Sign

Sorry... the sign had to go.

You guys!
I updated that cool link, which all [two] of you probably clicked on, and then thought, So what's the dealio, yo? Or maybe not. Anyway, look at it again, because it's still cool, even though it's still a slow load.

My brain is melting
I've probably forgotten something, right? Ah, heck and damnfire! Why are there so many deadlines on top of each other at this time of year?

The one company I approached in person is avoiding returning my calls. Maybe I scared them off. Maybe they think I'm stalking them now. What can you do?

If you'd like to give away a free printer to this here writer, send it over. I'll make good use of it, I promise. It'll die a happy death, having given birth to masterpieces of poetry and prose.

Ahem again.

I'm getting hungry. Where are those apricot jam sandwiches?

Go look
Mark sent me a link to this page. Pretty graphics-heavy so it might be a slow load, but it's worth it.

For a footloose girl
I'm certainly making a good pretense at acting busy. I was up till two in the morning, writing on my various projects.

These past few days have been an odd existence, too — living my life online. Well, today, I'm going out and meeting a friend from my old work for coffee. Enough of being cooped in like a chicken. Stretch my feathers! Straighten my neck! Peck, peck, peck!

Ahem.

I received a lovely postal shower on Tuesday: one letter from Hobart and a CD from Hong Kong. After a little investigation, I found that the CD was no other than from Mark! The latest one from Tori, a 'best of' album with accompanying DVD. Yay! Apparently, he'd ordered it off a local website, which is probably affiliated to one that imports from HK. I no complain. Nu-uh.

I think I'm slightly loopy. I might need a little more sleep.

There's a job in the UK that is due this Friday. Luckily, I can email them my application, so no need to worry about stamps there. Here's hoping I get an interview. I would love this job! I get to edit other people's words. What more does one want? (Hm, what about a Piaggio scooter, month-long trips to the Carribbean where one is waited on with pina coladas and freshly sliced mangoes, an outrageous sum in the money, a lovely cottage by the sea, a sleek, nut-brown writing desk with lots of hidden compartments, a swingy-new dress, slinky lingerie, fetching shoes? I could go on all night.)

As it is, I've gone on long enough.

My blog entries are suffering lag
I'm just getting help for it now.

In other news, no job offers as of yet. Am madly scribbling, however.

I think I've been typecast


Eh, you got Plath. Sucks for you.


Who is Your Alter Poet?
brought to you by Quizilla

Shopping
I steeled myself yesterday and actually dropped in a resumé, in person. I figure it's better for people to meet me (and when I say people, I mean the receptionist), rather than speak to some anonymous voice on the phone, or not reply to an extremely professional, well-written email.

Let's see if this strategy actually works.

Not certain, however, whether all this activity... no, I won't finish that sentence. Too negative. Every effort is good. Motion creates emotion. Say yes. Say yes and opportunities will present itself.

Today, Mark and I will toodle into town and do some shopping. Yay! Go, consumerism! We won't be bad. It'll be more like a giant, perambulating window-shopping deal, rather than a buy-the-store-heck-buy-the-whole-damn-mall extravaganza.

(I scare myself sometimes. What am I saying?)

Ooh, I like it
A paper camera! Oh my cod, isn't it the coolest, acest thing ever?

I want one!

And no, I'm not procrastinating. Well, maybe a little.

I went out with my ex-workmates and they were happy to see me. I've never been with such a great bunch of people before, who are so welcoming and genuinely like talking with me. They've even organised a dinner so that we can do a casual-type book-group thing.

So we're doing Indian at this place called, and I kid you not, it's called Nagina Tandoori. And yes, it's pronounced just as you think. I must admit to doing a double-take when I first saw the sign.

Mm, mango lhassis are yum.

Scattered
Okay, I'm feeling it, I admit. But see, some good will come of this scattiness, because I'll eventually feel bored enough to ...

Umm, what was I saying? Sorry, I started to go into this trance because I rang up a poetry publisher this morning (it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be) and asked them what did they require for a poetry manuscript submission and the lady basically said they only publish one a year, and that they were full up until 2006. Which is something I really did not want to hear, but knew that it was going to happen, anyway. Ah, well. What was I saying before that?

Yes, so today I got bored motivated enough to actually ring people up and try to tee up some work.

Do you know how phone-phobic I am? Hm, maybe I'm exaggerating the phobia bit. Let's say I'm unwilling.

I'm unwilling. Though now it seems ennui is a great kick up the butt.

She gets paid
Oh, yeah, only a month later and she rolls in a (small) pile of dough! Excellent. A cheque! For turning up to a movie set and doing nothing.

If only the rest of life were as cool.

Not used to it
People don't know what to do with warm sunny days. I do. Loll. Lounge. Swagger. Stroll and enjoy the sun's rays as they plow furrows into your scalp, clothe your skin.

Sky rockets in flight
I love it when my orange juice is pithy and pulpy. You can really taste it then, and it gives just that extra zing to the morning.

All the coloured paper streamers that once littered the living room now trails and almost smothers our tabletop Christmas tree. Just like in our old place in Hobart, on Bathurst Street, a few hang on the curtain rails in a rather rakish and decadent fashion. We enjoy popping our poppers. Probably gave the guy living below us a scare, but what the hey, it's New Year's.

Our fridge contains remnants of Christmas cake, brandy butter and tiramisu. Almost time to weed them out. Our eyes were bigger than our stomachs.

That song of tiredness
Had such a broken sleep last night. Getting better though, I think.

We have a friend from Hobart (who now lives in Sydney) here in Dublin staying over. We got this fold-up mattress, and he said he had a comfy sleep on it. So that's good. We were up till past midnight, talking, so we probably kept the guy downstairs from sleeping.

It's rainy-wet out there.

Don't know why
While not up to the level of warfare that ensued on Halloween, New Year's was still pretty impressive. There were lots of fireworks last night. These crazy Irish! Don't they know it's illegal in many countries for a reason? They sure were pretty lights in the sky, though.

And the house is clean, but I am ill. I've just requested a cup of tea from Mark. Here's hoping he delivers.

Eat, eat, sleep, write
Still alive and eating. I even wrote something! Hurray for writing!

I miss friends in Hobart. I miss family. But I like it here, too.

I wish I had a teleporter.

Yay, Christmas love
You all can stay. You're all good. Except for you there -- you better quit that, I'm warning you...

Been ringing up the rellies and friends, saying hello, hearing their patent surprise down all the millions of fibre optic cable between us.

'Are you in Hobart?
'No, I'm in Dublin.'
'Oh. (pause as the munificent, shining light of comprehension dawns in their eyes...) Oh!'

Ah, bless... They're lovely, really they are.

So, presents were good, chocolate was good, even my tiramisu was good! Mm, yum. Mark had a weird craving for it and insisted that I make it, and what else could I do but graciously acquiesce?

Gourmet Magazine's Tiramisu
Serves 8-10

Ingredients
Espresso Syrup
WATER, 1/3 cup
SUGAR, 1/2 cup
ESPRESSO, 2/3 cup strong brewed
ITALIAN OR DOMESTIC BRANDY, 1/4 cup, optional

Mascarpone Filling
HEAVY WHIPPING CREAM, 1-1/2 cups
SUGAR, 1/3 cup
VANILLA EXTRACT, 2 teaspoons
MASCARPONE CHEESE, 1 pound, softened to room temperature
SAVOYARDI, 1/2 pound, imported or domestic ladyfingers, or sliced sponge cake
COCOA POWDER

Directions for Syrup
Combine water and sugar in a small saucepan.
Bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally to dissolve sugar.
Remove from heat, cool.
Add coffee and optional brandy.

Directions for Filling
Whip cream with sugar and vanilla until soft peaks form.
Fold cream into softened mascarpone.

Directions for Assembly
Place a layer of the savoyardi, ladyfingers or sponge cake slices in the bottom of a shallow medium-sized baking dish or gratin dish.
Sprinkle with half the syrup.
Spread with half the filling.
Repeat with remaining savoiardi, syrup and filling, spreading the top smooth, using a metal spatula.
Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for up to 24 hours before serving.
Immediately before serving place cocoa in a fine strainer and shake a light coating on surface.

For afternoon lunch, we settled into a cheese platter extravaganza of four different cheeses (including lovely, smelly blue cheese), two patés, two boxes of water crackers and a bottle of champagne. All the rich food for which there's no reason to eat at any other time of the year suddenly seems so apropos now.

Feliz Navidad y Prospero Año Felicidad!

Ticking lists
I think the best way to feel any sort of forward momentum is to tick off tasks completed on one's to-do list. Helps with raising the optimism levels.

Went to a friend's Christmas party last night. A very groovy time, I had. There was lovely mulled wine in her lovely apartment full of lovely, friendly people. Consumption on two occasions of the red, syrupy liquid has led me to conclude that the alcohol hit arrives soon after you tip back your head from licking down the last squirrelly drop. I'm not complaining...

Time, time, time
See what's become of me
Urgh, I think I have a lot, but really there's not enough. And still I am magnetised by the screen; its flatness binds me to it.

Vile, evil devil, begone!

Sorry, I don't think I'm making sense. Shall I show you my to-do list?

• Finish writing co-authored bit of prose.
  
• Select poems to send back to literary journal in Australia.
  
• Have a shower.
  
• Buy egg-beater, mascarpone cheese, brandy and heavy cream to make the tiramisu that Mark's had a sudden craving for.
  
• Get ready for another party tonight.
  
• Write more poems.
  
• Edit more reviews.
  
• Read all the .pdfs I have stored in the 'puter.
  
• Get s'more sleep.

*gasp*

Party here, party there, everywhere a party
Drink, drink, guzzle, eat, indulge, bleary-eyed staggering to the mirror, too bright lights, eat milky crunchy breakfast, gulp squirmy grapefruit juice, type type type, click click click

Wash, dress, type type type, click click click, out the window the weather passes by, hunger pangs and bangs against stomach walls, growl

Time to go, party waits, drink Bailey's Galliano with orange juice Southern Comfort and lemonade, talk laugh think, icecubes shiver and clink

Time to go catch the bus, food splatters on grass and ground, someone's bleary head dizzy with sleep leaning into stranger's shoulders, laugh and point and laugh, they get off, we get off

Walk walk walk home bed laugh sleep

Hmm, off to Justice I go
Practising before meeting with authority-type people who are in a position to play keepsies-away between me and Ireland.

Well, let's see how this works now, okay? I'm a writer. No, that's not right (write?). Let's start again.

I write.

Scribo ergo sum.

Yo no soy marinero. I am not a captain.

Oh, crap, what do I do now? Get a hold of yourself and get your story straight, woman!

Dammit.

My tree is bent
I bought a wee tree. It is a little bent from where it has been leaning towards the sun, straining for that vital photosynthetic process that keeps it alive. It is minimally decorated. There is a gold bow tied at the top, as if it were a spray of hair on a little green-tressed child. There is a green bauble tied to a twig with red ribbon. There is a bell with its red ribbon. It tinkled when I took it home on the bus, but not enough to be irksome. Everyone seemed to look at me in the crowded bus, but that may have been my imagination. They were probably all jealous of my little bent tree, because my little bent tree is an individual, one of a kind, the runt of a now long-gone litter. But they can't have my tree. My tree is here at home, with me.

Sentimentally yours
It was good to find out what's been going on in my absence. My brother's little boy sounds extremely winsome and cute. Only some months old and already a genius, apparently. Makes me smile to hear of it.

I also rang up a friend with another birthday and bundle of joy. Gushed to her all my news and I loved hearing her voice. Talking on the phone, you feel so near to each other.

Not so sentimental, but still exciting was going to the studio film set as an extra. Ended up not being used but I still got paid, which is just a bonus. An extremely interesting experience, and I'm quite keen to do it again.

Today, first thing on the agenda, is to send off a query submission to a poetry publisher. It must be done.

Oh my cod, it's early
I hope the phone call to go to the studio and be an extra was not a prank because this is mighty funky, and not entirely in a good way.

Trial run to Bray yesterday went off without a hitch, ably assisted as I was by the lovely Mark. We even detoured to a secondhand record/CD/DVD/video shop that also stocked some quirky zines. This gave me a fab idea and I will provide more detail in due course.

Hooray for fab ideas!

Wake up at 5.30am
So I have to be at this studio, which is about 40 minutes away (I think) by the Dart. And I have to wear white sneakers.

Curiouser and curiouser...

So I'm going to have to negotiate getting there. I will do a trial run this afternoon so I can calculate how long it will take. Hopefully, the traffic will be light on so that I can get there quickly.

Here's to imminent (ha!) stardom!

Little star?
Umm, I've not mentioned this, in case I come off sillier than usual, but I signed up for this casting database about two weeks ago, and now I think I might be called to be an extra for something on TV or a movie.

Gimme a little woohoo. Ain't that just perfect timing?

Another living end
Farewell drinks last night at The Duke. I'm not much of a drinker, but I have not drunk so much. I guess the occasion demanded it, really. My drinks of choice? Baileys neat (no ice, dudes), alternating with Galliano and orange juice. Very classy.

Do poets really need to be drunkards/drug addicts to be good? Ah, that's a silly little cliché that everyone should dispense with. I shared my vision of what poets should be like, and it sounded really bad at the end of it. Can't have everything... but I'm a dreamer. In a way, that's my job.

So drinks until very late, and I'm just having a quiet morning. They sent me off into the big bad world with a lovely card, some pocket money and a copy of the 2004 Writers and Artists' Yearbook. What more does a poet need?

Work berk
Bundled myself onto the bus and into work. This killer flu has laid everyone low, like a bowling ball with bowling pins.

Actually, I see this end-of-work thing as a mixed blessing. Sure, I won't have as much money, but really, is Christmas a good time to deal with cranky, stressed, impolite, even downright rude dudes? No, I didn't think so.

Mark emailed me this link about a library robot made in Japan. Yeah, but can it deal with psycho-customers from Hell? No, didn't think so.

Revamped
More writerly fun over my previous incarnation, re-named Ivy is here. Are you sure you can stand so much solipsism?

Okay, today
Feeling relatively normal. Writing, writing and editing.

I watch condensation drip down the glass as frost on the grass slowly retreats from the sun's heat.

Poke out my tongue
I hope I get well soon. I feel like I'm being led up the path to a state of funky ennui.

Been reading out loud the Rough Guide to Paris to Mark, who's getting quite hyped about seeing Versailles, riding on the canal-boats, and eating all the groovy street food. March/April/May would probably be the best times to go, but whether we'd have enough in our collective pockets is another thing.

If in doubt, watch a movie. DVDs to be precise. Bring on the Special Features. I love peeking inside the film, seeing what bits aren't obvious from an initial viewing. You know, insider information. This week:

Enemy of the State
Heartbreakers
Stir of Echoes
8mm
Family Man

Now see which two I chose, which two were Mark's and which one we both agreed on.

My confession
I've just been Googling my friend. Sorry, friend, but you never write.

In other news, I'm in my furry slippers and robe. Outside, the day is gray and I've crossed off one more item on my to-do list.

Tonight, I might not be well enough to go dancing. Dammit.

Stay
Okay, more dot-points.

• Still drinking green tea.
  
• Now have choc eggs on hand. Also mandarins, a grapefruit, and various medicines.
  
• Have sent off various bits and bobs for likely income-producing prospects.
  
• Cross fingers, knock wood... anything else for luck?
  
• Twin Peaks series on DVD, plus pilot episode for two nights' loan!
  
• Wondering whether I want to live in a place where they call their coins 'p'.
  
• Now have two writing projects, plus the editing thing.
  
• Thank Cod for computers.
  

Ah, frigate!
I'm home early from work. Will not get to schmooze and meet up with famous authors or likely publishers who will give me a new job.

Oh, and it's not Saturday week, it's Thursday week. Just to cap it all off.

Briefs
Not the underwear kind, but the point-form sort.

• I think I might be catching Mark's cold.
  
• I finish work Saturday week. This means I am imminently lacking funds unless I do something.
  
• I'm having yummy green tea.
  
• A Booker Prize winner is coming around the bookshop tonight for this book-launch.

Getting the hang of it
I don't think these days off by myself are very productive for me. Not really sure what to do!

'Get off the internet, girl!' my inner voice tells me.
'Shut up, this is fun,' the other one says.

*sigh*

French toast
Mark's sicky today, so I made him some french toast for brekkie, served with serious maple syrup yum. Then we had a walk around Terenure, just to see what was around our next-neighbourhood.

We wandered over to the boulangerie in Rathgar, bought some sticks of bread and cheese, and had that for lunch. And now, here I am, blogging about it.

Oh my goodness, oh my soul!
Umm, this is pretty huge. I just found out tonight.

One of my poems is going to be used for an exam in New South Wales.

It's going to be printed on 50,000 papers.

Oh. my. god.

Who?
According to this news item that Mark emailed to me (yeah, that's right. We don't talk, we email), some so-and-so's made an attempt to break David Boon's record for number of beers drunk on a plane, or some such thing.

Anyway, the record remains unbroken. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is going, Who? But all ye Tasmanians and cricket fans, we know who Boonie is.

Carn, Boonie!

I forgot
I've been meaning to post one item here. Don't know if it falls under gossip or odd trivia or what. Anyway...

You know Clive James, right? The writer? The guy who sometimes turns up on TV with a weird accent that's sorta Brit, sorta Aussie, sorta Yank? He was at the bookshop last week, signing books during a walkabout of the Dublin bookshops. Anyway...

He's got hairy ears.

That's all.

A bit of kulcha
What a groovy weekend I've just had.

Went to see Beckett's Waiting for Godot at the Gate Theatre, which was some kind of special. Although I didn't really get off on the titchiness it induced in me during the second act, I'm glad I went and saw it all the same. And just like I have a need to find the underlying meaning of Mulholland Drive, I think I have decoded Beckett's play.

I was reading a couple of pages from his work at the bookshop, and it is really quite compulsive. I'm tempted to buy a copy. Maybe I'll just flail around a couple of secondhand bookshops until I find one.

Anyway, Beckett was my Saturday night, while Tarantino was my Sunday. And I, like many others, liked Kill Bill.

Finished reading a proof copy of Garrison Keillor's Love Me, which had quite a good start, but seemed to flag a bit in the end. The use of poems in the novel was quite intriguing, though.

And so I am here today -- my day off. I've just polished off my muesli and grapefruit juice (sour face) and I'm ready to procrastinate.

Quick quick
Did some dancing tonight, and boy, my hips kinda hurt.

All the lights are up in the city, Christmas trees, street decorations, all blinking and colourful; the night seems bright and clear, people flowing around us as we walk to catch a bus home.

I'm looking forward to my dinner. Did I say it's now just after 10pm?

Stamps
I sold some of my chapbooks at work yesterday, which netted me some cash so that I can buy some stamps! Yay! At least, it's a healthy cycle, you know what I mean?

I'm so tired tonight, I can't think straight. But before I go to sleep, I must send off some poems.

No peeled grapes
But very happy, anyway. I've just received a response from an online journal (that actually pays for poems), though only after a little prodding from me, of course. Ahem. Waiting almost a year for a yea or nay is just cause for a prod, don't you think?

So, his response was quite encouraging: he 'nearly' took one. Cool cool cool.

I sent off a submission today, my first in a long while. I might even try the poetry publishers now. Maybe.

Still I am gripped by doubt. This must stop.

The wind
It whistles behind the board that covers the hole of the fireplace, up along the throat of the chimney, like the last exhalations from rattling lungs. It shakes the windows in their grooves, and flings raindrops against the glass, sends leaves skittering along the path, children let out from school at long last. The telephone lines sway and sway, and on the lawn, a shirt lies down like a dead body. Today, he rides to work, the wind's cold grasp snaking down his neck, presses on his cheeks, steals his breath away.

Oh, poop
Just lost an entry.

What'd I say? I said I was watching Mark eat a Galaxy chocolate. Now I'm eating a bit. Also, that I was tired. And that sometimes I don't know what I'm saying when I'm tired.

People here don't know what to make of the beautiful weather we've been having lately. The Irish are so fatalistic. They're funny. I love it, though. I say, Revel!

Chocolate cake
Mark's birthday yesterday, so I made him a cake! It was pretty good.

Umm, what else? We just pottered around, as you do on a lazy Sunday.

Now I'm waiting for my hot chips to come out of the oven. Mmm, chips.

Personal barometers
In Hobart, there is Mt Wellington by which one can tell what the weather might be like for that day. If it had snow, it was going to be cold. If not, it might be okay. Here in Dublin, I have the window-panes.

The past couple of days, there have been no fogging-up of the windows, and like a borne-out prediction, they have been mild, beautiful, unseasonal winter days:

I love these good days
when weather does not deserve
its reputation

Today, there is a little fog around the edges, and Mark had to come back to put on a heavier layer, after stepping out in just a t-shirt and jacket.

What's your barometer?

Dancing fools
I forgot how much dancing makes my hips hurt. I think I may be overcompensating for when Mark goes forward with his right foot and my own left foot goes back in response, because that is the leg which was aching the most yesterday.

But still it's fun. Good to be dancing again. And we were, by far, the most advanced couple on the floor. Aren't you impressed?

Belated pumpkin
Meet Edward. Well, actually, you probably will never ever get to meet Edward because the last time I saw him, he was in pieces after a successful suicide bid out of our bedroom window.

Don't ask.

Anyhoo... Shh! I have a secret. I'm not telling but it's writing-related. Don't worry, not getting published, but am writing. Very cool.

I wonder
Did I just say that?

Wasabi peas yum
Ah-huh, doesn't get much better than this.

Ooh-ooh, would it be terribly bad of me to exploit a contact if they know someone who can help me get my poetry manuscript published?

Maybe nothing will come out of it, but I got to try.

Sometimes I think I should resign myself to waiting till people are clamouring for my poetry to be in a book.

It could be a long wait. Tee-hee!

Listening to the 80s
As a leaving present from my previous place of employment here in Ireland, I was given a book of poems by Irish poets (of course) and a presentation case of eight CDs of 80s music.

Okay, I like 80s music. I do. There is no 'but' to this paragraph. I was just surprised that someone would give this to me. Maybe it was the way I'd sing along to it at work, or the fact that I'd put one 80s music at every opportunity that gave people this idea that I would enjoy it. Yeah, that might be it.

The thing is, I don't play it enough, you know? Gotta be in the mood for the ol' 80s, which was why it was perfect for work. It seemed to provide a certain escapism there. At home, it just feels like a nostalgia kick. Ah, well.

It's nearly time to leave this second bookshop. And I've got to hustle (as in 'work hard', not 'sell') my butt once more.

As Ned Kelly once said, 'I am an outlaw, and my orders must be obeyed. Make no noise. Raise no alarm. Keep your hands up and stand against the wall.'

Oh, hang on, that's not what I'd meant to write.

Nevermind, that'll do.

Last night, he said
"It's like a war zone out there." Although fireworks are illegal in Ireland, you wouldn't have thought so from the view outside our living-room window, where we had front row seats to our very own four-hour fireworks display.

When we stepped outside, the streets were littered with lolly wrappers and the air was smoky with the smell of cordite. Madness.

As I made my way home from a very tentative day at work (because I was still just getting back into the swing of things; still sick, you know, but getting better thank you very much), I was sitting at the top of this double-decker bus (trés cool), when I heard this splash behind me.

At first, I thought, 'Oh no, some poor dork's opened their water bottle and it's spilled everywhere.' But it was worse than that.

I looked over my shoulder, and in actuality, it was some poor girl who'd just whoopsied all down the stairwell, where smelly vom cascaded against the wall, down the steps and over this woolly-hatted dude's sleeve.

That sharp acidic smell followed me home.

But the upside is, I'm getting sausages and mash for dinner tonight. Just as soon as Mark gets home. Yay!

Happy Halloween!
We've got a pumpkin called Mr Edward E Pumpkinhead. Yay!

And Internet, too! I'm blogging from home and it feels so good. Been ill with a cold that feels suspiciously like the flu; this despite getting a flu injection.

Haiku seems to be the way I'm slipping back into the writing realm. Feels weird.

Internet soon
Mark and I bought a laptop recently, so we'll be able to surf and turf within the next two weeks. I have big plans.

Gearing up for Christmas already, and it's only, what, October? Crazy. And here's me, wanting chestnuts.

I want chestnuts.

Harry Potter's wand
A rude but funny link.

Galway
So, we're out of Dublin. Finally! Found a cosy attic space in a bed and breakfast (which, incidentally, does not serve breakfast, but such are the vagaries of travel), and now I'm setting down my impressions.

It's a very youth-centric city. Quite cool. And with a fair bit of Spanish influence here.

The train ride over was lulling. Threading our way past fields that mirrored Scotland, and Tasmania, and a lot of pastoral landscapes.

Now hopefully we'll find a place to eat. I'm starvin'!

Yes!
Among the many good things happening, I also wrote a haiku yesterday:

Silk threads wind-jostled
red leaf caught between the bars
soft saw-tooth ripples

Our home is lovely. I gloat when I think of it. Bought silver cutlery! No longer have to use plastic fork for breakfast.

Now all we need a music-maker. While one of the perks of my bookshop job is free CDs, sadly, I have nothing on which to play quite-defunct discs.

This coming weekend, Mark and I have finally pulled out our collective fingers to arrange a day off. We get three days in which to explore the rest of Ireland. Now that warrants a huzzah.

Huzzah!

It's ours!
We have it. Our very own place. So looking forward to moving in and stamping ourselves all over it.

So if any of you need a place to stay over (one at a time, ladies and gents!), there is a living-room floor in Rathgar that has your name on it. But be nice!

Now, excuse me while I take a sip of this nice French merlot.

Quiet glee
High: Day off!
Low: But I work tomorrow.
High: Day off on Sunday!
Low: _________ [No low at present that I can see.]

So, I've got two names of literary agencies to whom I can apply for work. I'm thinking something occasional might be good for me, so that I've got time to write.

House-hunting is also proceeding apace. Possible areas of habitation (or is that co-habitation?) are Harold's Cross [nice, kinda olde worlde swanky], Portobello [same, but near a groovy little canal], and Rathgar [don't know much about this suburb, but it would be close in to a supermarket—always a bonus].

I suggest we genuflect before the benign house-hunting gods (Lares and Penates?) to grant me safe asylum somewhere with a big kitchen, and no psycho neighbours.

Launch
All these people being launched. Their books. Makes me want to write. Out of envy, or inertia, or something not quite right.

It's pretty damn early, and I'm hungry, so I eat my bowl of muesli, hoping to placate the yowling beast that is my stomach, so catch me some zzz's.

The drums! The drums!
Mark's gone to a drumming session. He's pretty excited about it. So there's a birthday present idea, I guess: tom-toms!

In other news, we're thinking of relocating. Again.

What fun.

But hopefully, we'll be able to find our own place. And then, bliss!

Early to rise
Yay! Catching up on sleep-debt is trés cool. I feel so rested now.

Yesterday, I went to see Matchstick Men, starring Nicholas Cage. It was quite good. Had a bag of popcorn with me. Somehow, I've been inculcated to think that movies aren't the same without some consumables nearby.

Just finished reading The Devil Wears Prada: a scary insight into magazine publishing, but still fluffy for all that. Now I'm onto Umberto Eco's Baudolino, heavily touted as being equivalent to The Name of the Rose. I'll give you the verdict when I've finished.

I'm powering through my books. Have also finished Fast Food Nation. Now that's a scary read. No more McFries for me.

Sleep eludes me
I like sleep, but early starts have whacked up my routine, and now I'm at 4.30am, typing, obsessing, worrying, instead of sleeping in. On the other hand, I guess it's good that I've got enough to do. Rather that than be bored.

Yes, I know
But really, these bags under my eyes testify to everything. Too many Baileys? No, never. Nuh-uh!

Baileys is yummy, though.

Why is it that one can't ever sleep when one really needs to?

I have reviews to edit. Need more motivation! Can one find motivation at the bottom of a butterscotch schnapps bottle, I wonder?

Lack of sleep certainly helps tangential thinking. Though some people would probably call it loopy thinking.

So this is a glimpse of my state of mind today. Scary, huh?

Long time coming
I've neglected my poetry for the last few months. Now I smell the breath of autumn and it is as crisp as a freshly-bitten apple.

I love autumn. It is the season most conducive to writing. I wonder why that is.

Looking at the other poetry books on the shelves at work, I have to quash my squiggles of envy. Why do I want a book so much? Not for the money. Oh, no. Ho-ho-ho-ho. Money? I think not. What then?

The reason is inarticulable (just like that word). But I must send my work out. I must. Papers, ink, come to my aid.

First days back
I'm missing Spain already. Waah! I want cheap food, and cheap alcohol, and cheap food again, and warmer climes, and long drives up the coast looking at weird, burnt, hyper-terrestrial landscapes.

Yesterday, I went back to work. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I wore my new boots and they didn't even make my feet that much. Probably not a detail that you needed to know, but there you go.

This morning, I made Mark some French toast.

"I wonder if they have French toast in France?" Mark asked.
"Dunno. Guess we're going to have to go there to find out," I replied.

They were yummy, actually, even if I do say so myself, slathered as they were with faux maple syrup and topped with banana slices. I think Mark might be missing his tostados, which are bigger versions of Melba toast, that he had for breakfasts in Alicante, spread with apricot jam on top.

I love breakfasts.

My sister called me this morning. She sounded happy. I think it's because of this boy. She thinks he's The One (no, not Neo from the Matrix, you silly). She asked me again when I was going back.

I don't know when I'm ever going back.

¡Hola, amigos y amigas!
Hey, this keyboard I´m using is weird. But I kinda like it.

Typing in an internet cafe here in Alicante, but am actually staying in Torrevieja. It´s actually a bit of a nothing town (Torrevieja, that is, not Alicant, which is muy bien). The Lucan of Alicante, if you know what I mean, full of development high-rises and bland, salty spaces.

I like the rest of Spain so far, though. Went northwards, past Culleras, where Mark and I stayed overnight, and I got to try my first Spanish transactions. Interestingly, a double bed is not dobles cama, but cama de matrimonia; literally, the matrimonial bed. Hmm.

We drove over 800 km in our first three days. To Salou and back again. Quite wish that we didn´t tie ourselves down to an apartment, but should have just done a road-trip instead. Ah, well, we´ll know next time.

A good word to know is quisiera, which means I would like, and he/she would like. And everyone says hola, which is all you really need, I think (not quite, but close enough).

Food is cheap. It would be good to live here. So warm. Everything shuts down in the afternoon, just as I´ve heard it said. Good to know Spain meets and exceeds expectations.

Sing it one more time

I'm leaving
on a jetplane
don't know when I'll be back again...

Well, I do know. Back again on Saturday, folks and blokes. Not really sure about Internet doo-dahs while in Alicante, but I'll be keeping track of what I've been up to, don't you worry.

Still got packing to do. All the necessary detritus.

Ah, life!

Tired
A co-worker, recently returned from her own one-year working holiday in Australia, said to me, "I like hearing your accent. It reminds me of my time there."

"Well, it's not really a strong Australian accent, though, is it? A bit muddied," I said.

"I still like it."

There you go. There's no accounting for it. I've had one lady on the phone also inform me how pleasant I sounded.

Must be something in the water here.

Obsolescence
Well, I guess that's what it means when you're not even given the staff training the other full-time employees get, because they figure you won't even be there in three months.

Bah! Humbug.

I guess I better start spreading my CV out like a virus.

Scrapes and abrasions
My mum sent me a text the other day. She'd been in a motorbike accident. Not serious, luckily. Just grazes on her elbows and knees, and a deep cut in her right palm.

I'm glad it was not worse. Though I'm annoyed she wasn't wearing gloves and other protective gear, I'm glad she was wearing a helmet.

Wine on my sleeve
There was a launch at the bookshop today, and I was a wine jockey for the evening. Quite interesting, I suppose.

The author was polite enough to come over and introduce himself, even excusing himself when he had to go away. He was also slightly nervous, judging from the clammy quality of his handshake.

Funny how nerves are quite catching, because I started to feel a bit shaky myself. But I got into the swing of things soon enough. Then I spilt some wine on my sleeve, and now I smell like an alky. Yuk.

Late and early
Earlier starts to the day this week, but tomorrow I can sleep in a little. Yay! Might do some op-shopping. Always fun.

Mark sent me this old article about Tim Tams. Sometimes I'm so suggestible. I could do with one now.

There's an Australia shop near where I work and I saw that they sold Twisties. I thought, Cool! Went back the following day with some money, and walked out in disgust when I saw they were priced at €3! Scandalous! That's about six Aussie dollars! This is just, you know, the normal-sized bag, not the bigger packets that you can get. So, goodbye Twisties! No way, José.

Am I the only one?
This is getting ridiculous. Almost an hour to download spam? I think spammers should be strung up by their heels.

Puh!

A one-day weekend is not good
But you know what? I'll live.

Mark bought tickets for our flight to Alicante. That should be fun. It'll be getting into autumn there, so it won't be as hellishly hot as it has been reported.

I've bought a Spanish phrasebook, but I'm having little hits of anxiety. What if I am totally clueless?

Poetry has made me the millionaire I am today
Not really. But I have, right now, in my hot little hand, a cheque for the queenly sum of €30.

That's right. Read 'em and weep.

I am still a professional poet. Ooh, yeh. Rockin'!

The things I do
I saw a movie: Buffalo Soldiers, quite good, in a noir-ish, cynical kinda way.

I'm reading a book: A Sweet Obscurity by Patrick Gale. 'Tis quite good, so far.

The weather's changing to an autumnal cool, daylight hours shrinking infinitesimally, the wind dancing on flesh raising little goosebumps.

But I'm looking forward to our upcoming week-long trip to Alicante. I think it will be fun.

Just like a weekend, only crunchy
Hey, I get the next two days off! Yay!

I might do something wild and crazy. Like read a book. Or go see a movie (I particularly want to see Swimming Pool with Charlotte Rampling). Or op-shop!

Hmm, I think I'm going to like working at this bookshop. They seem more reasonable to me.

Quickly now
Job's fine, but my hands hurt. Is that bad? I do this scanning and it's a big hurty object I carry. Maybe I'm going to get arthritis. Woe!

I went to a concert last night at The Point. I probably would have enjoyed it more had it been my sort of music. I hadn't even heard of Manu Chao prior to getting tickets to this event. I had heard of the Asian Dub Foundation though.

Me tired now. Must eat muesli and sleep.

Working girl
My feet hurt. And I'm wondering, do I still like working in a bookshop?

I think my sections are Fiction A-Z (yay!), Biography (ho-hum), and Sport (uh, wha?).

Now, I'm going to go for a lie-down.

Irishisms, Part... ummm... II? III?
Fillum: a movie, a film. No idea why there is an extra syllable, but there you go. Charming, innit?

Okay, my mind's a sieve. That's all I can remember for now. Never claimed to be a lexicographer or some such other clever-clogsy type person, have I?

Such a gorgeous summer Ireland's been having. It is just right, especially for showing off some of my summer tops. Yo-ho!

Went for a McFeed this morning and was not impressed by my stuffed-up order of pancakes. The first time, there was no butter or syrup (don't mind about the butter so much, though). Waited five minutes. Went up to the counter—still no syrup. 'It's got to be fetched from upstairs,' the teenaged boy shrugged apologetically at me. Sat down, got back up, taking my cold pancakes and said to him that I'll just got a fresh one when the syrup turns up.

Sat down again, ate a couple of bitefuls of Mark's snausage-and-egg-mcmuffs, disconsolate at my ruined breakfast. Got back up, waited some more. By that time, another customer was waiting for their pancake, too. The manager, after running around like a headless chook, asked what I was waiting for. 'My pancakes,' I bit out. 'I've been waiting ten minutes for my pancakes,' the guy behind me peeped.

My second batch was doled out to me, fresh from the microwave. I could feel from touching the base of the styrofoam packaging that this was not a hot pancake meal. I bitched at Mark, who took pity on me, went up to the counter and got me a tepid one.

At least I had syrup.

That'll teach me.

Bodies at rest
I'm not doing anything too strenuous before I start work on Monday.

Just finished reading Man and Boy by somebody Parsons. It's all right, but you know, I wish I can make myself skip from reading the blurbs, because a book can hardly keep pace with the hype, sometimes.

I wonder how I'll cope being back in a full-time capacity, after this one-month holiday?

Sedate
On the way home, I watched a dozen ducks sunning themselves on low-tide rocks in the river, every single one facing upstream. Some heads were tucked under a wing, others were grooming, still others were asleep on their feet.

It was very soporofic to watch them, as the water wound past, and the sun heating down overhead. I almost felt guilty for my sleepy thought: 'I wonder what wild river duck tastes like?'

By the way, I got the job. My second bookshop in Ireland! I'll get through all of them yet!

I'm in
I received a copy of Anon recently, and I'm in it! Yay! It's a beautiful little book, too.

I'm so proud.

Making a list
I've been so good, I think. Doing things to keep me busy during this jobsearch. Some are even jobsearch-related!

I don't want to be a journalist. I just want to be an editor. Is that so hard for peeps to understand?

My spore-scars are fading daily. I'll be left with nothing but weals where the annoying fungus has marked its path on me.

Hurray!

An interview
Tomowwow, tomowwow, I love ya, tomowwow!

I'm plumping for a part-time job, but you know, I feel a bit weird not working. Seems unfair to me. They're only offering full-time work at the moment.

Ah, well. What can you do? Mark's suggesting I negotiate, but I'm not that kinda girl.

I need girl-power.

What the heck am I doing?
I'm in denial. I've got this directory, full of contacts in the magazine publishing industry, and I'm afraid to use it.

I guess I'm scared about leaving my ass to hang out in the wind. Yeah, that's it.

My theory is, if I go for a job that doesn't matter so much, that it won't hurt if I don't get. You think? Maybe?

I'm such a wimp.

Grind
Oh, my nose! Darn this grindstone!

I wrote an application today. Hey, I gotta start slow, you know. T'ain't easy.

Here Comes the Hot Tepper
My interview by Interrobang?!’s Dave Tepper
[Ooh, these are all well thought-out questions, Dave.]

Fantastic! Here we go.

1. Most Americans don't even know what Canberra is, much less how to pronounce it. (My readers, of course, are much smarter than that!) Tell us Yanks three things about Australia we really ought to know.

• Australia has a really embarrassing Prime Minister at the moment. The most embarrassing thing John Howard has done, to my mind, was when he sucked-up to your President in the most obsequious, brown-nosing manner possible. Like, get a room, guys!
  
• Having moved around a bit (from Manila to Hobart, Melbourne, Aberdeen and now Dublin), I can say that the best thing about Australia is that it gets a lot of things right, but it’s still a long way off from places like Amsterdam or Hong Kong, both cities that I love for their energy, atmosphere and culture.
  
• Kangaroos don’t hop down the main street of most capital cities.
  

2. What happened on 15 August 2002 that made you start blogging?

That was my first day in Aberdeen, Scotland. I was to live there for six months, the longest stretch of time I would be away from Australia. I wanted to set down my thoughts, so that I could share my experience with family and friends back home. I also knew I needed to be occupied during that time, because I was only on a visitor’s visa to the UK, and was not allowed to work. That was some major suck.

3. "Neither a debtor nor a lender be." Here at Interrobang?!, though, death is not an option: would you rather be a debtor or a lender, and why?

I don’t like being in debt, so I’d rather be a lender. But I’m a poor lender, too! I would hound my little brother and sister when they’d borrow a dollar, nagging them, asking, ‘Can you pay it today? I’ll start charging interest soon, you know.’ I was, like, eight. Mind you, I’ve got a fairly hefty HECS (Higher Education Contribution Scheme) debt. [This is a debt accrued by students who can’t pay up-front fees on university courses, discharged by paying extra tax once the ex-student starts earning enough money]. Ahem.

4. What will your life be like ten years from now?

God! Who knows? This is a toughie. Okay…

I’d like to have my first and second book of poetry published by then. I’d want to have seen more of Europe and the US… Definitely want to go hang out in Canada. So, ten years from now, I’ll be more worldly-wise, I think. I’ll have cats. I’ll have a room for my books. That’s all I can see. So if I have those things that must mean I’ll be mostly happy.

5. Who was your first love, and whatever happened to him or her?

First love. Hmm. That would have to be Aaron. I actually wrote to him early this year, as I was terribly curious about that very same question. In summary, this was the answer.

He was in a motor vehicle accident. He required reconstructive surgery. He got better. He started managing bands and doing karaoke gigs. And he’s got a young son now, who seems to be the most important person in his life.

Whew! [Thanks, Dave!]

Okay, dudes and dudettes, here are the rules:

• If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me." I will respond by asking you five questions.
• You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.
• You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
• When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Now, who’s up next?

Q&A
I've just put my name down for an interview. It's a meme going around that's caught my fancy.

I'm all a-tingle. I wonder what my questions will be. I'm tempted to say 'please be gentle', but that might come out all wimpy. Hmm. What about 'bring it to the par-tay'?

Too mid-90s, methinks.

Carry-on hand luggage
Did you know that, since it is both expensive and rare in Ireland, I brought back not one, but two kilos of Milo in my backpack?

Yep. I'm nothing but a donkey for drinking chocolate. Can you blame me? Didn't think so. Absolutely dirt-cheap in Manila. And how can one possibly live without it?

Belly
Ever since that French bint from Pulp Fiction lisped out that she thought pot bellies were sexy, I think a lot of girls/women (me! me!) have struggled with this concept.

"But! We're meant to be thin! Pot bellies are not shown on magazines in a glamourous light! How is a pot belly sexy?"

So it is when I get a little belly. I feel ambiguous towards it. I poke it, see if it shifts, melts, vanishes, jiggles like jelly concentrate.

I think I can see the woman's point. But you know, I'm still not sure.

Cured like ham
Well, I'm getting there. Bought some funky stuff to zap the spore-driven fungus into oblivion. Bye-bye itches, bye-bye highly infectious state.

Just hope I haven't given it to the cat.

Jeezum crow! All the way from Manila to here—ringworm. Un-cursing-believable.

Ringus wormius
Those insect-bites I mentioned in my previous post? They've mutated.

Dudes, I've got ringworm.

Oh yeah, it doesn't get any better than this.

Jobbie
Status: slack. The last two days I've slept, read and et, and not exactly in that order, either. Hmm, reminds me of when I was on the dole after doing Honours. So, still no job, yet.

My insect bites have turned into red-edged sores. Mark's bought me calamine lotion, but sometimes the urge to scratch is almost too much to bear.

What I Did in My Summer Vacation: Notable Highlights

1. Was in a jeepney accident.

[If you go here, you can find out what a jeepney looks like. Essentially, a jeep is a people-carrier, like a bus, except people are more squashed in than oily anchovies, and the jeeps try to outdo each other in the garishness and look-at-me stakes.]

Any other place in the world, and it would've been clear that the other driver was at fault. My poor mum banged her head. The funny thing was, not more than thirty minutes earlier, I had been speculating with Ma how an accident would be pretty awful in one of those. Bizarre.

2. Had gastro.
Yep, Ivy did throwy-up. Not nice. That'll teach me to

• lick my fingers after trying on shoes without washing my hands
• eat halo-halo
• undergo extreme body-temperature changes in the space of seconds [i.e. one minute outdoors in 35degC heat, then swanning around in cool, air-conditioned comfort the next]
• not be acclimatised to the country's food/weather/culture.

3. Was in a typhoon.
Lots of water. Lots of wind (no, I'm not still talking about my gastro experience). One papaya tree was nearly lost. It was very loud. I spent most of the time playing with a kitten called Zebra.

4. Was caught in the middle of a coup attempt/military mutiny.
Well, that last is not strictly true. But I was most anxious, because I thought I wouldn't be able to come home to Mark. Still, one good thing did come from it: I could get more Philippine pesos to the Euro. Yes, I'm a political animal at heart. Thrilling.

Googling myself
Help me. I can't stop.

Well, that's not exactly true. It's been about three weeks between the last time I googled myself and the previous time.

Interesting, innit, what the 'net has to say about you?

But the thing is, if I don't google moi, how would I know about this review?

Kahloo-kahlay!

I will survive
And so I'm back, from outer space. I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face.

Well, not exactly outer space, but almost 24-hours of travelling time is enough to give one an out-of-body experience.

And I'm all loved-up (from Mark) and fashioned up from shopping! Yay! I love it when clothes fit.

On the taxi-ride home, I noticed that, hey, Dublin was actually having nice weather. Pity, I was a bit out of it with lag to take advantage. I was updating the driver on what I've been up to, and as he dropped me off, he wished me good luck on my job-hunting. Maybe taxi-drivers should charge more for their sideline as impromptu therapists or something.

It was good to show Mark all that I'd bought. He didn't do too badly out of it, either. We've been so thrifty (oh, alright, downright Scrooge-like) for so long, it was hard for me to just buy stuff for myself. Felt like I had to share some of the fun.

And it's been fun. Now, time to knuckle down, I think. Starting Monday. It's another long weekend holiday this Saturday. I like Ireland.