Fast forward to 25 June 2008.
I love my parents.
I still feel awkward saying it. When people profess their most intimate emotional states, they have to abandon any notion of stability and order. One of our grandest failures as a civilization is our obsession with order. Why do people dream of flight when they cannot bear to accept the chaos that is their animalistic container? That's right, human beings are animals, and the sooner people understand that, the sooner people can begin to understand why some people do things the way they do. Abandon any sense of order imposed on the common individual; let the body take control and take flight.
For once, be the car crash, not always just the traffic jam.
Don't keep screaming under your breath.
Two Dublin Buses arrived at the stop, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Recap.
These past few weeks have gone by like a blur. No grand voyages of any sort. Spent a many a good weekend exploring various pubs/clubs in the area - always a fun and relatively cheap expedition. Saw a couple of movies for the first time in a long while (The Ruins which was awesome, and Kung Fu Panda which was funny but not as great as Wall-E will be come July 18th [save the date, Dublin 18th of July = WallE day!]). The Cineworld theater has a bag inside with very liberal access to coffee cups for consuming inTheater, a very nice touch if I do say so myself.
One random weekend, we went to Belfast on a day trip (it's only 3 hours or so away). Good times, saw lots of stuff, ended up getting really sick and it was raining the whole time so pictures are limited. See my facebook albums for more details. The political tour was fascinating, yet entirely eerie. The whole time we were in Shankill (the Protestant community), it was raining, desolate and abandoned save for a lone ice cream truck dinging its delapidated tune off the walls which bore witness to countless beatings and killings. Perfect set for 28 Years Later (if it's ever gonna be made).
Another weekend, Devin and I went on a photoadventure towards the docklands. Although we never made it, we did find an abandoned trainyard to shoot in. Look for results shortly via facebook.
Later that day, we celebrated July 4th and July 5th, Patrick D(H)(B)orsey's birthday. I would have more to say about it, had I remembered more of what happened the morning after. Regardless, I'm sure that all my jovial celebration was done the same way July 4th is always done, freely, and happily. There was dancing, an ironic game of Kings, Fitzsimons, Messrs, and the singing of the Good Ol' Song in the heart of Temple Bar, Dublin. Next year, I can only dream of on-upping myself. Perhaps a return trip to London will be necessary?
That same weekend, I met up with the others in Dalkey along the DART southbound. I had hoped to stop at Dun Lagohaire, Bray, Killiney, etc but poor planning on my part. I did, however, have the best Thai Food in Ireland for the past several years. True to it's masonry (awards displayed in stone plaque form), the food was quite tantalizing, albeit expensive. Dalkey was a great quaint little town with narrow winding cobblestone roadways and small shops lining excessively tiny sidewalks - a photographer's wet (because it's always raining) dream.
Still on that weekend, Jess and I wandered about several exciting shopping malls scattered and hidden throughout Dublin City Centre. Urban exploring led to the discovery of delicious Mauricien food, and ultimately the Museum of Modern Art in Dublin. Some creative exhibits included the Self as Selves collection (focus on the changing and varied states of self) and the one that focuses on the transient space between reality and art (think half developed photograph, only infinitely more complex, yet simple at the same time). As Jess would say: oh Modern Art...
Concluding the busy weekend with the Day After Tomorrow, I slept and slept and slept.
Note to self: sleep more.
Note to self 2: I want a motorcycle.
Note to others: I'm sure I forgot some stuff these past weekends cause my memory is worse than my ex-pet goldfish Pyro. If you remember something that my blog and I have left out, please let me know and I'll spew poetry in your namesake.
