Instead of a PhD...

Hiatus

2009-03-13T22:02:00.000-07:00

Here I am, after a 14-month hiatus, publishing a post.

After reading my last (fairly depressing) entry, I felt the need to update my imaginary audience. Things have been good, real good. Thank you to all those who make it so, especially Clint.

l

27

2008-01-22T16:15:00.000-08:00

It is in fact my birthday today (32 degrees F, partly cloudy, visibility 10 mi), not my unbirthday, and I have to say, it got off to a rough start.

I am house/dog-sitting for some friends and noticed that their English Springer Spaniel, Henry, was acting a little odd last night. By odd, I mean urinating in the house multiple times, pacing, whining, and scratching. I figured he was stressed out because his owners were gone and there was a change in his schedule. After a night of alternating dog-barking and dog-snoring, I managed to throw the covers off and crawl out of bed to take him for a walk.

He did his usual territorial marking except I noticed that when he would lift his leg to pee, nothing came out. But Henry didn't seem to mind. He just kept doing his thing. Then, blood starting coming out. Oh shit, please not today I thought. I had two meetings scheduled today. The first being with the Chair of the Biology Department at Portland Community College where I had hoped to conduct a witty and charming tête-à-tête, so much that the Chair would hire me on the spot as a full-time Biology instructor (my application is still under review). Given the circumstances, Henry took precedence so I immediately took him to the vet and called the Chair to reschedule our meeting.

He hasn't returned my call. Yet. Henry is sleeping off his injection off super-duper antibiotics.

The second meeting I had scheduled today was with the director of ESL for Portland Public School District. I wanted to get involved with tutoring english, science, math and--why not--german, too. I help kids, kids help me. We all leave mentally stimulated.

I showed up at the school. The secretary said he had already left for the day. I secretly fume because this is the second time he has stood me up. I started talking to the secretary about what I was interested in and she gave me information regarding PAID tutoring positions within a school that is only a 10 min bike ride from my house. Paid + bike ride = better deal.

I drive 40 min back home. In the interim, the director had called and left a message saying that he was in the building, just not in his office. Sorry, I still think you're flaky.

At this point, I have a deep suspicion that my birthday luck has turned a blind eye. Then my sister calls with the following news and I know my ominous inklings were sealed:

Hot Actor Found Dead.

Now this news just plain pissed me off. You're hot, Heath! I liked your movies! Why did you have to go and pull a River and die on me!? On my birthday!?!

***

I don't know why I haven't been excited for my birthday. I know it's just a day, but I enjoy having something to look forward to regardless. This is the first time that I have not woken up with "happy happy (un)birthday to you...to you! happy happy (un)birthday to me...yes you" stuck in my head. I really do love that song.

No butterflies, no "special" feeling lingering in the air, no birthday party, no plans. Nothing. Most surprising is that all of this was self-inflicted. I didn't bother reminding friends that it was my birthday. I don't care if people forget. I wanted to lay low & keep my head down. Does this mean I have become old and *gasp* disillusioned? Maybe I am too old to get all giddy about birthdays, but dammit, it only happens once a year and I wanna have fun with it. Well, normally I do.

I think it comes down to the fact that this past year has presented several transitions and challenges which have undoubtedly expended a lot of physical and mental energy.

When at 26, I sought changes, hurdles, and adaptations, at 27 I seek fluidity, steady growth and routine.

Bored.

2008-01-08T16:35:00.000-08:00

It's 4:30pm and I am in the middle of watch The Simpson's Movie--SpideyPig, SpideyPig, doing whatever a SpideyPig does--having already eaten a burned grilled cheese sandwich with canned tomato soup and made a makeshift matte frame out of old grocery bags for a screen print, which I bought at a local craft fair.

The lugubrious weather does little for motivating me to leave the comfort of my home. And where would I go anyway? It's Tuesday. I don't work until Thursday (work is going great, by the way). I already bought toilet paper. I don't have a pet to tend to. I could ride down to the co-op and grab something for dinner, but there's a chance I'm meeting friends later. The kitchen has been cleaned, the living room floor has been swept and the awkward conversation between one of my roommates and I has concluded. The latter regarding a passive aggressive note, which she left for the rest of us to find in the morning.

I'm sorry, but the rosemary was not yours to begin with and if you wanted to keep it, then you should have placed the rosemary in a bag or bowl instead of letting its needles shed all over the freakin' kitchen floor and into the crevasses of the radio upon which the stems lain.

Also, the reason I moved the half-used Hershey's squeezy fudge from its location on the prescribed juice shelf in the refrigerator was because the orange juice carton does not fit on any of the internal shelves, it only fits on the juice shelf. I didn't think it was a big deal. Last time I checked, one person was not allowed to occupy 2/3 of the fridge. You have 3 other roommates. Get used to it.

Conclude mid-day rant.

**I should clarify that the italicized paragraphs were my responses to the passive aggressive note, not the note itself. To update, all is much calmer on the homefront...mainly because said roommate is in Mexico for the majority of the month.

...I drove across the US. Again.

2008-01-08T11:33:00.000-08:00

Another 2700 miles added to the odometer.
Seven states transected. (Tennessee, Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Oregon.)
1000+ phallic cacti observed.
13 gas stations visited.
3 mountain passes passed.
4 wild boars a-spotted.
2 Taco Bells digested.
1 IHOP hopped.
1 pair of snow chains purchased.
1 more book on tape listened. (Tracy Chevalier's Burning Bright. B)
And a partridge in a pear tree.

'Tis the spirit...to be a hippie?

2007-12-22T07:42:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of reconnecting with friends, I extended my resolution to include those long-lost souls from high school. I was driving with my parents to a historical Civil War town, which is just south of where we live, to meet up with some friends/colleagues.

Incidentally, these same friends visited me in Dublin where we proceeded to have the most expensive Thai food in history ($250 for 4 entreés...and you had to pay for the rice!) I know, you're thinking why the hell did you go eat Thai in Ireland? What did you expect? I expected better cuisine options than Abakebabra, a fast-food kebab joint, or chips 'n fish.

Back to the main story:
On our way to the restaurant, we passed by my good friend D's house, at least the house he lived in while we were in college. I wondered aloud if he still lived in TN and then quickly remembered that I had his cell phone number saved. So, I sent him a text message (called him? Puh-leeze, this is 2007). He promptly replied, hey! -whoa! From the surprised, but familiar response, I deduced that I was also programmed into his phone.

i'm @ my dad's christmas party in f____. you should come!

I texted him that I was on my way to dinner, but I would call him later tonight.

***

The phone rang a handful of times before D answered, loud music blaring, voices digitized in the background.

"Senator! [a nickname from high school] What the hell have you been up to?"

We exchanged updates on the usual topics: work, family, career.
D recently got married to a girl he once dated in high school, has a fancy shmancy medical sales job, and recently bought a condo in a brand-new development.

I informed him that I finished graduate school and am now making a "career shift" i.e., I'm working at a coffee shop and am fucking broke. This resulting blow to my ego challenged Resolution #4. The outcome has not been determined.

Then comes the good part, the meat of today's title:
I reminded him that I went to school in Portland and no, that's not in Washington.
He follows up with, "Oh I get those two hippie states confused. You all are the same to me."

I beg your pardon?!?

D: "You aren't a hippie now, Senator, are you?"
Me: "Well, no, but maybe I should ask you what your definition of a hippie is first. I ride my bike and recycle. Does that make me a hippie?"
D: "Awww, I'm just teasin' you!"
Me: "Okaay, anyway, I would like to move into public/community science edu--"
D: "So this career change you're talking 'bout...you growing pot now? Har har har" ... "You come back to buy some shoes, Senator?" ... "What do you do in Or-ee-gone? Smoke pot all day?" ... "Wait, you still eat meat, right? Cuz we were meant to survive off cattle" ...

He proceeds to expound on every hippie remark with i'm just yanking your chain or i'm just poking fun at you.

This 19 min 38 sec conversation bluntly reminded me why I didn't care to keep in touch with friends from high school (save for one!) and reassured me that those little feelings of I don't fit in here and One of these things is not like the other that followed me throughout schooling were sound sentiments.

Man vs. Beast

2007-12-20T18:51:00.000-08:00

Why do you denounce my authority?!? Must I punish you?

Christmas. Christmas. Christmas.

2007-12-20T18:16:00.001-08:00

6 dogs
2 cats
3 horses
15 humans
14 sheep
23 cows
1 little human

Program stalled. Restart now.

Sing with me! "Tennessee...(tennessee)..."

2007-12-20T16:26:00.000-08:00

You are right. I haven't written in a while. I guess I didn't think I had anything of great importance to tell. I didn't want to gripe and complain about this and that, boring my audience to death (or annoying them to death), so I opted not to write at all. I apologize for the absence, but I have to say, it is nice to know that I've been missed!

Updates:
1. I'm in TN visiting the fam for about two weeks over the holidays. The one thing I'm looking forward to the most? Meeting my 4-month old niece, Lorelei, for the very first time. Ha, you thought I was going to say stalking Nicole Kidman. WRONG! That comes second.

I don't even know what she (my niece, not Nicole) sounds like. Or feels like. It is a strange existence to share one-eighth genetic material with another being (if based on random segregation, but let's not get distracted), yet fail to hold any basic knowledge about that person. I don't particularly like this separation from my sister or her daughter. Therefore, the little time I allotted myself to be in Tennessee, most of it will be spent with my sister and her family.

2. After two months of unemployment (and spending 90% of my savings), I found a job in Portland! More accurately, I was offered a job by both parties with which I interviewed. 2/2 = 100%. By my calculations, I went from zero to hero. WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH...I flew by you so fast you barely noticed.

Anyway, starting in the New Year (2008!?!? WTF?) I will be working mainly at one coffee shop and picking up shifts as needed at the other coffee shop. In the free time, I hope to volunteer at some (read: any) science-related organization hoping to get a foot in the door. Career Onward!

3. I have surpassed a personal goal of riding my bike each day: rain, sun or sleet. And I got the legs of steel to prove it. You know it! Wha-psssh!

4. I sold two articles of clothing that I knitted, a "nifty" scarf and "groovy" leg warmers. I mean, I am the greatest knitter alive as evidenced by my naming of Neurotrans-knitters (a spin on "neurotransmitters"...that's the resident science nerd within me stroking my ego) knitting group, so I don't see why people wouldn't want to buy my wool/cashmere/silk/cotton/alpaca masterpieces. This small taste of prosperity planted visions of grandiose wealth. At the rate I'm going, I could finish 5 projects a year. That's $20 a pop...so let's see, five multiplied by...um, 20...equals = KAJILLIONARE!

Resolutions?
1. Get a job. Oh wait...score!
2. Reconnect with friends. Christina & Bridget--I'm looking at you.
3. Stop interrupting people.
4. Be content with where I am in my life.
5. Be less judgmental.

...I comment on the weather.

2007-10-25T13:41:00.001-07:00

::One Day I'll Be On Time | The Album Leaf

i·ro·ny |ˈī-rə-nē; ˈī(-ə)r-nē|

2007-10-25T12:40:00.000-07:00

2 [def]:a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result.

In Dublin, I spent 3 months dodging traffic, weaving in and out of belligerent pedestrians, racing double-decker buses, and ignoring traffic laws not because it was fun (ok, it was a little fun), but because it was necessary. If I didn't do what I did, then I probably would have been hit. As a cyclist (especially one that rides a road bike and wears a messenger bag), you have been targeted by the likes of yellow taxis, green buses, and anyone that has some excess aggression. The Dublin drivers are used to bicycles NOT following traffic laws and therefore come to expect a bike passing you on the right or left, ignoring one-way signs, and splitting traffic. Irish cars and bicycles have evolved and coexisted by the unspoken motto: To each his own. A possible explanation of this riding etiquette is the paucity of cycle lanes or the lack of clear bicycle street permissions despite Dublin's rich history of bicycles. Therefore, our bipedal allies have adapted to riding on crowded streets and, in turn, the city has accepted the fact that bicycles are not "vehicles," and thus general traffic laws do not apply to them.

You probably think I am exaggerating. You probably think I am being extreme. That's fine. We'll talk again after you ride your bike in Dublin. Just beware of Night of the Living Dead reruns playing at your front door...every night of the week. Except these zombies have a more colorful vocabulary than just aaarrrgggh and zzzmmmmaaaahhh.

Enter Portland, Oregon, the Utopia of Bikes; one of the bike-friendliest and bike-progressive cities in the world alongside Amsterdam, Berlin, Copenhagen and Helsinki.

Tuesday I was pulled over by a cop while riding my bike. He wrote me a $250 ticket for rolling through a stop sign where the only other cars involved were the ones in front and behind me.

Now that's fucking irony.

...baby's got a brand new 'do.

2007-10-18T12:22:00.000-07:00

My friend Tessa takes pretty pictures.

Drank spiced apple cider and carved pumpkin of (what other than) the Portland cityscape? Check.

The soon-to-be demolished historic Virginia Cafe (est. 1922) on SW Park. Because we need more "mixed use buildings".

I heart thee.

Enlighten. Unearth.

2007-10-09T08:05:00.001-07:00

Berlin: Zum Vierten Mal

2007-10-09T07:37:00.000-07:00

Click on photos for larger view.

Brandenburger Tor. This gate marks the beginning of the famous street Unter den Linden (Under the Linden Trees).

Hackescher Markt. The disco is alive and well in Berlin (as is the punk scene-YAY!).

Staats Charlottenburg Bibliotek (Library)

The best mode of transportation featuring Schloß (Castle) Charlottenburg in the distance. During my last day in Berlin, I rented this bike and had the most fun in 3 hrs re-discovering the city than I've had in 2 months living in Dublin.

***

"Some things are best seen from the seat of a bicycle."

Berlin: Zum Dritten Mal

2007-10-09T06:44:00.000-07:00

Schloß Sanssouci, Mausoleum

Former East Berlin. I had the chance to stay in West Berlin with my cousin and also near here with a friend whom I met at CMWC.

East Berlin Propaganda

Waiting for the S-Bahn, Alexanderplatz, 8:30am

Alexanderplatz, 8:31am

Holocaust Memorial with the famous Hotel Adlon in the background (pale green roof). My great grandmother spent her honeymoon in this hotel. It's been said that the current rate for a grand suite costs €18,000.

Lone Remnants of the Wall

The famous (and infamous) Potsdamer Platz

***

Fitting that today's randomly chosen Wikipedia article dealt with the Third Reich and Nacht der langen Messer.

Berlin: Zum Zweiten Mal

2007-10-09T05:05:00.001-07:00

Berlin Hauptbahnhof (Main Train Station)

The Reichstag, Seat of German Parliament. It was located directly next to the Berlin Wall.

Permanent Reminder of the Berlin Wall. This narrow strip of bricks bisects the city irrespective of erected buildings, recreation parks, major intersections, or foot paths. It is unsettling to watch cars zoom over this deathly landmark without a second glimpse, yet enlightening to see that people can adapt, times can change, and a city can move forward, but always with its history just at its feet.

Fredericks Straße, Statte Mitte (City Center)

Gendarmenmarkt, Französischer Dom (French Cathedral). Its counterpart, the Deutsches Dom, is located opposite the grand plaza.

Bundesplatz at Sunset. My cousin lives just off this station.

Staats Bibliothek am Unter den Linden (Berlin City Library)

Deutsches Dom on the Spree River (German Cathedral)

Drinnen Der Holocaust-Turm von des Jüdischen Museums Berlin/ Inside the Holocaust Tower of the Jewish Museum. An artist's interpretation of being trapped in the Holocaust; erected as a remembrance to the Holocaust survivors. This picture was taken from a far corner or the irregularly-shaped tower and looking up 50 feet toward the only source of light. It's dark, cold, and barren.

Leerstelle des Gedenkens "Gefallenes Laub"/ Memory Void "Fallen Leaves" exhibit. An artist's interpretation of the victims of the Holocaust. You actually walk on top of the metal faces which form an unsteady foundation across the grey concrete. As you walk, the faces hit one another making a desolate clinking sound and eerily echoing up through the narrow chamber.

East Berlin

Schloß Sanssouci (1745-47), former summer palace of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, at Potsdam.

Guten Abend, Berlin!

2007-10-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

This time I have a good excuse for the dearth of posts: I've been visiting my mother's side of the family in Berlin.

The last time I was in my Vaterland, I was wearing bright white keds with mis-matching brightly colored socks, tight-rolled jeans, a fake silk green windbreaker and a side ponytail (with scrunchi). I was...stylin'.

I just returned from a half-day trip to Potsdam to visit Schloß Sanssouci, the favorite home of Frederick the Great (the II). The castle is situated on top of a hill overlooking Potsdam with a grand fountain and rotunda at its feet and sweeping staircase leading up to the main entrance. The color of the castle alone is remarkable-sunshine yellow with gold accents. It was built true to the Baroque architecture of the 18th century; gods and goddesses caress every corner of the exterior and stand at attention on castle walls. It is quite impressive for a castle that is only one story high.

Ok, I really wish I could continue writing about my adventures in Berlin. Differences between Former east vs. New Age West Berlin, Brandenburger Tor, the remains of the wall, and the stunning architecture (and the Apfelstrüdel, Kirschstrüdel, Döner Kabobs and Milchreis!), but I must go and meet my family für eines echtes Deutsches Abendessen!

Viele Grüße
Tschüß!

One more week.

2007-09-24T00:59:00.000-07:00

Things That Make Me Feel All Warm and Fuzzy Inside

I have six days left of work.

Autumn, my favorite season, is beginning.

I arrive in Portland the night of the Midnight Mystery Ride.

I have two weeks in Ireland before my departure date to travel as I please--my hit list: castles, N. Ireland, castles, Sligo, and more castles as seen from the seat of my bicycle.

I will soon be able to spend less than E50 for two on dinner.

I will not having to answer the following 5 questions posed by complete strangers at work:
"Are you American?"
"Where are you from?"
"Why are you here?"
"Do you like Dublin?"
"How long are you staying?"

Vegan french toast at the Laurelthirst.

Cream Stout on Nitro on the back patio of the Lompoc.

YOGA (& the burn of sore muscles).

I hope to hear back from a science outreach position I applied for within Portland State.

and most importantly,

SMOOTH, WELL-PAVED STREETS THAT MAKE WEARING BIKE SHORTS PRACTICALLY OBSOLETE.

...I went to Galway.

2007-09-19T04:41:00.000-07:00

I went to Galway for 2 nights and 1 full day last week. This was the first time I have left Dublin city limits. Galway is the doting, effervescent and younger sister of the ignored, unloved, and disposable Dublin.

It was a short, but sweet holiday. We biked around the city and the quaint, untainted bayside town of Menlough, ate some good vegetarian fare. Discovered the local bakery and torte shop (I almost fainted staring at the delectable fruit and chocolate tortes--still not as tasty as Pix Patissiere in Portland), bought some Killarney Wool from the local yarn shop and complained about how a one-way bus ticket to Cliffs of Moher were E13.30 and the bike fee was E11 extra. No thank you. So much for touring the cliffs on the seat of a bicycle.

Short and sweet. Until I came down with the worst UTI in history. Maybe too much information there, but either way, I have never experienced such excruciating pain in my life. I started feeling something amuck on the train ride back to Galway on Friday afternoon. By the time the train arrived, 3 hours later, I could barely walk. I was scheduled to work at 5:30, and by the time I arrived at work, I was in tears, legs crossed at the knees, hunched over, and I couldn't be more than 10 ft away from a restroom.

Bad news bears.

Now it's 7PM and the pharmacies were closed (pharmacies are located on every corner, sometimes two right next to each other, and highlighted by a tacky flashing neon green cross). I found a late-night pharmacy across the street from the first pharmacy I went to (think: Starbuck's), walked in, told them my symptoms while doing the pee-pee dance. I may have mentioned I was passing blood (sorry, TMI) and she said she's calling an ambulance.

Now, to clarify, I wasn't in any deathly danger. In Ireland, with public hospitals, one has two options:
1) Be in a state of real (or in my case apparent danger), call ambulance and the ambulance ride is free, plus you get seen by a doctor at the hospital immediately upon arrival.

or

2) Get a cab to the nearest hospital, fill out paperwork, wait in waiting room anywhere from 4-12 hrs, and experience immense pain.

Pharmacy woman recommended option #1 and to keep the tear ducts flowing. Ambulance arrived. I almost peed in my pants because it had been 12 whole minutes since I went last time, was seen by a nurse within 15 min of arriving at the hospital. They loaded me up with painkillers and I spent the next 4 hrs waiting for the same nurse to write me a prescription for a bladder infection. After peeing in a cup, of course.

My first (and I believe only bill) arrived: 60 Euros. Not too shabby. I mean, they did check my blood pressure 3 times.

Two hospital visits both in Dublin. Coincidence or sign? I'm getting the f--- out while I can.

...I found Me.

2007-09-10T16:05:00.000-07:00

I am moving home.

Home.

I cannot wait to see you, friends and Portland, October 12.

Every thing you have ever heard people say is true.

"Home is where the heart is."
"You never know until you try."
"Have no regrets."
"Shit happens."
"You never know what you had until you left."
"Sometimes you need to leave in order to find yourself."

***

I bid farewell to the lost Dublin; the rich and lively culture of the capital city has been replaced by grandiose capitalism and debauchery. Rapid increase in economy, markedly visible by enumerable cranes dotting the Dublin skyline, has pushed culture to the brink of extinction and opened the floodgates for vast exploitation of cheap Eastern European labor. This is not the Dublin I remember. This is not the Dublin I have read about in history books and watched in documentaries. That Dublin is gone. I may have caught a glimpse of it in 2002, but even in five short years Dublin has expanded, fresh railway tracks have been lain, and the population has expanded past capacity.

I miss you, Old Dublin, but at least I have my Seamus Heaney's, James Joyce's and Patrick Kavanagh's to remind me of your bronze-stained allure and the mystery shrouded in early morning fog just around the alley bend.

Just pictures.

2007-08-30T03:13:00.000-07:00

Carickmacross countryside is beautiful...

...wouldn't you agree, Jaguar Paw (Purebed Blue Merle Great Dane)?

However, the Irish language can be a bit superfluous...

...and tends to cause some confusion.

But, in the end there is always Guinness...

...or the Oyster Stout from The Porter House microbrewery if you prefer, to remind you to...

...rock on...

...and enjoy the fleeting sun.

...I write music reviews.

2007-08-29T03:53:00.000-07:00

OK, I admit, that was a prescient statement. I haven't actually written a music review yet, but let's just say that the meeting with Mr. Journalist Man was quite fruitful.

M: So, if you're interested, I could send you up to Belfast this Saturday to see LCD Soundsystem (read: extremely influential and well-known musicians put together own two-piece band) play live, all expensives paid including train and hotel. In return, you could write a 100-word review for me and I'll publish it. What do you think?

kmac: YES I'm interested! Only one thing...I have to work Saturday.

M: Hmmm, and you don't feel sick at all? Maybe a little cough, a bit of headache? *cough cough*

kmac: Now that you mention it, I do feel a little sick.

I talked to the coolest manager at the restaurant and she said that she would absolutely give me the day off (I told her the truth) and that she would even take my shift, but that she was going to the all-weekend music festival Electric Picnic in County Laios ("Leesh"), where Bjork and Beastie Boys were headlining. If she didn't go, her boyfriend would kill her. Let's just say tickets were hard to come by and the price of absence is death.

Oh well. M. said that if there was ever any show I wanted to go to, I would just need to let him know in advance and he'd get tickets. To return to the favor, I'd help him out and write the gig review.

Step 1: Get foot in door.
Step 2. Get other food in door.
Step 3: Secure door tightly behind you so that no other free-loader can piggyback on your good fortune.
Step 4: Laugh maniacally and rub palms together.

...I listened to live (but not really good) music.

2007-08-25T10:10:00.000-07:00

I went into work today and it was empty, which is pretty atypical for a Saturday brunch/lunch. So, I left work after 3 hours of prep and decided to spend some time updating my blog, before I return to work for the dinner shift.

***

You never know who you are going to meet when you walk into a pub by yourself. Last night, I went to see "the band" play a gig at Eamon Doran's in Temple Bar. It was a fairly small gathering, much smaller than "the band" had hoped, but it is only their first time touring through Ireland and the UK. I sat down with my Bulmer's Light (the low-cal alternative to the Bulmer's Original cider...you can make fun of me later), eager and a bit nervous to hear the band play live.

I struck up a conversation (and by conversation I mean screaming over the blaring music) with the 40-something-year-old gentleman next to me.

"What's up with the milk?" as I gestured toward the lone and unopened 500 mL Avalon Full Milk canister sitting amidst discarded beer bottles and pint glasses.

"It probably goes along with the honey," as he gestures toward the recently purchased jar of Pure Irish honey standing but a foot away from the milk. "It is the land of milk and honey."

So it is.

"Hi, my name is Martin. That was a pretty good half-scream half-sign language conversation we just had. So, do you know these guys?" Points to the four dudes on stage.

"I just met them a week ago when they came into the restaurant where I work."

"What do you think of them?"

"Ehh, I think they have potential but it seems like they are still searching for the sound. What about you?"

"Well, I write a column covering indie rock and their manager approached me about writing a review. Where are you from anyway?"

"Portland, OR."

"OHHHHH! THE SHINS! DANDY WARHOLS! THE DECEMBERISTS! I love them!" Martin then began the do-you-know-[insert good yet unknown band name here]-routine, to which I had to regretfully shake my head.

"So, I have to ask...how did you get to write about indie rock bands? That sounds like a prime job."

"Well, I made it for myself. As a journalist, I used to cover politics for The Times (London-based, not NYT), but after so many years one gets bored. So I joined a smaller label and told them that they need a music section and that I'd write it for them. I said I'd do it for free at first and if he liked it, then they could pay me later. It gave me the freedom to do what I want and I didn't have much to lose. The editor said yes and that was that."

"That's wonderful. I was interested in writing about recent discoveries in science, with the aim of making science more accessible to the general public, but it's a cut-throat world out there for science writers and I wasn't sure how to get started."

"Wellllll, I know this guy who writes for the science section in London...why don't you write up a story, send it to me, I'll send it to him, and if he accepts it, you'll get 250 quid. Fair enough?"

Emphatic yes.

You just never know who you are going to meet in the land of milk and honey.

I'M AN AUNT!

2007-08-25T10:02:00.000-07:00

Lorelei Ann was born at 1:15am on August 24th weighing in at 6 lbs and 15 oz.

She's just a lil' guy!

I received an email from my sister on August 23th talking about how she went skeet shooting in a remote location in North Carolina, joking that it may prompt the baby to come. Then, I wake up the next morning to a text from my Mom saying that Lorelei has arrived.

That baby don't mess around.

Both Mom and Baby are doing fine. Lorelei is nursing already, so the first hurdle has been surpassed.

**CONGRATULATIONS MO AND GEORGE!!!**

...I fell flat on my face.

2007-08-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

...in front of the entire restaurant. Twice.

When you combine slick floors with wet food and rubber soles in a high-stress situation, it was only a matter of time before I ate shit. And I did.

And the food went everywhere.

And it was embarrassing.

And I burned my hand.

On the fillet steak cooked medium-rare with a side of mashed potatoes.

And (no surprise here) I started to cry.

And then I burned my hand again and cursed the gods for not providing me with harder callouses. And then I cried some more.

And then I got over it because when you trip in front of a party of 25 celebrating a gentleman's retirement party, you may acquire the party's sympathy. Sympathy, in restaurant-speak, means money.

And then I retracted my curse of the gods because if you're gonna make a fool of yourself, at least do it in front of 25 drunk men who want to help you up.

...I serve gourmet food.

2007-08-16T16:54:00.000-07:00

Well, I got the job.

And, this is what I've learned so far:
1. When someone says, "Excuse me, miss, do you have any cocktail sticks?" You should not misunderstand them thinking they were asking for cocktails.

"No, I'm sorry. We don't have hard liquor."

[Bemused expression on Business Man #1's face.]

"Yes, I know. Sometimes I feel the same way when you just need a cocktail! Hey, I don't care what you do on your lunch hour, youknowwhatI'msayin'?"

[Bemusement spreads to Business Man #2, #3, and #4's faces.]

"Hell, I'm from America. Anything goes! Woo!"

BM #2, "No no no, not cocktails. Cocktail sticks. You know, for teeth."

"Oh! Ohhhh...you mean toothpicks. Yes, I'll get them."

2. I'm supposed to have the preexisting knowledge of what a typical Irish breakfast entails. I have no f-ing clue.

3. When you order the side vegetable of the day with your "bangers and mash", you may get a side of potato with your mashed potatoes. True story.

4. The Irish have a funny way of pronouncing words.
Fillet = "Fill- et" versus "Fill- ay"
You try not laughing when a distinguished gentlemen with a rogue accent orders the baked salmon fill-et. It's like the President of the United States ordering the flaming yam instead of the filet mignon. Oh wait, that's another true story.

***

I enjoy waitressing. Working in a restaurant feeds off of my attention to detail and perfectionism. Knife and fork must be aligned...bottom edge of napkin must hit 1/8 mark of silverware..yes, yes...so perrrrrfect and shiny.

It also enables me to rejoice in the state of Immediate Gratification.
Polish bin of silverware. How many spoons/forks/knives can I polish at once? Goal identified. Goal reached. Bar raised. Bin empty.

Satisfaction.

Working in a restaurant is also a welcome distraction from the incessant diatribe occuring between my ears. My emotions oscillate hour to hour about what I should do. Stay in Dublin or move back to Portland.

Some say, stop thinking and start living. You overanalyze. (Guilty. Clearly.)

Others say, just stick it out. It will be worth it. Trust me.

Then there are those that say, well if you are that unhappy then just come home.

And my favorite because I think it's closest to the truth, sometimes it's the journey that provides the greatest lessons, not the destination itself.

My current (and by current I mean my thought at 17:05:43) plan of action is to ignore your advice and do what I want. Hence, the break from blogging. I wanted to spare my beloved audience the pain and suffering of listening to my inner dialogue. Day after day after day...God, Kmac, get a life!

...I made up a resume.

2007-08-11T09:21:00.000-07:00

I didn't actually "make up" my resume as in putting false data on a sheet of paper, but I did stretch the truth a little bit.

Hey, don't look at me, I'm just following the advice of every other foreigner trying to find a job in this city. From what I was told, if you are foreign, smarter than a monkey, approachable, confident and have at least once worked in a restuarant, then you should get a job.

Foreign? Yes.
Smarter than a monkey? I'd like to think so.
Confident? 91% of the time.
Previous restaurant experience? Technically.

In any case, my previous restaurant experience some 10 years ago where I worked as a hostess for 3 months might have been enough to get me a job (that's where my 91% confidence comes in) as a server in a fancy shmancy place on Dame Street in the heart of City Centre. That's great news.

Irish accent: Hello, very nice to meet...er...Kris-teeeeeen, is it? Yes, right. Very impressive schooling...I see you worked at an O'Charley's Restaurant? That's grand, that's grand. Could you tell me more about that?

Me: Sure, I worked as a hostess where my duties included greeting customers and showing them their table, getting drink orders [not really] and prepping the tables [sometimes]. We used the computerized system [not true. It was more like a crayon and wax paper often times covered with doodles] to figure out which tables were open. Then, I would seat the table in a section that wouldn't overload the current server.

Irish accent: Oh, right right. So you are familiar with computers and touchscreens?

Me: Yes.

Definitely smarter than a monkey.

I go in tomorrow at noon for a practice/training shift. Afterward, I assume I am either offered or declined the position. If I do get the position, then I would be making decent money including tips averaging 80-100 Euros a night. Don't ask me where the tips come in (no, it is not that kind of establishment) because I didn't think one tipped in Ireland. But, whatever, I'm not arguing with the manager. I'll put on my smile and chat with the business lunch crowd regulars if in the end I am rewarded with cold hard traveling money...and paying-off-student-loan money. But we do not mention such unspeakables, my precious.

nth degree

2007-08-10T03:18:00.000-07:00

I read the digital clock on my laptop. 3:18.

3:18 AM PST. Portland time.

No, I have not changed my laptop timezone yet because, frankly, I don't want to. It still makes me feel connected to home. Home.

I am sure many of you must be sick of my bitching and moaning about being homesick. If I were you, I might be sick of me, too, so no hard feelings. In my defense, when I started this blog I never placed any parameters on what topics I could or could not pontificate to the nth degree. That is the righteous beauty of an online journal: I get to spew out random thoughts on cyberspace and you have the luxury of reading it. Or not. I, however, maintain the benefit of clearing my head, knowing that at least one person (thanks Mom) sympathizes with me.

So here it continues:

The goal of today is to enter one coffeeshop and ask for a job. Once I've completed my goal, it will be easier to repeat the action again in a second or third coffeeshop. Much like how Parkinson's Disease afflicts the ability to initiate movement, given a reason to move (like stepping over an obstacle to avoid tripping) and patients can continue walking on their own accord. Given a reason to find a job (i.e., no money), but secretly scared of rejection (because seriously, how have I gone THIS long without knowing how to make a cup of coffee), once movement has been initiated, it should be easier to continue the task of job-hunting.

In conjunction with seeking a "time-filler" job, I have also submitted my CV and cover letter to the Science Gallery, an interactive museum dedicated to presenting the world of science in an engaging and comprehensive format for all ages.

www.sciencegallery.org

Perfect, I know. There is also a similar position open at OMSI in Portland. Stay away you job-snatching scientists!

Now the burning question:

Do I work some menial job just to get cash, then go travel for 5 weeks with a special someone before returning home and starting the job search on familar and well-suited soil...

or...

do I start the job search in an unfamiliar, less-suiting city, but with the added challenge and glory of self-education?

...I have an O.S.M.

2007-08-09T05:37:00.000-07:00

O.S.M. stands for “Oh Shit” Moment. I have provided two examples:

OSM #1
Dear audience, I haven’t been completely honest with you. I left out some juicy gossip that happened to me during my first day in Dublin. Gossip sells and so does humiliation at the author’s expense, so here it is.

I arrived in Dublin by bus from Carickmacross. Plan: seek out cycle messengers. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know that if I ride my bike to the junction of St. Stephen’s Green and Grafton Street, I should be met by cycle messengers on the lookout for lost souls. So, I take off heading south on O’Connell Street, repeatedly telling myself to, “Stay left, left, left, left, right—NO! I mean left! Dammit!” It is a war zone on the streets of Dublin. Lesson #1: Buses aim for bikes. Lesson #2: Taxis aim for bikes. Lesson #3: Pedestrians don’t follow Walk/Don’t Walk instructions. Lessons 1-3 were learned within the first three suspenseful minutes.

I make it to Grafton Street, one of the few pedestrian only streets in Dublin, unharmed and blood pounding. I maneuvered my way down Grafton Street on bike narrowly missing street performers, baby carriages, flower stands, and cell phone texters. Bonus points if I didn’t have to take my foot of the pedals. As promised, a messenger tells us where to go: “We’re all hanging out by the southeast entrance to the park. You can’t miss us.”

I arrive to this:

Moments after taking this picture, I had my first OSM of the trip.

In the midst of eating an overripe banana, who do I see walking toward my general direction to greet a fellow messenger?
My ex-fiance.
Whom I haven’t spoken to in two years.
“Oh shit, I don’t believe this.” The banana falls to the concrete.

The symbolism of the nature of our encounter is not lost on me. I see him standing before me in the city where I first ended our relationship five years ago after only 1 ½ months of dating because I wanted to be independent and free to experience Dublin during my study abroad program. One week after we broke up, I had a near-death accident, the physiological and psychological stress and fright of which brought me to seek comfort in his strength, comfort, and shelter. We remained together for the rest of college, got engaged, and then moved to Portland so that I could begin graduate school. Not a year after we moved, our relationship faltered. Ultimately, I believe that it had simply run its course and our lives were diverging. I was on track with my career (or so I thought. See Blog entry #1 for history), he was struggling (or so it seemed at the time). Normally, dedicated couples can work through this but for one reason or another we didn’t. The breakup was messy. I admit that I was awful at times and there were things that I would have done differently. But, in the moment, I felt it was necessary for me to be direct and unabashedly honest. Now, after all the reasons I gave why we should break up (You don’t know what you want to do with your life. I can’t solve all your problems for you. We are going separate ways.), we meet again only to discover that we share similar passions. However, now the tables are reversed. He is happy, confident, and secure with his life choices. I am alone, unsure and insecure.

I walk up to him in disbelief. He sees me, his jaw falls to the floor. He puts his hands on his face à la “Home Alone” and says, “Oh. Shit. I don’t believe this.”

We hug. We chat. We make small talk. We check out each other’s bikes. We show off our tattoos. I explain to him exactly what I’m doing in Dublin. I already know why he is there. He works as a bike messenger in LA and is thus competing in the world championships. Then we go our separate ways. I speak to him a few more times, and each time I couldn’t help but imagine him silently laughing at the irony of our chance encounter.

OSM #2

I wake up. Stare at the ceiling.

Look out the window without rising from bed.

I have no idea what time it is. I never replaced my broken watch and therefore live in a state of perpetual timelessness.

I guess the time to be 9:30. I don’t bother checking if I’m right. What do to, what to do. I have no job, no home. I don’t know how long my money will last. I keep adding more items on my To Do list without crossing any off. I miss my friends, family, and Portland. I question my reasons for coming to Ireland.

What am I seeking? What do I want to discover? Why did I leave Portland, the only city with which I’ve felt such a strong connection? I could have found another job, a cheaper apartment in Portland. I had my friends, my local hangouts, my yoga studio, my knitting group, my hobbies, & my creature comforts. Perhaps I didn’t have to leave it all behind.

Oh shit. What. Am. I. Doing. Here?

I knew this OSM would come. Hell, you knew this moment would come. It was unavoidable. The challenge now is to acknowledge its presence and move on. This is where your inner strength comes into play. This is where you learn about yourself, your limitations, your expectations, and your goals.

Acknowledge. Move on.

This is why you came here.

Bikes Galore

2007-08-06T06:01:00.000-07:00

An amazing thing just happened: I walked into my usual internet cafe and they were no longer playing Pink's latest (horrible) album. Dublin has redeemed itself regarding their choice of American music. There is still hope.

I have decided to retreat from the world of Cycle Messengers and head back to Carickmacross, a town of 0.2 people in the middle of the country. The address of the guesthouse/pub I first stayed in doesn't even have a house number. It's just the name of the pub, town, county, Ireland. When I first asked my friend what his address was he gave me that one and I was like, "Ok, so---

I apologize, but I have to interrupt my own story to tell you all that the internet cafe just turned off the radio and put Pink back on the speaker system. I clearly have done something horrible in a past life to deserve such musical punishment. I am sorry. DO YOU HEAR ME? I. AM. SORRY.

Back to the story:
I was like, "Ok, and the house number is...?"
"What do you mean house number?"
"What do you mean by 'what do you mean house number'? Don't you have a house number?"
"This is the Irish countryside. There is only one pub in Carickmacross called The Riverbank."
"Oh. Right."

Me: 0. Ireland: 1.

Before I stray to far from whatever point I first had, back to the CMWC. The finals were yesterday. There was a terrential downpour the night before so the race course was a muddy mess. Instead of road racing it was more like cyclocross. Lots of dirty bikes, dirty faces, and dirty legs. Translation: one helluva good time. The final races lasted approximately 2 hours. A messenger from NYC won first place. First, second and third places finished within minutes of each other making for a very thrilling race. Third place Swiss guy took "losing" a little hard. He performed a wonderful act of bike-throwing and expletive-bombarding. His final act comprised of grabbing a wooden stick used for marking off the course and breaking it over his head. Very dramatic. I applauded.

Pictures from Saturday's Qualifiers

Messengers take their mark...

...head off joyfully bounding toward their bikes...

...read their manifestos and determine the shortest route of pick up/drop offs.

Pictures from Sunday's Finals

Overall, I have met some very wonderful and hospitable people. If needed, I have places to crash in Cardiff, Montreal, Berlin, and Sydney. You know what this means...Kmac is going travelling. After she earns some cash.

OK, my bus leaves in 20 min. Gotta run.

Until next time...keep those cycles spinning.

Day 1 - 3.5

2007-08-03T03:47:00.000-07:00

Fáilte! Welcome!

Believe when I say that I wish I had a chance to update this blog earlier because SO much has happened since I left East TN for Philly, NYC, and ultimately, Dublin.

Briefly, I had an amazing time in NYC reconnecting with my former Dublin roommates from when I studied abroad in 2002. It was a very timely and poignant visit. The pictures, which I will eventually post once I have access to my laptop, will reveal just how mature and responsible we three have become. The only downside was when Emmy's car got towed. I mean, honestly, who would tow an out-of-state car from 34th and 3rd in downtown Manhattan? Oh right, the Dept of Transportatin in NYC would. Good thing they put clearly marked parking signs ALL OVER the freakin' city. Because convoluted and incomprehensible parking signs are really just cleverly desgined traps to lure in thousands of dollars a day on parking fines and towing fees for the city. Eviiiiiiiiiil.

The Flight
Are you ready for this? I flew US Airways and:\
1. It was on time. (I know. I'm not joking here.)
2. My luggage plus bike arrived safely and unharmed. (Jaw falls on floor).
3. I had an entire row to myself for the flight overseas. (Faints in disbelief).

Some people have good flights. Some people have crappy flights. Some people fly all the way from Denver to compete in the Cycle Messenger World Championship (CMWC) in Dublin only to arrive without luggage and missing a $3000 bicycle that was checked in a brand-spankin'-new hardcase bike box. Ouch (So sorry Juice!). Almost defeats the purpose of buying nice luggage when it gets shipped to Siberia in the end. I count myself lucky.

I arrived at 5am in Dublin, bleary-eyed, dehydrated, and hungry, but joyous and excited. Unfortunately, the excitement and lack of food left me with a weird knot in my stomach. Then I remembered how I left my peptobismol chewable tablets somewhere enroute to Philly. Then I cursed myself for adding ANOTHER item to the Lost & Found list. As of now, it's more like the Lost & Lost list.

Day 1
We drove about an hour to Lochlainn's pub and guesthouse The Riverbank, opened Fall 2006. It is setin the countryside of Carickmacross, north of Dublin, almost to the N. Ireland border. A quick 3 cheers for no more British forces in N. Ireland as of August 1st! The air does indeed smell like Irish Spring Fresh, however there is a bit of Irish Cow Fresh mixed in. Being the only guest at The Riverbank for the moment, I was greeted with fresh fruit and organic yogurt (woohoo organic!), toast with the creamist Irish butter I have ever tasted, and of course, Irish tea. I need to emphasize the texture and taste of Irish butter. It is not at all like the similarly labeled |real" Irish butter found in US grocery stores. This stuff came straight from the cow to the plate. As you can tell, I am very excited about butter, possibly the 7th food group in Ireland. (Tea being the 6th.)

After breakfast, I put my bike back together in the first day of sunshine Ireland has seen in 56 days. Then, I thought I should lie down for a bit since I didn't sleep at all on the plane. I woke up six hours later. Luckily, it stays light out until 10:30pm so it was if I had slept a whole night and then enjoyed an entire day of sunlight before going back to bed that night. The highlight of the day was when Lochlainn's older sister, Aisling, asked me if I liked peanut butter. I was about to respond with Yes, of course I like peanut butter before I remembered that PB is a novelty item in Ireland. Nobody eats PB. Americans are weird for eating jammed, mashed, and often-times processed peanuts. That is why Europeans invented Nutella because in the race of condiments, chocolate always beats peanuts. Then Aisling asked me what I eat PB with and I proceeded to present her with a meandering list of food that pairs well with PB. She just kinda nodded at me and turned away. I blame the jet lag.

Day 2
I did nothing. Played with the dog. Made moo-ing noises at the cows. Emailed people. Ate potatoes. Drank more tea with cream.

Day 3
After two nights enjoying the countryside in county Ulster, I loaded my bike on a charter bus and headed to Dublin on Thursday to take part in the CMWC festivities. Today is the first official day of the competition, qualifying races take place tomorrow (Saturday), finals on Sunday, varying mini competitions on Monday, awards on Tuesday. To brief you those unfamiliar with CMWC, bike messengers from most major cities in the US, Canada, and Europe (Dublin, London, Glasgow, Berlin, Zurich, Copenhagen, etc) compete in road and track races. The rules are simple: The fastest messenger wins and receives gloating rites for one full year. There are both male and female categories. No, I am not racing. Why? Because I prefer to gain some experience racing before I compete against the best of the best. Then again, it would be cool to say I raced again the best of the best...OK that is my Ego talking.

Day 3.5
In about 15 min, I'm going to head to Eamon Doran's in Temple Bar, the same location where I am writing to you all from an internet cafe, to help messengers register for the competition. Afterwards, there will be a group ride (est. 100 participants) to the Welcome Party. I have a feeling this involves my close associate Mr. Guinness. Anyway, unlike my friend Rich who is currently living in China, I do not have police staring over my shoulder. It might be because he is the self-proclaimed talled black man in China, then again, I could be wrong.

OK, Internet Explorer just experienced an error and had to close all programs. I almost lost my blog. I take this as my queue to sign off to you all...

Until next time. Ride safe. Wear a helmet. Drink a guinness, but make sure it is poured correctly for Christ's sake!

Irish phrase for the day: Baile átha Cliath (bal-lee a-ha clee-at) means Dublin. It is written on all the license plates.

The time has come.

2007-07-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

It's here. My departure date.

I leave in 16 hours for Dublin for an undetermined amount of time. I have a friend who will pick me up at the airport and a place to stay until I can find my own housing. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm going to do, but it may go something like this (in no particular order): Find a place to live. Find a job. Work. Save money. Ride my bike. Race. Have fun.

As for material possessions, I am down to 1 bike box containing my beloved 1987/88 pink & yellow Dave Scott Centurion, nurturingly referred to as "Bikie," 2 suitcases, 1 carry-on, and 1 personal item. Plus laptop.

But before I go, I have to go sew a gaping hole in the butt of my jeans.

***

I feel as if I'm standing on the edge of a precipice. Behind me, the land I know is flat and well-traveled. Below me, I feel the wind whip through my hair as I peer down into the black unknown, my imminent future.
This is what you are supposed to do, the wind says. Trust yourself, it echoes as I look up to the sky to watch the wind join the silver-stained clouds.

...I shot skeet.

2007-07-29T12:07:00.000-07:00

Arrive in East Tennessee. Check.

Marvel at sister's pregnant belly. Check.

Change into bathing suits and lounge around in pool. Check.

Shoot skeet. Check.

Hit skeet on first try shooting with "the baby's" rifle. Check.

Exclaim that you can't believe your brother-in-law bought "the baby" a rifle, then remember that you're in East Tennessee. Check check.

Sister says, "We're gonna take the dog for a walk...using the Rhino. You'll see why soon."
Made note of German short-haired Pointer's 3 speeds:
1-Sleeping.
2-Running.
3-Running on crack.
Check.

Pick fresh corn, ocra and tomatoes for dinner. Check.

Point and yell, "Eww! Big bug!" Then run away from garden like a scared city girl would. *Ahem* Check.

Have a wonderful time with your big sister in her gorgeous log cabin, I mean mansion, before heading to Europe. Definite check.

...I drove 2635.5 miles.

2007-07-20T12:09:00.000-07:00

Oregon: Gorgeous.
Idaho: Deserted.
Utah: Stunning.
Colorado: Steep.
Kansas: Blank.
Missouri: Hot.
Illinois: I-57 South.
Kentucky: Horses.
Tennessee: Hills.

Number of days of driving: 4.
Number of times I was told to F-off: 1. Parachute, CO.
Number of times I told someone else to F-off: 5..maybe 7...or 10.
Number of times I was flicked off: 3.
Number of times someone waved as I let them merge in front of me: 1.
Number of times a trucker honked in appreciation: 2.
Number of times I got gas: 7.
Number of This American Life episodes I listened to: 10.
Number of times I started a conversation with my houseplant to stay awake: 4.
Number of road kill counted: 12.
Most interesting: Porcupine, possibly a hedgehog.
Number of accidents seen: 1. Surprisingly.
Number of times I hit stand-still traffic: 1. Castle Rock, CO. 10:30PM.
Number of times I admit to text messaging while driving: 50.
Number of books on tape listened to: 1.5, Zodiac and The Kite Runner.
Number of Wendy's Chocolate Frosty consumed: 2.
Number of 1 L mineral waters consumed: 5.
Amount of trail mix consumed: 2.63 lbs.
Best Sunset: Idaho.
Runner-up Sunset: Kansas.
Worst drivers: Salt Lake City.

Additional Comments:
Super8 Motel is pretty super.
I drive too slow for 97% of Americans.
I judge you based on your license plate.

...I sold all of my furniture.

2007-07-20T11:36:00.001-07:00

Goodbye, Portland. You will be missed.

...it's story time

2007-06-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

but not my story. read this.

...I tasted a sh*t load of wines.

2007-05-30T10:50:00.000-07:00

Knowing that my time left in Portland has become precariously short, I took advantage of Memorial Day weekend to recruit some friends for a 7 hour wine-tasting bonanza in the prestigious Willamette Valley-Home of the Pinot Noir.

We came. We saw. We drank. We conquered.
7 Wineries. 1 Sake Brewery.

And yes, I ate half that cheese plate. You would too if it was Double Cream Gouda from Holland paired with "G" Joy Sake, Shepherds Cheese from Basque paired with Momokawa Diamond sake, and Blue Stilton with Hazelnuts from England paired with Moonstone Asian Pear sake.

Favorite Wines:
Siltstone 2006 Pinot Gris - bright & lively, taste of the tropics, grapefruit/citrus, white peach & apricot.

Purple Hands 2005 Oregon Red Wine - just plain good and bold.

Nysa 2004 Pinot Noir - Dark cherry & dusty raspberry. Bold aroma, silky texture, reminiscent of raspberry hard candy, but not overly sweet.

Symbion 1997 Syrah by Steve Doerner - 10 year aged Syrah. Fantastic! Strong cherry aromas, bold taste/clean finish.

Thistle Wines - Pinot Noir 2004 - Hands down best Pinot Noir tasted...then again I am by no means a connoisseur, so whatever. I loved it.

*Big Bang for you Buck* Kramer Vineyards - Pinot Noir 2004 Heritage, Pinot Gris 2004, Carmine Big Red 2004 and Pinot Noir Port 2004 (delectable) Most bottles under $30.

Montinore Estate - Gewuerztraminer 2006, Estate Reserve Pinot Gris (think of apple crisp), Parsons' Ridge Pinot Noir 2005 (easy drinking), Pinot Noir Port multi-year (damn good for only $18 a bottle).

SakeOne (saa-ke ohn-no) - "G" served cold. Layers of flavors that develop on your tongue with floral and fruity undertones. Clean and crisp taste.

...I released some pressure.

2007-05-28T09:50:00.000-07:00

The reason I haven't posted in ages is because I have a social life again. This is not to say that those who do post regularly do NOT have a social life. Rather, these people are probably better at time management than I. As a rubberband that has been pulled too tight, I have been slung in the opposite direction: away from the depths of Thesis Land, isolation, mental exertion, and intensive writing and flung toward gregarious outings, fanciful leisure, recreation, and live music. Dare I say "debauchery?"

The pressure release button has been depressed.

I have rediscovered my beloved city and its attraction of illicit mojitos and chilled stouts drunk on sunny patios; of bike riding through quaint NW, SE, and NE neighborhoods (SW is reserved for work) with destination: live music, friends, and live music; of carefree knitting in coffeeshops that were normally reserved for studying & writing; of spending my weekends eating brunch at my favorite diners and realizing that you don't have to go to work until Monday; and of forming new friendships and solidifying old ones. The latter I hold at the highest regard.

Thus, no posts. Too busy cramming as many memories as possible into the last month of my time in Portland.
Thank you, friends, for helping me with this arduous task.

God, I will miss this city and everyone in it.

***

Why am I moving to Dublin again?

(Because in 10 years you will regret not taking this opportunity.)

Eavesdropping with Ease

2007-04-28T15:28:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I didn't find this sooner.
Eavesdropping much?

I have an "off" day.

2007-04-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those moments where someone asks you, "Hey, how was your day?" but what they really mean is, "Hey, it's my job to be nice because I work in sales and I actually don't give a shit about your day." Unfortunately, that subliminal message doesn't sink in until you are half way through your explanation of how your day actually was. Like how you went to an hour an half yoga class this morning, sat in line for an emmisions test for a WHOLE hour, went to Trader Joe's, and then decided to sit on your couch and watch some TV since it's, you know, raining, but you have this birthday party to go to in like two hours so you figured you would just run to Kiehl's since you live right around the corner--the little voice starts urging to shut your piehole, but you stubbornly ignore it--and buy some face wash, and I was going to wear these great leather shoes tonight, but it's raining and they might get ruined, haha, but maybe I'll wear 'em anyway. Anyway, thanks for the face wash. Ok bye.

Impressively, you managed to reveal your currently lackluster life in the time that it takes to exchange cash for change and a receipt.

Then they give you that look. That look that says, "OK, Crazy. Come back and see us again when you've rejoined the human race, Crazy McCrazster."

The best part is when you get home, realize that you bought the wrong kind of cleanser and need to go back into the store of Life Embarrassment, return unwanted Non-Foaming Cleansing Milk for the preferred Gentle Foaming Facial Cleanser, catch glimpse of distorted reflection in uebershiny door as you leave, startle, and think befittingly, "Great. Crazy McCrazster managed to scare even herself."

*****

The gray, unpredictable mood of today contrasts sharply with the lively, jocular mood on Thursday night. Great friends. Great conversations. Great bar. Great beer. All of the necessary ingredients were present, mixed, and baked to perfection. We discussed politics, Virginia Tech shootings, issues on gun control, clinical psychology, abortion, education, life, and death.

Death has been omnipresent. The anniversary of my friend's father's death was on Sunday, 33 people died on Monday, the anniversary of Columbine was on Friday, another friend is scattering his grandmother's ashes today, people continue to perish in the Middle East, and my uncle died on Thursday. Uncle Pat is, er, was the eldest of eight. He served in the Coast Guard, married the love of his life, smoked a pipe, wore a Captain Ahad beard, stepped up as patriach of the family after his father passed away, never wanted to be the center of attention, but was always the first to crack a joke (usually at the expense of one of his siblings). At family reunions, Uncle Pat and his seven siblings (#5 being my Dad) would gather around and sing this old tune from the 40's that my grandmother taught them while she played the piano. The eight "kids" did this ritual even after Grandma passed away. But now, there is only seven. Seven is such a small number compared to eight. People die. And it sucks.

I have successfully avoided feeling any sort of emotion all week until today. I cried. I cried during Grey's Anatomy (nothing really tragic even happened in this episode). I cried during October Road, a show, which in my opinion, isn't even that good. I cried at Desperate Housewives. I cried. For those of you who know me as Waterworks, my pure achievement at crying at the drop of a hat comes as no surprise. After 26 years of being a "professional" crier, the same issues will trigger the tear ducts: love. Not death. Lost love. Forbidden love. Love just out of reach. Love actualized and love received. Fuck it if it's a stupid Hallmark commercial, my eyes show no prejudice for the tears that they shed.

I am a damn sentimental helpless romantic with a quick tearjerk reaction. It's who I am and there's nothing I want to do to change it.

...all connections lead to gerbil.

2007-04-17T16:36:00.000-07:00

I am in Thesis Land. I have been in Thesis Land for days on end. Thesis Land is Disneyland's evil twin. Thesis Land lurks in the dark corner, waiting to sink its flesh-dripping claws into your supple skin at the very moment when you think you have evaded its presence. Forever. As in already obtaining the degree Thesis Land was intended to grant you. I guess I haven't officially graduated, but let us not be weighed down with details.

Thesis Land eats little children. It's just that evil. Enough procrastinating! The end is oh so near...I see you bright light at the end of the tunnel...you're coming closer...it's getting brighter in here. Almost...done.

I will celebrate with a pint (or four) of Cream Stout at the Lompoc, breathe a sigh of relief and think, I have conquered you Thesis Land. You are dead.

Until then, I must retreat to my personal purgatory.

...I captured robots and orchids

2007-04-17T16:25:00.000-07:00

...with a camera. I meant to post these pictures of SF days ago, but I never got around to it. Click to enlarge.

Note the anatomically correct robot. My cousin pointed him out. He--it's definitely a "he"--sits atop this crazy modern feat of architecture in Presidio Heights.

Telegraph Hill

Orchid in bloom

Is that a showerhead or are you just happy to see me?

Golden Gate Bridge

Alcatrazzzzzz

Lombard Street

The Conservatory

...I lost something.

2007-04-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

This time 7 days ago I was walking down a misty Haight Street and window-shopping for oxymoronic in-style vintage clothing to my heart's content. In tow was my cousin, his wife, and their 16-month-old son. This trip to San Francisco has left me empty and I can't place what it is that I lost. I enjoyed spending time with family that didn't revolve around a wedding or a funeral, two common occurrences when dealing with a family of gargantuan proportions. I miss laughing at myself when I would catch a glimpse of my cousin's last name and think, "Oh wow! He has the same name as me!" before realizing my silly faux pas. There's just something to be said about spending quality time with someone whose blood runs through you. There's also something to be said about escaping from a city that holds an amalgamate of emotions, many positive, some negative. San Francisco was a clean slate, one to which I had the freedom to paint my own experiences and create my own memories, sans negativity. As I drove south on I-5 toward the statuesque Tabla Rosa a weight slowly lifted with each passing mile. I do not have the ability to pinpoint exactly from what I was escaping or what has left behind an emptiness because my perspective is muddled with conflicting emotions. Excited. Scared. Lonely. Content. It's like trying to draw a blueprint of a house when you're locked in the hallway closet.

Let's face it. I haven't been single in 6 years. That's a long time. During those 6 years, I fell in love twice, lost myself (twice), regained myself (once), and lost myself again. Now, I am on the path of self-discovery to find myself again in a far far away land. I came up with this brilliant, and I say that with a shade of sarcasm, idea to move far far away from a stable support system--loving family, fast friends, potential lovers, and a rose-scented city that I call home after only 3 years--and, well, to do something. Something different. Brilliant plan, eh? What do I, per say, plan on doing in the Land of Far Far Away? No clue. I have a Masters in Behavioral Neuroscience which has empowered me with invaluable analytical thinking and writing skills, but at this moment all I want to do is play, discover, live, breathe, and create. But not in Behavioral Neuroscience. Something more like Science outreach and education. Hmmm, apparently I found research to be stifling.I guess writing a blog does lead to some clarity.

I do not seek a career hunched over a lab bench, lower back aching. At least not right now. I won't rule out the possibility of Hunched Back Career entirely (Note: I do not intend to impose my rather cynical outlook on scientific research onto others. There are several aspects of research I find titillating, just not enough to make me want to stay). I fear that because I have "lost myself" it is very hard for me to make any permanent decision about my life. Planning my future career is like trying to build a city on quicksand. The city facades may stand tall at first, but inevitably, the foundation will sink, and the city will crumble.

How did I lose myself?

I do not shop for clothes with my eyes, but with my hands. I need to feel the weight and texture of the clothing in order to appreciate its full persona. I stroll down fabric aisles, eyes just barely open, both hands outreached, fingers extended. Silky. Patterned. Velvet. Corduroy. Worn-in T-shirt. Heavy. Weightless. Maybe that's how I have been going through life. Letting my other senses dictate my direction instead of using the best sense that allows perspective.

2007-04-11T16:38:00.000-07:00

Baby went to Amsterdam
She put a little money into travelling
Now it's so slow, so slow
Baby went to Amsterdam
Four, five days for the big canal
Now it's so slow, so slow

And I was heading up north
To a place that I know
Eating well, sleeping well
But still I was way, way out of line
Amsterdam was stuck in my mind

Oh, it's a kind of stupid groove
That you can't ignore
Oh, it's a kind of natural fact
Sometimes you're just left to be alone

Baby went to Amsterdam
She put a little money into travelling
Now it's so slow, so slow
Baby went to Amsterdam
Four, five days for the big canal
Now it's so slow, so slow

And I got to go away
To a place of my own
Working hard, fill my time
From that day on, till I hit the bed
Amsterdam was stuck in my head

Oh, it's a kind of stupid groove
That you can't ignore
Oh, it's a kind of natural fact
Sometimes you're just left to be alone

Baby went to Amsterdam
She put a little money into travelling
Now it's so slow, so slow
Baby went to Amsterdam
Four, five days for the big canal
Now it's so slow, so slow

Baby went to Amsterdam
She put a little money into travelling
Now it's so slow, so slow
Baby went to Amsterdam
Four, five days for the big canal
Now it's so slow, so slow, slow

--PB&J

...I put flowers in my hair.

2007-04-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

Post-defense I took a little celebratory trip to San Francisco. It was one of the best solo trips I have taken in a long, long time. This trip rivals even the notorious 4-day excursion through blue-cowed Brugge and haze-laden Amsterdam. We'll save that story for another time.

The drive down I-5 S was breathtaking and if I had a camera with me, I would share the views of baa-baa black sheep, lonely snow-capped Mt. Shasta, California orange farms, Daliesque "melted" green hills, sun-reflected bays, and a city skyline ensconced by fog. I loved every minute of the cloudless blue skies, the burning sensation from the sun on the left half of my face and left arm, a 65 degree brisk breeze funneling through the open sunroof, and the music blaring from my totally kick-ass stock Honda Civic sound system.

Because I feel I express myself better through music--that would be other people's music, not my own--than through words, I have included a selection of musicians that provided the soundtrack to the sublime sights seen through my car window.

Tschuess Portland!
Peter Bjorn and John "Writer's Block"
Pete Yorn "Nightcrawler"
Grant's Pass
Aqualung "Memory Man"
The Clash "Combat Rock"
Ashland, OR
Compilation made by k. "this suit is not black" (I'm diggin' Deerhunter and Cold War Kids)
Stereophonics "Live from Dakota"
The Postal Service "Give Up"
Weed, CA
Stars of Track and Field "Centuries Before Love and War"
Winterpills "The Light Divides"
Coldplay "X&Y"
Radiohead "The Bends"
Death Cab "The Photo Album" and "Plans"
Redding, CA
Smashing Pumpkins "Mellon Collie and Infinite Sadness" (Blue)
Thom Yorke "The Eraser"
Vacaville, CA
The Bravery (on repeat)
Thievery Corporation
I-80 W
Oasis "Be Here Now"
The Fratellis "Costello Music"
Crossing the Bay Bridge
Citizen Cope "The Clarence Greenwood Recordings"
The Killers "Sam's Town"

Song #1 Pete Yorn
Song #2 Thom Yorke
Song #3 Stereophonics (live in London)

Pictures to follow.

...I fell in love with Alanis all over again.

2007-04-04T13:14:00.000-07:00

Reason #76 Why I Love Europe: From thou darkest corners cometh great music.

Courtesy of Chloraphil?? More like Bore-a-phil!. Thank you for showing me the light.

...I got a job with the Feds.

2007-04-04T08:09:00.000-07:00

Ha, I wish!

Unfortunately, I work under the not-so-glamorous umbrella of Department of Veterans Affairs. This is quite a change from when I was pursing a PhD. If I had received a PhD then I would have signed my life away and become a slave to NIH, the God of Grants and Money Minion to the Federal Government. In my current position, I skipped the NIH middleman and just signed my life away to the Federal Government.

During our New Employee Orientation, we watched a video of an aging War World II veteran, his life story told in a mosaic of baby, family and war pictures set to incredibly bad music sung by Don McLean's retarded brother. "Oooh, who do you think I am? What do you seeee? A cranky old man? Oooh, take a good look at meee!"

The video was only 5 minutes long and by golly, I had tears in my eyes by the end. Then, I felt really bad for saying Don McLean had a retarded brother.

Why the weepy reaction? Sure, I could chalk it up to the uncontested talent of my "waterworks"--I can cry anywhere, anytime--but the fact is, the featured curmudgeon of an old man reminded me of my grandfather, also a WWII vet. I never had a chance to meet him.

I miss a man whom I have never met. He is a direct link to the past that I can only learn through torn pictures and staccato stories. Trying to piece together the stories of my grandfather as told by my aunts and uncles is nearly impossible when they are in the same room. At least 20 conversations between 8 individuals are going on simultaneously. I think it's an age old family tactic so that only those with the highest multi-tasking ability (or shortest attention span) can reign and bear future multi-tasking and short-attentioned generations. If that's really a desired trait and all...

Alright, enough with the tangents. Back to Grandpa and the whole Link to the Past spiel.

I wish I could have asked my grandfather what the war was like. I wish I could have asked him about what life was like growing up in the 20s, 30s, and 40s.

My grandmother was alive when I was born and even then I never asked her much about her life. It's a shame to have wasted an opportunity to connect with the past. I didn't find out until she died that she drove from Michigan to California. By herself. In a Ford Model T. At age 20. This could be likened to my own adventure coming up in July.

Ok, I can't concentrate on this post anymore because I have Peter Bjorn and John's "Young Folks" stuck in my head. God, short attention span.

Now you will, too.

...I discovered FutureMe.

2007-04-01T11:17:00.000-07:00

Write an email to yourself in the future or read other people's public emails to their futureselves.

FutureMe

...I laughed at a picture of a narwhal.

2007-03-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

...I moved to Ireland.

2007-03-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

Correction: I will be moving to Ireland in 3.5 months.

Call it self-discovery. Call it a personal quest. Call it what you will, but the decision has been made. I decided, after much tumultuous debate mainly between me, myself and I, that instead of completing my PhD, I will finish my MS (which thankfully was an option in the department so that the data I had collected wouldn't be obsolete), and follow my dream. Sounds utterly clichè, right? Well, the saying wouldn't be a clichè if it hadn't held some truth in its core after so many years in circulation.

I completed my MS one week and one day ago. I found it only fitting to begin this journal with the ending of my career as a professional student. Shown in the picture is a neuro-circuitry diagram I drew during the oral exam portion of the defense. And yes, I even drew a mouse (upper right corner). That's right. I drew a picture of a mouse and they passed me.

The title of the blog came to fruition during a car ride with my friends Ethan and Katie. I was talking to them about how I wanted to start this blog as a way to keep in touch with friends and family, post pictures, the whole 9 yards.

Katie: "What are you gonna call it?"
Me: "I'm thinking...FakeItTillYouMakeIt.com."

[Silence. Birds chirping.]

Katie/Ethan: "Why? What are you faking?"
Me: "I...I have no idea."

[Pause.]

Ethan: "How about just instead of a PhD because that's basically what you're doing."

Such genius in the simplicity.

So there you have it. Although I would love to take all of the credit for coming up with the catchy theme of the blog. I can not. It would be unjust. Alas, dear Ethan o' Progenitor of the Blog, I bequeath you full credit.

I know I pulled it off like I came up with the title during my Masters thesis seminar when I announced to the faculty and students in jest, "...that you can stay up-to-date with my adventures abroad at www.insteadofaphd.blogspot.com." Roaring laughter ensued, a hefty portion arising from the faculty members themselves. One might think that this act could be interpreted as abig F-you, I'm too good for you and this program. But luckily I chose a program whose members have a killer sense of humor. The talk was one of my favorite moments of the day (next to actually passing the oral exam). The buoyant behavior of the audience said to me simply, "Hey, it's ok. A life in research isn't for everyone. You have to eat, breathe and live grant writing--er, I mean, scientific research. We [the faculty] don't blame you for opting out of the program and trying something different. You gotta do what you gotta do. And we understand."