Eat Squid?
While researching for my Best Asian Food Market blurb, I came across this. Groove along to the snacks on the left-hand side. A bit New York-centric, but still cool, especially if you like weird Asian snacks.
A year in the life of an Australian writer in Ireland.
This blog is now closed.
If you'd like to read more, please visit my other blog, Ivy is here.
Thank you for reading Dublin Up.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Lads and ladies
Guess where this little entry is coming from? I feel like one of those elite group of bloggers who blog at work. I am at The Dubliner office, using my lunch hour to read magazines, so I thought I should let you peeps know.
Outside, the sun is shining, the street wet with recent rain, and I've just had my sushi fix, Mark's banana bread (which he cooked, after loving mine to bits), and about to start tucking into a piece of fruit.
Of course, you'll probably want to know what I've written. Well, why don't I just give you a taster? Here's one of my contributions to the mag's Best of Dublin list.
Guess where this little entry is coming from? I feel like one of those elite group of bloggers who blog at work. I am at The Dubliner office, using my lunch hour to read magazines, so I thought I should let you peeps know.
Outside, the sun is shining, the street wet with recent rain, and I've just had my sushi fix, Mark's banana bread (which he cooked, after loving mine to bits), and about to start tucking into a piece of fruit.
Of course, you'll probably want to know what I've written. Well, why don't I just give you a taster? Here's one of my contributions to the mag's Best of Dublin list.
Best Hot ChocolateAren't I just the queen of blurbs?
Creamy. Complex. Smooth. But enough about my hot-beverage companion. Not much could be better than sitting down to a liquid treat such as this. I like my hot chocolates thick enough to choke on. At only 3 Euro a cup, with complimentary wrapped chocolates to heighten that sugar high, who wouldn't succumb? The only ingredient missing was the marshmallows. »
Sunday, April 27, 2003
(Un)Pierced
Today is important. I removed my eyebrow ring and set it aside.
I've worn a piercing above my left eyebrow for three years (as you can see from this picture), since 2000, the year I started editing Togatus, my university magazine.
I never thought I'd be the sort of person who'd get any type of body modification done. I mean, I don't even drink (much) alcohol, don't do drugs (apart from sugar, i.e. chocolate), don't smoke, and am, generally, an all-around goofy square. So why did I get the piercing?
That's a question my mum asked after I did it. That's also a question Mark's mum gasped out in the middle of the walkway outside of Lazenby's at Uni when I met her by chance a day or two after. There are reasons, ones I didn't care to elaborate on at the time, reasons that I've never really articulated until I talked with Mark about it at the bus-stop as we waited to make our way into Dublin city.
I'd felt sad after I took out the latest and last piece of jewellery to be housed in my skin. 'Why don't you just get a new piece of jewellery? One that's silver? Maybe it won't get rejected.' 'No,' I said, 'my body had been rejecting them even before I got this coloured one. And that last one was silver. I think I'm taking this one out for good.' 'Well, you can always get another piercing.'
No, I don't think so. There wouldn't be the same reasons underpinning (hmm) the act.
'You see, getting my eyebrow pierced was kind of a marker. It was a very full-on time, editing Tog, and I wanted the piercing to mark that. And I guess it was also a way of telling people that when they look at me, they don't own the way I look, nor do they own their perception of me. I own my body. I own the way I look.
'It was also a reminder to me that I can deal with pain.' 'But you had anaesthetic.' 'Well, it was painful afterwards...' Mark laughs. 'And, I guess it was also a dare to myself, that I could actually do it, that I could handle it. I wanted to know if I would really go through with it.'
It also acted as a signifier to people. It said, 'Don't fuck with me. I can be tough if I need to be.' At least, that's what I wanted it to say.
Now what'll I do, now that it's gone, when nothing but scars remain? I'll just have to imagine, or pretend, that it's still there. Like a phantom limb, a memory of other times.
Though Mark is thinking of getting a piercing, too. Maybe that'll have to do for me.
Postscript: Sorry about the rude word, but I think today's entry merited it.
Today is important. I removed my eyebrow ring and set it aside.
I've worn a piercing above my left eyebrow for three years (as you can see from this picture), since 2000, the year I started editing Togatus, my university magazine.
I never thought I'd be the sort of person who'd get any type of body modification done. I mean, I don't even drink (much) alcohol, don't do drugs (apart from sugar, i.e. chocolate), don't smoke, and am, generally, an all-around goofy square. So why did I get the piercing?
That's a question my mum asked after I did it. That's also a question Mark's mum gasped out in the middle of the walkway outside of Lazenby's at Uni when I met her by chance a day or two after. There are reasons, ones I didn't care to elaborate on at the time, reasons that I've never really articulated until I talked with Mark about it at the bus-stop as we waited to make our way into Dublin city.
I'd felt sad after I took out the latest and last piece of jewellery to be housed in my skin. 'Why don't you just get a new piece of jewellery? One that's silver? Maybe it won't get rejected.' 'No,' I said, 'my body had been rejecting them even before I got this coloured one. And that last one was silver. I think I'm taking this one out for good.' 'Well, you can always get another piercing.'
No, I don't think so. There wouldn't be the same reasons underpinning (hmm) the act.
'You see, getting my eyebrow pierced was kind of a marker. It was a very full-on time, editing Tog, and I wanted the piercing to mark that. And I guess it was also a way of telling people that when they look at me, they don't own the way I look, nor do they own their perception of me. I own my body. I own the way I look.
'It was also a reminder to me that I can deal with pain.' 'But you had anaesthetic.' 'Well, it was painful afterwards...' Mark laughs. 'And, I guess it was also a dare to myself, that I could actually do it, that I could handle it. I wanted to know if I would really go through with it.'
It also acted as a signifier to people. It said, 'Don't fuck with me. I can be tough if I need to be.' At least, that's what I wanted it to say.
Now what'll I do, now that it's gone, when nothing but scars remain? I'll just have to imagine, or pretend, that it's still there. Like a phantom limb, a memory of other times.
Though Mark is thinking of getting a piercing, too. Maybe that'll have to do for me.
Postscript: Sorry about the rude word, but I think today's entry merited it.
Friday, April 25, 2003
No skirt yet
But I'm working on it. That's not to say that I am not without substitutes. Jeans are good for keeping me warm. Like today, for instance. It was a coolish start, raining even, but the elements would have had the better of me, had I not been wearing jeans.
Isn't denim great?
I spent my lunch hour canoodling and tiddly-doodling around the shops, trying to find some place that sold clothes in my size range. I actually managed to find a couple. Now if I can only find some in my price range...
Mark might have had a job offer. That's good news. I can now get my once-white puffy coat dry-cleaned. Hurray!
I am reading two non-fiction books concurrently. Indulgence by Paul Richardson is about the convoluted history of chocolate (yum). I started reading it around the Easter break, too, which is très timely. And Editor by Max Hastings is all about his torrid and controversial editorialship at the Daily Telegraph. Verrry interrresting.
Now I'm off to eat some rice-cream.
But I'm working on it. That's not to say that I am not without substitutes. Jeans are good for keeping me warm. Like today, for instance. It was a coolish start, raining even, but the elements would have had the better of me, had I not been wearing jeans.
Isn't denim great?
I spent my lunch hour canoodling and tiddly-doodling around the shops, trying to find some place that sold clothes in my size range. I actually managed to find a couple. Now if I can only find some in my price range...
Mark might have had a job offer. That's good news. I can now get my once-white puffy coat dry-cleaned. Hurray!
I am reading two non-fiction books concurrently. Indulgence by Paul Richardson is about the convoluted history of chocolate (yum). I started reading it around the Easter break, too, which is très timely. And Editor by Max Hastings is all about his torrid and controversial editorialship at the Daily Telegraph. Verrry interrresting.
Now I'm off to eat some rice-cream.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Dollar signs in her eyes
I live in Lucan, County Dublin, a 20 minute bus-ride to the city (that is, on a good day. Peak hour is one hour. Yuk is the word you're looking for, I think.) Quite a suburban, cookie-cutter, no-brain one-template lifestyle. Estates rolling ever onward as far as the bus can drive.
Now that spring is deepening into summer, all the kids are out, throwing balls at each other—sometimes it's rocks at the bus.
Whereas in Australia, a family ticket denotes two adults and two children, Ireland must be the only country where such a ticket can include up to four children.
Excuse me while I guffaw into my cupped hand.
Tomorrow is late-night shopping, and I'm looking forward to nabbing me a skirt with my hard-earned moolah. Don't worry, this has been a budgeted purchase.
I live in Lucan, County Dublin, a 20 minute bus-ride to the city (that is, on a good day. Peak hour is one hour. Yuk is the word you're looking for, I think.) Quite a suburban, cookie-cutter, no-brain one-template lifestyle. Estates rolling ever onward as far as the bus can drive.
Now that spring is deepening into summer, all the kids are out, throwing balls at each other—sometimes it's rocks at the bus.
Whereas in Australia, a family ticket denotes two adults and two children, Ireland must be the only country where such a ticket can include up to four children.
Excuse me while I guffaw into my cupped hand.
Tomorrow is late-night shopping, and I'm looking forward to nabbing me a skirt with my hard-earned moolah. Don't worry, this has been a budgeted purchase.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Windows
Tonight Mark cooked fish balls (ask me what these are, I dare you) in that packet noodle stuff that he likes so much (the brand's mi goreng if you want to seek it out at your local Asian emporium). Very spicy. So spicy that my lower lip is still stinging. And I also cooked banana bread, to use up the bananas that were lying around. I'm pretty pleased, because that means I can take some for lunch at work.
I spent my lunch-hour window-shopping today. But really, no windows were involved. I was actually able to pick up the merchandise (in this case, shoes).
Must be suffering from retail ennui, but at the cash-register side of the counter. Sometimes (like today), I get really... hmm, is disembowelled too strong a word? Maybe I mean a touch disembowelled from dealing with people all day. Sometimes I just want to hide away behind a door and just push pens and paper around.
Tonight Mark cooked fish balls (ask me what these are, I dare you) in that packet noodle stuff that he likes so much (the brand's mi goreng if you want to seek it out at your local Asian emporium). Very spicy. So spicy that my lower lip is still stinging. And I also cooked banana bread, to use up the bananas that were lying around. I'm pretty pleased, because that means I can take some for lunch at work.
I spent my lunch-hour window-shopping today. But really, no windows were involved. I was actually able to pick up the merchandise (in this case, shoes).
Must be suffering from retail ennui, but at the cash-register side of the counter. Sometimes (like today), I get really... hmm, is disembowelled too strong a word? Maybe I mean a touch disembowelled from dealing with people all day. Sometimes I just want to hide away behind a door and just push pens and paper around.
Monday, April 21, 2003
Kick to kick
A small contingent of Hobartians in Dublin celebrated Easter Sunday with a traditional barbecue, braving the cool 8ºC (maximum) weather to have a friendly game of backyard soccer. One local Dublin representative even took part in the friendly sparring.
Intermittently, the sun shone, an event hailed by the cold-nosed antipodeans with raised glasses and much huzzah-ing.
Food consumed included cans of cider (v. good), beer, wine, three salads, burgers, sausages, chicken bits, steak, sweet potatoes, grilled vegetables and, for dessert, a trifle.
A good time was had by all.
Addendum: Yes, I got my choc eggs.
A small contingent of Hobartians in Dublin celebrated Easter Sunday with a traditional barbecue, braving the cool 8ºC (maximum) weather to have a friendly game of backyard soccer. One local Dublin representative even took part in the friendly sparring.
Intermittently, the sun shone, an event hailed by the cold-nosed antipodeans with raised glasses and much huzzah-ing.
Food consumed included cans of cider (v. good), beer, wine, three salads, burgers, sausages, chicken bits, steak, sweet potatoes, grilled vegetables and, for dessert, a trifle.
A good time was had by all.
Addendum: Yes, I got my choc eggs.
Thursday, April 17, 2003
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Eggs
I think we're doing something for Easter this year, but I'm a bit confused. There may be a bird roasted, but maybe not. There may be a barbecue, but maybe not. It's all up in the air at the moment, I think.
Thought it might be cool to ask someone from work to come along, but since I'm not sure what's happening, or when, for that matter (it might be this Saturday, or it might be Sunday), I haven't told them which day.
All I know is, I hope I get chocolate eggs. Because sometimes chocolate's all that really matters.
I think we're doing something for Easter this year, but I'm a bit confused. There may be a bird roasted, but maybe not. There may be a barbecue, but maybe not. It's all up in the air at the moment, I think.
Thought it might be cool to ask someone from work to come along, but since I'm not sure what's happening, or when, for that matter (it might be this Saturday, or it might be Sunday), I haven't told them which day.
All I know is, I hope I get chocolate eggs. Because sometimes chocolate's all that really matters.
Saturday, April 12, 2003
Many hats
Hmm, it doesn't look like a promising day out there in Dublin-land. Mark and I had planned to go out on the local train line, the DART, which runs north-south along the east coast. It's just a bit too clouded over to see anything picturesque, methinks. So, I predict a lazy day bleaching the bath, washing the shower curtains and mopping the floor of the kitchen. Whee!
Our Australian flatmate is heading to Amsterdam for a four-day stay. Lucky her! I told her to read my Aberdeen blog and go to the Amsterdam section. I think she must have liked what she read, because she asked whereabouts St Nicholaas Kerk was on the map.
One of the things that has surprised me about Ireland is just how littered it is. I'd envisioned a country more environmentally-conscious than Australia, and that's just not the case. Have I harped on this before? I probably have. Perhaps when I begin to see more of the country and not just staying in the city, I'll be able to see more of its beateous state. I guess growing up in Tasmania, I've been spoilt by seeing beautiful views everywhere I care to lay my gaze upon.
Oh hey, I haven't mentioned this yet, but I read my poems at an open mike section of a poetry reading. Hurray for me! I steeled myself, after much umm-ing and arrh-ing, and put my name down on the sheet, and read two poems. I got a pretty good reception, but I'm surprised at the quality of the readers for the open mike. Maybe it was a fluke, but I don't think so.
Could it be? Could it be that there is a higher concentration of good poets in Ireland? I think this may be the case. I felt like I was in a roomful of peers. Well, all I can say is, colour me impressed. Not to mention the audience, who were most appreciative and attentive. My goodness, I like it here.
Hmm, it doesn't look like a promising day out there in Dublin-land. Mark and I had planned to go out on the local train line, the DART, which runs north-south along the east coast. It's just a bit too clouded over to see anything picturesque, methinks. So, I predict a lazy day bleaching the bath, washing the shower curtains and mopping the floor of the kitchen. Whee!
Our Australian flatmate is heading to Amsterdam for a four-day stay. Lucky her! I told her to read my Aberdeen blog and go to the Amsterdam section. I think she must have liked what she read, because she asked whereabouts St Nicholaas Kerk was on the map.
One of the things that has surprised me about Ireland is just how littered it is. I'd envisioned a country more environmentally-conscious than Australia, and that's just not the case. Have I harped on this before? I probably have. Perhaps when I begin to see more of the country and not just staying in the city, I'll be able to see more of its beateous state. I guess growing up in Tasmania, I've been spoilt by seeing beautiful views everywhere I care to lay my gaze upon.
Oh hey, I haven't mentioned this yet, but I read my poems at an open mike section of a poetry reading. Hurray for me! I steeled myself, after much umm-ing and arrh-ing, and put my name down on the sheet, and read two poems. I got a pretty good reception, but I'm surprised at the quality of the readers for the open mike. Maybe it was a fluke, but I don't think so.
Could it be? Could it be that there is a higher concentration of good poets in Ireland? I think this may be the case. I felt like I was in a roomful of peers. Well, all I can say is, colour me impressed. Not to mention the audience, who were most appreciative and attentive. My goodness, I like it here.
Thursday, April 10, 2003
A lot happens
Okay, I've just had the weirdest episode in a bookshop take place earlier this week.
I caught a man manipulating himself in the Sex section of the shop. He had to be escorted out of the centre by security. I think he's banned, now.
Not really sure why he couldn't just buy the book. Why the compulsion to do that in public? Just one of those things that makes you shake your head.
I'm currently reading The Rice Mother by Rani Manicka. Surprisingly quite good. Competent. Atmospheric.
Saw Johnny English starring Rowan Atkinson, on Sunday. I say, wait until it comes out on video.
I have a weekend off! Yay for me! Saturday, Sunday, here I come!
Two Irishisms today:
your man—the guy; that guy. 'Your man went to the shop.'
chancer—someone who takes advantage of a situation; what you'd call someone as a putdown.
Okay, I've just had the weirdest episode in a bookshop take place earlier this week.
I caught a man manipulating himself in the Sex section of the shop. He had to be escorted out of the centre by security. I think he's banned, now.
Not really sure why he couldn't just buy the book. Why the compulsion to do that in public? Just one of those things that makes you shake your head.
I'm currently reading The Rice Mother by Rani Manicka. Surprisingly quite good. Competent. Atmospheric.
Saw Johnny English starring Rowan Atkinson, on Sunday. I say, wait until it comes out on video.
I have a weekend off! Yay for me! Saturday, Sunday, here I come!
Two Irishisms today:
your man—the guy; that guy. 'Your man went to the shop.'
chancer—someone who takes advantage of a situation; what you'd call someone as a putdown.
Friday, April 04, 2003
A little anticlimax
I don't think it was the day today, starting off foggy and wet and muzzy like a geriatric dog. I think it was just that I'm not used to so much (brain) activity at once. Goodness, having to think! And write. And be witty (somewhat). And create something to order. But I did the task.
Guess there is a teensy bit of 'darn, I wish I had her job', once I met the editor.
But then look how the day turned out. Strolled down Wicklow Street, headed for my bank on Grafton Street, withdrew the rent-money (yay, I'm a little earner!), then beelined for a patch of grass on St Stephen's Green. I watched a kid, barely able to toddle, chase a mildly be-flustered pigeon with a slice of tomato.
I don't think it was the day today, starting off foggy and wet and muzzy like a geriatric dog. I think it was just that I'm not used to so much (brain) activity at once. Goodness, having to think! And write. And be witty (somewhat). And create something to order. But I did the task.
Guess there is a teensy bit of 'darn, I wish I had her job', once I met the editor.
But then look how the day turned out. Strolled down Wicklow Street, headed for my bank on Grafton Street, withdrew the rent-money (yay, I'm a little earner!), then beelined for a patch of grass on St Stephen's Green. I watched a kid, barely able to toddle, chase a mildly be-flustered pigeon with a slice of tomato.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
Activate
Looks like things are swelling up to a roar of fun and frolic. Tomorrow, internship. Then a couple of freebies to attend in the next day and weeks (first, a screening of Johnny English, then a book launch involving drinks—whee!).
My sister's birthday is forthcoming. Gift purchased ... tick!
Email RSVP to invites ... tick!
Also—and this is one really cool thing—I can finally have something to edit! A newsletter! At the bookstore! 'All is swept by in exclamatory joy!' That's a (albeit imprecise) Sylvia Plath quote, from her Journal, I think.
There is money getting saved in the bank, too. Finally.
*breathe a sigh of relief*
The days are warming up. I am be-skirted lately, having shed the cocoon of my white puffy coat, and emerge into daylight's hours, disencumbered.
Looks like things are swelling up to a roar of fun and frolic. Tomorrow, internship. Then a couple of freebies to attend in the next day and weeks (first, a screening of Johnny English, then a book launch involving drinks—whee!).
My sister's birthday is forthcoming. Gift purchased ... tick!
Email RSVP to invites ... tick!
Also—and this is one really cool thing—I can finally have something to edit! A newsletter! At the bookstore! 'All is swept by in exclamatory joy!' That's a (albeit imprecise) Sylvia Plath quote, from her Journal, I think.
There is money getting saved in the bank, too. Finally.
*breathe a sigh of relief*
The days are warming up. I am be-skirted lately, having shed the cocoon of my white puffy coat, and emerge into daylight's hours, disencumbered.
