It's important to keep in check the things that make you happy. In fact, the smaller the better.

For example:

The Rolling Stones (particularly Moonlight Mile)
A pretty cloudy day where you can still see the bright blue behind the fluffy white blobs in the sky.
A cup of tea in the morning, properly sugared- and milked-up.
A library card (yes, that is a picture of our very own neighborhood library)


So, let's extrapolate on this whole library thing, because really that's the whole reason I made a list in the first place--maybe to seem a bit less like a nerd. But, really, it is amazing how the smell of musty library can lift my spirits in such a fantastic way. And it was, but again, the example of the laidback nature of the inhabitants of this island. It is required to have two types of identification: something that's a proof of residency, like a utility bill, and just another whatever to prove your name, like a student card. Of course, we don't have any bills coming to us and just printed up a quick letter on official @ letterhead.

First, we show him what we have and say we have a letter from our employer. He is a bit unsure, with his messy hair and tie-dyed t-shirt, but quickly gives in when we explain that we work for an educational charity and have no utility bills of our own to pay. He ruffles his hair a bit, purses his lips and nod/shurgs. Yeah, I could see that. Then promptly supplies us with our very own, beautiful navy blue library cards.

(and I swear to you, this guy could have stumbled right out of The Dawn Treader in downtown Ann Arbor, or perhaps off the Diag after the Hash Bash. All he was missing was the Grateful Dead tee, but he was wearing something properly tie-dyed anyway.)

I leave with a Herbert Selby Jr, Kerouac, Haddon and collection of short stories compiled by Zadie Smith. Not to mention the big smile on my face. Especially when we can join the music library at the main branch for free, and we'll have to figure out at which branches we can rent these dvd type things.

back to Beckett

What my favorite thing was in the whole Beckett exhibit was when he mentioned, in various letters throughout, how the frustration lies in how it is impossible to really explain, to really transmit the true manner of things. Of life, in short.

And he said that's what caught him so much by Cezanne, the indulgence and hint that there are things that cannot be captured--admitting that there is want in the portrayal. You can look at something so beautiful and see it as purely as day, but you can only capture it in such a way.

And that's part of the greatness in photography. It can't get everything, but it's so much stronger than the written word, and rare is it that you find a painter who can make certain situations as vivid.



Source: To Flee or to Stay? Family Chooses Too Late and Pays Dearly

And it's frustrating because you read articles, sitting at your desk nestled in a city that's far removed from the chaos that's consuming lives at right this very moment. And, I think that it's hard to not be overwhelmed at times, to feel completely powerless and small, but it's important to stay out of these moments. To remind yourself that small actions, that living your very own life in a specific manner, and working to do the best in creating globally aware, up-and-coming leaders is also important.

But, to turn full circle, it's photographs as these in the article linked above that crush you because there are no sentences, grammatically nor syntactically perfect, that can capture what needs to be expressed. Photographs can only do so much, dependent upon who views them, and even in some cases, for certain things, it doesn't matter still because people take what they want from the photos: some people become enraged at the photograph, others move to action, lots do neither.

Detroit New York DC Atlanta Brussels

Toronto BsAs Madrid Chicago Sao Paolo Paris

San Francisco Kuala Lumpur Los Angeles

Those are all the clocks set on my iPod.

I know, I know. Just how sweet and how 21st century can I be?

I can see your body movin'

You’d think that an overcast day would be like a curse, but today it’s moreso a concession for such a terribly, stuffy week. It’s still warm. Warm enough for my favorite skirt and flip flops. Also, I finally found how to get the grim of the city out of the soles of my feet. Occasionally, I believe that the lines from my flips and the tan lines left therefrom will never leave. It will be a mark that I forever bare.

The song that you hear the most is Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie (and it makes me sad because La Tortura is more fun to dance to)—everyone tries to undulate their hips in rhythm & tune. The song comes on and you watch everyone go nuts.

It is nice to see break barriers. More like trample them.
I will say the same thing when I start hearing new music here.


Lately, I’ve found myself thinking too much of the future. Just turned twenty-three, which is too young to be thinking of any sort of definite decision. But it’s hard. It’s easier to think of far off lands, and imagining seeing things that were never seen before—and finding things that you never knew existed. Eating something you’d never heard of before. Something there isn’t a word for in your own language, your mother tongue. Connecting the dots to get there is something entirely different.

I think that maybe law would be nice. The whole logic-useage and arguments and nicely-tailored suits. But I don’t want to work for The Man forever just to pay off those student loans.

And I think that medicine would be better because Doctors Without Borders is quite possibly the best non-profit (outside of ours dearly, of course). I think about biology and regret not taking more science in university.

Then, at times, I realise I love dancing too much, and perhaps should put all efforts into becoming a go-go dancer.

In all honesty, we went to the Beckett exhibit at the National Gallery and it made my insides ache, a bit. I picked up a pen the other day and felt so damn good after scratching away at that page. The loops and swirls, commas and semicolons—subtle punctuation and changes that a paragraph or capitalisation can do and mean.

Beckett also had the most apt description of any painting written to his friend to the painting on the left.

Fantastic, as we say in the States.

I will set up a library card (perhaps today) and pick up Waiting for Godot, then I’ll go back to look at the replecation of the tree he made for the original set.

The exhibit also introduced me to Jack B. Yeats--holy shit. I almost want to say, NEVER LOOK AT HIS PAINTINGS ONLINE. NEVER a replecation, because you will never understand the depths and colors used.

Finally, it happened

While out dancing the other night (Saturday, to be exact), someone came up to me. He was holding two drinks so my hope was that he was about to hand me the non-GHB'd beverage, but instead he leaned closer to say something.

Did it hurt?

Immediately, I wondered if he'd caught sight of me taking a slip downstairs. I swear, these flip flops will be the downfall of me considering the way they hydroplane on any amount of water. In a light drizzle, I spend 85% of my energy on not taking a colossal spill down the slippery sidewalks. Most people would learn and wear different shoes, but not me.

Did what hurt?

(This is when he repeats his question and I get annoyed and repeat what I'd said)

Falling from heaven.

Yes, it was said. I swear to god.

If that is the tried and true method of picking people up in this country, well, then I am going to be the biggest pimp that ever was.

I won't say who said it. Or who it was said to. Just know neither were me.

"I thought I should know his name before I asked if you had ever given him roadhead."

I was a catholic child: blood ran red, blood ran wild

I might just sit here listening to Jim Carroll all day long. Then I?ll think about how badass he is and be sad that I didn?t bring The American Outlaw Book of Poetry or Void of Course or Pool of Mercury. Because, if there are things I won?t be able to find here, it would be those three items.

I will, however, be able to find Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife. Last night, I did in fact finish Pride & Prejudice, although waves of romance did not wash over me. I am not in love with Mr. Darcy (perhaps if he?d been a bit more of a cad), and Elizabeth was getting on my nerves in part. BUT I have high hopes for BBC and the new version.

It was surprising, the lack of verbal vomitage. No descriptions, not many at least. No eye colors, very little about the houses?especially Pemberly beyond furniture.

Of course, I enjoyed it, regardless.


The woman at the Thomas Read over in the Harbourmaster has a tattoo of an arachnid on her lower earlobe. Interesting. Not different; interesting.


The book that is up next is Lolita. The one with the 50th anniversary cover of half a mouth, perfectly airbrushed. I?ve read the first six pages about four separate times, but always make myself set it back down in favor of whatever I had begun the day before.

I must say, the quality of paper that it is bound with is pulchritudinous (sorry, I found this word in a thesaurus and could not help myself?how lovely it is, right?).

I will try to keep myself from purchasing the new GQ, but am unsure if that will be possible.

Today

7 July, 1981:
President Reagan announced he was nominating Arizona Judge Sandra Day O'Connor to become the first female justice on the United States Supreme Court.

Roughly 25 years later, the best female nominee our President can think of is Harriet Miers. Not only does he humiliate that poor woman, but insults women country-wide.


I am going to have to stop reading American news soon because it makes me too sad. Tomorrow, I begin the massive Irish history book that Aine brought for me. Then I can be all up in the Irish news and politics.

Until then, the birthday countdown begins. 23. I always thought I'd be doing... stuff by then.

Happy Independence

Nothing that ridiculous happened yesterday, the first 4th of July in my life without fireworks. Either way, there were several people able and willing to wish us a happy independence?if there were ever a country to celebrate independence from the British, Ireland is it.

Nothing that spectacular happened either?the night will be dominated with memories of drag queens with bad wigs and insanely skinny ankles.

Yesterday, when I checked for news from the States in the morning, the first article I saw was about war atrocities committed by Americans. The second was about a young boy kidnapped and burned alive because someone wanted revenge against his mother. Happy Independence Day, no?

The first headline today is about the shifting of Bush's opinion on immigration and moving toward enforcement.

just don't say anything that I can understand

you can tell me where to go, tell me what i don't know
but don't speak in language

Dublin is more diverse than I thought it would be. You spot these old women in sweaters and greying hair pulled back in buns pushing around their grandchildren with afropuffs. It's hard to explain all the sociological happiness I'm feeling while here.

This is the first city I've lived in where Spanish isn't the second most-heard language on the streets.
Break for the Border apparently has salsa lessons (and dancing afterward) on Sunday and Tuesday nights. I'm afraid, but I miss it too much. You can only scandalize bars with dancing like an American so much. Maybe I'll get used to European-style dancing and I'll miss the all-enclusive circle once I leave. As for now, I miss the bump n'grind.


Sometime in the past few days, Jamie and I stopped through the Dublin Writer's Museum. On the trip to Howth, we passed a house once occupied by Yeats and it was in the most beautiful location of nearly any home worldwide.

Grazia Lodesterto has the most amazing prints in the museum and I suppose she was on display sometime before April. I tried to find her on the internet, just images of her work, but nothing.

Without the internet, I am useless.
Until I get my coveted library card. Then I will make BFFs with the jumper-wearing, hobbling workers and the world will be at my fingertips.




Things here are so pretty, I'm not sure how anyone gets anything done. Even the Liffey and its... unique redolence. There is a comic shop on the far side of the river and I think how I wish I knew more about comics because that would be, potentially, the coolest place to work ever.



Saturday, I hope to spend the day in Howth, if the weather will be kind enough to me. Prue will be here and it would be a great way for us to all sit and relax and chitchat. We'll also be sure to keep Aine away from the path of any birds. No repeats of Monday.

This time, I'll wear sneakers so I'll have less fear of slipping off the edge. I'll finish rereading Cowboys Are My Weakness (which is a fantastic read and not what you think from the title, I promise) and begin Pride & Prejudice, like I said I'd do a bit ago.

Sunday, I'm all about quiche and duck pie at the market. Maybe we'll come back with flowers to adorn our (freshly cleaned) apartment.