Freetime Management

So it appears that I'm not very good at structuring my time, now that most of my academic commitments are over. Not only are my papers in, but most of my tutorials have wrapped up, and I'm having some of my final lectures this week. I've been trying to fill my free time with cultural stuff--i borrow tons of movies from the Trinity library and supplement these with knitting projects (I just finished the second of a pair of Latvian mittens I've been working on: the first took three months, the second took one week), or I browse around the internet looking for concerts and Dubliny things to do. The sun's out almost every day now, spring has come full-force to Dublin, and I sit in a park almost every day for about an hour as I eat lunch. This week I've also been very into museums, as Dublin has a great number of the Irish national museums that are free, if not very good. Still, I get to a point in the afternoon where I wonder, what am I doing here? What is my purpose in staying here for so long? What am I accomplishing, really?

I think I had productivity on the brain this weekend when I visited Caitlin in Galway. For instance, I went to the Aran Islands and came back, not with a fisherman sweater, but with two kilos of yarn. To knit my own. I also spent a lot of money on presents--not souvenirs, but presents for events in the near, and far, future. For instance, I bought my parents books of love poetry for their upcoming 25th anniversary (Neruda for Mom because she knows a little Spanish, Yeats for Dad because Yeats is the best, obvi) and a flashy vest from this place called River Island for my sister's birthday on July 18th. A fun fact about me: I plan presents obsessively, almost as obsessively as I plan halloween and theme party costumes. When I was in high school, I was one of those girls who gave every single one of her friends very thoughtful trinkets for Christmas, all very carefully wrapped. I've learned better by now, because those gestures are rarely returned and buying presents for your 30 closest friends becomes expensive, but at the same time I can't help but fixate on those more mandatory presents. I've been visiting a book about the Wild Women of Irish History, planning to pick it up for my Nana for Christmas... I'm ridiculous.

Today I went to the Chester Beatty Library, a museum full of Chester Beatty's medieval Iranian manuscripts, Chester Beatty's Egyptian papyrus scrolls, Chester Beatty's very old fragment of one of the earliest bibles. Chester Beatty wasn't famous for any reason other than having all of these very old books. He really made a name for himself. I wonder if I'll ever have something that grandiose to offer the world.

SEE WHAT I THINK ABOUT WHEN LEFT TO MY OWN DEVICES?

I also feel like I'm in a state of flux. I was away last weekend to Galway, the weekend before to London (which was lovely and which I'll try to write about someday but maybe I'll never get to it so just check out my facebook photos if you're interested in the meantime). This weekend I'll be in Belgium with Sally, and the weekend after that, Paris with my flatmates. There's the whole existential crisis of feeling unrooted, sure, but there are sensible implications as well. For instance, I've been having a very hard time shopping for groceries, because anything perishable I'll have to consume before the next weekend or it'll go bad. It's extra hard because I've been trying to eat well (or at least better), and foods that are good for you are often the first to go. I've never missed McEwen so much as I do now--I'd kill for a salad bar, sandwich fixin's, all of that at my fingertips. Variety is difficult to aquire when you're eating alone.

That's about all for now. Maybe I'll just do posts like this for the rest of the time, no big lists, just spontaneous impressions.

Rory and Andrew Do Dublin

Recap of Andrew's Visit:

Andrew came to Dublin on the morning of Sunday, March 15th. He was slightly delayed because there were boatloads of people (mostly Americans and Spaniards) piling into Ireland for St. Patrick's Day on the 17th. We spent most of our first afternoon resting and eating full Irish breakfast-type stuff.

Monday we trekked around Dublin, first to the Yeats exhibit at the National Library and then to the Writer's museum. We went to Trinity inbetween to try and get in for the book of Kells, but the line was out the door and around the corner. There were an obnoxious number of people EVERYWHERE: even at the Writer's museum, which anyone can tell you is not a flashy place. After oggling Elizabeth Bowen's manual Smith-Corona, we tried to go to the James Joyce centre, but alas, it was Monday. We made our way to the Winding Stair bookshop, stopping on the way in a pub called Bachelor.

Suprise suprise, I was the only woman in Bachelor. Additionally, Andrew and I were the only people under 35, and the most sober by far. A jubulant older man, shook our hands, and jubulantly bemoaned my cold hands. He asked me, "What do cold hands mean in a girl?" I answered a warm heart, and he said, "Oh, no... warm knickers! Bwa Ha Ha Ha!" He had several more anecdotes for us over the course of our half-pints, the most colorful of which was a story told deadpan about at 90-year-old woman who had been gang-raped by three men right outside the pub, and after eight hours in the hospital, the doctors couldn't stop her from saying, "More, more, more!" Needless to say we drank quickly, running out on the older man (who's Claddagh ring was up-side down, which means open for business, by the way) as he was telling us a story about Obama, repeatingly slurring our president's name into "Bahama". As we paid, a man at the bar asked us our names, and when I said "Rory," the whole place erupted in snickers.

When we got to the Winding Stair, it was closed. We took a cab to Zaytoon's for kebabs, and then spent the night in, watching movies.

Tuesday, St. Patick's Day, was hellish from the start. We woke and walked down to Dame Street at 11 a.m. for the parade. After two and a half hours of waiting in the windy, shadowy street, the parade came. Oh, did it ever come. Aside from the handful of American collegiate marching bands, the major floats were INTENSE, as was the level of commitment of the paraders. There were cique-de-solay style birds, the 60's, King Kong and all of his comrades, including film staff, and our favorite, a bunch of mad scientists and astronaut apes prancing around a spaceship while someone kept shouting, "Scientists assemble!" After the parade, we ran to the closest restaurant, ate, and then... went home for the rest of the day. Honestly, it was so hectic in every bar, and in downtown Dublin, that we only left for a solitary pint that evening. I can't say that i'd have it any other way.

Wednesday we got into the book of Kells and then hopped the commuter rail (the DART) to Howth, a sea-side resort area where I imagine several Dubliners spend their holidays. Howth boasted of seals, and if you paid 2 euro to a fish vendor, he'd give you a bag of fish heads to lure a seal your way. We walked up and down the pier, taking in the wonderful sea air, stopped for chowder, and then explored a ruined Abbey. For those of you who know Andrew and I as a couple, you know that this is our perfect day. We came home, I made chicken fajitas, and we went to bed early so we could get up at 4:30 a.m. to leave for Edinburgh.

In Edinburgh, we saw Lucea Spinelli, our friend who transferred from Hamilton our freshman year and has been going to St. Andrew's ever since. She took us all around the Meadows, a lovely span of park behind the bulk of the University, and then we sat outside and had beers with her friends. She took us to this mosque kitchen with some of the best Indian food I've had in months. We were getting sleepy by 3:30, as we had been up for 11 hours, and decided to head back to our B 'n B for some R 'n R. We woke up, just barely, at 9:30 p.m. Luckily, our Indian food was sticking to our ribs and we headed out to the Royal Mile in the Old Town just looking for a few drinks.

The Royal Mile, for those you don't know, is the area of Old Edinburgh that used to be walled in. It's significantly higher up than the rest of Edinburgh, with a sort of comic book gothic feeling to it--everything is elongated. We considered going on a ghost tour but then thought better of it, seeing as we were already pretty creeped out just being around those dark gothic streets in the dark. We found a bar that had a two-man cover band playing, so of course we stopped. The pair played all the Ireland greats: Valerie, Stand By Me, Your Sex Is On Fire, Mr. Brightsides, Someday (by the Strokes), you name it. We ended the night with this British reality show called "What if Women Ruled the Earth?", a survior-type show where women make men build fires, make dinner, sweep the huts, etc.

The next day, we took two tour buses with live guides. The first guide was fine, a proper elderly man who spoke too quietly, but our second guide was a real live-wire. He could name all the 81 Robert Browning characters on the Browning monument, at breakneck speed might I add. We got off the bus at the Edinburgh castle, then went to the Camera Obscura and the Hall of Illusions. Good Victorian fun, looking back on it. We tried to document manifestions of the Scottish Plaid Fad before heading back home for a siesta.

We were to meet our friend Kevin Kerr for drinks later, so before we grabbed the bus into town, we stopped at this fried-EVERYTHING stand. I ordered a hamburger "with 2 patties" with fries, and recieved two FRIED HAMBURGER PATTIES. I should have been so grossed out. I was so not. Full of grease, Andrew and I met Kevin at a whiskey bar. We then hopped to a more student-oriented bar, and then a more posh bar. It was lovely to see Kevin, what I can remember of that time.

The next morning Andrew and I tried to connect again with Lucea, but it wasn't in the cards. We also tried to find a vintage store Lucea told us was having a sale, but that wasn't in the cards either. It was sunny though, and after buying a few used books and other curios, we took the bus back to the airport.

Sunday was both melancholy and joyous, melancholy because Andrew was leaving on Monday but joyous because Ami Li arrived Monday afternoon. The three of us went to the Guinness factory while the rest of Dublin was out in City Centre, congratulating the Ireland rugby team for not just winning Six Nations, but SWEEPING it. The factory was worth missing the fanfare, however. Suffices to say that I'm obsessed with Guinness's various ad campaignes as of now.

Monday morning all three of us shipped out to the airport, Andrew on his way to the States and Ami and I headed for Amsterdam. But that'll come next time.

In other news, I'M DONE WITH ESSAYS. Until the fall. Can you believe it? I've been so obsessively-compulsively lazy ever since I finished, watching loads of movies and picking up an old knitting project. I've planned to be out for the rest of April--I'm actually heading to London tomorrow, back into Sally's arms. The weekend after that is Galway with Caitlin, then after that, Belgium with Sally, resident Belgian cuisine (and beer) expert. Paris for May Day, if all goes to plan... I'll keep you filled in.

Love, Me.

p.s. Scottish people: not as friendly or helpful as Irish people. I'll let you know about the English after this weekend.