I Would Like This To Last Forever.

It’s the end of March. This is where I’m at right now:

On Easter Sunday, I arrived back in Dublin from a quick holiday in London. Over the course of two days, I saw my cousin (whom I hadn’t seen in about three months—a strange and surreal fact, considering we’re close on many literal levels), met my cousin’s friend Mara and her New Zealander husband Justin (and stayed in their lovely flat in Chiswick, the Park Slope of London), played with Mara and Justin’s baby, ate some of said baby’s gourmet food, watched In The Night Garden with said baby (and concluded that show is like being on drugs) and Green Wing with everyone else, and cavorted around London. I actually walked the expanse of Brick Lane and ate the best bagels of my life, finally made it to Hyde Park (which wasn’t nearly as cool as I’d imagined it to be), downed a Cadbury McFlurry (and walked into a McDonald’s for the first time in years), visited the Victoria & Albert Museum (which is now on my favorite museums list…it’s the equivalent of a candy store for adults, except you can’t buy or taste anything…during my visit, I had the pleasure of viewing this exhibit, which was so indescribably kick-ass), and went for high tea at The Orangery at Kensington Palace.

On Easter Monday, I went to back to Bray, where I walked along the coast, played air hockey at an arcade, and went bowling for the first time in months. I’m rusty. Go figure. (It was totally worth it, though, for reasons I can’t name here.)

Yesterday, during my day off, I went to Malahide. It was beautiful and sunny—a rare thing in Dublin—and so there was a walk through woods, a walk along the coast, and a walk up to the doorway of Malahide Castle, which did, as the person I was with said, look less like a castle and more like a mansion with turrets. Also, it cost money to go in, so I just looked at it and smiled.

Yesterday night, I finished the first act of my play. It’s due on Tuesday. I’m about to play a game. It’s called: Will This Abroad Student Make Her Deadline? Something tells me there will be much isolation from human folk and plenty of creative introspection within the next few days…

Oh, and to cap off this entry/prove just how cinematic my life has become as of late: on St. Paddy’s Day weekend (which was, in fact, one of the best weekends I’ve had here), I was evacuated from the now-infamous Whelan’s because of a fire next door! As I was with film fest folk, there was much adventuring around the rainy streets of Dublin and into a fest friend’s house, where drink and buttered toast were had and part of a stair railing was broken. Don’t ask. Just imagine laughter and craziness and debauchery, and the night I’m attempting to describe is pretty much summed up.

Fever Pitch.

Tonight, I went to a football match. An Irish football match. I don't think I've ever said "fuck" that many times in a 90-minute period. My life has been very cinematic as of late. Tonight, Tarantino was writing and directing. There were no visible guns, but there was a fight!

In Which I Say "I" A Lot.

Back in Dublin.

The weather has been spastic. (But I apparently control it, so go figure.)

The heat in our building's ceased to work. Which is grand, considering how cold and windy it's been. Hopefully, this problem will be remedied soon. At least the water pressure in my flat is fine. (Knock on wood.)

Tomorrow (today?) marks the beginning of St. Paddy's Day festivities. This essentially means that Dublin goes wild with drunken tourists and even drunker locals. Everyone has fun. Word on the street says it's pretty joyous.

The end of Oxford was the end of a very short era. Spent Sunday lazing about in my friend's flat, watching Anglo-Saxon nerds make weaponry, defensive gear, and costumes for their upcoming reenactment battle in York. Also drank a lot of orange mango juice. Spent the evening feasting on garbanzo and dill soup, pancakes, and spaghetti and meatballs (all homemade), and watching The Mighty Boosh.

Tonight, I went to see Be Kind Rewind, which, despite lukewarm reviews, was very funny, if not a little sentimental. As my film-going mate aptly pointed out, we laughed the loudest. If you love film, I think Michel Gondry's latest means a lot more.

I am in a nice place with my play right now, although writing today was emotionally draining. One day, I'll write a comedy, and everyone will be shocked, most of all myself.

Even though I enjoyed the UK, it feels good to be back.

This is not a lie: pictures coming soon.

In Like A Lion And Out Like A Lamb?

Two things this blog proves:

1. I am a liar.
2. My lies tend to be little and white, so that’s okay.

I’m trying not to beat myself up about leaving people in the dark. I started this blog so various individuals (but specifically family members) could keep tabs on my life whilst abroad, and while it all started out all fine and dandy, everything has somewhat deteriorated in my own little part of the blogosphere, at least as of late. This isn’t really an attempt at a half-apology, but more so an attempt at half-explaining what happens when one’s life begins to improve exponentially, not to mention becomes filled with priorities and “things to do.”

A month has gone by since I last wrote anything substantial. Over said month, I visited the Dublin Zoo (one of the oldest in Europe), the coastal suburb of Howth (twice), and continued to spend sunny and lazy days watching the ducks at St. Stephen’s Green. I experienced the most exciting and best week I’ve had abroad so far, which was volunteering for the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival. During this time, I saw the equivalent 10.75 films (I only got to see ¾ of In Bruges), attended several after- and festival-related parties, met tons of amazing people, scouted some celebrities (including, but not limited to, Daniel Day-Lewis, Colin Farrell, Martin McDonagh, and Mike Leigh), ingested loads of free whiskey and many not-so-free pints, found myself on the winning team of the festival’s annual volunteer Film Quiz Night (wherein I was given a free bottle of Jameson, worth, perhaps, 20 Euro), and had a lot of fun ripping tickets, directing human traffic, doing crowd control, folding Audience Award ballots into paper airplanes, and just being involved with the festival, in general. I even found myself a part of this year’s JDIFF volunteers documentary:



There is, of course, still coursework, which is something in and of itself. The first draft of my play is due in two weeks. I won’t divulge myriad details here, but let’s just say it involves the circus, magical realism, mental illness, food graffiti, philosophical questions about art, dualism, memory, unrequited love, and a monologue about duck rape. I’ve been feeling very productive as of late, which is both gratifying and ego-boosting, and it’s my hope to return to the States (and to SLC as a senior) with something substantial under my belt.

As for this very minute (yes, right now), I’m in Oxford, enjoying the tail end of my mighty UK spring holiday. The adventure began in Scotland, where I visited a high school chum in St. Andrews and spent a lovely day to myself in Edinburgh (pictures to come). Then I took the train from Leuchars to London, which, considering our route along the Scottish coast and through the English countryside, with unending hills, farms, greenery, and sheep, was one of the best things I’ve ever done. Spent three days in London just hanging out, seeing Big Ben and Buckingham Palace all lit up at night, walking along the Thames and past the London Eye, wandering around and trying to find Brick Lane during the day, eating a delicious Indian meal, and perusing the Portobello Road Market shops and stalls in Notting Hill with my friend Tracy. And now I’m in Oxford, where I’ve been chilling/relaxing at my friend Gwen’s flat with other SLC students in the program. My first night here, I went to Catweazle, which is an old hippie club located in a community center, and I had the pleasure of not only hearing/seeing my friend Chris play music for the first time since September, but also listening to a tango band of sorts, as well as poetry and the sixty-something-year-old treasurer of Catweazle, who was all about telling stories and sticking it to the Man. Yesterday, I went to a protest against the chopping down of ancient Oxford trees, which was a bust, and then I had high tea, which involved the most delicious finger sandwiches, a scone with jam and clouted cream, a slice of coffee mascarpone cake, and vanilla tea. Later, we all sat around and ate homemade risotto with onions, tomatoes, and red peppers, and chatted about the structure of Sarah Lawrence’s writing courses, before watching a bootleg copy of Vantage Point, which was both horrible and horribly entertaining.

And now we are up-to-date.