They tell you that Dublin is a dangerous city; rough and full of crime, like New York City used to be before Giuliani turned it into the Disneyland of your twenties. Listen, people say. You're not to go wandering about the seedier parts of town, where the knackers in their track suits are running about.
Two champagne corks pop and, behind me, several men discuss doing Jägermeister shots. They want to do them right here and right now, on the train. I've apparently boarded the Party Car to Galway, but I don't mind. It's a good day; good to be among other happy people for the next couple of hours.
At this time last week, I never wanted to eat again as long as I lived. Seriously. Me; a gal who has seriously considered hooking myself up to a cupcake IV, to whom life is nothing, nothing, nothing if I don't have food. Well, after one relapse and five days on the rice-and-potatoes diet, mama
I've recently been alerted by my friend, Danny Goodman of fwriction, that Creative Nonfiction magazine is seeking narrative blog posts to reprint in their Summer Reading issue. Blog posts must be able to stand alone, clock in at under 2000 words, and have been published between November 1 2009 and March 31 2010. "Narrative, narrative,
There is an end-of-term assignment I have to do, and I don't want to do it. Nothing against the assignment: it's a fine assignment from a fine lecturer; we've had heaps and heaps of time to do it; gathering the research has been enjoyable; it's a topic near to my heart... and yet? I still
It's Trinity Ball Night. That means Trinners students get to dust the cinders off their jeans and hop into a pumpkin for a memory-making night of music, drink, and elegant dress fun. Walking through College Green this evening, weaving through the six pack-clutching, tuxedo-clad Trinity Ball attendees, I stopped short when I saw this: If
Classes finished last week, much to everyone's chagrin. We've been paired with our portfolio advisors and still have 10,000 words to submit for two classes, but all anyone can talk about is What's Next After the M.Phil? Good question. For most of us, it's back to work. Some are heading back to school for MFAs.
Rain, rain, rain, and now this: Apple blossoms on campus, daffodils in the park. Can't stop myself from buying even more greenery from the flower stands on Camden Street; more daffodils and even small potted blooms in yellow, white, and fuchsia to line my windowsill. And carrots. And yams. And then the freshly-mended coat comes
At farmers' markets, cafes, Bewley's, and bake shops; Ireland's got the fever. They call them "cupcakes" here nowadays - not "fairy cakes," like they used to. But, gracious, you wouldn't catch someone using that dreadful archaic term nowadays; not since the Great Fairy Uprising of 2004. In the spring of that year, centuries of Irish-Fairy