#1

T-minus 5 days to blast off, and this'll be the first of what I hope will be at least periodic updates from the great land of Eire! Where, for those not quite in the know, or in the remember, if you'll permit orthography, I'll be attending school at Trinity College Dublin, from October 2007-October 2008, after which I'll be a master of philosophy in the area of Anglo-Irish literature and capable of quoting Samuel Beckett whilst I flip burgers.

I've determined that what I'd like to do, both as a way to stay connected and an enjoyable exercise, is send periodic updates about my experiences, thoughts, and bold-faced lies. Periodic I say, and while no man, and certainly not I, can, with any certainty dare pierce the hazy veil of the all too uncertain future, I dare to prognosticate that this term will ultimately be defined as once every two to three weeks, whenever I happen to remember, or fail to forget, or, finally, whenever I manage to find free time and a laptop perhaps during my rather punctual arrests for disorderly conduct and lewd speech against the king.


The idea, of course, is that these will become immensely popular, gradually a cult internet sensation, which one of you will tip off one of your influential publisher friends about, resulting in the ultimate collection of, and published by, a local vanity press under the collective title Ireland: Dispatches From a Strange Green Land, which, too, will enjoy a brief wave of popularity, quickly fading to nothing, but enough to garner me weak cash subsidies for the rest of my life, an occasional guest spot on the 21st millenium's version of hollywood squares, and, perhaps, a bit part as a commentator for VH1 in the new hit series "I love the 00s seven: What the heck do we call this decade?"

The last point of business: because I am nowhere near sophisticated enough to arrange an actual list serve, if you don't want to receive these emails you'll just have to personally tell me. I realize this presents the potential for some rather awkward interactions, but please rest assured I only want to send these emails to people who want to receive them, and have enough bounded good will to offer even those who spurn my current narcissistic frviolity... It's a strange kinda pride, but I got it. Some of you may be surprised to find yourself on this list; Know you were simply people who I thought would enjoy, even if we've never been particularly close...and I will NOT be surprised to find you want off it ;).

Nah then: The following are the true and unabridged thoughts of Andrew O'Tobolowsky, Irish in-patriate for the 2007-2008 school year, world adventurer sans clue


Initial concerns: Change, the terrible monster that is. As it turns out, everything I've ever known in my entire life is about to change...I came home each summer to play with my family, but at most odds, will come home somewhere else after I'm out of this program. Gumption? Currently fueled by strongly-willed obliviousness.

Friends, fun, etc. One of the primary ways I've had fun in the states is by playing sports. This will, presumably, present problems in Ireland. I played soccer for some 13 years; I am capable, I freely admit, but not all that good. In the United Kingdom, on the other hand, I understand that most mothers are presumed to be bearing twins until the point at which one or the other mass is identified as a soccerball....that is to say, these cats are pretty good...and with the additive of their youthful rugby training, presumably my participation in "futbol" matches will result in my being pummelled and bruised beyond all recognition (not, I recognize, oh cheering damosels, that this would be necessarily the worst thing that could happen to my humble features, nevertheless the degree of pain involved is, to me, a not inconsiderable obstacle.)
On the other hand, I have, over the years, gained some proficiency in the respective sports of tennis and, most notably, basketball, two sports which are I understand as foreign to the Irish as drinking Japanese beer... so, presumably athletic shadowboxing for me, although conversely, if I CAN somehow get a partner I stand in some likelihood of being the superior player, which may just be enough inducement not to return, considering my well-knwon love of glory...on the other hand, if any rumors do happen to filter over the pond, in the coming year, of the appearance of an Irish Michael Jordan, rest assured that he cannot dunk, but that his underwear of choice is old navy boxers, whatever the fruit of the loom people may have to say about it, and you should not believe the hype.

Classes? Well, I'm literate. This means I have the tools, if I have the wherewithal. If I don't, there's not much point in being ambitious anyhow, is there? Let's just assume I do and work on proving me right.

Actually what I'm most excited about is finally getting a chance to meet Sinead O'Connor. Perhaps we can burn a flag together, or knock over the statue of Molly Malone and blame it on the pope. And then share a milkshake. Romance on the River Liffey (bald). Bon Voyage indeed..

In any case, it has been said that the soul of wit is brevity...Therefore I would think that those of us partaking of neither should at least try to hedge our bets AND.
Don't cry for me Amarillo,

Andrew