Right. Where was I?
March 25, ctd...
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. after not falling asleep until 2. Joy. Couldn't get back to sleep and I'm fairly miserable right now.
Since beginning tis entry I've caught the shuttle to the airport, checked in for my flight, had breakfast, gone through security and am now sitting in the departures lounge waiting for my flight's gate tobe announced. At which point I will basically need to run to the said gate in order to get a good seat on the flight as Ryanair doesn't board by row or anything. Your flight just gets called and you borad in the order you checked in, more or less. But, hey, it's cheap!
March 26, 2006.
Right... So... The flight was late, making any chance I had of catching the shuttle to the hotel null and void. It was delayed about an hour, although I don't know why. But I met a really fun, really social couple to while the hour away with. They were flying to Dublin for the night to meet some friends.
The flight itself was short an uneventful. Got to the airport, got my bags, went to check in at the tour operator's desk, and... nothing. Not a damn thing. They spent, like, 20 minutes trying to figure out what to do with me before shoving me in a cab with another couple. Got to the hotel and my room wasn't ready, so I spent 45 minutes sitting in the lobby reading "Portrait of a Lady" and developing a sleep-deprevation and caffeine-deprivation-induced headache. I was going to leave my bags and go buy some Anadin when it was finally ready.
Met the rest of the tour group downstairs at 3. Guide's name is Keith. Definitely Irish. Accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. Hard to understand on occasion. We took a quick drive out to the Guinness Storehouse, which is basically a museum dedicated to Arthur Guinness and his be... sorry - stout. You don't really get to see where the stuff is made or anything. [For the historians amongst my readers, my favourite bit was the section titled "The history of transporting Guinness is the history of transportation itself." What a load of crap is that?]. Nonetheless, there was a free pint of Guinness involved, so that's always great! Back to the hotel afterwards for a brief respite, followed by drinks in the bar there and then off to a tourist trap called Taylors Three Rock (Keith pronounced it "Tree rock" so it took me a while to get the name right). It's more or less an Irish cabaret type of thing where there's dinner, a live band (The Merry Ploughboys - decent but not exceptional) and Irish dancers (also decent but not exceptional). They were entertaining and knew how to work the crowd.
I slept like a bloody log last night, and then it was up again at 7:15. Breakfast was a 8 and we were off again at 9. A tour of the city [Dublin] was first on the agenda. We had a tour guide get on the bus with us and point out all the cool thing - the President's house, Christchurch Cathedral, the government buildings, Dublin's most-photographed Georgian door, etc.
March 27, 2006
8:20 a.m.
Our first stop yesterday was at St. Patrick's Cathedral. It was lovely, but I seem to have been a bit spoiled for cathedrals after living in England for 6 months. It had some great early Christian 'celtic' stonework, though. And it was also fairly plain after the gothic spires of the Minster and the massiveness of Canterbury Cathedral.
The bus tour continued and after a while we ended up at Trinity College (founded 1592). Trinity College houses the Book of Kells, a gorgeous medieval manuscript with lots of 'celtic' decoration.* We got to go see it (it was included in the tour, otherwise I doubt I'd have paid the €8 or whatever it was to go and see it) and I was amazed. It's a lot smaller than I thought - most of what I've seen of it has been details, blown up for public consumption. The art was absolutely gorgeous and the most fine thing I've ever seen. It's so hard to believe it was done with a quill! I hadn't realized that quill pen nibs could get that delicate. The interwoven patterns were extremely intricate. I have an amazing new apprciation for the book. The most fantastic part of Trinity College, though, was the Long Room. Basically a 17th century library, the Long Room is everything a library should be. Old leatherbound tomes, ladders, dark wood... Gorgeous. I mean, these books date back to the 16th century.
Whilst ogling the book I made arrangements with some of the other people on the tour to go and have lunch and hang out for the afternoon - three sisters from the States and one woman from the states travelling alone. The sisters are about my mom's age, and T is about 30, I'd say. We went for lunch at a pub called O'Neils, which has been on the site for about 300 years (although it's only been O'Neil's for 86). It's really neat - it's got about 5 or 6 bars scattered throughout a little maze of a place, with doorways everywhere, staircases that go up here and down there, and more taps than I've ever seen at any one bar.
Once we'd eaten we went to the National Museum. The cool thing about the museums in Dublin is that many of them are free. The National Museum was no exception. Its collection dates from the stone age to the present, and it's basically an archaeological museum. The coolest bits were probably the 9th and 10th century metal work - the decorative gold and silver work. There were some chalices and patens on display with intricate filigree 'celtic' patterns. The Tara Brooch is also on display there and the filigree work in gold is absolutely amazing. It's tiny and extremely intricate. There was also a bog body and several items preserved in bogs. It's amazing how well the bog actually managed to preserve all these things.
We returned to the hotel around 4:15 and I emailed some folks and posted the last blog entry. Then the bunch of us left again to find someplace for dinner before we embarked on a Literary Pub Crawl. Dinner was in a place called the Badass cafe, and you could tell everyone was having fun with the name.
The crawl itself was really interesting. I hadn't realized just how much literature came from Ireland, although I probably should have. Joyce, Shaw, Wilde, Stoker, and more.
This morning it was up at 6:30 - had to be at breakfast at 7:15 and on the bus by 8:15. It's about 9:30 now and we've left Dublin and moved on to the south. There hasn't been much of note to see... yet. I think I'm going to miss Dublin. It was oddly familiar and homey. I don't think I met a single unfriendly individual there, unless you count the non-Irish wait staff at some of the bars and restaurants. The city centre was small enough that it was really easy to get around. The map, best of all, was accurate, which is always great. I rather wish I'd had some more time there, but I can always go back, right?
11:40 a.m.
We've just made a quick stop at Cashel, where there are the ruins of a castle, probably built around the 12th century. The site, though, dates back to the 6th century or so. The tour guide is starting to annoy me, though. He's certainly pandering to the lowest common denominator in termps of intelligence. He cannot stop asking if we're familiar with X or if we've heard of Y - when X is whiskey and Y is socks. I'm trying to suck it up and realize that not everyone is as historically conscious or intelligent as the people I normally spend time with, but, honestly. I'm feeling a bit patronized by the whole thing.
4:05 p.m.
We're leaving Blarney now. The people who told me that Ireland is extremely green didn't lie. The field division system is similar to England's, so that was nothing new. But stuff in England is not nearly this green. I mean, even the trees are green because of the moss and ivy growing on them.
Blarney castle is set in a nicely landscaped park. It's entirely ruined, but you can wander around inside, up and down the spiral staircases to the top. I think I pulled my shoulder doing it, but I did kiss the Blarney stone - more to say I'd done it than any other reason.
Internet time up... gotta run...
I keep putting 'celtic' in quotation mark because there's really no such thing. 'Celtic' is a combination of Anglo-Saxon, Germanic and other elements.
March 25, ctd...
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. after not falling asleep until 2. Joy. Couldn't get back to sleep and I'm fairly miserable right now.
Since beginning tis entry I've caught the shuttle to the airport, checked in for my flight, had breakfast, gone through security and am now sitting in the departures lounge waiting for my flight's gate tobe announced. At which point I will basically need to run to the said gate in order to get a good seat on the flight as Ryanair doesn't board by row or anything. Your flight just gets called and you borad in the order you checked in, more or less. But, hey, it's cheap!
March 26, 2006.
Right... So... The flight was late, making any chance I had of catching the shuttle to the hotel null and void. It was delayed about an hour, although I don't know why. But I met a really fun, really social couple to while the hour away with. They were flying to Dublin for the night to meet some friends.
The flight itself was short an uneventful. Got to the airport, got my bags, went to check in at the tour operator's desk, and... nothing. Not a damn thing. They spent, like, 20 minutes trying to figure out what to do with me before shoving me in a cab with another couple. Got to the hotel and my room wasn't ready, so I spent 45 minutes sitting in the lobby reading "Portrait of a Lady" and developing a sleep-deprevation and caffeine-deprivation-induced headache. I was going to leave my bags and go buy some Anadin when it was finally ready.
Met the rest of the tour group downstairs at 3. Guide's name is Keith. Definitely Irish. Accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. Hard to understand on occasion. We took a quick drive out to the Guinness Storehouse, which is basically a museum dedicated to Arthur Guinness and his be... sorry - stout. You don't really get to see where the stuff is made or anything. [For the historians amongst my readers, my favourite bit was the section titled "The history of transporting Guinness is the history of transportation itself." What a load of crap is that?]. Nonetheless, there was a free pint of Guinness involved, so that's always great! Back to the hotel afterwards for a brief respite, followed by drinks in the bar there and then off to a tourist trap called Taylors Three Rock (Keith pronounced it "Tree rock" so it took me a while to get the name right). It's more or less an Irish cabaret type of thing where there's dinner, a live band (The Merry Ploughboys - decent but not exceptional) and Irish dancers (also decent but not exceptional). They were entertaining and knew how to work the crowd.
I slept like a bloody log last night, and then it was up again at 7:15. Breakfast was a 8 and we were off again at 9. A tour of the city [Dublin] was first on the agenda. We had a tour guide get on the bus with us and point out all the cool thing - the President's house, Christchurch Cathedral, the government buildings, Dublin's most-photographed Georgian door, etc.
March 27, 2006
8:20 a.m.
Our first stop yesterday was at St. Patrick's Cathedral. It was lovely, but I seem to have been a bit spoiled for cathedrals after living in England for 6 months. It had some great early Christian 'celtic' stonework, though. And it was also fairly plain after the gothic spires of the Minster and the massiveness of Canterbury Cathedral.
The bus tour continued and after a while we ended up at Trinity College (founded 1592). Trinity College houses the Book of Kells, a gorgeous medieval manuscript with lots of 'celtic' decoration.* We got to go see it (it was included in the tour, otherwise I doubt I'd have paid the €8 or whatever it was to go and see it) and I was amazed. It's a lot smaller than I thought - most of what I've seen of it has been details, blown up for public consumption. The art was absolutely gorgeous and the most fine thing I've ever seen. It's so hard to believe it was done with a quill! I hadn't realized that quill pen nibs could get that delicate. The interwoven patterns were extremely intricate. I have an amazing new apprciation for the book. The most fantastic part of Trinity College, though, was the Long Room. Basically a 17th century library, the Long Room is everything a library should be. Old leatherbound tomes, ladders, dark wood... Gorgeous. I mean, these books date back to the 16th century.
Whilst ogling the book I made arrangements with some of the other people on the tour to go and have lunch and hang out for the afternoon - three sisters from the States and one woman from the states travelling alone. The sisters are about my mom's age, and T is about 30, I'd say. We went for lunch at a pub called O'Neils, which has been on the site for about 300 years (although it's only been O'Neil's for 86). It's really neat - it's got about 5 or 6 bars scattered throughout a little maze of a place, with doorways everywhere, staircases that go up here and down there, and more taps than I've ever seen at any one bar.
Once we'd eaten we went to the National Museum. The cool thing about the museums in Dublin is that many of them are free. The National Museum was no exception. Its collection dates from the stone age to the present, and it's basically an archaeological museum. The coolest bits were probably the 9th and 10th century metal work - the decorative gold and silver work. There were some chalices and patens on display with intricate filigree 'celtic' patterns. The Tara Brooch is also on display there and the filigree work in gold is absolutely amazing. It's tiny and extremely intricate. There was also a bog body and several items preserved in bogs. It's amazing how well the bog actually managed to preserve all these things.
We returned to the hotel around 4:15 and I emailed some folks and posted the last blog entry. Then the bunch of us left again to find someplace for dinner before we embarked on a Literary Pub Crawl. Dinner was in a place called the Badass cafe, and you could tell everyone was having fun with the name.
The crawl itself was really interesting. I hadn't realized just how much literature came from Ireland, although I probably should have. Joyce, Shaw, Wilde, Stoker, and more.
This morning it was up at 6:30 - had to be at breakfast at 7:15 and on the bus by 8:15. It's about 9:30 now and we've left Dublin and moved on to the south. There hasn't been much of note to see... yet. I think I'm going to miss Dublin. It was oddly familiar and homey. I don't think I met a single unfriendly individual there, unless you count the non-Irish wait staff at some of the bars and restaurants. The city centre was small enough that it was really easy to get around. The map, best of all, was accurate, which is always great. I rather wish I'd had some more time there, but I can always go back, right?
11:40 a.m.
We've just made a quick stop at Cashel, where there are the ruins of a castle, probably built around the 12th century. The site, though, dates back to the 6th century or so. The tour guide is starting to annoy me, though. He's certainly pandering to the lowest common denominator in termps of intelligence. He cannot stop asking if we're familiar with X or if we've heard of Y - when X is whiskey and Y is socks. I'm trying to suck it up and realize that not everyone is as historically conscious or intelligent as the people I normally spend time with, but, honestly. I'm feeling a bit patronized by the whole thing.
4:05 p.m.
We're leaving Blarney now. The people who told me that Ireland is extremely green didn't lie. The field division system is similar to England's, so that was nothing new. But stuff in England is not nearly this green. I mean, even the trees are green because of the moss and ivy growing on them.
Blarney castle is set in a nicely landscaped park. It's entirely ruined, but you can wander around inside, up and down the spiral staircases to the top. I think I pulled my shoulder doing it, but I did kiss the Blarney stone - more to say I'd done it than any other reason.
Internet time up... gotta run...
I keep putting 'celtic' in quotation mark because there's really no such thing. 'Celtic' is a combination of Anglo-Saxon, Germanic and other elements.
All right - let's see how much of this I can get written before I have to get off this computer. Easiest way to do it is just to excerpt from my travel diary, so here you go:
March 25, 2006.
8:30 a.m. Took the train from York to Leeds yesterday, then from Leeds to some tiny place called Hosforth, from whence I...
9:30 a.m. Sorry - airport shuttle came. Anyway... "From whence I..." was going to call a cab to take me to the travelodge. Well. Actually, I was rather hoping that there would be a taxi rank at the train station. No such luck. Horsforth is about as middle-of-nowhere as urban England gets. So I wander to the nearest pub to find the number for a taxi company... and there's no reception on my cell phone. Joy. I ask the pub people if I can use their phone, and they have no phone. What the hell is that? So I get the cab company number programmed into my phone and head across the street where, fortunately, there was a Spar convenience store. I ask if I can use their phone. The clerk pulls his own mobile out of his pocket, but he's got the keypad locked, so as I hand it back to him to unlock it, I realize I've now, just by going across the street, suddenly got reception on my phone! Yay! So I call a cab and wait for a bit, and then take the cab to the airport Travelodge.
The Travelodge is even more in the middle of nowhere than the train station was, so I watched tv for a few hours... realized I was bored out of my mind, AND hungry... so wandered out to the vending machines to grab something to eat. The reception lady heard me puttering around and gave me her leftover pizza! How nice was that?
Didn't get any sleep, though. Well, two hours...
Crap. Time's up. I'll have to continue this the next time I find some sort of internet access. Take care, all...
-K
March 25, 2006.
8:30 a.m. Took the train from York to Leeds yesterday, then from Leeds to some tiny place called Hosforth, from whence I...
9:30 a.m. Sorry - airport shuttle came. Anyway... "From whence I..." was going to call a cab to take me to the travelodge. Well. Actually, I was rather hoping that there would be a taxi rank at the train station. No such luck. Horsforth is about as middle-of-nowhere as urban England gets. So I wander to the nearest pub to find the number for a taxi company... and there's no reception on my cell phone. Joy. I ask the pub people if I can use their phone, and they have no phone. What the hell is that? So I get the cab company number programmed into my phone and head across the street where, fortunately, there was a Spar convenience store. I ask if I can use their phone. The clerk pulls his own mobile out of his pocket, but he's got the keypad locked, so as I hand it back to him to unlock it, I realize I've now, just by going across the street, suddenly got reception on my phone! Yay! So I call a cab and wait for a bit, and then take the cab to the airport Travelodge.
The Travelodge is even more in the middle of nowhere than the train station was, so I watched tv for a few hours... realized I was bored out of my mind, AND hungry... so wandered out to the vending machines to grab something to eat. The reception lady heard me puttering around and gave me her leftover pizza! How nice was that?
Didn't get any sleep, though. Well, two hours...
Crap. Time's up. I'll have to continue this the next time I find some sort of internet access. Take care, all...
-K
I went out for my regular jog around the lake (getting better at this whole jogging thing - I think my poor asthmatic lungs and poor out-of-shape body are slowly figuring out that exercise isn't a bad thing).
Just as I was rounding the bend to get back to my residence building, what should I stumble upon (not literally... although it has almost happened several times) but some geese. Meh. They're all over this bloody place. BUT, in the grass with them were some absolutely adorable goslings! There were 4, I think, and they were bloody cute and fuzzy and yellowy and cuddly and... and...
Get ahold of yourself Kate.
(Shows how pet-deprived I am right now though, eh?)
I didn't take a photo. I was going to, but by the time I'd gotten back to my room, grabbed my camera, and wandered back to where they were, they'd waddled off somewhere.
Maybe duck rape season isn't that bad if it leads to this sort of adorableness wandering around campus.
I leave tomorrow for Leeds, where I will be staying at the elegant Leeds Bradford Airport Travelodge. I wasn't about to rely on the trains getting me into Leeds on time on a Saturday, so a night in Leeds it is. On Saturday a.m. I hop the shuttle to the airport, and fly to Dublin and will be spending a week in gorgeous Ireland.
Totally looking forward to this.
Just as I was rounding the bend to get back to my residence building, what should I stumble upon (not literally... although it has almost happened several times) but some geese. Meh. They're all over this bloody place. BUT, in the grass with them were some absolutely adorable goslings! There were 4, I think, and they were bloody cute and fuzzy and yellowy and cuddly and... and...
Get ahold of yourself Kate.
(Shows how pet-deprived I am right now though, eh?)
I didn't take a photo. I was going to, but by the time I'd gotten back to my room, grabbed my camera, and wandered back to where they were, they'd waddled off somewhere.
Maybe duck rape season isn't that bad if it leads to this sort of adorableness wandering around campus.
I leave tomorrow for Leeds, where I will be staying at the elegant Leeds Bradford Airport Travelodge. I wasn't about to rely on the trains getting me into Leeds on time on a Saturday, so a night in Leeds it is. On Saturday a.m. I hop the shuttle to the airport, and fly to Dublin and will be spending a week in gorgeous Ireland.
Totally looking forward to this.
I missed the deadline for that other job I was going to apply for.
And it was a good one.
It was an Admin Assistant position, which is a little beneath what I've been working for the last 6 years to accomplish, but it was a rotational position with DFAIT - Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade - which would have taken me overseas to exotic locales.
Sonofa.
And it was a good one.
It was an Admin Assistant position, which is a little beneath what I've been working for the last 6 years to accomplish, but it was a rotational position with DFAIT - Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade - which would have taken me overseas to exotic locales.
Sonofa.
Pity party time. I apologize that this is going to be slightly depressing and self-centred. But I need to vent and this is probably the best place to do it.
I've been battling depression for years now. When I think back on my life, it probably started when I was a teenager. I mean, I went for blood tests and everything 'cuz they thought my lack of energy and lethargy was probably mono or something thyroid-y. Nope. So the summer after my 2nd year of uni I had a pretty major breakdown and finally sought help. Been on anti-depressants since. Well, until Christmas. Doctor recommended I wean myself off. So I did.
I've been lethargic and bored and down over the last week or so (dying my hair was also partly an attempt to cheer myself up) and so now I'm wondering if it's coming back. To quote a friend: "Did I like relying on the meds? Hell no. Did I like being able to function? Hell yes." It's a balancing game. And I'm worried I'm out of balance again.
There's no real structure in my life right now. No classes... two papers to work on, but that's on my own time... And it's just going to get worse, I think - I had my last class EVER on Thursday. (Well, except for Latin... but I'm not taking that for credit...). I don't feel like I'm really working toward anything. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said once that a deadline has a wonderful way of concentrating the mind... maybe if I was rushed off my feet I'd have less time to be lonely and bored and that would help me feel better.
Yeah, that's probably it, actually. I'm bored. I can't just call people up for coffee here. Only one of my classmates lives on campus, and while I really do enjoy her company, anything I say to her will be known by the REST of my classmates within the week. Since term is technically over people are going home to see their families and I'll be alone in York more or less. I tried to find an aerobics class or yoga or something to keep myself occupied, but since all the undergrads are on vacation, there's nothing on campus. There are probably some things around town, but not having a car (or the $6 CDN to spend on bus fare for each trip) there's nothing really. I can't even watch shit late-night TV 'cuz I don't have a TV. And Season 6 of the Simpsons will only keep me occupied for so long. Even if I watch all the episodes. Then all the episodes with commentary. There are only so many hours a person can waste with one season of a show.
I _am_ excited about going to Ireland. But it's not, like, itchy with excitement excited. It's more just a laid-back "cool..." sort of excitement. Does this mean I'm not taking joy in things again?
I'm feeling a little unloveable at the moment as well. There was a poll on the CTV news website a few days ago asking Canadians "If you aren't getting enough sex, why?", and the #1 answer was "No one's offering". So at least I'm not alone. Hell, I don't even necessarily want the sex. Companionship would be nice, to be honest. I'm 24 (ok, nearly) and still haven't had what I'd call a significant relationship. People I know that are my age are getting married and having children. Not that I want children. *Shudders at the thought of children*. Sorry. This blog is turning into a rant about my lack of love life. I'd say 90% of the time I'm totally cool with being single, but for some reason lately. I guess it's a spring thing.
On top of unloveable I'm feeling a little unsuccessful. I'm sort of disturbed that I haven't heard from the government about any of my job applications, too - I passed the tests... it would be nice if I got an interview or something. But nothing yet. Which reminds me that their website should be back up, and I can submit my covering letter and apply for another job (joy!). I mean, it's the government, and they're probably not going to work particularly quickly, but it's been more than a month since I wrote those damn tests. I'm either over or under-qualified for most museum jobs out there in the private sector. I don't want to continue in academia at this point in time...
My year here is pretty much half over. I'm not sure how to react to that. I'm getting to meet new people, experience new things... I guess since I don't really have a home returning to Canada isn't going to solve all my problems and make me feel comfy and routine again...
*sigh*
I've been battling depression for years now. When I think back on my life, it probably started when I was a teenager. I mean, I went for blood tests and everything 'cuz they thought my lack of energy and lethargy was probably mono or something thyroid-y. Nope. So the summer after my 2nd year of uni I had a pretty major breakdown and finally sought help. Been on anti-depressants since. Well, until Christmas. Doctor recommended I wean myself off. So I did.
I've been lethargic and bored and down over the last week or so (dying my hair was also partly an attempt to cheer myself up) and so now I'm wondering if it's coming back. To quote a friend: "Did I like relying on the meds? Hell no. Did I like being able to function? Hell yes." It's a balancing game. And I'm worried I'm out of balance again.
There's no real structure in my life right now. No classes... two papers to work on, but that's on my own time... And it's just going to get worse, I think - I had my last class EVER on Thursday. (Well, except for Latin... but I'm not taking that for credit...). I don't feel like I'm really working toward anything. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said once that a deadline has a wonderful way of concentrating the mind... maybe if I was rushed off my feet I'd have less time to be lonely and bored and that would help me feel better.
Yeah, that's probably it, actually. I'm bored. I can't just call people up for coffee here. Only one of my classmates lives on campus, and while I really do enjoy her company, anything I say to her will be known by the REST of my classmates within the week. Since term is technically over people are going home to see their families and I'll be alone in York more or less. I tried to find an aerobics class or yoga or something to keep myself occupied, but since all the undergrads are on vacation, there's nothing on campus. There are probably some things around town, but not having a car (or the $6 CDN to spend on bus fare for each trip) there's nothing really. I can't even watch shit late-night TV 'cuz I don't have a TV. And Season 6 of the Simpsons will only keep me occupied for so long. Even if I watch all the episodes. Then all the episodes with commentary. There are only so many hours a person can waste with one season of a show.
I _am_ excited about going to Ireland. But it's not, like, itchy with excitement excited. It's more just a laid-back "cool..." sort of excitement. Does this mean I'm not taking joy in things again?
I'm feeling a little unloveable at the moment as well. There was a poll on the CTV news website a few days ago asking Canadians "If you aren't getting enough sex, why?", and the #1 answer was "No one's offering". So at least I'm not alone. Hell, I don't even necessarily want the sex. Companionship would be nice, to be honest. I'm 24 (ok, nearly) and still haven't had what I'd call a significant relationship. People I know that are my age are getting married and having children. Not that I want children. *Shudders at the thought of children*. Sorry. This blog is turning into a rant about my lack of love life. I'd say 90% of the time I'm totally cool with being single, but for some reason lately. I guess it's a spring thing.
On top of unloveable I'm feeling a little unsuccessful. I'm sort of disturbed that I haven't heard from the government about any of my job applications, too - I passed the tests... it would be nice if I got an interview or something. But nothing yet. Which reminds me that their website should be back up, and I can submit my covering letter and apply for another job (joy!). I mean, it's the government, and they're probably not going to work particularly quickly, but it's been more than a month since I wrote those damn tests. I'm either over or under-qualified for most museum jobs out there in the private sector. I don't want to continue in academia at this point in time...
My year here is pretty much half over. I'm not sure how to react to that. I'm getting to meet new people, experience new things... I guess since I don't really have a home returning to Canada isn't going to solve all my problems and make me feel comfy and routine again...
*sigh*
I should not be allowed to get bored. Stir-crazy. Whatever you want to call it. The structure is gone from my life now that classes are over for the term and when I don't have a shitload of reading that HAS to be done by day X, then I tend not to do it all as quickly. Let's face it. I'm the average student. I procrastinate a lot. It always happens around this time of year, too.
When, however, I do get bored/stir crazy/cabin fever, I tend to alleviate it by modifying my body in some strange way. It's how I got the piercing in my upper ear. It's how I got my tattoo (although I'd been considering that one for quite a while). It has turned my hair numerous shades of different colors (mostly black and red... not at the same time... the worst was probably when I had the two chunks at the front of my face dyed blonde...).
This time around has been no exception.
Meet my BRIGHT FRICKING RED hair.
Trust me, the picture doesn't do it justice. It's not quite fire engine, but it's definitely very red. It's only supposed to last 15-20 shampoos, so it'll keep me amused for a while, then nicely fade away.
When, however, I do get bored/stir crazy/cabin fever, I tend to alleviate it by modifying my body in some strange way. It's how I got the piercing in my upper ear. It's how I got my tattoo (although I'd been considering that one for quite a while). It has turned my hair numerous shades of different colors (mostly black and red... not at the same time... the worst was probably when I had the two chunks at the front of my face dyed blonde...).
This time around has been no exception.
Meet my BRIGHT FRICKING RED hair.
Trust me, the picture doesn't do it justice. It's not quite fire engine, but it's definitely very red. It's only supposed to last 15-20 shampoos, so it'll keep me amused for a while, then nicely fade away.
In which Kate goes walking on the Moors... and breaks some fun and exciting news (well, for me, anyway).
This post will probably be quite long, as there's rather a lot for me to say (that's what I get for not having a real update in a while).
In an attempt to keep our friend C. busy and prevent her from attempting to get to our friend A's place early so that she'd ruin the surprise "Congratulations on getting you PhD party", L. and K. came up with the great idea that we should get as many people together and go walking on the Moors. So we went to the North Yorkshire Moors National Park (about 1.5 hours drive out of York... probably slightly less if the roads were more than one lane... for BOTH directions... and if sheep hadn't kept crossing the road... and if it wasn't necessary to brake on the ridiculously steep and curvy hills, etc. etc. The people that drive those things are very brave).
We started our hike (because it was what I would call a hike, not a 'walk' as the English are so used to calling it) at the Moors Centre just outside Danby. Armed with a map, a guidebook, two first aid kits, food, extra clothing (did I mention that L and I have both been Girl Guides in the past?), several mobile phones - most of which was NOT brought by me, as I really don't have any of my hiking gear here in England... esp. not my boots... which was sad... because walking the moors in (my old) sneakers leaves a girl very muddy and wet. Not that I minded, but it would have been nice to have the proper gear.
We decided to go on a walk that took us into a place called "Little Fryup Dale". Mostly 'cuz the name was cool. And there were castle ruins and a 'picturesque bridge', according to the guidebook. 6 miles of goodness. I can definitely feel it today. There are muscles you use when hiking up giant hills that you just don't use when you're jogging around a relatively flat terrain.
This post will probably be quite long, as there's rather a lot for me to say (that's what I get for not having a real update in a while).
In an attempt to keep our friend C. busy and prevent her from attempting to get to our friend A's place early so that she'd ruin the surprise "Congratulations on getting you PhD party", L. and K. came up with the great idea that we should get as many people together and go walking on the Moors. So we went to the North Yorkshire Moors National Park (about 1.5 hours drive out of York... probably slightly less if the roads were more than one lane... for BOTH directions... and if sheep hadn't kept crossing the road... and if it wasn't necessary to brake on the ridiculously steep and curvy hills, etc. etc. The people that drive those things are very brave).
We started our hike (because it was what I would call a hike, not a 'walk' as the English are so used to calling it) at the Moors Centre just outside Danby. Armed with a map, a guidebook, two first aid kits, food, extra clothing (did I mention that L and I have both been Girl Guides in the past?), several mobile phones - most of which was NOT brought by me, as I really don't have any of my hiking gear here in England... esp. not my boots... which was sad... because walking the moors in (my old) sneakers leaves a girl very muddy and wet. Not that I minded, but it would have been nice to have the proper gear.
We decided to go on a walk that took us into a place called "Little Fryup Dale". Mostly 'cuz the name was cool. And there were castle ruins and a 'picturesque bridge', according to the guidebook. 6 miles of goodness. I can definitely feel it today. There are muscles you use when hiking up giant hills that you just don't use when you're jogging around a relatively flat terrain.
This here's Danby Castle. The castle was apparently more purely functional as a living space than as any sort of defence or any sort of palace. Fair enough.
This is Duck Bridge. That'd be L. standing in front of it. Down underneath the bridge, just to the side closest to us, there's a set of stepping stones across the river as well - the bridge was built just so that pack horses could get across.
And this would be a random shot of the English countryside. Pretty cool, eh?
And the surprise party that evening was totally fun, in spite of that fact that K and I left at 11:30 because we were just so flipping exhausted from the hiking. L had left about half an hour earlier.
And... the fun and exciting news... which some of you already know, I think.
I'm going to Ireland! I'm giving myself an early birthday present and booked myself onto a coach tour (think Collette, my FEP friends) of Ireland for a week at the end of the month - from the 25th to the 31st. Means I'll be offline (there's wireless at some of the hotels, but quite frankly I'm not taking the laptop. The laptop means I have to do schoolwork), but expect all sorts of fun and goodness when I get back. But I'll be traveling in style - no hostels... Hotels! No standard-class trains... a private coach! Bit of a splurge, but I don't care dammit. I think the only thing I'm worried about is my fellow travellers. The demographic is, apparently, not unlike Collette in that is mainly consists of American seniors. You know the ones. The old ladies generally have southern accents, wear t-shirts with their state flag on them IN SEQUINS, tapered jeans, large sneakers that you know they bought just for this trip because they're blindingly white, have their cameras dangling around their necks, sun visor in place over large sunglasses, while their poor, docile husbands generally follow around behind. Unless said husband is very bold and conservative in nature and feels the need to loudly ask rude and red-necked questions (Where'd they fight the injuns?). He is usually going slightly bald and is generally a little overweight.
Sorry to my American readers. My bitterness at three summers of shuffling your seniors through FEP has finally caught up with me... knowing that I may soon be stuck with that obnoxious demographic for a week has made me a little edgy.
But, I get to see Dublin, Galway and Killarney - including the Book of Kells (how cool is that?!... yeah, I know, it's only 2 pages, but it's included in the tour), Guiness distillery, etc. I'm cramming as much as possible into one week and this was the best way to do it.
And now I leave you all... if you've gotten this far, I congratulate you.
This one's from Chautauqua Girl
Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis
You approach Satan's wretched city where you behold a wide plain surrounded by iron walls. Before you are fields full of distress and torment terrible. Burning tombs are littered about the landscape. Inside these flaming sepulchers suffer the heretics, failing to believe in God and the afterlife, who make themselves audible by doleful sighs. You will join the wicked that lie here, and will be offered no respite. The three infernal Furies stained with blood, with limbs of women and hair of serpents, dwell in this circle of Hell.
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis
You approach Satan's wretched city where you behold a wide plain surrounded by iron walls. Before you are fields full of distress and torment terrible. Burning tombs are littered about the landscape. Inside these flaming sepulchers suffer the heretics, failing to believe in God and the afterlife, who make themselves audible by doleful sighs. You will join the wicked that lie here, and will be offered no respite. The three infernal Furies stained with blood, with limbs of women and hair of serpents, dwell in this circle of Hell.
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | Very High |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | High |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Very High |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | Very High |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Extreme |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Extreme |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | Very High |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | High |
Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test
will I go jogging when I have a pre-existing blister that I haven't properly covered/bandaged/etc.
Let's sum up, shall we?
a) it hurt... until it went numb. Which can't be good.
b) I'm now out one pair white athletic socks. The blood WILL not come out no matter how much I "Shout" it out. Although Delly Bean has showed me to a wonderful Tide stain care site that will hopefully allow me to fix this problem. I mean, not that socks are a huge loss, but still.
c) let me just say Thank God that the backs of my trainers are a nice, dark grey color and the blood doesn't really show. Yay!
Ow.
Let's sum up, shall we?
a) it hurt... until it went numb. Which can't be good.
b) I'm now out one pair white athletic socks. The blood WILL not come out no matter how much I "Shout" it out. Although Delly Bean has showed me to a wonderful Tide stain care site that will hopefully allow me to fix this problem. I mean, not that socks are a huge loss, but still.
c) let me just say Thank God that the backs of my trainers are a nice, dark grey color and the blood doesn't really show. Yay!
Ow.
But Delly Bean always has the funnest stuff on her blog.
My pirate name is:
Black Anne Cash
Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. You're musical, and you've got a certain style if not flair. You'll do just fine. Arr!
Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.
Unfortunately _not_ academically.
Had a really shitty sleep last night - Doesn't happen often, but when it does, it totally throws me for a loop. Nevertheless, I managed to get out of bed around 10 a.m. and walked into town. I probably should have gone for a jog (I'm actually sort of sticking to it this time!) but figured the walking into town would be enough. The other problem is that everything is still really icy around here. I leave Canada for a couple of months and forget how to do winter. Go figure. Nonetheless, knowing me, I'd fall on my ass and break something.
But I went into town for a purpose - I needed new trainers/running shoes/sneakers/whatever you call them in your local idiom. Mine are 3 years old. Running in 3-year-old shoes isn't good for you. Even _I_ know that (this was later confirmed - running-shoe life is supposed to be 1-2 years). I don't have any knee problems yet, but it's only a matter of time considering that both my parents have screwed up their knees. So I'm doing everything I can to avoid that. So I went to a place that's designed specifically for runners and joggers - Up and Running. Reminds me of The Running Room back home. But the chick who helped me out with my shoes was superfriendly. She did all sorts of tests on my feet to see how they move, and they even got me running on a treadmill to figure out what sort of motion I use when I run. It was nice, 'cuz I got to run in the running shoes I was actually going to buy without looking like an idiot running through the store. Even got a student discount! Yay!
But then I decided I wanted a pair of sneakers to just wear around casually. Clark's is my new favourite shoe store. They're where I found the wicked awesome boots before Christmas. Found a pair of black sneakers that vaguely remind me of the Filas I had whilst being a Visitor Services Girl (ie: on my feet 8 hours a day for five months of the year outdoors in the summer in all sorts of weather for two summers) that I absolutely adored.
Had tea with Nic today - she made me drink my tea through a Penguin bar - sort of a wafery thing covered in chocolate. Quite entertaining. And we watched two episodes of the Simpsons from Season 7 - the second part of Who Shot Mr. Burns and the one where the kids get taken away and given to the Flanders as foster children. Quite appropriate, as our hardcore Christian classmate is getting baptized tomorrow and has invited us all. I can't go. I'm sure lightening would strike me down or something. Ok, seriously, though, I'd just feel stupidly uncomfortable.
And now I'm blogging instead of reading a play - ironically enough called "The Witch of Edmonton". Tee hee.
Had a really shitty sleep last night - Doesn't happen often, but when it does, it totally throws me for a loop. Nevertheless, I managed to get out of bed around 10 a.m. and walked into town. I probably should have gone for a jog (I'm actually sort of sticking to it this time!) but figured the walking into town would be enough. The other problem is that everything is still really icy around here. I leave Canada for a couple of months and forget how to do winter. Go figure. Nonetheless, knowing me, I'd fall on my ass and break something.
But I went into town for a purpose - I needed new trainers/running shoes/sneakers/whatever you call them in your local idiom. Mine are 3 years old. Running in 3-year-old shoes isn't good for you. Even _I_ know that (this was later confirmed - running-shoe life is supposed to be 1-2 years). I don't have any knee problems yet, but it's only a matter of time considering that both my parents have screwed up their knees. So I'm doing everything I can to avoid that. So I went to a place that's designed specifically for runners and joggers - Up and Running. Reminds me of The Running Room back home. But the chick who helped me out with my shoes was superfriendly. She did all sorts of tests on my feet to see how they move, and they even got me running on a treadmill to figure out what sort of motion I use when I run. It was nice, 'cuz I got to run in the running shoes I was actually going to buy without looking like an idiot running through the store. Even got a student discount! Yay!
But then I decided I wanted a pair of sneakers to just wear around casually. Clark's is my new favourite shoe store. They're where I found the wicked awesome boots before Christmas. Found a pair of black sneakers that vaguely remind me of the Filas I had whilst being a Visitor Services Girl (ie: on my feet 8 hours a day for five months of the year outdoors in the summer in all sorts of weather for two summers) that I absolutely adored.
Had tea with Nic today - she made me drink my tea through a Penguin bar - sort of a wafery thing covered in chocolate. Quite entertaining. And we watched two episodes of the Simpsons from Season 7 - the second part of Who Shot Mr. Burns and the one where the kids get taken away and given to the Flanders as foster children. Quite appropriate, as our hardcore Christian classmate is getting baptized tomorrow and has invited us all. I can't go. I'm sure lightening would strike me down or something. Ok, seriously, though, I'd just feel stupidly uncomfortable.
And now I'm blogging instead of reading a play - ironically enough called "The Witch of Edmonton". Tee hee.
At this rate, the snow might actually stay a few days.
Maybe spring isn't coming after all - it just snowed. The ice covering on the lake is covered in white.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, spring is in the air.
Wanna know how I know?
It is, as one of my classmates charmingly put it, "Duck Rape Season".
Not a day has gone by in the last week when I haven't been confronted with the sight of some poor female bird (in spite of my classmate's title for the season, the sexual activity is not restricted to our ducky friends) trying her damnedest to get the hell away from some horny male.
And apparently it only gets worse...
You remember the roosters from FEP? The ones that gang-raped the poor hens? The one that Llewelyn, Delly Bean and B. slaughtered? If you aren't privileged enough to be one of my FEP friends, then let me tell you, it was nasty...
Apparently duck behaviour is just as bad.
I can get expelled if I slaughter one, though, so there will be no crusading for the safety of female birds on my part.
*sigh*
Wanna know how I know?
It is, as one of my classmates charmingly put it, "Duck Rape Season".
Not a day has gone by in the last week when I haven't been confronted with the sight of some poor female bird (in spite of my classmate's title for the season, the sexual activity is not restricted to our ducky friends) trying her damnedest to get the hell away from some horny male.
And apparently it only gets worse...
You remember the roosters from FEP? The ones that gang-raped the poor hens? The one that Llewelyn, Delly Bean and B. slaughtered? If you aren't privileged enough to be one of my FEP friends, then let me tell you, it was nasty...
Apparently duck behaviour is just as bad.
I can get expelled if I slaughter one, though, so there will be no crusading for the safety of female birds on my part.
*sigh*
