Did I do the right thing?

So, I get this call from Marissa on Tuesday that her long-lost aunt is in town. "Great," I say to her, continuing, "What does this have to do with me?"

Well, she and her boyfriend needed a place to stay. The two of them had been in town for a few days and stayed at Marissa's other aunt's house, and according to that aunt, the whole family was sick with the flu. "Terrible," I say, and then something like, "So when can I expect them?" There is one catch - they were homeless.

At the time, I thought something naive, like "'tis the season," or "it'll make for some interesting conversation..." you know, stuff like that. Boy was I wrong - and right, respectively.

Marissa brought them over while I was working at the library. Now, Marissa doesn't call me that often at work, and during this three-hour shift, she phoned me like four times. Once, she just wanted to talk and asked me what time I was coming home. Already I knew this was not the hippie-fest I had imagined. The other phone calls from Marissa were requests for Celtic music (apparently they HE didn't like the Talking Heads, pfft.) and another request for some Blackberry Brandy from the liquor store.

(At work, I had joked around with Jill (coworker) about what I could possibly talk to them about. Questions to avoid included 'how did the two of you meet?' and 'So, you're homeless...what's that like?' We also joked how at least they wouldn't have too much baggage - unless they brought a shopping cart full of their belongings. Basically, I was making little jokes, and at that point I felt bad...)

I could get the music, but fortunately enough, the liquor store was closed. As I walked into my kitchen to greet our guests, Marissa comes in and mouths "Oh My God." I still thought to myself, "how bad could it be?"

Bad.

Very, very bad.

Keanu Reeves in Shakespeare bad.

Bad with a capitol B.

Walking into my living room, I smelled them before I saw them. I'd like to consider myself a pretty open-minded guy, but this was ridiculous. Aside from the smell, it was obvious that they hadn't seen a laundromat in a long, long time. Talk about layers - at least they looked comfortable. She had on two winter hats - that she didn't remove the entire time I saw her. All I could see of her was her hands and face. I made some small-talk with them about traveling, and could tell that this small-talk was getting nowhere.

An example of the small-talk I had with him (whom I will call 'Billy,' although I'm pretty sure the name he gave us was fake anyway) went something like this.

Travis: So, you guys have traveled a lot, what's your favorite place you've ever been to?

Billy: Nowhere.

Travis: - - - Oh. Kay.

Yeah. That's about as deep as it got. Any questions directed towards her (whom I will refer to as "Sally") were immediately answered by Billy in a way that stopped the conversation completely. He had quite a knack for that.

So they mentioned they were looking for a used van for very cheap. As I could already not stand these two, actually just Billy, I immediately began underlining and circling phone numbers in the Yellow Pages and brainstormed a few people I thought might be able to help. Since it was getting late, a fact I knew as I looked at the clock like every two minutes since I'd been home from work, we all decided that tomorrow they would make a few phone calls.

I wasn't tired, but I sure was getting sick of trying to find something to do with these two. Board games? no. Cards? no. Listen to anything besides Celtic music? no. For homeless people, they sure were picky. And rude. So, we decided that we would head off to bed - at around 9:30. Before I settled in for the night, I made a point to tell them all about the shower and get some clean towels for them to use, which proved completely unnecessary as they did nothing but play Super Nintendo (in Billy's case) or watch Super Nintendo (in Sally's) all night. The towels were still in the same pile the next day, untouched. I don't think they even washed their hands after using the bathroom, and I would argue also that they did not brush their teeth, although I cannot prove this.

Oh, and about the Super Nintendo situation, Billy asked in his usual fashion, "how come you don't have any good gaming systems?" and as we discussed games, he remarked that there seemed to be a lot of "stupid ones" in my library of very few. I asked if he ever played a particular game, one I said was one of my favorites as a kid, and he said that one was also "stupid."

You know, for so many stupid games, he sure kept himself busy all night playing them...

So I get to bed and Marissa decides to tell me what I missed while I was at work. First, she tells me that they came from a cultish, faith-healing community in northern California, and that Billy "read into Marissa's soul," and told her that I was not her true soul mate. I laughed at this, and then she told me the rest. He said to her that her soul needed healing, and that he would conduct the ceremony for her, where he would rebuild her tissue or some shit like that by HAVING HER LIE NAKED IN FRONT OF HIM WHILE HE BURNED SAGE. Because he learned from a faith-healing Native American, we were supposed to believe he was the real deal.

Wait a second. Put the two of those things together, and this kid, who is dating her middle-aged aunt and playing 'Donkey Kong Country' in the other room, was definitely coming on to her. It was then that I decided that they needed to go, and I spent the next day trying to figure out how.

After struggling to fall asleep to the sound of the synthesized SNES soundtrack, we awoke around 11 a.m. and I immediately got the Yellow Pages and handed them to our guests. Billy, who apparently knows everything, unsurprisingly handled the situation in an odd fashion. He would glance at something I circled and said "I sold used cars for a while and I can tell that this one is too expensive."

??

First off, how long is a while, and how did he get hired in the first place, and why not just try and call a few of those? He decided that course of action was not the best way to find a used van. Sally, perhaps sensing (as she claimed to be psychic) my growing anger, decided to call a few places. This did not pan out, as after a few, they decided not to look anymore. Craigslist was also recommended by a friend to find a van, and Billy claimed to have already tried that route and that nothing cost less than $1,000. Well, Marissa and I had to be somewhere at Noon, so I said they could continue to look at Marissa's mom's (Sally's sister's) house. Sally seemed to be all for this idea, while Billy said he was too tired and just wanted to hang out in our apartment all day.

I had had enough at this point. I said to him, after considering many different things to say and decided that this was the most polite, "you're not going to find a van sitting on your ass here without a phone or the internet." So, much to Billy's chagrin, they piled into the back of Marissa's Caliber and we dropped them at her mom's house.

Now, we had a few errands to run and had decided that the best course of action to take was to gather up all their filthy, smelly crap and transfer it from our car to Marissa's mom's car. The only snag in this plan was that at her mom's house were the two vagrants and our clean laundry, which was waiting for us by the door. Marissa claimed to need the laundry, and I said we'd get it later. Well, as we pulled up and frantically transferred all their worldly posessions into the other vehicle, Sally and Billy came outside to say hello. Billy was holding our laundry in his hands and looked like a puppy from the Humane Society - you know, the puppies that make you feel so bad that you never want to go back. He gave the laundry to Marissa and I didn't talk to either one, put the laundry in the car, and immediately drove to the liquor store. I needed some scotch. Bad.

So that was that.

We then went to Marissa's other aunt's house, the one who dropped these two tramps onto us a day prior. She gave Marissa $100 for the job and so we returned it, saying it was not worth the money. After a brief conversation, we realized that the flu was merely an excuse to get the two freeloaders out of their house - it's too bad they didn't tell us that when they talked us into taking them for "a few days." But I won't hold that against them. They somehow put up with Sally and Billy's ways for 5 days, while Marissa and I couldn't handle it for even a few hours.

So, as the title of this blog suggests, did I do the right thing? Should I have told him off, or at least tried to put into words why we could not deal with them for any more time?

I tell you one thing, I don't feel the least bit sorry for them anymore, or bad for what I did. I don't know where they are now, and I could care less.

So I learned a valuable lesson this week:
Do not, under any circumstances, let homeless people sleep in your apartment.

The Guy Who Plays Mr. Belvedere Fan Club

So strange.

Here's a link to what I consider the greatest SNL skit ever, and the source of my sister's nickname, Broktoon.

http://snltranscripts.jt.org/91/91sbelvedere.phtml

I was reminded of this today when my sister's friend Robyn, who has an excellent blog called "Robyn's Craft Room" (link to that below), changed her Facebook status to say "Robyn has officially changed her name to Mr. Belvedere." I don't know if she knew where the nickname Broktoon came from, but it doesn't matter. What does matter is that I found the link above. Too bad it doesn't contain the video, but you get the gist of it.

http://robynscraftroom.blogspot.com

OK, so apparently I don't know how to properly include a link in this blog, so you're going to have to cut-and-paste these. Sorry for the convenience.

That's all for now. I'm in the midst of finals and should be researching for a Chemistry assignment so until next time, this has been yet another entry in...
SAMPLE BLOG.

Open Letter From the 0.01% Bowser Germ

I am the hundredth of a percent of all the germs that stay on your hands after washing with soap and hot water. Don't believe me? Just look at your soap - I exist.

Don't bother to try and wash me off, I'll stick to you for the rest of your life. Not even doctors can get me off of them! Try it, I dare you. I am the Bowser of your hand, only this time, Mario has no chance of saving his precious Peach as you kill both of them every time you clean. Ha ha ha ha ha!

So please, employees, continue to wash your hands! I will get on all your customers' food and enter their digestive systems, potentially becoming an infectious disease or irritating their bowels.

I am inside you right now, and I love it.

Sincerely,
The Bowser Germ

Main Street, Detroit

I'd like to say I'm surprised, but sadly I cannot.

The first thing President-elect Barack Obama sought to accomplish, aside from picking his cabinet members, has been to try and get more money to the mentally-challenged automotive giants from Detroit. Now, I don't really have all the specifics here, other than a front-page article in the New York Times that said Obama was trying to get Bush to bailout Detroit. So I feel I must ask the question, "Why?"

I don't know. My first guess would be to help the companies from filing for Chapter 11, but how can that help out Main Street? Is it because of the number of people that are employed by the auto companies? Why is this the government's problem?

He never mentioned any of this in the election. Then again, he didn't not mention it, so I guess that's something. Maybe it's just me here, but won't giving money to a company that still makes cars that get less miles per gallon than the Model T just delay their inevitable demise? Instead of rewarding these companies for their backwards policies, how about rewarding them for coming up with a mass-produced car that meets our environmental and economic needs? Mr. Obama, I don't see how giving them tens of billions of dollars will do anything to make us independent of foreign oil in ten years, which if I remember correctly, was one of your redundancies from the campaign trail.

Without Obama's explanation as to why he wants to bail out Detroit, I am forced to come up with my own solutions - that they paid for some of Obama's record-breaking $650 million campaign, and now that he won, it's his turn to help them out. Or maybe the oil companies really do run this country. Either way, this move makes me lose even more faith in American democracy...but I'm glad I voted for Nader for the third time.

I guess we're all just supposed to be dancing in the street now that gas is a dollar cheaper than it was a month ago.

Somebody please enlighten me on this - am I completely off the mark here or is something seriously wrong?

Don't Get Any Big Ideas...

I just took a very exciting trip to Montreal to see my favorite band, Radiohead, the other day, and aside from being fucking amazing, there are other noteworthy aspects of the trip and concert that I feel need to be documented before they're lost from my mind sometime next week.

-On the way to the show, Marissa and I stopped in Old Forge and stayed the night on Fourth Lake with my parents. We had a wonderful evening full of kayaking and tubing and drinking many, many drinks with my parents and my sister's friends Maurice, David, Phil and Kelly that were also vacationing nearby. That night, by the campfire, my parents learned what a 'blumpkin' was.

-Since we got to Montreal about five hours early, we had nothing to do but sit on ass and wait for them to open the doors. Should have checked the tickets a little closer, but on the plus side, we did get a stellar parking spot. Anyway, we heard the band's soundcheck. They played on and off for about a half hour. It was a good warm-up for Radiohead and the fans.

-Waiting for the opening act to start, there was little to do standing in the crowd but mingle with those next to us (Jon and Sylvia, who turned out to be pretty awesome) and smell the weed of those around us.

-When the rain let up a little during Grizzly Bear's set, a rainbow emerged from behind some clouds. This is significant because the name of the most recent Radiohead album is 'In Rainbows.' News of this passed through the crowd like a wave, causing much hubub. I noted that just about everyone in the audience is having the same conversation (some in French) regarding the rainbow. "Dude! It's a fucking rainbow! You know, like that album and shit, man. Right? I'm pumped!" and so on. I also noted that of the 80,000 people present, some were even pointing out what I just said. That's a lot of people.

-During 'The National Anthem,' fireworks from something nearby began going off. It was an impressive display and seeing as how I had yet to see any this summer, it was nice to have them with the band. They were very distracting though, and threw off Thom during one of the songs. The fireworks went on for about 40 minutes and I have to say, they were cool and all, but I like Radiohead more. After like ten minutes all the fans pretty much lost interest.

-I should also note that the light display was as impressive as the band itself. I can't even describe to you the amazing shit we saw. It was unreal.

-For those actual fans of the band, here's the set list:
15 Step
There There
Morning Bell
All I Need
My Iron Lung
Nude
Wierd Fishes/Arpeggi
The Gloaming
The National Anthem
Fake Plastic Trees
Reckoner
Like Spinning Plates
Jigsaw Falling Into Place
Lucky
Optimistic
Idioteque
Bodysnatchers

Encore 1:
Faust Arp
Videotape
Paranoid Android
Bangers and Mash
Karma Police

Encore 2:
House of Cards
You and Whose Army?
Everything In Its Right Place

-After the show, everybody walked through the mud like overcrowded cattle in stockyards and we reached our car fairly quickly (remember, I did have stellar parking). We got to the car, cracked open a few beers and urinated. I noticed some people eating burgers and commented, "Those look delicious." A French accent replied "you want one?" I said, "What is it?" He said it was "A beef burger." I offered him a beer for it, but he said not to worry and he had plenty. I returned victorious to our car and even though Marissa claimed to be craving Wendy's, she wanted nothing to do with the cold mystery burger. I ate it in very few bites, and though it was luke-warm and had obviously been sitting for a while with cheese and mayonnaise...it was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. We then settled into our makeshift bed in the backseat and slept for four hours then drove straight home.

The end.

Blogs for Dummies

Not everything is for dummies, but that's not what the titles of many books would argue. One would naturally assume that Calculus, Physics and English grammar are not subjects directed towards 'dummies,' but believe it or not, each has its own respective book in the 'Dummies' series. Similarly, many books cater to complete idiots. How do you know which book is for you? Is there something that makes complete idiots different from your run-of-the-mill dummy?

I understand the need for many of these books; surely a dummy would need help with Windows 98 or do-it-yourself plumbing, but some of these titles I just don't think is a good idea to publish. For example, The Complete Idiot's Guide to Pleasing Your Woman seems like it has good intentions for even complete idiots deserve to please their women. But complete idiots tend to have TV, and on it are many real or fake relationships that give similar advice.

Pregnancy for Dummies is obviously a bad idea, while Homeschooling for Dummies is completely unnecessary. If someone buys the latter book, their school district should be notified and the authorities may have to intervene. The Complete Idiot's Guide to Campus Safety does not make me feel safe on campus. On the other hand, when I get a parking ticket, I'll just rip it up because the complete idiot who wrote it probably forgot about it in the first place.

There are some dummy titles that seem a bit more appropriate, namely Catholicism for Dummies and The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Bible to name a few.

There's so much more to say about these books...why don't you respond with your favorite ironic dummy title?

not much to say.

I don't want to brag about my talents, but I have this one that I feel it is necessary to share. I have this knack for pissing people off. They can be people I care about or people I just met. It's like I'm trying to do this, but really it just happens to be my nature. What's worse is that I fail to realize what I'm doing until after the fact. I would offer some anecdotal evidence to back up this claim, but I don't want to single anyone out or embarrass anyone other than myself on this blog, at least today.

Inadvertantly pissing people off may be due to the fact that I'm a pretty uptight kind of guy. I know it may seem to the casual observer that I'm relaxed, but in actuality I am usually wound up in some way. (My friends may not be reading this in disbelief, as they have usually been the subjects of my outbursts.)

Anyway, I guess I'm just trying to say 'sorry' to anybody I end up pissing off; friends, relatives, loved ones, random passers-by...

I'll try to work on that. I'll be a little less sensitive if you can be a little more understanding that I'm a bit of a jerk. That's all for now.

Thanks for reading.

S'omething.

As usual, it has been a while since my last update. For those of you that read multiple entries every year or so, you may not notice that, but for those that check regularly, I apologize for the lack of updates. I mean, I haven't heard a lot of complaints about the lack of new material on here, so it must be going well. Right?

So "what's new?" you might ask. Well, not much to be honest with you. Since I've been back from Europe, I've been finding home much the same as I left it. Aside from gas going up almost a full dollar since I left, things are pretty much the same. Work, eat, drink, sleep...you know the routine.

I'm still drinking more than I would like, but yesterday, I began excercizing. Excercising. I do it so infrequently that I don't even remember how to spell the damn word. And I'm a fucking Journalism major. I'm leaving the misspelled versions above to prove how little I partake in the activity. Anyway, working out has been working out pretty well thus far. I can't really give you too many long-term effects yet as I just started last night, but things seem to be on the up-and-up.

Going back to the whole 'Drinking more than I would like' aspect of my life - it's really become my favorite past-time. It's been like 36 hours since my last beer, which lately IS something to brag about. There's a t-shirt or a bumper sticker that sums up my attitude towards consuming alcoholic beverages that says something to the effect of:

"I'm not an alcoholic. Alcoholics go to meetings."

Really that's about all there is to it. But seriously, I'm cutting back. It's been a while, at least, since I've purchased a beer. So that's something.

My birthday is this week. I know you may be thinking that I'll drink a lot on that day, but I have a stupid gig to go to and beer is too expensive at the stupid fucking bar we play at, so it looks like that will be a sober-fest for me as well. Who knows, maybe I'll run three miles that day too. Or maybe I'll just bring a flask with me.

So "why are you telling me all this?" you might be asking. Well, to answer your question, I've found some similarities between drinking beer (see also: wine, whiskey, scotch, etc.) and exercising. First, sleep comes quick to those that are tired, be it from a bottle or from sweating for an hour. Instead of being hung-over when I wake up, I'm just sore from using muscles that I previously reserved for emergency purposes only. Also, both activities leave you wanting to drink more. It's just that drinking a beer after a run is kind of a tough thing to do.

I realize I'll probably be through with this whole 'working out' thing in a week or so, so I'm glad I addressed the topic in my blog before I lost it completely. Maybe it'll help me stick to it. Who knows.

Happy birthday, me.

C+ Action

Not all of Barcelona was late-night partying and amazing taxi rides. For two straight days, it was pouring rain leading Marissa and me to find amusement in the comfort of my friend's house. While I was looking forward to high temperatures and sunshine, Barcelona was in quite a drought by the time we arrived. The rain was welcome by the residents, so we had to accept it and just try to be positive. Anyway, we had TV in the apartment, so we decided to see what Spanish TV was all about.

We didn't get very far with the Spanish, but there were some interesting English movie networks called 'Canal +' (Spanish for 'Channel'), and in the top left corner of the screen it was abbreviated to 'C+.' This is only noteworthy because the quality of the movies playing on these channels (C+ Comedy, C+ Action, etc.), if they were to be given a grade, it would roughly be a C+. Here's some examples of the movies we watched over our two rainy, hungover days:

Hollow Man II; Bram Stoker's Dracula; Jeepers Creepers; Predator; Bad Girls; Poseidon; Big Trouble in Little China...

This list is incomplete and I plan to finish at a later date.

There was one movie that was not bad even though it had Will Smith, the King of C-plusity in it called The Pursuit of Happyness. That one was pretty good. We could have spent our time watching 'good' movies, as Greg had many on his shelf, but we all decided that all movies should be chosen for us by the good people at Canal +.

So now, when discussing a movie with Marissa, I can talk her into watching it by mentioning the phrase 'C+,' and she sees this (as I do) as a good thing.

That Time I Told a Cop My Name Was 'Travis Giovanni'

So, there's this strange law in Barcelona that lets you purchase a can of beer in the middle of the street from a guy that may or may not have a liquor license at any time of day, but you can't drink it in public.

Maybe it's for on-the-go people coming home from work who don't have the time to run into the convenience store. This might also cater to those impulsive buyers who create the demand for nail-clippers in the checkout area of grocery stores. While those demographics may represent a number of those purchasing beer from a street-corner, it's obvious that this marketing technique is for drunks and/or tourists. Being a tourist who happened to be drunk at the time, I bought four roadside beers.

Obviously, the next action we took was to open the cans, cheers and drink. About half-way through the third step, a police officer approached us and spoke to Greg in Spanish. Greg replied and gestured 'one more sip' with his index finger, but the cop did not oblige. Greg slowly moved the can to his lips and in one movement the cop snatched the can from Greg's hand and threw it into the garbage nearby, spilling the beer in the process. Marissa, who had yet to take a sip, followed this string of events by throwing her fresh cerveza into the trash as well. I, on the other hand, watched all of this as it happened and calmly took another sip. Seeing this, the cop approached me and like Greg, I asked him for one more sip, and again the cop did not oblige. He removed my beer from my hand in a similar fashion as he had done so for the previous belligerent American, then he reached for his notebook.

He spoke again to Greg, who was obviously our ringleader, and wanted to know all kinds of information like his name and where he was from. Greg, who began the conversation with the cop speaking near-perfect Spanish, now reverted to 'touristy' Spanish in an attempt for the cop to go easy on us. Greg told him his name was 'Jeffrey' something, and that he was staying in some non-existent hostel on the other side of the city. The policeman wrote this information down and turned to me. He asked me, in English, what my name was. At the same time, Greg and I responded to his question. I said 'Travis,' and Greg said 'Giovanni.' I repeated, 'Travis Giovanni,' as if saying the two names in succession would make it legitimate. We were then asked for identification. Unfortunately, we could not locate any ID on our persons, and he let us off with a warning.

It's a good thing he didn't notice the extra can of beer in Greg's pocket, because after that confrontation, we all needed a beer.

Xavier: The Magic Taxi Driver

There is just too much to write about my last night in Europe to include it all in one blog, so here's a little something about the greatest cab driver known to man, Xavier.

It was a dark and dreary night and Marissa, Greg and I had just finished our meal and were ready to paint Barcelona red. After a quick stop for some espresso at Greg's place, we hailed what would later come to be known as the best cab ride ever.

Greg took the jump seat and Marissa and I crawled into the back. Xavier must have picked up on the perfect vibes and promptly switched the radio from Spanish programming to USA For Africa's 1985 smash hit, "We Are the World." Already I began to realize that this would be a memorable ride.

During the song I thought I noticed a few occurrences outside my window, but simply brushed them aside. For one, the city seemed to be whizzing by at an alarming rate, and the speedometer confirmed my suspicions that we were going fast - about 100 km/hr. I looked through the windshield and saw a red light try and stop us to no avail, and then another. I know taxis are known for driving quickly and erratically, but this was a little more than I expected.

While Xavier was driving fast and disobeying traffic laws, I thought that must just be what Barcelona drivers do. (Later when I was discussing our ride with Greg did I realize that this was not common and that Xavier could have faced large fines and even jail time for driving in such a way.) This is when the ride got interesting.

During this real-life 'Crazy Taxi' experience, Xavier turns back to Marissa and me and asks if we are in the mood for some 'Taxi Magic.' As if we weren't impressed with his ability to weave through traffic while maintaining a speed of 100 km/hr, Xavier felt that we needed to be given the special treatment. Before we could respond, he made a 5 Euro bill disappear and reappear a number of times, then moved on to his next trick where he made it look like one of his fingers was a laser pointer. I know these sound a little lame, but trust me - when you're seeing them done from a foot away and can't figure out how he did it with the greatest of ease while driving like a maniac through a city...only one thing is certain: this was a magic taxi.

Before I could wrap my mind around what was going on, Xavier stopped the cab and we were at our destination. He handed Greg a card and we asked for another. On it was his number and a rabbit popping out of a hat. He said to us, "I speak English too," and was on his way. Cab drivers in NYC don't even speak English.

I'm considering calling him from Utica. If he shows up, I will become his apprentice.

Trav is sterdam.

Apparently, a month and a half has passed since my last posting. I blame that on schoolwork and travel, and the fact that I really don't give a damn. Hey, it's my blog; I can update when I want so get off my back already.

So, how've you been? I've just finished my finals here at American College Dublin and so far I have a 66 in one class (in the Irish grading ruberic that equals a B - no joke) and am waiting for results from the others. But that shit's boring. Let's talk about something fun.

I just got back from Amsterdam. That was fun, aside from that part where I almost lost the surprise spoon. Some notable aspects of that trip include: the time I 'tilted' the pinball machine; poor-man's dinners in the parks with Marissa (a.k.a. picnics); the family of ducks; only showering once in four days and leaving most of my clothes behind; the Rembrandt house; the VanGogh Museum; the Anne Frank house; and the city itself.

I have to say, there is something to this idea of admitting that the human race has problems and making laws around their vices. Legalizing soft drugs and prostitution (while both of those are vastly different from each other in my opinion) and then taxing them instead of jailing offenders really makes for a beautiful city. I mean, it cuts down on organized crime and minimizes the danger of partaking in those activities. In drugs, you know exactly what you're taking - there's no need to worry about someone adding some unknown substance to your weed to, say, increase the weight of the bag because in Amsterdam, it is cheap, potent and plentiful. As far as prostitution is concerned, they are required to pass rigorous health exams and have support centers for the women just in case they want a change in vocation.

That being said, the Red Light District, which is a very small section of town, still made me tremendously uncomfortable. I avoided it at all costs, but unfortunately it was located in the heart of the city. It's quite surprising to walk down the street and see mostly-nude women in window after window for a few blocks.

I must also address the transportation in Amsterdam as it was the other most notable aspect about the city. There are more bikes on the streets than any other form of transportation, and they're the kind of bike with no gears and you have to stop by pushing the pedals in reverse. All of these bikes come equipped with a bell and most have a makeshift basket in front of the handle bars. Some baskets were apple crates, some were homemade and my personal favorites were baskets obviously stolen from grocery stores. There were bikes that looked like 'Big Wheels' for adults, tandem bikes and bikes with chariots for children. In addition to bikes, the canals that run through the entire city make it accessable to boats of all kinds, my favorite being the houseboats that were all done up with decks, bbqs and such.

Oh, and also the waffles and pancakes. Never have I ever had either breakfast food taste better. Words cannot describe the deliciousness, so I won't even try. You just have to go and taste for yourself.

All in all, it was a wonderful city. I would go back but I have many other places to visit first. Next stop: Barcelona.

Nutrocker

It was the damndest thing. There I was, just walking home from work on a rainy evening much like every other evening in Dublin, when my iPod made it snow. I was listening to Emerson, Lake & Palmer's 'Pictures At An Exhibition,' and following the last song was an encore of what sounded like something from Tchaikovsky's 'Nutcracker' ballet.

As soon as I recognized the tune, big, heavy flakes of snow began to pour from the sky. In Dublin, this happens maybe two or three times a year. I looked down to check the name of the track, appropriately named 'Nutrocker,' and smiled like an idiot until I reached my apartment door.

About five feet from my destination, the song ended along with the snow. There was no proof of the snow on the road, but plenty on my jacket. I told this story to a few of my friends, and now to whomever reads this blog, but I don't expect anyone to believe it's true. I'm not ruling out divine intervention here, and if so, God has one hell of a sense of humor to reveal himself through weather that most people find miserable and something to do with the word nutrocker. Or maybe my iPod controls the weather.

The Jesus and the Slave Trade

It's very late on a Wednesday night, and I'm really supposed to be writing a paper right now. I really wanted to share a bit of research with my blog though, so here goes...

"John Hawkins made three trips to West Africa in the 1500s, and stole Africans whom he sold to the Spanish in America. On returning to England after the first trip, his profit was so handsome that Queen Elizabeth I became interested in directly participating in his next venture; and she provided for that purpose a ship named the 'Jesus.' Hawkins left with the Jesus to steal some more Africans, and he returned to England such dividends that Queen Elizabeth made him a knight. Hawkins chose as his coat of arms the representation of an African in chains."

It's from the book 'How Europe Underdevoloped Africa' by Walter Rodney. I'm really only reading it to get a quote, but it's been surprisingly entertaining with little historical nuggets such as the one mentioned above. I might just finish it for fun!

Third Time's a Charm

Well, today was a good day for me, and it's only 14:00. Not only were my classes canceled this afternoon, but as I sat down to work I read that Ralph Nader has joined the 2008 presidential race!

I know everyone says it's his fault Gore lost in 2000, but that's not anyone's fault but Gore. The Democratic primaries have shown that America is ready for a change. Instead of changing by voting for a woman or African-American, let's change by putting aside bipartisanship and voting for the candidate who is best-suited for the job.

But if you're not going to vote for him, at least check out his Web site and support his request to debate.

http://www.votenader.org

Free Shit and Toilet Paper

I'm new to city life, so I'm not sure if this is a city thing or an Ireland thing, but if you wake up early enough, you get free shit on your morning commute.

There seems to be a great number of people making a living out of giving away free samples to those walking before 09:00, first and foremost the two newspapers (comparable to the Pennysaver) the Metro and Herald AM. These papers aren't exactly top-of-the-line, but they're reasonably priced and make for great kindling or floor mats. They each have every section of the news, and most importantly, three different Sudokus - from easy to insanely difficult. So they've got that going for them. It would be appropriate to refer to these publications as 'Toilet Papers,' not only because they're excellent reading material for the bathroom, but can also, well, I don't need to go into detail.

One morning, I was treated to a free shot of yogurt, another morning a free half-litre of juice. Now, if you want more than one freebie, you just have to pocket one and walk fifty meters to the next give awayer and get another. I walked away with enough juice for the week that morning. Was the juice good? I'd say it was nothing to write home about, but it was definitely something I'll talk about until the day I die. While I'm not literally writing home about it, I have mentioned it to my parents on the phone and am currently discussing it on this blog, which I intend on people reading from my home, so...I guess you could call me a liar. It was something to write home about.

Since the half-litre juice day, only shots of this fruit/vegetable juice have been given out, but I know not to buy the stuff anymore. I'm pretty sure some girls from a cafe near my apartment give away free tea, but I always drink tea before leaving, and get free tea at work, so I have no need to find out what's inside those steaming styrophome cups.

There are always people offering coupons or advertisements for one cellphone company, O2, but I don't take those. On Valentine's Day, free candy hearts were given away. They were stale, but that's nothing out of the ordinary for candy hearts. I think the shelf-life for candy hearts is, well, I wouldn't be surprised if they were made in East Germany.

By far, my favorite aspect of the free shit on the streets of Dublin is the ridiculous outfits these people have to wear. Those offering the newspapers wear jackets and hats with the respective paper's logo on them, and stand right next to their 'compeditor,' as if there's much of a difference between the two. (I wouldn't be surprised if they were owned by the same company.) Those offering juice wear a bright orange jumpsuit, with the slogan 'Are you getting enough' embroidered on the back. On V-Day, the candy heart ladies all were dressed like cupid. Stupid, yes, but they make the 20-minute walk easier to deal with.

All this makes me feel a little better about the homeless, because they're always up at this time of day as well. It's nice to know they're getting some free papers, as all that free juice tends to loosen up the bowels.

Well, my time is up for today, as I've just been yelled at by some bitch. Apparently, even though there are plenty of computers in this 'psychology students only' lab, I have to leave immediately. Fucking bullshit. So much for proof-reading this one. I hope it makes sense!

Dublin 1

When speaking of the dirty, expensive and crowded city of Dublin, one naturally speaks of beer first and foremost. I realize that Ireland (home of the Guinness Brewery and Jameson Distillery) is trying to distance itself from the negative stereotype of surly alcoholism, but the fact remains that beer and whisky are both a large part of Ireland's culture. Just think about your last St. Patrick's Day celebration. Were you remembering the holy trinity through a shamrock or getting shit-faced on green beer?

Apart from a few advertisements similar to the Truth campaign going on in America, not much is going on to deter people from drinking in excess. These ads feature the worst part of alcohol - not those who are enjoying a night out, but those notenjoying a night out at all. There's the nurse at a hospital dealing with a drunken college girl and her passed-out friend, a shop-keep cleaning vomit from the side of his store, and a man peering out his window to witness some punks walk over his car, to name a few. "I've had enough," all those indirectly affected Irish people say. It's a good idea for Ireland to remove their stereotype, but it doesn't seem to be working very well yet.

This is what that ad campaign is competing with:
Not only is beer about five times cheaper than orange juice, but the smallest size avaliable is a 500 mL pint. It is a bit pricy when bought from a pub(lic house), but they have these wonderful stores that I still don't understand called 'Off-Licenses.' Here, you purchase beer not in the traditional six-pack, but in the whatever-the-hell size pack you want. You want five Guinnesses and one Carlsberg? You got it. How about two Coronas, one Smithwick's (pronounced 'Smittix'), three Beck's' and a Budweiser? Sure. Oh, and you can get any liquor you want at these places too.

Aside from the Off-License stores, you can get beer, wine and hard liquor at supermarkets and the Spar (similar to a Fast-track). There's a bar in the movie theatre. I haven't been to one of those traditional Irish McDonald's yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if you could get a pint of McLager there as well.

The most popular size of liquor is the small kind that fits well in your pocket. There are empty beer cans everywhere. There is more vomit and piss on the streets than I would care to discuss. I'm not saying that this is true everywhere in Dublin, just the streets I use on a daily basis. But the vomit and piss I can live with. I'm already looking out for broken glass and dog crap at almost every step, so it's no big deal.

Through all these negatives, there are some beautiful parts of the city. For example, St. Stephen's Green was so awe-inspiring that after feeding the ducks and enjoying the scenery, I asked my girlfriend to marry me. And while I wouldn't swim in the Liffy river (that divides the city), I still enjoy the view every time I cross the bridge. Ironically, another beautiful view of the city is atop the Guinness Brewery, which is responsible for making a mess of the city about 10 floors below.

So, I'm not saying Dublin is filthy, I'm just trying to discuss its alcohol problem. It's probably not much of a problem though; it can stop whenever it wants.

2 minutes left...

i am currently in rome, italy, and at an internet cafe. the keyboard is very different than what i am used to, so i have to do ridiculous things like avoid apostrophes. that is usually not a problem for a journalism major, but it does get in the way a bit when writing in first person.

anyway, i saw the colosseum today. i saw the pope yesterday. italy is fantastic and everyone should visit...and i am only on day 2! anyway, i have to go as i am very, very rushed and do not want to spend any more money. gotta go.