flight attendants do double duty. So they can't start unloading the bags until everyone is off the plane and they've done whatever it is they have to do.
So by the time we leave the airport, it's 12:30. MUCH later than the check-in time we'd told our hotel. We knew our hotel was sort of a bed and breakfasty type place, but we figured it would all be fine. We had told them we were coming in late, after all.
It was not fine. It was not fine at all.
Our cab driver took us to the Hotel San Lorenzo. Note: DO NOT stay here if you are ever in Mallorca. DO NOT. From the moment we turned onto the street, something wasn't right. No buildings were lit up, everything seemed shuttered and closed, no one was out walking... something just totally wasn't right. We stopped outside the hotel and it was boarded up. Tight. Our cab driver just dropped us off and drove away, despite what I'm sure were two very pathetic, despairing faces. We rang the bell countless times. We pounded on the door. We called in through the mail drop. We tried the back door, waking up the hotel's neighbor in the process. After an hour of trying to get in, we gave up and started just wandering around Palma, looking for another hotel. Due to my brand-new Irish smartphone, we were able to google and find a place called the Hotel Saratoga. (If you know me, you know how jacked I was about finally getting a smartphone.) Note: STAY HERE if you are ever in Mallorca. They took us in and were really nice to us. This is after our desperate, panicked scramble around Palma de Mallorca looking for a place to house us.
The next morning, my mom and I went on a bus tour of Palma de Mallorca (the capital of Mallorca). This is a nerdy thing she does every time she goes to a new city. I used to haaaaaate these when I was a kid, but this probably means I'm becoming an adult - I'm starting to enjoy them as well. Palma's a lovely beachside city. Not too touristy because there really isn't a lot to see. It's mostly about being on the beach and drinking sangria and eating tapas. The one thing you have to do is see the cathedral. I put up pictures on facebook. I'd put up some more here but I can't quite seem to figure it out... Regardless, it's an old cathedral with a Gaudi revamp.
The only really other item of note is my being assaulted by a 450-pound man. One of the days we were there, my mom and I went to this little hilltop village called Soller. We took this restored early-twentieth century train up, walked around and had lunch, etc. To get back down, we decided to take the bus because it was air-conditioned and took half as long. We got to the bus station realllyyyy early because we wanted to make sure we had a seat. We were the first in line. By about twenty minutes before the bus left, the line had swelled to over 50 people. My mom and I were being MAD vigilant about not letting anyone in front of us. It's a long story, but one time we were in France waiting for a bus, and she got on and I didn't, mostly because I wasn't aggressive enough in shoving my way through a crowd of people. We had learned our lesson, and we were NOT going to let it happen again.
We were doing really well at maintaining our position. One tiny elderly lady had somehow slipped in front of us without our noticing, but we let it go because she was old and frail and Spanish. the bus pulled into the station. We were so proud of ourselves, patting ourselves on the back for a job well done. Literally as the doors were opening, the largest human being I have EVER seen muscled his way to the front of the crowd (knocking over the frail old lady in the process) and cut EVERYONE and got on the bus! We were appalled, but what could we do? He was REAL fat. So he got on, the old Spanish lady got on, and my mom and I got on. And that was that. We got literally the last seats - my mom was at the very front of the bus and I was in about the third row from the back. Behind me was the giant behemoth of a human being.
So we get back to Palma, and my mom can get immediately off the bus because she's so close to the front. I edge out into the row, conscious that I need to get off too so my mom isn't waiting tooooo long for me. My motion is impeded by this monster, but I was clearly in the aisle ahead of him (not to mention I was waiting for the bus ahead of him in Soller). I say, politely as I can, "perdoneme," (excuse me) and he glares at me, and then with all his might, SHOVES me back into my seat. I fell against the wall and fell onto the floor, taking down the guy who had the window seat in my row in the process. It didn't hurt, but I hated that guy. I hated him.
I get off the bus, all flustered and indignant. I tell my mom what happens, and she gets all hot and bothered too. On our way out of the bus station, we saw him at a vending machine (of course). He was not paying for his food, oh no. Instead, he had his hand up through the place where the food is supposed to come out, attempting to steal food from the vending machine. I'm willing to bet it didn't work because his hands are so big and large. He's the worst person in the world. I want to see him on Keith Olbermann in the very near future.
I'm acutely aware of how long this is, and I'm 98% sure the vast majority of people didn't read to the end. For those of you who did, I both a) thank you and b) am sorry that you had to listen to me ramble for so long.
Love and miss you all!
Molly
That is a picture of my mom and me in Spain. (I figured out how to upload pictures but not how to make captions.)
So the vacay began with some drama. We were supposed to take off from Dublin at I believe 7:30 p.m. or thereabouts. We didn't take off until closer to 9 because the air traffic controllers in France were on strike and our flight plan had to be re-routed so we didn't fly over France and you know, hit another plane and die in a fiery explosion. Ah, France.
And then there was the flight itself. Ho boy. I don't know how I avoided it, but when I studied abroad in London junior year, I managed to only take one Ryanair flight the entire time. I have absolutely no idea how I accomplished this. I traveled plenty, but for some reason, I flew to cities where Ryanair didn't go or other airlines were somehow magically cheaper. The only time I ever flew Ryanair was to Venice. The flight left at 4 a.m. on March 1. My birthday is February 28. I had turned 21. You do the math on how alert you think I was for that flight.
So what I managed to block out/never really knew was how HORRIBLE Ryanair is. First of all, THE SEATS DO NOT RECLINE. THEY DO NOT RECLINE. YOU MUST STAY IN THE UPRIGHT AND LOCKED POSITION FOR THE DURATION OF YOUR FLIGHT. However, this probably isn't that surprising, because I learned from my dear friend Dave Onuscheck that Ryanair is currently petitioning the EU for standing-room only seats. Yes. You read that correctly. STANDING. ROOM. ONLY. Hypothetically, they would take out the last ten rows of seats on each aircraft and proceed to strap each passenger against the wall or against makeshift poles and/or walls that would be implemented for this very purpose (I swear to God I am not making this up). They are also contemplating you $1.50 every time you use the restroom. NEVER FLY THIS AIRLINE. EVER.
And they NEVER stop talking to you. NEVER. They are ALWAYS hawking something for you to buy. Food. Booze. Lotto tickets. You can't sleep because they are always on the intercom trying to get you to buy something "from the trolley." The only enjoyment I got out of any of this was hearing them say "trolley" and imagining I was in Harry Potter. That is, before the hard plastic non-reclining seat started digging into my ass again and I was brought back to reality sharply.
Anyway. So we land in Mallorca, an hour-hour and a half after initially we were supposed to. We then wait an hour for our baggage. Why? Oh, because they don't want to hire flight attendants AND baggage handlers, so the flight attendants do double duty. So they can't start unloading the bags until everyone is off the plane and they've done whatever it is they have to do.
So by the time we leave the airport, it's 12:30. MUCH later than the check-in time we'd told our hotel. We knew our hotel was sort of a bed and breakfasty type place, but we figured it would all be fine. We had told them we were coming in late, after all.
It was not fine. It was not fine at all.
Our cab driver took us to the Hotel San Lorenzo. Note: DO NOT stay here if you are ever in Mallorca. DO NOT. From the moment we turned onto the street, something wasn't right. No buildings were lit up, everything seemed shuttered and closed, no one was out walking... something just totally wasn't right. We stopped outside the hotel and it was boarded up. Tight. Our cab driver just dropped us off and drove away, despite what I'm sure were two very pathetic, despairing faces. We rang the bell countless times. We pounded on the door. We called in through the mail drop. We tried the back door, waking up the hotel's neighbor in the process. After an hour of trying to get in, we gave up and started just wandering around Palma, looking for another hotel. Due to my brand-new Irish smartphone, we were able to google and find a place called the Hotel Saratoga. (If you know me, you know how jacked I was about finally getting a smartphone.) Note: STAY HERE if you are ever in Mallorca. They took us in and were really nice to us. This is after our desperate, panicked scramble around Palma de Mallorca looking for a place to house us.
The next morning, my mom and I went on a bus tour of Palma de Mallorca (the capital of Mallorca). This is a nerdy thing she does every time she goes to a new city. I used to haaaaaate these when I was a kid, but this probably means I'm becoming an adult - I'm starting to enjoy them as well. Palma's a lovely beachside city. Not too touristy because there really isn't a lot to see. It's mostly about being on the beach and drinking sangria and eating tapas. The one thing you have to do is see the cathedral. I put up pictures on facebook. I'd put up some more here but I can't quite seem to figure it out... Regardless, it's an old cathedral with a Gaudi revamp.
The only really other item of note is my being assaulted by a 450-pound man. One of the days we were there, my mom and I went to this little hilltop village called Soller. We took this restored early-twentieth century train up, walked around and had lunch, etc. To get back down, we decided to take the bus because it was air-conditioned and took half as long. We got to the bus station realllyyyy early because we wanted to make sure we had a seat. We were the first in line. By about twenty minutes before the bus left, the line had swelled to over 50 people. My mom and I were being MAD vigilant about not letting anyone in front of us. It's a long story, but one time we were in France waiting for a bus, and she got on and I didn't, mostly because I wasn't aggressive enough in shoving my way through a crowd of people. We had learned our lesson, and we were NOT going to let it happen again.
We were doing really well at maintaining our position. One tiny elderly lady had somehow slipped in front of us without our noticing, but we let it go because she was old and frail and Spanish. the bus pulled into the station. We were so proud of ourselves, patting ourselves on the back for a job well done. Literally as the doors were opening, the largest human being I have EVER seen muscled his way to the front of the crowd (knocking over the frail old lady in the process) and cut EVERYONE and got on the bus! We were appalled, but what could we do? He was REAL fat. So he got on, the old Spanish lady got on, and my mom and I got on. And that was that. We got literally the last seats - my mom was at the very front of the bus and I was in about the third row from the back. Behind me was the giant behemoth of a human being.
So we get back to Palma, and my mom can get immediately off the bus because she's so close to the front. I edge out into the row, conscious that I need to get off too so my mom isn't waiting tooooo long for me. My motion is impeded by this monster, but I was clearly in the aisle ahead of him (not to mention I was waiting for the bus ahead of him in Soller). I say, politely as I can, "perdoneme," (excuse me) and he glares at me, and then with all his might, SHOVES me back into my seat. I fell against the wall and fell onto the floor, taking down the guy who had the window seat in my row in the process. It didn't hurt, but I hated that guy. I hated him.
I get off the bus, all flustered and indignant. I tell my mom what happens, and she gets all hot and bothered too. On our way out of the bus station, we saw him at a vending machine (of course). He was not paying for his food, oh no. Instead, he had his hand up through the place where the food is supposed to come out, attempting to steal food from the vending machine. I'm willing to bet it didn't work because his hands are so big and large. He's the worst person in the world. I want to see him on Keith Olbermann in the very near future.
I'm acutely aware of how long this is, and I'm 98% sure the vast majority of people didn't read to the end. For those of you who did, I both a) thank you and b) am sorry that you had to listen to me ramble for so long.
Love and miss you all!
Molly
So I suppose I should start blogging...
Hi everyone!
I apologize in advance for conforming to the 20something blogger stereotype, and also for assuming that I'm important enough that you want to read a ton about what is happening in my life, but after about the tenth email and fortieth facebook message wherein I covered the exact same information every single time, this seemed a logical way to go.
So as most of you know, I'm currently living in Galway, Ireland and attending National University of Ireland, Galway. My program is a master's program called Culture and Colonialism. It's more or less a literature/history hybrid degree on postcolonial theory. As you know, this puts me in nerddom heaven.
My classes haven't actually started yet. I've been here for quite some time, but it was for getting set up/orientation/etc purposes. My mom and I managed to go to Spain for three days, which was absolutely lovely. (I'll probably devote a different blog entry to that.) Since I've gotten back, I've been doing my last little bit of errands until class starts on Wednesday... eeekk. I hope I haven't gotten out of my study habits!
As for my living situation. I am living in a house with two other graduate students, both girls. They are named Siobhan (say like Shih-von) and Rebecca. Siobhan seems great. She just moved in last night, but we had a long chat at breakfast and she's super friendly and seems to like going out and having fun, so that seems advantageous. I've met Rebecca twice, one time while I was going out and she was coming in, and the other time when I was coming in and she was going out. Both times our conversation, as you can imagine, has not been extensive, but she also seems really nice.
I posted pictures on facebook of my first couple days in Ireland and of my new digs if you want to check those out. (I put them up and a week later my beloved Katy Janik began pestering me for pictures of my house. So I figure it never hurts to remind people.) I've also downloaded Skype. My name is molly.m.slavin. If you want to chat, please send me your name! If you're thankful you don't have to see my face for at least another year, please ignore that last bit of information.
Love and miss all of you!
Molly
I apologize in advance for conforming to the 20something blogger stereotype, and also for assuming that I'm important enough that you want to read a ton about what is happening in my life, but after about the tenth email and fortieth facebook message wherein I covered the exact same information every single time, this seemed a logical way to go.
So as most of you know, I'm currently living in Galway, Ireland and attending National University of Ireland, Galway. My program is a master's program called Culture and Colonialism. It's more or less a literature/history hybrid degree on postcolonial theory. As you know, this puts me in nerddom heaven.
My classes haven't actually started yet. I've been here for quite some time, but it was for getting set up/orientation/etc purposes. My mom and I managed to go to Spain for three days, which was absolutely lovely. (I'll probably devote a different blog entry to that.) Since I've gotten back, I've been doing my last little bit of errands until class starts on Wednesday... eeekk. I hope I haven't gotten out of my study habits!
As for my living situation. I am living in a house with two other graduate students, both girls. They are named Siobhan (say like Shih-von) and Rebecca. Siobhan seems great. She just moved in last night, but we had a long chat at breakfast and she's super friendly and seems to like going out and having fun, so that seems advantageous. I've met Rebecca twice, one time while I was going out and she was coming in, and the other time when I was coming in and she was going out. Both times our conversation, as you can imagine, has not been extensive, but she also seems really nice.
I posted pictures on facebook of my first couple days in Ireland and of my new digs if you want to check those out. (I put them up and a week later my beloved Katy Janik began pestering me for pictures of my house. So I figure it never hurts to remind people.) I've also downloaded Skype. My name is molly.m.slavin. If you want to chat, please send me your name! If you're thankful you don't have to see my face for at least another year, please ignore that last bit of information.
Love and miss all of you!
Molly
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