I still exist, though my blog would not inform that. Alas, my flat is supposed to have wireless installed, always two days from now. The only internet access I've had has been stolen from some office building in our apartment compound, and it only works fleetingly, and only on my roommate's bed. A lot has happened, but I'll try to keep it brief.

I moved into my flat last Friday. It was lovely on first glance--a full kitchen, lovely sitting room with green leather couches, cheesy hotel art on the walls. However, the Irish do not believe in chests of drawers or shelving units. The first several days of my stay consisted of trying to shove my massive duffel-full of clothes into a wardrobe and bedside table. Now that I have books, the area around my bed has become a danger zone. I'm frantically looking for shelves, but Ikea has not yet found Dublin, and thus, all shelving options are unaffordable, even at recession prices. 

The appliances proved initially impossible, and though my flatmates and I have mastered the microwave and the dishwasher, the washer/dryer and oven still prove a mystery. We didn't know how to do hot water until this past weekend, which was no fun. Though we don't have wireless yet, we do have cable, which I have been watching ad nauseum. The Irish love terrible American sitcoms, so Three and a Half Men, Ugly Betty, and Fraiser are on constantly. The music videos are also American more often than not, but the European videos are always a lot of fun. Most of them are dance songs with terrible lyrics an promiscously dressed women--think Pussycat Dolls with accents. The best example of this Brit pop phenomenon I've seen is the video for a song entitled, "The Boy Does Nothing". There's a link at the bottom of the post so you can see for yourself.

However, this independent living adventure is quite exciting, even if it is perilous. I shop as much as possible at the fruit and veg market and adjacent German discount grocery, the Lidl, and save quite a bit on food, which is my biggest expense apart from nightlife. Drinking is EXPENSIVE here--the going rate for a pint of Guinness is 4.60 euro, and that's at a cheaper pub. I went clubbing for the first time Thursday night, and we had to change our initial plans because Chris Brown was at the club we'd intended to enter, and the covercharge skyrocketed to 30 euro. That's three days of groceries, or roughly six beers. We ended up going to a sketchy, mostly empty club down the street, in which I ordered a mixed drink called a Purple Queen. It tasted like a melted grape slushy, and gave me the worst hangover since Andrew and my jello-mold birthday party. 

Though that club scene didn't appeal to me, I am going to attend Trinity's Rag Ball this Thursday. Trinity has a tradition of Rag week, Rag standing for Raise A Grand. The idea is to raise a ton of money for charity by hosting parties, restaurant events, casino nights, etc. The pinnacle of the festivities is the Rag Ball, where a ton of student bands play and there are 2 and 3 euro drink specials. I just purchased my first clubbing top and high heels, so I'm amped to see what a real party is like here. The other fabulous thing about Rag week is that everyone gets to say "I'm on the Rag" all the time. Great fun.

I do love the pub scene, as expensive as it is. My flatmates and I already have a favorite pub. It's a sportsbar called the Bleeding Horse, and it has cheapo pints of Guinness, Heineken, and Bulmers, a fantastic hard cider that goes down easy after the heavier drafts. Most Irish people go to the pubs nightly, which is something I can't yet afford, but it is refreshing to end a Tuesday evening with a pint. Hopefully my lack of proper food will compensate for the thousands beer calories I will consume more often than not.

I started classes a week ago, and am now enrolled in five English courses: Post-colonial Lit and Theory, Old English, Irish Lit, Realism and the Novel, and History of the Book. Each course consists of a 50 minute lecture and a 50 minute seminar, and along with the film class I'm auditing, that adds up to a shit-ton of class time. Aside from the actual number of hours I spend in classrooms and lecture halls, I have maybe eight or ten novels and texts assigned as mandatory reading per class, and twenty or thirty volumes of recommended reading on top of that. An orientation guide told us that if a student does the bare minimum of required reading, he or she can squeeze by with a ranking of Lower Second Class. The Trinity system has First Class, which is nearly publishable, then Upper and Lower Second Class, followed by Third Class, and finally, Failing. Not a big self-esteem booster, let me tell you. Because I plan to travel on the weekends more often than not, I'm going to have to work my ass off during the week to squeak by with a Lower Second Class mark. Sheesh.

I'm not allowed to leave the country until I register with the Irish police, but I did go to Waterford this weekend. I'll try to update later today or tomorrow with all the lovely details of that trip.

Here are some articles to add to my list of observations of Irish life:

--No one says "Top of the mornin' to ye!", but, "cheers," "dear (as in "expensive")" and "lads" are in common use, especially in the South.

--Irish couples are not modest about PDA. Even older couples will kiss, embrace, and even hold hands in public. 

--Rory is an odd name for a girl. When trying to open a bank account, my teller told me that management would probably think that Miss Rory Pavach was a mistake, and to expect to be addressed as Mr. in my first several statements.

--Irish girls are dressed to the nines EVERY DAY. I had to buy everyday heels and fancy faux-leather boots to feel less self conscious about my being underdressed. I suppose this is more of a cosmopolitan phenomenon than a common practice for Irish students, but I suppose time will tell. 

I'm off to my medieval manuscript tutorial. More on Waterford to come, and I'll put up a pictures link as soon as I get some of my photos on the web.

Cheers!