It's barely New Year's Eve, and already the Creme Eggs are in the grocery stores.
I haven't even finished my Christmas box of After Eights.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Monday, November 14, 2005
Would You Like Fries With That?
There is an interesting article on globeandmail.com today. Well, the article isn't that interesting, it's actually really lame, but the 165 comments that Globe readers sent in are interesting. The article is titled "Canucks Come Home" and the government is asking expats to return home because Canada apparently needs skilled workers. The majority of the comments were, not surprisingly, negative.
Most respondents cited high taxes as a reason for not coming back. However, that's not really an issue for me because I live in Europe. My taxes might be slightly lower in Dublin, but not for much longer (I move up to a higher tax bracket next year) and the health care system is worse here. I think there is a much better quality of life in Canada.
However, I did agree with the respondents who said that there are no jobs for skilled workers in Canada, and therefore no point in asking expats to come home - there is nothing for them. Just look at our taxi drivers - we have the highest-educated taxi drivers in the world. I for one know from personal experience that you basically have to be overqualified in order to get a job in Canada. I remember when I was working at the mall after graduation. Yes, you read right. Working at the mall after graduation. When a lot of stores put up job ads, they requested a university education - to work at the mall. That's so utterly ridiculous. Or is it? If there is a glut of overeducated people in Canada, which there is, then you can demand over-the-top educational requirements for menial jobs. The problem is that Canada has one of the highest rate of university graduates per capita, but doesn't have the employment landscape to absorb these graduates. The problem is, by educating these people, you're setting them up with expectations for employment - and those expectations don't involve wearing a polyester uniform.
Also, it's very difficult for someone to get valid work experience after graduation. There is little in the way of proper intern, work experience, or in-house training programmes for young graduates. Many are caught in a no-work, no-experience cycle until they either somehow break in, or decide that delivering pizzas for a living isn't that bad.
I remember back when I was working at the ad agency and I was looking for work elsewhere. One of the reasons why I wanted to leave was that I was under-paid and I didn't have room to move up or grow because it was a small company. The only person above me was my boss. When I went on interviews, I was told that I wasn't qualified because I hadn't ever had someone working under me before. First of all, all managers haven't when they first become a manager, and secondly, I had been a manager before - I had managed my own retail store for a short period of time and was responsible for hiring, firing and training staff. Of course, that didn't count - that was different. After all it's much harder to keep a high school kid working for pocket change motivated than it is someone who is trying to build a career.
It doesn't help that HR practitioners in Canada are dreadfully conservative. They like to see the classic, linear career path. Any bends in that path and game over, they're not interested. I remember another time when I was at the ad agency and looking for another job. I was in the interview and I have (had) a five-month gap on my CV. When I graduated from my post-graduate diploma, it took me five months to find a job in my field. During that time, I temped a a receptionist. However in an effort to keep my CV to the recommended two pages, and because the job had no bearing on my experience as an advertising practitioner, I left it off. The HR person asked me what I did during that time and I explained that after graduation, I was caught in the no-job, no-experience cycle, that it took me some time to find a job and I temped to earn a paycheque. She then said, "but what did you do?" So I replied, "I temped as a receptionist for a mining company." And explained why I felt that I didn't need to have it on my CV. Her response, "Yes, but what did you DO??" "Well, I answered the phone and transferred calls to various departments, I received courier packages, as it was a high security building, I screened visitors before allowing them access and I also used Microsoft Word Mail Merge to send out mass mailings to shareholders." Her response, "so what did you DO???" What did I DO???? I went home and changed the dates of my schooling on my CV to eliminate the damn gap, that's what I did. I couldn't fathom how an irrelevant five-month gap from four years ago had anything to do with how good I was at advertising. But then again, if I wasn't good enough to be hired right out of school with no gaps, I wasn't good enough for them.
Job prospects were tight for me in Canada. When I wanted to leave the ad agency, I wanted to leave for more money because I was already underpaid. However, I was currently paying next to nothing for transportation because I walked to work. If I moved jobs, I would probably need to add in the cost of a commute. As nothing that I was applying for was within walking distance, I needed to consider that unless I was making more money, my disposable income would be lower. I couldn't find anything that was going to pay me more money to offset my higher living costs. At the same time, none of these jobs were sufficiently interesting for me to sacrifice a bit of money for long-term gain. Also, considering the wage-freeze, hiring-freeze climate that Canada was in at the time, I had to consider that the wage I accepted upon hiring was probably going to be my wage for around 2-3 years.
I know that I would never have the job that I have now back home. In fact, the company I work for has offices in Canada, and had I sent my CV to them instead of moving abroad, they probably wouldn't even have considered me worthy of a thanks-but-no-thanks email in response.
I often think about moving home but my main barrier, besides the lack of vacation time and travel opportunities, is the fact that I'm not sure there is anything for me at home. Will there be a decent, challenging job for me back home, or will I be turned down because I'm considered a waster for quitting my job and leaving for Europe in the first place? Will any employers feel that my international work experience is worthy and valid, or will they write it off because it's not "Canadian experience"? In the past, I heard critcisms from would-be employers that I wasn't qualified because I didn't have enough experience with PowerPoint. (PowerPoint? Hi, I'm a moron and have the inability to learn a Microsoft application). Will I return home to hear that I am not qualified because I haven't been in the Canadian workforce for the past few years, and international experience is not desirable because it's something akin to colouring outside the lines?
Will I pack up my wealth of life and work experience to return home to end up performing the office equivalent of asking "Would you like fries with that?" According to those 165 comments, the answer to that is yes.
Article: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20051113.wcanada1113/CommentStory/National/
Most respondents cited high taxes as a reason for not coming back. However, that's not really an issue for me because I live in Europe. My taxes might be slightly lower in Dublin, but not for much longer (I move up to a higher tax bracket next year) and the health care system is worse here. I think there is a much better quality of life in Canada.
However, I did agree with the respondents who said that there are no jobs for skilled workers in Canada, and therefore no point in asking expats to come home - there is nothing for them. Just look at our taxi drivers - we have the highest-educated taxi drivers in the world. I for one know from personal experience that you basically have to be overqualified in order to get a job in Canada. I remember when I was working at the mall after graduation. Yes, you read right. Working at the mall after graduation. When a lot of stores put up job ads, they requested a university education - to work at the mall. That's so utterly ridiculous. Or is it? If there is a glut of overeducated people in Canada, which there is, then you can demand over-the-top educational requirements for menial jobs. The problem is that Canada has one of the highest rate of university graduates per capita, but doesn't have the employment landscape to absorb these graduates. The problem is, by educating these people, you're setting them up with expectations for employment - and those expectations don't involve wearing a polyester uniform.
Also, it's very difficult for someone to get valid work experience after graduation. There is little in the way of proper intern, work experience, or in-house training programmes for young graduates. Many are caught in a no-work, no-experience cycle until they either somehow break in, or decide that delivering pizzas for a living isn't that bad.
I remember back when I was working at the ad agency and I was looking for work elsewhere. One of the reasons why I wanted to leave was that I was under-paid and I didn't have room to move up or grow because it was a small company. The only person above me was my boss. When I went on interviews, I was told that I wasn't qualified because I hadn't ever had someone working under me before. First of all, all managers haven't when they first become a manager, and secondly, I had been a manager before - I had managed my own retail store for a short period of time and was responsible for hiring, firing and training staff. Of course, that didn't count - that was different. After all it's much harder to keep a high school kid working for pocket change motivated than it is someone who is trying to build a career.
It doesn't help that HR practitioners in Canada are dreadfully conservative. They like to see the classic, linear career path. Any bends in that path and game over, they're not interested. I remember another time when I was at the ad agency and looking for another job. I was in the interview and I have (had) a five-month gap on my CV. When I graduated from my post-graduate diploma, it took me five months to find a job in my field. During that time, I temped a a receptionist. However in an effort to keep my CV to the recommended two pages, and because the job had no bearing on my experience as an advertising practitioner, I left it off. The HR person asked me what I did during that time and I explained that after graduation, I was caught in the no-job, no-experience cycle, that it took me some time to find a job and I temped to earn a paycheque. She then said, "but what did you do?" So I replied, "I temped as a receptionist for a mining company." And explained why I felt that I didn't need to have it on my CV. Her response, "Yes, but what did you DO??" "Well, I answered the phone and transferred calls to various departments, I received courier packages, as it was a high security building, I screened visitors before allowing them access and I also used Microsoft Word Mail Merge to send out mass mailings to shareholders." Her response, "so what did you DO???" What did I DO???? I went home and changed the dates of my schooling on my CV to eliminate the damn gap, that's what I did. I couldn't fathom how an irrelevant five-month gap from four years ago had anything to do with how good I was at advertising. But then again, if I wasn't good enough to be hired right out of school with no gaps, I wasn't good enough for them.
Job prospects were tight for me in Canada. When I wanted to leave the ad agency, I wanted to leave for more money because I was already underpaid. However, I was currently paying next to nothing for transportation because I walked to work. If I moved jobs, I would probably need to add in the cost of a commute. As nothing that I was applying for was within walking distance, I needed to consider that unless I was making more money, my disposable income would be lower. I couldn't find anything that was going to pay me more money to offset my higher living costs. At the same time, none of these jobs were sufficiently interesting for me to sacrifice a bit of money for long-term gain. Also, considering the wage-freeze, hiring-freeze climate that Canada was in at the time, I had to consider that the wage I accepted upon hiring was probably going to be my wage for around 2-3 years.
I know that I would never have the job that I have now back home. In fact, the company I work for has offices in Canada, and had I sent my CV to them instead of moving abroad, they probably wouldn't even have considered me worthy of a thanks-but-no-thanks email in response.
I often think about moving home but my main barrier, besides the lack of vacation time and travel opportunities, is the fact that I'm not sure there is anything for me at home. Will there be a decent, challenging job for me back home, or will I be turned down because I'm considered a waster for quitting my job and leaving for Europe in the first place? Will any employers feel that my international work experience is worthy and valid, or will they write it off because it's not "Canadian experience"? In the past, I heard critcisms from would-be employers that I wasn't qualified because I didn't have enough experience with PowerPoint. (PowerPoint? Hi, I'm a moron and have the inability to learn a Microsoft application). Will I return home to hear that I am not qualified because I haven't been in the Canadian workforce for the past few years, and international experience is not desirable because it's something akin to colouring outside the lines?
Will I pack up my wealth of life and work experience to return home to end up performing the office equivalent of asking "Would you like fries with that?" According to those 165 comments, the answer to that is yes.
Article: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20051113.wcanada1113/CommentStory/National/
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Now what the hell am I supposed to eat?
Once upon a time, bread was good for you - as long as it wasn't white bread of course. Bacon, eggs and red meat were bad for you if you ate them every day, so you really only had them on weekends. They were fine in moderation. Milk was essential for strong bones, and if you didn't drink it, you would never be strong and healthy.
Then we found out that milk isn't that good for you. Cows are given so many antibiotics, some of them are transferred into the milk and it's the long term effects haven't been determined, but it's sometimes cited as a reason for the rise of lactose intolerance. That's fine, because I don't like milk and I haven't had any for years.
Bread then became the new public enemy #1. It is a carb, and all carbs are bad. They contribute to insulin resistance, which occurs because the body can no longer process fuels, fats and sugars. This occurs because our bodies are geared towards storing food for an upcoming famine, but in this current day and age, there never is a famine. Our carbs are over-processed so they're broken down into sugars too quickly and easily, and our body develops an insulin resistance, which causes us to gain weight and keep it on despite reducing caloric intake. Bread also bears no resemblance to the product of our grandparents' generation anyway. Unless you're buying whole grain bread, most of the nutrients have actually been stripped out of it during the processing. Also, apparently there is more gluten in today's bread than there was several years ago, and many people have difficulty digesting it. This too was ok. After I returned from Germany when I was 16, I declared that I only wanted to eat bakery whole grain or rye bread, so I could still have my honey on toast with a clear conscience - I wasn't eating mass-produced bread.
However, now that I am in Ireland and am struggling more with my figure, I have had to eliminate many carbs from my diet. I find it's the only way I can keep weight down. So I've had to say good-bye to my beloved honey on toast - for now anyway. I could never find proper whole grain bread here anyway.
So my diet mainly consists of salads, cheese, eggs, chicken and pork. I do eat carbs sometimes because I'm just not that good of a dieter, but when I am being strict, it's mostly salads and meats.
Of course, by salad I don't mean iceberg lettuce. I read in the Globe & Mail a couple of years ago that the molecules in iceberg lettuce in particular retain radioactive material even after washing. California farms get most of their water from the Colorado River which contains some toxic contaminants from the aerospace/nuclear industry from companies like Lockheed Martin that sometimes illegally dump waste in the river. So since then I only buy greenhouse-grown Boston Leaf lettuce.
A couple of weeks ago, there was a report that avian flu has hit Britain. Now it turns out that the bird was never in the regular poultry supply so it's all good, but considering the British track record - foot & mouth, mad cow, I'm not convinced. Also, the health authorities have assured us that eating poultry and eggs is ok - just be sure to make sure that the yolk on your eggs is cooked. Ok, so runny yolk is risky, but cooked yolk is ok. I'm feeling a little more uneasy now. Also, though I live in Ireland, that doesn't make me immune. The Irish are notorious for half-assed laziness when it comes to manufacturing/production.
Since that report came out, I've had a really hard time eating chicken. It's just the last straw for me. First it was "Fast Food Nation". After reading about the meat processing process, I was freaking out that I couldn't afford to only buy organic meat on a regular basis. After awhile, however, I started to not think about it so much. Then a couple of months ago I read an article about the manufacturing of chickens and how they're fed massive amounts of hormones to grow faster and that if you see bruise-like marks on the chicken, it's actually urine - they accidentally pee on each other and themselves because they're in such close quarters. So I just made sure that none of the chicken I bought had bruises on it. Now I'm possibly eating something that can cause the next world pandemic... That just did it for me. I can't even look at the chicken breasts at the meat counter.
So for the eighth day in a row I'm eating pork. I like pork, and garlic spareribs are one of my favourite foods. Of course, I can't eat rice with those spareribs anymore, but that's ok. I remember hearing something about pork - or is it just that you can't eat it if you're Jewish? Well, I'm not Jewish and I'm certainly not going to seek out any information about whether or not pork is good for you. I don't want to know. As it is, I'm so bored with my diet. It's completely uninspiring but there is nothing else I can eat (that I like). I can make fish sometimes, but I bring a packed lunch to work and fish isn't suitable for that. I get home from the gym too late during the week to cook a meal then so I can only really have fish on the weekends. So that leaves salad, pork, cheese and eggs... but wait, cheese comes from cows pumped up on antibiotics doesn't it, and eggs come from avian flu-infected chickens.... CRAP!!!
Now what the hell do I eat?
Then we found out that milk isn't that good for you. Cows are given so many antibiotics, some of them are transferred into the milk and it's the long term effects haven't been determined, but it's sometimes cited as a reason for the rise of lactose intolerance. That's fine, because I don't like milk and I haven't had any for years.
Bread then became the new public enemy #1. It is a carb, and all carbs are bad. They contribute to insulin resistance, which occurs because the body can no longer process fuels, fats and sugars. This occurs because our bodies are geared towards storing food for an upcoming famine, but in this current day and age, there never is a famine. Our carbs are over-processed so they're broken down into sugars too quickly and easily, and our body develops an insulin resistance, which causes us to gain weight and keep it on despite reducing caloric intake. Bread also bears no resemblance to the product of our grandparents' generation anyway. Unless you're buying whole grain bread, most of the nutrients have actually been stripped out of it during the processing. Also, apparently there is more gluten in today's bread than there was several years ago, and many people have difficulty digesting it. This too was ok. After I returned from Germany when I was 16, I declared that I only wanted to eat bakery whole grain or rye bread, so I could still have my honey on toast with a clear conscience - I wasn't eating mass-produced bread.
However, now that I am in Ireland and am struggling more with my figure, I have had to eliminate many carbs from my diet. I find it's the only way I can keep weight down. So I've had to say good-bye to my beloved honey on toast - for now anyway. I could never find proper whole grain bread here anyway.
So my diet mainly consists of salads, cheese, eggs, chicken and pork. I do eat carbs sometimes because I'm just not that good of a dieter, but when I am being strict, it's mostly salads and meats.
Of course, by salad I don't mean iceberg lettuce. I read in the Globe & Mail a couple of years ago that the molecules in iceberg lettuce in particular retain radioactive material even after washing. California farms get most of their water from the Colorado River which contains some toxic contaminants from the aerospace/nuclear industry from companies like Lockheed Martin that sometimes illegally dump waste in the river. So since then I only buy greenhouse-grown Boston Leaf lettuce.
A couple of weeks ago, there was a report that avian flu has hit Britain. Now it turns out that the bird was never in the regular poultry supply so it's all good, but considering the British track record - foot & mouth, mad cow, I'm not convinced. Also, the health authorities have assured us that eating poultry and eggs is ok - just be sure to make sure that the yolk on your eggs is cooked. Ok, so runny yolk is risky, but cooked yolk is ok. I'm feeling a little more uneasy now. Also, though I live in Ireland, that doesn't make me immune. The Irish are notorious for half-assed laziness when it comes to manufacturing/production.
Since that report came out, I've had a really hard time eating chicken. It's just the last straw for me. First it was "Fast Food Nation". After reading about the meat processing process, I was freaking out that I couldn't afford to only buy organic meat on a regular basis. After awhile, however, I started to not think about it so much. Then a couple of months ago I read an article about the manufacturing of chickens and how they're fed massive amounts of hormones to grow faster and that if you see bruise-like marks on the chicken, it's actually urine - they accidentally pee on each other and themselves because they're in such close quarters. So I just made sure that none of the chicken I bought had bruises on it. Now I'm possibly eating something that can cause the next world pandemic... That just did it for me. I can't even look at the chicken breasts at the meat counter.
So for the eighth day in a row I'm eating pork. I like pork, and garlic spareribs are one of my favourite foods. Of course, I can't eat rice with those spareribs anymore, but that's ok. I remember hearing something about pork - or is it just that you can't eat it if you're Jewish? Well, I'm not Jewish and I'm certainly not going to seek out any information about whether or not pork is good for you. I don't want to know. As it is, I'm so bored with my diet. It's completely uninspiring but there is nothing else I can eat (that I like). I can make fish sometimes, but I bring a packed lunch to work and fish isn't suitable for that. I get home from the gym too late during the week to cook a meal then so I can only really have fish on the weekends. So that leaves salad, pork, cheese and eggs... but wait, cheese comes from cows pumped up on antibiotics doesn't it, and eggs come from avian flu-infected chickens.... CRAP!!!
Now what the hell do I eat?
Monday, November 07, 2005
Some recent thoughts
Ok, I know I haven't written lately. There are a few reasons for it. I'm pretty happy in my new apartment so I haven't been going out into town as much - and into net cafes. I have broadband now though so I plan on posting more regularly from now on. Also, work has been shockingly busy, leaving me little time to think about other stuff.
I had a few thoughts for the topic of this post, but I've decided that for my first post back after my hiatus, I'll just post a collection of some random thoughts from the past week or two.
I can't believe that Kate Moss is still in the news here. What is so shocking about the fact that she's a cocaine addict? I thought it was shocking that pictures haven't come out before now.
I've been reading slate.com recently. They have a geat mix of articles from the political to pop cultural. This past week, I read a very good series about a terrorist's wife and also a couple of great articles about the high school prom. As my prom, uh I mean company Christmas party, is coming up, I found the prom series of articles very topical. No I don't intend on going to this year's Christmas party. Once you've graduated from high school, there is no reason to ever look back.
I can't believe that a senior White House politician is named Skippy - whoops, I mean Scooter. Ok, considering this current administration, I can believe it. However, nothing says "frat boy" more than the name Scooter. Does anyone take this guy seriously? Let me guess, Daddy got him into Yale, he rode his connections to the top, stole an election with the help of his governor brother.... oops, wrong Republican. Anyway, I think that you should never trust a man named for a child's mode of transportation. Verdict: Guilty. As an aside, this prosecuter seems to be really tough. I hope Official A is Karl Rove.
My newest favourite TV show is "Lost". Before anyone comments, pickings are slimmer here than back home.
I had a few thoughts for the topic of this post, but I've decided that for my first post back after my hiatus, I'll just post a collection of some random thoughts from the past week or two.
I can't believe that Kate Moss is still in the news here. What is so shocking about the fact that she's a cocaine addict? I thought it was shocking that pictures haven't come out before now.
I've been reading slate.com recently. They have a geat mix of articles from the political to pop cultural. This past week, I read a very good series about a terrorist's wife and also a couple of great articles about the high school prom. As my prom, uh I mean company Christmas party, is coming up, I found the prom series of articles very topical. No I don't intend on going to this year's Christmas party. Once you've graduated from high school, there is no reason to ever look back.
I can't believe that a senior White House politician is named Skippy - whoops, I mean Scooter. Ok, considering this current administration, I can believe it. However, nothing says "frat boy" more than the name Scooter. Does anyone take this guy seriously? Let me guess, Daddy got him into Yale, he rode his connections to the top, stole an election with the help of his governor brother.... oops, wrong Republican. Anyway, I think that you should never trust a man named for a child's mode of transportation. Verdict: Guilty. As an aside, this prosecuter seems to be really tough. I hope Official A is Karl Rove.
My newest favourite TV show is "Lost". Before anyone comments, pickings are slimmer here than back home.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
In the news today
Air France flight 358 crashed upon landing at Toronto's Pearson International airport yesterday afternoon. No one died in the crash, which is a complete miracle. It's really impressive that the flight crew managed to get all 300+ passengers out of the plane before it burst into flames. As the panic factor must have been high, this was no easy task, and the crew is to be commended. I often count how many rows I am sitting away from the emergency exits, and sometimes I'll admit that my thoughts turn to calculating how many people sitting in front of me are likely to impede me getting off the plane in the event of a crash by panicking, blocking the way, deciding to grab something from the overhead bins first, or being too scared to use the emergency chute. I am convinced that I will be in a crash someday and will survive the initial impact, but will die because I couldn't get off the plane on time because someone stopped to grab their purse.
Some thoughts about this event:
1. RTE news sucks (Irish state TV channel). They announced in a news break that "a plane crashed in Toronto". They didn't say what flight or how, and then went on to a story about poverty in Niger. I was beside myself flipping the channels until I got all my info from Sky.
2. Fly Air France. Their crew is obviously top-notch. I flew a Continental code-share on an Air France plane coming back from Paris a few years ago, and they are great.
3. I am right to always want to sit at the back of the plane if I can't get an emergency exit row seat.
4. It's a really sad commentary about the state of the world today that when we hear about things like this, we express more relief that it was an accident instead of a terrorist incident before worrying about if there were any survivors.
Some thoughts about this event:
1. RTE news sucks (Irish state TV channel). They announced in a news break that "a plane crashed in Toronto". They didn't say what flight or how, and then went on to a story about poverty in Niger. I was beside myself flipping the channels until I got all my info from Sky.
2. Fly Air France. Their crew is obviously top-notch. I flew a Continental code-share on an Air France plane coming back from Paris a few years ago, and they are great.
3. I am right to always want to sit at the back of the plane if I can't get an emergency exit row seat.
4. It's a really sad commentary about the state of the world today that when we hear about things like this, we express more relief that it was an accident instead of a terrorist incident before worrying about if there were any survivors.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Blue Rodeo in Dublin
Went to see Blue Rodeo at Whelan's on Friday night with a Canadian friend of mine. Whelan's is a small bar that hosts a lot of live acts. It was a great show. The place was packed with Canadians. I knew a couple of other people there, and hung out with them for a bit. A band from Nova Scotia called El Torpedo opened and they were really good. They were on when I got there, and I thought at first that Blue Rodeo had started already. I soon realized that it wasn't them, but knew right away that I was listening to a Canadian band. They're quite Tragically Hip-influenced.
Blue Rodeo was, of course, great. Funny, it's the kind of band where you know so many of their songs, but you wouldn't necessarily buy an album or make the effort to see them live – unless you're away from home, then you go for some Canadian good times. Everyone there was belting out all the words, it was so much fun. They played for a really long time too and they included all the favourites like "Lost Together","I Don't Know What I'm Doing Here", "Rose-coloured Glasses", and "Hasn't Hit Me Yet", though they didn't play "Try". It sucked that I was on crutches, but I got a stool, which was lucky, as they usually empty the place of furniture during concerts.
As my friend kept going up to the bar to talk to her boyfriend who was standing up there, I actually felt a bit alone for much of the concert. The other guys that I knew there were with their girlfriends and you could tell they were sharing a part of where they came from with them. I felt like I had no one with whom to share the evening. If this were a night back home, I would have been there with a bunch of friends. It was that kind of show. It would have been better if I wasn't stuck sitting all night, and also if my friend hadn't brought along her boyfriend, who was quite honestly, not into it. As it was, I felt alone among my countrymen, which was weird. For a few hours on Friday night, I was home. But yet, I wasn't.
Blue Rodeo was, of course, great. Funny, it's the kind of band where you know so many of their songs, but you wouldn't necessarily buy an album or make the effort to see them live – unless you're away from home, then you go for some Canadian good times. Everyone there was belting out all the words, it was so much fun. They played for a really long time too and they included all the favourites like "Lost Together","I Don't Know What I'm Doing Here", "Rose-coloured Glasses", and "Hasn't Hit Me Yet", though they didn't play "Try". It sucked that I was on crutches, but I got a stool, which was lucky, as they usually empty the place of furniture during concerts.
As my friend kept going up to the bar to talk to her boyfriend who was standing up there, I actually felt a bit alone for much of the concert. The other guys that I knew there were with their girlfriends and you could tell they were sharing a part of where they came from with them. I felt like I had no one with whom to share the evening. If this were a night back home, I would have been there with a bunch of friends. It was that kind of show. It would have been better if I wasn't stuck sitting all night, and also if my friend hadn't brought along her boyfriend, who was quite honestly, not into it. As it was, I felt alone among my countrymen, which was weird. For a few hours on Friday night, I was home. But yet, I wasn't.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
It wouldn't be a sports season unless I am carried off the field
I sprained my ankle a few nights ago playing tag rugby. I was trying to tag this girl, and she was trying to deek around me. She stopped suddenly and moved in the other direction, so I did too, but my left ankle didn't go in the same direction as the rest of my body. I heard a pop and was down on the ground. It turned out to be not that bad of a sprain though you wouldn't have known by the size of my ankle and the pain on Tuesday night. I had to be carried off the field and then later carried to the car. The swelling has gone down quite a bit already and I can walk a short distance without limping. If I go to the store, I still need one of my crutches and ramps and stairs are a bit of an issue, but I think that I'll be walking somewhat normally at least by next week. So it's not nearly as bad as some of my previous injuries.
It was hard work getting used to being a temporary cripple here in Dublin. I had to catch a taxi to the hospital but I ran out of credit on my phone the night before. I had to ask my flatmate to call me a taxi, and the taxi company didn't want to come pick me up because I live too close to the hospital (it's about a five minute walk). First however, I needed to add some credit onto my phone because I needed to call work to say I wouldn't be in. The taxi driver pulled up to the store and I asked him if he wouldn't mind going in and he said no. I had to hop on one leg into the store, top up my mobile and hop out. Good thing I took dance classes as a kid, they really came in handy. At the hospital, they didn't put me in a wheelchair. A nurse led me to radiology and halfway down the hallway, which I was hopping down, she turned and asked me if I wanted crutches. Uh, well, how much further is radiology? Oh no that's ok, I'll keep hopping. It's a great workout. My good leg was hurting more than the sprained ankle by this time.
Irish hospitals are grim by the way. I was wondering why everyone at tag was saying that I should go home, put ice on it, and not go to the hospital until tomorrow if I could help it. I think the hospital waiting room would be seriously dodgy in the evenings. Oh, and something that some of you might find surprising. If you go into a hospital for anything, they charge you EURO55. I have private insurance, which I just got through work the day before my injury, fortuitously enough, but it's not very good here in Ireland. It doesn't cover the EURO55 admittance fee for one. Private insurance covers you for things like cancer treatment and private beds in a hospital, which you would definitely want here, as well as maternity care, cardiac care (necessary for those who grew up on Irish breakfasts) and MRI scans. Outpatient treatment including all proactive tests, GP visits and specialist consultations (dermatology, orthopaedic, physiotherapy) are discounted rate subject to a EURO220 or EURO350 yearly deductible - depending on what plan you go for. You can pay extra for a complete plan, but it's very, very expensive. I guess I feel slightly easier knowing that if I get something chronic, and I spend more than EURO220 in a year, that my subsequent outpatient visits will be discounted, though you have to pay the full amount and get the money back at the end of the year. I went with the plan with the lower deductible for routine care, because let's face it, if I get cancer, I'm going home to Canada. Besides, my plan also has partial cover for emergency dental in case of an accident, and the other plan had no coverage for dental at all. Teeth don't matter here apparently. Meanwhile, if I get in an accident and my teeth get knocked out, I consider that to be a serious medical issue. Getting teeth fixed properly (and to a certain cosmetic standard) is very expensive here. I much prefer the Canadian system – it's just so much easier. I got a skin rash a couple of months ago, and thought I might have to go to a dermatologist (EURO150 just for him to look at you once). Luckily, my GP could treat it, and she only costs EURO50. Overall that's not a lot of money, but if you had to make a few follow-up visits and see a specialist a few times, that really makes a difference in one's budget.
Dublin isn't very disabled-friendly. The disabled access ramp at the train station where I go to catch the train to work is under repair, so that area is boarded up. To get on the train, I have to go over a pedestrian overpass, which has lots of stairs and is slippery in the rain. When I get off the train at my destination, the disabled exit leads to the street, so I would need to exit, cross the tracks and walk back to the station on the other side to catch the bus. It's a bit of a circuitous route. Alternatively, there is an overpass that I could climb. I don't really fancy climbing the stairs to the overpass on my knees and then going down on the other side on my butt in the presence of my fellow commuter coworkers. Besides, the shuttle bus leaves five minutes after the train arrives, and it would probably take me so long to do either option, I would miss the bus anyways. I've been taking the city bus to work, which takes longer, is less comfortable, but hey, no stairs and someone gives me their seat. It's times like this that you realise how crappy disabled people have it. I wish I had my work laptop set up and had Internet access - then I could work from home.
I have to say, thought, that people in Dublin are definitely nice to people with crutches, which is funny because normally I find most Dubliners to be pushy and inconsiderate. On my way home from the hospital, I was getting tired because the crutches are unbelievably crappy. My whole upper body has been killing me from the way I have to hold them, and I think I now have carpal tunnel in my left wrist as a result. I got to the shopping centre, which is between the hospital and my place, and there is a patch of grass there. Since I was really tired, I thought I would sit there for a bit. Intelligent move, because I couldn't get back up again. I was trying to get up, but my right leg was pretty weak from all the hopping earlier in the day, and I couldn't roll myself up just on that leg. At one point was on all fours to try to get up, when I noticed that this guy was staring at me from his car. I sat back down to wait until he drove off because I'm not here to put on a show for anyone's amusement, when he pulled over, got out of his car, and asked me if I needed help up. Everyone at work has been getting me tea, and in fact, I find it hard to just go to the cafeteria without being fussed over. After work one day, I was trying to get on the bus, but the stairs were kind of high up, so some guy came by and helped me up the stairs and then asked someone to get out of their seat so I could sit there. Funny, because most people push their way on and off the bus to make sure they're first.
It was hard work getting used to being a temporary cripple here in Dublin. I had to catch a taxi to the hospital but I ran out of credit on my phone the night before. I had to ask my flatmate to call me a taxi, and the taxi company didn't want to come pick me up because I live too close to the hospital (it's about a five minute walk). First however, I needed to add some credit onto my phone because I needed to call work to say I wouldn't be in. The taxi driver pulled up to the store and I asked him if he wouldn't mind going in and he said no. I had to hop on one leg into the store, top up my mobile and hop out. Good thing I took dance classes as a kid, they really came in handy. At the hospital, they didn't put me in a wheelchair. A nurse led me to radiology and halfway down the hallway, which I was hopping down, she turned and asked me if I wanted crutches. Uh, well, how much further is radiology? Oh no that's ok, I'll keep hopping. It's a great workout. My good leg was hurting more than the sprained ankle by this time.
Irish hospitals are grim by the way. I was wondering why everyone at tag was saying that I should go home, put ice on it, and not go to the hospital until tomorrow if I could help it. I think the hospital waiting room would be seriously dodgy in the evenings. Oh, and something that some of you might find surprising. If you go into a hospital for anything, they charge you EURO55. I have private insurance, which I just got through work the day before my injury, fortuitously enough, but it's not very good here in Ireland. It doesn't cover the EURO55 admittance fee for one. Private insurance covers you for things like cancer treatment and private beds in a hospital, which you would definitely want here, as well as maternity care, cardiac care (necessary for those who grew up on Irish breakfasts) and MRI scans. Outpatient treatment including all proactive tests, GP visits and specialist consultations (dermatology, orthopaedic, physiotherapy) are discounted rate subject to a EURO220 or EURO350 yearly deductible - depending on what plan you go for. You can pay extra for a complete plan, but it's very, very expensive. I guess I feel slightly easier knowing that if I get something chronic, and I spend more than EURO220 in a year, that my subsequent outpatient visits will be discounted, though you have to pay the full amount and get the money back at the end of the year. I went with the plan with the lower deductible for routine care, because let's face it, if I get cancer, I'm going home to Canada. Besides, my plan also has partial cover for emergency dental in case of an accident, and the other plan had no coverage for dental at all. Teeth don't matter here apparently. Meanwhile, if I get in an accident and my teeth get knocked out, I consider that to be a serious medical issue. Getting teeth fixed properly (and to a certain cosmetic standard) is very expensive here. I much prefer the Canadian system – it's just so much easier. I got a skin rash a couple of months ago, and thought I might have to go to a dermatologist (EURO150 just for him to look at you once). Luckily, my GP could treat it, and she only costs EURO50. Overall that's not a lot of money, but if you had to make a few follow-up visits and see a specialist a few times, that really makes a difference in one's budget.
Dublin isn't very disabled-friendly. The disabled access ramp at the train station where I go to catch the train to work is under repair, so that area is boarded up. To get on the train, I have to go over a pedestrian overpass, which has lots of stairs and is slippery in the rain. When I get off the train at my destination, the disabled exit leads to the street, so I would need to exit, cross the tracks and walk back to the station on the other side to catch the bus. It's a bit of a circuitous route. Alternatively, there is an overpass that I could climb. I don't really fancy climbing the stairs to the overpass on my knees and then going down on the other side on my butt in the presence of my fellow commuter coworkers. Besides, the shuttle bus leaves five minutes after the train arrives, and it would probably take me so long to do either option, I would miss the bus anyways. I've been taking the city bus to work, which takes longer, is less comfortable, but hey, no stairs and someone gives me their seat. It's times like this that you realise how crappy disabled people have it. I wish I had my work laptop set up and had Internet access - then I could work from home.
I have to say, thought, that people in Dublin are definitely nice to people with crutches, which is funny because normally I find most Dubliners to be pushy and inconsiderate. On my way home from the hospital, I was getting tired because the crutches are unbelievably crappy. My whole upper body has been killing me from the way I have to hold them, and I think I now have carpal tunnel in my left wrist as a result. I got to the shopping centre, which is between the hospital and my place, and there is a patch of grass there. Since I was really tired, I thought I would sit there for a bit. Intelligent move, because I couldn't get back up again. I was trying to get up, but my right leg was pretty weak from all the hopping earlier in the day, and I couldn't roll myself up just on that leg. At one point was on all fours to try to get up, when I noticed that this guy was staring at me from his car. I sat back down to wait until he drove off because I'm not here to put on a show for anyone's amusement, when he pulled over, got out of his car, and asked me if I needed help up. Everyone at work has been getting me tea, and in fact, I find it hard to just go to the cafeteria without being fussed over. After work one day, I was trying to get on the bus, but the stairs were kind of high up, so some guy came by and helped me up the stairs and then asked someone to get out of their seat so I could sit there. Funny, because most people push their way on and off the bus to make sure they're first.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Hitting the Wall
Something happens to me that I refer to as hitting the wall. If drinking beer for example, which I don't do well, I'll often hit a drinking wall, where I cannot possibly put another drop down my throat because I feel full. The wall sneaks up on me very quickly. I can have three pints of beer and feel fine, but three sips into my fourth and the wall just hits. People, Irish people in particular, comment on leaving a perfectly good beer to waste, but I just can't finish it. I also have a "I'm tired and need to go to bed" wall. It's like the drinking wall except that when it hits, I need to go home and go to bed, and I need that to happen right away. If I'm left waiting before I can head home, I get very, very crabby.
Irish people aren't generally known for being particularly speedy. This is especially true when they're out socialising/drinking. It also gets worse as the night progresses, which creates a conflict with my wall and my subsequent need for a quick escape at the end of the night. Usually, I try to prevent such problems by not going to an event with someone, and also by having my own way home (usually taxi), so I don't have to rely on anyone else. I actually do my best not to agree to getting a ride home with someone. I also don't wait around for others to be ready at the end of the night. I make sure that the other girls are set up with rides or they come with me for a taxi, but everyone else is on their own. When I'm out with my Canadian friends, I can leave quickly and easily. Someone will say, are you ready to go, and we go. It's all very simple. That doesn't work with Irish people.
Case in point. This past weekend, I was in Letterkenny at a party with a friend. I decide that I want to leave and my friend says that we'll call a cab to get back to the B&B, but first we have to find Deirdre because she might want to share a cab. 10 minutes later, we find Deirdre and she's just opened a new beer. So w''re going to wait for Deirdre to finish her beer. By this point, it's 2.30am and I'm estimating our ETA to the B&B at 4.00am. It's a 25 minute walk to the B&B. I suggest that we call the cab now anyway because it took 45 minutes for one to come get us to take us to the party - in Letterkenny, which isn't that big. There was some hesitation here on my friend's part. Finally my friend calls a cab, and it's going to be 20 minutes, so he's worried that the taxi will be here too soon. hahahahahahahaha. First of all, this is Letterkenny. Things do happen at a certain pace in Dublin, but they happen twice as slowly outside of Dublin. Since I have hit the wall, my censor is also disabled and I tell him not to worry because that's an Irish 20 minutes. They won't be here before half an hour, but probably closer to the 45 minutes it took for us to get a taxi on the way here. So, now I'm not too popular and I'm sitting on a porch step. People are looking at me because I look like I'm wasted and ready to drop at any second while we wait for Deirdre to finish her beer. While the second half of that is right, I didn't actually have very much to drink - only a couple of glasses of wine. I. Just. Want. To. Go. Home. NOW. Any act on my part to be sociable could inadvertantly prolong the goodbye process.
The Irish have a way of saying goodbye that seems to last forever. Really, they're going to see each other again. At the end of a party though, when they say that they're leaving, what they really mean is 'I'm going to have one last drink, make one last round of conversation with everyone, and then I'll call a taxi and start to prepare to leave, but will do a final goodbye and someone will say "do you really have to go now" and I may change my mind and have one more for the road'. If they do go, the approximate time between stated intention to leave with actually physically leaving is anywhere between 1-3 hours. This is something I can't comprehend. Even if the wall hasn't hit yet, once I say I'm leaving, I am really leaving and I prepare to actually do so. As a kid, it drove me nuts when we would get our coats on to leave someplace and my parents would continue the conversation at the door with the host for half an hour while my brother and I were standing there roasting.
So back to Letterkenny. As it didn't look like Deirdre or my friend were actually ready to go anytime soon and I didn't want to be the party pooper, I told my friend that it's only a 25 minute walk to the B&B, but it will be 45 minutes before the taxi arrives, and probably closer to an hour by the time we actually get out of there, so I have no problem walking back. And I meant it. I don't want to drag people away, but I was so close to losing it because they weren't leaving any time soon. I know it's just the Irish demeanour but I do think it's kind of rude. I said I wanted to go, and my friend said we would go, but then we're not really going. He knows I'm tired, but I'm expected to wait for an hour and a half for him. I'm supposed to wait because he'll feel bad that he let me walk home alone in the middle of the night, but I'm supposed to wait until 4am so he doesn't feel bad? We left as soon as the taxi came whether the others were ready to go or not (they weren't).
I think others think that I'm just being crabby, and well I am being crabby, but it's more than that. It's actually almost painful for me to sit there and wait for the others to be ready when I'm dead tired. I can't describe it, but it's a real physical exertion to keep my eyes open, let alone be charming. I don't think people understand how annoying and hard it is to wait for people to walk down the street, people who are walking so slow because they have the complete inability to walk in a straight line. They stop at a side street (is is this one?). Then they stop because they think they left their jacket behind, but no they're wearing it. They then stop again and turn around because they think they lost me, but meanwhile, I'm taking baby steps and pausing during each one and I'm still half a block ahead of them. The only way I could be behind them is if I was walking backwards. They also stop whenever someone speaks because they can't walk and talk at the same time. And finally, finally, a 1/2 hour later, they make it to the end of the street. But look Abrakebabra (dodgy kebab chain). Food. Let's stop. ARGGHHHH!
I know it would be easier if I could catch early-warnings signs of the wall. That way, I can proactively say that I need to go and maybe successfully leave before the wall hits. But I can't predict it. I can be on the dance floor one minute and look like I'm ready to boogie all night, and the next minute it will hit. Then I need to go. Now.
Irish people aren't generally known for being particularly speedy. This is especially true when they're out socialising/drinking. It also gets worse as the night progresses, which creates a conflict with my wall and my subsequent need for a quick escape at the end of the night. Usually, I try to prevent such problems by not going to an event with someone, and also by having my own way home (usually taxi), so I don't have to rely on anyone else. I actually do my best not to agree to getting a ride home with someone. I also don't wait around for others to be ready at the end of the night. I make sure that the other girls are set up with rides or they come with me for a taxi, but everyone else is on their own. When I'm out with my Canadian friends, I can leave quickly and easily. Someone will say, are you ready to go, and we go. It's all very simple. That doesn't work with Irish people.
Case in point. This past weekend, I was in Letterkenny at a party with a friend. I decide that I want to leave and my friend says that we'll call a cab to get back to the B&B, but first we have to find Deirdre because she might want to share a cab. 10 minutes later, we find Deirdre and she's just opened a new beer. So w''re going to wait for Deirdre to finish her beer. By this point, it's 2.30am and I'm estimating our ETA to the B&B at 4.00am. It's a 25 minute walk to the B&B. I suggest that we call the cab now anyway because it took 45 minutes for one to come get us to take us to the party - in Letterkenny, which isn't that big. There was some hesitation here on my friend's part. Finally my friend calls a cab, and it's going to be 20 minutes, so he's worried that the taxi will be here too soon. hahahahahahahaha. First of all, this is Letterkenny. Things do happen at a certain pace in Dublin, but they happen twice as slowly outside of Dublin. Since I have hit the wall, my censor is also disabled and I tell him not to worry because that's an Irish 20 minutes. They won't be here before half an hour, but probably closer to the 45 minutes it took for us to get a taxi on the way here. So, now I'm not too popular and I'm sitting on a porch step. People are looking at me because I look like I'm wasted and ready to drop at any second while we wait for Deirdre to finish her beer. While the second half of that is right, I didn't actually have very much to drink - only a couple of glasses of wine. I. Just. Want. To. Go. Home. NOW. Any act on my part to be sociable could inadvertantly prolong the goodbye process.
The Irish have a way of saying goodbye that seems to last forever. Really, they're going to see each other again. At the end of a party though, when they say that they're leaving, what they really mean is 'I'm going to have one last drink, make one last round of conversation with everyone, and then I'll call a taxi and start to prepare to leave, but will do a final goodbye and someone will say "do you really have to go now" and I may change my mind and have one more for the road'. If they do go, the approximate time between stated intention to leave with actually physically leaving is anywhere between 1-3 hours. This is something I can't comprehend. Even if the wall hasn't hit yet, once I say I'm leaving, I am really leaving and I prepare to actually do so. As a kid, it drove me nuts when we would get our coats on to leave someplace and my parents would continue the conversation at the door with the host for half an hour while my brother and I were standing there roasting.
So back to Letterkenny. As it didn't look like Deirdre or my friend were actually ready to go anytime soon and I didn't want to be the party pooper, I told my friend that it's only a 25 minute walk to the B&B, but it will be 45 minutes before the taxi arrives, and probably closer to an hour by the time we actually get out of there, so I have no problem walking back. And I meant it. I don't want to drag people away, but I was so close to losing it because they weren't leaving any time soon. I know it's just the Irish demeanour but I do think it's kind of rude. I said I wanted to go, and my friend said we would go, but then we're not really going. He knows I'm tired, but I'm expected to wait for an hour and a half for him. I'm supposed to wait because he'll feel bad that he let me walk home alone in the middle of the night, but I'm supposed to wait until 4am so he doesn't feel bad? We left as soon as the taxi came whether the others were ready to go or not (they weren't).
I think others think that I'm just being crabby, and well I am being crabby, but it's more than that. It's actually almost painful for me to sit there and wait for the others to be ready when I'm dead tired. I can't describe it, but it's a real physical exertion to keep my eyes open, let alone be charming. I don't think people understand how annoying and hard it is to wait for people to walk down the street, people who are walking so slow because they have the complete inability to walk in a straight line. They stop at a side street (is is this one?). Then they stop because they think they left their jacket behind, but no they're wearing it. They then stop again and turn around because they think they lost me, but meanwhile, I'm taking baby steps and pausing during each one and I'm still half a block ahead of them. The only way I could be behind them is if I was walking backwards. They also stop whenever someone speaks because they can't walk and talk at the same time. And finally, finally, a 1/2 hour later, they make it to the end of the street. But look Abrakebabra (dodgy kebab chain). Food. Let's stop. ARGGHHHH!
I know it would be easier if I could catch early-warnings signs of the wall. That way, I can proactively say that I need to go and maybe successfully leave before the wall hits. But I can't predict it. I can be on the dance floor one minute and look like I'm ready to boogie all night, and the next minute it will hit. Then I need to go. Now.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
sum-sum-summertime
It's a heatwave over here in Ireland. I'm not being sarcastic either. It's not a heatwave in terms of what I'm used to back in Toronto, but it's been close to record-breaking temperatures over here for the past few days. It was over 27C on Monday and yesterday. Today is in the early 20s and it's expected to be that way for the rest of the week. We've had much less rain so far this summer than last summer (knock wood), when it rained nearly every day in July. In fact, we have had quite a few sunny days and nearly every weekend has been pleasant since the end of May.
I went to play tag rugby last night and running around outside in the warm sunshine was really fun. Ireland would be a much more enjoyable place if the sun shined more often.
I went to play tag rugby last night and running around outside in the warm sunshine was really fun. Ireland would be a much more enjoyable place if the sun shined more often.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Cold showers and broken-down busses
As you know, I just came back from a trip to Slovenia. So you're thinking that the title of this entry is in reference to Slovenia, right? Nope. It's in reference to Ireland.
Slovenia is a beautiful, easy-going country. Everyone seemed to be sporty and into outdoor activities, and I didn't see a single person wearing a suit. Everyone was easy-going and no one seemed to be in a hurry. Yet, public transport still managed to run on time. The busses, though they didn't travel frequently in all parts of the country, did run according to schedule. The trains were fabulous. They were so clean and nice, they reminded me of Swiss trains, and the bathrooms were about three times the size of a conventional train bathroom.
At one point in my trip, I took a bus from Kobarid, in the north-west of the country near the Italian and Austrian border, over to Bled via the Vršič Pass (alt 1600m) in the Julian Alps. There were a bunch of women on the bus when I boarded. Shortly after the trip started, they got off and I was the only person on the bus for nearly the entire trip to Bled. The driver, who I will call Tobey Maguire because that's who he looked like, chatted with me, made sure that I liked the music he was playing, and then when there was a 20-minute stopover in one town, let me get out and go to the store and come back. It was cool. In Ireland, he would have stopped en route, waited for another bus to come along and then would have told me to get on that one because he's going "out of service." This has happened to me so often in Ireland. I'm sure that if the number of passengers falls below a certain amount, Dublin bus drivers are instructed to dump all remaining passengers and abandon the route. On any given weekend, a bus is supposed to come along my street once every 7-8 minutes, or three within any given 1/2 hour. Often I've been left waiting for 30-45 minutes for a bus to come along, and then when it does, it often just drives past me because it's full. This has happened consistently enough for me to believe that only a 1/3 of scheduled busses actually make it out on to the roads in Dublin.
When busses do run in Dublin, it doesn't mean that they are running well. The bus I was on yesterday suffered from a distinct lack of shocks. It lurched so bad, and those of us sitting up top had to actually hold on to the rails. If anyone was drunk, they would have been hurling for sure. I've also been on several busses that have just broken down. On one occasion, a bus I was on stalled every time it came to a stop. Eventually it just didn't start up again and we were dumped out literally in the middle of nowhere. Most of the Dublin busses are Volvo's, which is supposed to be a good brand. Maybe they got the factory seconds for a cheaper rate.
The shower in my apartment is a bit dodgy. The water pressure isn't that great, and we often don't have hot water. This past weekend, we had to turn on the heat in our apartment just to get some hot water, as what was starting to happen was that the hot water tank would automatically shut itself off unless the heat was on. It was a warm, sunny day in Ireland yesterday and since my window is south-facing, my bedroom was a complete heatsink. I also can't open my bedroom window when I'm not around due to evil stray cats (see previous post titled Stray Cat Strut). I know several people in the UK and Ireland in which hot water is a real issue. Part of the reason why I changed gyms to one closer to my apartment is so that I have a back-up shower in case of real problems - and I've had to put the back-up plan into use (see previous post titled I'll Get to It... Mañana).
Meanwhile, when in Slovenia, I stayed in two different youth hostels and one B&B. In all three places, the showers were quite good, with great water pressure and hot water - no matter what time of day it was. In the B&B, the shower was probably the best one I've had in Western Europe. The water pressure was almost too great.
So you would think that Slovenia, even though they were the go-getters of the Yugoslav union, might have suffered in terms of water, roads and transport during the Communist reign, but not so. They've managed to surpass most of Western Europe and leave Ireland in the dust.
Slovenia is a beautiful, easy-going country. Everyone seemed to be sporty and into outdoor activities, and I didn't see a single person wearing a suit. Everyone was easy-going and no one seemed to be in a hurry. Yet, public transport still managed to run on time. The busses, though they didn't travel frequently in all parts of the country, did run according to schedule. The trains were fabulous. They were so clean and nice, they reminded me of Swiss trains, and the bathrooms were about three times the size of a conventional train bathroom.
At one point in my trip, I took a bus from Kobarid, in the north-west of the country near the Italian and Austrian border, over to Bled via the Vršič Pass (alt 1600m) in the Julian Alps. There were a bunch of women on the bus when I boarded. Shortly after the trip started, they got off and I was the only person on the bus for nearly the entire trip to Bled. The driver, who I will call Tobey Maguire because that's who he looked like, chatted with me, made sure that I liked the music he was playing, and then when there was a 20-minute stopover in one town, let me get out and go to the store and come back. It was cool. In Ireland, he would have stopped en route, waited for another bus to come along and then would have told me to get on that one because he's going "out of service." This has happened to me so often in Ireland. I'm sure that if the number of passengers falls below a certain amount, Dublin bus drivers are instructed to dump all remaining passengers and abandon the route. On any given weekend, a bus is supposed to come along my street once every 7-8 minutes, or three within any given 1/2 hour. Often I've been left waiting for 30-45 minutes for a bus to come along, and then when it does, it often just drives past me because it's full. This has happened consistently enough for me to believe that only a 1/3 of scheduled busses actually make it out on to the roads in Dublin.
When busses do run in Dublin, it doesn't mean that they are running well. The bus I was on yesterday suffered from a distinct lack of shocks. It lurched so bad, and those of us sitting up top had to actually hold on to the rails. If anyone was drunk, they would have been hurling for sure. I've also been on several busses that have just broken down. On one occasion, a bus I was on stalled every time it came to a stop. Eventually it just didn't start up again and we were dumped out literally in the middle of nowhere. Most of the Dublin busses are Volvo's, which is supposed to be a good brand. Maybe they got the factory seconds for a cheaper rate.
The shower in my apartment is a bit dodgy. The water pressure isn't that great, and we often don't have hot water. This past weekend, we had to turn on the heat in our apartment just to get some hot water, as what was starting to happen was that the hot water tank would automatically shut itself off unless the heat was on. It was a warm, sunny day in Ireland yesterday and since my window is south-facing, my bedroom was a complete heatsink. I also can't open my bedroom window when I'm not around due to evil stray cats (see previous post titled Stray Cat Strut). I know several people in the UK and Ireland in which hot water is a real issue. Part of the reason why I changed gyms to one closer to my apartment is so that I have a back-up shower in case of real problems - and I've had to put the back-up plan into use (see previous post titled I'll Get to It... Mañana).
Meanwhile, when in Slovenia, I stayed in two different youth hostels and one B&B. In all three places, the showers were quite good, with great water pressure and hot water - no matter what time of day it was. In the B&B, the shower was probably the best one I've had in Western Europe. The water pressure was almost too great.
So you would think that Slovenia, even though they were the go-getters of the Yugoslav union, might have suffered in terms of water, roads and transport during the Communist reign, but not so. They've managed to surpass most of Western Europe and leave Ireland in the dust.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Further thoughts on the London bombings
These people were just going about their daily lives, and it could be anyone, anywhere, at any time. Though London was presumably targetted for its foreign policy, it still seems so horribly random.
Living away from my family and friends, it also makes me feel really isolated, and I miss them horribly. I wish I was going home to someone to talk to, instead of my shitty flatmates, or to "talk" at the Internet café like I am doing now.
Life is too short, so you might as well be doing something you like.
I still want to move to London, these bombings haven't changed that.
Living away from my family and friends, it also makes me feel really isolated, and I miss them horribly. I wish I was going home to someone to talk to, instead of my shitty flatmates, or to "talk" at the Internet café like I am doing now.
Life is too short, so you might as well be doing something you like.
I still want to move to London, these bombings haven't changed that.
Close to home
You're soon reminded how precarious the world situation is right now. I guess being from Canada, we enjoy some kind of insulation from the more violent world events and we always think that this kind of thing only happens so far from home.
I was stunned when my boss called me this morning to let me know about the explosions in London. She was calling me to warn me of airport chaos since I'm flying through Heathrow this afternoon on my way to Munich. I immediately thought of friends that I have in London, as well as many people that I work with - most of whom take the tube to work everyday.
I was looking at the tube map of affected stations. I had a job interview just outside one of the stations and I stayed at a hotel around the corner from another one of the stations just two months ago.
It's so close to home.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/4659093.stm
I was stunned when my boss called me this morning to let me know about the explosions in London. She was calling me to warn me of airport chaos since I'm flying through Heathrow this afternoon on my way to Munich. I immediately thought of friends that I have in London, as well as many people that I work with - most of whom take the tube to work everyday.
I was looking at the tube map of affected stations. I had a job interview just outside one of the stations and I stayed at a hotel around the corner from another one of the stations just two months ago.
It's so close to home.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/4659093.stm
United Nations
An American, Canadian, Irish woman, Brit, and Frenchman are on a conference call. The American says to the Irish woman (my boss), "hey congratulations to you guys for winning the Olympic games." Needless to say, it did not go over well. She starts going off, and then you hear giggling on the other end of the phone, which was the Brit. The funniest part was that the American made this comment right after the Frenchman came on to the call and announced himself.
I had to put the phone on mute, I was laughing so hard. 10 points to the American for that brilliant double play.
I had to put the phone on mute, I was laughing so hard. 10 points to the American for that brilliant double play.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Lifestyles of the Stupidly Rich
I was in Monaco the other week for work. I know, it’s a tough life. It was definitely a glimpse into how the other half live. When I say “other half”, I mean the astronomically rich section of the population. On my first day there, I had some time in the afternoon to myself so I took the opportunity to check the place out and enjoy the warm sunshine. I decided I wanted to get some lunch, so I went off in search of a place that had baguettes. I did find a lunch place, but it would have been much easier had I decided I wanted caviar for lunch instead. I didn’t walk around the whole Principality, but I would bet that there isn’t a McDonald’s outlet there. However, should your infant need new clothes, there is Baby Dior, and Baby Dolce & Gabbana. The Bentley dealership is on the same street as the Lamborghini and Rolls Royce dealerships. Something tells me they don’t take trade-ins on Renaults. Though you can’t fit a whole boat in a showroom, there was also what I assume to be a yacht store on the same strip. Later, I walked by a residence with both a Rolls and a Lamborghini in the driveway. Showoffs.
Monaco is built into a side of a hill, and there are public elevators that take you up from one street level to another. You walk in through a doorway cut into the hill, get in the elevator, and walk out on the next level. I guess that’s because rich people can’t walk uphill and risk getting sweat stains on their Prada, but I thought it was really cool.
Monaco has a very high proportion of good-looking people. Compared to Ireland, continental Europe is a total smorgasbord of yumminess in general, but people in Monaco really work on their tans and physiques – or pay a doctor to carve out the look for them. The porter at the hotel was a dead ringer for the guy from Nip/Tuck, which is a nice switch from the pasty-skinned, Guinness-bellied specimens I see on the DART every morning.
After quickly deciding that shopping would be no fun without my black Amex card, I went down to the beach to lie in the sun. I was dozing off when I heard an increasingly loud hum. I opened my eyes to see that a gleaming white yacht had drifted into my view. By yacht, I mean an Onassis-esque city block-sized yacht. The hum was coming from a helicopter that was about to land on the yacht. It too was gleaming white, and once it landed, you could tell that this chopper went with the boat – as a set.
The night of the event, we entertained our clients with a beach bbq. Afterwards, everyone piled into the hotel bar for some more drinks. I can’t wait until finance sees my expense report this month. One gin & tonic is 12 Euro at the hotel bar, and I bought a few rounds for the clients. While at least they’re not serving Cork Dry for that price, they’re not serving No.10 either.
Some of the group went next door to Jimmyz – a nightclub on the Kate Moss celebrity-league circuit. The people I was sitting with didn’t really want to head over. I had to start work at 8am the next day and it wasn’t exactly our scene. As 3am started to creep up on us, the topic came up again, but we decided that it was our last drink and after that we were heading to bed. 4.30am rolls around and we’re still in the hotel bar drinking – so much for being sensible and going to bed. The next day, the others who went to the nightclub were equally groggy. They didn’t get back until 5am – and they got to meet Bono. You know, if you’re going to be up all night drinking, it might as well be because you were in a Monégasque nightclub with Bono, because that’s how I would have phrased it in retelling the story. As it is, I only have a Bono near-miss story, which is really quite pathetic.
The next day, we left the twilight zone and I celebrated return to normality with a two-Euro glass of house red in Nice.
Monaco is built into a side of a hill, and there are public elevators that take you up from one street level to another. You walk in through a doorway cut into the hill, get in the elevator, and walk out on the next level. I guess that’s because rich people can’t walk uphill and risk getting sweat stains on their Prada, but I thought it was really cool.
Monaco has a very high proportion of good-looking people. Compared to Ireland, continental Europe is a total smorgasbord of yumminess in general, but people in Monaco really work on their tans and physiques – or pay a doctor to carve out the look for them. The porter at the hotel was a dead ringer for the guy from Nip/Tuck, which is a nice switch from the pasty-skinned, Guinness-bellied specimens I see on the DART every morning.
After quickly deciding that shopping would be no fun without my black Amex card, I went down to the beach to lie in the sun. I was dozing off when I heard an increasingly loud hum. I opened my eyes to see that a gleaming white yacht had drifted into my view. By yacht, I mean an Onassis-esque city block-sized yacht. The hum was coming from a helicopter that was about to land on the yacht. It too was gleaming white, and once it landed, you could tell that this chopper went with the boat – as a set.
The night of the event, we entertained our clients with a beach bbq. Afterwards, everyone piled into the hotel bar for some more drinks. I can’t wait until finance sees my expense report this month. One gin & tonic is 12 Euro at the hotel bar, and I bought a few rounds for the clients. While at least they’re not serving Cork Dry for that price, they’re not serving No.10 either.
Some of the group went next door to Jimmyz – a nightclub on the Kate Moss celebrity-league circuit. The people I was sitting with didn’t really want to head over. I had to start work at 8am the next day and it wasn’t exactly our scene. As 3am started to creep up on us, the topic came up again, but we decided that it was our last drink and after that we were heading to bed. 4.30am rolls around and we’re still in the hotel bar drinking – so much for being sensible and going to bed. The next day, the others who went to the nightclub were equally groggy. They didn’t get back until 5am – and they got to meet Bono. You know, if you’re going to be up all night drinking, it might as well be because you were in a Monégasque nightclub with Bono, because that’s how I would have phrased it in retelling the story. As it is, I only have a Bono near-miss story, which is really quite pathetic.
The next day, we left the twilight zone and I celebrated return to normality with a two-Euro glass of house red in Nice.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Things I miss
It's been really warm in Ireland for the past week. It's been sunny and warm and there hasn't been a drop of rain. All in all, I've been really content with the weather for once. The Irish will tell you that it's scorching, but let's not go crazy here. I'm not wearing shorts and sweating or having trouble sleeping, I'm wearing a t-shirt with capri pants and carrying a cardigan with me.
This weekend was the perfect weekend to sit outside on a patio. It felt like the first warm spring day in Canada - the day that everyone knocks off work early and heads for a patio to celebrate that summer is indeed on its way.
However, as I learned this weekend, Dublin is sorely lacking in patios. Granted Dublin doesn't have the sidewalk space that Toronto has, and there certainly isn't a patio season like there is in Canada, but despite these two limitations, the Dublin patio offerings are still pretty lame. If a bar has a "patio" (read: three tables on the sidewalk), it is invariably in the shade where it is pretty chilly. The patios are not cordoned off so people are literally walking over your feet as they pass by. There are maybe two decent ones in the city so they fill up very early.
What no proprietor has seemed to discover as yet is the rooftop patio. I think that Dublin rooftops are perfect for a nice patio - and there would be a chance of getting some sunshine on the roof as opposed to sitting at a table in a narrow alley. However, no one has set one up, which makes me believe that they're probably not allowed because of fears that drunk Irish would pitch themselves - or others off of the roofs. The state might have a point with that one.
So in the meantime, on a rare nice Irish day, I'm left reminiscing about Barney's, TJ Baxters, the Madison, Hemingways, or the Pilot.
This weekend was the perfect weekend to sit outside on a patio. It felt like the first warm spring day in Canada - the day that everyone knocks off work early and heads for a patio to celebrate that summer is indeed on its way.
However, as I learned this weekend, Dublin is sorely lacking in patios. Granted Dublin doesn't have the sidewalk space that Toronto has, and there certainly isn't a patio season like there is in Canada, but despite these two limitations, the Dublin patio offerings are still pretty lame. If a bar has a "patio" (read: three tables on the sidewalk), it is invariably in the shade where it is pretty chilly. The patios are not cordoned off so people are literally walking over your feet as they pass by. There are maybe two decent ones in the city so they fill up very early.
What no proprietor has seemed to discover as yet is the rooftop patio. I think that Dublin rooftops are perfect for a nice patio - and there would be a chance of getting some sunshine on the roof as opposed to sitting at a table in a narrow alley. However, no one has set one up, which makes me believe that they're probably not allowed because of fears that drunk Irish would pitch themselves - or others off of the roofs. The state might have a point with that one.
So in the meantime, on a rare nice Irish day, I'm left reminiscing about Barney's, TJ Baxters, the Madison, Hemingways, or the Pilot.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Monday, May 16, 2005
Canadian Rules Drinking
It was a scorcher of a day in London on Sunday - well, a scorcher for the UK anyway. I was having a drink with a friend in Covent Garden and the sun was beating hot on our faces as we stood a patio. Considering how seldom this happens in the UK, it was pretty glorious. My friend then asked me if I have ever been to the Maple Leaf bar around the corner - it's a Canadian pub. I had heard of it, but had never been.
So off we went. As you walk in, it's exactly what you would expect of a Canadian pub. There is Canadian memorabilia everywhere - hockey sweaters, a fake stuffed bear, and the obligatory wood cabin motif. We got up to the bar, and I checked out the beer on offer. I knew that no self-respecting Canadian pub wouldn't have Moosehead, Labatt's or Molson's, but I was truly impressed to see Sleeman's Honey Brown - on tap. We got a table and noticed there was a hockey game on TV - Sweden vs. Russia, the bronze medal game of the World Championships. I was feeling pretty nostalgic by this time. Here I am on a beautiful day drinking Sleemans and watching a hockey game that was simulcast from TSN. It nearly brought tears to my eyes.
As the gold medal game was showing right aftwards, the pub was filling up rather quickly with Canadians wearing either red, hockey jerseys, or Roots gear. This last one caused a couple of sniggers to escape from my friend's mouth. He's Australian, and where he comes from, "to root" means to have sex, and not in that expression-of-lifelong-love-and-commitment sort of way.
It was a bit of a homecoming for me. The menu offers wings, nachos, quesadillas, as well as the ubiquitious burgers and fish n chips. The salsa is spicy in the Maple Leaf bar, unlike in many British establishments. The staff are all Canadian, and when someone asked the floor manager the score of the hockey game, he replied that "Sweden is getting totally hammered." I heard someone say that they were out of maple syrup, and someone else was eating a Crispy Crunch. I was wondering where you could buy the Crispy Crunch bars, when my friend told me that there is a Canada store next door with all "Canadian stuff" for sale, like KD and Twizzlers. I'm sure it's ridiculously expensive though.
Everyone in the place really looked Canadian. You can definitely tell the difference in looks between a Canadian and Brits or Irish. I've discussed this with a few friends here and it's widely agreed that most Canadians - at least the ones over here, naturally look healthy and sporty. Compared to the pasty pallour of many Brits and Irish, Canadians perpetually look like they just came back from a hike. My Aussie friend agreed that the crowd in the bar that afternoon did have an overall freshly-scrubbed, healthy appearance.
I really wanted to stay, it was going to be a great night, you could tell. But it was not to be. I had a flight to catch back to Dublin in a few hours. I was so disappointed.
Even though nearly everyone in the bar probably works in London, and aren't just passing tourists, Canadian rules definitely still apply there - despite being located in the heart of Covent Garden. I was up at the bar waiting to get served, and a man came up after me. When the bartender asked for his order first, he said that I should go ahead. No Brit does that. A Brit goes ahead and orders, and then turns around and apologises. A group of people asked us if we were staying for the game, and when I said no I had to catch a flight, they asked if they could have our seats when we were done - but no rush. One of the guys volunteered to send me a text with the score since I had to leave - and he did. I got a text after every period. As we were leaving, a couple noticed us getting up from our chairs and asked if they could have our seats. I said that someone else already had dibs, and they accepted that response and politely moved on.
Something tells me I'll be watching other sporting events from those screens in the near future - or maybe checking to see if they are having a Thanksgiving dinner. When I move over to London in September, I already have a hangout.
So off we went. As you walk in, it's exactly what you would expect of a Canadian pub. There is Canadian memorabilia everywhere - hockey sweaters, a fake stuffed bear, and the obligatory wood cabin motif. We got up to the bar, and I checked out the beer on offer. I knew that no self-respecting Canadian pub wouldn't have Moosehead, Labatt's or Molson's, but I was truly impressed to see Sleeman's Honey Brown - on tap. We got a table and noticed there was a hockey game on TV - Sweden vs. Russia, the bronze medal game of the World Championships. I was feeling pretty nostalgic by this time. Here I am on a beautiful day drinking Sleemans and watching a hockey game that was simulcast from TSN. It nearly brought tears to my eyes.
As the gold medal game was showing right aftwards, the pub was filling up rather quickly with Canadians wearing either red, hockey jerseys, or Roots gear. This last one caused a couple of sniggers to escape from my friend's mouth. He's Australian, and where he comes from, "to root" means to have sex, and not in that expression-of-lifelong-love-and-commitment sort of way.
It was a bit of a homecoming for me. The menu offers wings, nachos, quesadillas, as well as the ubiquitious burgers and fish n chips. The salsa is spicy in the Maple Leaf bar, unlike in many British establishments. The staff are all Canadian, and when someone asked the floor manager the score of the hockey game, he replied that "Sweden is getting totally hammered." I heard someone say that they were out of maple syrup, and someone else was eating a Crispy Crunch. I was wondering where you could buy the Crispy Crunch bars, when my friend told me that there is a Canada store next door with all "Canadian stuff" for sale, like KD and Twizzlers. I'm sure it's ridiculously expensive though.
Everyone in the place really looked Canadian. You can definitely tell the difference in looks between a Canadian and Brits or Irish. I've discussed this with a few friends here and it's widely agreed that most Canadians - at least the ones over here, naturally look healthy and sporty. Compared to the pasty pallour of many Brits and Irish, Canadians perpetually look like they just came back from a hike. My Aussie friend agreed that the crowd in the bar that afternoon did have an overall freshly-scrubbed, healthy appearance.
I really wanted to stay, it was going to be a great night, you could tell. But it was not to be. I had a flight to catch back to Dublin in a few hours. I was so disappointed.
Even though nearly everyone in the bar probably works in London, and aren't just passing tourists, Canadian rules definitely still apply there - despite being located in the heart of Covent Garden. I was up at the bar waiting to get served, and a man came up after me. When the bartender asked for his order first, he said that I should go ahead. No Brit does that. A Brit goes ahead and orders, and then turns around and apologises. A group of people asked us if we were staying for the game, and when I said no I had to catch a flight, they asked if they could have our seats when we were done - but no rush. One of the guys volunteered to send me a text with the score since I had to leave - and he did. I got a text after every period. As we were leaving, a couple noticed us getting up from our chairs and asked if they could have our seats. I said that someone else already had dibs, and they accepted that response and politely moved on.
Something tells me I'll be watching other sporting events from those screens in the near future - or maybe checking to see if they are having a Thanksgiving dinner. When I move over to London in September, I already have a hangout.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Wow
At 2.40pm EDT, I became an aunt for the first time.
I was just packing up my things to go home when the email came through my inbox. It's a girl. I have since talked to my sister-in-law, my brother and my dad. I haven't seen pictures yet, but I'm assured that she's cute. I can't wait to meet her.
I was just packing up my things to go home when the email came through my inbox. It's a girl. I have since talked to my sister-in-law, my brother and my dad. I haven't seen pictures yet, but I'm assured that she's cute. I can't wait to meet her.
Shifting Gears
My Grandma's only wish is to get some holy water from Knock, which is a town in the north-west of Ireland. In religious pilgrimage circles, it's apparently right up there with Lourdes and Fatima. To mark the site of where an apparition appeared, there is a cathedral, a new church, an outdoor auditorium, a large-scale outdoor stations of the cross, a huge granite rosary, and a row of cisterns dispensing holy water. Just around the corner, there is a spin-off industry of religious souvenirs – plastic holy water bottles in the shape of the Virgin Mary, rosaries, commemorative plaques from Pope John Paul II's visit in 1979, and various statues. As you can imagine, I put off this trip for a few months. Knock just wasn't appealing to me, and to go there in the winter, even less so. However, when I saw my parents in April, they reminded me of my promise to get some holy water, and as my Grandma is 96, I thought I really should do it sooner rather than later. As far as trips were concerned, the guilt trip was a resounding success.
My first thought was that I could take a bus from Dublin, but I envisioned it being a long ride, with probably at least one stopover. Then I thought, how long would I have to wait in Knock before getting the next bus out of there, once I obtained the sought-after holy water? Renting a car seemed to be a more practical and pleasant option.
However, it's quite difficult to rent an automatic car in Europe. Some places don't have one at all, and if you do get one, it's much more expensive. The friendly sales clerk at Enterprise told me all about their special bank holiday weekend offer: 90 Euro for four days. Of course, that's with a manual transmission. So how much was it if I upgraded to an automatic? They don't have automatics. He didn't even think he could order one in from somewhere else for me. I politely declined, but then he offered a driving lesson in the parking lot as well. Either the Celtic Tiger truly is dead and they're desperate for business, or I've found the only helpful salesperson in Dublin, and I hated the thought of not rewarding that by going elsewhere. I made a quick call to Europcar, and an automatic started at 145 Euro. So, I thought about it. There are plenty of truly brutal drivers on the road, far worse than I am, and many of them manage to drive standards just fine. I consider myself a good driver, and it completely bothers me that I can't drive standard. I'm not useless, so I figured that it's a matter of just doing it and if I'm by myself with the car, I'll have no choice. I can't bail when I get to a tricky area, or if I get frustrated. So, I took my business to Enterprise.
I told a friend at work about my plans. His only words to me were, “you're crazy.” One night we went out for a drink and he pulled over in the parking lot and told me to start driving. We just went around the parking lot because he was too nervous to let me out on the road. Still, it was most helpful for me to get used to shifting gears with my left hand, and he taught me how to get started again once stopped on a hill, which is one of the worst things about driving standard in my opinion. He showed me how to use the hand brake to keep me in place until I've stepped on the gas so I don't roll back. I was never taught that back home, so I think it's probably cheating a bit, but it came in handy a few times that weekend. Oh and before my mom starts wondering if I was holding out when I said I didn't have a boyfriend, he's gay.
It turned out that I had to work in the south-west the day before I was to leave on my trip, so I picked up the car early and drove down instead of taking the train, and coming back to Dublin only to drive out west again that night. When I got to the rental, they offered extra insurance so I wouldn't have to pay a deductible if I got in an accident or if I scratched the car in any way. Sign me up! Of course, my 90 Euro deal wasn't so much of a deal anymore, but I had already decided that I was going to purchase the extra insurance and not stress out about getting a scratch on the car on the ridiculous Irish roads. The friendly Enterprise clerk also had some great news for me. Because I've rented from them before in Canada, they're giving me an upgrade. Instead of the Nissan Micra I requested, I got an Almera. I really wanted the Micra. I wanted the smallest car possible because Irish roads are only the width of 1.5 cars in some places. Furthermore, if they only knew that this weekend was the Great All-Ireland Standard Driving Experiment, they wouldn't want to give me the upgrade. I do have to say though that the Almera was great. By the end of the weekend, I was quite attached to my coffee-coloured hatchback.
In order for me to get to the highway, I had to drive back into the city – in morning rush hour traffic. I really didn't think I was ready for yet – there is just too much stopping and starting, which means shifting. In my mind, the whole trick to driving a standard is just not stopping. I looked at the map. There was only one other option – to drive over the Wicklow mountains. The roads would be small and windy, but there would be hardly any other drivers on the road. My decision was made. I would tackle the small, windy roads head on and go over the Wicklow Gap. I should mention that as you go over the Wicklow Gap, the roads are very narrow, very steep, very windy, and there isn't a lot of margin for error. At one point, there is a steep drop off to one side, with no guardrail and no shoulder. Of course, right at that moment, I had to pull right over (steep drop side) to let a tour bus pass, and when I started up again, had to do the handbrake thing to keep from sliding back – because I had no room to slide back (unless I really wanted to slide – all the way down the hill). Are there any civil engineers in Ireland and what kind of ass-backward road building is this anyway? But obviously I made it. It would have been difficult in an automatic, and I did it in a standard.
As the weekend went on, I grew more confident. I got through rush hour traffic, and I also made it across a crowded bridge over the River Shannon in Killaloe and Ballina. The bridge was built in the 1300s (I think), so it's the exact width of two modern cars (not trucks) plus the width of an average person on each side. There was a lot of traffic going both ways, people walking alongside the cars, and of course, a tractor coming in the opposite direction. I didn't even stall once!
So of course, as I grew more confident, I went on more difficult roads. I was driving through Southern Clare trying to get to the coast road. I took a turn where I thought the sign was pointing to the coast road, but as it turned into a dirt road, I decided that I didn't really want to go down there. I tried to make a U-turn, and misjudged how much room I had, and hit the grass embankment on the other side. As it had been raining, the edges of the road were mucky, and when I put the car into reverse I slid forward further into the embankment and the wheels started to spin. At this point, I was very glad I purchased the extra insurance. I just got out of the car to investigate when a car full of girls pulled up. They had room to get around me, so I waved them by, but they stopped to see if I needed help. I said I was stuck, to which the driver said, “c'mon girls, let's push.” No sooner were they out of the car, when a father and son pulled up from the opposite direction and a farmer came walking across the field. They managed to push my car out easily enough, and I was on my way. I hadn't seen a soul for miles before this moment, which makes me wonder, were they watching me from their windows?
I had further evidence of this a day later, when I was near the Cliffs of Moher, also in Clare. I was told that the view from Hag's Head is even better and to get up there, you drive up a path just past a guest house, park at the top of the hill and walk out to the end. I found the path easily enough, and then when I got to the top, there were three “roads” leading out towards the edge. I took the one I thought most likely. I thought I had been driving for a bit too long, and that surely the directions could have been more detailed, when the “road” I was on suddenly turned into a rutted, dirt road. I started to think that this was not a good thing and maybe I should turn around, but there was no place to turn at all. I went a bit further and found myself facing a fence. I couldn't go further, and I couldn't turn around. So, I put the car in reverse and started to back up. I will say one thing about the Almera - it's awkward to get a good view out the back window when reversing for a stretch. I hit a rut, and while trying to straighten the car again, I hit an embankment. Again, I gave myself a pat on the back for springing for the extra insurance. No sooner did this happen when a car came up behind me. I got out to signal that this really wasn't the right road to be on. A farmer got out of the car and said, “looks like youre having some trouble” and helped to pushed me out. Do they have telescopes at their windows, or did his cousins in South Clare call ahead and warn him of my impending arrival? Either way, I was grateful that the folks in rural Clare know when a stranger is in town and that she doesn't know how to drive.
By the end of my weekend, I was shifting and parking with the best of them. As I drove into Dublin to return the car, I was a bit sad, but also felt a real sense of accomplishment. I miss having a car and I miss driving. If I were to stay here (big IF), and if I were to get a car, I could probably get a standard. I'm pretty comfortable with it now, and whatever discomfort I still have, I know would go away soon enough with daily practice. However, I still bow at the feet of the man who invented the automatic transmission. Really, it's so much easier.
Oh, and my two mishaps in Clare didn't leave any scratches.
My first thought was that I could take a bus from Dublin, but I envisioned it being a long ride, with probably at least one stopover. Then I thought, how long would I have to wait in Knock before getting the next bus out of there, once I obtained the sought-after holy water? Renting a car seemed to be a more practical and pleasant option.
However, it's quite difficult to rent an automatic car in Europe. Some places don't have one at all, and if you do get one, it's much more expensive. The friendly sales clerk at Enterprise told me all about their special bank holiday weekend offer: 90 Euro for four days. Of course, that's with a manual transmission. So how much was it if I upgraded to an automatic? They don't have automatics. He didn't even think he could order one in from somewhere else for me. I politely declined, but then he offered a driving lesson in the parking lot as well. Either the Celtic Tiger truly is dead and they're desperate for business, or I've found the only helpful salesperson in Dublin, and I hated the thought of not rewarding that by going elsewhere. I made a quick call to Europcar, and an automatic started at 145 Euro. So, I thought about it. There are plenty of truly brutal drivers on the road, far worse than I am, and many of them manage to drive standards just fine. I consider myself a good driver, and it completely bothers me that I can't drive standard. I'm not useless, so I figured that it's a matter of just doing it and if I'm by myself with the car, I'll have no choice. I can't bail when I get to a tricky area, or if I get frustrated. So, I took my business to Enterprise.
I told a friend at work about my plans. His only words to me were, “you're crazy.” One night we went out for a drink and he pulled over in the parking lot and told me to start driving. We just went around the parking lot because he was too nervous to let me out on the road. Still, it was most helpful for me to get used to shifting gears with my left hand, and he taught me how to get started again once stopped on a hill, which is one of the worst things about driving standard in my opinion. He showed me how to use the hand brake to keep me in place until I've stepped on the gas so I don't roll back. I was never taught that back home, so I think it's probably cheating a bit, but it came in handy a few times that weekend. Oh and before my mom starts wondering if I was holding out when I said I didn't have a boyfriend, he's gay.
It turned out that I had to work in the south-west the day before I was to leave on my trip, so I picked up the car early and drove down instead of taking the train, and coming back to Dublin only to drive out west again that night. When I got to the rental, they offered extra insurance so I wouldn't have to pay a deductible if I got in an accident or if I scratched the car in any way. Sign me up! Of course, my 90 Euro deal wasn't so much of a deal anymore, but I had already decided that I was going to purchase the extra insurance and not stress out about getting a scratch on the car on the ridiculous Irish roads. The friendly Enterprise clerk also had some great news for me. Because I've rented from them before in Canada, they're giving me an upgrade. Instead of the Nissan Micra I requested, I got an Almera. I really wanted the Micra. I wanted the smallest car possible because Irish roads are only the width of 1.5 cars in some places. Furthermore, if they only knew that this weekend was the Great All-Ireland Standard Driving Experiment, they wouldn't want to give me the upgrade. I do have to say though that the Almera was great. By the end of the weekend, I was quite attached to my coffee-coloured hatchback.
In order for me to get to the highway, I had to drive back into the city – in morning rush hour traffic. I really didn't think I was ready for yet – there is just too much stopping and starting, which means shifting. In my mind, the whole trick to driving a standard is just not stopping. I looked at the map. There was only one other option – to drive over the Wicklow mountains. The roads would be small and windy, but there would be hardly any other drivers on the road. My decision was made. I would tackle the small, windy roads head on and go over the Wicklow Gap. I should mention that as you go over the Wicklow Gap, the roads are very narrow, very steep, very windy, and there isn't a lot of margin for error. At one point, there is a steep drop off to one side, with no guardrail and no shoulder. Of course, right at that moment, I had to pull right over (steep drop side) to let a tour bus pass, and when I started up again, had to do the handbrake thing to keep from sliding back – because I had no room to slide back (unless I really wanted to slide – all the way down the hill). Are there any civil engineers in Ireland and what kind of ass-backward road building is this anyway? But obviously I made it. It would have been difficult in an automatic, and I did it in a standard.
As the weekend went on, I grew more confident. I got through rush hour traffic, and I also made it across a crowded bridge over the River Shannon in Killaloe and Ballina. The bridge was built in the 1300s (I think), so it's the exact width of two modern cars (not trucks) plus the width of an average person on each side. There was a lot of traffic going both ways, people walking alongside the cars, and of course, a tractor coming in the opposite direction. I didn't even stall once!
So of course, as I grew more confident, I went on more difficult roads. I was driving through Southern Clare trying to get to the coast road. I took a turn where I thought the sign was pointing to the coast road, but as it turned into a dirt road, I decided that I didn't really want to go down there. I tried to make a U-turn, and misjudged how much room I had, and hit the grass embankment on the other side. As it had been raining, the edges of the road were mucky, and when I put the car into reverse I slid forward further into the embankment and the wheels started to spin. At this point, I was very glad I purchased the extra insurance. I just got out of the car to investigate when a car full of girls pulled up. They had room to get around me, so I waved them by, but they stopped to see if I needed help. I said I was stuck, to which the driver said, “c'mon girls, let's push.” No sooner were they out of the car, when a father and son pulled up from the opposite direction and a farmer came walking across the field. They managed to push my car out easily enough, and I was on my way. I hadn't seen a soul for miles before this moment, which makes me wonder, were they watching me from their windows?
I had further evidence of this a day later, when I was near the Cliffs of Moher, also in Clare. I was told that the view from Hag's Head is even better and to get up there, you drive up a path just past a guest house, park at the top of the hill and walk out to the end. I found the path easily enough, and then when I got to the top, there were three “roads” leading out towards the edge. I took the one I thought most likely. I thought I had been driving for a bit too long, and that surely the directions could have been more detailed, when the “road” I was on suddenly turned into a rutted, dirt road. I started to think that this was not a good thing and maybe I should turn around, but there was no place to turn at all. I went a bit further and found myself facing a fence. I couldn't go further, and I couldn't turn around. So, I put the car in reverse and started to back up. I will say one thing about the Almera - it's awkward to get a good view out the back window when reversing for a stretch. I hit a rut, and while trying to straighten the car again, I hit an embankment. Again, I gave myself a pat on the back for springing for the extra insurance. No sooner did this happen when a car came up behind me. I got out to signal that this really wasn't the right road to be on. A farmer got out of the car and said, “looks like youre having some trouble” and helped to pushed me out. Do they have telescopes at their windows, or did his cousins in South Clare call ahead and warn him of my impending arrival? Either way, I was grateful that the folks in rural Clare know when a stranger is in town and that she doesn't know how to drive.
By the end of my weekend, I was shifting and parking with the best of them. As I drove into Dublin to return the car, I was a bit sad, but also felt a real sense of accomplishment. I miss having a car and I miss driving. If I were to stay here (big IF), and if I were to get a car, I could probably get a standard. I'm pretty comfortable with it now, and whatever discomfort I still have, I know would go away soon enough with daily practice. However, I still bow at the feet of the man who invented the automatic transmission. Really, it's so much easier.
Oh, and my two mishaps in Clare didn't leave any scratches.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Slip Sliding Away
I had dinner with a Canadian friend of mine who has been living in Dublin for four years now. We were talking about upcoming visits home. She's going home for a week in May as she found a really cheap ticket on a charter. Unfortunately, I couldn't go at that time because I have a big event coming up the first weekend in June and can't take the two weeks before the event off. There is no point in me going home before the end of May because that's when my brother and his wife are having their first baby. I want to see the baby, not see her hugely pregnant.
Last week, I asked for the second week of June off. The ticket isn't so cheap anymore, but it's still reasonable - especially considering the time of year. Well, I was turned down. I kind of knew I might be, as I knew my coworker was going to hand in her notice yesterday and I would be leaving at a really busy time - it always is immediately post-event. I was, however, hoping that my bosses would be optimistic that my coworker would be staying on after all and let me have the week off. Now that my coworker is definitely quitting, I have little chance of taking time off before the end of the summer. I'm going to ask for 10 days off at the end of June and hopefully come home for Canada Day weekend - the price of the ticket is still under EURO 500. However, if I'm turned down for those days, I'm stuck because flights are really expensive from then until September. I'm kind of bummed about that. I really want to see the baby, and I don't know that I can go home in September. I'm still thinking about moving over to the UK in a couple of months, and once I do that, the travelling will have to come to an end for awhile. It will be more expensive over there at first and I might go over there without a job lined up. I wanted to get the visit in before I moved.
Our discussion turned towards the dilemma that I think many expats face. What to do with one's vacation time - do you go home every chance you get, or do you take advantage of where you are and travel as much as possible while you have the chance? I know that to my friends and family back home, I'm going to start sounding like a spoiled European here. I have four weeks vacation a year, not to mention all those bank holidays, and yet, it's just not enough. I am conscious of the fact that I'm very lucky to have this much time. If I were in Canada, I would be slogging it out for eight paltry statuatory holidays and 10 vacation days a year. There would be no question about what to do with my whopping ten days if I were an expat in Canada - if I were lucky enough to be able to take them all at once.
But I digress. When I asked my friend how long she was going home for, she said just a week. I too, was planning to go for a week - well 10 days to get two weekends at home. I thought about going for longer, but then I would be using up all my vacation time on going home, when I factor that I will probably go home for two weeks at Christmas. Yet, by choosing to go home in June and again at Christmas, I'm saying no to a family cottage weekend in August, a friend's wedding in September, and Thanksgiving. I'm also saying no to a longer vacation somewhere else. Though I have been taking advantage of my proximity to Continental Europe by taking a few extended weekends, I have not done a big trip over here yet - except when I went to Portugal for a week last year. So far in 2005, I have been to Switzerland, Amsterdam and Tuscany for 4-5 days each. Next weekend for the May bank holiday (yup another one), I'm going to the West of Ireland. I'll be in London and Belfast sometime next month, and in June I'm going to Monaco and the South of France for a few days. Mind you, I'm going to London and Monaco for work, but I'm staying over through the weekend each time to take advantage of the fact that the company is paying for my flight. However, though I'm great with the weekend trips, the fact that I'm going home twice this year precludes the possibility of taking a longer trip here. I can get to Vilnius or Riga for less than EURO 300, and I would love to do a trip through the Baltic states and also on to St. Petersburg. Or perhaps a trip through the Balkans - Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia. With the expansion of the EU, there are more flights than ever to many Eastern European cities like Budapest, Prague, Warsaw, and Bratislava. There are also plenty of cheap flights to Bankok from London. I have so many options over here that I wouldn't have if I was living back home.
However, there is a definite draw to visiting home. I definitely have roots there, and I get excited at the thought of seeing familiar faces and catching up with everyone. I think about all the old haunts that I would visit, and how I would get my fill of things that I miss. I'm also conscious of the fact that as I am here longer, it's harder to keep up with everyone and everything back home. It's so easy to let it all slip, and because I'm the one that's not there, it's up to me to keep up the relationships. I don't want to return home in a couple of years to find all my friendships have been dissolved and everyone has moved on because I failed to keep them up while I was away.
Am I being selfish to want it both ways?
Last week, I asked for the second week of June off. The ticket isn't so cheap anymore, but it's still reasonable - especially considering the time of year. Well, I was turned down. I kind of knew I might be, as I knew my coworker was going to hand in her notice yesterday and I would be leaving at a really busy time - it always is immediately post-event. I was, however, hoping that my bosses would be optimistic that my coworker would be staying on after all and let me have the week off. Now that my coworker is definitely quitting, I have little chance of taking time off before the end of the summer. I'm going to ask for 10 days off at the end of June and hopefully come home for Canada Day weekend - the price of the ticket is still under EURO 500. However, if I'm turned down for those days, I'm stuck because flights are really expensive from then until September. I'm kind of bummed about that. I really want to see the baby, and I don't know that I can go home in September. I'm still thinking about moving over to the UK in a couple of months, and once I do that, the travelling will have to come to an end for awhile. It will be more expensive over there at first and I might go over there without a job lined up. I wanted to get the visit in before I moved.
Our discussion turned towards the dilemma that I think many expats face. What to do with one's vacation time - do you go home every chance you get, or do you take advantage of where you are and travel as much as possible while you have the chance? I know that to my friends and family back home, I'm going to start sounding like a spoiled European here. I have four weeks vacation a year, not to mention all those bank holidays, and yet, it's just not enough. I am conscious of the fact that I'm very lucky to have this much time. If I were in Canada, I would be slogging it out for eight paltry statuatory holidays and 10 vacation days a year. There would be no question about what to do with my whopping ten days if I were an expat in Canada - if I were lucky enough to be able to take them all at once.
But I digress. When I asked my friend how long she was going home for, she said just a week. I too, was planning to go for a week - well 10 days to get two weekends at home. I thought about going for longer, but then I would be using up all my vacation time on going home, when I factor that I will probably go home for two weeks at Christmas. Yet, by choosing to go home in June and again at Christmas, I'm saying no to a family cottage weekend in August, a friend's wedding in September, and Thanksgiving. I'm also saying no to a longer vacation somewhere else. Though I have been taking advantage of my proximity to Continental Europe by taking a few extended weekends, I have not done a big trip over here yet - except when I went to Portugal for a week last year. So far in 2005, I have been to Switzerland, Amsterdam and Tuscany for 4-5 days each. Next weekend for the May bank holiday (yup another one), I'm going to the West of Ireland. I'll be in London and Belfast sometime next month, and in June I'm going to Monaco and the South of France for a few days. Mind you, I'm going to London and Monaco for work, but I'm staying over through the weekend each time to take advantage of the fact that the company is paying for my flight. However, though I'm great with the weekend trips, the fact that I'm going home twice this year precludes the possibility of taking a longer trip here. I can get to Vilnius or Riga for less than EURO 300, and I would love to do a trip through the Baltic states and also on to St. Petersburg. Or perhaps a trip through the Balkans - Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia. With the expansion of the EU, there are more flights than ever to many Eastern European cities like Budapest, Prague, Warsaw, and Bratislava. There are also plenty of cheap flights to Bankok from London. I have so many options over here that I wouldn't have if I was living back home.
However, there is a definite draw to visiting home. I definitely have roots there, and I get excited at the thought of seeing familiar faces and catching up with everyone. I think about all the old haunts that I would visit, and how I would get my fill of things that I miss. I'm also conscious of the fact that as I am here longer, it's harder to keep up with everyone and everything back home. It's so easy to let it all slip, and because I'm the one that's not there, it's up to me to keep up the relationships. I don't want to return home in a couple of years to find all my friendships have been dissolved and everyone has moved on because I failed to keep them up while I was away.
Am I being selfish to want it both ways?
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Not of the family fold
I've alluded before to the fact that Ireland is a pretty exclusionary place. The legendary friendliness of the Irish is about as real as leprechauns. Sure, if you come over for a visit, you'll run into some real down-home Irish folk who will talk to you as you sit in the pub, or chat with you as you stand in line. They'll also stop to give you directions - sometimes. What I'm talking about, though, is a real friendliness - a desire to become friends with someone, not just the surface stuff. In that regard, the Irish are not friendly at all. Many people in Dublin go home to the country every weekend. They only work and crash during the week in Dublin - they live in the country. Therefore, it's not worth their while to make friends with anyone in the city. It's especially not worth their while to make friends with someone who just moved here and might be leaving at any given time. Most people here have the same friends as when they were four. I can't compete with that, and nor do I necessarily want to, but you can definitely tell that for many people, there just isn't time or room for newbies.
Often, when meeting new people, I inevitably get asked when I'm going home. I often get the impression that I'm not asked out of interest, but in order for them to gauge how much effort they should put into getting to know me better. After over a year in Dublin, I have one Irish friend.
The simple response to this is "join a club". Well I've tried that. It's actually easier said than done here. I work in the sticks, so by the time I arrive back in the city after work, many courses have already started - including the French class that I took last year and would like to build upon. I've looked into taking a writing or editing course, but despite this being the land of the Celtic Tiger, it's actually hard to find information online about taking a part-time degree course without enrolling into a full program. I know I should probably call the Universities, for info, but well, that's just hard isn't it. Working in high-tech, and being from North America, I am of the opinion that if an organisation doesn't have the proper information easily accessible online, then they just can't be very good. I've looked into joining a hill walking group, but any web sites I've checked aren't exactly advertising for new members. You have to apply for membership, and if they like you and you're compatible, you can come out for a "test walk", and if they still like you, you're in. They all sound very exclusionary about how the members have all been together for several years, and new members are elected by committee, but I'm sure it's more likely that new members are only elected if they know someone in the club already. I tried to join a tag rugby team as well. On the web site, it says that if you're a player looking to join a team, click on the link to enroll once the season opens. Well, once the season opened the link was removed from the web site. I emailed in my interest instead, but was told to apply through the web site. When I replied that the link wasn't set up, I didn't get a response and it wasn't fixed until all spots were "full". I think it was intentional. I think they actually only allow individuals to join if existing teams are crying out for additional players.
Everything I've experienced here tells me that people just don't want to open their doors to newcomers. Many foreigners I've encountered here have expressed the same difficulties. Many have said that when trying to join clubs, they get the impression that they are turned away because they're foreign. Of course, most foreigners want to join clubs because they're used to a more active lifestyle than what can be found here, they tire easily of going to the pub all the time, and they're looking to meet people and make friends. However, having two Poles, a Slovakian, a French person and an American in one's hill walking club would certainly change the personality of it, and I can see why some people would be reluctant to let that happen.
Someone at work alerted me to a tag rugby team that was being formed through one of the other offices. I expressed interest and filled out the questionnaire. Then I heard nothing for over a month, so I just figured that I didn't meet their criteria (ie. I'm not Irish). Yesterday, the captain wrote to me saying that he's having difficulty with my registration. The company we work for is sponsoring the team, however the stipulation is that all team members must be permanent employees. I'm a contractor. Therefore, I can't be on the team. He's apparently asked for an exception, but what it looks like is that I will be able to join, but will have to pay extra as the sponsorship amount will be lessened since they're only sponsoring the actual employees and not me. It's so frigging ridiculous. The fact that after nine months I still haven't been made permanent is annoying enough, but a whole other story which I may or may not write about. However, what gets me the most is that every day in my email and other communications, I keep getting all this BS about how they want all people working here to feel welcome and at home and take part in company activities. I don't see why someone who has been working with the company on a perma-temp basis should be excluded from that. I work alongside everyone else, I put just as much in, I keep being told to "get involved", but then when I try to do so, I'm turned down. It makes me wonder whether I'm not better off at a company like Microsoft where the perma-temps are almost completely segregated from the regular employees instead of this half-and-half stuff. For an American company, it's so Irish - friendly, but not too friendly.
All I want is to belong to something.
Often, when meeting new people, I inevitably get asked when I'm going home. I often get the impression that I'm not asked out of interest, but in order for them to gauge how much effort they should put into getting to know me better. After over a year in Dublin, I have one Irish friend.
The simple response to this is "join a club". Well I've tried that. It's actually easier said than done here. I work in the sticks, so by the time I arrive back in the city after work, many courses have already started - including the French class that I took last year and would like to build upon. I've looked into taking a writing or editing course, but despite this being the land of the Celtic Tiger, it's actually hard to find information online about taking a part-time degree course without enrolling into a full program. I know I should probably call the Universities, for info, but well, that's just hard isn't it. Working in high-tech, and being from North America, I am of the opinion that if an organisation doesn't have the proper information easily accessible online, then they just can't be very good. I've looked into joining a hill walking group, but any web sites I've checked aren't exactly advertising for new members. You have to apply for membership, and if they like you and you're compatible, you can come out for a "test walk", and if they still like you, you're in. They all sound very exclusionary about how the members have all been together for several years, and new members are elected by committee, but I'm sure it's more likely that new members are only elected if they know someone in the club already. I tried to join a tag rugby team as well. On the web site, it says that if you're a player looking to join a team, click on the link to enroll once the season opens. Well, once the season opened the link was removed from the web site. I emailed in my interest instead, but was told to apply through the web site. When I replied that the link wasn't set up, I didn't get a response and it wasn't fixed until all spots were "full". I think it was intentional. I think they actually only allow individuals to join if existing teams are crying out for additional players.
Everything I've experienced here tells me that people just don't want to open their doors to newcomers. Many foreigners I've encountered here have expressed the same difficulties. Many have said that when trying to join clubs, they get the impression that they are turned away because they're foreign. Of course, most foreigners want to join clubs because they're used to a more active lifestyle than what can be found here, they tire easily of going to the pub all the time, and they're looking to meet people and make friends. However, having two Poles, a Slovakian, a French person and an American in one's hill walking club would certainly change the personality of it, and I can see why some people would be reluctant to let that happen.
Someone at work alerted me to a tag rugby team that was being formed through one of the other offices. I expressed interest and filled out the questionnaire. Then I heard nothing for over a month, so I just figured that I didn't meet their criteria (ie. I'm not Irish). Yesterday, the captain wrote to me saying that he's having difficulty with my registration. The company we work for is sponsoring the team, however the stipulation is that all team members must be permanent employees. I'm a contractor. Therefore, I can't be on the team. He's apparently asked for an exception, but what it looks like is that I will be able to join, but will have to pay extra as the sponsorship amount will be lessened since they're only sponsoring the actual employees and not me. It's so frigging ridiculous. The fact that after nine months I still haven't been made permanent is annoying enough, but a whole other story which I may or may not write about. However, what gets me the most is that every day in my email and other communications, I keep getting all this BS about how they want all people working here to feel welcome and at home and take part in company activities. I don't see why someone who has been working with the company on a perma-temp basis should be excluded from that. I work alongside everyone else, I put just as much in, I keep being told to "get involved", but then when I try to do so, I'm turned down. It makes me wonder whether I'm not better off at a company like Microsoft where the perma-temps are almost completely segregated from the regular employees instead of this half-and-half stuff. For an American company, it's so Irish - friendly, but not too friendly.
All I want is to belong to something.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Deep Thoughts
I've noticed that many taxi and bus drivers make the sign of the cross when approaching an intersection.
It doesn't inspire confidence. I would rather they put their faith in their defensive driving skills.
It doesn't inspire confidence. I would rather they put their faith in their defensive driving skills.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Stray Cat Strut
In Ireland, most houses don't have screens on the windows. It's annoying. When you open the window, there is no screen between you and the great outdoors, which means, bugs and critters are free to come inside. Mind you, they don't have mosquitoes or flies in Ireland the way we do back home, but they do have moths, bees, and rodents. It just makes me feel uneasy. Even though my bedroom is upstairs in the house, my window opens out over the sun room, and I remember thinking that it would be very easy for a mouse or squirrel to come into my room from the roof of the sun room.
It was fairly warm in Ireland over the weekend, and as my room is south-facing, when the sun does actually shine here, my room gets very warm. I left my window open at night on the weekend because it was so stuffy otherwise. Well, on Saturday night I was woken up when some critter came in through my window, crawled over my legs and onto the floor. I started screaming, I was terrified. I just saw a fat, black shape with a tail and thought it was a giant rat. The creature jumped back over my bed and back out through the window, which was when that I realized it was a neighbourhood cat. I'm pretty sure it belongs to someone in the neighbourhood, but I would say it's more a semi-stray cat as it spends most of its time in all the neighbourhood yards and I'm not sure it's fed regularly and I'm positive it doesn't have all its shots.
I closed the window after it, and it tried to get in again a couple of times that night, which makes me wonder if it was chasing a mouse when it came inside my window. There is a ledge near my window that separates the sun room from the kitchen and it sat on there staring into my window for a long time. I know this because I was awake the rest of the night staring back. It goes without saying that I have a serious case of the willies – and not just because of the possibility of a mouse in my room. Cats just creep me out.
While it doesn't get much warmer in Ireland than the 16C it was on Saturday, it bothers me that I can't open my window anymore unless it's daylight and I'm in the room. My room gets very hot – even by my standards, and I would like to air my room out, but there's *no way* I'm letting this happen again. I can't see a conceivable way to get a screen attached to my window either without getting the whole window replaced. I'm currently looking into getting a safety latch, like they would have for people with young children, so that my window can only be opened a little bit.
Not having screens isn't unique to Ireland; lots of European countries don't have window screens on the houses – even the modern ones. I don't get it. Isn't anyone concerned about rodents - or evil stray cats?
It was fairly warm in Ireland over the weekend, and as my room is south-facing, when the sun does actually shine here, my room gets very warm. I left my window open at night on the weekend because it was so stuffy otherwise. Well, on Saturday night I was woken up when some critter came in through my window, crawled over my legs and onto the floor. I started screaming, I was terrified. I just saw a fat, black shape with a tail and thought it was a giant rat. The creature jumped back over my bed and back out through the window, which was when that I realized it was a neighbourhood cat. I'm pretty sure it belongs to someone in the neighbourhood, but I would say it's more a semi-stray cat as it spends most of its time in all the neighbourhood yards and I'm not sure it's fed regularly and I'm positive it doesn't have all its shots.
I closed the window after it, and it tried to get in again a couple of times that night, which makes me wonder if it was chasing a mouse when it came inside my window. There is a ledge near my window that separates the sun room from the kitchen and it sat on there staring into my window for a long time. I know this because I was awake the rest of the night staring back. It goes without saying that I have a serious case of the willies – and not just because of the possibility of a mouse in my room. Cats just creep me out.
While it doesn't get much warmer in Ireland than the 16C it was on Saturday, it bothers me that I can't open my window anymore unless it's daylight and I'm in the room. My room gets very hot – even by my standards, and I would like to air my room out, but there's *no way* I'm letting this happen again. I can't see a conceivable way to get a screen attached to my window either without getting the whole window replaced. I'm currently looking into getting a safety latch, like they would have for people with young children, so that my window can only be opened a little bit.
Not having screens isn't unique to Ireland; lots of European countries don't have window screens on the houses – even the modern ones. I don't get it. Isn't anyone concerned about rodents - or evil stray cats?
Monday, April 04, 2005
More Grey Matter
Terri Schiavo has now died. I think this whole story emphasizes the importance of a living will – because you just don’t know what's going to happen. However, I think the story is really sad and tragic. I don’t want to get into the possible ulterior motives of her husband or the loss that her family feels. Nor do I want to speculate on whether or not it was possible for her condition to improve after 15 years, or pontificate on the supposed "slippery slope" that the US has just stepped on in allowing her to die.
I think what's most sad and tragic about this is that it turned Ms. Schiavo into a pawn for the political agenda of the right wing. Anyone who thinks Bush actually cares about the sanctity of all human life should look at his capital punishment record while he was Governor of Texas. Ditto for brother Jeb in Florida. Not to mention that Bush sent scores of America's Sons & Daughters over to Iraq to fight a war based on false pretenses. Oh yeah, Bush cares – it has nothing to do with paying back his right-wing Christian Coalition cronies. Also, Tom DeLay, House Majority Leader, agreed, along with the rest of his family, not to put his father on dialysis when his kidneys failed and had a "Do Not Resuscitate" order for him back in 1988. You’ll remember that DeLay called removing Schiavo's breathing tube and "act of barbarism" and championed a political intervention in the case. But I'm sure that has nothing to do with wanting to deflect attention away from mounting allegations regarding his slimy dealings.
http://www.democrats.org/specialreports/delaycasefile/index.html
I don't have a living will yet, but I intend to make one. I don't know at what line I want to die but I know that I don't want to be in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years, with no chance of getting better. I don’t want to be a drain on my family and I don't want them to remember me more for my vegetative state than when I was actually alive. At the same time, I want to make sure I've been given every chance to recover and rehabilitate before someone decides to pull the plug.
I think medical advancements have outstripped dying with dignity. It is possible to keep someone alive purely by artificial means for years with no chance of them living without the machines or regaining consciousness. I also don't think there is a slippery slope. We're not going to start killing off the Down's Syndrome kids and then start marching the Jews back to the gas chamber.
One thing I am very clear about in my mind, however, is that if members of my family ever debate over whether I should be allowed to die, and I somehow become a cause célèbre for the political right as a result (which would be hard because I'm Canadian, but if it happens), remove my feeding tube immediately. I absolutely refuse to be a pawn for the Christian Coalition, right-wing political agenda. If my family ever does let it get to that stage, and allows the fate of my being become a media circus where all the usual suspects (Jesse Jackson, Diane Sawyer, Barbara Walters, Republican Party) gather to bask in the spotlight, you can bet that when I do die, they'll have to answer to me on the other side. In fact, if they do let that happen, and they then follow my wishes to have my feeding tube removed, I am also requesting that they read the above statement to the press – on Fox News.
Come to think of it though, what’s worse? Being a cause célèbre for the American right, or a martyr for them?
Good article from the St. Petersburg (Florida) Times – found on michaelmoore.com
http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/index.php?id=2071
I think what's most sad and tragic about this is that it turned Ms. Schiavo into a pawn for the political agenda of the right wing. Anyone who thinks Bush actually cares about the sanctity of all human life should look at his capital punishment record while he was Governor of Texas. Ditto for brother Jeb in Florida. Not to mention that Bush sent scores of America's Sons & Daughters over to Iraq to fight a war based on false pretenses. Oh yeah, Bush cares – it has nothing to do with paying back his right-wing Christian Coalition cronies. Also, Tom DeLay, House Majority Leader, agreed, along with the rest of his family, not to put his father on dialysis when his kidneys failed and had a "Do Not Resuscitate" order for him back in 1988. You’ll remember that DeLay called removing Schiavo's breathing tube and "act of barbarism" and championed a political intervention in the case. But I'm sure that has nothing to do with wanting to deflect attention away from mounting allegations regarding his slimy dealings.
http://www.democrats.org/specialreports/delaycasefile/index.html
I don't have a living will yet, but I intend to make one. I don't know at what line I want to die but I know that I don't want to be in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years, with no chance of getting better. I don’t want to be a drain on my family and I don't want them to remember me more for my vegetative state than when I was actually alive. At the same time, I want to make sure I've been given every chance to recover and rehabilitate before someone decides to pull the plug.
I think medical advancements have outstripped dying with dignity. It is possible to keep someone alive purely by artificial means for years with no chance of them living without the machines or regaining consciousness. I also don't think there is a slippery slope. We're not going to start killing off the Down's Syndrome kids and then start marching the Jews back to the gas chamber.
One thing I am very clear about in my mind, however, is that if members of my family ever debate over whether I should be allowed to die, and I somehow become a cause célèbre for the political right as a result (which would be hard because I'm Canadian, but if it happens), remove my feeding tube immediately. I absolutely refuse to be a pawn for the Christian Coalition, right-wing political agenda. If my family ever does let it get to that stage, and allows the fate of my being become a media circus where all the usual suspects (Jesse Jackson, Diane Sawyer, Barbara Walters, Republican Party) gather to bask in the spotlight, you can bet that when I do die, they'll have to answer to me on the other side. In fact, if they do let that happen, and they then follow my wishes to have my feeding tube removed, I am also requesting that they read the above statement to the press – on Fox News.
Come to think of it though, what’s worse? Being a cause célèbre for the American right, or a martyr for them?
Good article from the St. Petersburg (Florida) Times – found on michaelmoore.com
http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/index.php?id=2071
Thursday, March 31, 2005
In my Grey Matter
The Republicans, the oil industry, and SUV owners everywhere scored a major victory the other day when the Senate voted to open the Alaska wildlife refuge to oil drilling. Mind you, congress still needs to approve the budget, but this is a major step. I know this is a case of a short-term solution, and people being blind to the long-term implications, but do these people not see that we need to come up with real alternatives to oil, not mine the last reserves in ecologically sensitive areas out of some desperation to keep gas prices down so we can continue to drive our monster SUVs that measure mileage in terms of gallons to the mile, and not vice versa.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who thinks that we're headed for a major collapse very quickly. I know I'm not the only one, but I feel like I'm the only one who is not a tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing, non-hair washing, granola-eating, environmental, save-the-spotted-oil person. Recently, I have heard a few different reports saying that the world can conceivably run out of oil in my lifetime. One report says that've we've peaked now and if we keep up the current pace, we can expect to run out in 40 years. Others predict that we'll run out of oil by 2070. Either way, we're not talking about keeping the planet in good condition for our grandchildren, as the African proverb dictates, but keeping the planet in good condition for ourselves.
On the other side of the fence, these reports are pooh-poohed as doomsday scenarios - it will never happen. Alternative sources will be developed, and then they point out that we already have a hybrid car. What they don't consider is the following: it would take several years to develop alternative sources so that they're truly viable and affordable. If we don't bother doing so until there are severe oil shortages, it would create huge global instability. The time for developing these alternatives is now - not when the price of gas is $7 a gallon and the price of food and home heating is out of reach of most middle-class families. Another thing that isn't considered is that the economies of India and China are rapidly growing. Most people in both countries do not own cars....but what happens when they want to own cars?
Click on link to see image that illustrates my point. After that, click on "Park This" on the right hand side.
http://www.howies.co.uk/think.php?id=15&category=cars
I think people believe that oil won't run out in their lifetime so it's not their problem, which is entirely selfish in itself - what about their children, neices, nephews, grandchildren? However, I also think that people believe that if and when the world runs out of oil, it will be a hard stop. They'll keep living the way they're accustomed to with cheap gas, cheap flights, efficient home heating, plentiful food, and then one day there will be no more oil, but they won't be around for that, because it won't happen in their lifetime. In reality though, there will first be an increase in gas prices, then an increase in prices for food, heating, public transportation. We'll complain, we'll demand that our government DO something, we'll go on news segments of CITY-TV and say that if this keeps up, we'll have to trade in our SUV for something more economical. We'll support the US government when they invade Iraq for sitting on top of our oil. Oh wait....
But after that, we'll have severe shortages. I don't think people realise just how dependent we are, and I'm not talking about our right to take Hayley and Cody to soccer practice in a four-tonne bohemouth instead of insisting they ride their bikes there. Many communities in North America don't even have sidewalks anymore. Public transportation has been hit by cutbacks in my municipal governments. Some communities don't even have public transportation at all. We're dependent on oil (or natural gas) for home heating, food production - how else do you think those farmers drive the tractors, and manufacturing. Most plastics are made with oil. Its safe to say that our entire way of living as we know it revolves around the black stuff. Still, it floors me when someone says to me with a straight face: "I don't feel guilty about driving my SUV. I pay more in gas so I'm therefore paying higher taxes." Uhhh, what about the term non-renewable resource. Grade 4 geography class? Ring any bells? Or "I'm a Republican, but a good one - I'm just fiscally Republican, I don't approve of the far right agenda in terms of social issues. Yes I voted for Bush, but not because of the social issues." If you voted for Bush, you voted for the senator in South Carolina who thinks gay teachers should be banned from teaching, and the senator in Oklahoma who believes in the death penalty for abortion doctors, and yes if you voted for Bush, you voted for big oil and the destruction of the environment. You knew it was on the agenda, and you knew that he would pay his cronies back in his second term of office. Often in politics, voting is more about choosing the lesser of two evils than anything else, and I'm not saying that the world would be a much more different place if Kerry was president, but at least there would be a chance of it with him.
Just so you don't think that I've pulled my "doomsday scenario" out of thin air, I've included some links below. You'll notice that three of the four are from mainstream news sources. Like with fashion trends, once it hits the mainstream, it's history.
http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/europe/10/02/global.warming/
http://www.energybulletin.net/4835.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/3623549.stm
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A17039-2004Jun4.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/25/opinion/25deffeyes.html?th&emc=th
Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who thinks that we're headed for a major collapse very quickly. I know I'm not the only one, but I feel like I'm the only one who is not a tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing, non-hair washing, granola-eating, environmental, save-the-spotted-oil person. Recently, I have heard a few different reports saying that the world can conceivably run out of oil in my lifetime. One report says that've we've peaked now and if we keep up the current pace, we can expect to run out in 40 years. Others predict that we'll run out of oil by 2070. Either way, we're not talking about keeping the planet in good condition for our grandchildren, as the African proverb dictates, but keeping the planet in good condition for ourselves.
On the other side of the fence, these reports are pooh-poohed as doomsday scenarios - it will never happen. Alternative sources will be developed, and then they point out that we already have a hybrid car. What they don't consider is the following: it would take several years to develop alternative sources so that they're truly viable and affordable. If we don't bother doing so until there are severe oil shortages, it would create huge global instability. The time for developing these alternatives is now - not when the price of gas is $7 a gallon and the price of food and home heating is out of reach of most middle-class families. Another thing that isn't considered is that the economies of India and China are rapidly growing. Most people in both countries do not own cars....but what happens when they want to own cars?
Click on link to see image that illustrates my point. After that, click on "Park This" on the right hand side.
http://www.howies.co.uk/think.php?id=15&category=cars
I think people believe that oil won't run out in their lifetime so it's not their problem, which is entirely selfish in itself - what about their children, neices, nephews, grandchildren? However, I also think that people believe that if and when the world runs out of oil, it will be a hard stop. They'll keep living the way they're accustomed to with cheap gas, cheap flights, efficient home heating, plentiful food, and then one day there will be no more oil, but they won't be around for that, because it won't happen in their lifetime. In reality though, there will first be an increase in gas prices, then an increase in prices for food, heating, public transportation. We'll complain, we'll demand that our government DO something, we'll go on news segments of CITY-TV and say that if this keeps up, we'll have to trade in our SUV for something more economical. We'll support the US government when they invade Iraq for sitting on top of our oil. Oh wait....
But after that, we'll have severe shortages. I don't think people realise just how dependent we are, and I'm not talking about our right to take Hayley and Cody to soccer practice in a four-tonne bohemouth instead of insisting they ride their bikes there. Many communities in North America don't even have sidewalks anymore. Public transportation has been hit by cutbacks in my municipal governments. Some communities don't even have public transportation at all. We're dependent on oil (or natural gas) for home heating, food production - how else do you think those farmers drive the tractors, and manufacturing. Most plastics are made with oil. Its safe to say that our entire way of living as we know it revolves around the black stuff. Still, it floors me when someone says to me with a straight face: "I don't feel guilty about driving my SUV. I pay more in gas so I'm therefore paying higher taxes." Uhhh, what about the term non-renewable resource. Grade 4 geography class? Ring any bells? Or "I'm a Republican, but a good one - I'm just fiscally Republican, I don't approve of the far right agenda in terms of social issues. Yes I voted for Bush, but not because of the social issues." If you voted for Bush, you voted for the senator in South Carolina who thinks gay teachers should be banned from teaching, and the senator in Oklahoma who believes in the death penalty for abortion doctors, and yes if you voted for Bush, you voted for big oil and the destruction of the environment. You knew it was on the agenda, and you knew that he would pay his cronies back in his second term of office. Often in politics, voting is more about choosing the lesser of two evils than anything else, and I'm not saying that the world would be a much more different place if Kerry was president, but at least there would be a chance of it with him.
Just so you don't think that I've pulled my "doomsday scenario" out of thin air, I've included some links below. You'll notice that three of the four are from mainstream news sources. Like with fashion trends, once it hits the mainstream, it's history.
http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/europe/10/02/global.warming/
http://www.energybulletin.net/4835.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/3623549.stm
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A17039-2004Jun4.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/25/opinion/25deffeyes.html?th&emc=th
Thursday, March 24, 2005
I'll get to it....mañana
If there's one thing about Irish people, is that they'll get to something.....mañana. Sometimes that's endearing. There's something nice about not taking time to relax, be social and not rushing to a deadline. However, I'm from Canada, and being so close to the US, mañana is often a bad word. While I like the easy-going nature of the Irish, it really gets on my nerves sometimes....especially when part of my kitchen ceiling is all over the floor due to a leak in the shower upstairs.
We have a few plumbing problems in the apartment. First off, the taps in the kitchen need to be fixed. I called about it two months ago, and someone was supposed to come out. Now, we're not talking about a little drip here. We're talking about the Irish Sea emptying out into the sink. As of last month, the hot water tap in the kitchen is broken completely.
Now the tricky thing about the Irish is that if they sense that you're annoyed and impatient when they're giving you the song and dance about why they can't/won't do something, they're less likely to do it. I have to admit that managing to not get annoyed and appear completely sympathetic to their Joycean yarns is an art form I haven't mastered yet. When they're reciting a Finnegan's Wake-length story as to why they can't come until.....mañana, all I hear is no, I'm not doing it. I'm not interested in the reason, I'm interested in the action, but that might be the Canadian in me. In fact, what I've written above might be a telling clue. They're telling me that they can't do something. I'm hearing that they WON'T do something. Big difference. When I was little, when I asked my parents for something, and they would start to give me an indirect answer, I would say, "yes or no. Say yes." As a grown-up, the only thing that's changed is that I've learned to say that with my internal voice only.
Like I was saying, in my effort to embrace mañana, I haven't pressed too hard about the taps. Annoying? Yes, but I'm never home. Well, once the ceiling of our kitchen started to fall onto the floor, I had a falling out with mañana. I called my landlord and he gave me the number of the person who is supposed to come out and said that he would be here this week for sure.
I called this man because what I didn't want to happen is to hear the age-old Irish excuse, "I came round but no one was there to let me in so I'll have to come round again some other time." I wanted to know exactly when he was coming so that I could make sure someone was home. I wasn't encouraged by my conversation with "yer man there". When I told him about the leak in the shower, he said "yeah there is a leak there. It's been there awhile." I said, "yes and it's all over the kitchen floor now so it really should be fixed sooner rather than later." He said he "had it in his schedule." When I asked for the details of his schedule, asking "so what night this week will you be out so I can be sure to be home? I'll give you my mobile so you can call ahead so I can make sure to be there", but meaning "so what date in your Palm do you have us under because I think you're dicking me around", he got a bit beligerent with me. I crossed the mañana line. I went from asking really nicely and effectively that the work be done, to annoying, obnoxious American. To be fair, I'm probably at a disadvantage to begin with because I have the American accent so I don't do the "awww bless" stuff very well.
I've been told by a friend here that I'm probably too honest and frank for this country. I have a tendency to edit Finnegan's Wake down to one sentence, and I don't play along with their stories. It's like I was told that if you want someone to give you directions, in Canada you pull over and get to the point so no one thinks that you're actually going to rob them or waste their time. In Ireland, you pull over, start a conversation about the weather and 10 minutes later work in the fact that you're lost. I hear my colleague talking to people on the phone, and she's really good with the "Now pet, I know you're really busy, and you know yourself how it can be this time of year, but please appreciate..." I just don't have the patience. I've tried, but I can't do it. I get to the point where I get annoyed that they're wasting my time. They're telling me no and to add to the rejection, they're further wasting my time with the long-winded crapola story and it's cutting into my "how to I get around them" plotting that I have to do. At work, I've stopped asking the Irish brand managers for anything and have instead developed relationships with their bosses in the UK or the US. I've gotten some flak from them for it, but who cares? They don't get back to me so I see them as an obstacle that I've since removed. As far as I'm concerned, they can save the stories for the pub, I've got a job to do.
But I digress. The conversation with the man who is apparently the busiest handyman in Dublin ended with him telling me that IF he comes by, he'll call ahead. You would think he was very brilliant at his work to have such a packed schedule but in reality he is probably the landlord's brother-in-law or friend who has been asked to do this, and he can't be bothered because the rugby is on. That's how it works (or doesn't work) in Ireland. How the Celtic Tiger ever came to be in this land, I'll never figure out.
Well, now I've reached the end of my tether. As of last night we have no hot water at all. Now, if I wanted to live in a cold water flat, I would find myself a hovel that's far cheaper than the one I'm in now. Also, I'm sure you all know how I feel about cold showers in the morning. I went to the gym this morning for my shower. Luckily I have joined the posh gym near my house and the showers there are great! Not-so-luckily, it's rained solidly for the past week and the morning that I am walking to the gym in the lashing rain just to wash my hair is the day that I truly lose the rag. I called the landlord today, as well as the world's most popular handyman, and explained the situation. Now, the landlord has said he would come round tonight. We'll see.
I've approached my flatmates about setting a deadline of April 1st, coincidentally also April Fool's Day, and at that point, if nothing is done, then we call our own plumber and deduct it from our rent. I also want to withhold my rent payment on April 1st until the repairs are done. I've sent a letter to the housing tribunal today to find out my rights and to register my complaint. My flatmates are a little reluctant. They're afraid of being evicted. I don't care. If there is no hot water, I'm not staying there anyway, and I'm not going to find anyone to replace me. I would feel really dishonest about selling the benefits of the place to someone while neglecting to mention a tiny issue regarding no hot water. That can be my landlord's problem. That's another reason not to pay my rent on April 1st. I can tell him that if he's not going to get a plumber, then consider my deposit my last month's rent and find another sucker. I am marginally worried about coming home one night to find all my stuff on the street, but there are principles and hot showers at stake!
So here's the bigger dilemma. If I need to move, why would I move somewhere else in Dublin? Why don't I take this break now to move to the UK? This lack of hot water is really messing up my timing. I have a huge event at work coming up in June - in the South of France, and I want that under my belt before I move, but I won't be able to tolerate no hot water until then (and that's entirely foreseeable in Ireland, the magical land of leprauchans, plumbers, and other mythical creatures). Also, my friend just found a charter flight to Toronto for €240 return. That's an awesome deal! My flight to Rome next month was the same price! It's only for the month of May. I could go home and see the baby.....but not if I have to count on paying for a plumber in the hope of being reimbursed, or if I have to save up a deposit for a new apartment in April. The offer ends this weekend, but will my hot water be turned back on by then? Will I be able to cleanse myself of this water-borne dilemma?
Damn mañana. What's Irish for today?
We have a few plumbing problems in the apartment. First off, the taps in the kitchen need to be fixed. I called about it two months ago, and someone was supposed to come out. Now, we're not talking about a little drip here. We're talking about the Irish Sea emptying out into the sink. As of last month, the hot water tap in the kitchen is broken completely.
Now the tricky thing about the Irish is that if they sense that you're annoyed and impatient when they're giving you the song and dance about why they can't/won't do something, they're less likely to do it. I have to admit that managing to not get annoyed and appear completely sympathetic to their Joycean yarns is an art form I haven't mastered yet. When they're reciting a Finnegan's Wake-length story as to why they can't come until.....mañana, all I hear is no, I'm not doing it. I'm not interested in the reason, I'm interested in the action, but that might be the Canadian in me. In fact, what I've written above might be a telling clue. They're telling me that they can't do something. I'm hearing that they WON'T do something. Big difference. When I was little, when I asked my parents for something, and they would start to give me an indirect answer, I would say, "yes or no. Say yes." As a grown-up, the only thing that's changed is that I've learned to say that with my internal voice only.
Like I was saying, in my effort to embrace mañana, I haven't pressed too hard about the taps. Annoying? Yes, but I'm never home. Well, once the ceiling of our kitchen started to fall onto the floor, I had a falling out with mañana. I called my landlord and he gave me the number of the person who is supposed to come out and said that he would be here this week for sure.
I called this man because what I didn't want to happen is to hear the age-old Irish excuse, "I came round but no one was there to let me in so I'll have to come round again some other time." I wanted to know exactly when he was coming so that I could make sure someone was home. I wasn't encouraged by my conversation with "yer man there". When I told him about the leak in the shower, he said "yeah there is a leak there. It's been there awhile." I said, "yes and it's all over the kitchen floor now so it really should be fixed sooner rather than later." He said he "had it in his schedule." When I asked for the details of his schedule, asking "so what night this week will you be out so I can be sure to be home? I'll give you my mobile so you can call ahead so I can make sure to be there", but meaning "so what date in your Palm do you have us under because I think you're dicking me around", he got a bit beligerent with me. I crossed the mañana line. I went from asking really nicely and effectively that the work be done, to annoying, obnoxious American. To be fair, I'm probably at a disadvantage to begin with because I have the American accent so I don't do the "awww bless" stuff very well.
I've been told by a friend here that I'm probably too honest and frank for this country. I have a tendency to edit Finnegan's Wake down to one sentence, and I don't play along with their stories. It's like I was told that if you want someone to give you directions, in Canada you pull over and get to the point so no one thinks that you're actually going to rob them or waste their time. In Ireland, you pull over, start a conversation about the weather and 10 minutes later work in the fact that you're lost. I hear my colleague talking to people on the phone, and she's really good with the "Now pet, I know you're really busy, and you know yourself how it can be this time of year, but please appreciate..." I just don't have the patience. I've tried, but I can't do it. I get to the point where I get annoyed that they're wasting my time. They're telling me no and to add to the rejection, they're further wasting my time with the long-winded crapola story and it's cutting into my "how to I get around them" plotting that I have to do. At work, I've stopped asking the Irish brand managers for anything and have instead developed relationships with their bosses in the UK or the US. I've gotten some flak from them for it, but who cares? They don't get back to me so I see them as an obstacle that I've since removed. As far as I'm concerned, they can save the stories for the pub, I've got a job to do.
But I digress. The conversation with the man who is apparently the busiest handyman in Dublin ended with him telling me that IF he comes by, he'll call ahead. You would think he was very brilliant at his work to have such a packed schedule but in reality he is probably the landlord's brother-in-law or friend who has been asked to do this, and he can't be bothered because the rugby is on. That's how it works (or doesn't work) in Ireland. How the Celtic Tiger ever came to be in this land, I'll never figure out.
Well, now I've reached the end of my tether. As of last night we have no hot water at all. Now, if I wanted to live in a cold water flat, I would find myself a hovel that's far cheaper than the one I'm in now. Also, I'm sure you all know how I feel about cold showers in the morning. I went to the gym this morning for my shower. Luckily I have joined the posh gym near my house and the showers there are great! Not-so-luckily, it's rained solidly for the past week and the morning that I am walking to the gym in the lashing rain just to wash my hair is the day that I truly lose the rag. I called the landlord today, as well as the world's most popular handyman, and explained the situation. Now, the landlord has said he would come round tonight. We'll see.
I've approached my flatmates about setting a deadline of April 1st, coincidentally also April Fool's Day, and at that point, if nothing is done, then we call our own plumber and deduct it from our rent. I also want to withhold my rent payment on April 1st until the repairs are done. I've sent a letter to the housing tribunal today to find out my rights and to register my complaint. My flatmates are a little reluctant. They're afraid of being evicted. I don't care. If there is no hot water, I'm not staying there anyway, and I'm not going to find anyone to replace me. I would feel really dishonest about selling the benefits of the place to someone while neglecting to mention a tiny issue regarding no hot water. That can be my landlord's problem. That's another reason not to pay my rent on April 1st. I can tell him that if he's not going to get a plumber, then consider my deposit my last month's rent and find another sucker. I am marginally worried about coming home one night to find all my stuff on the street, but there are principles and hot showers at stake!
So here's the bigger dilemma. If I need to move, why would I move somewhere else in Dublin? Why don't I take this break now to move to the UK? This lack of hot water is really messing up my timing. I have a huge event at work coming up in June - in the South of France, and I want that under my belt before I move, but I won't be able to tolerate no hot water until then (and that's entirely foreseeable in Ireland, the magical land of leprauchans, plumbers, and other mythical creatures). Also, my friend just found a charter flight to Toronto for €240 return. That's an awesome deal! My flight to Rome next month was the same price! It's only for the month of May. I could go home and see the baby.....but not if I have to count on paying for a plumber in the hope of being reimbursed, or if I have to save up a deposit for a new apartment in April. The offer ends this weekend, but will my hot water be turned back on by then? Will I be able to cleanse myself of this water-borne dilemma?
Damn mañana. What's Irish for today?
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Dreaming pt. 1
Does anyone have childhood or adolescent experiences have really affected their adult life? I'm not talking about real scarring experiences like molestation, but everyday kid stuff that somehow hangs with you forever.
Two experiences have made me think about this lately. The first of which is something that a friend of mine wrote in her blog: http://mellowtrauma.blogspot.com
In her second entry, she writes about how she was gently told in school that maybe she shouldn't be in the choir, and how it has affected her to this day. I had a similar experience. When I was little, I loved to sing and sing at the top of my lungs. I sang in the car, I sang while riding my bike, I sang to my dolls, I sang while lying in bed before falling asleep. I was so out of tune, but I didn't know it, and I didn't care.
In the fifth grade, our class was entering the Kiwanis festival, which was a local music competition/festival. Our music teacher really wanted to win this competition and to do so we had to beat St. Mary's, the school for musically inclined children. Even though this competition was compulsory for the entire class, five of us were asked to mouth the words to the songs so that we had a chance of winning. I was one of those five, and the other four were boys whose voices had already started to change. I was so upset and humiliated. My dreams of being the next Debbie Harry were dashed forever. I also felt a raging sense of injustice. They were cheating. And I went to a Catholic school. Surely Jesus would not approve. I wanted my parents to tell Kiwanis about the scam. I wanted justice. I wanted to sing about the snake with the reticulated skin like the rest of the class! When I reacted by not participating in any of the rehearsals and rolling my eyes whenever the teacher looked my way, and when my mom wrote a letter of complaint, I was pulled aside and given the "importance of teamwork and maintaining a good attitude" speech. I was told that they understood that I was hurt, but 'for the good of the team' I was asked to 'not the rock the boat', and if I could not display my displeasure in class, that would be appreciated as it was not necessary for the rest of the class to know that we were asked to mouth the words. They also asked that it would be best if we didn't take it further because if we did, the rest of the class would suffer and it would be my fault that they were denied a chance at Kiwanis glory. I was 10. The fact that they would be seriously reprimanded for conspiring to cheat at a music festival and setting a poor example for their students was of course not mentioned as a reason why I should comply, and being 10, I didn't think they had any other motive besides my schoolyard well-being. Looking back on it, I wish I insisted to my parents that we take it further. They were poor excuses for teachers so I would have been doing future grade five students a favour, and two years after that, other events would occur that would cause me to hate pretty much everyone in my class anyways. I wouldn't have lost anything in the long run. I didn't show up the day of the festival, and two of the others who were asked to mouth the words didn't show up either. We did, however, show up for cake when the class won.
Ever since that time, I have been self-conscious of my singing. I stopped singing in public - at Church, at parties, in the car with other passengers. I don’t even sing "Happy Birthday" if I can help it. I like to sing. When I'm by myself, I can sing myself hoarse in the car, especially to the soundtrack from "Swingers." As for my dreams of being the next Debbie Harry, my rendition of "Call Me" is fantastic, if I may say so myself. I think it's sad that both my friend and I have been discouraged from singing by music teachers - and mine only because she felt inferior to her St. Mary's counterpart for chrissakes. I think it's great that she was willing to get up for karaoke - especially a song like "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." I would have chosen something like "Wooly Wooly" or "Wild Thing" because you don't have to be a good singer for those songs. In fact, I think "Wooly Wooly" is better when you're a crap singer, and I'm pretty sure you can speak the lyrics to "Wild Thing." I also would have needed much more than three pints and a shot of courage to get up there.
I was at a bar a couple of nights ago, and they had karaoke. A couple people were asking if I would go up, to which I replied, uh no. I took a look at the songbook, and "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" was in there. One of my friends got up twice. He sang "Daydream Believer" and "Mack the Knife." He was pretty good, but not an outstanding singer. What he lacks in formal training, he makes up for in chutzpah. What was most impressive was his lack of inhibition when it came to singing in public. When we heard it was karaoke night and he got right up and brought a songbook over to our table and started to pick out what he wanted to do. I envy that.
One day, I would like to put on some eyeliner and a miniskirt and belt out a Blondie tune - with Mrs. DelPellaro in the audience.
Two experiences have made me think about this lately. The first of which is something that a friend of mine wrote in her blog: http://mellowtrauma.blogspot.com
In her second entry, she writes about how she was gently told in school that maybe she shouldn't be in the choir, and how it has affected her to this day. I had a similar experience. When I was little, I loved to sing and sing at the top of my lungs. I sang in the car, I sang while riding my bike, I sang to my dolls, I sang while lying in bed before falling asleep. I was so out of tune, but I didn't know it, and I didn't care.
In the fifth grade, our class was entering the Kiwanis festival, which was a local music competition/festival. Our music teacher really wanted to win this competition and to do so we had to beat St. Mary's, the school for musically inclined children. Even though this competition was compulsory for the entire class, five of us were asked to mouth the words to the songs so that we had a chance of winning. I was one of those five, and the other four were boys whose voices had already started to change. I was so upset and humiliated. My dreams of being the next Debbie Harry were dashed forever. I also felt a raging sense of injustice. They were cheating. And I went to a Catholic school. Surely Jesus would not approve. I wanted my parents to tell Kiwanis about the scam. I wanted justice. I wanted to sing about the snake with the reticulated skin like the rest of the class! When I reacted by not participating in any of the rehearsals and rolling my eyes whenever the teacher looked my way, and when my mom wrote a letter of complaint, I was pulled aside and given the "importance of teamwork and maintaining a good attitude" speech. I was told that they understood that I was hurt, but 'for the good of the team' I was asked to 'not the rock the boat', and if I could not display my displeasure in class, that would be appreciated as it was not necessary for the rest of the class to know that we were asked to mouth the words. They also asked that it would be best if we didn't take it further because if we did, the rest of the class would suffer and it would be my fault that they were denied a chance at Kiwanis glory. I was 10. The fact that they would be seriously reprimanded for conspiring to cheat at a music festival and setting a poor example for their students was of course not mentioned as a reason why I should comply, and being 10, I didn't think they had any other motive besides my schoolyard well-being. Looking back on it, I wish I insisted to my parents that we take it further. They were poor excuses for teachers so I would have been doing future grade five students a favour, and two years after that, other events would occur that would cause me to hate pretty much everyone in my class anyways. I wouldn't have lost anything in the long run. I didn't show up the day of the festival, and two of the others who were asked to mouth the words didn't show up either. We did, however, show up for cake when the class won.
Ever since that time, I have been self-conscious of my singing. I stopped singing in public - at Church, at parties, in the car with other passengers. I don’t even sing "Happy Birthday" if I can help it. I like to sing. When I'm by myself, I can sing myself hoarse in the car, especially to the soundtrack from "Swingers." As for my dreams of being the next Debbie Harry, my rendition of "Call Me" is fantastic, if I may say so myself. I think it's sad that both my friend and I have been discouraged from singing by music teachers - and mine only because she felt inferior to her St. Mary's counterpart for chrissakes. I think it's great that she was willing to get up for karaoke - especially a song like "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." I would have chosen something like "Wooly Wooly" or "Wild Thing" because you don't have to be a good singer for those songs. In fact, I think "Wooly Wooly" is better when you're a crap singer, and I'm pretty sure you can speak the lyrics to "Wild Thing." I also would have needed much more than three pints and a shot of courage to get up there.
I was at a bar a couple of nights ago, and they had karaoke. A couple people were asking if I would go up, to which I replied, uh no. I took a look at the songbook, and "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" was in there. One of my friends got up twice. He sang "Daydream Believer" and "Mack the Knife." He was pretty good, but not an outstanding singer. What he lacks in formal training, he makes up for in chutzpah. What was most impressive was his lack of inhibition when it came to singing in public. When we heard it was karaoke night and he got right up and brought a songbook over to our table and started to pick out what he wanted to do. I envy that.
One day, I would like to put on some eyeliner and a miniskirt and belt out a Blondie tune - with Mrs. DelPellaro in the audience.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Greener Pastures?
I would like to say that it's great to be back in Dublin, but it's not. I just came back from three weeks at home in Canada. I was so surprised at how great it was to be home. I have never felt like that coming back from a trip. I know for sure that Canada is my home. I guess the question now is when am I going home as opposed to if.
It was great to see friends and family again - to hang out at a friend's house and watch a movie, to go out for chicken wings and beer to catch up, and just to sit around with my parents watching TV. Even when I was not with friends and family, there was still a comfort level of home that surrounded my visit. When I went to Toronto for a couple of days, I went by train. I took the subway up to my cousin's place, where I would be staying. I was exiting the subway station when I saw the friend of another cousin of mine. I chatted with him for a couple of minutes. A little ways down the road, I saw someone else I knew - a guy from my soccer team a few years back was on the other side of the street. The next day, I went into a coffee shop. Not only could I get a coffee and sit down and read in peace (a rarity in the noisy, cold Dublin coffee shops), but the counter clerk was just so polite. I truly felt special, and I'm not being flippant. Being so used to surly wait staff, it was so nice to be served by someone pleasant - though I'm well aware of the fact that it's their job to be pleasant.
Canada really is a kinder, gentler place. I felt more relaxed there - like I didn't always have to be on the lookout for pickpockets and gangs of kids. I don't know if that's more due to the fact that there is just so much space in Canada, or if it's because there really isn't as much property crime. I'm inclined to believe the latter.
It was great to see friends and family again - to hang out at a friend's house and watch a movie, to go out for chicken wings and beer to catch up, and just to sit around with my parents watching TV. Even when I was not with friends and family, there was still a comfort level of home that surrounded my visit. When I went to Toronto for a couple of days, I went by train. I took the subway up to my cousin's place, where I would be staying. I was exiting the subway station when I saw the friend of another cousin of mine. I chatted with him for a couple of minutes. A little ways down the road, I saw someone else I knew - a guy from my soccer team a few years back was on the other side of the street. The next day, I went into a coffee shop. Not only could I get a coffee and sit down and read in peace (a rarity in the noisy, cold Dublin coffee shops), but the counter clerk was just so polite. I truly felt special, and I'm not being flippant. Being so used to surly wait staff, it was so nice to be served by someone pleasant - though I'm well aware of the fact that it's their job to be pleasant.
Canada really is a kinder, gentler place. I felt more relaxed there - like I didn't always have to be on the lookout for pickpockets and gangs of kids. I don't know if that's more due to the fact that there is just so much space in Canada, or if it's because there really isn't as much property crime. I'm inclined to believe the latter.
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