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).
Sunday, September 26, 2010
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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