More Airplane Woes...

Gather around children, as I tell you all about my airplane-based-misadventure over the weekend! Like most plane-based adventures, it starts at the check-in counter, where an over-zealous North West Airline employee watches over my shoulder as I use the self-check-in kiosk, and then reads aloud the information on screen that my flight has been delayed my 25 minutes. I thank her for the information, but nonchalantly dismiss the minor delay as a possible convenience for the people picking me up in Minneapolis.

When going through security, the jaded guard stops me for a moment, and quizzes me over the name discrepancy between my boarding pass and my Passport; I’ve been travelling under the alias Sen O’Sullivan, as I was stupid enough to save my Passenger Information on Expedia as Seán, and every flight I’ve booked with Expedia for the past two months has excluded the ‘á’. I explain to the guard and continue on my way, possibly whistling merrily. I see that the tram to the departure gates has been waiting for quite some time now, and will probably take off at any second, but I maintain my walking pace, unwilling to rush until absolutely necessary. I’m about four steps away when the doors start to close so I lunge towards it, hoping the doors will not crush my outstretched hand. I barely had enough time to think “This might not be a good idea” before the doors pulled open again. Breathing a sigh of relief, I board the tram, as a stern, pre-recorded female voice, who had previously been making safety announcements and background chatter, now berates my brashness. “Somebody has interfered with the doors.” Everyone in the tram snaps their heads towards me at once. I smile awkwardly. “Please Step Away from the doors” she warns, and I worry that I’ve just got us stuck on a tram to nowhere, but the delay I caused only lasted as long as my automated-slap on the wrist.

Funnily enough, there was a bald businessman who rushed in behind me when I prised the doors apart, and he took off running as soon as we arrived at the departure terminal. He charged a good 100 yards towards the escalator, his briefcase swinging dangerously, and then stopped and stood still on the moving-stairs, holding onto the railing, seemingly forgetting his rush for a moment! Quite bizarre. When I arrived at my departure gate, I killed time on my Nintendo DS, until we finally boarded around 2.20pm, almost an hour later than we ought to have.


Cosy, no?

The plane was pretty small - it was a Canadair RJ, and as a 6’4” guy with what I’ll refer to as a ‘sturdy’ build, it was a bit cramped. I couldn’t stand up straight - or even close to straight - I had my knees bent and head bowed as low as I could comfortably manage, but I still knocked my noggin on every Exit sign, and my shoulders were pressed hard against the overhead bins on either side of the aisle I was trying to walk down. I finally got to my seat, and after usurping the woman who had mistakenly laid claim to it, I turned my attention to stowing my backpack. It wouldn’t fit in the tiny overhead bins, so I had to put it under the seat in front of me, which made squeezing into my spot all the more painful.

We sat on the plane outside the terminal for a good half hour before I fell asleep. I awoke while the plane was taxiing back to the terminal. The Pilot comes over the PA and announces that the first hour of delay had been caused by a ‘paperwork issue’ to do with ‘routing’, and now we were out of fuel from all the taxiing, and had to wait for the fuel truck before we could take off again. It was 4.10 at this stage - I know because my phone records show that I rang my friend Jac who was supposed to be picking me up twenty minutes later to tell her I was going to be very late.

People were understandably upset by the delays, and wanted to get off the plane to try and find another way to make their connecting flights, which prompted an NWA agent to board, and tell us that if just one person wanted to get off the plane, then the plane was no longer secured, and everyone on the plane would have to get off, and go through ticketing and security again. He also said that if we did that, our plane, which was now a number one priority that was ready to take off as soon as it was fuelled, would then be relegated to the bottom of the priority pile, as the planes that were on schedule would be kept on schedule. He also advised that all flights were pretty much sold out, so if any one person got off, we’d all be waiting on standby. He summed up this statement with the following, word for word; “You can stay here and go somewhere, or you can get off and go nowhere.”

Suspicious stares shot through the cabin from one passenger to another, before it became clear that no one person was willing to be hated by forty others. The question & answer session that followed was interrupted by our fuel truck showing up. Not before the overweight, bearded gentleman across the row from me in a garish Hawaiian shirt shouted out “How about we get some cheeseburgers!?” Which would have been fine, but he shouted it every four seconds until the guy next to him satisfied his craving for attention by acknowledging his outburst. Trapped on a cramped plane, sitting opposite the forty-year old class clown, I began to entertain myself by narrating in my head the events as they unfolded.

The joy that followed our refuelling was instantly quashed by the captain informing us that we couldn’t take off until the plane had been de-iced again, which elicited a few more groans from the chorus. He then summarised what had happened, and how long he expected it would be before we’d be in the air, and got off the mic. I turned to the clown to my right, and in a rare moment of trying to be nice to a complete fool, I quipped “I didn’t hear any mention of a Big Mac just now”. He responded with a look of utter confusion, then an ill-suitedly sincere “Yes... You’re right.” It took me a moment to realise that over the hum of the engines, and also possibly his unpreparedness to hear an Irish accent, I had just accosted him with “Ah dinnae heeuh ‘nee men-chun uv a Bi’ Mack junnow!”

But no matter - we were finally in the air, and all was well… For a while anyway. I was minding my own business, playing my DS, (dancing up a storm in Elite Beat Agents for the few that care), when I could’ve swore I heard the air hostess say something that sounded like “We need a doctor”. When a very large woman pounded her way past me, I removed my headphones and turned to my new acquaintance, Bland Bob (a nice chap with little personality), and asked him what was going on. Bland Bob softly told me “I think somebody needs a doctor”. Sure enough, about three rows in front of me there was an old geezer looking a bit hot and bothered, and out of it, while the aforementioned fatty stood over him mopping his brow and neck with a cloth. The lone stewardess clumsily got down a tank of oxygen from the overhead bin and advanced on the ill chap, looking absolutely panic-stricken. This is where I admit that I missed out on a bit of character development, and rewind a bit. Very shortly after the plane took off, she began distributing beverages (giving away free alcohol as compensation! Damn my non-drinking disposition!), she confided in me and Bland Bob that she was incredibly nervous because she never knew how to deal with passengers on a delayed flight. So back to the emergency then - the old geezer got his oxygen while his wife looked on in terror, but I still felt worst for the stewardess, who seemed to be having a worse heart-attack than the chap clutching his chest.

After a bit, the old geezer started to look a bit better, and even seemed to be joking with his hideously obese helper (who was no way a doctor - I’ve never seen an obese doctor, let alone a doctor who dresses as poorly as that woman… sorry). However, it felt as though the plane was starting to descend already - we had at least another hour of flight time! Bland Bob turns to me and says “I think we’re descending”. I look out the window - there’s a city a few hundred feet below us and inching closer - good catch there, Bob. Bob looks at his watch, chuffed, and says “That was pretty quick, yeah?” I postulate that we might not actually be in Minneapolis, but rather making an emergency landing in Chicago. The people behind me are now discussing how fast the flight was, and begin to point out landmarks in the city, identifying them as various bits and pieces they know from Minneapolis. The stewardess gets on the mic once again, informing us “Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be landing soon, but please remain in your seats with your seat-belts fastened”. I turn to Bland Bob, asking if he noticed that she didn’t specify where we’d be landing, and he tells me without a shadow of a doubt that we are in Chicago. Anyway - the plane eventually lands, while the woman behind me mistakenly points out that the flight was actually 2 hours because Pittsburgh is an hour behind Minneapolis (it’s the other way around), and I resist the temptation to set her straight because she’s actually amusing me.

There’s an ambulance waiting on the runway, and once the plane has come to a stop, the stewardess announces “Folks, we are NOT in Minneapolis, we are in Chicago”. The collective “What!?” from seemingly everyone else other than Bland Bob, the Class Clown and his lackey makes me laugh. It’s 7pm now - I call Jac and tell her I’m going to be delayed some more. The old geezer walks himself off the plane with the medical staff, and hops into the ambulance, which then sits on the runway, like us for 45 minutes, as we speculate on our flight’s fate. Is the plane now ‘compromised’, since a passenger has gotten off? Do we have to go through security again and sit on standby? The stewardess and pilot are both unaware of the policy, and we wait anxiously, while those more fortunate (by which I mean less tall) than I stand up and stretch out. 5 hours of sitting on a plane is a literal pain in the ass.

Finally, we get the go ahead, and after a ‘quick’ de-icing stop, and a bit of waiting on the runway for our turn to take off, we get on our way. This leg of the journey is largely uneventful, although I did manage to squeeze myself into the pathetically small bathroom, and stand up and take a piss while not actually standing up… Upon my exit from the world’s smallest cubicle, a fellow passenger asks “How did you fit in there?” A dry “I didn’t” was the wittiest reply I had to offer.

We finally touch down in Minneapolis, at 9pm. Not 4.30pm. And I ring Jac, and I tell her I’m finally there. She tells me to wait by the baggage carousel, and hangs up - and then Caitlyn greets me, which was a great surprise, but I was surprisingly out of it from the amount of endorphins my brain had released to maintain paralysis of my posterior, and I waited by the first baggage claim I saw - the wrong baggage claim. I may even have called her by the wrong name when I saw her, but I was overjoyed at the prospect of not having to spend any more time in a plane!

The weekend that followed was worth the problematic trip, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear - I wish I had taken my camera so I’d at least have some colourful indication of the happy ending, but such is life! Thanks for reading this gargantuan post, I'm sorry to have taken as much of your time as I have with some of the self-indulgent narration that I have, but this is a recreation of the inner-monologue that I entertained myself with on the plane!

Nothing says "I love you" like a hand-made Valentine... To my friends who have yet to meet Caitlyn, however, it says something more along the lines of "Is Sully a paedophile?"


Also, just to tie up the loose ends; we were told that the chap who suffered the heart attack was in a ‘stable condition’ upon our arrival in Minneapolis. Unfortunately, after leaving the hospital he was hit by a bus and died.

Open to Interpretation?

Sorry that Part 2 of the Chicago trip blog isn't here yet, but I've been distracted with what I'll discuss later!

I went to my creative writing class this morning, the one that's focusing on poetry far longer than it ought to be, and I got back one of the first poems I had to write at the start of the semester. I wish I had a scanner, as I'd just slap it up here and let it speak for itself, but now I guess I have to go to the hassle of replicating it through text... After being shackled to the formula of writing a haiku, I got a little nutty, and decided to voice my disdain by writing a crap, crass, juevenile poem. The 'poem' and subsequent feedback were as follows;

Puerile
Poets love winter scenes,
The snow, wind, and icy lakes...
I prefer boobies

Next to the poem, he wrote "Entertaining - nice abrupt change of tone".

Just thought I'd share.

Obligatory Sight-seeing Blogging

UPDATE 01/12/07 : Just realised that 'Chicago' is not mentioned once over the course of this blog entry! Sorry about that!

Right - now that I'm done with the vent-fest that was Belgium Week, it's time to resume your scheduled programming!

The purpose of the trip was to meet up with my buddy Mike, who was visiting his girlfriend Holly, but it afforded me a chance to meet plenty of interesting characters, sample the different culture, and do the obligatory sightseeing nonsense that these study-abroad experiences are expected to be riddled with!

I arrived on Thursday evening, and went out to a Disco Bar type setting, which was a fairly typical night - had no problems getting in with my poorly faked ID, and I spent the evening conversing with random friends of Holly. Amazingly, for the first time since I got here, I met two Irish lads, one of whom was studying abroad in the States for a year, much like myself. The similarities didn't end there though, his tongue was loosened from a fairly successful night of drinking, and we found out we had a lot in common, most of which was the eerily similar tales of our respective American girlfriends... As if there's only one formula that all these yanks use in order to secure themselves some hot-piece-of-poor-'th'-sound-pronouncing-man-ass! My similarities with my new friend ended when later on in the night I witnessed him urinating behind a mailbox while his friend screamed drunken obscenities at some large looking men... Those fightin' Irish!

On the freezing cold walk back, I learned that Dunkin' Donuts was still open, so of course we had to stop in on the way - and in the process stumbled upon a freestyle rap battle! Basically there were two black kids against four or so white boys, and the white guys got schooled. My initial speculation that the black guys had a list of insulting rhymes pre-learnt so they could rattle off was disproved after they took what the white kids said and turned it against them. I was a little disappointed that the black kid kept everything at 'ghetto' mentality - talking about selling crack and smoking dope, when he seemed to be not be doing so poorly, judging from his 'fly' clothing. After knocking the uppity white kids speechless, they embraced as a show that the entire affair was in good humour, which was a relief that nobody was in fact, going to get capped in their pasty white ass. Sadly, I had no camera on me to document this fascinating ritual, but it's definitely something that you have to see for yourself.

Friday was the main day of sightseeing - Mike and I walked the 'Miracle Mile' - which is basically a lot of nice shops, as we made our way towards the Sears Tower, stopping into the Library along the way to avail of the bathroom facilities (not that you needed to know that, but it's technically another thing I saw). The closer we got to the Sears Tower, the more 'Caution - Falling Ice' signs we saw. When we were within a four block radius of the tower, we began to see this ice we were cautioned about, as the brick-sized lumps hurtled towards the ground at a startling pace. Amazingly, despite a couple of near misses, I didn't see anybody get hit.



The observation deck on the 103rd floor was closed for annual renovations, so we went to the 99th floor... (just doesn't seem as impressive, does it?) Here we were mesmerised by the falling ice as we waited for Holly, her brother and his friend to meet up with us. Despite the mist, the view was still pretty impressive, and from sitting around for a half hour or so, it at least felt like better value for money than my time atop the Empire State building! (and watching ice fall to earth and speculating how many people it killed made for a fun game)

That blur to the top, just left of centre is a chunk of ice hurtling towards someone's skull

Here's Scott and Kevin demonstrating how tall this tower is. Cheers lads.

This post is getting long, so I think I'll finish the rest later, but here's some more pics and info!

Mike and I went to a mall where they were recording a Christmas Movie with Vince Vaughn!

Belgium Week Fornight: The Conclusion

Wondering why I'm still writing about Belgium? Well, this is a way for me to illustrate that much like my co-op experience, what was advertised is not what you're going to get...

Okay, I admit, it was because I had academic obligations that were slightly more pressing than the climax of Belgium Week.

During the week, a friend informed me that some hapless UL students have recently arrived in Leuven for work at the Institute, and I honestly feel like I have their blood on my hands. Call me naive, or even egocentric, but when I was sent home because of my bad back, one of the last things I said to Dermot was that I was beginning a campaign to end the future suffering of our peers who would be duped like we had been, because I honestly thought I could make a difference if they found out how absolutely horrid it was!

Dermot, wishing he was the dead terrorist on the front of this magazine

I stormed into my placement officer's office the day after I arrived home, bearing in mind that I'd have to stay some bit level-headed while still telling her of the atrocities. I began by telling her about the potentially illegal housing. It was like talking to a machine - with a complete poker face she tells me she'll pass it onto her superior. "I'll inform Jerry".
I told her about the insanely long working hours.
"I'll inform Jerry."
I told her that there was no educational value to be found whatsoever from the experience, and the time off is insufficient to see Europe.
"I'll inform Jerry."
Any number of things I said to her were met with this pre-programmed response. It was futile.

Exasperated, I was began to spit vitriol, and begun using the same adjectives I've been plastering here, "back-breaking", "depressing", "demeaning", "degrading", "infuriating", "pointless".
She kept her professional composure, and offered no reactions, or even a compassionate ear. My list of solid arguments ended, but I didn't, and I continued to talk, now only with blind fury:
"I mean... Christ! The people who work there and enjoy it are goddamned idiots who get by by drinking every moment they're not at work, and even sometimes when they are!"

I wanted to tell her about my first morning there, when a colleague came down from her room to the sitting room, sat on the couch, and started smoking a joint. For breakfast. Not a word of "Would you mind?" or "Is it okay if...?". Not wanting to avail of the second-hand dope-smoke, I had to go into my room and kill time on my laptop... This motif continued for the following four and a half months, as I didn't want to be a part of anything that was going on in that house.

I wanted to tell her all of this, but she cut me off, in a very curt, professional manner.
"Now Seán, I'm willing to let you express your concerns about the co-op, but don't bitch about the people you had to work with! Show some sense of professionalism."
I was so used to being talked down on and taking it on the chin, I'm not even sure if I replied. The topic of the Institute essentially ended on that note; me being reprimanded.



This is, of course, part of the reason my co-op report is as inhibited as it is (if you've read the below posts you'll know that my word choice is ironic). However, I have yet to hand it in, so nobody can avail of the many explicit warnings within. The final weeks of my co-op were spent working somewhere with actual educational merit, and I must construct a separate report that explains what I got up to there. This report will be the complete opposite of it's companion piece, and I'm hoping the juxtaposition between the two will show that I'm more than some lazy, begrudging bitter bastard, and someone who is willing to express an honest opinion.

To those students from the University of Limerick, or any other College anywhere in the world, who have been sentenced to misery by menial-labour, I have only one thing to say, and that is "Get out while you still can." For the love of Christ, don't hope that it'll get better and stick it out, no matter how much they promise you that more staff are on the way, or there's a quiet period coming up. Don't stay out of pride, or stubbornness, or fear that you've 'failed' by leaving and looking for something better, the Co-Op office should have given you a job that relates to your future career, and you shouldn't be there! It's not going to look very good on a CV/résumé that you spent 6 months scrubbing shit off of toilets, even if they were exotic "mainland Europe" toilets. Granted, since my time, there was a change in the upper-management, so maybe things are a little more reasonable, but that shouldn't be the point. You're in college, I assume you're there to ensure your future doesn't involve such derision, so why start now?

I'd like to end on the note that going to Leuven, despite the good that came with it, is still the closest I will ever come to making a decision that I will regret for the rest of my life.

"the good that came with it" (Note I'm wearing Dermo's shirt)

Belgium Week: The Debacle Continues

As mentioned more than once before, one of my few hobbies is editing videos that distil certain events into the highlights that were caught on tape. On occasion, a random idea will pop into my head, like a song that would complement a certain theme, and I’ll make a mental note of it, and get working on it as soon as possible. On the plane on the way over to Belgium, I thought of something nice; I was going to get the best photos and clips that I took, and edit them to the very sentimental song 'Wish you were here' by Incubus, as a sort of video-postcard for my friends and family. I had great ideas for this video, and had a loose framework of the kind of clips I wanted where, what transitions I was going to use, and a new technique I was going to employ to really push the sappy, sentimental angle.


This was going to be one of the first images you'd be confronted with

After a week in Leuven, I knew that this video would never see the light of day, because “I wish you were here” was a fate I’d never wish on any of my friends. I scrapped the idea, and after a month or two I thought I’d try again to get myself editing a video again, just for the sake of it. This one was going to use ‘The Adventure’ by Angels and Airwaves, and we got the first forty seconds into it without much effort, using the footage we took on our first trip to Brussels. Once we had squeezed every last shot out that we could, we were stumped as to what else we could put in - because we had few pictures or video footage of things that we’d want to remember, or even consider part of an ’adventure’. Rather than taking our minds off the miserable time we were having, our project only served to highlight the amount of things we wanted to forget about! I tried to complete it on my own, taking a different approach, but it fell asunder once more.

My demeanour in Belgium was a little different than usual. It was a joke that I was working there, and eventually living became one too. Every night, Dermot and I would lay in the bunk-beds, gossiping about the inane antics of our stupider colleagues and laughing at their expense, and asking all kinds of questions.

Every morning, like clockwork, before saying “good morning”, Dermot would announce how many days we had left, down to the half. More than a talking clock counting down to freedom, he was the guy who kept me sane during the entire debacle. We discussed other matters too; such as the first thing we’d do once our time was served, filling each other in on our real lives back home that we were eager to resume, and making countless morbid jokes about the sweet embrace of death, which tempted us with its instant release from our humiliation and degradation. Before you go re-reading that last one and panic, relax - it was 100% in jest, and more often than not, elaborately describing our comically grisly demises made for much mirth in the dark hours in the staff house.


Another of the photos from our first night... Pre-spirit breaking, of course!

Bear in mind that I’m only speaking on my behalf, but these are my better memories of the time I spent with Dermot in Belgium. Dermot was an oasis of intellectual stimulation in a barren desert of ignorance, and as a result was quickly catapulted into the ranks of my better friends and trusted confidant!

Anyways, I’m going to leave it at that for now; tomorrow should see the final entry or entries of Belgium Week, so be sure to check that out, and remember, comments are hugely appreciated!


Figgs gets special props for not being a plonker - cheers Figgs!

Belgium Week: More Co-Op Reportage

"Hey Dermo! I'll give ya a tenner if you skewer my heart with that corkscrew!"

This is the second instalment about my Co-Op Report, and this entry should see the scathing remarks intensifying. Rather than post in the entire thing (there’s some boring technical stuff that I won’t bore you with), here are the choice quotes from the Summary page, starting with the opening line.

The time I spent at the Louvain Institute for Ireland in Europe was a waste of my time. Reading this report may very well be a waste of yours. […] The Louvain Institute for Ireland in Europe scams its employees with the €110 a week 'trainee wage', which remains at that level regardless of the hours put in. It scams potential workers by telling them they'll be working 9 hour days, when 12-16 are more of a reality. It scams the Universities by misinforming them about the work and living arrangements their students will be a part of (we had to lie to the police about where we resided – what kind of an ethical organisation asks that of their workers?). […] Why should an English student have to make beds and scrub toilets? New Media and self-degradation have what in common? If I were doing European Studies, I could maybe understand why I was there, but since I wasn't, I considered it a failure of the coop office that such an option was being offered to students like myself. That's not to say UL should sever all ties with the Louvain Institute – if they ever offer a Janitor Studies course, it might justify the two organisations getting back in touch.

Shortly after my spirit broke, my back followed. Despite being diagnosed with Discus Bulging of the lower spine, and presenting my Doctor's note to my employer, I was still forced to engage in tasks of physical labour. I attempted to reason with the management to no avail. No amount of pleading would sway their decision, as they simply didn’t care about my welfare. When I brought the issue to the CoOp office and made my health-concerns known back home however, the institute dropped me like a sack of bricks. If I could glean nothing else from the CoOp, at least it has given me some peace of mind about the spinal defect that I have to live with for the rest of my life, as it spared me a month and a half of misery at the Louvain Institute for Ireland in Europe.

This picture was taken on the first night. It was six months before I ever saw Dermot Murphy smile again...

So that’s the Summary... So I’m ready to paste in more stuff from the Learning Opportunities page, and I honestly can’t believe some of the stuff I wrote here! Without further ado;

The learning opportunities were minimal at the Louvain Institute for Ireland in Europe, in terms of what can be applied to my course of study, or even life. It did, however, present me with numerous opportunities to indulge in drunken, drug-fuelled revelry and fornication. Here is a non-exhaustive list of the Learning Opportunities afforded to me by my Co-Op Experience, many of which I knew of already, some are activities that those who were content at the Institute got up to, so they're here just to take up space.

● Smuggling illegal drugs such as marijuana and hashish into Belgium is easily facilitated by a quick train to Amsterdam and a rucksack
● Cleaning caked-on human excrement off a toilet seat is best accomplished by squirting cleaning product directly onto the faeces, then leaving it to dissolve away the faecal matter until the smell rises, after which a damp sponge may be employed in a vigorous scrubbing manner.
● Without mental stimulation at work, a human being is capable of going into a trance-like state, wherein they carry out their work in a robotic fashion, all the while thinking of the other place where they wish they were
● During the aforementioned state of extreme boredom, certain items of cutlery take on unique personalities based on their distinctive markings
● Changing a beer keg is not difficult. Having to lug it half a mile around a hilly, cobblestoned town to where it has to be hooked up is the hard part
● Lower back pain can be exacerbated by the motions employed when clearing and setting tables
● There are people utterly devoid of ambition in this world who put up with incredible amounts of misery so long as they are granted occasional access to alcohol and/or drugs
● Ignorant people can, and do rise to positions where they can abuse young people
● A person can spend a solid 138 days of regretting a poor decision they made, until such time as they are freed from their misery
● The medical system in Belgium is highly efficient
● Living in a mouldy, damp house is a good way to develop an intestinal infection
● 'Flushing out' an infected intestine is a messy process
● Not all Co-op is worthwhile
● Fairly laid-back, easygoing people are capable of being remoulded into misanthropic, embittered shells of their former selves

Quite the denunciation, yes? But don't get me wrong, I’m not looking for sympathy, being the sort of person I am, I can see the positive side to having something to write about on a blog! The point of these entries is to emphasise the absurdity of the situation that I was sent to that desolate place with an educational value of nil as part of a four year degree course!

Belgium Week: The Co-op Report

"Seán, please kill me"

Part of the co-op experience is writing a report where you describe the organisation, and what you learned from your time spent there. This presented me with a challenge, as I learned pretty much nothing over those five months or so, yet I was required to meet my word quota. Of course, I decided my report would serve to entertain myself while highlighting the atrocity that was the University of Limerick being willing to send a New Media and English student to stoop over toilets for half a year (although that’s not quite how they pitched it to me before I left).

For your reading pleasure, I will now copy and paste in excerpts from my actual co-op report, which has not yet been submitted to UL, but will be once it’s finished. I am 100% behind what I am saying here, and they have been in no way altered for this blog entry.

Work Skills Page
UL’s co-op site asks that students discuss skills they have improved or gained under a number of suggested categories, of which many were incompatible with my experiences (does using a mop count as ‘ICT Skills’?). Don’t worry, dear reader, for I made do with what I could!

They asked for evidence of ‘Basic Work Skills';
●Reporting to work as scheduled and on time.
●Dressing appropriately for work.
●Having an awareness of how formal personal interactions in the employing organisation are.

So here is how I fulfilled these requirements:

Basic Work Skill
Working at the Institute, the only 'skill' that could be learned is that of basic work. The work is uninteresting, difficult, unrewarding, excessive, demeaning, and entirely unsuited to an English student. What follows is the obligatory spiel about how I learned to conduct myself at work;
● I showed up on time for work. This task is achieved by setting an alarm clock to wake up oneself at a time that will allow them to report to work before they are scheduled to begin. It is important to show up for work on time, as otherwise fellow workers and managers will get upset, and that would be bad.
● I dressed appropriately for work. This involved putting on a pair of black pants – operated by putting the left and right legs into their respective areas of the garment, pulling up the zipper, and fastening the button. I wore a belt with these pants – it wraps around the pants through the designated hoops, and stays together by means of passing a bar through the appropriate notch. Belts are important because they prevent gravity from removing one's pants – which could lead to the exposure of one's underpants or even genitals during work. I wore a white shirt to cover my arms and torso. The shirt works in a very similar manner to the pants, only instead of surrounding your legs, arms are what holds the garment in place. The buttons are then fastened, and the shirt is tucked into the aforementioned pants. This tucking is the hardest part of the job, as one must uniformly have the same amount of shirt hanging over the brim of the pants.
● Formal personal interactions were never explicitly outlined to me, but being an intelligent type, I assumed that swearing, sexual advancements and screaming were all examples of inappropriate behaviour in front of guests.

Cultural/International Awareness
● I learned the basic pleasantries in Flemish – I would've liked to learn more, but the free lessons that we had been promised by the Institute turned out to be hot air, and attending lessons at the University in town would cost me more money than I was willing to pay.
● I learned a lot about the Belgian culture while not at work, such as their bars are only legally required to close for one hour a day to clean, and certain denizens seem to have an affinity for headbutting strangers in nightclubs

UL Sez Communication Skills involve;
●Listening to others in an effective and attentive manner.
●Participating effectively in meetings and/or group settings.
●Developing the ability to read and understand written materials.
●Communicating ideas and concepts clearly both verbally and in writing.
●Recognising the importance of non-verbal communication.

I think I illustrate my proficiency in communication with these easily digested, bulleted points;

Communication Skills
● I learned that when the boss says she doesn't “give a shit” - it means that you've lost your argument and it's time to give in.
● Non-verbal communication is used in many interactions. When you can feel your boss's evil glare burning a hole in your forehead, you know that she doesn't care about what it is you're saying.
● I learned that unless you get something written down and signed, it means nothing. Furthermore, the early warning system of that person who promised you something avoiding eye contact / any contact with you lets you know when you are about to get screwed over for the umpteenth time.
● The most motivational weapon in a trainee-manager's arsenal is the word 'fuck'. Examples of this include “If you don't get this done by two o'clock – you're fucked”, and “I don't care if your shift was supposed to end four hours ago – just fucking do it”.

This report has not yet been submitted to the UL co-op office, and it seems I must also get someone from the institute to sign it, which should lead to some interesting correspondence. Tomorrow, I will be posting a few more bits and pieces from my report that continue this diatribe.

But what do you think? Does come across as a tad bitter? Do you think it's funny? Will UL appreciate my unflinching honesty in my attempts to stretch what little educational merits were to be found in the Louvain Institute for Ireland in Europe?

You guys know where the comments section is by now, yes?

Belgium Week: Dermot's Limerick

After e-mailing Dermot asking him to contribute to this 'special' feature week, he replied with what I think is a hilarious Limerick that sums up our initial experiences nicely. I was going to post it later in the week, but since it sets the tone of us laughing at ourselves, it makes more sense to put it up here first!

The only thing you should know before reading this is that our co-op was organised by 'Searson'; a woman who is not on my Christmas card list.

Take it away, Dermo!



What do you guys think? I'm going to leave my comments in the comments section, hope to see you there!

Doing What I do Best...?

It's the 28th of January, 2007. This is a significant date for me, and my old friend Dermot, who, one year ago, boarded a plane to Belgium, eager to begin our learning experiences as University of Limerick students outside the classroom, commencing the obligatory Co-Op segment of our respective courses.

Over the next five days or so, to 'commemorate' this occasion, I will post a few entries that pertain to the time I spent working at the Louvain Institute for Ireland in Europe. Allow me to set the tone by saying I hated it the second I got there, and hoped it would get better, but it never did!

Not saying it was all bad, truth be told, there was a certain amount of fun to be had when I was as far away as possible from that place (I got a chance to fall in love with Germany all over again one weekend). I made a few friends that I still remember fondly to this day (which is rare for a misanthrope such as myself).

I've asked Dermot to contribute something over the coming days, and I'm hoping we can fill the next week with some interesting posts, but that is quite a daunting proposition with all the schoolwork I've to catch up on because of my weekend in Chicago! Be sure to comment and steer this feature where you want to see it go, and enjoy some of the more voyeuristic posts on this blog!

Spam: Saviour of Human Race?

While clearing the hundreds of Spam e-mails from my Yahoo! (they spell it with an exclamation mark, so I do too) Mailbox, something startling came to my attention; see for yourself.





In case you're like me, and rarely enlarge those pictures, or you just missed it, here's a close up of what I was hoping you'd notice.



It seems that at 10.14pm, Greenwich Mean Time, on Monday, the eighteenth of January, in the year two thousand and thirty eight, the human race will finally be able to communicate with the past! I would guess that after years of government testing, the technology finally leaked to the private sector. The thirties are a desolate place for small businesses, as a handful of dictators control what little resources remain on Earth after the years of chemical and nuclear warfare that ravaged it for over 12 years.

It seems that in this future dystopia, the English language has morphed into something that scarcely reflects the tongue we are familiar with today, as most of the Commonwealth is underwater, and refugees from the various English speaking nations have failed to preserve the language in the form we know today. Grammar is loose and sloppy, and spelling inconsistent as a result.

From my observations on these artefacts from the future, I ascertain that the only consumer goods that will be allowed are replica Rolex watches. Since the introduction of curfews in the early thirties, most of humankind needs to know the time, all the time, but sadly most cannot afford this luxury. As trigger-happy guards of the hegemonic systems of government have lowered world population considerably, these businesses have begun advertising in the past to boost revenues.

This is an exciting time to be alive, as we can now converse with our future selves and learn from our mistakes. Do we use it for good, and see what the next 30 years have taught us about Global Warming? Or do we use it for personal gain, and find out sound business investments and which sports teams to bet on?

My friends, we are entering a brave new epoch of humankind, and with the foresight of tomorrow's hindsight, there’s never been a better time to live on this planet we call Earth.


I’m sorry... This is what happens when English students get Spam and feel like blogging about it... In my defence, I got very little sleep last night, and I do apologise for making you read through this!

I Can't be a Poet! I Don't Have a Middle Initial!

Wow.

I'm two weeks into the new semester already! To comemmorate this hugely momentous occasion, I thought I'd skim over the classes I'm taking. First is TV Production; which could turn out to be my favourite class ever, as I learn the technical and practical aspects behind producing a Studio-based TV show.

I'm taking a course on the History of the English Language, which is basically a literature class, but with the added incentive of being able to enthrall my friends by using words such as 'etymology', and enlightening them with exciting tales of how certain words and phrases came into everyday usage... (I wouldn't want to be my friend either)

I'm doing World Literature - typical literature class fare; I'll find a few texts enjoyable and forget the rest, hopefully broadening my horizons in the process. Last, and certainly not least; I'm taking Creative Writing, which takes a workshop approach; so my compositions will be evaluated by my fellow-scholars.

Interestingly enough, I have to compose a poem for Monday's session, which I find to be daunting. Those who know me are well aware that poetry is not for me, whether reading or composing. In my down time over the weekend (which probably won't be much) I'll probably scratch out a few rough drafts of a haiku; the professor has been quite gentle with this first assignment, as this type of poetry doesn't have to be long, and can be about pretty much anything, so it shouldn't be too challenging...

I don't think I'd make a good poet for the simple reason that I like to use language that gets my point across as bluntly and brutally as possible. I really don't like being open to interpretation, because people are invariably stupid, and read into things that shouldn't be read into; but that's where people get a lot of enjoyment from poetry, isn't it?

It's noteworthy pointing out that there's some Emo kid (who the hell is still Emo when they're in college?) and he's more than willing to jump in front of the class and read us his poetry that rhymes "castration" with "masturbation" and then follows it up with "starvation"... He reads this deep, profound material (that's sarcasm) from an expensive looking diary type book that he probably writes terrible emo-lyrics in...

Hey, who knows? If I write something that I like, I might even post it in here, provided it isn't something dangerously introspective, or completely moronic... Although, if it is moronic for the sake of amusing myself, it may well grace this webpage before too long!

Just for the sake of adding a splash of colour to the page, here's a picture of me skulking around in the background at 21st birthday party I recently attended.

The Internet as a learning tool? Pshaw!

Lately I've found myself using YouTube more and more for video-tutorials on Photoshop and complicated video-editing software, as both are hobbies of mine, but in the process I stumbled across a very interesting video from Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty.

It shows a not-extraordinary looking woman (I'm trying to be diplomatic withh my choice of words here) being transformed into something you'd usually find on the front of a magazine, or in this case, a billboard... Just watch it and you'll see what I mean, it won't take a minute (it'll actually take a minute and a quarter).



Staggering, yes? Seems there has been videos like this on YouTube before this ad surfaced, (which may have been where Dove got the idea) but you can see something even more extreme happening here - although it's done in a more technical style, so you'd probably be more interested in the final comparison shot.

Lastly, and just as an aside, because I personally found this hilarious - it being the kind of response I'd post to this new YouTube fad; somebody spoofed it! Here it is...

I was always aware that photos in magazines were being airbrushed, erasing blemishes and other such imperfections, but I never considered the kind of manipulation that's apparrent here! Stretching out necks? Shrinking and curving shoulders? Enlarging a girl's eyes? I'm a little ashamed that I can find a girl with such cartoon-like features attractive!

These videos also evoke a sense of jealousy from me - I want to be that good at Photoshop! Maybe then the pics on this blog will be more Calvin Klein, and less Shrek!

Lazy Blog Entry #44

It's been a busy few days, and I'm six days into my second semester here at RMU. From these few days, I've realised that I'm going to have to put in a little more effort this semester than I did last time around to get the same kind of results.

I am, however, taking a fantastic class in Television Production, and I'll be helping out at the College TV station, which is hugely exciting for me. I'll probably end up posting whatever clips of the work I'll be doing over the coming few months on this blog, so I thought I'd get around to uploading some of my older stuff to YouTube - if for nothing else other than as a way for you to see how I've 'progressed' in my video-editing hobby.

This is a quasi-music video to Knapweed's Androgynous Andy, and I think it's decent. It's not how I wanted it to turn out, and there are a couple of shots that still annoy me after almost two years of the video being finished; the result of letting the band members have final say on how everything pieced together.



I do apologise that I've not been updating much as of late, but I'd rather not post just for the sake of posting, and I won't have much to say about anything until I find some spare time! In two weeks I'll be heading to Chicago, which should provide some fodder for a hefty picture-based entry, but in the interim, I'm planning on putting up a small piece about the people I'm hanging out with in the States.

You Know You're back at RMU when...

Well, my first post of the New Year, and as if to set the tone for the coming 11 and three quarter months of blogging, this one talks about crap*.

I'm back at Robert Morris University after three glorious weeks away. As much as I'd love to gush about how much fun I had with the 'girl-whose-corrective-lenses-prescription-I-hope-never-gets-stronger', I thought I'd focus on the fact that I ate good food while away from college. In some cases, very good food.

What has this to do with anything? Well, I don't think my stomach was ready for RMU's offerings today. In the past I've heard a number of fellow-scholars mention that laxative ingredients are added to the food to regulate the student's bowel movements, but I always took this information with a grain of salt.

That was, of course, until I went to Caitlyn's for Thanksgiving. While staying with her and eating homecooked or restaurant food, I had fewer bowel movements over the entire week than in a single day at Robert Morris.

You may think that this is too personal to share on such a public forum, but I assure you that I am not alone. Too many times I've seen someone I know blaze past me without the slightest bit of salutation on their part, because their sole objective is to get to a bathroom before it's too late. I've witnessed all too many dorm-mates staggering shell-shocked and white faced out of the bathroom, their very disposition (among other things) quite visibly rattled for some moments afterward.

The novelty of a solid stool being deposited in a Robert Morris cubicle is a cause for celebration, as strangers are united in wonderment, crowding around the bowl to ask the creator of the enviable specimen; "What did you eat?" "How did you maintain such a solid structural integrity?"

Of course, once one has figured this out for themselves, they will not tell a soul, for fear that the one untainted item on the menu sells out before they can get to it, and they are relegated back to the rank of the cheek-pinching plebians, pounding on the stall doors, anxiously crying out "C'mon man! I got class in 5 minutes!", while muttering silent prayers to the patron saint of sphincter muscles...

I'm hoping that by blazing a trail and being the first to openly declare that we have a problem with the 'nourishment' offered by the food-court, I will spark the inevitable revolution that will ultimately put a dozen dentists out of a job, as RMU students will no longer grit their teeth while trying to bear the 220 kPas of pressure on their... Okay, you get the point by now, yes?

I think I've painted a clear enough picture of one of the hardships I have to endure while on this American-adventure, so I might well leave it at that!

*Bet you thought I was being figurative, eh?

No Resolutions Here...

Being the nerd that I am, I'm spending New Year's Eve fixing my blog! Well, it's pretty much fixed now that the pictures from the earlier posts are showing, but I've still a few things to do to make sure they stay there.

I hope this blog post finds you well; I'm doing great myself. I had a really great Christmas, and was surrounded by enough good people to distract me away from the fact that I wasn't home, although the sheer novelty of spending a solid 10 days with Caitlyn is probably the main reason I had such a good time.



Forgive the sentimental tone of this post, but I have just spent the last half hour skimming over my blog while listening to The Fray, so I'm reflecting on what a great couple of months I've had here in these United States. As great as the initial few weeks were, things just keep seem to be getting better - which bodes well for this coming semester!

I'm going to get back to work on making sure those pictures stay where they're supposed to, so I'm going to leave you, and wish you a Happy New Year!

Sully & Air-travel don't seem to mix well...

So as I write this, I'm shooting the breeze in Minneapolis International Airport, waiting for Caitlyn to pick me up, and forgive me if this post is a tad pointless (implying the others are pointful?) but I had to share the lastest bizarre thing that happened me.

I flew out of Orlando with AirTran Airways, because they're good and cheap. I had a creepy old lady next to me who communicated with me by squinting her left or right eye at me, and a pilot to my right who kept interrupting my MP3 listening pleasure to critque our pilot's flying methods; apparrently during landing, we came in "way too hot". There were also a pair of drunken rednecks just one row of seats behind me, and whenever they spoke(/squawked), the whole area smelt of cheap whisky for some moments afterwards.

Despite this, it was an alright flight - even though I was seated in the back of the plane again, the drone of the engines wasn't as woeful as the NWA flight last month that I whinged about, and some of what the pilot next to me had to say was very interesting.

Anyways, back to this 'bizarre thing'. I was the victim of... Well, I'm not quite sure what I was the victim of, so I'll just tell the story. When we were getting off the plane, one of the highly competent and very pleasant air-hostesses was saying farewell to each of the passengers. The white gentleman in front of me passed to a greeting of "Have a happy Christmas, Sir". The white woman behind him walked by to a cheery "Merry Christmas, Ma'am." The troupe of small white kids go by, accompanied by their parents, and the hostess stoops over the children, saying "be good now boys, and Santa might be good to you!"

It's my turn. She turns towards (white) Sully says "Happy" and trails off. She smiles at me, takes a moment to recompose herself, and completes the sentiment "... whatever it is you guys celebrate!"

I couldn't believe it. "Whatever it is you guys celebrate"? The white wrinkly hags behind me got the Christmas-flavoured greeting, but I wasn't good enough for it somehow! I mean, how foreign do I look exactly? Of all the farewells, I was the only one who got the politically correct version, which is upsetting, seeing as I'm not the most politically correct type myself.

Obviously, I'm not as bothered by this as I might be letting on, but other than my fairly obvious accent, I don't understand why I was singled out!

I should have asked her, shouldn't I...

Oh yeah, and in other news; AirTran broke the handle off my bag.

Plonkers.

The End of the Road(Trip)

Maggie, her brother Jordan and I arrived in Ocala, Florida last night shortly after 6pm. Jordan drives a pickup-truck with a very small cab, and the six hours or so was a tight squeeze. Seems Jordan is a knowledgable chap, and he seemed to know plenty about pretty much every major geographical feature we passed... Still didn't take my focus away from the buttaching, but it helped! We did stop about four and a half hours into the drive, and that inital moment of my feet hitting solid ground was sheer ecstacy; the pleasure shot up through my body, starting with my feet, and ended with the involuntary smile on my face... I looked like quite the pillock.

Today was fun; we went to Silver Springs, and rode around in glass bottomed boats, looking at 'gators, and other 'critters', while I took a load of nature-footage on my camcorder (which you won't be seeing for at least another three weeks, since I decided to leave the gadgetry to put the footage on my laptop behind... probably a blessing)!


This photo was taken on our way out, so it's darker than all the others, but it's nicer than the photo I didn't take going in, so feel free to settle for this one.



The Alligators at the park were pretty cool and pretty dull at the same time; they'd lay perfectly still, hoping not to be noticed (let's ignore the fact that they're in a friggin' enclosure), and watch you with their eyes while not moving a muscle. I was offered the chance to go "'Gator huntin'" with Jordan, but that didn't work out, which didn't upset me too much, as I'm not sure how I'd have fared with the 'boom stick' part of the operation, where after tiring out your prey for a few hours, you finally drive what is essentially a stick with a shotgun shell on the end that explodes on impact into the reptile's skull. I'm pretty sure I'd have set my moral compass aside and done whatever was expected of me, just for the purpose of exploring this bizarre sub-culture.


This picture shows Maggie pouring me a half-glass of Egg-Nog; that strange substance I hear so much about from American TV shows, but know little about... Being the curious type, I thought I'd give it a whack.



This picture right here says a lot of things. It really captured the moment. For some reason, as soon as the ridiculously viscous, sickly sweet 'nog entered my mouth, I instinctively began chewing, so discombobulated were my senses. I'm pretty sure that the look shown here on my face is the exact moment I was thinking "On my next bowel movement, I'm going to crap out a cake!"

It was one of those things I had to try, I suppose - the rather paltry 100ml or so that I drank is still repeating on me, but I also put away an ungodly amount of Ribs earlier on (I like the southern cooking). I should also point out that I also got to eat quail while at Maggie's aunt's house. Unsurprisingly, it tasted just like chicken, maybe a little more chewy. My vigorous gnashing at this white meat prompted a warning from Maggie's stepdad; "you should be biting down very gingerly on that; you don't want to break your teeth on one of the pellets we shot it with!" I wouldn't even dare describe it as an acquired taste; it tasted like cheap, chewy, crap chicken, but of course, that's not the point - it was a great taste of culture!

Speaking of which; I'm going to end this post with another look at the culture here down south; in case you hadn't noticed, Maggie's family seem to have quite the interest in hunting, or as they call it; huntin'. Well, I'm sure this deer feels honoured that his sacrifice served the following noble purpose this Christmas.


"Ho ho ho" indeed.

Comatose Gluteus Maximus

I spent about thirteen hours in a car today.

Driving from Pittsburgh to... some place in Georgia (I'll update this with a specific placename as soon as I remember). My ass is still numb from the affair. Other than the all-around stiffness, it was moderately painless; I played my DS til it went dead (wasted too much battery the night before playing Tetris online against Japanese people, but that's another story). I was able to plug my laptop into the cigarette adaptor, and during that time I wrote the below blog post, listened to a lot of music, and sterilised my testicles by subjecting them to the extreme heat coming off the harddrive.

So now I'm at Maggie's aunt's house - she's got seven dogs (no really), and each one of them took great delight in sniffing my crotch (I think they can smell the roast my laptop cooked up in the hours beforehand). The husband and wife pair are very hospitable, and the novelty of hearing them say things like "y'all" and "lollygagglin'" still hasn't worn thin, so I'm hoping I get to converse with a few more locals... That probably won't happen though, as tomorrow, Maggie and I leave for Ocala, Florida, where I'll spend the next two nights with Maggie's dad and stepmom! The journey should only take around 6 hours... *sigh*

Anyways, so for all of those who were curious as to whether this semester would be my fabled 'semester of glory' or not, to you I say;


"Four point oh!"

Arlight, enough smug gittery for one day. I'll try to take some pics of anything cool I see over the coming days, and then I'm going to get on with enjoying my Christmas!

Some Differences

As promised the other day, I thought I'd write up what I observed in terms of noteworthy differences between RMU and UL's way of educating the Sully. I will stress the point that I'm comparing one University with another, and these are not expected to reflect on either country as a whole!

So I suppose I'll start with the most important bit; the classes themselves. At RMU, the students are responsible for selecting and registering for their own classes, many of which are dictated by their major; their other selections are what they're most interested in. New Media and English in UL (my course of study) is quite rigid, and one is lucky to choose between two electives (opting for the lesser of two evils in many cases). This semester, the courses I picked were Study of Rhetoric, General Psychology, Audio & Radio Production, and Writing for the Media. Picking the courses myself helped a great deal in keeping me interested in what I was doing, and it also reflects my strong interest in writing and general media production – in a sense, what I was studying here is what I hoped New Media and English would be.

The timetables are organised in such a way that you have 50 minute classes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and Tuesday and Thursday classes weigh in at 75 minutes each. There are also 150 minute night classes once a week, of which I took one. This timetable system is nice – instead of having to commit a five day timetable to memory, you need only worry about two days. Not a deal-maker, sure, but it's appreciated! Furthermore, there were no tutorials, but rather the University offered a free Tutoring service to any students that needed it.

The classes I had were much smaller affair than what I'm used to at UL. I'm pretty sure that there wasn't a class that had more than 25 students in a traditional class-room style setting, which made for a more intimate learning environment than UL's large lecture halls. Every teacher knew my name. In fact, most teachers knew everybody's name, which again, is nice. I got on better with all four of my lecturer's than I have any lecturer at UL. This can be partly attributed to the fact that I'm the novelty foreign exchange student who has a wildly different take on certain matters, but is moreso because of the interest the lecturers seem to take in their students. In Rhetoric class in particular, there was a class discussion almost every day, and while many weren't quite as incendiary as I'd have liked, from the perspective of a foreigner, it was a great way to see some of the crazy things that people think and say here. The lecturers are generally more accessible, which is good and bad – good because approaching them outside of class times is a casual affair, and speaking up in class is never an issue, it's also bad because of the amount of arse that some people waste the lecturer's time with during class.

One thing I didn't like at first was that there was a lot of homework given. I don't mind homework, but when it's as inconsequential as some of what I was asked to do this semester, I begin to consider it busywork. Granted, there were no crippling amounts of work asked by any one lecturer, but my sloppy time management saw everything piling up at once, so once every week I'd stay up late working on clearing the backlog. This 'a-little-and-often' approach is actually a nice idea, as having to write one to three short essays a week is much nicer than what often happens back home, with (at times) unrealistic amounts of readings being prescribed as homework, with one major essay/project due in a semester; all of which seem to collide.

The assessment here is fair. Like I said; 'a-little-and-often' is the name of the game. The hefty essays I've had to write in UL often amount to 40-50% of my grade, with the rest sitting on a single exam. Two opportunities to show what you're capable of is a piss-poor system, in my opinion. Continual assessment involves less stress for all involved, and also assists the learning process, in my opinion.
I've never received the kind of positive appraisal I get here. My Writing for Media lecturer told me I should be a writer, my Radio-Production lecturer wanted me to submit an editorial piece to the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, and my Rhetoric lecturer praised every essay on the occasions we spoke after class, with simple statements like “I really like how you...” really compelling keep doing better.

I think I'll talk about the 'social' aspects of college life and other matters such as housing arrangements for another day, because I don't like these posts to get too hefty, but it'll be here soon, and roughly 15% less mind-numbingly boring!

A world gone mad...

I was out doing a bit of shopping (and getting a terrible haircut), when I stumbled across the following book;



That's right kids, fat people, in their ever-increasingly desperate quest to shed a few pounds, are now turning to other fat people for advice!

Madness.

Freedom!

Had my last "exam" [see below] a few hours ago, thus ending an amazing semester (the word 'amazing' seems girlish and I feel odd using it, but I'll stand by my word-choice), and I'm feeling good!

Since I'm done, I think I might indulge in a bit of comparison between my experiences here at RMU, and compare it with an average semester at UL, just for the sake of it (it interests me, and I don't give a rat's ass what you people think!) I won't be doing this today, however!

Those who conversed with me in the opening weeks of the semester know that I had a great enthusiasm for this being my one 'semester of glory', in which I got straight As and came out with a QCA of 4.0. Well, as my social life picked up over here, that compulsion to excel faded somewhat, and I just tipped away at my normal pace, not doing things until the very last minute, and generally doing just enough to get by.

Well, my grades should all be online by Monday, which is cool, but for the time being, here's a screenshot of how I'm doing so far!



Before you start to say "Sully, you conceited bastard", please hear this; I'm a mediocre student. I believe in my ability to write well, and stretch the knowledge I have, but at UL my results are generally shadowed by those more studious or interested in the course than I am. This semester, I picked my own classes based on what I was specifically interested in, and I seem to have retained a great deal of what I've been taught. This semester, despite not killing myself, I think the only class I didn't receive an A in was Audio/Radio production, and this can be explained by my "leave-it-to-the-last-minute" antics leading to rushed Audio features and sloppy production values...

Sunday I leave for Florida with Maggie, and next week should be fun, and it'd be even better if Monday saw me receiving some good news.

Will Sully get his 'Semester of Glory'? Stay Tuned!

Random Craving #2

Another day, another project being completed with moments to spare! But the last few days have also seen the resurgence of that feeling of wanting something that I know I won't get here in the States! This one, randomly enough, is me wanting to get in my car, on my own, and drive around for a bit, while listening to some music!

So bizarre things from home that I can't get my grubby mitts on are popping into my head now and again... I won't dare say it's homesickness, but I'm sure that it's happening for a reason. Could be something to do with the fact that as it stands, it doesn't look as though I'll be going back to that Emerald Isle until late April at the earliest, owing to the fact that I've decided to stay on another semester, and my Visa expires this month.

People around here are also talking about spending Christmas with their families a lot, which reminds me that it's the first Christmas I'm gonna be spending away from home (which is an exciting prospect, to be honest, because I want to see how the yanks do it). I'm nine days shy of heading out to see Caitlyn again, which should be a lot of fun, and all I have to worry about in between is one measly "exam" (I say 'exam' in quotes, because it's an open-book test, and we have unlimited time... That's right - limitless)!

Maggie has offered me a chance to see some of the country, by joining her on her unholy voyage to Florida. I'm not quite sure how much time this entails spending in a car, because I refuse to look up the distance from Pittsburgh to wherever the hell it is in Florida we're going! I'll take my camcorder along so I can record anything interesting I see along the way, and my DS shouldn't be too far from my person, should my mind begin to numb from the boredom. Should be a make or break experience for mine and Maggie's friendship (the smart money's on the latter)!

Since I've cleared the backlog of project work (how I don't know, what with the dangerous levels of chronic procrastination I've been afflicted with), I can take it easy for a few days, so I'm going to use this time to watch a few episodes of Scrubs, ring the folks at home (I don't get to do it quite as much as I'd like), and maybe start paying attention to my physical appearance again (as I sit in front of the computer, my hair is scruffy, my face is sporting a heavy fuzz after five days of not hearing from my razor, and my t-shirt, hilariously enough, has little brown stains on the front, from where I dropped crumbly bits off the chocolate covered pretzels I was eating, and neglected to wipe them away before they melted on - so dedicated was I to making my deadline)! I might also go back and fix the pictures at the start of the blog, but all that uploading seems like a lot of work at the moment.



For no good reason, here is a picture of Dermot that I found on my computer, and felt like sharing with the world... What a girl's blouse, eh?

The View from C5

A quickie for ya; this is what I'm can see from my room at the moment.




This snow and blistering cold is actually quite useful because I'm nearing my 30th consecutive hour of being awake; since I sacrificed my sleep last night to hit my deadlines today, the perma-erect nipples are the only thing keeping me sharp. My busy day went quite well, despite my lack of slumber. Started off with me making a presentation to my Rhetoric class on a Catholic mass. It was supposed to be a 'cultural breakdown,' but since I winged it and was deulsionally tired, it turned into a ten minute lecture on why everybody should be agnostic. I won't indulge myself with much hyperbole and poetic license (because my buddy Krampe was there, and I know she reads this!), but I will note that for every ten Relgiously conservative types I successfully pissed off, I got a glimmer of admiration from the two people in the class who could kinda, sorta, just maybe understand where I was coming from, which kinda made it worthwhile, I guess!

Next I had my last Audio/Radio class, where we recorded postulation on Global Warming for our Prof's radio show (I honestly have little recollection of this; it's likely I fell asleep while reading), and then I took a Psychology exam! Could be the delusion speaking, but I think I did pretty well... I'll keep you posted!

My plans for the rest of the day involve taking it seriously easy; I'm going to sleep for at least two hours, then eat, then vegetate for a few more hours until I can sleep again... At the moment, I feel as though I could last the rest of the day on the sheer amount of caffeine I consumed today as it is, but I feel a headache setting in, so I should nip it in the bud...

Just because I think it's funny (and maybe a little creepy), this is what the view from inside C5 was yesterday evening;

Technical Difficulties, please stand by...

Knew it'd happen sooner or later - if you've noticed the blog is a bit more drab looking these days it's because the pictures were linked from my Bebo profile, and Bebo have since made them unavailable. Seems all they did was change the filename, so I might to and change every pic's filename (ugh), or maybe just re-upload them to the Blogger site (double ugh), whatever I decide to do, it won't be for a few days (I have a ton of homework, and I've procrastinated myself to a point of 'do or die'), so to distract you away from this, I'm going to just rely on my old tricks and show you a video that me and Mega made back in the day.

Here it is! I uploaded it to YouTube a few weeks ago, so if you've checked out my profile, you've seen it already, but now rewatch with the knowledge that it's my favourite!

My Thanksgiving Celebration

I celebrated Thanksgiving with my newly girlfriended friend Caitlyn, (you read it here first, folks) just last Thursday, and y'know what? It was hands down the best Thanksgiving I've ever had.

I flew out the Sunday beforehand, getting to the airport ridiculously early because I believed the hype about the crazy queues and security measures in place. It was actually the quietest I've seen Pittsburgh Airport (and I've flown out of there a few times now), and the security guys waved me through, not bothering even to do the customary inspection of the mass of wires in my backpack. Lazy gits.

Since Caitlyn was working, I did some more sitting and waiting around in Minneapolis before being picked up, which was made quite pleasant by my trusty Nintendo DS and international call-card (since I had time to catch up with the folks at home).

So I won't really go into the details of the week that much; Cait and I hung out, got the shopping for the big meal done, and got the place ready for her parents, sister, and sister's 'man-friend'. We got up around 7ish on the Thursday morning so Caitlyn could start cooking the still-thawing turkey, while I just tried not to get in the way too much.

I have to say, I'm pretty impressed by Caitlyn's mastery of the domestic space. Granted, there were a few rough moments, like when she somehow managed to flick soggy turkey flesh into my mouth, or freaking out over the intestines that just kept coming out of our bird, but by the end, it became apparent that this was one tasty turkey that didn't die in vain.



Meeting the family was fun, since me and Caitlyn hadn't gotten around to making anything official by that stage, so rather than being her friend Sully, I was her "friend" Sully. I don't think I represented myself too poorly; I kept my BSing tendencies to a minimum, didn't say much that could have been deemed inappropriate, and didn't suffer through any awkward silences at all! I also managed to not get myself bitten or barked at by the three dogs that came, which is quite a feat for a guy like me (seems dogs can smell evil). Worryingly, this is also where I discovered that Caitlyn has one of 'those' voices that she uses when conversing with animals - y'know the one I'm talking about, with the baby talk and the lip-pursing, and the "hoosagooddoggie?"

Something about the whole thing kinda felt like a mini-Christmas. The three guys sat in front of the TV watching American Football and talking all kinds of 'man-stuff', while the girls prepared the eventual feast that was served up. When the meal started, we each went around, discussing what it was we were thankful for... I kinda wussed out when it came to be my turn, (second or third, I think) because I hadn't quite gotten a handle on what was 'expected', nor had I given it any thought, so they accommodated my brief-stage fright and came back to me last. Gotta say; it's a nice little tradition! It shows you what people are proud of, or grateful for, and when meeting new people, it's interesting to see what they hold as significant in their lives, and gives you a better idea of what and who they are, so ultimately you do feel closer to a person after sharing these thoughts.

We played board games after the dinner. I finished dead last in Trivial Pursuit. I didn't get a single point. It wasn't my fault, (of course) because I was capable of answering a lot of the general-knowledgey-type stuff that everyone else seemed to get, but then when it was my turn, I'd get some absolute bastard of an obscure American Sports question, or something equally ridiculous and obscene. There was nothing even remotely vague about the questions - I couldn't hazard a guess at anything I got, and even when I heard the answer, it still meant nothing to me! Sorry to spend an entire paragraph on this, but I'm absolutely traumatised by the fact that almost every time I was asked a question, I had to awkwardly mumble "Eh... I'll pass", followed by the other five participants taking their turn, with me able to answer a good 75% of what was going on, only to get another absolute prig of a question, as the vicious cycle continued...

Next we played Scattegories, which was much more forgiving, and since my vocabulary when dealing with things that don't annoy me is quite limited, all I can do is mention the game and move on!

I had a great week, and I wasn't a bit happy to be returning to Robert Morris (which is odd, because I always look forward to coming back after a few days away - as my Niagara Falls post will ascertain), and now I'm more or less counting down the days before I can head out to the state of Wisconsin again (another vicious cycle? Only time will tell!)

Sweet Jesus...

Sorry to be so lazy as to just post in a video from YouTube, but I had to share this one.

Britney Spears is an idiot. Yes, I know we all knew that already, but it actually upsets me a little to realise the extent of her stupidity. Quite honestly, she has the mental-age of your average five-year old child, but at least a five-year old child would be able to articulate itself in a more coherent, less irritating manner.

If your brain can't handle the solid three minutes of stupidity, I recommend you at least skip to the last thirty seconds, where Britney discusses the concept of time travel...



I've been distracted enough; next post should be about my Thanksgiving!