how much is that golliwog in the window?

On our way to pick up kindly donated goodie bags from Tesco, we passed a shop with a golliwog prominently displayed in its front window. Up for sale.

I didn't think these things were freshly produced anywhere anymore. Or, if you still could buy them, I figure they'd be hidden in the back somewhere behind a curtain that only a secret passcode would allow you access.

Apparently not.

It's like the store down Talbot street that has confederate flag items in the window.
I understand the notion that people haven't had to really think of the significance. That the golliwog is a very, very old image. That the confederate flag really doesn't stand for sticking together bla bla old dixie, it's a very racist image with strong connotations that leave a bad taste in the mouth.

Overall, it's interesting when you have people argue about the relevance of race and racism when it doesn't include people that look like them.

On the flip, it is interesting to try to see it from their side as well. Not as moving, I'll admit, but interesting. It would be nice to see the world without all the racial undertones. To maybe see all things as innocent, or coincidence.

Right now, I miss the Pimp Pad. I miss all the people that would pile in and we'd watch Sex & the City for hours with our lovely On-Demand cable.

Feeling sickly now and could go for curling up with a blanket on one of those shitty couches with one of the other PP members & associates. A nice cup of hot chocolate laced with Emmet's.

Bo knows best

No context.

anonymous:

why are boys SO STUPID
[unmentionable name]
hahah
but he's IRISH
which means he's in danger, any day now,

of POKING OUT HIS OWN EYE

I <3 you, DHL.

I had gone so long without purchasing things in crazy amounts. Eventually, the capitalist in my blood had to rear its ugly head. This ended up in me falling in sweet, sweet love with H&M, Dorothy Perkin's and, well, that's it really. H&M, especially.

Not to mention that this week felt more like Christmas than Thanksgiving when the packages my mom mailed finally arrived, after a month-and-a-half of the US Postal Service playing with my heart. The package she mailed with DHL just a few days ago? Arrived today.

Going through boxes of my own belongings that were wearily left on the living room floor are safely sitting around the office and I'm left wondering how the hell I'm going to get them to the flat. The rain isn't making bringing a suitcase to drag across the city a very attractive option.



I would have forgotten it was Thanksgiving if people hadn't kept reminding me all week. It's funny how much people here know about what's going on in the States--and I'm not talking politics or history.

yesterday's news

What I forgot to post yesterday. Still makes me dance around in my seat a little bit. As much as things suck and suck and suck globally, certain things still spark and send out those good vibes.


my favourite excerpt of an article. perhaps, ever:

Ms. Judge credits South Africa’s liberal Constitution with forcing change. “This has been a litmus test of our constitutional values,” she said. “It forced us to consider: What does equality really mean? What does it look like? Equality does not exist on a sliding scale.”

source: South African Parliament Approves Same-Sex Marriages by Sharon LaFraniere.

if you know your history, then you would know where you're coming from

Today keeps going from beautiful to dreary. Either way, I think it's a beautiful day in Dublin. The smell of autumn has arrived--even though there are very few leaves on the ground to bring it up. Stefano made fun of me last night on the way to the movie because I was kicking the leaves. Hadn't even noticed--it's just such a happy sound.

The clouds were out this morning; I hoped we could make it to the office before it started pouring.
After we arrive, it begins lashing rain.
By the time we left, the sun was high and in effect.
Now it's becoming dark again and the sun has disappeared.

But when the sun is out and the weather is a bit colder like this, everything in Dublin is near-perfect. The sun reflects off buildings brilliantly and it is clear to see that the city is coloured in hues of dirt. Even the colourful buildings are dull.


The new interns are awesome. That is the best word I know how to describe them. A bunch and a ton of fun.

It's funny how you meet people from different places, hear them describe home and suddenly grow a healthy desire to go and live. Or you spend time with them, realise they are loads of fun and wonder if everyone from their region is like that.



And, of course, I am so ridiculously happy about the election results. Who would have thought?

a. Seven trainees and counting in the space of three weeks. Plus national conference. Starting to get busy up in here.

b. Someone moved into my dream office two floors below. I suppose this means that I'll have to find a dream office [and business to go into said office] in some other part of the world. Bummer. New people seem nice though [with really nice, new swivel chairs--y'know, while I gaze sadly at my hard-plastic chair and decide the floor is more comfortable].

c. Wednesdays are my favourite to work at the pub. Glitz. Gay night makes me miss home most though, that's the only rub. It's the happiest night of the week, no doubt. Lots of kisses on the cheek, being called chicken, tall drag queens that you wouldn't want to fuck with, tons of young boys dancing around and embracing their painful skinniness. Drunks are a little bit nicer on Tuesdays than any other day of the week, a bit more considerate.

Last night, while showing the new guy where we get the brooms from at the end of the night, a merry drunk did a little dance on the steps while I waited for him to pass. He told me that he was just kidding, just dancing. I said to him that I was aware, but figured I'd let him pass first since he was the one who was drunk, not me. He then told me, two things: 1. I'm not gay. 2. You have a pretty smile.

So, I suppose that means any dental work was not a failure.

d. Today is beautiful. The few leaves that are actually in this town were falling around everywhere. It reminds me a lot of a football Saturday, which is often the problem with nice weather as of late. To boot, I even passed a guy wearing a Michigan sweatshirt while walking Lower Abbey Street.

I feel like it'd be a lot easier to be here as of late if there weren't so many things reminding me of home. Next time, I'll move somewhere that doesn't have such a love affair with the United States. Of course, "American culture" is spreading rapidly, but Ireland is just such an extreme case.

Just the other day, I had a chat with one of the bouncers about getting married so he could have my American citizenship and I could get the EU citizenship that I so covet.

e. I have discovered a great new used bookstore. It's near work--across the street from the international food market with "mexican" food. The used books part of the store has that perfect book smell to it. Maybe I'll miss the Dawn Treader a teensy bit less, but I doubt it.

It will cost me upwards of 26 Euro for a copy of The Giving Tree and something like nine for a copy of The Phantom Tollbooth. Not too bad. But I think I may just wait til I'm home and will grab a used copy of each then.

f. Speaking of food, this is what I miss: Big Ten burritos, sangria that tastes mysteriously of Mad Dog from Dominic's, TK Wu, proper deep dish & Chicago-style pizza, Jimmy John's, hummous, cheap food in general.

You know, you'd think that I'd be used to the cold. It's not like I come from somewhere extraordinarily warm. It might just be that I'm used to the snow when it's this cold--there would be snow everywhere and you'd get to walk through something pretty, rather than streets that smell like piss near the alleys.

I will look into purchasing tickets for Barcelona later today and/or tomorrow. Must speak to Rachel to see if Christmas plans are cemented--in which case I would be an extremely happy upstanding citizen.

[I like this whole paying job thing--too bad it equates working upwards of 70 hours a week.]

Sometime soon I will check out this tattoo artist a friend from work gets stuff done by. I'll get my tattoo sometime soon--and, no worries, Mom, it won't be somewhere tacky. Besides, it's literary--can you ask for anything better?