things that are not okay.

Suddenly, everything else in my life seems unimportant.  Westboro Baptist Church will be picketing my old high school on May 10th in the morning around the same time that my brother will be getting out of his car.  I don't want to talk about how angry and worried and upset this has made me.  I don't want to talk about the advertisement that is floating around the internet for their protest.  It is hateful and bigoted and ignorant.  What I want to leave here is a simple (and I mean simple) reminder that we can be strong as a community, that we are strong as a community, that we can rise up in support of those we love and show that negative words cannot hurt us.

thank you, harris, for the link to the inspiration.

i cannot live without books.

One thing this semester has been absolutely fantastic for, outside of beautiful landscapes and a great craic, is books.  At home, between work, co-op, and school, it's terribly difficult for me to find the time to read for fun.  Before I left for Ireland, knowing I had a long flight and probably long bus/train rides awaiting me, mom took me out and we bought a few short books, enough, I thought, to get me through the whole semester.  I think you all know that didn't happen.  Thank God for Charlie Byrne's Bookshop.

Anyway, since I'm procrastinating (when am I not?) and I really enjoyed all the books I've read, here is a list with a short description of the books in case any of you are curious with a bit of free time on your hands.


Eyes Like Stars by Lisa Mantchev
Beatrice Shakespeare Smith (the name makes me cringe, but it's a good book, okay?) is a plucky orphan who calls the magical Théâtre Illuminata home, but when she's essentially evicted, she needs to find a way to make herself invaluable otherwise be thrown out into the real world where players from all your favorite Shakespeare (and more) plays don't randomly accost you in the props room.  It was recommended to me by a friend, and I'm really glad I read it.  It's thick, but the font is big and it goes quickly.


4:50 from Paddington by Agatha Christie
Mrs. McGuillicuddy is a harmless, sweet, well-meaning old woman, but when she is the only witness to a murder on a train and no body can be found, she turns to her good friend Miss Jane Marple, who is despite all appearances, much less harmless than her friend.  Rutherford Hall is the target of Miss Marple's sleuthing, but could the Crackenthrope family really have something to do with the murder?  A really good mystery that keeps you reading until the crack of dawn.  Another good friend recommendation.

Equal Rites by Terry Prachett
Women can't be wizards.  It's just a fact of life.  But when a dying wizard prematurely passes his powers onto a child being born, and that child turns out to be a girl, what then?  I've been in love with Terry Prachett and Discworld ever since The Color of Magic and this book did not disappoint.  It's satirical, silly, and just plain fun.  Definitely recommend it!

Nemesis by Agatha Christie
Miss Jane Marple receives a mysterious letter from a dead acquaintance, setting her out on a mission, but with no further instructions as to the nature and purpose of said mission.  One I picked off the shelf at Charlie Byrne's for 2 euro and it's good for a lot of reasons.  Lots of characters (which means lots of suspects), a few chilling moments, and some interesting insight into Miss Marple's character.  But it's also not something I'd recommend for a lot of reasons.  It tended to drag at times and Agatha Christie really lets loose on her views about rape and female roles, which are old fashioned and a bit...unsettling.  I can usually overlook things like this in such an old book from such an old author, but it just wasn't working for me this time...


Welcome to my World by Johnny Weir
Johnny's self-written (you can tell because sometimes his grammar is complete crap) autobiography that follows his figure skating career as well as a look into his childhood and adolescence (I still don't consider him an adult, sorry).  For anyone interested in him, I'd definitely recommend it, but advise that it be taken with a grain of salt.  While a lot of it is endearing and loveable, just as much of it seems like a spoiled little brat causing trouble.  It's interesting, though, because he actually admits to being a spoiled brat most of the time.  He's very reflective and self-aware.  I quite enjoyed it, anyway.


The Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell
Written by a contributor to NPR's This American Life, it's a very entertaining read.  It's essentially just a series of personal vignettes that take you through a bit of Sarah Vowell's American life and examine patriotism and some recent (and some not-so-recent) events in U.S. history.  Being a history nerd myself, I quite enjoyed it, even though I think I'm a little more optimistic than her most of the time.  A good recommendation from a friend from Oberlin.  Thanks!

The Queen of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner
It's the second in an amazing series that I didn't know was a series until about half a year ago.  I'd read the first book (The Thief) when I was in fourth grade and it's been a favorite ever since, so when I saw this on the shelf at Charlie Byrne's, there was no question.  I was getting it.  It's basically Gen getting into more trouble and having to find new ways to get out of it with the added bonus of really strong, interesting female characters.  I'd definitely recommend this series to anyone who loves or has kids who love YA fantasy.

The Seven Dials Mystery by Agatha Christie
Can you tell that my semester has followed a bit of a trend?  When one man at a party turns up dead one morning and seven alarm clocks are found on his windowsill, all the signs begin pointing to foul play.  More bodies turn up, secret societies are uncovered, and nothing is as it seems.  I absolutely loved this one.  It keeps you guessing until the end and it is just fabulous.  I would definitely recommend it!

TBR [to be read]: Testimony of an Irish Slave Girl by Kate McCafferty and Schlacthof 5 by Kurt Vonnegut (except it's in German)

 the coral beach at carraroe, where we spent the afternoon yesterday and soaked up the sun.

are you a federalist?

In my life, I can't remember a time when I have been more happy to see a low battery symbol flash up on my camera screen.  I haven't been to many non-classical/traditional concerts, but I have attended my fair share of figure skating events, and most of the time, that little 2x2.5" LCD screen is the bane of my experience.  I'm so caught up in capturing the moment that I forget to live in the moment.  You can't live life through a camera lens.  It has no depth perception.  So at the Josh Ritter concert when my camera pulled a Mercutio, leaned against the staircase and said, "Bring me into some house, Benvolio, or I shall faint," I was actually overjoyed.  It meant I could turn off that little purple box of mine and clap my hands and scream as loud as I damn well pleased.

Of course, I still took pictures.  We were in the front row.  I had to take pictures!

Anyway, the concert was absolutely brilliant.  Like I mentioned, we were in the front row, so close I could admire the little red accents on his back pockets (among other things, heh heh) that matched the red in his shirt.  Really, there aren't many words to describe how incredible it is to see him live and how much that enhances the listening experience afterward.  For one, he smiles the whole time (unless the song calls for a more somber expression) and you can just feel his joy and energy washing over you.  I had stayed up late the night before watching James Corden on A League of Their Own.  I woke up early on Saturday to pack and catch a 9:30am bus to Dublin, got to Dublin around 12:45pm, and I did not stop walking until we ate dinner around 6pm.  The lads that accompanied me to the concert were no better off than myself (and I'd argue even worse), but as soon as Josh Ritter stepped onto that stage, flashed that contagious grin of his, and strummed the first chord on his guitar we were bubbling-over with pure ecstasy.  It's hard to describe, really, but if you could see me writing it about it right now, two days later, I'm still grinning like an absolute loon.  That's how good Josh Ritter is.

She asked, "Are you cursed?"  He said, "I think that I'm cured," then he kissed her and hoped she'd forget that question.

He had the most fantastic set list, the perfect mix of bounce-around-screaming and sit-back-and-think music, which he played with the most infectious charm I've ever heard.  I said earlier that his voice was nostalgic, and it's really true.  When I closed my eyes at Vicar Street, the sun was setting on the golden Ohio cornfields painted on the insides of my eyelids and I was in dad's car with the top down driving home from dance practice.  Or the sky was blue filled with big fluffy clouds and I was rolling around the grass in front of Tank, but I could hear the trains that ran behind my neighborhood growing up as well, and the little babbling brook that may or may not have had leeches.  I was on playgrounds with creaky swing sets, digging in the mulch, or in my old room dancing and singing in front of the mirror in nothing but my underwear.  So, really, nostalgic is the best way to describe his voice, like a picture book full of memories all out of order.  It was beautiful and unforgettable.

Oh, yeah, and, no big deal, but we got to meet him too!  We were weak and exhausted to the point that we probably would have fallen on the floor if not for the strength of the walls and railings along the queue, but damned if we were going to miss this opportunity to show our appreciation.  The closer we got, the more nervous I became.  I really only had one goal coming into the concert and that was to inform him in any way possible that I go to Oberlin.  But the closer we got and the more he smiled, the more words seemed to fail me.  They were replaced by an unflatteringly freakish happy-wail that escaped in short bursts and increased in frequency as the distance between us and our man got smaller and smaller.  And that smile!  Guys, I am telling you.  He played for almost two hours straight without opening the water by his mic, and then he came out and met person after person, and that smile did not fade.

And then, suddenly, almost out of nowhere, he was smiling at us, and we were smiling back.  He asked us about ourselves, genuinely interested, and that's when I told him that I'm an Obie.  Before I knew it, I was in his arms, and, let me tell you, his hugs are just about as brilliant as his smile.  He asked me what I was studying and I answered that I'm a history major big into the American Revolution and the early republic, to which he responded with the four words that you see in the title there.  "Are you a Federalist?"  I mean... how is he even real!  Somehow, I had my wits about me enough to respond that out of loyalty to my boys James Madison and Alexander Hamilton, I would have to answer in the affirmative, but that my girl Mercy Otis Warren probably wouldn't have been too pleased with that answer, especially after she broke off her friendship with the Adams family over the issue.  He laughed and hugged me again and then told me about this great historical library in New York as he signed my ticket for me.  He told me I would freak out with joy when I visited this library because there were letters from, like, Washington to Lafayette, and I agreed and admitted that I sometimes go to Mudd just to finger some primary source documents.  It was like I was talking to an old friend, and everything in the world was going to be okay.

Well, the boys got their time, which was just as full of conversation as my time, and we were being shooed on by the end of it by the guys who were running the shindig, but not before we got some amazing pictures with him.  Before we left, he hugged me again (I swear, he hugged me about a thousand times) and told me to pass on his love to the Obie family.  So, Obie family, consider yourselves loved, and by an amazing human being to boot!  How lucky we all are!  

What can I say?  Boy loves his exclamation marks!  He's just ha happy person!

my motivation.

Josh Ritter at Finney Chapel, Oberlin College.  September 19, 2010.

(credit: The Oberlin Review)

One exam and a day-and-a-half until Vicar Street.  Where's my neon-glow-in-the-dark-I-WENT-TO-OBERLIN-MARRY-ME-JOSH shirt when I need it?  It must be found!  Gosh, his voice is so nostalgic, too.  I remember dressing up all fancy with Indira for the concert and laughing with her and Ji-Eun as we totally went fangirl crazy in the balcony seats.  I remember running home as fast as I could, late for a Skype date with Martin in Japan, but with time enough to grab a piece of freshly baked co-op bread and smother it in earth balance.  I was so giddy after such a wonderful night.  I can't wait to make more memories like this!

díomá sa daingean.

This weekend, after pulling an all-nighter on Friday to finish my last history paper of the semester, I decided to treat myself to few days in Dingle.  Let me tell you, it was like Ireland in a storybook.  Everything was green, the water was a sparkling aquamarine, and the people there wave hullo to everyone.  It had all the potential of a relaxing mini-vacation, but I came home more tired than I had been when I'd left.  Which is saying something given my state of mind when I left.  I had a long bus ride (see: 6 1/2 hours) to think about why I felt so disappointed--like I'd missed something--and, aside from the fact that I wasn't able to see the Beehive Huts (the whole reason I went down there), I think I've managed to put my finger on it.  It's because I was traveling alone.

Kerry from the Bus Eireann window.  No joke.  I was that kid, but it was so beautiful, I didn't want to miss it!

Now, this may come as a shock to many of you that know me, especially since I came to the realization a few weeks ago that I feel most comfortable on my own, not having to worry about anyone else, not having a constant reminder of how young and shy and boring I can be.  But, really, traveling alone, in theory, is excellent.  I can do what I want when I want and no one is there to make me feel silly for wanting to go to bed before midnight, and, when I travel alone, I don't have to suffer that extreme disappointment when someone turns down the invitation to travel with me.  For those of you that don't know me, I am both a small child and an eighty-year-old spinster wrapped in a Jen tortilla.

 My first solitary hostel stay and no incident.  Practice for unfamiliar places like Italy!

Anyway, I made the huge mistake of approaching Dingle with the intention of making everyone else wish they'd come with me.  This was both absurd and unnecessary.  No one had turned me down because they didn't want to travel with me, or because they didn't want to go to Dingle.  In fact, no one had turned me down at all.  I hadn't invited anyone, and, really, who doesn't want to go to Dingle?  A cute harbor town in Co. Kerry, it's exactly like I said: a storybook.  But I still wanted to make people jealous, and starting with that negative goal which eventually degenerated into indecisiveness, I managed to sabotage my own trip.

Boy, it's a good thing I know how to learn from my mistakes, eh?  That wasn't even sarcasm, and, looking back at my Dingle pictures, I've reconsidered my statement that I was disappointed in Dingle.  What I was disappointed in was myself, and you live and you learn.  Like when I fell into a frozen fountain last December, I don't make the same mistake twice, and I've decided that life's not worth living if you're going to constantly live it for someone else.  Why should I care whether someone wishes they were doing what I was doing?  It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, as long as I am happy.  So, with that, I will give you a short (you're all scoffing in disbelief, but I can be pithy when I put my mind to it) recap of my GOOD trip to Dingle this weekend.

Heather... plant, not person.

 Daisies!  Daisies!  And more daisies!

I woke up at seven a.m on Friday to finish editing my paper, pack, run to school, print & turn in my paper, run to the bus station, buy a ticket, and catch the 10 a.m. bus to Limerick.  From Limerick, I hopped to Tralee, and then to Dingle, and I arrived around three p.m. with another girl who was also traveling alone and staying in the Rainbow Hostel.  It was really nice to have someone to walk around town with, especially since the sun was shining and it was probably around seventy degrees.  No joke.  I was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops!  Soaking up that vitamin-D, mom.  Are you happy?

 The furthest western point in Europe.  They say the next parish over is Boston.

It was really cool because Dingle is in the Gaeltacht, which meant I could practice my oral/aural/reading skills while casually strolling the streets.  I actually spoke to shop owners in Gaelic, saying 'hullo' and 'thanks a million' and 'bye' when appropriate, which was a huge confidence boost.  Plus, as a general rule, I've found that little places in the Gaeltacht are considerably more comfortable and the atmosphere feels friendlier.  I think I read every sign in that little town, but what was even more awesome, is that I understood without looking at the English!  :)

 This is a plaque on the Falla na Scríbhneoirí.  I got the first line...maybe  It says "Yes, the old woman is me."

On Saturday, I woke up early with the intention of renting a bike and riding along Slea Head Road at my own pace so I could stop-off where I wanted and what-not.  I also just really miss my little red bike back home that may or may not still be missing a pedal and a basket and all the other parts that mysteriously fell off last semester.  Alas, as I walked into town, it was cloudy, and I began thinking about topography again.  Little Ohio Girl can ride her bike forever at home, but Ireland actually has what all you ~*Minnesotans*~ would call real hills, and sidewalks disappear when you least expect it, and big tour buses scare me a little even when I'm on them.  Needless to say, I psyched myself out and changed my plans to include a mini-bus tour instead.  Since I was only one person, I could squeeze on last-minute quite easily.

St. Mary's Church.  I almost went to mass as Gaeilge here, but forgot the time overnight so decided to skip out.

Honestly, I should have rented a bike.  It would have taken me probably eight hours (it was 28 miles), but I would have saved 10 euro and I wouldn't have been thinking the whole time that if only I'd rented a bike, I could have stopped here for a picture--and here, and here, and there, and here, and... But I enjoyed the tour, overall.  We saw a lot of little baby animals--Spring is in the air!--and some really cool sites.  Including the monastery at Riasc, which was completely underground save for one stone-marker until some archaeologist from Galway thought it'd be cool to excavate.  We also saw the Ventry demense household, which is relevant to my 18th-Century Ireland history class, and the Gallarus Oratory, which relates to both my Celtic myth and archaeology class.  It's a little younger than the round beehive huts, but it's still really awesome, and the only one of its kind still standing in Europe.  Legend has it that if you can fit through the window in the back, your soul will be entirely cleansed.  Too bad it's really impossible to accomplish.

 Gallarus oratory.

The rest of the weekend after the tour was spent meeting people at the hostel and around town.  I taught this nice woman from New Zealand some words in Irish because she was aggravated that everyone thought she was English, and I told this guy from Arizona all the cool things about studying in Galway.  The girl I mentioned earlier and I went to this great restaurant by the harbor for dinner and bonded with a really sweet family over a sinfully delicious piece of chocolate cake, history, and Irish dialects.  Then we hit the pub scene, had some Bulmers, listened to some trad, and I was goaded into giving an impromptu dance performance by a group of drunk Americans.  All in all, great craic!

Looks like a sleeping giant?  Y/N.

So, I'm glad I had this experience before I embark on my Adventurous, Solitary Grand Tour of Europe.  I think, if nothing else, I'm starting to grow up.  Of course that's a feeling that is just about as horrifying as walking into work with no pants, but, at the same time, it's amazingly empowering.  When I go home, I'll still want my mom to cook me dinner and give me massages and watch documentaries with me, but I'll have learned things about myself and real life that are really nothing short of priceless.

fierce.

born this way