'Thirty days and nights of literary abandon' November is officially National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) so I decided to take the plunge and signed up to www.nanowrimo.org . Basically the idea is to write a 50,000 word novel in a month, which breaks down as about 1500 words a day. Some of the novels have been sold and published successfully, like NY Times Bestseller 'Water for Elephants'. Signing up means you make a profile and they send you encouraging emails with pep talks from the likes of Dave Eggers, as well as info about events going on near you where other NaNoWriMo people get together to write and probably give out about hard it is. Nothing like a bit of communal complaining. I'll be in New York for all of November so I'll have to find a nice local cafe to write in every day, and it would be nice to meet other people who are doing it too because I need NY friends! Preferably nice cool ones. If you're successful you get a CERTIFICATE. Thats right, a certificate with your name on it saying how awesome you are. Everyone likes those.
Only a few days to go now until I jet off to JFK, and I'm busy freaking out about flying, trying to find adaptors, figuring out what the weather in New York is like, filling in forms for the United States government, reading about Tea Partiers, and practising (or should I say 'practicing') my american by listening to The Notorious XX, specially this:
A few things happening/I've been thinking about/listening to:
1. I booked flights to become a New York City girl for almost 7 weeks at the end of October. My plans include wandering lonely as a cloud through the East Village, travelling to DC to see Obama's crib and generally soaking up all the awesomeness. Oh, and get working on my novel. And take lots of pictures. And hang around outside of Trash and Vaudeville (like the guy in the picture).
2. A major event in the world over the past few weeks was the release of the 33 Chilean miners trapped underground since August. So many people all working together to save them was kind of amazing. I was home sick so tried to watch as much as I could live on Sky News; the Phoenix 2 coming out of the ground once or twice an hour to release a miner into the anxiously awaiting arms of friends or family managed to make me tear up literally every time. I'm a total sucker for real life drama. Oprah kills me. I definitely won't be able to watch the episode where Oprah has the Chilean miners on.
3. Columbine by Dave Cullen: I finished it a while ago, and literally couldn't stop thinking or talking about it. I tried to write a blog post about it just after I finished, but kept referring to the killer by their first names and rambling into details that wouldn't have made any sense had you not read the book. Having never read non-fiction before, it was weird and kind of difficult for me to deal with that towards the end I felt I really knew all the 'characters', including my favourite FBI negotiator Dr. Fuselier, and then realizing they were all real people. That this really happened. I would definitely recommend it to anyone and everyone who is in any way interested in what happened at Columbine. It doesn't just explain what actually happened, but also why, to whom and what happened next. I was surprised and a bit freaked out to find that nothing I had heard or known about it before was actually true; that they were Marilyn Manson fans, that they were loners, and most importantly that it was a high-school shooting. It was in fact an attempted bombing; their intention was to blow up hundreds of people and shoot the survivors as the ran to safety. The random shooting of students and teacher was a consolation act. The book didn't have any pictures, and I'm not going to put any up in this post, because frankly the smiling year book pictures of Eric and Dylan frighten me. The knowledge that out there on the internet I can watch CCTV footage of them wandering the halls, with all I know about them now, is, for want of a better word, very weird. It took 10 years to finish, and even Cullen says 'living for that long with a massacre isn't easy'. I really admire his strength. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is: read it because its interesting, well written and will make you think.
4. The Social Network. I went to see it last night at the Irish Film Institute which is my new favourite place. Great hot chocolate and films. Anyway, I thought The Social Network was great. It managed to grab my attention straight away and didn't even let me consider letting my mind wander until I walked out. Jesse Eisenberg was very good as Mark Zuckerberg, who came across as being a super smart kind-of-asshole with some social issues and a dry sense of humour. The rest of the cast were awesome as well, including Mr. Timberlake. I have been watching a lot of films lately, and therefore am beginning to really appreciate a film which is enjoyable and interesting, because they are apparently rarer than I though, and The Social Network was definitely both. Thought it did really make me want to check my Facebook and then feel kind of weird about it at the same time. That boy knew what he was doing.
5. I am loving this song.
I would like to dedicate it to someone, but that would be rude, and I'm a lady.
6. It's almost winter again! I'm unreasonably excited about this. Jumpers! Fur coats! Boots! Woolly socks! Yay! Winter is a time for being cosy, going for countryside walks, hugs, Christmas, all the good stuff.
With the dawning of September every years comes the rise of many tents being set up on the horizon in Stradbally, Co. Laois. I went to Electric Picnic for the first time when I was 18. We snook 3 people in on 1 band, camped beside the dance tent and had, like, the most AMAZING weekend ever yeah? Last year I went down for the day to see Florence. When I got a free weekend pass this year I considered the camping experience but then I remembered that rain exists and I hate crowds, so me and a friend drove down on Friday afternoon to catch some acts.
I was very excited about seeing Laura Marling and she WAS great, but sadly the tent was very loud and despite her repeated requests for people to keep it down because she had a cold and couldn't sing very loud, it was hard to hear her, specially during Blackberry Stone. I got her new album the other day and its, as expected, pretty close to perfect. Beautiful voice and poetic lyrics with just the right amount of reality.
We proceeded to go for a wander through the Body and Soul village, which even packed with people is kind of a magical personal experience. It makes you feel like a kid the way you walk around with widened eyes taking in everything that's been laid out like a feast for the imagination.
We crawled into a massive teepee tent with a fire in its centre and pillows all around and didn't move for several hours, only tearing ourselves away finally to go see Ms. Janelle Monae on the Body and Soul stage at around 10 o'clock at night. Three cloaked creatures danced onto the stage, hoods up, one of them rapping and turning around to reveal herself as the fabulously coiffed Janelle. Her show was electrifying. Even though I was standing on a slope and packed between two groups of drunk Irish LADS who didn't really know what was going on I managed to dance like crazy to Cold War, Tightrope and Wondaland. I love seeing bands when they are young and about to make it big because they have this ENERGY that they share readily with their audiences.
I took a time out from the Picnic on the Saturday to visit my friend and partake in some ritual burning, which we both agreed is good for the soul and should be done regularly. Also discovered this Unknown Fact: The National named their album High Violet after my friend Violet. FACT.
On Sunday I once again dug out my anorak (yeah, like I hadn't been wearing it every day anyway) and journeyed back to Loais to find my parents wandering around the Mindfield looking a bit dazed and some of my friends looking worse-for-wear but very happy. We all larked about like a big hippy commune for a while, then some of us went to hide beneath the covers of a giant Penguin paperback and I joined the rest ambling over to the Crawdaddy tent to see the Big Pink. They were definitely the loudest thing I've ever been to: the bass pushed down on your chest and threatened to take over your heart beat, the guitar rattled your bones and pressed your eardrums insistently. It was like being attacked by music, in a not entirely unpleasant way. Definite highlights of the sets were my friend rousing a sheepish smile with her manic waving from her step-brother the keyboard player, briefly cracking his image as super cool London INABAND, and their cover of Beyonce's Sweet Dreams.
After the Big Pink we wandered about; I jumped up and down to some Mumford and Sons, had an amazing burrito, and eventually ended up back in the fire teepee. At this stage the skies opened properly, soaking everything and anything and then some. I tore myself away from the cozy warmth of the fireside to go meet my parents in the guest area for a lift home, but finding them not ready to go yet ('we're just going to have ONE more drink darling') I climbed onto the guest areas raised stage which allowed me to see right across the crowds and watch Massive Attack do a beautiful show, made all the more poignant by the absolute pouring rain. It was lonely in a nice way.
After a long and quite strange bus journey on a gigantic coach carrying 5 of us back to Dublin I collapsed into bed freezing but happy after a lovely weekend.
I found out at about 5 o'clock on Tuesday that Beirut were playing in Dublin at 8 o'clock that same day, and was completely devestated at the prospect of missing it. When I asked around as to why NO ONE TOLD ME everyone said 'well I presumed you knew!'. I didn't let it faze me however, and myself and a friend who I shall call Candy Warhol made our way to Tripod armed with a lot of hope and some faith that fate would come through for us. There were quite a few people standing around looking at each other shiftily, not wanting to make eye contact in any sort of friendly manner in case a ticket came along and you had to push them out of the way/slap them. It was getting closer and closer to Beirut O'clock and we were obviously looking quite desolate because a blond guy wearing a nerdy/cool blue and white checked shirt and smoking a rollie who was walking past in a group of similarly Brooklyn-trendy looking people slowed down and said 'Hey, are you guys looking for tickets?'. I replied with a very cool 'eh..yes!'. 'Oh thats cool, just say you're (name blank in case I get him in trouble!) on the guest list plus one'. Once again I was the picture of laid back appreciation as I stumbled over the words 'oh my god...thank you...thank you so much' and tried to contain my ridiculous happiness. With a brief awkward smile and a 's'cool' our knight in shining armour was gone. For now. We made our way to the front of the crowd so as to have a good view of the band and lovely Zach Condon, lead singer of Beirut and, apparently, cat owner (I read an interview with him in which he talked about his cat, which made his lovely status shoot up at least 9 points). When they walked on, we were surprised to see that our check-shirted friend was none other than Beirut's trumpet player! They played up a storm, opening with Nantes, the song that made me fall in love with Beirut/Zach in the first place. The musicians were amazing, and Zach's singing was even better in real life, spineshiveringly soulful and different. They played all my favourites as well as a some new ones. As he came back on stage for his second encore, Zach leaned into the mic to confess that last time he 'stumbled his way through Hallelujah'. When the crowd roared its approval he ran his hand through his hair and half laughed 'not again. I'm not so good with other peoples songs'.
It was such a great gig, it honestly made me ridiculously happy, and it lasted for about 2 days afterwards.
The unexpected dose of happiness came at the right time, as the rolling around of the 28th of August marked the official end of my Sarah Lawrence dreams. I still cry every time I get post from them. But it was not to be. It was a hard lesson to learn that no matter how much you want something, or how hard you try, sometimes it just doesn't work out.
After wallowing in a pool of broken dreams for a few weeks, I had to get my act together and formulate some new high hopes so I decided I wanted to go to New York anyway on the 1 year work/internship visa available to Irish students and try to take a 10 week novel writing course at NYU at the same time.
On a happier note, I am now the proud owner of a Nikon D40 :) I had been saving up to buy an SLR for a while, and whilst in York I had used my friends D40 and loved it, so when some birthday kindness meant I had enough to buy one, I started looking around. The D40 isn't being made anymore so I was looking for a 2nd hand one, and I had a few incidents where sales clerks said 'You don't want that old one! For only 400e more you can buy this D3000! LOOK, new and shiny!' but my heart was set and I just sadly shook my head. Finally, my lovely friend Paul directed me to Conns Cameras where they had one in stock and the rest is history. I named it Paul after Paul. It really is a great little camera :) I'm still only learning how to use it but we're best mates all ready. I gotta get to the passport office now to make me an official Irish person. I hope I don't have to wait around for ever. I'm bringing a new book just in case; Columbine by Dave Cullen. I've been reading up about high school shootings for a character I was writing about, but I've had this book for a while and not gotten round to reading it so I'm looking forward to starting today.
Hope everyones enjoying the last of the summer sun :)
Yesterday I went to the RDS for the Dublin Horse Show! I go every year just to soak up all the lovely ponyness and enjoy the excruciatingly nerve-wracking experience that is the Aga Khan FEI Nations Cup (kinda like the world cup for showjumping). This year there was another super exciting event to look forward to though; a demonstration by Monty Roberts, a real life horse whisperer. I got his book The Man Who Listens to Horses when I was about 11 or 12 and used to totally idolize him. We got a seat on the grandstand to watch the 4 year olds showjumping class, and stayed put through the rain storm whilst Monty's students set up a round pen in the arena. Monty ran into the ring waving and wearing a stetson and cowboy boots. They brought in a 16hh grey mare called Heather who pranced and reared around as her owner explained over a mic that she was agressive to handle, spooky and wouldn't take a rider. Monty did his famous 'join up' routine that resulted in the horse eventually coming in to him and following him around wherever he went. It was lovely. It makes sense that he works with kids in juvenile detention because when you see this small-ish old man calm a wild-ish horse in 10 minutes and have it walking around behind him across giant tarps of plastic when it couldn't handle a single bag at the start, without him laying a single hand on her or raising his voice, you realise that he's right: 'violence only helps the violator, and never the victim'. Even as Heather was lashing out at him with her hooves, he was explaining how often the most violent horses turn out to be the most gentle once they are taught to trust people. Lovely lovely lovely.
In other news, we currently have a house guest in the form of Lisa Faith Phillips, who is in Dublin to do her show How To Be a Bad Girl in Bewleys Cafe Theatre on the 8th of August. I haven't seen this one yet but if you're around I recommend catching it because her shows are a lot of fun.
Lisa also introduced my parents waay back in the day, which is an irrelevant but interesting fact :) she ALSO got me an awesome present in the form of a ticket to see Florence and The Machine play in Terminal 5, New York on November 1st. I'm so excited about seeing Florence play again! Her live shows are so spine-tingling good, I can't wait. I was doing some Florence watching on YouTube in preperation and came across this awesome cover of En Vogues 'Don't Let Go'
Lisa's present got me thinking about my top 5 presents list. I have received many presents in my 22 years but here are some of my favourites (in nor particular order of favouriteness) 1. My Little Pony on a chain that Martini made me for my 21st. 2. Chamele No. 5 from Moore St. 3. Two old volumes of William Blakes completed works my dad got me for my 21st birthday. 4. A headcollar and leadrope a friend of my parents got me when I was 12 because she 'knew I'd have my own pony some day to use them on'. 5. Ticket to Florence and The Machine in New York. There's a whole other blog post in the making about my Twilight related gifts, of which I have received an unsettling for others but awesome for me amount.
The other day when I woke up in a room full of smoke and I thought the house was on fire, it raced trough my mind that I would have to choose certain things to rescue (apart from my kitties obviously). This was a slight cause of panic because I lean slightly towards the hoarder side of the hoarder/non hoarder scale and have many treasured possessions. When I was a kid I used to insist on travelling with all these cigar boxes I filled with stuff I deemed incredibly important and I think it never really wore off. Thankfully there was no fire and I still have all my lovely paintings and books and boxes of random crap. I'm working on a top 5 list of treasured items (always think about this on a Saturday because of the question in the Guardian Weekend magazine interview 'what is your most treasured possession?') but I think its gonna take a while...so many pretty shiny things to choose from.
Here's a video I made of my furry alive treasured possessions documenting their unhealthy attachment to catnip. I would just like to note that I am not a crazy cat lady who spends all her time making videos of her cats. I sometimes go to work/sleep/do non cat related things. But not often.
As some of you may know, I am currently employed by Concern Worldwide as an On-The-Street Fundraiser (!). The (!) is there because this job title has to be said with enthusiasm. It's the law. As an On-The-Street Fundraiser (!) I spend my days standing on various streets around Dublin and sometimes other places like Monaghan (I seem to be spending a lot of time in Monaghan. If life is trying to send me a sign that I should move there its getting ignored. New York is way better looking). I am what is sometimes known as a chugger. I, however, am one of the nice chuggers who isn't allowed chase people down the street or say 'oh, too broke to give 21 euros a month eh...yeah...nice watch by the way, is it new?'. Bummer, I know, but its actually nice working for people who are doing something good for the world. Seeing as I'm not allowed to move around, I have been told to find a spot and stay there, kind of like a hoe defending her corner. No, it doesn't say that in the manual but its totally what they meant. I've had some interesting customers in my previous jobs, one of the most memorable being the old man in Reads who brought in bookmarks with poems on them that he wrote for his dead wife who was killed by a car outside on Naussau Street, but working on the (da) street is definitely where you meet the weirdies. Here are some of the things that have happened so far:
A 60 something American man wearing reflective sunglasses told me he worked for the American government, so I said 'ooooh, are you in the FBI?'. He gave me a long hard look and said 'how did you know?'. He told me he worked for the Seattle branch and was very impressed with my detection skills, so impressed in fact that he told me to come to Seattle when I graduated and join the FBI. He was very serious.
A woman who, when asked if she had a minute to spare for Concern, replied with 'actually, I'm writing a socio-feminist novel that'll probably divide society as we know it forever when it comes out, so no, I'm kind of busy'.
A man who accused me of being personally responsible for the death of unborn children because I work for a charity that promotes 'population control' (a.k.a. as trying to prevent the spreading of AIDS). He read my nametag and repeatedly said my name. He got it right and everything, he didn't even call me Sarah.
That was also the same day a junkie came up behind me, pushed me out of the way and told me to 'GET A BLOODY REAL JOB!'.
Sigh. But like I said, good cause. And it also led me to buy my black anorak, from which I am now inseparable. It's so awesome.
Note:I just took a break from writing this blog and signed up my parents friend in the living room. Kind of resentful that I am not wearing my anorak coz its too warm.
Anyway, if ya see me on the street, its ok to avoid me, just say 'I'm avoiding you'. The worst is the people who make you feel like you actually are invisible. Sometimes this job can be a series of existential identity crisis moments. But its a job, and kids in child labour are being sent back to school, and I'm saving money for the big escape...so for now I'll keep defending my street corner. Watch out bitches.
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!- Richard The Third (Act 5, Scene 4)
Or as I would say: PONIES!
I have just about summoned up enough strength from my aching bones to tell of my adventure to Castle Leslie Estate, Co. Monaghan.
Day 1: Myself and my comrade on this adventure, Avril, arrived at the Lodge in blazing sunshine and after standing there for a few minutes going 'wow, this place is so cool!' we went to check in. When she opened the door to the room and only saw one (GIANT) bed the Receptionist looked worried and said 'oh sorry, did you ask for twin beds?' and we assured her that it was fine and that we didn't. She looked openly uncomfortable to be in the presence of what must be lesbians and quickly ran away. After jumping up and down on the bed of ridiculousness for a while we went to explore the grounds. We picked up a map at reception (yes, this place has its own map) but managed to somehow still get lost by wandering off the beaten track onto a path that looked kind of like a tunnel through the forest, half way down which our phone networks decided we had crossed the border into Northern Ireland. After sizing up the cross country jumps and quaking in fear at the prospect of the next days riding we went to the Castle to sit in the amazing drawing room drinking complimentary home made lemonade and read books about art whilst a rain storm happened outside. On the way back to our room the receptionist decided she was gonna try and reach out to some poor lesbians and advised us on what was the best pub to go to in the area. She then told us she was going to Dublin to see Twilight with her boyfriend, upon which we made friends forever (a girl who travels for hours for Twilight is a friend of mine).
Day Two: In the morning we choked down breakfast, shushing each other whenever we tried to voice our terror about the slowly approaching cross country ride, and put on our pony gear going 'this is going to be fun!' in over enthusiastic tones. We wandered down to the yard and got introduced to our ponies: mine was called Jane and she was a giant pony a.k.a as a large horse. I had a chat with her as we set off, so we were cool and shit by the time it came to the first jumps. I was nervous at first, but as I flew across the 2nd run of jumps I suddenly remembered how much I loved cross country. Its like a crazy adrenaline rush mixed with mud and thundering hooves. I jumped coffins, tables and chairs, cottage jumps, logs, up and down steps and a big bank out of the lake (this won't mean anything unless you know ponies, but was very impressive for us). It started raining as we walked down through a river towards home, and it was one of those perfect moments that you appreciate just as much when your living it as when you remember it. Back at the hotel we moved like old people all ready but it was made slightly better by chilling in the hot tub in the rain and hanging out on day beds in white fluffy robes. When we finally got it together to get dressed we went back to the Castle to reclaim our couch corner. We went exploring and found a cinema room, complete with lazy boys and massive dvd collection, but (SHAME) we were too scared to stay hidden in the depths of an echoing castle in the dark to avail of this awesome place. Back in the drawing room we were served very elaborate tea by a polite young man who obviously thought we were a bit mental. Coulda been because every time we moved we made a simultaneous OWWW noise. Our friend the kingsize bed was the perfect place for being in pain though.
Day 3: Pain. Some more pain. Still buzzing from the cross country ride though so definitely worth it. French toast and pancakes for breakfast. We went to explore the estate before saying goodbye to it and fell a bit more in love with every step and agreed that we would have a similar estate together when we're older where we could wander around bareback on our ponies and have parties. I felt genuine sadness as the bus took me back to Dublin. The water doesn't come from the lake here, and it doesn't taste like earth.
Some pictures :)
Castle Leslie and the estate: (Our) drawing room:
Our couchspace: Tea at couchspace: Some of the jumps:
Jane! Cinema room: A week later now and I can safely say I want to go back. Now. Please?
