The Last Weekend

And what a good weekend it was!

Sara from Leicester visited.  Here are some things we did:

• wandered around the city
• watched morbid music videos
• listened to Gary Busey business advice
• heard some of the best local music of my whole trip
• discussed, at length, things we suck at
• got the chance to say goodbye to friends
  
• cheese and crackers
• played beer pong... poorly
• saw Madagascar 2
• read INSANE personal ads in a local paper

It was fun.  Now I'm in a weird place, where this past weekend felt like the conclusion, but I don't leave for another few days.  Limbo, maybe?

Bon Iver in Dublin

On Wednesday, I took an afternoon bus to Dublin to see Bon Iver in Dublin.  The bus ride itself was shit.  A 60-year-old man and an 8-year-old child verbally abused each other for the entire 5 hour ride.  Shit.

The extended bus ride meant that I had to take a cab.  I don't like taking cabs.  Especially when, had the bus shown arrived on time, it wouldn't have been necessary.  The cab driver was a really good guy, though, as far as I could tell.  Had worked in London as a bar owner for years before moving back to Ireland with his wife and kids.  Seemed to understand exactly where I was at in the night and my life, and was entirely supportive of every endeavor.

All back story aside, it was a fantastic gig.  Not a perfect gig, but certainly fantastic.  If you've ever listened to Bon Iver's album For Emma, Forever Ago, I think it is difficult to deny the overwhelming sense of helplessness in unrequited, betrayed, downright fucked-over love.  It's a brilliant winter album, that aches, "I've got me and my blanket, and this sucks, and I wish you were here.  But you don't want to be."  It's an album that hurts.

Live, though, Justin Vernon and his band transform the thing.  This was captured nowhere more perfectly than in the song "Skinny Love."  It could serve as a thesis for the album, but live, certain subtle elements (I'm thinking specifically of the soft background percussion) became emphasized to a degree that evoked Kanye West tribal, "Love Lockdown" beats; primal, angry gunshot heartbreak.

The new songs were also very interesting.  Recent reviews have suggest that where For Emma, Forever Ago is a winter heartbreak album, the new EP Blood Bank is a sort of tribute to summer love.  I don't disagree with this assessment, but, at the same time, anyone who has listened to the album will agree that Justin Vernon is no Beach Boy.  While one song in particular seemed, quite simply, flat ("Beach Baby"), the others were fantastic.  The set opener, "The Woods," was equal parts Gillian Welch murder ballad and Fleet Foxes indie choir, utilizing the same four rustic lines, and slowly transforming them through vocal arrangement.  "Babys" evoked, strangely enough, 1970's Elton John.  That is, if, instead of being a coked-out Englishman, Elton John had been a California heroin addict.  I mean that in the best way possible.  Finally, the tune "Blood Bank."  As far as I can tell, this is the most commercial thing Bon Iver has done.  This is not necessarily a bad thing.  It still retains some of the idiosyncratic song structure of other Bon Iver tunes, with a fascinatingly morbid setting (um, a blood bank).  At the same time, overdriven electric guitar and relatively predictable chordal structure dominate the arrangement.  This results in what, to me, came across as the most badass Goo Goo Dolls song ever.  And I mean that in the best way possible.

At the end of the night, a few tunes were just plain boring, while the majority of the show subtly reinvented an album and artist that I've come to love over the past year.

Germany

Austin and I walked around Wuppertal on Tuesday night, drinking beers, eating pizza, and having a good time.  Things took and interesting turn when, on our last beer of the night, an old German man started buying us shots of some nasty anise liquor.  Long story short, we stumbled.

Wednesday, we ate potatoes and went to Dusseldorf.  We attempted to watch the sun set over the Rhine (clouds interfered).  We chilled in a brewery and lamented the absence of our modmates.  We found an Irish pub, where Austin acquired the nickname Liam from a drunk who was enjoying Oasis on the jukebox.  We admired home appliances and decor in storefronts, and wished we had chic home to decorate, and the money to decorate it with.

On Thursday, Charles showed up, as did Turkey Day.  We ate an obscene amount of food at Tobi's apartment (bitchin' apartment).  It's very difficult for me to articulate how completely and totally wonderful it was to see Bryce and Charles and Austin and Kate and Jon and Luna and everyone else all at once.  Check out Kate's blog for pictures.  It was amazing.

Friday, and another trip to Dusseldorf.  This time, for Christmas markets, and gluhwein.  It was a freezing and jolly beginning of the Christmas season.  Later that night, we went to a hookah bar where Luna works.  I had to leave early, to spend 12 of the worst hours of my life on trains, planes, and automobiles, making my way back to Derry.

I guess holidays and reunions and gluhwein wouldn't be as sweet if we had them all the time...

In Transit

I woke up super-early on Tuesday to catch a train from London to Paris (under the English Channel).  I was asleep for most of this.  In Paris, I caught a train through Brussels, Belgium to Cologne, Germany.  From there, I took a train to Wuppertal, Germany, to meet up with Austin, and prepare for Turkey Day.

For those of you keeping track, that's four countries in one day.  Not that I did much in any of them, but I WAS THERE.

London

Last Saturday, I took an early flight from Derry to London, to visit my cousin Jason.  Weird adventures ensued.

On Saturday afternoon, we walked around London a little.  The London Jazz Festival was taking place, so we tried to go to a show from that, with some friends of Jason's.  Unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was sold out.  To regroup from this tragic derailment, we did the only thing one can do in such a situation: we went to a pub.  Then a psychotic, packed-house, screaming waitress Italian restaurant.  Then a very hip club called the 12 Bar.  The 12 Bar tiny, and dingy, and, in general, exactly the kind of place I enjoy.  That night, it was the host to the seasonal Antifolk UK Festival.  Jason described it as though, "they let the freaks out for a night and put them up on stage."  We heard ukulele and screaching and bubbles and party poppers and drunken ramblings concerning deadly scorpions, digital accordions, and time-travel in DeLoreans- all in one song.

We tried to go to Westminster Abbey on Sunday, but it was closed.  However the National Portrait Gallery was open, and showing an Annie Leibovitz exhibition, which was absolutely badass.  Later, we saw the Robert Mitchell 3io as part of the London Jazz Fest.  They did a cover of "Teardrop" by Massive Attack, and I nearly crapped my pants in excitement.  That night I watched the second half of Superbad, all of St. Elmo's Fire, and a short documentary on Howard Hughes.  Before I went to bed, I stood on the balcony of the apartment and breathed in the air and view coming off the Thames.

Monday, I went out with the specific goal of overwhelming myself, and did not fail.  Among other things, I:

-toured the gorgeous Westminster Abbey and saw all the cool dead people there (there are a ton),

-checked out the 1700-1900 portion of the National Gallery (Van Gogh, Renoir, Seurat, Monet, Cezanne, etc.),

-still in the arty mood went to the Tate Modern (Lichtenstein, Picasso, Rothko, etc.),

-Shakespeare's Globe Theatre (a reconstruction of the Elizabethan playhouse), and

-experienced the London Underground at rush hour on a Monday.  INSANE.

Particularly during the art galleries, I wanted Susan and Kate around.

Then came Germany...

Wednesday

The sun comes around 8 in the morning here, and starts going down at 4 pm-ish.  It messes with my head.

The semester is winding down, and consequently, there isn't much exciting to say.  I work on coursework, to make sure I get it all done before I come back, and that's about all.  I'm going to London on Saturday for a few days, and straight from there to Wuppertal, for a very Bethel Thanksgiving.  It is difficult for me to articulate how much I look forward to seeing those folks.  I'm sure that trip will make for a good blog post, in about a week and a half.

I'm going to be in Convo on Friday.  Hello, Dale Schrag.  So get your asses in there.  I will answer every question you've ever had concerning the relationship between the book The Medium is the Massage, and it's corresponding LP, both by Marshall McLuhan.  Seriously, I know, like, everything.  EVERYTHING.

I've decided that my happiness is directly related to how much Count Basie I listen to.

Friday

Received a package from my mother today.  I always love getting mail, but I found this one particularly noteworthy.

It was a box full of Halloween candy, and a "Vote Obama" pin that I ordered months ago.

This is what we call "comedic timing," folks.

Dublin

I haven't posted in awhile, but don't worry.  This one is gonna be a doozy.

I barely slept Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, because of paper-writing, and election-watching.  On Wednesday, I departed for Dublin.  Brilliant chaos ensued.

Wednesday evening:

I witnessed the brilliant spectacle that is the Celtics fans of Dublin watching their team get barely defeated by Manchester United.  The anger surging through the room is indescribable.

Thursday Morning:

I got out of bed, and walked around what can only be described as most of Dublin.  Among other things, I visited the Jameson Distillery and the Guinness Storehouse.  Jameson was quick, quaint, and relatively museum-ish.  That is, unlike the Bushmills Distillery, it was merely a reproduction, without an operating distillery.  I did get to participate in the whiskey tasting, though.  Guinness, on the other hand, was a veritable complex.  It took up a square city block, and the part that I toured had seven stories: one for paying admission, one for shopping, one for the ingredients, one for the brewer, one for drinking responsibly (we've gotta be PC, folks), one for drinking, and one for drinking more.

Thursday Night:

Hung around the main bar district (called Temple Bar).  The first pub I went to had a balding, mustached Irish man playing 60's classic rock songs, such as "Barbara Ann," "American Pie," and "Hotel California."  Brilliant.  Next, I baby-sat a plastic bag full of booze owned by a barely understandable homeless guy, who went to buy rolling papers.  When he got back, he tried to give me some hash, and asked me to roll us a joint.  I politely declined.  Then I wandered into an art gallery opening, which happened to be an Oxfam benefit with free wine.  AWESOME.  Then, Jen Beck (a friend from high school, coincidentally in Dublin, on vacation from studying in England) called to invite me down to another pub.  I obliged, as it is always fantastic to see a little hint of Kansas.

Friday:

Walked around Dublin some more, this time, with Jen and her friend Sara.  We went to the James Joyce Centre (lovely), St. Stephens Green (fucking beautiful), a bookstore, and every other damn street in Dublin that I had missed the previous day.  That night I went to see Okkervil River in a little venue on Abbey St.

Saturday:

My study-abroad advisor set up a meeting for me with a novelist who lives and works in Dublin.  We talked for a couple of hours about books and Dublin a little, but mostly just female singer/songwriters that we both have crushes on, i.e. Gillian Welch.  It was great.  After that, I walked around Dublin until it started raining like hell on me.  I ducked into a lovely little pub called Queen Maebh's.  They ironically had "November Rain" by Guns'n'Roses playing.  In November, while it was raining.  I nearly burst into tears because of the absurdity of it.

That night, I wandered around a few pubs with Sara and a some other folks.  The last pub was essentially an old apartment, which gave the whole thing the feeling of a house party.  It was brilliant.

A hung-over Bradley McKellip was last seen stumbling to the Dublin bus station on Sunday, undeniably in a daze.

Songs:

"From the Levee's Peak" by Mr. David Viner

"Shiver Me Timbers" by Tom Waits

"The Trapeze Swinger" by Iron and Wine

"Whiskey in the Jar" a traditional

"So Come Back, I Am Waiting" by Okkervil River

Books:

On the Road by Jack Kerouac

Crow by Ted Hughes

The Love Letters of Dylan Thomas by Dylan Thomas

The Draughtsman and the Unicorn by Tony Glavin

Monday

It's been a hazelnut day.

Thursday

Last night I had a dream that myself, Christine Crouse-Dick, Chris Dick, Jimmy Page (the guitarist from Led Zeppelin), and José Cuervo (literally, a fat Hispanic man that my subconscious made up) met up in what appeared to be the swanky lounge of some pirate ship to chill out and drink margaritas.

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS MEAN?

Monday

Tonight was the best open-mic night EVER.  Ever.  Really.

Ryan and Tina started the night out, as usual.  She kicked things up a notch from the get-go with a rousing cover of that Dolly Parton gem, "Jolene."  Ryan did his thing, playing the shit out of "Love Minus Zero/No Limit," and a very good original of his, the name of which I do not know.  Then, a fantastic middle-aged man got up and did some very primal spoken-word poetry stuff.  I've seen him do it before, and it always leaves me in a shambles.  I got to get up and do my thing, which was nice.  It was nothing spectacular, except someone actually told me that I made them like Rihanna's "Umbrella."  And if that's all I can pull off, I'm happy.  Later, my buddy Rebecca got up and knocked the ball out of the park.  She sounds a little like Cat Power, leaning a little more towards Billie Holiday.  Exactly the direction Cat Power oughta lean, right?  To close the night, some German guy got up and played the cello and sang some minor swing tune.  Totally unique, and badass.

Definitely a lovely open-mic night.  Probably not going to be topped while I'm here.

Wednesday

Had class for several hours today.  It was academic.  To elaborate would be boring.

After class, I had a couple of hours until I had to be somewhere, so I went to a pub to write some letters.  I was very happy with the letter I wrote.  As I sat sipping my Guinness and basking in the glory of my letter, a middle-aged gentleman sitting near me unexpectedly asked what I thought of the art show opening I mentioned in the last post.  It caught me a little off guard; I've considered myself to be pretty anonymous when I go out on my own.  Frankly, it was a little flattering that he recognized me.  We talked about the cool idea of the show, but general failures in the execution; we talked about my studies at the college here; he mentioned being involved in the Derry Anti-War Coalition, and was thrilled to here about my involvement with a Mennonite college; he finally asked if I was attending the performance of Beckett's Waiting for Godot this evening.  I was happy to answer in the affirmative.  Hopefully, this fella will turn up again in my letter-writing pub excursions.

In short, the performance kicked ass.  It's a brilliant play, that seems to become only more relevant as time goes on.  It was performed by the Gate Theatre Company, who are considered to be the premier interpreters of Beckett's work.  Anyone who's familiar with Beckett will tell you that this is no small achievement.  It's difficult to explain the "plot," but suffice to say that it's got one painful foot firmly planted in the real world, and one foot sinking quickly into absurdity.

Very depressing and very funny.

Sunday

It's been a relatively uneventful week, but I think I'll make note here of a few relatively un-noteworthy things.

-I've been given the nickname "Grandpa Brad," from my affinity for sweater vests and whiskey.

-I'm developing a little crush on Ted Hughes.  His poetry never really jumped at me before, but I found some while wandering through the library here, and it's amazing.  They're just these immense, sensual, formally exquisite, ominous, mucky poems that kick my ass.

-I went to an art show opening last night, for a piece called the17.  Here's a quick breakdown of the events.  Me and 30ish other people were herded into a room with all of the lights off, and the "artist" would say something like, "You're all 70 years old, and I want you to sing this note," he hits a note on the piano, "trying to sing it with the wisdom of your years."  Everybody then sang that note for four minutes straight.  This was recorded.  We repeated this process with different motivations and notes about four more times.  He then played all 5 takes back to us simultaneously at a very loud volume.

There was free beer.

-Going to see Beckett's Waiting for Godot on Wednesday night.  That should kick ass.

-I've been feeling pretty melancholy lately, for a variety of reasons.  Homesick, I guess.  Oh well.

-Decided to do the vegetarian thing again.  That is, be one.  Not date one.

Cheers, folks.

Tuesday

I made some bitchin' Indian food for myself tonight, while listening to Regina Spektor.  Sounds pretty awesome, huh?

Until you take into consideration that there isn't a human being alive who could take red wine, cutting onions, and "Samson," ALL AT ONCE, and not cry.

Oh, Regina...

Saturday

Hot whiskey and Bonnie "Prince" Billy.

Friday Night

"Manic Pixie Dream Girl."

Friday

This was not my goal for the day, but it basically turned out to be a pretty big embrace of the cliches I loved about Irish culture before I came over.  And it was fantastic.

I got up at 7am (which sucked, but I now know that the sun doesn't come up here until 8ish), to get ready to get on a bus to Coleraine.  As I was dressing after a shower, I listened to the traditional tune "I Wonder What's Keeping My True Love Tonight?" as performed by Irish band Solas.  While it's fairly clear in their rendition that it's Irish, there's a dialogue going on that reminded me of Dylan's "Boots of Spanish Leather," and a use of nature to reflect an overwhelming heartache that, to me, conjured up images of Hank Williams Sr. and Matt Stucky.  Gorgeous.

I got on a different bus in Coleraine to get to Bushmills.  For the geographically and alcoholically uneducated, Bushmills is a cute little town that is really only worth noting for a) a close proximity to Giant's Causeway, and b) the location of the Old Bushmills Distillery.  I went for (surprise!) the distillery.  Basically, it was a relatively uneventful tour, with a glass of Bushmills 10 Year Single Malt waiting for me at the end.  But anybody that enjoys whiskey can't really complain about spending half a day touring a distillery, concluded by a good glass of the booze you just watched being made.

Afterwards, I had some downtime until the return bus showed up.  So, I walked streets straight out of "P.S. I Love You," had me some down-home fish & chips, and a pint of Guinness in a local pub, with three of the most vulgar old men I could find.

And here I am back in Derry.  It was a good day.

Monday

For dinner, I cooked a ridiculous stir-fry amalgam of vegetables and seasonings, slapped it on some bread, and had me a sandwich.  It was swell.

Later, went to open-mic night at Mason's.  It went really well, like the previous week, only this time I did a couple of originals, and was awarded an additional tune.  I feel like I'm starting to work my way into a scene; the other folks that play and run the open-mic are overwhelmingly supportive and receptive and talented themselves, and I hope to play with them more, and learn a little.

After the pub started to close, me and a couple of other guitar players went outside in an archway under the wall with about 30 other people, and had an out of control sing-along 'til 2 am-ish.  Not unlike a creeker, only instead of being surrounded by trees and dirt and fire, the backdrop was a 400-year-old wall.  AWESOME.

Wednesday

Went to a pub last night, because I've seen "Wednesday - Traditional Music" advertised for a few days.  I was the only one there that gave a shit, but I talked to the guitar player for a little while, who, it turns out, also plays in a hot shit Scottish band (The Battlefield Band).  Afterwards, without any prompting from me, they did a uniquely Irish version of "Wagon Wheel."  I was a little verklempt, to say the least.  They were just as surprised as I was that anyone around here has ever heard of it.

Ireland's great, but I miss Kansas, folks.  So let's all have a drink to Joe Biden, Sarah Palin, and Fall Fest.

Monday/Tuesday

For the most party, Monday was a bus trip home from Ballyvaughan to Derry.  Monday night, though, I went with a few other BCA kids to this pub downtown where they have an open mic night every week.  I kind of expected there to be about 4 people there, and I get to play one song, and no one would give a shit.  In reality, the place was packed, I was allowed to play three songs, all three went well (Wagon Wheel is now an international hit, folks), and I got a free pint.  I now know where I'll be spending my Monday nights.

Tuesday, I spent the day giving some BCA students from Brussels a tour of the city.  They seemed legitimately interested, so maybe I have a career in being a tour guide.  I also found out that one of my classes actually doesn't exist, so now I'm signed up for, "Self, Identity, and Conflict" instead.  What a good Bethel English major class.

Weekend

Friday, I took a bus from Derry to Galway, and then from Galway to this little village on Galway Bay called Ballyvaughan.  A long bus ride with a guitar between your legs and a backpack on your lap.  I listened to William Elliot Whitmore for the majority of it.  "You're a rainstorm, a fire and a train wreck, all wrapped up in ribbons and lace..."

A little about Ballyvaughan:

It sits on the Atlantic Ocean.  I literally had a cup of tea every morning watching little Atlantic waves roll in.  You can't beat that.  We stayed in rustic little thatched roof cottages, where we kept ourselves warm by burning sod bricks, singing songs, and drinking wine.

I hiked a big hill.  We checked out an old cave.  Saw the Cliffs of Moher.  They were big and pretty and rocky and there was some ocean.  We saw a "Birds of Prey" show.  I had a hawk land on my arm, which was pretty cool.

We walked a lot of backroads.  This was, by far, the most surreal experience of the trip.  We were surrounded by rolling green hills, and old abandoned stone homes from the famine, and we walked by one currently inhabited home that had the smell of cinnamon and apples wafting out of the driveway.  It was like I was living in a goddamn Yankee Candle Company candle called, "Pie on the Windowsill of a Secluded Irish Cottage."  Seriously.  Ask anyone on the trip.  I was losing my shit.

On Sunday night, we saw a French band called Txutxukan.  They were like some crazy gypsies rocking the hell out of some random Irish village.  Check them out.  Fantastic, booty-shakin' gypsy party tunes.

Good times.

Wednesday

Had my first class yesterday.  "The Global Conversation."  It's essentially a pretty broad look at how capitalistic, consumer behavior (see USA) is fucking up EVERYTHING.  I wish I could go into it thinking "I'm going to take what these folks have to say with a grain of salt," but at this point, it's pretty difficult to not believe that there's a whole lot of truth to just how irresponsible we've been living.

I was supposed to have another class ("Irish Folklore and Heritage Studies") in the evening, but another student and I showed up, and no one was there.  Was it because we simply don't have class this week?  Was it rescheduled or moved to another room?  Is there any way I'm going to figure this out?  I have no clue.  Ireland is cool, but this university has some major organizational issues.

Didn't have class today, so I decided to walk around the city, get lost, have a couple of pints, and write some letters.  Whether or not these goals are to be considered lofty or lowly is beside the point; it was a total success.  There are a few very pretty sights in Derry, but primarily, it is a grey, dirty, and worn down town.  It's had the shit kicked out of it since damn near the beginning of time by everybody and itself, and you can feel it in the walls, breathe it in, and see it in the cigarette butts on the ground.  It's overwhelming and beautiful.

The new OCMS album came out yesterday, and I've been listening to it a lot.  I can understand complaints about it not being the same raucous OCMS of the past, but my personal opinion is that it's perhaps not a huge step forward, but rather a broadening of their skills.  It's a bit of a downer, but I'd like to look at it as maybe some kind of bittersweet epiphany of a hangover after the hard, HARD night of drinking that was OCMS and Big Iron World.  I'm curious as to what the rest of you folks think about this.

Saturday

The poem on "The Writer's Almanac" was particularly good today.  "The Wordworth Effect" by Joyce Sutphen.  Fuck Wordsworth, just find the poem.

Week 1

Long time, no post, right?

I'll spare gory details, and relatively boring stories about my first week here.  Here's an incomplete list of what's gone on here in Derry, Northern Ireland.

-the disheartening discovery that most college students here listen to American rap and hip-hop

-Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull isn't that great of a movie

-Jaffa Cakes are a chocolatey-orangey biscuit thing, and they're delicious

-the American economy sucks, and wants me to spend my life savings on a pint

-Every inch of this city is dense with historic conflict. It's difficult to not be overcome by it, but it's also a fascinating foil to the jubilant, lighthearted, and friendly people I've met everyday.

-there is no sunshine, in the best way possible

-thousands of years of socially sanctioned alcoholism means that the Irish can drink everybody under the table.  There's also a huge segment of the population that doesn't drink at all.

-I've been invited to join a rugby team.

-Our program director Jim Skelly is cool as hell.  We had dinner at his place, where he had Nina Simone playing when we came in.  Later, he gave me a glass of Talisker Scotch.  It was fantastic.

-Everybody drinks every night during the week.  However, the dorms are a ghost town on weekends, because everyone one goes home.  It's like a reverse of the US.

-Orientation lectures have informed me that fires and chlamydia lurk around every corner, and it's only a matter of time before one or both kills me.

Friday/Saturday/Sunday

Dear lord.

Okkervil River didn't come on stage until 11:30pm.  Consequently, we didn't get back to Bethel until 4am.  I still had some loose ends to tie up in terms of packing, so I just took a half-hour nap, finished packing, and drove home.  The rain lead to the creek flooding, so half of my driveway was underwater.  Slept through the entire car ride to KC without thinking twice about it.

I was really impressed by my mom; I don't think she shed a single tear until after I was gone.

KC to Newark was uneventful.  However, Newark to Belfast was ridiculous.  I became overwhelmed with faux-nostalgia for the US the second we took off, and I chose to embrace this.  I utilized the plane's spiffy multimedia gadget to listen to Toby Kieth's "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue" ("We'll shove a boot in your ass, it's the American way"), watch the Commie-ass kicking extravaganza of Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, and drink twice as much Jack Daniel's as I had intended, because the stewardess didn't have the right change if I ordered a single.

And now here I am in Derry.  It's dirty, rainy, fast as hell, and I think I'll fit in alright.  The study-abroad director (Jim: well-read, conscientious objector in 'Nam, voice like Garrison Keillor; obviously I love him) took me and the other BCA students out for dinner.  The only thing noteworthy: "Bottle of Beer" was the only beer listing on the menu, so I ordered that.  What do they bring me?  Not Guinness, not Harp, not Beamish, not some weird shit I'd never heard of, but that good ol' W-T classic... BUDWEISER.  First fuckin' beer I have in Ireland, Budweiser.  Ridiculous.

I'll put some pictures up soon, of my flat, and the city, and maybe some rain.

Friday

It's raining like hell in North Newton, and will not let up.  Soon Bethel College will be completely submerged.

Working on getting everything packed for Ireland, and it's kind of freaking me out.  Going to see Okkervil River tonight in Lawrence with Taylor and Meredith, then hopefully hauling ass back to Newton to have one last whiskey with all the folks that matter.

I fly out tomorrow, first to New Jersey, then to Belfast, where BCA will pick me up and take me to Derry.

Hoping all goes well.

Tuesday

Hosted an informational session in the mod, with the hopes to educate myself and the masses on rye whiskey.  There was a nice Powerpoint presentation, and the shitty chair on the deck is no longer with us.

Sunday

John walked into the mod at about 12:30 am.  He needed a ride to the train station.  We talked for a couple of hours about girls and poems.  Nate came in and gave us a graphic description of the troublesome vomit he had just had due to food poisoning.  Then we hauled John's toolbox, moped wheel, and body-bag of a duffle downtown and sent him off to Elkhart.

Saturday

Listening to "This American Life" in the lounge.