In which I blog about fashion

More small people are getting ignored by the fashion industry.

On the one hand: You live in New York and shop at Bloomingdales. You can afford to either shop around or hire someone to make some alterations. Quit whining.

On the other hand: Being five-foot-nothing and all-around tiny, I feel your pain. I still haven't forgiven Old Navy for discontinuing size 0 pants, since they were the one place I knew I could find jeans that would fit. And really, once you're past the age of twelve and therefore don't want sparkly butterflies and flowers embroidered on all your clothing, the girls' department isn't really an option.

Tell me, o Portugal, can virtue be taught?

I want to move to Portugal.

Why?

Because their Prime Ministers name is Jose Socrates. What further reason do I need?

"No redeeming qualities"

It's not often that you find a school district willing to flat-out say that something has no good qualities and it's pure crap. Schools are generally required, by the nature of their business, to be ego-boosters in addition to educators. But, then there's this:

LOWER BURRELL, Pa. -- A middle school student was suspended for three days for sharing chewing gum because it contained caffeine, school officials said.

The girl, whose name and age were not released, gave another Huston Middle School student Jolt gum. The gum is "a stimulant that has no other redeeming quality," said Amy Palermo, schools superintendent.

What? Okay, say students aren't allowed to have gum, fine. What if this girl brought in a thermos of coffee? Of tea? What if someone brought a can of Red Bull with their lunch?

And I'd love to know what Huston Middle School's policy on drugs such as Ritalin are.

A list of some brief moments of culture shock I've had

1. Every time I'm on a bus that makes a right turn.
2. When I was at the National Museum in Dublin and got a soda in the cafe there. The soda dispenser was self-serve, but there was no ice dispenser. I had to ask for some.
3. The first day I worked 9-5, and when I was walking around after work, all the shops were starting to close.
4. Having changed my blog's location on SiteMeter, someone from Istanbul is now considerably closer to me than someone in Massachusetts.
5. I had to search a shelf to find peanut butter at a grocery store. There were a dozen varieties of Nutella, but only three types of peanut butter.
6. At a wildlife preserve I went to recently, there were several different school groups, despite it being rainy all day. I realized that in a country with far more rainy days than sunny, field trips are probably cancelled a lot less often. (note: I am still bitter about a certain field trip that got cancelled when I was in sixth grade.)
7. The Irish equivelant of Public Broadcasting (RTE) broadcasts church bells every day at six PM.
8. There are churches. Everywhere.
9. Google knows I'm in Ireland.
10. You can pretty much drive cross-country in a day. On the weather on TV, the entire country is sometimes obscured completely by clouds in the radar view. Also, Europe is on the same map.
11. There aren't any skyscrapers. There are, however, impressively tall buildings that were built hundreds of years ago.
12. You don't get a free glass of water in restaurants.
13. I was out one day and, on a whim, looked in a few shops for a coffee machine. None were to be found.
14. "White coffee".
15. Pubs. Social life seems to revolve around them.
16. Cities are small and in that sense, walkable. Confusing to walk, but as my flatmate pointed out, that's because pretty much every city and large town in Ireland is close to, if not more than, a thousand years old.
17. My groceries the other day came to fifteen-something euro. I paid with a twenty and only got coins in return.

Boundries? What are they?

Another case of school districts shoving their noses in places where their noses ought not to be: now you can't talk about 'illegal or inappropriate' behavior outside of school, online.

Sure, anything published online is by definition expected to be public (with the possible exception of password-protected sites and things like friends-only LJ entries). This doesn't mean that the school has the right to hold something a student writes and posts outside of school against that student. Keep in mind this is not a private school, but public.

Obviously I can't say for certain about this, but here's my interpretation of this new policy: Say I'm a student in the ironically-named Libertyville. I'm not, but say I am. Say I also play soccer for the school. In order to play soccer, the district tells me that I have to sign a piece of paper saying I will conduct myself a certain way, including online. Sure, I sign it, because I want to play soccer. A few weeks later, I find a great directory of torrents online, so I put a link to that site in my LiveJournal or blog and say, "Hey, check out this great site - free movies!" Two days later, acting on a tip from a "concerned parent" the school administration comes and...well, presumably there's not a very happy ending for me.

Personally, I don't like this trend.

A refutation

I'm fairly certain I've missed him and he's either fishing in New Mexico, or touring through Peru at this point, but Ouroboros recently had some interesting things to say about Da Vinci Code. I was going to just leave him some comments on his blog but I got a little bit long-winded. So. Let us begin.

1. I, too, have no problem with the book. I personally take the view that if there is a book that will get a modern person to sit down and read rather than watch TV, that's a good thing. Nor do I have any problem with the movie. Ireland's equivilent of the MPAA is the IFCO, the Irish Film Censors Office, a name that makes me shudder a little bit. Go see movies, read books, whatever: no one else has the right to tell you "this is bad". They do, however, have the right to say "I personally think this is incorrect/offensive/idiotic/etc." I also fully believe that nothing on the Times fiction bestseller list should be taken all that seriously as anything other than fiction. So on this point I agree with Ouroboros: read it, if you'd like. See the movie. Just don't be surprised when people start telling you you're a bit off when you accept it as truth.

2. Da Vinci was an awesome guy. I don't know all that much about him, but I know intellectually he was pretty well ahead of his time. But I don't agree that the book made him into "little more than a conspirator in some sexual coverup". The way I read it, Brown was basically saying that Da Vinci was one hell of a subversive. He was leaving 'clues' and such that the Catholic church (which is and was an extremely powerful organization) had no idea. He was sneaking around right under their nose, and, in fantasy-land, leaving clues that could be decrypted. I hardly think that Brown was trying to snub Mr. Da Vinci.

3. The Church has always tried to supress women. Why? Well, for one there's that whole incident with Eve and that troublesome fruit, which the Church basically
sees as the ruination of man (note: man's heyday did not last very long, did it?) So there's that. And it's for the same reason why they've also tried to supress (or assimilate) everyone else: so that the small elite could stay in power. Hey, look, Jesus was a man. Clearly that means that men are superior, because God didn't send us his daughter. So we'll have male popes and bishops and priests, and not allow women in. Once that's established, any threat to it would be a threat to the basic structure of the entire Church, therefore something best avoided.

Additionally, while all the Gnostic gospels were written quite a while after Jesus, so were all the gospels, so that's pretty much an irrelevant argument.

4. Babies. Let's set one thing out first: There's no concrete evidence that Jesus did or did not reproduce. Just the same as there's no concrete evidence (by which I mean there is no empirical proof) that Jesus was anything but a guy who, through charisma and emotional manipulation, managed to start a massive, long-lived cult.

Historically speaking it's accepted that Jesus was a Jew. Traditionally Jews had no obligation to deny themselves marriage, partnership, etc. I recall being taught that marriage is considered an ideal state for Jews, with a sort of three-way relationship between the two partners and god, but I can't seem to find anything authoritative to back that up. Regardless, from what we know of the time period it would have been odd for a young Jewish dude to be unmarried and celibate. Even the most orthodox have always been allowed and encouraged to marry and procreate. Why? Because generally speaking Jews were only supposed to marry each other and, basically, isolate themselves from others (I think Exodus talks all about that). It was a basic issue of survival of species, to put it in Darwinian terms (sorry, but I can't pass on an opportunity to apply Darwinian logic to Jesus). So, sure, it's concievable that Jesus was single and celibate his entire life. I don't think it's likely though, just from a basic understanding of the culture he was coming from.

You can't argue that those who wrote the gospels didn't believe. I have no doubt that they did believe, completely and firmly. That doesn't give them any more credibility, though: Jim Jones' followers died painful deaths because they believed in what Jones was saying. Now they're nothing more than some wackos who offed themselves under the spell of a charismatic cult leader. Being swept up with someone hardly means you'll be an accurate biographer.

The importance of word placement.

Check out this AP headline: "Infant allegedly dies from cocaine in breast milk".

The infant did not allegedly die. I doubt that the authorities are saying an infant is dead but really the infant hopped a plane to Mexico City. It's the cause of death that is being alleged.

Has Jesus saved my soul?

I saw Da Vinci Code today (fun fact: I didn't expect to walk into the theater ten minutes before the 2:30 show just on a whim and get a ticket, but most of Cork was sitting in pubs watching a rugby game today, so, tickets ahoy.) It was a decent movie, and personally I think they could have done more with it. This is not me saying it was bad: I thought it was an enjoyable two hours. But that's all it was. I personally think it would have been a far better movie if they stepped back a bit and didn't take it as seriously. The book was full of (in addition to cookie-cutter characters) Exciting Car Chases! and Gunfights! and Suspense! On at least one level it was an action book in the spirit of Indiana Jones, and the film took itself far too seriously for that to carry over, so they didn't seem to try. There are some tense scenes, but the movie seemed to approach it as an experiment in philosophy or something, a thought-provoking 'what if?' plot.

Anyway, when I walked out of the theater I was thrilled to be greeted with the sight of a few (mostly elderly) people standing around a little table they'd set up, with a small statue of Mary. They were kind enough to be praying for my soul! I forced myself not to laugh out loud at them and just walked on by.

Then, I took a brief stroll up and down Patrick street, just to see what was going on (answer: lots and lots of red jerseys). Lo and behold, a man had set up a speaker and was telling us that we had to repent for our sins! Embrace Jesus! We have to think, is this the way we want to live our lives? And for a brief moment I was truly and honestly tempted to go up and and engage him in a bit of debate, mostly a 'if you're so concerned about saving people why didn't you spend the money you wasted on your loudspeaker setup and donate it to a noble cause that can literally help save people?' type thing. I didn't, because A) he was probably crazy and it probably wouldn't go over well, and B) I have better things to do with my time. But I honestly considered doing it: it wasn't just a brief daydream in which I imagined myself doing something like that, but I really wanted to go up to the crazy god-man on the street and engage him in conversation.

So, I don't know: Has Jesus saved me from my afflictions of social anxiety? Does that count? Or am I still an eeeeevil sinner?

A creepy cult-like man, plus dirty skyscraper action!

According to Elder George, writing for Mens' News Daily, feminism is evil and all western men are pussies. I'm going to mostly ignore that particular essay, because I refuse to take anything seriously if it includes the sentence "Feminism is an effect such as malnutrition, diabetes, and cirrhosis of the liver; they are all symptoms, not entities unto themselves." (Uh, I'm betting that any of the several people I know who are diabetic would disagree with you there.)

But this guy intrigued me, so I set about on some Google-fu, and I'm fairly positive that this is his site. Creepy and cult-like, definitely, and also:

It changed the classification on income tax returns from "head of household" to "Joint return." This seemingly innocuous change in essence said the man is no longer in charge of his family. How can any structure survive if there is no one in charge?

For some reason, this made me laugh. He also has an essay on his site entiled "The Land of the Smoldering Vagina".

Within five weeks of the World Trade Center incident, five different men and women said to me, "The phallic symbol of America has been cut off."

Isn't it possible that more than anything that's a reflection on they type of people who talk to you than anything else? Also: it's in a way true. I can certainly think of skyscrapers that are more phallic than the WTC towers were (excessively so, even), but there's really two ways of analyzing the sociological implications of skyscrapers. The first is that as modern technology evolved and improved communications and transportation, men found themselves with more and more competition, often in brand-new technological fields. Therefore they felt pressure to prove their virility to attract mates in new ways: accumulation of material wealth, glamour and fame, and building grotesque glass-and-steel exagerations of their reproductive organs.

The other way to look at it, of course, is that as medicine modernized and farming became more mechanized, more people moved into cities, and very soon the only place to expand in places such as London and Manhatten was up.

I should have stopped while I was ahead.

I don't know why I read Ann Coulter, and yet. It's like poking at that sore spot in your mouth, or something: you know it's bad for you and it hurts, but you just can't stop. And, seriously, anyone who knows me could probably tell you that I should not have anything to do, at all, with someone who wants to get rid of Bush because he's too liberal.

Anyway, I just gave a her latest column a look, and it's chock full of gems, mostly about immigration. Things such as this:

For the record, I'll volunteer right now to clean other people's apartments if I don't have to pay taxes on what I earn.

I have no idea how much money Ms. Coulter makes, but I'm willing to be it's a lot. More than I make, definitely, and probably more than $19,874, even if it were tax-free. So, either she would for some reason prefer to take a huge tax-cut if she didn't have to pay any taxes, because taxes are bad, or...that's really all I can come up with, and it's fairly illogical. The current poverty line for a single person is $9800, so she'd do okay if she had no one depending on her and wanted to live just barely comfortably.

Moving on: Ms. Coulter quotes a scholar who basically says that we're not a nation of immigrants.

Brimelow then ran through the Roman, Saxon, Viking, Norman-French, Welsh and Celtic immigrant influences in Britain alone.

Yes, but by and large those folks were conquering, not fleeing in search of freedom, religious liberty, a decent wage, or something like that. My great-grandfather who left Ireland a hundred and some years ago was not going to America for the same reasons why the Romans came to Britain. Also, I haven't gotten to hunt down the article referred to, but I'd be interested in finding out how, exactly, the Welsh counted as immigrants.

This continues for a bit, then we get to:

Why not use immigration the way sports teams use the draft -- to upgrade our roster? We could take our pick of the world's engineers, doctors, scientists, uh ... smoking-hot Latin guys who stand around not wearing shirts between workouts. Or, you know, whatever ...

For the sake of my sanity I'm just ignoring that last bit about "smoking-hot Latin guys", because...what the hell? Anyway, here's why not: Because America is still pretty much seen as the one country where Jose Average, or whoever, can come in, find a job legal or otherwise, and make enough money to send back to his family in Guadalajara so that they don't starve to death. Most people who come in from 3rd-world countries know that they can see a doctor here, and luxuries like clean drinking water.

Furthermore, a decent number of illegal immigrants didn't sneak over the border from Mexico. They strolled in through Immigration at JFK airport perfectly legally, and then when their visa expired, they neglected to a) leave or b) get arrested and therefore busted. So they might not be the superstar in any given field, but they're not the stereotypical immigrant fruit-picker.

Someday, I will have the will-power to stop reading this idiotic drivel. Until then, Ms. Coulter, thank you for a bit of entertainment.

If your intentions are good...

Newsflash: the guy who's (presumably) going to take over the CIA says that the government's spying measures were done only with the best intentions.

This isn't a surprise to me - Hayden wouldn't have been nominated if he wasn't going to rush to the defense of whatever the government is doing. And, just as a brief experiment, I'm going to go ahead and give him the benefit of the doubt: Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe everyone involved truly believes that the surveillance being done is nessecary. Maybe they do always have probable cause before tapping someones line or reading their e-mails or whatnot. That is wholly possible, and while it's not the most natural for me to grant the government anything unless they've convinced me, I'll force myself into that way of thinking for once. If the guys at the CIA or NSA or whatever thought they had a solid, concrete threat, they'd do what they do. If there was doubt, they don't. Maybe if any of the higher-ups say, "No, I'm not convinced that this guy is a threat," they'd leave him be. If they said, "Yeah, this is setting off some severe warning bells," then they'd start watching closer, listening in.

Okay. That's better than just going crazy with the spy stuff. At least they'd have a reason, something that, if questioned, they could produce or at least allude to: "We have reason to believe that this guy had links with this terrorist cell, and we did what we had to for national security." That's progress.

But we're not there yet. I'm not happy with that little idealistic picture I just painted. Why?

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Amendment four. Emphasis is, of course, mine. Remember the concept of warrents?

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.

Amendment six. If someone is accusing of something, be it lifting a 99-cent candybar from 7-11 or terrorism and conspiracy, you have the right to be informed of the accusation. (There's also, if you'll note, some stuff about "speedy and public trial" and "jury", which may not entirely fit with America's current policy of 'lock them up indefinitely in Cuba, but I digress.)

Is that my own personal interpretation that Hayden is laughing in the face of the Bill of Rights this way? Yes, absolutely. I'm fairly certain that there's some precedent to back me up, but what the hell do I know? I'm not a lawyer or a scholar. I do know, however, that if we put people into high-ranking positions, and those people don't like to follow the spirit of the Constitution (justice, liberty, equality, all that jazz), then what the hell are they trying to protect us from? People who hate our justice and liberty and equality?

Fear me, for I can cook!

Sort of.

See, a week ago Monday I moved into an apartment. Previous to that I spent about a week or so in a student hostel, looking for someplace less common-dorm-esque. This is my first time living away from home in someplace that is not a dorm room, so it's all new and exciting and stuff. I was very excited about it, with one nagging little doubt:

I can't cook.

It's not that I've made major disasters in the past. There've been a few unpleasantly-crunchy batches of ramen in my day, but aside from that, my few experiences in the kitchen have been successful, but just that: few. For the first eighteen years of my life, I just never had an interest or a need to actually cook anything, beyond zapping a microwave burrito or leftover slice of pizza. Then I left for college and lived in a dorm: if the cafeteria didn't seem appealing I'd zap some leftover pizza or a microwave burrito or something. When I felt daring I'd boil up some ramen in my hot-pot.

Then I dropped out, and made plans to move out of my parents house again. About a month and a half ago, I realized: Holy crap, I'm moving out. This means I will have to feed myself. Maybe I should learn how to cook some things. Immediately after I had that thought I think I had to go back to work or something and, basically, I forgot. So I hop on a jet, fly away, settle into life sans parents and college. Things are good.

Sometime around last week, I realized I was getting a little bit tired of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pasta. My second night with a real kitchen I bought a big jar of sauce, some mozzerella, and a pound of pasta: it lasted me a week or so, as I am a tiny person. I love pasta and probably could be perfectly happy eating it for week at a time, as long as I got to alternate weeks with something else.

So yesterday, after I got back from seeing Mission: Impossible 3 (which was rather good), I was feeling inspired to go ahead and make myself something to eat. A meal, rather than just a random sandwich or bowl of calories. So I surveyed my assets, and made myself a grilled-cheese sandwich and a mug of tomato soup.

I'll admit that it hardly qualifies as high-class cuisine, and the soup was one of those instant mixes, just add boiling water, but hey: I used the stove for something slightly more involved than boiling a pot of water. I cooked!

Riding high from that victory i set about making myself some form of lunch today. Eggs, I decided. My parents didn't send me off without teaching me something, so I know the basics of an omelette. Let's try that. I've got cheese but need eggs, and while I'm out at the store, I pick also grab a tomato and a bag of frozen spinach and some onion and garlic powder. I crack the eggs into a bowl and mix them up a bit with the onion and garlic, then pour them into the best-available pan and let them cook for a bit, then scramble in some spinach and tomato. Another few seconds on the heat, then scoop them onto a plate and enjoy. I realize: Holy crap, I just cooked something! Something tasty! From scratch!

Now I have some suspicious feelings of impending maturity, and something must be done about that.

Oh, how I wish this was The Onion.

Alas: The Washington Post is not a satire paper.

New federal guidelines ask all females capable of conceiving a baby to treat themselves -- and to be treated by the health care system -- as pre-pregnant, regardless of whether they plan to get pregnant anytime soon.

Pre-pregnant. They used the term "pre-pregnant", as if conception is inevitable.

I grant that some of the guidelines are just good ideas. Don't smoke, eat well, don't get fat, don't play with cat feces (uh, okay). But the reasoning here is completely idiotic. Do this so your precious little collection of stem-cells thrives as it incubates in you! Encourage that parasitical relationship!

My reaction to this (found via Feministing, which rocks, by the way) was pretty immediate, a first-paragraph reaction. It's one thing to put forth general health guidelines. The food pyramid, with it's infinite wisdom not to dine solely on Cheetos and Red Bull, is OK by me. Requiring nutrition info labels and warnings on cigarettes and alchohol: good, fine. Go for it. Tell us that this isn't that healthy, that this has lots of good protein, that smoking's not great for your lungs.

But do not ask me to follow those guidelines for my potential embryo. That is way, way overstepping a line. Want to hear something that'll make a these people cry? I'm going to pretty much ignore their advice. I'm not going to talk to my (hypothetical) doctor about the effect of alcohol on a fetus, I'm not going to stop having an occasional drink, and I'm not going to start taking folic acid supplements. Know why? Because I don't want a baby. I don't want to be pregnant and that's not going to change anytime in the forseeable future. Before I'd ever consider having kids, I will have finished school (meaning undergrad and whatever further degree, maybe law), have a good, steady career (meaning something more than just a job), and have settled down with a man and made a serious commitment (meaning...it'll be a while, folks). That's going to take a few years at least, and honest: If I somehow screwed up, if I got pregnant before all that was accomplished, I wouldn't have the slightest inclination to carry that fetus to term. It would pretty much be gone ASAP.

So, a message to my beloved home government, rules of the land of the free and home of the brave, I have this to say: Back off, sparky. You don't get to request that I do anything to my body, let alone for a reason as maniacally misogynistic as "You should have babies!"

Promise me that I'll have health care when I get home, promise my gay friends their rights as Americans, and stop fucking around in other countries. Then, maybe we can talk. Maybe.

Oh, how the mighty mess up

I'm a fan of the BBC, without a doubt. Their news reporting is, generally speaking, comprehensive and fairly well-balanced: they're surprisingly neutral for a government-run agency. They're pretty good about mistakes, too: the few major ones that they make, they're fairly up-front about.

Exhibit A: A case of mistaken identity.

Sometimes when a news show gets someones name wrong or something, they quietly run a correction the next day, apologize to the misidentified parties, and no great harm (usually) is done. Or, on at least one occasion, they get an expert on a live TV show, only it's actually some random guy who came into the network offices to apply for a job in the IT department. He then promptly leaves the studio, leaving the staff of the BBC to say, "Wait, who the hell is that guy who we just talked to?"

In which the world is proven to be small.

The other night I met a guy, a friend of my flatmate, who is from Akron, OH, not half an hour from where a substantial chunk of my family lives. He has been to and knows several people from the Jersey suburb where I grew up.

One of the women who works at a temp agency I registered with, here in Cork, lived in Philadelphia for several years.

In a month or so I hopefully will be able to hang out with someone in England. I've known her since I was ten, a friend from summer camp, and she's coming to England for a short bit this summer, as I happen to be going there.

Hi, Mr. Vice-President! Glad you're not dead!

If someone could please explain to me why I had a dream last night in which a friend from St. John's and I were hanging out with Dick Cheney, then Cheney had a stroke, and we had to rush him to the hospital and try to save his life because there were no doctors there, then we got him a cake because he was still alive, I'd be much happier.

Seriously. I don't often remember my dreams and it seems that the times I do, the only appropriate reaction is to turn to my subconscious and say, "Dude, what?"

Dead women are special.

There's an interesting article in today's Guardian - Britain has sustained the first female combat casualty in Iraq. The writer makes a few very good points: basically, even if it's voluntary, a woman's death (such as in combat) is treated as far more horrible or perhaps heroic than a male death. It all comes back to the argument of whether or not women should be in the military at all, and I have no doubt that any number of people will use this death to say "no, they shouldn't."

The argument is broken down into three basic causes: prejudiced (women can't/shouldn't do x), biological (women aren't as strong therefore they shouldn't put others at risk), and what the author calls 'operational' (men don't want to put women at risk).

The first two arguments I think can be dismissed fairly easily. The first is flat-out bigoted, and most of western society has to some degree taken the hatred out of national policy. The second has also been more or less disproven: yes, a woman may not on average be as strong as men, but if they can meet the requirements set out for them, opponents have no leg to stand on. If someone who knows what you need to be able to do in combat sets the limits, and a woman meets those limits, then she should be in.

The third is trickier, but in my opinion ought to be just as easily dismissed. An officer might want to take extra care of the two women in his unit? Then the problem is not the women, it's that officer. If a soldier is going to endanger the rest of his peers trying to lighten the load on a woman, then he is the problem. Those people, the ones who are apparently so spineless and weak-willed (or just idiotically backwards-minded) that they can't treat people equally, are the problems. They should be the ones who's worth as professionals is under scrutiny, not the women (who, by and large, are simply trying to do their jobs).

Google: what?

Found while browsing though my referral logs.

What? Ninjagecko?

For what it's worth: the suggested string doesn't get any hits. 'Ninjagecko' apparently is an artist with a DeviantArt page. So...okay.

Apparently, I'm missing something

Yesterday I went to the Social Welfare Office, to try to apply for a PPS number, which is the Irish equivilant of a Social Security number. I waited a bit, then when my number was up, was informed that a letter saying I'm living where I am isn't enough; I also needed a bill or something in the letter-writer's name.

Fine. I go home, I get a bill, I go back this morning. I fill out the form, show them my passport, my drivers license, my Garda ID, my work permit, the letter, and the bill. They contemplate those things, I pass their inspection, and a letter with my number will be mailed to me within about seven days.

Excellent.

Next stop: a Bank of Ireland branch to try to open an account. It's mostly an arbitrary choice: there doesn't seem to be a huge difference in banks for my purposes, other than the Bank of Ireland seems to have a substantial presence in the UK as well. So, in a go, wait for a bit, get up to the counter, give the woman some ID and paperwork, and...nope.

It seems that, in order to open a bank account, I need something official addressed to me - a utility bill or my PPS letter. The bill not in my name and the letter saying I live there is not enough.

"But, I just applied for my PPS number this morning, and they accepted this as proof of address," I plead.

"I'm sorry, it's the law," the benevolent banking dictator says. "Come back when you've gotten the letter with your PPS number."

I blink a few times, uncertain as to whether or not she might be joking. "But I just used these documents to get my PPS number," I again protest.

She won't have it, though. Apparently, the documents required to get a PPS number are not equal to such, and I'll have to try again next week.

Aargh.

I'm not in Kansas anymore

Note: I'd probably have just as many moments like this if I was in Kansas, but you understand the sentiment.

Today, I finally found some peanut butter in a grocery store. At home you hardly need too look: there's six dozen varieties and twenty different brands, from the all-natural, no-sugar-added, no-salt-added organic type to the good ol' Skippy. Here in Ireland? I believe that there were two different brands, each with the choice of chunky or smooth. There were about two shelves worth of Nutella and some strange chocolate spreads which, on the one hand sounded appealing, until I really thought about it: what do you do with it? That would be like smearing some Hershey's syrup on bread, which isn't my favorite.

There've been other moments like that - the first day I worked, got off the bus around 5:30, and everything was fairly close to closing. America may be 24/7 but Ireland certainly isn't (my personal jury on this is still in debate). 'Customer service' is markedly different here, too. Not once has anyone asked me if I needed help in a shop: personally I sort of like that.

But today was a big one. In addition to my flatmate telling me he's popping down to Portugal for a conference or some such next week (since Portugal is not, in fact, a eight-hour flight away), I flipped on the TV for a few minutes. First there was the news in Gaelic on one station - at least, I assume it was the news and I assume it was Gaelic, but for all I know it might have been Scandinavian. Anyway, I found the news in a language which I have a functional knowledge of, and one of the main stories was a murder. News reports of murder are not altogether foreign to me, because I grew up right next door to the murder capital of the country. So while it's very tragic, that wouldn't be enough to make me do a double-take.

What did was this:

Michael McIIveen died in hospital last night after being assaulted by a loyalist gang in Ballymena on Sunday.

Emphasis mine.

It took me a few minutes, and then when I sat down at my computer I had to look it up, just to be sure. Yup, right there on Wikipedia and a hundred other sites: Loyalist as in, supporting union between Northern Ireland and Britain. As in Catholic-vs-Protestant, pipe-bombs in McDonalds', throwing rocks at school-children, started-with-the-Easter-Rebellion-in-1916 Loyalists. (Yes, I know that the issue was alive and well long before 1916).

For some reason I have immensely little perspective on this as a contemporary issue rather than a historical one. I know the basics of the history and am trying to learn more, but all I really know so far is a that there were some military struggles in the early 1900's, the Republic of Ireland was created, then in the 80's there was a lot of trouble. I'd been under the impression that it simply wasn't an issue anymore and I think to a certain extent that's true. But I definitely wouldn't just engage a random stranger in a discussion on the topic, not without knowing where they stood on the issue first.

It really is a different world out here.

Hovering in much the way a brick does...

(apologies to the late, great Mr. Adams)

I have, after what feels like an eternity, landed. Tonight is moving-in night, and as I type this I am sitting not in one of the many internet cafes of Cork but in a real apartment, where I will (hopefully) spend the rest of my stay in Ireland. I have been staying in hostels for the past eleven nights and it will be very, very nice to not be sleeping in a room with three strangers tonight, not to mention not feeling the need to sleep with my wallet and passport in my pillowcase. Aaaah.

Employment, oh joy!

For practice this will be written using the proper Irish terms for things to the greatest of my abilities.

Timeline of events:

• Spent Monday mostly doing the tourist thing in Cork and Blarney. Find a cheap webcafe Monday evening; shoot my CV off to various temp agencies and whatnot. Also send out a few emails about potential non-hostel living accomodations: short-term bedsits and people looking for flatmates.
  
• Spent Tuesday walking around Cork in shoes I am not used to walking in, rubbing blisters in my heels and handing my CV in to anyplace that is recruiting. Finally go back to the hostel to rest a bit and watch some Buffy, which always makes everything better. Get a call on my mobile from a temp agency: they want to know if I can go by in half an hour to interview and fill out forms as they have something for me tomorrow. I go, fill out the forms, get a job.
• Go to check my email Tuesday evening. Get another call from a guy looking for a flatmate. Schedule to meet with him tomorrow evening.
  
• Wake up very early this morning, try to find someplace to buy a cup of coffee, fail and settle for a can of Red Bull from a newsagent. Take the bus into Ballincollig and spend the day sorting and filing papers in a small office.
  
• Mid-morning, get another call from another temp agency, arrange to go in and talk to them on Monday.
  
• Take the bus back to Cork, meet Potential Roommate (who would also in fact be the landlord). Hope I don't come across as too American or anything.
• Go back to webcafe, continue looking for potential places to live.
  

So, the score is: One week overseas, a good possibility of steady non-retail work, and a good chance of finding a non-hostel place to live within a week or so.