July 8, 2001

Back in the Café Kylemore.  I do believe this is my Cracker Barrel – good food cheap-ish.  Had some form of lamb stew – quite good but almost just an excuse to eat rice.  I really enjoy the flavor of lamb, but it really is rather odd.  Rather strong and earthy, almost like it’s gone a bit off or been sitting in the sun just a bit too long.  And its texture is like leaves of a book held together by cobwebs as it pulls apart in strings and cleaves in blocks.

Today I have been keeping my camera busy.  I am on roll #2 and have shot over 40 pictures!  My sister should be proud.  I feel awful about my pictures even before they’re developed.  I feel my photographic mediocrity with every shot.  But that’s fine because I’m learning and being discerning is the first step to improvement.  I have had a couple of shots I’ve liked, notably one looking down the bend of the Liffey from the imposing 4 Courts, but then I realized that I had the GOSFORSAKEN date-stamp feature on!  All of my first roll will be marred by glowing amber strings of numbers in the right hand corner!  Aah!  I soon put THAT to rights.  Once again, technology sneaks behind my back and nips me in the ass.  But I must admit – the zoom feature IS nice.

My legs have begun to ache almost as soon as I start walking.  However, I forge ahead.  I figure that I must walk five hours a day on average.  After all, that is what I do.  I get up at nine, wash and exercise and make my bed until 10, eat some toast and have some tea and watch Euronews until 10:30, then I head out for points unknown until 5 when I usually return to blissful and dark-ass Drumcondra to read and watch more American television than I do in America.  My occupation is: walker.  What else do I have to do?

HOWEVER – all that may change!  A friend put me in touch with a friend who heads up the Dublin Fringe Festival.  They have no paid positions until September (and even then it’s tech work and “hospitality” – a word that sounds terribly similar to “food service”) but he might be able to put some volunteer work into my life.  I would really like that.  I’d LOVE to be paid, but beggars can’t be chosers.  I really want to get back into theatre and its naughty little populace, so I guess I’ll pay some dues!  Plus – it won’t look too bad on my resume to have an international theatre credit.

Anyway, I told him I’d call him and try to swing by tomorrow to have a chat.  Maybe I’ll ask if I can start next week helping out, because there is that Tuesday ferry to Cherbourg…  But would I want to be there on Bastille Day?  Could I get a room?

Spoke to friends last night.  Gosh, I miss Natalie and I really look forward to living in New York with those two like it’s my birthday or Easter looming over the horizon with the promise of a snazzy blue BMW roadster.  She was terribly concerned about the email she sent me – the garbled vodka induced marijuana fantasy set to paper – but I assured her it was fine and that I enjoyed it.  I miss her.  I’m glad I bought a new phone card that afternoon.  I just like to hear familiar voices.

I’m hungry all the time!  I ate three of those delicious “fruit in the corner” yogurts yesterday and only stopped because I ran out.  I love them – the tart of the yogurt being ribboned and marbled by the sweet of the little fruit cups.  Heaven!  I would really much rather eat one of those than chocolate, with which I believe I am coming to the end of my short love affair.  It just feels so heavy and sweet.  But if you think about they’re essentially consistent in their milk-based nature.  Looking at it that way makes the idea of chocolate yogurt a tad less disgusting than before.

My legs are getting tight, and my pants are loose.  Noticeably, hanging on my hips due to the grace of my belt loose.  But those 34 jeans are a bit tight.  But they are jeans and they were just washed.  It’s that Frankenstein’s belt of mine with its knife cut holes that’s all fucked up.  Throw it away and buy a new one.  A big one with a manly brass fist-sized IRELAND buckle.  Hahahahaha.

All I want is a bandana.  A nice blue or red square, undoctored, rugged frontier bandana.  But can you just find one in this colonial outpost?  No.  Send this mother back to Britannia – then things would get done!

Oh, I’m so tired as well.  Can’t really manage to make it past midnight.  The thrill has worn off.  I hate the pub scene.  Went to Messrs McGuire’s on the Liffey with the housemates, and I just hated it.  It’s loud and you have to scream at each other and read lips to understand and they all know each other and aren’t all fired up about including me so I just sat and watched the silent MTV as shitty American pop was blasted by the musically-suspect DJ.  That whiskey soured me off alcohol, and if you’re not drinking ALL bars – Irish pubs or American lounges – are frankly quite boring and pointless.  So I left to walk home when they went over to Q-Bar, and had more fun walking than I did all night leading up to leaving.  And I am wracked with homesickness once again.

June 11, 2001 – July 8, 2001
Less than a month!
Let’s recap: Irish people are all unique.  Squinted eyes, crutches, babies.

  1. I live in Drumcondra under the railroad track.
  2. The Beanery vies for the worst job I’ve ever had.  But I met Roisin (who should be in Egypt) and Fabio (who should be dancing).  They rhythm is gonna get him.
  3. I am lonely and Dublin smells like a sewer.
  4. I love the Café Kylemore.
  5. The gallbladder is definitely awake but quiet.  Almost too quiet.

I miss America.  God bless her and goodnight.

[END OF NOTEBOOK ONE]

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