Bitching Brew

20 reasons to trigger the alarm bells.

2007-05-22T23:24:00.000+01:00

You know you've been in Canada too long when...

You say 'eh' after every sentence.
You expect your groceries to be in both French and English, just in case.
You find yourself calling America "The States".
You call a beanie a tuque and wear it as a fashion statement.
You step in front of moving cars without anxiety.
You trust taxi drivers.
Hockey matters.
You slap down anyone from the homeland who moans about the "cold" weather they're having.
If you find a -2 C day in January, you leave the coat at home and tear open your shirt.
You throw snowballs and play beach volleyball in the same month.
You host a backyard barbecue with a foot of snow on the ground.
You prefer to buy your milk in plastic bags - it tastes better.
You find yourself looking for the latest fashion in snowsuits.
You go to the beach...at a lake!
You put maple syrup on bacon, sausage, French toast, and baked beans, but not on ice-cream.
You drink as many lattes as you would back home, but twice as much black coffee.
You're perfectly clear on the distinction between breakfast, brunch and lunch; it follows that you'll accept no substitute for brunch.
You find yourself craving Tim Horton's doughnuts, which aren't actually that good.
You mercilessly mock weak American beer.
You sincerely apologise when somebody runs into you.

Anything to add?

P.S. Yes, you can credit me with composing two-thirds of these. Six were stolen.

You never forget your first time...

2006-12-08T03:40:00.000+00:00

Walking home in twenty below zero.

While I had succumbed and bought a tuque to keep my head toasty, I naively wore my dress shoes (and socks) to work. Tonight's sharp wind drove the temperature down to -23. It doesn't feel quite like I'd imagined. Since most of the body is well insulated, there's no shiver. However, the exposed strip of my face felt like it was being peeled, yet peeled by the most dexterous and delicate of craftsmen: sliver by sliver. By some distance, my feet were worst affected. Those dress shoes have no insulation value, and I might as well have been standing barefoot on the frozen ground, skin turned to cold stone. I knew that I'd messed up badly once I got home and stripped off my socks. The feet weren't merely numb, but ice-cold to my fingers. To my alarm, a number of my tiptoes and small spots on my soles had gone white and hard to the touch. I ran a cool shallow bath for my feet, gradually warming the water for the next 25 minutes. Fortunately, there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage, apart from a small whitish lump on my left foot.

Hey, I'm not complaining. It's all part of the experience, and I've learned a critical lesson without too much pain. Insulate thy bloody feet! It's going to get twenty degrees colder...

Supersize me.

2006-11-22T05:14:00.000+00:00

I had a pizza in the freezer, a beast weighing just over 2lb. It was meant to feed three, so I was saving it for the appropriate moment. Well, this evening, I was really hungry. Out came the pizza, and after a session in the oven, down the throat it started to go. Trouble set in halfway. I believe I uttered the phrase "I can't eat any more of this." That was a lie; as the hour developed, I continued to attack the pizza, determined to finish it. I did.

I. Feel. Terrible. Distended and bent over. I'm quite tempted to stick my fingers down my throat and relieve the pressure. I've just eaten a kilo of stodgy food in one sitting. Imagine dropping a one-kilo bag of sugar down your pipe. Yeah. That's more like it.

Oh, more cramps. Never again.

News from the front.

2006-11-10T03:25:00.000+00:00

Over fifty days have passed, and I'm still sitting pretty in Toronto. My blog has been drifting toward the wider world recently; I feel it's time to reorient. That could go for my life, not just my blog. I'll explain.

I was dozing on the couch earlier this evening, but I'm at a higher angle now. Once I've posted this, I'll head straight to bed, for sleep has been at a premium for the past month. My hand has been forced; the body doesn't take kindly to sustained negligence. Ironing shall have to wait till the morning... again. I wonder if I've clean socks? The TV thrums with no great passion, too jaded to demand my attention. Even Amanda's focus is elsewhere. Her ritual Thursday TV night is beginning to waste. I adapted speedily to the life we constructed here, since mine was a tabula rasa. Funny then how I find small changes in the new order less easy to adapt to. We moved the cutlery two weeks ago, yet I habitually open the wrong drawer. Thursday is TV night... at least, it used to be.

I am so very settled. How odd. The impetus to risk, to adventure, has ebbed with domestication. The need for a belt to hold my slacks has ebbed too, but of that, the less said the better. For the first month, I threw myself enthusiastically at every opportunity. I needed to. Now, although I don't need to, I ought to. I don't. I still have too few Canadian contacts, and my social circle is a third of that back home. I've worked hard to get even this far, and though I need to press on, I'm resting on my laurels. It's the easy option. Migration is exhausting, and my stance is the norm here, but that doesn't make it right. I need a kick up the arse. It's time, once again, to put myself out there and acquire more friends. Brrr. Is that a cold sweat coming on? Canadians are friendly and quite charming, but they're reserved and lead more insular lives than I'm used to. Socialising is less common, hence making friends is harder.

I'm in employment until the New Year at least. You'll love my occupation. Think of a great adventurer. Got that mental image? Good - now take a negative. I'm a Pension Analyst. Business casual, desk-bound, fired on coffee, and so high in the sky I can see the air traffic. You couldn't buy office space this high in Dublin, because it doesn't exist. The wages aren't nearly as good as you'd imagine, due to the greedy bite of the recruitment agency. Having said that, it pays the bills (just), the environment is relaxed, and the location is fantastic. My particular skyscraper is connected to the underground city, so it's a three minute walk from the subway platform to the lift. The only time I'm exposed to the elements is during the five minute trek from my front door to St. Clair West subway station. Yet working downtown brings the incentive to go outside. The streets are busy (though not to Dublin levels) and full of wonder. I frequently stroll east to St. Lawrence Market to pick up a cheap and quirky lunch. One option there is a little bakery that sells the best bacon sandwiches. The lunchtime amble often brings a good photo-op. Alas, I commonly forget my camera, while yesterday's barrage of visual splendour was ruined by dead batteries. No matter. Time is on my side.

Next Monday, I would have been graduating. My erstwhile classmates will be appending letters to their name, and for the first time, I feel a tinge of regret - for the first time, I'm missing out on something. Worry not; it's a tinge, not an ache. I like my city. Yes - my city. When my voice echoes on Skype, I hear the first subtle flowerings of a Canadian accent. My life has a structure, if not a complete narrative. I have no desire to leave, only to build. Rich and daring travels lie ahead, but this is my base.

Christmas shall be passed on Bruce Peninsula, which juts deep into Lake Superior. If weather permits, I'll be able to take a long boat journey out to Manitoulin Island, the world's largest freshwater island. The New Year and early January may see a trip eastwards. It has been suggested that we choose Montreal to ring in the New Year. If so, I'll be sure to take in Ottawa and Quebec as well. The great tour of the East Coast must wait until the spring, I think. I might get a chance to travel north and camp in Algonquin National Park before mid-December; if not, that'll also have to wait until the spring. The Aurora Borealis are meant to be spectacular up there.

Today was incredibly balmy, reaching a brief height of 16 degrees. The last hurrah of autumn, it seems. Hardcore winter is predicted to roll in from next week onwards. Clicking through various sites in the last several minutes, I noted factoids (that grow in charm as you descend through the list) such as:

In Southern Ontario, the winter season starts in November and finishes around the middle of April.

In one day, residents, especially those in Southern Ontario, may be drenched by cold winter rain then covered with snow because north winds have dropped temperatures to well below freezing.

"Whiteout" is the term used to describe blizzard-like or blowing snow conditions which reduce visibility to a few metres. People standing in a whiteout are unable to see shadows or landmarks and lose all sense of direction, perception and sometimes even balance as the land and the sky seem to blend into one.

Environment Canada's Warnings are quite specific about the type of weather approaching. Please pay attention to them. There are 10 types of Winter Weather Warnings.

Environment Canada also warns of the level of risk of frostbite associated with a wind chill factor. For example, when the wind chill is from ‑28 to ‑39, exposed skin can freeze in 10 to 30 minutes.

Hypothermia results when body temperature falls below 35 C. Symptoms include drowsiness, impaired co-ordination and weakness. It can also be fatal.

Frostbite is the result of skin freezing. It causes swelling, redness, tingling and burning. Skin turns white and waxy as the frostbite progresses. Infection and loss of extremities can result.

Frostnip is a condition where ice crystals form under the skin. Chilblains occur when bare skin is exposed to cold water, or when wet skin cools. The skin itches and swells. Chilblains can lead to gangrene.

For the record, meteorologists are forecasting an especially cold winter in Toronto. Whee!

The crazy thing is that buildings are maintained at a constant temperature in the low twenties. On a cold day, I already feel the phenomenal heat when I walk through the front door, or enter a building downtown. During a cold snap, stepping through a doorway is going to mean a rise of 40-50 degrees Celsius. Whoa. If I don't freeze, I'll fry.

Wondering about the new photo? It's from Halloween. :) Anything else you should know? Oh - I buy bags of milk here. Yes: bags.

You know you're flush when...

2006-10-23T01:50:00.000+01:00

You can afford to drink milk with your dinner, instead of tap water.

And over a month has passed.

2006-10-22T20:44:00.000+01:00

Sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time is...

That's an attitude I've been (re-)adopting recently, to the cost of my health!

One question arises again and again: "Why would I ever want to go home?" I know that seems a little naive. Canada isn't perfect. Most of my friends and family are across the ocean. I could be earning twice or thrice as much back in Ireland, or perhaps in London. And yet... why would I ever want to go home? How can someone change so much in five weeks? Well, it's happened. My priorities, and indeed my general outlook on life, have undergone a radical shift. All ex-students undergo these shifts, but normally not at such a pace.

I was going to take a stack of photos today, but it's been miserable. So here's two shots out the front window, and one of our Thanksgiving dinner.

I love this city. I'm already putting down tender, youthful roots. I've settled in incredibly well thus far - to the point that I feel like a permanent immigrant, not a temporary worker. An example: one of the reasons I came over here was to avoid being snared by the corporate world between my degrees. I planned to mix up different kinds of work: retail, temp office, cafe, etc. The thing is, wages here are very stingy compared to Dublin, and probably Western Europe in general. A retail job - one without the possibility of commission or tips - normally pays as little as $8 an hour. After tax, that translates to €4.44, or £2.97. While living costs are somewhat lower here, how could one live on that?! So I'm actively pursuing "career-related" jobs. I need the money. Yes, this is supposed to be a fun cultural experience, but it won't be that if I'm living on ramen noodles for the rest of the year. I'll take my salary from 9-5, and my fun and culture during the rest of the week. And so it follows that my work attitude is not "happy-go-lucky Irish traveller", but professional to the core. It's all about impressions, folks. And ok, competence too. I'm chuffed to report that I seem to making good first impressions everywhere I go, whether it be socially or professionally. Confidence is sky-high!

I've been temping for the last week at a printing firm out in North York. It's a long, long way from home. Put it this way - an hour and twenty minutes on Toronto's efficient, quick transport system. The work wasn't exactly stimulating, but at least the staff were friendly. I, of course, put in my best performance - professional, diligent, friendly, self-motivated and showing initiative. On my second day, they offered me a long-term job in a more challenging position, which would involve some training in computer programming. Can't say I wasn't tempted; I gave it a few days' thought. In the end, I declined, due essentially to the poor location. I need to be working much closer to home, and secondly, to be in an urban setting, rather than an outlying industrial estate, with no facilities.

It felt strange to be turning down a good job. I guess it's a reflection of my self-confidence right now. To be offered that on my second day is a great credit to me. There's another thing you learn in Canada (and presumably in the US too): you have to sell yourself. Modesty is for mugs. Play every card. Use every contact. And show just how good you are.

As you may have guessed, I didn't land the non-profit job I was aiming for. I think I came across well in the interview, but the woman who got the position had far more experience. C'est la vie. I have an interview for another, longer-running, temp job next Thursday. The pay is better, the work is more interesting, and the location is fantastic: Yonge and Adelaide. No reason I can't get it. Even better, I've made a high-up contact in one of Canada's biggest banks, which might lead to something quite decent.

Enough of work. Last night, I ended up in a club which can only be described as Copperface Jack's meets Doyle's (upstairs), with a higher proportion of punk in the playlist. 'Twas interesting, to say the least. It had a mixed proportion of crazies, hotties, losers and hipsters. I've added it to my list; I think I'll go there when I'm feeling lazy. Both dressing-up and effort are optional...

Love this city.

Minor milestones.

2006-10-15T02:54:00.000+01:00

4th October 2005 - Bitching Brew is founded.

18th September 2006 - Martin bids a fond goodbye to his old life, and a giddy hello to TO.

23rd September 2006 - I attend my first baseball game. Three dozy hours later, it's clear that I've also attended my last baseball game.

1st October 2006 - Canadian television meets the emigré for the first time.

4th October 2006 - 191 posts later, the first anniversary of my blog passes without notice, as I'm busy moving into my new apartment. I think the first night in my new home was a tad more significant. Euphoria strikes again when I discover the bagel bakery two minutes from my door. :)

5th October 2006 - Martin visits Ikea. Yes, it's almost as big as you've imagined.

12th October 2006 - First snowfall in Toronto. It's chilly out.

13th October 2006 - Second snowfall in Toronto. It's bloody freezing.

Looking forward to a long, cold winter.

House hunting. Job hunting. I hate hunting.

2006-09-28T05:23:00.000+01:00

The novelty wears off pretty quickly. OK, that’s a lie. The sense of wonder is gone, but there’s still a low-level appreciation of novelty. For example, every Wednesday evening, you can buy a slice of pizza at the station for a dollar, which goes to charity. I enjoyed that deal. Naturally, I bought a slice at both ends of my journey!

Still, there is a certain knowledge that this is not a holiday. I’m desperately looking for accommodation, and now for a job as well. Even though I’m spending quite frugally, the costs of eating out (cheaply) and of a few large one-off outlays have really knocked my bank balance. I’ve spent just over a thousand dollars in a mere nine days. It’s worrying in the extreme, considering I’ll need to pay two months’ rent up-front. Equally pertinent is the knowledge that my first pay cheque is at best three weeks away. The realisation has prompted a shift in mentality – Ronnie Drew and his Seven Drunken Nights have come to an end.

Checked out two more houses today; one was bad and the other was horrendous. I’m looking with three Canadians, who are quite desperate to find a place too. The upshots are that they’re cool, would be great to live with, and that we can divide our time efficiently. The downside is that finding a large property is much more difficult than acquiring a single room. Toronto's a massive city (as shown by this map), but it's impractical for me to live too far from the downtown areas. I’ll give this a little longer, but if nothing comes to pass, alternatives will have to be sought. I can’t stay in the hostel – or any hostel – for much longer. I feel like I’ve been here about a month already; it seems ages since I’ve seen any of you.

I’m trying to get work through agencies, and due to the accommodation crisis, I’ve only just begun the search. Still waiting on a callback, though from all accounts, they’re sharper than their nasty Irish brethren. I think I’ll need employment by next week, or the week after at the very very latest. Again, if the agencies don’t respond soon, I’m going downmarket and taking the first retail/café job I can find to tide me over. There’s a jobs fair on tomorrow, which I’ll head for. It was on today, and I heard it wasn’t up to much, but it’d be senseless not to try.

This all sounds really depressing, but I’m in good spirits. Have been – and am – having a good time, have met some great people, and I love this fantastic city. Alas, the holiday is over and I need to sort myself out, five thousand miles from home. Things haven’t fallen into place yet. Not that I expected them to, but I had hoped they would. :)

P.S. Before I get my first anxiety-laden message, I’m interrupting my recent spell of quiet, dry, early nights tomorrow with a SWAP night out in a flash bar. I may even bring my camera, which I’ve really been neglecting.

P.P.S. To my fellow exile in North America, check your email and send me your phone number!!!

A tight, queasy knot.

2006-09-17T20:55:00.000+01:00

The night is setting on life as I know it. Tomorrow morning, I fly for Toronto, and step alone into a new life, in a new town.

I didn't think it would be so hard. Not the packing, and no, not even the bureaucracy. I mean leaving all these wonderful people behind. My stomach churns, knowing that I won't see them for at least a year. And to think - I don't even know some of them that long.

Even though I've been working like a demon, I've had the best summer of my life. For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable - like I really belong. Now, with immaculate timing, I'm about to pull up those new and happy roots.

Don't get me wrong. I'm really looking forward to Toronto. This is going to be the time of my life. However, unlike previous trips abroad, a year (or two?) away carries hefty opportunity costs. Parties will be had without me there. Where someone would have called me up, another number will be dialled. People move on. They grow, they change, they hurt, they bleed. They sing, they laugh, they love, they cry. Friendships fade. Or alternatively, they endure, without the stress of another year at close quarters. What will be for each and every one?

Who shall I call? A friend can be replaced, or more precisely, can be substituted. The loss can be absorbed. Friends, on the other hand, are irreplaceable.

Life is a rollercoaster. Not because it has ups and downs - then it could just be a wave. No, it's because thrills, excitement, anxiety and terror all come together in one giddy, compelling and frightening brew.

And so ends my last post from Dublin. Stay tuned over the coming week for the first bulletin from Toronto. Remember - I'll be back. ;)

A short musing.

2006-07-12T22:23:00.000+01:00

I find it impossible to objectify people. I can't help but remain acutely aware that each person has feelings, hopes, fears, dreams and uncertainties of their own. I'm not talking about scientific data; how can a bare statistic be humanised? Only through picking out an individual, or individuals, from that mass.

What interests - or bothers - me is how someone can objectify (dehumanise?) another breathing, speaking, thinking person in their presence. We only need look at various wars and genocides to see the ultimate outcome of this, but the less destructive instances are more common, such as treating people as means to an end. There's a distinction between objectifying someone and treating them badly. Even if you take pains to avoid a beggar's gaze, you're implicitly recognising their humanity. If you kick a homeless guy out of the way, that's objectification.

Oh, there are reams of theories to explain this, scientific and otherwise. I can follow the explanations; however, I can't understand the act. That's probably a good thing... probably.

Good times? Yup.

2006-06-20T18:11:00.000+01:00

The hip-hop dancing was great. I just want to put that on the record. I wouldn't go so far as to say I excelled at it. ;) The first half was tough going. My body was pulled in unusual ways, and it's a long time since I've had to memorise patterns of physical movements; I gave up judo six years ago. I soon got into the swing of things. ('Into the groove' was far too obvious.) I was pleasantly surprised at my own flexibility, as well as my ability to mimic the patterns and move to different rhythms. It was really enjoyable, and I felt fantastic afterwards!

My mentality's subtly been shifting for the last few weeks. I feel a lot looser and freer; more willing to put myself out there and to experiment. The end of college, and indeed the end of exams, has surely been a factor. Nor can I discount the effect of some turbulent arguments! Most important, I think, is the knowledge that I'm moving on in less than three months. The implication is that nothing long-term can arise right now, in any field. Thus I find myself looking for temp work, dipping into short classes, and lifting some emotional weight off my shoulders.

To have strong passions can at times be a curse. My current transient state is easing these passions, or (perhaps more accurately) channeling them in a different way. I'm more open to different patterns, and I do feel emotionally freer. Perhaps it's just a more realistic attitude, impinging on one corner of my life. I'm interested to see how this is going to play out; I certainly can't predict how!

Stepping (gingerly) onto the dancefloor. Or table.

2006-06-19T01:10:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow, I shall be attending my first hip-hop dancing class. Technically, it'll be later today, but I stubbornly cling to my body clock rather than the beast of Greenwich.

Dance lessons have always been on my to-do list, but sufficiently low on the ladder to ensure that I never got around to them. I think they ranked just below climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, but a tad above learning what 'qua' meant. Ah, qua. The online dictionary does not do the word justice. Comprehending Qua is the philosophical equivalent of hazing.

If ever a post of mine digressed...

There are three reasons why I'm taking a leap into the supple and sultry world of hip-hop dancing. For one, my dancing skills were put to the test on a night out last Friday, and I was found a little wanting. Of course, I was slightly tipsy and on a table at the time. (Of course...) The audience seemed to approve, but I felt my performance lacked that special zing. Zing being a precious combination of technique and rhythm. Ah, Coyote Ugly... Secondly, I've finished college, yet I still have some dignity intact. This problem ought to be remedied, though as you can see from the preceding few lines, I'm an excellent problem-solver. The primary reason, however, is that the opportunity simply presented itself.

This should be fun. :)

Reading list for the summer (and beyond).

2006-06-06T15:55:00.000+01:00

Following on from my last post about the stack of grubby second-hand books...
Beware! My list may sound a wee bit pretentious. The reason for this is that I'm far more inclined to put the highbrow books on the long finger. The last five books I finished were:

John Perkins - Confessions of an Economic Hit Man
Jonathan Coe - Like A Fiery Elephant: The Story of B.S. Johnson
Asne Seierstad - With Their Backs to the World: Portraits from Serbia
Bertrand Russell - Sceptical Essays
Aldous Huxley - Brave New World

OK, not exactly a collection of popular fiction. I stand indicted of middle-brow tastes at the least. What can I say? When I want pure entertainment, I hit the town, go to the cinema, watch TV, scream at a football match, or listen to music. I still find books fun. For instance, that biography of B.S. Johnson was addictive. Best book I've read in ages. Even better: I have it in hardback. :)

Currently, I'm dipping in and out of, or juggling, a small cohort of books:

Tacitus - The Annals and The Histories
Gore Vidal - United States: Essays 1952-1992
H.J. Blackham - Six Existentialist Thinkers
F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Best Early Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald
Christopher Hitchens - Love, Poverty & War: Journeys and Essays
Baylis & Smith - The Globalization of World Politics (a textbook: dull but necessary)
Franz Kafka - The Complete Novels
P.J. O'Rourke - Holidays in Hell
Hamilton, Jay & Madison - The Federalist: A Commentary on the Constitution of the United States

Meanwhile, a fair few books haven't been started, or were abandoned half-way through. Among these, my priorities are:

Stendhal - The Charterhouse of Parma
Garrison Keillor - We Are Still Married
Joseph Conrad - Heart of Darkness & Other Stories
Marcel Proust - The Way By Swann's
Byron - Selected Poetry of Lord Byron
Homer - The Iliad and The Odyssey
Norman Porter - Rethinking Unionism
Henry James - The Portrait of a Lady
Michel Foucault - Madness and Civilization

I would tell you about the books on my wish-list, but I think I'd lose my last few readers. Even if they're far more contemporary than the set you've just waded through! Masochists can click here for a look. Don't worry, I'm not fishing for gifts. I haven't added a mailing address or anything! ;)

Remembrance of a summer past.

2006-06-02T01:48:00.000+01:00

Earlier this evening, whilst rooting through a stack of papers and second-hand books, I came across the notebook from my American adventure. I'd always meant to write those notes up into proper prose, but never got around to it. Besides, I gave up on the journal half-way through; I had fallen several days behind due to the sheer volume of stories.

I hadn't so much as glanced at the notebook in several months. I was surprised at how leaden the writing was, even by my exemplary standards. In fairness, there was a discernable improvement in style and sentence construction over the few weeks' entries. The first dozen pages or so are woeful.

However, leaving aside the clumsy rhythms, the notebook is chock-full of observations. The littlest and the strangest things seemed to have taken on significance for me. I shouldn't be surprised; the tendency was commented on while I was over there! Memories are flooding back, and yet it seems so distant. No disputing that it was one of my formative experiences. I'd changed and grown quite a bit by the end, but the impact was still being absorbed for months after.

A few cards and receipts fell out when I opened the small, emerald, hardcovered notebook. Some of them had addresses and emails on them. Now, I belatedly recall failing to respond to a German who sent a friendly email back in January. Oops. I had genuinely meant to respond and attach some photos from the trip, but life got in the way.

Beside me I have a card from the Cuba Libre rum bar in Philadelphia. Apparently they have a sister bar in Atlantic City. Interesting. I also discovered the card from what we referred to as "The Chinatown Bus". That's not the actual name, but it's largely in Chinese, so I can't read it. The Chinatown Bus is a loose term for a group of private coaches plying the trade between the various Chinatowns along the northeastern seaboard. I heard about it through the hostel grapevine, and took it from Philly up to New York. It was a real community-type operation; I was the only non-Asian on that (packed) bus. 'Twas cool though - far more comfortable than Greyhound.

The East Coast was in the grip of a 100 degree heatwave while I was there. So intercity travel with a 25kg backpack was quite the spiritual experience. Never mind that New York was my least favourite stop; I remember my arrival vividly. The notebook helps too.

I parked myself in a window seat on the left-hand side of the bus. Though my backpack was nestled in the hold, I was still overloaded; a paper carrier bag was wedged between my feet, with the small travel bag on my lap. That made a comfortable platform for writing! A mother and baby were seated next to me for the entire bus ride. They seemed friendly, though neither spoke English. This didn't impede their status as the loudest couple on the coach. Hmph. A lot of the notebook was written on that bus, perhaps explaining the poor standard of my Philly diary.

I'd never before been on an American highway, nor indeed witnessed the marvel that is a spaghetti junction. Both flowers were disposed of en route. We cruised across the state of New Jersey on I-95; there wasn't much to see apart from some heavy industry and a monstrous electrical grid. Interstates are incredibly straight, and designed specifically to hide any feature of interest from the driver's view. This does little for the goggle-eyed passenger, but in a region where half the vehicles have sole occupancy, that wasn't unexpected.

I was sad to be leaving Philly behind. I'd had a great few days there, and had made some fun acquaintances in a bar the previous night. One Costa Rican girl in particular was distinctly hot and interested, and I was quite tempted to stick around for a little longer. Yet as I sat collecting my thoughts for the notebook, any regrets were diluted by the anticipation coursing through my veins. After about 90 minutes, we drew close to Jersey City, across the Hudson from Manhattan. The highway was gently steepening, until at the crest of the hill an unforgettable vista unfolded. No more than 30 miles away, framed by the alice-blue sky and the cobalt bay, the famous Manhattan skyline soared above the horizon. It was a magical moment. I was giddy. New York. New York! Wow! WOW! To my fellow passengers, this was humdrum. I wanted to share the gushing thrill, to bounce it off others and drink in their excitement to reinforce and inflate my own even further. But no. I resorted to firing off a couple of text messages in a useless attempt to convey the magic.

Hmm. This post is growing far too lengthy. For my next instalment, I'll reveal what happened on my arrival in Manhattan. Prepare yourselves. :P

Fin de siècle, or Now What?

2006-05-28T21:01:00.000+01:00

I have one exam left on Wednesday, but I've found it impossible to study today. I'm burned out after the first four. Must get going tomorrow morning.

Anyway, the existential angst is rising. The bottom line: after Wednesday, What Do I Do? All my life I've had something ahead of me; I didn't realise at the time what a comfort that was. Yes, I'm going to Toronto in September, but there's nothing structured about that either. What Do I Do there? Or for the next three months? Or when I return from Canada?

It's not just the lack of direction in my own life; my whole social scene is about to dissipate. Sure, I'll see plenty of them around over the summer, but even then, it'll be far less frequent. And what about the ones leaving? Most of my closest friends - and plenty more besides - are about to disappear to foreign lands. When will I see them again? A year? Two? Five?! On top of that, I'm about to vanish for a year myself. It could be longer than that if, upon my return, I head straight back off to Britain for postgrad. I won't see my Irish friends for at least 12 months, possibly a multiple of that. So those friendships are going to be affected too. Whoa.

It's been brought home to me in the last few days. In six days, my long-term sidekick in Economics is leaving. We've seen each other practically every day for years now. I don't know when I'll next see her. It could be years. Another good college friend leaves for America soon. I might see him while I'm in Toronto, but it would be brief. One of the few (only?) friends left from my schooldays is emigrating to Australia in a few weeks. These are just the June departures. Even more vanish before September. I am going to really miss all these people.

But, you say, you yourself are off to Canada! You're not going to see anyone for a year, of your own volition! What's the big deal? Simple - I'm probably coming back here afterwards. When you throw yourself into a foreign land, you have to sink or swim. I'm going to get out there and meet a bunch of new friends. It'll be great! It's not like that when you're at home. There's a big difference between the two scenarios of all your friends leaving, and of leaving yourself. I'm not sure which is harder. The latter is a greater risk, and a greater challenge, but it's my choice, and the rewards are bounteous. The former is less risky, but is unchosen, and offers few rewards, if any.

Whew. I'm going to be saying a lot of goodbyes in September, but I know I'll be back (at least for a while), and that an amazing experience lies ahead of me. Before Saturday passes, and then over the succeeding weeks, I'm going to be saying just as many goodbyes; only in these cases, there is an air of finality. I may never see some of them again, and as for the rest, the time of reunion is distant and indeterminate.

I know they're off to a better life, but for my own part, it's scary. I guess this is the very feeling I'm soon to subject my own family and friends to. :)

Whew.

2006-05-27T15:03:00.000+01:00

Aaaaaah. That feels so good. I've just come through a hardcore test of my academic credentials, and I haven't flunked it! My fourth 3-hour exam in five days went quite well. It wasn't first class, as I ran out of time, but 'twas good. There were two unseen essay questions to answer.

Why has Africa's overall economic performance been so dismal for the past 20 years and what can be done to improve its growth prospects?

Why do economies grow? Discuss.

The first one suited me down to the ground; I'm better at development and trade economics than (possibly?) anyone else in the year. So I wrote a six page spiel on that. Ran out of time toward the end, so my concluding two paragraphs were messy. Nevertheless, I'll spit blood if I don't get a First for that answer. The second question was highly theoretical, and I hadn't prepared for it. In fact, it's just the kind of topic I did miserably in on Thursday. I think I pulled through, but I didn't have time to finish my arguments. It was workmanlike, and another 10 minutes would really have helped. I probably pulled something between a 57 and a 62 for that answer. So I predict an average for the paper of a mid-high 2.1. That's fine. A First would have been nice, but my exams haven't worked out that way. They've been too compacted to devote the necessary revision to any single one.

So as it stands, three of the four exams have gone well. My overall 2.1 is safe, as is the 2.1 in the major. If I assume a 65-67 in my three good exams and a 56 in my bad one, then I'm on course for a 63-65% average in Economics, which would imply a 64-66% average in the overall degree. Hmmm. I'd really like a 66; a 66 in any course is generally considered equivalent to an A in an American university. That might matter in the future if/when I go for postgrad. For readers unfamiliar with the British & Irish system, I'm aware that my talk of 2.1s and Firsts might sound... confusing! It goes as follows: a First is above 70%, a 2.1 between 60 and 69, a 2.2 between 50 and 59, and a Third - pronounced Turd ;) - between 40 and 49. Apparently these are the conversions for individual course modules:

The following is a widely adapted system of equivalences:

Mark Equivalent grade
66%+ A
63-65% A-
61-62% B+
58-60% B
55-57% B-
52-54% C+
48-51% C
45-47% C-
40-44% D
0-39% F

Even for British or Irish colleges, a "high 2.1" (code for 66%+) is the benchmark for entry into all but the most competitive courses. From my limited research, a bare 2.1 (i.e. 60-61%) appears to be rated equivalent to a GPA of 3.1 or 3.2. So regarding the high 2.1, I'd surmise that such a mark in the final degree is interpreted as an A- rather than an A, implying a GPA-equivalent of 3.5 to 3.7. It'll do the job for me.

Anyway, I'm feeling good. Went for coffee and a bagel afterwards; had a chat and cleared our minds. I might even take a break from study for the rest of the day - I do have three whole days left to study for the next one. Not enough really... but if I go hardcore, I can wing a good 2.1. Scared about the Law questions. At least my background in Philosophy should give me an edge over the other economists. I don't mean that in a competitive sort of way; I just hope it carries me through the exam.

On a lighter note: if you ever need a boost, my finals have taught me that smoothies and cream cheese bagels are the way to go. Not together though; either one alone is sufficient!

Pulling through. The end is nigh.

2006-05-26T14:38:00.000+01:00

Today's exam went well. Feeling much better now! So I have two mid-high 2.1s and a 2.2 in the bag now. Pure speculation, of course, but I'm generally able to predict my result to within 3 or 4 percent. I didn't quite get the last question finished today, but the three previous answers were definitely in the "very good to excellent" category. I needed that to go well. It's a big break for me.

So I'm more than half-way through my finals. I've the unseen general paper tomorrow, but I feel confident I can write two coherent essays on whatever topic comes up. Law on Wednesday still scares me, but a 2.1 tomorrow would guarantee me a 2.1 in Economics, regardless of Wednesday's outcome. I might still be on course for an average grade of around 65%, which is decent if unspectacular. Yesterday's result has destroyed any postgrad aspirations in (pure?) Economics, so I will have to look somewhere else. But that's a year and a half away, so I'm not going to fret too much. I should still be able to get into a Master's programme in Politics, History or Psychology, which were my other choices. If I do well in one of those, then a Ph.D. would be open to me if I wish.

I want so desperately to relax and have some fun, but I can't until Wednesday. The physical and mental strain is taking a definite toll. I haven't slept properly in a week; I've been averaging three hours a night since Sunday. If I had any money, I'd treat myself to a CD or something!

Whoa! I feel good! I [didn't know] that I would now.

2006-05-22T00:42:00.000+01:00

Update: if anyone really cares, I added a couple more pre-Ball photos a little further down the page.

Coming home tonight, I felt grrreat. On a fine high! It's amazing what a productive day's study (and a wise selection of music on the bus ride home) can do. I worked in college from 12 until 11, with very few breaks. I feel like I've nailed most of the pure maths for Thursday. Tuesday's exam is more imminent, so tomorrow shall be even more hardcore. I plan a stint from 9am until 10pm.

I've found the most wonderful place to study. I've never been so productive. It literally is my ideal environment: a small atrium deep within the Hamilton (Science) block. It's serene, almost empty and amazingly airy. Sod's Law dictates that I'd only discover such a location the weekend before my finals. I'm very sensitive to my study environment; had I found this earlier, I would certainly be getting a First in my degree. Alas no.

Last night the bus journey home was traumatic. Two hours (11.30 - 1.30), with all kinds of nonsense. Tonight's was fine; I played some Morrissey, Interpol and Stone Roses before closing with a triple blast from Bruce Springsteen. Exactly what I needed - driving, air-punching, sing-along rock! Yes, that nut walking through North Dublin around midnight, singing out "Waitin' on a Sunny Day" with a dumb grin and not a care in the world... that might have been me. The song that came to an end as I fumbled for my keys: "Countin' on a Miracle". How apt!

I feel good. Now for four hours' sleep - here's hoping the adrenaline carries me through the next ten days!

An Ode to MSN Messenger.

2006-05-19T00:45:00.000+01:00

Yes, I'm angry.

For all the times you've let me down,
Fuck you.
For forcing upgrades over dial-up,
Fuck you.
For the shameful hold you have on me,
Fuck you.
For the essays, exams and projects you've ruined,
Fuck you.
For all the times you won't deliver,
Fuck you.
For those all-nights you kept me up,
Fuck you.
For every time you cut me off,
Fuck you.
And for keeping friends off AIM,
Fuck you.

Reliable old AIM. Never lets me down. MSN has killed too many conversations dead. One too many. Fuck you.

My stomach's in a knot.

2006-05-16T20:18:00.000+01:00

That is all.

(In short.)

At length:

Cursed by last night's dreams and a morning full of portents. Troubled by my inability to focus - unable to study at all. My mouth was dry, I paced the room. Something momentous was coming; I knew not what. On hands and toes, I pushed my body up - up - up against the fearsome gravity. Twenty, thirty, fifty, seventy times - with each collapse, I hoped to drive away the aimless sense of foreboding and expectation. But futility prevailed.

What am I? Damned by desire, always damned by desire. Desires with direction; desires on every level.

Leafing through my lecture notes, I stumbled across a poem; the poem was scribbled in lieu of a mathematical derivation. The final lines tell all:

My heart's depart
My mind hath followed

I sit, still dry and twitchy. Did the moment come? Perhaps it did, for something found me. But it danced and deflected and drifted away, tugging all the while at my damned desire. I do try to seize the moment, but at times my hands are too wet. And y'know what? - the stupid rhymeless ditty came true. Again, my stomach's in a knot. The exams are a mere factor. I've been here before. Tormented, tormented, tormented!

This isn't depression I face. Depression is the abyss yawning before you. Depression is a vertigo. On the contrary, this torment is giddy. I am standing on a precipice, but I'm looking toward the sky in expectation, high as a kite. I'll walk forward and into the abyss without ever noticing, because the sky is so delightfully enthralling. I wonder what my body would sound like - slamming against those rocks? I'd hit the bottom with a crump, but my broken eyes would look with wonder at the far blue sky, even as they glaze before rotting in their shattered sockets.

My exams are next week. I'm ruined and I know it.

Don't get me wrong - I genuinely am not depressed. In fact, despite the little abyss theme I ran with I'm not downbeat at all. My shoulders are seasoned with ridiculous hope, but coupled with the understandable jitters in my feet, I'm twitchy as hell.

Tomorrow is going to be productive. I'm going to get up and out early. Before the library opens, I'll get breakfast and coffee with sanity. That ought to put me right for the day. It usually does. :)

Graduation is tedium.

2006-05-06T19:10:00.000+01:00

My exams begin in just two and a half weeks. I also have a 20-page paper due next week. The combination is a little frightening.

Earlier in the week, a stack of information about my graduation ceremony squeezed through my letter-box. It's scheduled for the 13th of November; so as it stands, I won't be able to attend. The family are rather disappointed with that revelation; I'll be the first one on this side of the family to graduate from university. I might be able to switch to a different ceremony in early July, but there are bureaucratic obstacles. None of my class or friends would be graduating then, which would take all the fun out of the day.

Anyway! I'm nonplussed at missing my graduation, as it's a rather dull, pretentious and expensive affair. Trinity wouldn't be Trinity without ladling on the pretension. The ceremony is conducted entirely in Latin. The letter informed me that "children will find the proceedings long and tedious". Only children? ;)

OK, I confess - I'd like to go... but only to find out what my name is in Latin!

The degree parchments themselves are in Latin, but an English translation can be requested (no doubt for a fee). Photography ranges from €50 to €116, depending on requirements. €85 to hire the required clothing for its hour-long use, and another €98 just to be conferred with the degree! Grr. There's a "special dinner" at €30 per head. I know exactly what that food tastes like, so I shan't be paying. I would happily go for dinner somewhere else though. :) There aren't any dinners in July, so no dilemma arises.

It's all very meh. There are an infinite number of events which promise a lot more fun. If I was to be in Ireland in November, I'd love to go - to see everyone again and have a fantastic night. But I'm not going to be here, so... meh. I'm not spending a thousand euro just to fly back for it!!!

Decisions, decisions.

2006-04-14T20:54:00.000+01:00

A long and wonderful phase of my life is drawing to a close. I'm talking about my college years; I've only a fortnight of lectures left. Furthermore, my exams will be over by the 31st of May. This really is the end, and it's terrifying!

I've been tied up in knots recently. Between college work, a thesis that went wrong, women (!) and trying to figure out what I want to do next year, everything's been a squelchy mental mess. I certainly want to do further study. The stress of the last few months is going to knock a few lumps out of my degree, but I still expect to get good grades. I won't ace the thing, that's all. So my grades ought to be strong enough to get me into most postgraduate courses. I've come to realise that, given my recent stresses, the élite colleges and the most competitive fields are closed to me. That's focussed my mind a lot. In fact, it's not such a bad thing. I know now that I don't want to be a professional economist. I don't think I want to study up to Ph.D. level in anything, though it's possible I'll change my mind.

So I've been looking at taking Masters or Diplomas in different disciplines. I've thought about psychology, literature, history and politics. I'm quite sure (at time of writing) that I'd like to take an M.Sc. in International Political Economy. Not so far from economics after all! Essentially, I'd be studying the interactions between politics and economics at an international level. But it's firmly rooted in politics, as opposed to economics. It's a niche field, but there are several good degrees being offered in Britain. LSE is out of my league, but the likes of Warwick, Durham, Manchester, Sussex and Bristol are viable options.

BUT - I'm not sure. It's a lot of money, it's a crucial decision, and I'm under a lot of pressure at the moment; so I've decided to take a year out. Now, what should I do with the next 12-15 months, eh? I could take a job up and move into the city. I could work for a few months in order to fund travel. I could even do some internships or work for NGOs. All so confusing. I do need some money to get by, and I really want to get into the city and share a place. Hate the outer suburbs. Hate them. And to add to the brew...

I discovered today that the Canadian visa programme is offering additional places. I'll need to make my mind up fast and apply, as it's very popular. If I do apply, I'll have a 12-month multiple-entry visa to work and travel in Canada. It begins whenever I arrive, which can be any time from 1st May to 31st December. Wow. A year in Canada sounds fantastic. A few friends are at a loose end as well, having decided to take a year out, so I'm going to see whether any of them are interested. This could be the time of my life! It's a big decision as well, so I need to weigh up the pros and cons. Honestly, there aren't any cons inherent in the idea, I'm thinking more about opportunity costs. In other words, what I'd miss out on by committing myself to this. But it's a great opportunity, and I'm enthused, so even though it's just popped into my head, I think there's a 60% chance I'll go for it! :)

A much shorter quiz.

2006-03-17T00:22:00.000+00:00

The last one of these I'll post for a while, I promise. :)

Tell me about your favourite...

Book: Jack Kerouac's On the Road weakly scrapes home. I don't have a favourite book, really. I like the sheer adventure, the jazzy rhythms of the prose, and the sense that these characters are pioneers - muddled, confused and lost pioneers - ploughing a new and risky furrow. It's not the greatest book ever, but it stirred my sense of adventure and inspired me to travel, and for that I'll always cherish my grey paperback.

Album: The Smiths' The Queen is Dead. I know: hardly a curve ball selection. Never mind that it's one of the seminal records of indie; what I care about is its relation to me. I'm not a permanent misanthrope by any means, but I certainly identify with Morrissey in so many of his songs. He doesn't just express his sadness and alienation in the romantic spirit - he does it with wit. "I Know It's Over" and "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out" are inimitable. If you've never had a moment where those songs echoed your very essence, then you've lived a charmed life.

Song: This is far more transient than the album choice. Recently, I've had a crush on Bjork's "Hyper-ballad". I'm not entirely sure why. I understand the song and what it's expressing, but I haven't experienced that. I think it's refracting through my own life to produce a strange, unforeseen yet heartfelt interpretation.

Film: Tough, because there's no film I've watched more than ten times. Very few over three even. Right now, I'll go for Amelie, simply because it's a delight of a movie.

Place: San Francisco. Closer to home, the Iveagh Gardens off Harcourt Street are peaceful, relatively unknown, and lovely. More generally, bed, but anywhere with my favourite people will keep me cheery.

Person: I decline to answer. I do have a definite group of favourite people, from whom I could probably pick one right now. But I won't. Suffice to say that the winner is someone I trust completely, who makes me giggle at the silliest things, who laughs at and humours my woeful puns and one-liners, who's smart and challenging (and pulls me up when I'm not), shares a goody set of my interests, and whose very appearance makes me smile, because I love their company so. Note too that each person on the shortlist ticks most, maybe even all, of those boxes.

Moment: I'm not sure. Certain marvellous moments spring to mind - those brief occasions you wish you could enjoy forever. When nothing else seemed to matter, nor did it seem like anything else ever would. A close runner-up would have to be gliding through a hamlet in Virginia. On a sweaty, starry July night, at 2am in a dark and touching-silent carriage, the air-conditioning set to shiver, I leaned on the window, enraptured, drinking with my eyes the porches of cheap wooden homes, just metres away, unshielded from the track. Laundry hung and toys lay strewn. Lights glowed softly on the porches and through some windows. In warm butter a couple in silhouette embraced, dead to the passing voyeur, yet so bewitchingly vital to him.

By my bedside this week.

2005-12-28T00:10:00.000+00:00

My usual reading habit is to digest a single novel at a time. However, most of my latest acquisitions haven't been novels. So in addition to (as diversion from?) my academic work, I'm dipping into four books on the go.

Christopher Hitchens, Love, Poverty & War - Journeys and Essays
Lord Byron, Selected Poetry of Lord Byron
Bertrand Russell, Sceptical Essays
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Best Early Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald

Also, I finished Aldous Huxley's Brave New World last night. By coincidence, I discovered that one of the pieces in the Hitchens collection is a foreword he wrote... to an edition of that very book!

I like this new mode of reading. I enjoy essays immensely - as long as they have at least a mild literary bent. Economic and philosophical essays intrigue me also, but they require so much more effort; 'lucid and clear' being a dictum seldom heeded. They need to be studied, not read in bed. Admittedly, any good essay should be examined as well as read, but it's nice to enjoy a first (or subsequent) reading, isn't it?

There's some superb literature in the forementioned books. All come highly recommended! If I was to pick a favourite so far, it would be the Fitzgerald collection, but I haven't read a majority of any of the books. Byron's poetry is masterful, but it requires dedication to read through just a single canto; really, you lose by taking a canto in stages. I owe Hitchens and Russell (of all people!) the honour of a more attentive read. Some of Hitchens' short tales recall a more detached Hunter S. Thompson. Witty and inspired! (To be fair, wit is nine-tenths inspiration.)

A beautiful night.

2005-12-26T17:16:00.000+00:00

I did my usual last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve. 'Twas impressive work - all gifts and cards purchased in a 90-minute spree! Afterwards, I had a few drinks before taking the last bus home.

The sky in the city was clear, but further north, rolls of fog descended. The visibility was poor - the worst I'd ever seen. Once I'd hopped off the bus, I couldn't see even the outlines of objects more than 5 metres away. Any light sources were completely diffused and swallowed up by the amorphous mist. While I could navigate from memory, I was very disoriented. Which didn't scare me; rather, it was wonderful. The streets were deserted. The clouds had swallowed every trace of the world. A gorgeous solitude, of a quality I hadn't experienced since I'd arrived back in Ireland.

On the bus, I'd been listening to the new Sigur Rós album, Takk... for the first time. Alighting into the fog, it was uniquely appropriate: a transcendent polyphonic medley, with the passionate wisps and wails of an Icelandic lover. I have no idea what the lyrics mean; they could be banal as Travis. I suspect not, but I do not care. Language is younger than feeling.

On each play, the music calls to mind fresh and surreal imagery, but the overriding impression is of being joyfully lost in shimmering white light. My head rested on the window of the bus, but it could have been a train drifting into the night; a cool summer's night, its black and heady air holding down the plains of Nebraska. That was the sixth song on the album, Sæglòpur, conjuring up the thrill and expectation of spiritual adventure. Only this time I could step off the train - fulfilling my desire to fall into the bracing, alien world. And there I wandered, alone and giddy in the clouds, breathing the silver air, though it often turned pale yellow, or cerise, once even indigo, depending on the ambient light. As the album drew to a close, I made my way home. Though it was a beautiful solitude, I wanted to share Svo Hljótt with someone. Someone as beautiful as the song and the night. I didn't, of course. Someday I will. I'll set speakers up in the back garden, perhaps, or maybe in a park. Set a blanket down, and play Takk... as mist falls and midnight calls. Delirious.

I paid for my romanticism, naturally. Dancing (metaphorically) like a loon in a cold heavy fog does nothing for the lungs or throat - my voice is gone, sold to a rasping cough. Whatever. As long as I can write, dance, touch, see and hear. And yes, I'm weird. :)