My First You-Suck Letter from Academia

I have two goals: 1) don't return to America jobless, and 2) don't return to America homeless. Obviously, the second is not as great a worry as the first: upon return to my beloved metro-Detroit, we will bunk with my mom and dad-- but not for too long. Kindness can, and does, wear out. My parents are getting older, and deserve to walk around the house naked eating toast without Evan toddling after them.

To alleviate some worry on the first point, I've applied for a few jobs. Three apps were for tenure-track teaching positions at various community colleges. My mother-in-law (also my secretary-- HOLLA!) sent Andrew an email saying I received a letter from Kellogg Community College in Battle Creek stating I am not a finalist in the Swan Pageant. Next fall, I guess I won't be teaching ENG 101 to a handful of semi-interested, semi-smart freshmen while the scent of Frosted Flakes wafts through the air.

The truth is that I am completely gutted, yet somehow feel very official-- I've just been shunned from my first academic job outside the womb of CMU. My academic hymen is broken. I hope it was better for them than it was for me.

In other news, it seems Andrew is the first student in Ireland to attend university and also have a family. The DCU sports club had no membership provisions for people like us, until Andrew's advisor (and Irish Guardian Angel) wrote to the Marketing Director on our behalf. Funny how stuff like that works out. We're allowed to join, at the steep-assed price of e270.00 for six months, which still beats the public family membership of e390.00.

I miss American universities, where spouses get proper access and reasonable discounts on amenities. Hell, I miss amenities.

Where ever we live next year, I'm not putting quarters in any washer or dryer. Some people think Ireland is quaint, but that's just a nicer wawy of saying it's old and crappy.

Po Bastard's Guinness and Lentil Soup

Po' Bastard made this hefty soup earlier this evening. The inspiration came from a wee booklet of Irish Stout recipes-- this was originally a vegetable side dish including a leek and three carrots.
Po' Bastard's kitchen, being leekless, and Po' Bastard, being too lazy to peel and dice three carrots, turned it into a simple, hefty soup. Warning: Not for wimpy bitches.

Ingredients:
-250 grams red split lentils
-2 cups beef broth
-580 ml Guinness (that's two cups plus some extra-- get two large cans, or else the largest bottle of Guinness you can buy)
--salt and pepp
--1 tbsp. dried parsley
--many dashes balsamic vinegar
--4 tbsp. brown sugar

Method:
Dissolve the broth cube in the water. When it comes to a boil, dump in the lentils, the Guinness, and all the seasoning. Bring the entire mix to the boil, then turn it to a low heat. Cover and simmer for at least an hour until the lentils have pureed themselves, stirring periodically to see if you need to add more liquid-- you could add more Guinness, or water (like Po' B did), or probably even more broth, if you have it.

Notes:
In Ireland, we have a thick wheaty bread that's served with most soups. Something brown and dense would be my first choice. I'd have to go that route for the ideal beverage, too-- you know, just for flavor continuity (nothing to do with overwhelming desire to drink heavily-- Ireland just does that to people).

I suppose you could add a few other vegetables to the soup for color, but who cares about color. Sometimes we want to eat brown stuff to feel closer to the earth and all that hippie-shit.

Famous People who could eat this:
-Ice-T
-LL Cool J
-Lemont Dobson, Viking Emperor
-Evan

It's been a long, long time

Now then. I'm assuming all the loyal readers were waiting with baited breath to see what I'd post next. In short, and up-to-date: my mom, dad, and Grandma visited from 2/12-2/20; Evan decided he doesn't like babyfood anymore; and Andrew traded his youthful 29 for an equally youthful 30 (right).

While the company was here, Andrew and I had two dates! I also saw a lot of "tourist" Dublin: the Guinness Storehouse (brilliant marketing-- great lunch), one-third of the Waterford Crystal Factory (glassblowing was the only part open that day), Christ Church Cathedral, and many other things. I ate out more in one week than most people do in a year, had many chats and laughs, and played a few rounds of Scrabble. I think a great time was had by all, and I find the house very quiet now-- even with Evan saying, "Dadada-deedeedee."

The little man eats almost nothing from a jar-- fruit is OK. But for main course fare he only wants food he can feed himself. This is charming and also annoyingly messy. Ever tried cutting chicken into microscopic pieces? A lot of it ends up ground into the carpet. I admire his desire for independence, but I wish he'd respect my desire for a clean house.

Grandpa Tim also took the time to cut Evan's hair, as it was looking a bit Jerry-Garcia-doing-an-impression-of-Slash. Evan now sports a very sleek short fringe in the front. Grandma Patty and I did the back, which looks far less sleek, and more like Evan fell on a hacksaw. Oh well. When I was 13, my grandpa shredded my bangs into a mean kd lang style spike across my forehead. Evan's only 13 months old, my guess is his hair problem won't cause him half as much agony as mine did.

Big congrats are due to a number of folks: Andrew, for turning 30; my sister Amy, who will find out the sex of her baby on 2/28; my friends Chris and James, who will soon find out the sex of THEIR baby, due on 2/28; my Grandma, Angie, who will turn 80 on 3/4; and my sister, Angela, who is happily dating; and my friends (and my sister Angela's friends-- but mostly MY friends) Courtney and Dan, who got engaged over Valentine's weekend.

"Flat foot floogie with a floy-floy."

To Andrew

Raise your hand if you'd like to see my husband post more entries. His section of the site is supposed to be tracing his "[struggle] to become a professional historian." At the moment, it isn't. We ask: Andrew, what have you been doing, since you clearly can't be arsed to update your blog?

Here are some (conspiracy) theories. All are based on real evidence. Andrew has been doing one or all of the following:
1. Cavorting naked in the park during the midnight frost with flora, fauna, gnomes, and other woodland creatures.
2. Being outfitted for his superhero costume. Which superhero remains unknown, but some educated guesses include: Fulbright Man, He-Scholar, or SpongeAndrew Dadpants.
3. Selling cigarettes to desperate stag-party-goers in Temple Bar.
4. Competing in drag competitions as Oscar Wilde with breasts.
5. Flexing his muscles on the shores of Brighton beach; stealing from the poor and giving it to the rich in Nottingham.
6. Making out with Hugh Grant and Kate Moss in as-yet-undisclosed locations.

Let's hope this lost soul finds himself and changes his poor writing habits immediately. He could also take some advice from his wife, who updates regularly because her audience waits for it with baited breath.

Things are getting better all the time

Well, it seems we have water again. I say SEEMS only because, when Evan woke up at 3:30 AM to have a bottle, and when I went to pee slightly after that time, the toilet didn't flush. So, as of 3:30 AM, we had no water in the bathrooms-- only in the kitchen, when all of this started going on.

Yesterday, there was a tanker parked in front of the other Postgrad apartment building all day long. There were also two guys in a blue van with a long hose, which seemed to be sucking something out of the drains or something like that.

For awhile, I considered hanging up some signs around the building with nasty things written on them in black Sharpie, such as: "You pay too much for substandard utilities," "Thirsty? Visit the well in the Student Union," and stuff like that. If I am awake at 3:40 AM today, which I can most certainly guarantee, I'll do the turn-on-the-bathroom-faucet-test. If it fails, some heads will roll. I'd threaten Chinese water torture (in the spirit of the New Year and all), but can't make a promise of that.

In other news, my 10 year class reunion is coming up on 11/26/05! Am I going!? Hot diggity! You bet I am-- it'll be my only chance in life to tell everyone about my Pulitzer Prize nominations, my regular appearances on Hollywood Squares, and my new brand of cognac-flavoured bubblegum cigars. (but really, I'm mostly going to see what's happened, and see what's the same).

My mom, dad, and grandma will be on their way here in no time. I'll be so happy to see them. Now hopefully I can offer them a shower after a long journey. If not, they'll have to settle for a bowl of Tesco Value cornflakes.

For a great day try...

For a guaranteed great day, try the following:

1) Watch the Superbowl with your Irish dissertation advisor, who is a major Detroit Lions fan. Maybe drink some beer and eat a big bready sandwich.

or, the infinitely more entertaining option:

2) Bathe yourself, piece by piece, part by part, in the kitchen sink. Don't forget to boil a few kettles of water to warm the freezing cold to sort of lukewarm.

Yes-- it's 12:30 AM, and we have water. In the kitchen only. And only the cold works. Life in Ireland is a bag of friggin' tricks.

How I wish for water

I woke up this AM to a very bad surprise. Almost as bad as finding a nuclear bomb in the bottom of the toilet while you're sitting on it. No, really. No water coming out either shower; no water spewing out either bathroom sink; and only a trickle-- enough to wash Evan's bottles--from the kitchen sink. I held an expectant hand under the faucet as Helen Keller did her well-spout, waiting, desperately hoping that liquid salvation would leak out, so I could shout "WAH! WAH!" Of course, this didn't happen.

As I've said before, this apartment is probably the nicest place we've lived (not including my parent's house). It's spacious, new, and convenient to campus locations. The downside to it definitely has to be the number of problems we've had since moving in: a completely clogged kitchen sink took two weeks to fix, the burnt-out kitchen lightbulb has yet to be replaced after waiting at least ten days (on one hand, it's just a lightbulb-- but on the other, it's a lightbulb! Send out one guy to change all burnt-out lightbulbs on campus. How long could it take?), and now, this gem of a problem.

I called emergency building maintenance. Apparently they've been inundated with calls reporting the very same thing. The operator told me a pipe burst, and there were several guys already working on it. The bas news, he said, was that the water might not be on until 8:00 PM this evening. I don't care, so long as it's back on TODAY.

A few hours without water and suddenly everything's changed. Evan smells a lot worse: like a combination of baby wipes, milk-laced drool, and dirty hair. I seem to be sweating a lot more. I'm pretty sure we're going to go moldy by 2:00 PM. I can't wait until the evening when I can shower, bathe Evan, and cook the beans I've been soaking since last night.

Thank God the effin' toilet still flushes.

Rhyming Couplets for Lungs Dunning

You have bacteria in your lungs.
It's bronchitis, oh! What fun!
There's seven meds you now take--
among them: supressant and expectorate.
Chunky yellow, runny green,
leaves of grass sometimes seen.
You go to school for violin,
it's a wonder they let you in:
all the surgery, all the sick,
check your heart--still go "tick-tick"?
Many dates and late nights,
many parties and fist fights.
Many tattoos and pairs of shoes,
many shots of Yoo-Hoo.
This is why you have the prob
of getting ill on the job.
Sleep later, eat more veg,
wear a hat on the window ledge.
Stop kissing boys and smoking crack--
that's why your liver is totally whack.
Stay inside and watch TV,
you're too old to climb trees.
Play the lotto, you might win,
and you can get a New Violin.
This is advice for keeping you healthy,
surely, Po' Bastard has nothing to say about getting wealthy.