St. Patrick's Day/Cinco de Drinko

Note: this post will be updated and infused with pictures at a later time

I've discovered something that I and virtually everyone else loves dearly: a great irony. After spending a first half of St. Patrick's Day in Dublin, I've discovered that the holiday is about American ex-pats and American visitors. I slot myself into the "ex-pat" category because I'm using the "visitor" category to refer to tourists who showed up here specifically for St. Patrick's, which I am not.

We rose at 9:15am, because we'd planned an early morning kickoff. 66 eggs were purchased yesterday in anticipation of a "Kegs n' Eggs" event to start St. Patrick's Day in our apartment. In another ironic twist, because St. Patrick's Day is a national holiday in Ireland, and no one works, businesses, including alcohol vendors, are not in operation for the majority of the day. There's a further reason for this - in days of yore when stores did remain open, they sold out of their entire supply of alcohol early in the day, much of which fell into the hands of underage drinkers, and the city essentially deteriorated into an anarchic war-zone. Even still, most businesses, shops, cafes, and even some pubs closed early last night in preparation. It reminds me of the way coastal areas prepare for a hurricane, what with everyone boarding and barricading everything up - literally, and then fleeing to their homes or rural parts of Ireland.

Luckily we managed to purchase a fair amount of "groceries" yesterday to have enough for the morning. We served up egg sandwiches for about 20 people, and with the nice weather we were able to open our windows and party until around 12:30. At that point we left for the city center to try to catch the parade. Supposedly 500k non-Dubliners were in downtown Dublin today, so needless to say it was pretty tight going. Nicole and Jaci and I found a place close enough to the road for me to hold up a camera, snap pictures, and tell them what was going on. It lasted about 2 hours. We had to smash up against a multitude of people with tricolors painted on their faces, floppy foam hats, fake red beards, and "kiss me, I'm Irish" paraphernalia.

The big "I hate mankind" facet of this holiday is that young hooligans (in this country, everyone between the ages of 12 and 18 is a free-roaming, vandalizing, misdemeanor-committing hooligan) were out in force today with a new weapon: whistles. "Tell us about the whistles." "The whistles? 'Dey go woo-WOOOO" No, not Bubb-Rub whistles, and not just "Only in the morning." Referee-type whistles, that were blown incessantly throughout the day by Ireland's future prison occupants and single parents.

Anyway, the irony lay in the fact that probably 65% of the parade consisted of marching bands, and easily 90% of those marching bands were American. Auburn University was probably the showcase of the group, with a few other tertiary institutions represented and tons of high schools. I took the liberty of screaming "SEC! Skeeeeeeeew!" as Auburn passed. The non-band part of the parade were people dressed up like psychedelic zombies, bugs, space aliens, and fish that make even the soberest of revelers feel like they're on acid.

Taking into account that despite the size and extensiveness of Dublin's St. Patrick's Day festival, I understand that those of Boston, Chicago, and New York are far, far more involved (they don't dye the river green here, for instance), it seems that in the U.S. St. Patrick's Day is for Americans to act like they're Irish, and in Ireland its a day for Americans to feel like they're at home. There were literally so many Americans on the street today that I felt like I was in an American city. Better still, the preponderance of band members, band directors, and band boosters on the street made me feel like I was at a band competition, an even more comfortable habitat of mine. So in sum, St. Patrick's Day in Ireland is a nice taste of home for us Americans. More to come later.

The Hell with Sports

A number of things went wrong today. Something was out of whack in the cosmic alignment. Some heathen god has not received its sacrifice.

Ireland 10 - 33 England
It was a sign of things to come this morning when I failed to rise early enough to make it to the library to do work before the 3:00 pm rugby kickoff. It was yet another sign when a mediocre English team took Ireland to task 33-10. In reality, I didn't actually see this match because The Barge was so packed out when we got there that we had to sit on the 3rd floor - where the staff were unwilling to change the channel off of the Manchester United vs. Derby County match. Not that I minded getting to see United...more on this later. England's big-name flyhalf Jonny Wilkinson was dropped from the squad in the run up to this match in favor of the younger Danny Cipriani. While I couldn't see the match, I could hear it over the loudspeakers in the pub, and I must have heard Cipriani's name called 50 times. (At his position, he would have done a lot of scoring through kicks and the like). A sad end for Ireland's 6-Nations campaign and probably the death knell for the manager.

Wales 29 - 12 France
Wales, with this final victory, secured the 6-Nations title and the "Grand Slam," which signifies an defeat of all teams in competition. I understand it was the 10th such Grand Slam for the Welsh, but I heard offhand that it hasn't been done in 101 years (this could be wrong). Apparently Wales has had quite a renaissance under new manager Warren Gatland, a Kiwi who I believe used to be on Ireland's coaching staff. I would very much enjoy seeing Wales face off against South Africa or New Zealand.

Manchester United 1 - 0 Derby County
Many of you are probably saying "Now, Jesse, obviously not everything went badly, you just wanted a dramatic intro to your post so you spat out some spastic nonsense." Well, here's what I'm saying to you. Derby County is probably the worst team that has ever played English Premier League football. (In case you don't know, the bottom 3 teams get relegated to a lower division each year to be replaced by the top 3 from that division, so the teams change). We didn't score until late in the game, and had countless missed opportunities. With every near miss or dink off the post, the players became visibly more frustrated. I think Ronaldo was crying at one point. He did something I haven't seen him do in years: look up into the sky and plead with God after missing a shot. He used to genuflect after doing this as well. When he finally knocked one home late in the 2nd half, he counted out his missed shots on his fingers - 5 I think, before celebrating. We've now reclaimed the top spot from Arsenal, with a game in hand. Oh yeah, and don't ever take that tone with me again. I don't like having to explain myself.

Tennessee 80something - 80something more Arkansas
Yeah, I don't actually know the final score. Why? Because when I saw what was going to happen, I just walked away from the computer. It may have actually been in the 90s for all I know. I'm not really sure who to blame for what happened. Suffice to say we got abused down low - and I do mean abused - but the fact that we committed a foul on every possession and got all of our players in foul trouble didn't help either. The refs controlled the pace of the game. Another reason I don't know the score is because I quit - I'm not looking it up on ESPN. For the last week I've been watching basketball every day, reading all the articles on ESPN about them, hell, I've even watched some NBA games, which if you know me is pretty bizarre. I was actually excited last night when tornadoes hit the Georgia Dome because I thought with the super late game I was going to get to have a basketball sleepover party with myself. But no more. Until I complete the process of getting over this game, the hell with sports. If we get a good draw on Selection Sunday, perhaps I'll quit being a bitch. For now, I'll stay one.

While writing this post, I set an all-time personal record for fart duration.

I've got a busy week ahead. Tomorrow, Jaci is arriving early (too early - before God gets up), so we'll have a guest in. Monday is obviously St. Patrick's Day, and it is going to be non stop mayhem in the city all day. Tuesday is my birthday, which doesn't matter here because I can already drink. Oh, and I need to finish two essays before we leave for Scotland next Sunday. The city is crawling with tourists, which get really annoying in a city like Dublin with bad infrastructure. A ramshackle carnival has been set up near Nicole's place of business. There are lots of carnies milling around (small hands, smell like cabbage). One of the rides is titled "American Adventure," and has an airbrushed mural behind it, the center-piece of which is Jerry Rice busting through a brick wall. When I first saw it, I began to laugh so abruptly that I snot-rocketed in front of some people on the sidewalk. It was worth it. I will try to get a photo of this immensely stupid attraction.

In other news, I threw an orange towel into my load of whites without thinking about what I was doing (I only have rights to the washer/dryer/iron maiden for 24 hours a week, sometimes things get desperate). Now, one half of my undershirts and socks are salmon. Is this a tragedy or am I going to be RICH because I'm the only person in the world with access to salmon-colored undershirts? Oh yeah, I forgot there's this store called American Apparel that sells nothing but blank t-shirts and zip-hoodies in every conceivable shade, and make tons of money off of punk-ass scene kids who think they're being fresh with a poorly coordinated neo-80s look. So much for that idea. I have a skin-tight pale yellow polo from there that's good for picking up guys at the Carousel. Not that I've ever done that. What?

I will try to document as well as possible what it's like to be in Dublin on St. Patrick's Day. I say "try" because typing takes small muscle control and we all know that's one of the first things you lose. In the meantime, I'm off to drown my sorrows in green tea and peanut-butter toast. Yeah, I can put honey on it and call it "dessert."

Howth & Misc

First of all, you may notice I gave the blog a facelift. I'm getting more familiar with some of the tools available on the Blogger and I'm trying to put them to use to make the blog more readable and aesthetically pleasing. You still have some time to vote in the "Blog Appearance" poll, but after it expires I'll add another one so that we're constantly engaging in statistical entertainment. Also, I'm looking at different ways to add media to the posts - you can put up videos and slideshows, but you need to interface with a Flickr or Photobucket album to make it happen, and I'm not sure I'm willing to go to the trouble of putting up photos on multiple sites. Also, I don't have a videocamera and the video on my digital camera lacks sound. Contact my parents at jmtumblin@aol.com to see about donating money for one.

Side Note: How galling must it be for people like writers and directors who have their work "Busted" by Mythbusters on national television to see that little Asian guy, with his squirrely little voice, holier-than-thou demeanor and perpetual sneer say stuff like "Yeah, this one is definitely busted. There's no way a 9mm could puncture a Propane tank and cause an explosion." Well guess what, Hirohito. Casino Royale is still more entertaining than your show, and Daniel Craig would shellack your candy ass.

Lennie and Joy (Nicole's parents) arrived on Thursday for a weeklong visit. They were able to fly first-class, which means their chairs reclined to almost horizontal position. Perhaps someday I will be able to enjoy such a privilege, but for the foreseeable future I'll have to settle for sitting between Andre the Giant and a single mother with octuplets in coach. We went out with Nicole's co-workers the first night they were here, which was great fun but raised a number of questions about her workplace. First, given the preponderance of shenanigans and buffoonery we saw out of her co-workers, I wonder how they're ever able to do business. Furthermore, given that we all drank on the company, out of something I heard called the "Social Fund," I wonder how any revenue isn't immediately liquidated (Literally).

On Friday I gave them a walking tour of Trinity and we visited the Book of Kells. Afterwards we met the Shanleys (Nicole's host-parents) for supper. We planned to go to Howth on Saturday, which is a harbor town north of Dublin, after watching the rugby match.

Ireland 12 - 16 Wales
Ireland had several stretches where they looked brilliant, with lots of swift ball movement and threatening play. Unfortunately, they were unable to maintain that pace, resulting in somewhat of a defensive struggle. Wales are the type of team that punish even the slightest mistake, and did so frequently. It was all over for Ireland when, down 12-13 and looking to get in position for a kick that could win them the game with 5 minutes left to play, an Irish player inexplicably drilled a sitting Welshman on the edge of a pileup, resulting in an immediate penalty that allowed Welsh assassin James Hook to put the game beyond reach. Ireland retain second place, but undefeated Wales, who captured the "Triple Crown" (defeating Ireland, England, and Scotland), look nigh certain to win the "Grand Slam" (defeating everyone).

Scotland 15 - 9 England
Scotland bagged their first win against sorry England, who look to be ending their tournament in ignominy. They'll be celebrating in Edinburgh, and eating their young in London.

After the match was over we started towards Howth. Joy was having shoe trouble and I led us on a pretty lengthy hike to the train station, decreasing in popularity all the while. Finally we caught the DART, and got off our feet.

Howth is not a very large place. It has an extensive dock and wharf area, and a few main roads with pubs and small establishments. There was some sun left, but the wind was pretty fast and made it bitter to stand out on the pier.

Nevertheless, we braved the elements to go out on the pier, and it yielded some photographic dividends - there were actually 2 rainbows. I'm assuming the pot o' gold was actually on the sea floor in this case, which would have made it too difficult to retrieve. As always, see the facebook album for more pretty rainbow pictures.

After walking around we repaired to an Asian Cafe - I say Asian not because it was themed as such but because it was staffed exclusively by such - for some coffee to raise our core temperatures. We then went to attempt to eat supper. Nicole's company had arranged for us to eat on them - yes, Nicole's hard, American work ethic and long hours have made the folks at her company feel guilty about the terms of her internship...she gets lots of little perks and favors like this. We were supposed to eat at a place called Wright's, but to our dismay, standing in the middle of Howth and looking at your surroundings, you would see no less than 3 establishments named "Wright's"...a few minutes and phone calls later we entered a restaurant called "The Findlater" above a pub called "Wright's".

Dinner was tasty. I had whole prawns with my steak, which are shrimp that are about as big as my hand with my fingers outstretched. They had their heads and eyes still attached, which made for great fun. They were delicious and I must say very competitive with American shrimp I've had. We also had some good desserts...I'm finding that my Lenten vow not to eat sweets or dessert has been difficult not to break, but in fairness I have opted out of countless opportunities in the preceding weeks.

I spent most of today cleaning, partially because I had essays to write and also because we're getting "inspected" this week by our program people. As I'm out of school I'll be working on my essays and not much else during the days, so you might expect some more frequent blogeration from me. We have upcoming visits by Jaci and a trip to Scotland this month, as well as, of course, St. Patrick's Day/My Birthday. As I write, we're going through what some of the Sunday tabloids have called "The Storm of the Century." Supposedly there's a high tide, a new moon, and a massive storm system all at once, and last time this happened 47% (made-up) of Dublin flooded. I stuffed newspapers in all our windows today to help with the banging, but so far I'm unimpressed by the meteorological mayhem. We're pulling ~40mph winds, but unfortunately that's not too much higher than normal.

Check out the rest of the photos on the facebook album

The Narth of Arland

Yeah, that's how someone from there would say it. It's funny the things you don't think about before you visit a place, like the fact that Ireland has a whole range of completely different accents. At home people would be hard-pressed to reproduce the difference between an Irish and a Scottish accent.
Anyway, we paid IES 200 Euro flat to take us on a trip to the North, which is decent considering the quality of our accommodation and the fact that we didn't have to worry about logistics. The train ride northward is arguably the most scenic, as it has more vertical topography than do the rides to Galway or Cork. You also go along the coast for a considerable distance. We had the (mis)fortune of sitting across the isle from a smelly old man with a great beard but whose eggs were completely addled. When he realized we were American he wouldn't leave us alone. He went so far as to wake Perry up and demand that he invent a caption for this picture of Obama and Clinton in a newspaper he had. He then went on a long rant about how the economy was collapsing, replete with statistics, most of which were "80%." Roughly 80% of the statistics he quoted were "80%."
As we arrived in Belfast we immediately boarded a bus that took us to the city center, which we should have walked. We disembarked to have lunch at Belfast's Crown Bar. This bar is a famous establishment with lavish Victorian decorations and elaborate woodcarving. We had what I thought was a lovely meal. This meal will be revisited later.
Outside the Crown the group (which contained roughly 40 people) piled in to "black taxis" to take a tour of West Belfast - a sectarian "hot-zone." These ubiquitous black cabs, like the ones found in London, are a sort of alternative bus service for the people of Belfast, most of whom have been historically mistrustful of using common public transport in rough areas. A specific fleet of them acts as a guide service for tourists.

We stopped first at the Shankill Road, a Loyalist stronghold, and got out to take pictures and hear a short bit about Loyalism. I'll put one mural up here, for the rest of them I'll direct you to a link to my Facebook album that has more pictures at the bottom of this post.
Much of the Loyalist graffiti and mural had to do with internal feuding and drug traffic. As Catholics have improved their situation with the thawing of relations, many Protestant communities have been left behind, resulting in economic and community stagnation.
From the Shankill we moved on to the Peace Line, one of many large walls that separate the "Interface areas" of the two communities. These were erected by the British back in the 70s to prevent late-night traffic and the throwing of projectiles back and forth. At the Peace Line we were given a short talk by one of the strangest sounding people I've ever met. As my camera unfortunately lacks sound on its video, I lack an example but some of my friends got one, so I'll insert it here if I can get my hands on a copy.
From the Peace Line thence to the Falls road, a Republican/Catholic area. Some of you may recall my shenanigans walking around alone in the Falls on my previous visit to the North. About the time we entered this area, I realized that something was very wrong in my gastrointestinal command center. Attempting to remain calm while stuffed in a cab with 7 other people, I hoped for the storm to pass. At a small IRA memorial garden that you will not see pictures of unless you look in my previous trip's archive, I executed a perfect ninjavomiting maneuver. Without attracting the attention of the 40+ onlookers, the speaker, or the cluster of chatting cab drivers, I managed to empty the entire contents of my stomach onto the sidewalk, and then proceed as if nothing had happened. Passers-by apparently treated the cesspool of ralph that had not been there before as a glitch in the Matrix.
Our tour ended with some Republican murals on the Falls that you have all probably seen on my other reports. We almost died at the Bobby Sands mural because Gabe saw a little kid with a mohawk and proceeded to take pictures of him while his disgruntled father leered on.
We boarded the bus again for our journey to Portrush, which by the way is nowhere near Belfast. Many dark sorceries and evil machinations were done inside the tiny lavatory of that bus as it bumped along. The drive, most of it along the coast, was beautiful, although I slept through most of it because my stomach still needed to be settled. 2-odd hours later we arrived in Portrush, which is on the northern coast of County Antrim, near the Giant's Causeway.
Our Ramada was quite a nice hotel, and I was put in a room with Danny. Everyone went to a small pizza parlor for supper, and was told by surly hotel staff that food was not allowed to be brought in to the hotel "for health and safety reasons." Handles of liquor, however, were not so easy for them to spot. The showers in the hotel were of such quality that they were used recreationally by our group - I and many others took multiple showers a day, many of them longer than 20 minutes.
The first night we went to a local pub/pool-hall called Rogue's. Everyone got housed and when we left with two friendly locals, that is, 20 of us, we were convinced to go over to their apartment. When we passed our hotel I made a conservative choice to retire, which proved the right choice when the next morning I discovered that my friends had been made to walk for 30 minutes to get there. In the morning we boarded the bus and went to nearby Bushmills to visit the Bushmills whiskey distillery. It is the oldest licensed whiskey distillery in Ireland. While the Jameson Distillery in Dublin is a good experience with a creative tasting session at the end, Bushmills really shows you how whiskey is made. We were allowed access to the actual mash vats, distillers, and bottling facilities. All of these rooms had very pungent smells and oppressive temperatures, but the sheds where the barrels are kept for aging smelled amazing - like sweet apples mixed with wood. It was interesting to learn how whiskey is blended by using different kinds of wood in the casks, sometimes changing several times over a period of years. After having a nice glass of whiskey to start off the morning, we got back on the bus to go to the Giant's Causeway.
By this time in the day the wind was ramping up and there was a light rain in the air. The Causeway sits on a small peninsula on the northern coast of Northern Ireland, not far from Scotland. We had a quick lunch at a pub near the visitor's center and went in for a small video. Always prepared, I had my rainpants ready to rock. Some members of the group looked disparagingly at my attire...how sorry they would be when we descended the rocky slope to the seashore.
I've done a lot of backpacking in my time, and I've experienced wind in the Adirondacks and places like Icewater Springs that gusted between 50 and 70mph. I can state categorically that the gusts at the Causeway were the most intense I've ever felt, and must have been well in excess in 70mph. At times it was basically impossible to walk against the wind, and at times I was literally forced to take steps in a specific direction because the wind was blowing me along the ground. Really, I'm glad it was that intense. It added to the severity and harshness of the environment and enhanced the richness of the experience.
The Giant's Causeway is basically a peninsula of black, hexagonal, basalt rock cylinders that were formed millions of years ago by volcanic rock cooling and cracking in geometric patterns. For further info on the Causeway, check out the captions of the facebook album - I go into more detail. We ventured as far out on the Causeway as we dared - high winds and monster waves made the area extremely hazardous, and yes people die there every year. Needless to say, I did a lot of yelling and whooping, usually involving the word "extreme."
We walked along the shore of the bight - yes, "bight," a small bay bordered by two promontories or headlands. Richard Spencer the geography major took issue with my initial naming of it as a "lagoon," as it lacked a sandbar at its mouth, as is his prerogative. At the opposite end of the bight is another exposed section of columns in the cliff face, known as the "Giant's Organ"
This picture looks over the top of the Causeway columns across the bight to the opposite headland. Once on the other side, we took a steep trail that switch-backed up the side of the ridge, and emerging on top, walked along the edge overlooking the Causeway back to the green pastures and the visitor's center overhead. Gabe and I were the last back, having been too busy punching sheep to return punctually.
When we returned to Portrush, we had a break which virtually everyone used to squeeze in an additional shower (in fairness, a salty film covered everyone's face from the sea-spray), and nap. The Hobbit on audiobook was perfect for knocking me out. After our break, we were scheduled to have a group supper at a nearby restaurant. Once we arrived, it quickly became apparent that groups of 40 people were not suited for this particular establishment. Though the food was of great quality, table service was not normal and the staff were too few to handle our party. Ordering took no less than an hour. After two and a half more hours had elapsed, I enjoyed a nice steak dinner. At least we had a chance to work up an appetite.
I might add that all during dinner and break time, Chris was wrapped around the toilet hurling up his soul. Something, we're still not sure what, possessed his innards of a deathly affliction. He apparently was at that unhappy stage of human existence where he was chugging water strictly to have something to throw up. We gave Chris our pity, and prepared to go back to the pub.
At the pub we staked out the snooker table. I'm not even sure if what we were playing was snooker, but I know that the balls were only two colors and the 8-ball, and they were smaller than pool balls. Gabe and I easily dispatched two hood-rats, but were eventually ousted from the table by a spider-monkeyesque younger man and his bonny lass. At least I got a kiss on the cheek out of it. There was a live band in the pub this night, consisting of two guitar-wielding men with a loop machine and pints of lager. They were playing some pretty stock Rolling Stones type tunes, then they realized that 70% of their audience were Americans. They hastily rolled out Sweet Home Alabama, which I took full boisterous ownership of in my inebriated state. The closing number was a rendition of Jimi Hendrix's Star Spangled Banner from Woodstock. An opportunist, to be sure.
As a brief caveat, I have made it my personal mission to find a live musician on this continent who can play me some Styx. I'm interested for a number of reasons - to see people's reactions when I request Styx, to see their attempt at playing Styx, and also simply to hear Styx because I like them. These gentlemen had no Styx in their repertoire...I doubt sincerely they had the vocal capability to manage, though I would have loved to witness the attempt. Their reaction was a mixture of apology and confusion. Look for new chapters to come; the saga continues...
On the final day of our journey we visited Dunluce Castle on our way out of Portrush. Dunluce is a cluster of ruined buildings that lie on a cliff that juts out into the ocean, separated from the mainland by a narrow rocky bridge. It was a prehistoric hillfort in a bygone age, a Norman palisade from the 11th century on, and the residence of the O'Donnells - Scots, from the 15th century on. The 17th century saw the castle's heyday as well as its collapse - literally.
Having been impressively expanded and fortified and lavishly furnished and decorated, part of the kitchen collapsed into the ocean in the mid 17th century, taking kitchen staff with it. As nice as the castle must have been, it's in a rough place - the sea and wind constantly batter the cliff face that it rests on, and it must have taken the brunt of gales that blow in off the ocean.
From Dunluce we cut through the center of Northern Ireland through Ballymena straight to Belfast, rather than driving along the coast as we had on our way to Portrush. We had to kill time eating bad sandwiches in the train station for a few hours, but finally boarded the train back to Dublin. As luck would have it, we sat next to a 7-man stag party, who drank several large flagons of spirits and whose laughter increased in volume steadily as we steamed southward. It was nice to get off the train back in Dublin and start using Euros again.



Check out the rest of the photos I took on this facebook album.

London & Sports Weekend

So this weekend I flew over to London to do a little work in the National Archives. They're located in Kew, which is in southwest outer London. To cut down on my travel time, I arranged to stay with a family in Kew that rents out rooms in their house for researchers. I chose this particular place specifically because it proffered wireless internet - a rare luxury in these islands.
I had a late flight out on Thursday night that was pretty uneventful. I got the airport earlier than expected so I chose the Ted Kennedy option and went to the bar and started drinking. By this point in the day I had ingested no less than 3 packaged sandwiches and I needed to deaden the impact of forcing down another one to keep my body running. I got to Heathrow and had enough Sterling on my person from previous visits to Britain to buy myself a Tube ticket - this would prove unnecessary later when I realized that no Cossacks would be around that late at night to see me breeze through the turnstiles. Apart from being accosted by a band of Senegalese who were muttering something about "a bus station" and "a bag of drugs" at me, I got out ok.
I met a friendly British guy on my way to Kew station who helped me figure out why the directions of the lines didn't make sense. He seemed nice and well-dressed, but he didn't have a good enough explanation for why a man of his age was returning from central London at midnight on a Thursday. Usually I see these lone, older, affluent-looking guys in clubs. It has to be assumed that all of them have some massive tragic flaw - like one of their legs is made of fiberglass or something.
Anyway, I felt bad about barging in to the Lees residence at 12:30, but I wasn't about to sleep on a bench. My room was quite clean and well-furnished, and my first night was a good one. I wanted to be at the Archives as soon as it opened, so I rose early. I was informed that eating downstairs would be "unacceptable" because of something to do with "the children," so my marmalade toast and cornflakes were brought to my room. Breakfast was actually quite good though, and as I've developed a morbid appetite for tea, that was welcome as well.
The British National Archives are a massive complex of two main buildings with a big reservoir in between. One looks like the Chinese Imperial Palace and the other looks like a spaceship. The main reading room is located in the spaceship. I had to get photographed and registered and all before I could begin, which was simple enough. There were plenty of English-speaking Anglo-Saxons who were very informative so I learned the system fairly quickly...it's not too different than the Irish National Archives.
The only negative thing was the preponderance of Indians and Jamaicans that prowled around making sure people followed protocol. Make no mistake - these people are expressly necessary in the building to make sure people don't mess things up. The problem is they have the lower-rung jobs and they don't speak English. I brought one-two-many boxes back to my table the first day (because I was an assclown and didn't read the signs), and I got violated by an older Jamacian woman with really bad fake hair. She couldn't understand my questions or apologies, so every time I opened my mouth she cut me off and pointed to a placard nearby, and commenced to read it. This continued to occur until she finished reading me the placard. A major scene later, I was back down to an acceptable number of boxes.
As my time there was limited, I did zero critical reading of the materials I called up, I just took document photos for eight hours straight to use later to maximize my time. It's depressing to discover how much better pensmanship was back in the 1890s. It was pretty cool to handle tons of documents stamped "Secret" (nevermind that they've been declassified since the 70s). I also got to read the biggest book I've ever seen.
For scale, the blue sticker is about the size of a quarter. This monster is a register of illegal organizations. I'd show you a page from it but I'm pretty sure uploading images of them is a massive violation of copyright or some other laws.









The canteen in the Archives had some decent fish and chips, but for supper I was left to my own devices. There was a Marks and Spenser nearby, which is kind of like a Target with groceries, so I went there. The rest of Kew is a labyrinth of houses. After stocking up on cheese and yet more packaged sandwiches, I headed home.
Nights I spent locked up in my room, watching some Slingbox and doing homework. It was kind of depressing the number of hours I spent doing work those two days...because I had nothing else to do. On the upside, the weekend was a great one for sports -

Arsenal 2 - 2 Birmingham City
It's great to see Arsenal drop points. The fact that the final equalizer was a late penalty makes it even better. However, I had to feel sorry for Arsenal after this game. In one of the most horrific sports injuries I've ever seen, or even heard of, Birmingham's Martin Taylor performed an ill-timed, ill-placed tackle on Arsenal's Eduardo, snapping his shinbone like a twig. Double compound fracture. Seriously don't watch this if you just ate.

Manchester United 5 - 1 Newcastle United
A great win especially on a day when Arsenal drew. Ronaldo had 2 again racking up muchos fantasy points for me.

Ireland 34 - 13 Scotland
Ireland moved into second in the table with this convincing win. Scotland have yet to win a match, making this a national catastrophe for the Caledonians. The ice may be thawing for the majority of Irish rugby fans on the current regime, that is until their showdown next round with red-hot Wales.

Wales 47 - 8 Italy
Undefeated Wales are playing the kind of rugby that is fun to watch even if you don't remotely understand rugby. They intercepted passes and ran them in for tries, generally making the Italians look like fools. At this point they're clear favorites to take the 6-Nations crown.

England 24 - 13 France
A tactical grind that was closer than it looked. England are the kind of team that grind out results. 'Nuff said.

and finally...


Tennessee 66 - 62 Memphis
The Vols, for the first time in school history, are the #1 team in men's college basketball. I had ruminated and brooded over this game for over a week, sometimes nervously taking out my wallet-schedule and staring at the date. I had to go to sleep early and wake up to watch it as I had an early flight the following morning. Before I went to sleep I was nauseous and jittery.
Part of it was knowing that we were at an unprecedented level of success. Part of it was hatred for that grease-ball John Calipari and those over-rated thugs on Memphis's team. Part of it was the hype leading up to the game, arguably the biggest in either school's history and only the 5th in-state 1 versus 2 showdown, and the price of tickets (up to five digits).
As luck would have it, when I woke and turned the Slingbox on, our internet in Franklin was down. Words cannot express the level of my rage and frustration at this. After talking to dad on the phone for a bit we got it sorted out about 7 minutes into the game.
The game unfolded in a bizarro sort of way. Memphis, the bigger and more tenacious team down low, was shamefully outrebounded by a smaller UT frontcourt. Memphis bombed the lights out in the early stages of the game from 3-pt range, while UT's stellar guards made little impact from outside the entire game. Lofton only had 7 or so. Wayne Chism, a bigger down-low player for us, actually had three 3s, I think.
Ultimately I think the decider was that Memphis was worse at foul shooting than we are. That isn't easy, as foul shooting isn't our strength. At the end of the day, neither team ran its characteristic style of play, which probably would have resulted in a 100-110 game rather than in the 60s.
After bouts of extreme nerves halfway through the second half, I was strangely calm at the close. At times, as I lay there in a dark, quiet, strange house, my abdominal and leg muscles simply spasmed uncontrollably with anxiety and pent-up aggression. But I never doubted Lofton would hit his foul shots.
Finally, we can't expect to retain our top billing forever. Unlike Memphis, who gets handed their wins by embarrassingly poor opposition week to week, we have a tough schedule and a conference tournament ahead of us. Nevertheless I think its realistic for us to retain a 1-seed going into the tournament, which is more important.

Overall, a great weekend. One of the best in sports for awhile, and I got a lot of work done.
Cheers.

Kilkenny

After a 2 hour train ride early Saturday morning, Nicole and I arrived in Kilkenny. We had a nice albeit fairly cold day. The city is actually quite small, however our B&B was geographically as far from the train station as possible without being outside the city. We walked there and stowed our stuff in our pink room that smelled of false apricots. After walking back to the city center and getting stone dust in my eyes from a construction site, we went to the tourist center.
The tourist center was in a nice old building, but the people weren't nice, or even old. The one thing that this place ought to have had if nothing else was a map of the city. There were no maps of the city readily available, even though there was a whole map section of the shop. There was a fold out roadmap of the city that was roughly the size of a car hood. We ultimately settled for a local culinary guide with a small simplified map inside. I don't know if it was free or not, but if it wasn't we freakin stole it.
We sought lunch in a nearby pub, where we were served by an older gentleman who used every term of endearment in the book to address Nicole. When we entered, the Eagles' "Take it Easy" showed promise for the song selection, but came crashing down with "There's a Tear in my Beer." The Soggy Bottom Boys' "Man of Constant Sorrow."

A view of Kilkenny town center.












After the pub we went to Kilkenny Castle, a massive structure that dominates the city skyline and is one of the largest and best examples of a Norman castle in Ireland. We were informed that all the tours till 4pm were booked, so we put our names down and left. We went first to Kilkenny's Rothe House, build around 1600 and preserved as a museum. It was home to a wealthy local family, mayor included. They also hosted rebel activity in the 17th century before Cromwell got there.

Their sitting room had a massive skull of a Great Irish Elk over the fireplace. A cursory search on this monster revealed that its scientific name is Megaloceros giganteus (haha) and that it was 7 feet tall at the shoulder. Add on the big-ass skull in this picture.













After the Rothe house, we went to St. Canice's Cathedral, the second largest in Ireland. They have a round tower, but it was "closed for winter," whatever that means. They guy inside asked where we were from, and brought up Davy Crockett. I once had a guy in Cork start interrogating me about Davy Crockett's accomplishments, mincing words with me over events that I'm not sure he was aware were "tall tales." Anyway.

The inside of St. Canice's is basically a gallery of wealthy Anglo-Irish dead folks. They have a ton of tombs and crypts, and some awesome stained glass. The church is over 1,000 years old, but the present building was renovated in the mid 1800s.















The best part was probably the ceiling, done in Canadian redwood during aforementioned renovation. Each end is carved with some kind of figure, human or bestial. Ironically I found the wood more striking than some of the other stone or mosaic church roofs I've seen.















The view above the altar in St. Canice's.











After St. Canice's we went back to take our castle tour. Our tour guide was Amy Winehouse minus the redeeming vocal qualities. Unfortunately, they don't let you take pictures inside the castle.

The castle was the family home of the Butlers until 1963. They were an Anglo-Irish noble family that were awarded the stewardship of Ireland by one of the earlier Edwards. They once owned massive sections of Ireland, and received a royalty on all wine sold in the country. They were big supporters of the Stuart dynasty during the turmoil of the 18th century. We got to see the library, which had virulent yellow walls, and the main hall, which had a ridiculous ceiling. It too was carved wood, but it was also painted over with intricate landscapes and designs. It also had tons of portraits of important folks. Originally four-walled, Cromwell and his roundheads battered down the fourth wall during their siege of the castle. The gardens nearby are made in the shape of a Celtic cross.




After the castle, we walked around Kilkenny's two main streets for a while. I bought a great woolen green hat from a "man's store" in which everything was tweed, argyle, or plaid. The proprietor was convinced it was for my father. Eventually, we retired to a pub called Kyteler's which was formerly the home of a woman named Alice Kyteler in the 14th century. After her fourth wealthy husband died, local authorities tried her for witchcraft. She was prosecuted by the bishop at St. Canice's and held at the Castle. More than likely she poised the poor bastards with arsenic. Through some of her powerful connections, she was able to smuggle herself out of the country, but her servants were left behind to be burned at stake. The pub was great, really interestingly decorated. We got in in time to see the Manchester United - Arsenal FA Cup match, and there was a group of United supporters inside. United trounced the Gunners 4-0, and a good time was had by all. We stayed in Kyteler's for several more hours after having supper there, and then made our way back to our room.
The next morning was one of the coldest so far, a bit under 30. We arrived at the train station with about 20 old women taking a trip with their social club. On the way back, a Nigerian woman with two small boys kept the entire train car at triple digit decibel levels. It rocked.
Overall it was a nice little trip. This weekend I'm flying to London to visit the British National Archives so there will be a post on that, as well as on all the sports stuff going down this weekend. I won't even get into that now because I don't even want to think about the implications yet....

My Ears are Cold

Yes, for the first time since early in 8th grade, my hair is short. I feel a bit vulnerable and susceptible to the elements. I figured what the hell, I'm in a foreign country where a bunch of punk-ass kids have the same haircut, none of my loved ones see me every day so if it ends up being stupid it won't hurt as bad.
The girl who cut it was Polish and spoke no English, so I had to point something out in a magazine to her. That was pretty alarming but she did a decent job. I did it on Monday. On Tuesday, I passed Daithi inside Trinity (for those who dont know, Daithi is the guy I worked for two summers ago, and whose office I sometimes hang out in/do some extra work to help him finish his book) Daithi walked straight past me without so much as a word, and when I called him out, he turned, looked confused, and muttered "Jesus..." 'Nuff said.
Nicole found out today, when I approached her to go to lunch. She babbled for a bit. I think she likes it, or at least pretends she does. I've had girls that are in my classes who have never spoken to me pass me in the halls and go "Oh God, you cut your hair!"
Anyway, you be the judge about whether it was a good choice. Any time I save during washing is lost again because it has to be fixed, so stalemate there. It actually stays right without being fixed, but I prefer to put that awful goop on it to make sure it doesn't go crazy on me. We'll see what its like as it grows.
Oh yeah, and sorry for the emo pictures. I had to take them in the mirror for lack of a helper.