I decided to change the name of my little photo feature on the right. The original idea was to come up with a new inspirational pic of some sort each day, but so far, some days I just want something that sums up or comments on what's going on that day, inspirational or otherwise. (What? You mean you *were* inspired by Shaq-Fu yesterday? I had no idea...)
So for now... same idea. different title.
And props to anyone who recognizes today's subject. (This one is inspirational, for me anyways.)
And double props to anyone who can tell me why when I choose a larger image and have it resized down, the template doesn't enforce the padding on the right side of the image. I'll have to dig through the template files and see if I can learn me some advanced HTML in the process to try and fix that.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Just like an Old Soldier
One of the smaller-yet-significant Things To Figure Out has been what to do with my car. My trusty old Alero has treated me well, getting me back and forth to many football games and family gatherings between Cleveland, Detroit and Chicago over the past 8 years. But its dying a slow and painful death.
This new year has been off to a particularly rough start for the car. For starters, being rear-ended twice in a span of about two weeks (the second one coming less than 72 hours after I had gotten her back from the shop after the first one--I was on a first name basis with the folks at Progressive last month.). Between the second accident and my appointment with the shop to have the damage fixed, the serpentine belt started to shred.
I managed to limp it out to the shop and got all of that resolved at the same time, but now the belt has started squeaking like mad. Hopefully its an easy adjustment. But I've also started noticing a loud, nasty revving hum, that I believe to be the bearings going (again). Last time I had those fixed was just over a year ago (of course, just over the warranty) and was pricy. As in, more than I could probably get if I were to sell it.
But I'm afraid its going to die on my on a final trip back to Michigan leaving me stranded in Kalamazoo, or worse, Gary. So it looks like another trip to the shop is in the works before then.
After that, storage up at the farm for the next three months is probably in the cards, with a possible future as an organ donor for the two other Aleros that have made their way into our family's fleet. It'd be nice to have some wheels when I get back (assuming I'm back in July), but if she get's me through March and back to Michigan, I can live with that.
C'mon, girl... just three more weeks.
This new year has been off to a particularly rough start for the car. For starters, being rear-ended twice in a span of about two weeks (the second one coming less than 72 hours after I had gotten her back from the shop after the first one--I was on a first name basis with the folks at Progressive last month.). Between the second accident and my appointment with the shop to have the damage fixed, the serpentine belt started to shred.
I managed to limp it out to the shop and got all of that resolved at the same time, but now the belt has started squeaking like mad. Hopefully its an easy adjustment. But I've also started noticing a loud, nasty revving hum, that I believe to be the bearings going (again). Last time I had those fixed was just over a year ago (of course, just over the warranty) and was pricy. As in, more than I could probably get if I were to sell it.
But I'm afraid its going to die on my on a final trip back to Michigan leaving me stranded in Kalamazoo, or worse, Gary. So it looks like another trip to the shop is in the works before then.
After that, storage up at the farm for the next three months is probably in the cards, with a possible future as an organ donor for the two other Aleros that have made their way into our family's fleet. It'd be nice to have some wheels when I get back (assuming I'm back in July), but if she get's me through March and back to Michigan, I can live with that.
C'mon, girl... just three more weeks.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
31
Damn. Seriously?
Here's to what should be a memorable year made possible by the blessing and support of so many wonderful family and friends!
Thank you.
Sláinte!
Here's to what should be a memorable year made possible by the blessing and support of so many wonderful family and friends!
Thank you.
Sláinte!
Monday, March 5, 2007
A nod towards Ennistimon
Two years ago today. Two years ago this very moment, in fact, I was sitting in the Cooley House pub in the town of Ennistimon in County Clare. A strange night to be sure, but it went down as probably the most memorable one of my trip.
I didn't do much formal journaling of that last trip, but I did make a point to preserve that particular night in word shortly afterwords:
Ennistimon, Co. Clare.
I was heading up to the town of Doolin, but passed through Ennistimon on my way that Saturday morning. Crossing over the bridge into town, there was a cool river with a small but scenic waterfall. One of the pubs, The Cooley House, had a hand-written sign in the window proclaiming "Saturday - Folk and Ballads", which caught my attention. It looked like a neat town, but it was early still and I definitely wanted to get into Doolin to scope things out there. After a brief lunch (and an encounter with a tour bus full of German students) in Doolin, I decided to head back to Ennistimon, since I had planned on staying in Doolin again the next night anyway.
I got back into town and realized there weren't as many B&B's as I thought I'd seen. One downtown was closed for renovations and another one just outside of town wasn't taking anyone in. There was a hotel downtown though. It was a bit pricy, but as it was about the only option, I checked in.
This should've been my first clue to realizing that unlike a lot of the towns along the central west coast of Ireland, Ennistimon is not particularly used to tourists, at least not at this time of the year.
I took some time and wandered up and down the main street (really about the only street) and took a walk along the waterfall and river which ran right behind the hotel. Later, I grabbed some postcards I'd bought and went to find a comfortable pub to sit in and fill out the postcards.
Cagney's Pub
This place definitely fit the "comfortable" requirement I was looking for. It wasn't fancy by any means. It was a small place on a side street just up the block from downtown. But there were a few people inside and a warm fire going across from the bar. I sat myself at the bar and ordered a Guinness and started writing out postcards, eavesdropping a bit just to take in the atmosphere.
It was clear that everyone else in this place knew each other. There was Norrine, the barkeeper. Her daughter Erika and either her husband or boyfriend. An old man named Michael who flirted with both Norrine and Erika, both of whom replied in kind. A small family came and went and another man who looked like he'd just dragged himself in from the fields (as likely he had) came in with his two young kids, a boy and a girl, who played and wrestled the whole time. I never felt particularly unwelcome here, but I felt a bit like I had invited myself into someone's living room and they were politely tolerating me.
Michael left and was replaced by Jerry, who took the seat next to me. Time, toil and drink all seemed to have taken their piece out of Jerry. He said hello to me and asked me where I was from. When I told him, he went on a small, mumbled rant about Bush and Iraq, but immediately recanted.
"I shouldn'ta brought it up. Yer here on yer holiday to enjoy yerself. Don't need to be thinkin 'bout that". He went on to ask me a bit more about myself, and to tell me of his time as a cook in the Irish Army when he was in Lebanon, and a bunch of other tales of woe and youth that were largely incomprehensible. I finished my pint and started to leave, but he insisted on buying another pint for me, so I stuck around. Jerry left shortly after that (before I had a chance to buy him a round in return, as is the custom) so I finished my drink and left.
The Golden Phoenix
I went in search of dinner. After checking a few more pubs, it became clear that none of the pubs in this town offered "pub grub". My only options for food were the expensive restaurant at the hotel, Franco's Fast Food, or a Chinese takeout place. I opted for Chinese.
The Carrig
I went back to the hotel to rest up for a bit, then headed out to hit the town for the night. The music at The Cooley House wasn't starting until 10:30, so I figured I'd try a few other pubs first. I heard music coming from The Carrig, a pub across from the hotel on the very edge of downtown.
I walked in, and immediately guessed I probably shouldn't have. The music which had sounded so loud on the street was blasting from a jukebox in the corner. About a dozen people were gathered around the bar, but otherwise, the place was empty. Strangely, there were no tables. One or two benches were along one wall and drink shelves lined the other walls. With no open seats at the bar, I ordered a pint then went and stood along the wall, trying my best to be invisible.
After a bit, another old man stumbled over and started talking to me. He was my new best friend, it seemed. Ugh. I never did comprehend his name, though I made out something about his brother, who was called 'Mouse'. He showed me some dirty jokes Mouse had text-messaged to him on his mobile phone. (One, about being busted on possession of 'can-o'-piss', I 'got' about 2 days later, to my delayed amusement.) It was all-around very awkward and bizarre. That was the quickest pint I drank the entire time I was in the country.
The Cooley House
Getting out of there, I headed straight down the street to The Cooley House. I figured I had plenty of time until the music started, but might as well get a good spot. I walked in and the place is completely empty, save for Joan, the barkeeper.
Joan was awesome. She was one of the most friendly and hospitable folks I met in a country loaded with the friendly and hospitable types. Since I was the only one there, we talked for quite a while about my trip, why (of all places, in her opinion) I stopped in Ennistimon, and a bit about the town itself. She asked if I'd been in any of the other pubs in town and when I started telling her about my last stop, her eyes got wide.
"Ye went into 'The Hatchet'? On yer own? Yer a brave man!" She referred to the place as the 'Open-Air Asylum' and said it was good that the folks in there at least had some place to go so they wouldn't be bothering the other, more decent folks in town.
"Did ye meet Jamesy?" she asked, about my time at the Carrig.
"Does Jamesy have a brother named 'Mouse'?", I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Ay." she chuckled. "Do ye still got yer wallet? That's about all I have to say about Jamesy."
I checked quickly and was relieved to find that I did still have my wallet. Probably a good thing I'd gotten into the habit of keeping it in a front pocket while traveling.
The place eventually began to fill up, but we kept talking and joking throughout the night. Joan introduced me to a few other folks and did all she could to really make me feel at home. It was great. As the music started, yet another old man, Jimmy, took up a seat next to me and struck up a conversation with me. Joan came over and commented, "Tonight's yer lucky night, Tristan. First stop 'The Hatchet', second stop, meetin' Jimmy.". She rolled her eyes towards Jimmy and laughed, making gabbing gestures with her hands.
Jimmy was a bit more composed than either Jerry or Jamesy, but had a sadness about him, too. As the music played, he told me of the roots of some of the songs, born of the civil rights movements in the 60s, and the Troubles. Jimmy was from Derry, one of the hotspots of violence in the North, and from his accounts, he'd seen much of it first hand. A bit later, a younger man, probably in his early 40's came in and walked over to Jimmy.
"Did ye see Gerry's speech today, Jimmy? It was brilliant!", he said, referring to Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams. "The war's not over. We're gonna run this feckin' country again". There was a not-so-subtle chill to his tone.
These guys were, at the least, strong Sinn Fein supporters, if not full-out IRA.
Jimmy tried to introduce me to the other man, who's name I believe was Gavin, but Gavin did not seem too interested. Not surprising in hindsight. A bit later in the evening, though, I recognized a tune the band was doing as "Roddy McCorley", even though they were singing different lyrics. When I told Jimmy I knew this and started singing along the chorus that I knew, Jimmy's eyes just lit up. He tugged at Gavin's sleeve and gestured towards me. "He knows 'Roddy McCorley'!".
It seemed Gavin opened up towards me a bit after that, and throughout the evening, we chatting pleasantly about my trip, and he wished me well and bade me to be careful on the roads. All in all, they were both great guys, to me at least. The details of their history or political involvement outside of that night and that pub, I can only guess at. But at that time and that spot, they were friends.
As the evening wound down, the music started to turn into a bit of an Irish version of karaoke, with several folks going up to join the group on stage. At midnight, I wished Joan a happy Mother's Day (March 6 is their Mother's Day), and also mentioned to her that it was now my birthday as well. It didn't lead to the free drink I hoped it might, but it did somehow find me on stage with my harmonica, joining the group for a round of "Star of the County Down". After 6 hours of drinking, I can't say I played particularly well, but to actually play in a pub in Ireland, on my birthday, was just about the biggest thrill I could imagine at that point.
As they say over there, "the craic was mighty" that night. 'Craic' is an Irish word used to describe the spirit of the surroundings when the music, the talk, the drink and the fun are all flowing in great ways. I have never before been in a place so isolated and completely disconnected from the life and world that I know, and yet so rarely have I felt so completely welcome and at home. It was an awesome, if not adventurous, evening, and I can not possibly imagine a better way or place to have kicked off my thirtieth year on this planet.
I didn't do much formal journaling of that last trip, but I did make a point to preserve that particular night in word shortly afterwords:
Ennistimon, Co. Clare.
I was heading up to the town of Doolin, but passed through Ennistimon on my way that Saturday morning. Crossing over the bridge into town, there was a cool river with a small but scenic waterfall. One of the pubs, The Cooley House, had a hand-written sign in the window proclaiming "Saturday - Folk and Ballads", which caught my attention. It looked like a neat town, but it was early still and I definitely wanted to get into Doolin to scope things out there. After a brief lunch (and an encounter with a tour bus full of German students) in Doolin, I decided to head back to Ennistimon, since I had planned on staying in Doolin again the next night anyway.
I got back into town and realized there weren't as many B&B's as I thought I'd seen. One downtown was closed for renovations and another one just outside of town wasn't taking anyone in. There was a hotel downtown though. It was a bit pricy, but as it was about the only option, I checked in.
This should've been my first clue to realizing that unlike a lot of the towns along the central west coast of Ireland, Ennistimon is not particularly used to tourists, at least not at this time of the year.
I took some time and wandered up and down the main street (really about the only street) and took a walk along the waterfall and river which ran right behind the hotel. Later, I grabbed some postcards I'd bought and went to find a comfortable pub to sit in and fill out the postcards.
Cagney's Pub
This place definitely fit the "comfortable" requirement I was looking for. It wasn't fancy by any means. It was a small place on a side street just up the block from downtown. But there were a few people inside and a warm fire going across from the bar. I sat myself at the bar and ordered a Guinness and started writing out postcards, eavesdropping a bit just to take in the atmosphere.
It was clear that everyone else in this place knew each other. There was Norrine, the barkeeper. Her daughter Erika and either her husband or boyfriend. An old man named Michael who flirted with both Norrine and Erika, both of whom replied in kind. A small family came and went and another man who looked like he'd just dragged himself in from the fields (as likely he had) came in with his two young kids, a boy and a girl, who played and wrestled the whole time. I never felt particularly unwelcome here, but I felt a bit like I had invited myself into someone's living room and they were politely tolerating me.
Michael left and was replaced by Jerry, who took the seat next to me. Time, toil and drink all seemed to have taken their piece out of Jerry. He said hello to me and asked me where I was from. When I told him, he went on a small, mumbled rant about Bush and Iraq, but immediately recanted.
"I shouldn'ta brought it up. Yer here on yer holiday to enjoy yerself. Don't need to be thinkin 'bout that". He went on to ask me a bit more about myself, and to tell me of his time as a cook in the Irish Army when he was in Lebanon, and a bunch of other tales of woe and youth that were largely incomprehensible. I finished my pint and started to leave, but he insisted on buying another pint for me, so I stuck around. Jerry left shortly after that (before I had a chance to buy him a round in return, as is the custom) so I finished my drink and left.
The Golden Phoenix
I went in search of dinner. After checking a few more pubs, it became clear that none of the pubs in this town offered "pub grub". My only options for food were the expensive restaurant at the hotel, Franco's Fast Food, or a Chinese takeout place. I opted for Chinese.
The Carrig
I went back to the hotel to rest up for a bit, then headed out to hit the town for the night. The music at The Cooley House wasn't starting until 10:30, so I figured I'd try a few other pubs first. I heard music coming from The Carrig, a pub across from the hotel on the very edge of downtown.
I walked in, and immediately guessed I probably shouldn't have. The music which had sounded so loud on the street was blasting from a jukebox in the corner. About a dozen people were gathered around the bar, but otherwise, the place was empty. Strangely, there were no tables. One or two benches were along one wall and drink shelves lined the other walls. With no open seats at the bar, I ordered a pint then went and stood along the wall, trying my best to be invisible.
After a bit, another old man stumbled over and started talking to me. He was my new best friend, it seemed. Ugh. I never did comprehend his name, though I made out something about his brother, who was called 'Mouse'. He showed me some dirty jokes Mouse had text-messaged to him on his mobile phone. (One, about being busted on possession of 'can-o'-piss', I 'got' about 2 days later, to my delayed amusement.) It was all-around very awkward and bizarre. That was the quickest pint I drank the entire time I was in the country.
The Cooley House
Getting out of there, I headed straight down the street to The Cooley House. I figured I had plenty of time until the music started, but might as well get a good spot. I walked in and the place is completely empty, save for Joan, the barkeeper.
Joan was awesome. She was one of the most friendly and hospitable folks I met in a country loaded with the friendly and hospitable types. Since I was the only one there, we talked for quite a while about my trip, why (of all places, in her opinion) I stopped in Ennistimon, and a bit about the town itself. She asked if I'd been in any of the other pubs in town and when I started telling her about my last stop, her eyes got wide.
"Ye went into 'The Hatchet'? On yer own? Yer a brave man!" She referred to the place as the 'Open-Air Asylum' and said it was good that the folks in there at least had some place to go so they wouldn't be bothering the other, more decent folks in town.
"Did ye meet Jamesy?" she asked, about my time at the Carrig.
"Does Jamesy have a brother named 'Mouse'?", I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Ay." she chuckled. "Do ye still got yer wallet? That's about all I have to say about Jamesy."
I checked quickly and was relieved to find that I did still have my wallet. Probably a good thing I'd gotten into the habit of keeping it in a front pocket while traveling.
The place eventually began to fill up, but we kept talking and joking throughout the night. Joan introduced me to a few other folks and did all she could to really make me feel at home. It was great. As the music started, yet another old man, Jimmy, took up a seat next to me and struck up a conversation with me. Joan came over and commented, "Tonight's yer lucky night, Tristan. First stop 'The Hatchet', second stop, meetin' Jimmy.". She rolled her eyes towards Jimmy and laughed, making gabbing gestures with her hands.
Jimmy was a bit more composed than either Jerry or Jamesy, but had a sadness about him, too. As the music played, he told me of the roots of some of the songs, born of the civil rights movements in the 60s, and the Troubles. Jimmy was from Derry, one of the hotspots of violence in the North, and from his accounts, he'd seen much of it first hand. A bit later, a younger man, probably in his early 40's came in and walked over to Jimmy.
"Did ye see Gerry's speech today, Jimmy? It was brilliant!", he said, referring to Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams. "The war's not over. We're gonna run this feckin' country again". There was a not-so-subtle chill to his tone.
These guys were, at the least, strong Sinn Fein supporters, if not full-out IRA.
Jimmy tried to introduce me to the other man, who's name I believe was Gavin, but Gavin did not seem too interested. Not surprising in hindsight. A bit later in the evening, though, I recognized a tune the band was doing as "Roddy McCorley", even though they were singing different lyrics. When I told Jimmy I knew this and started singing along the chorus that I knew, Jimmy's eyes just lit up. He tugged at Gavin's sleeve and gestured towards me. "He knows 'Roddy McCorley'!".
It seemed Gavin opened up towards me a bit after that, and throughout the evening, we chatting pleasantly about my trip, and he wished me well and bade me to be careful on the roads. All in all, they were both great guys, to me at least. The details of their history or political involvement outside of that night and that pub, I can only guess at. But at that time and that spot, they were friends.
As the evening wound down, the music started to turn into a bit of an Irish version of karaoke, with several folks going up to join the group on stage. At midnight, I wished Joan a happy Mother's Day (March 6 is their Mother's Day), and also mentioned to her that it was now my birthday as well. It didn't lead to the free drink I hoped it might, but it did somehow find me on stage with my harmonica, joining the group for a round of "Star of the County Down". After 6 hours of drinking, I can't say I played particularly well, but to actually play in a pub in Ireland, on my birthday, was just about the biggest thrill I could imagine at that point.
As they say over there, "the craic was mighty" that night. 'Craic' is an Irish word used to describe the spirit of the surroundings when the music, the talk, the drink and the fun are all flowing in great ways. I have never before been in a place so isolated and completely disconnected from the life and world that I know, and yet so rarely have I felt so completely welcome and at home. It was an awesome, if not adventurous, evening, and I can not possibly imagine a better way or place to have kicked off my thirtieth year on this planet.
Side trek #1
I might come to love Ryan Air.
I just booked a flight from Shannon to Rome for late April for under $45 USD with all taxes and fees. (The inital 14.99 EUR pricetag was too good to be true, but still.)
I haven't worked out the details of that side trip yet, but the rough idea is to spend two days in Rome, then head up to Florence to meet up with my friend Jen when she arrives. I'll spend a few more days tagging along with her and her cousin(s), then part ways and trek on up across Germany and probably France, and catch a flight back to Ireland from probably Paris or Amsterdam.
Wow... that's all just crazy talk. But its real.
More to come.
I just booked a flight from Shannon to Rome for late April for under $45 USD with all taxes and fees. (The inital 14.99 EUR pricetag was too good to be true, but still.)
I haven't worked out the details of that side trip yet, but the rough idea is to spend two days in Rome, then head up to Florence to meet up with my friend Jen when she arrives. I'll spend a few more days tagging along with her and her cousin(s), then part ways and trek on up across Germany and probably France, and catch a flight back to Ireland from probably Paris or Amsterdam.
Wow... that's all just crazy talk. But its real.
More to come.
It was a Flook
Okay, that last post was really lame. I'm tired, but its no excuse. If I keep that up, I'm soon to alienate my lone captive reader (does "audience" have a singular form?).
So let me toss this up here. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but since it already is tomorrow, it works.
Tonight, then, I'm looking forward to going to see my favorite progressive-trad group, Flook at one of my favorite small venues in Chicago, Martyr's.
A layperson would likely categorize Flook as traditional Irish music, but they really are pretty far out there from the pure-drop trad perspective, mixing in influences of jazz and and other various world folk styles with their Irish sound. In terms of instrumentation, they are fairly traditional, but have some departure, most notably the lack of fiddle. Make no mistake, they are afloot flute-driven group.
Brian Finnegan is a fantastic wooden flute and tin whistle player. Sarah Allen, who plays silver Boehm style flute and accordian has recently had a baby, but filling in for her on this trip is Michael McGoldrick, an original member of the band who has also been a part of Lunasa and Capercaillie. Ed Boyd keeps the group glued together with his rhythm guitar, but the star of the show is John Joe Kelly. Arguably the best bodhrán player in the world, John Joe makes more music with a stick and a goatskin than many can manage with an entire ensemble.
Exhibit A: a rare video of his solo that is a feature of Flook's concerts, this one taken from the Milwaukee Irish Fest in 2004. (Unfortunately, embedding's disabled, so you'll have to click the link. It's well worth it, though.)
And just because I had my heart set on my first post with an embedded YouTube clip, here's one of the whole group. There's others out there on YouTube, some with better quality, but this is pretty representative of their style...
So let me toss this up here. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but since it already is tomorrow, it works.
Tonight, then, I'm looking forward to going to see my favorite progressive-trad group, Flook at one of my favorite small venues in Chicago, Martyr's.
A layperson would likely categorize Flook as traditional Irish music, but they really are pretty far out there from the pure-drop trad perspective, mixing in influences of jazz and and other various world folk styles with their Irish sound. In terms of instrumentation, they are fairly traditional, but have some departure, most notably the lack of fiddle. Make no mistake, they are a
Brian Finnegan is a fantastic wooden flute and tin whistle player. Sarah Allen, who plays silver Boehm style flute and accordian has recently had a baby, but filling in for her on this trip is Michael McGoldrick, an original member of the band who has also been a part of Lunasa and Capercaillie. Ed Boyd keeps the group glued together with his rhythm guitar, but the star of the show is John Joe Kelly. Arguably the best bodhrán player in the world, John Joe makes more music with a stick and a goatskin than many can manage with an entire ensemble.
Exhibit A: a rare video of his solo that is a feature of Flook's concerts, this one taken from the Milwaukee Irish Fest in 2004. (Unfortunately, embedding's disabled, so you'll have to click the link. It's well worth it, though.)
And just because I had my heart set on my first post with an embedded YouTube clip, here's one of the whole group. There's others out there on YouTube, some with better quality, but this is pretty representative of their style...
Seeking shelter part 1
My next big question that needs to be answered is where I'm going to be staying. There's actually two parts to this question: 1) what town/area I'm going to be in and 2) what type of accommodations I'll have.
Let's talk point 2 first, as the answer to that may determine the need (or lack thereof) to answer point 1.
The first choice is to just go nomadic. I set my initial budget for housing by multiplying out what it'd cost to stay in lower-to-mid range Bed & Breakfasts every night of the trip. I figure if I were to average out a few hostels, or low-rent spots to counter act some times in pricier B&Bs or hotels, this should work out about right as a worst-reasonable-case scenario pricewise.
Advantages:
- complete geographic flexibility
- worries about paying for two places at once.
Disadvantages:
- cost
- potentially a lack of social network and stability
The next choice, which is overall more appealing, is to rent or sublet an apartment or house. I like the idea of having a "home base" of sorts, and this should be able to be arranged much cheaper. Whether to have a roomate or not is another tough subquestion, though it may not be up to me. If I'm in Galway, one bedroom apartments are said to be rare, so a shared accommodation will probably be necessary. It'd be good to have a basing point for some social interaction, though, but of course it depends on the being with whom you're being social. Could be a huge plus or minus, so we'll call it a push.
Advantages:
- cost
- will feel more settled and permanent
- kitchen to prepare food
- place to keep stuff while on side treks
- roomate?
Disadvantages:
- may be difficult to find
- will be paying for two places at once anytime I'm trekking elsewhere
- roomate?
Really, I don't think its much of a question. Finding a semi-permanent place is going to be about the only really feasible and practical approach. I just need to figure out exactly how much will be a reasonable amount to spend, keeping in mind the amount that I'm going to end up spending on B&Bs and hotels anyway. I should also mention that I don't plan on having a car while I'm there (unless I manage to extend the trip beyond 90 days with a work permit), so that has to figure in.
I was going to write about the first part of the question, but that's the far more interesting question and I'm getting too tired to really put creative thoughts together, as the rest of this post indicates, so I'll save that for tomorrow.
Next week on Seeking shelter: Galway, Clare, Mayo, or possibly other west coast locations.
To be continued...
Let's talk point 2 first, as the answer to that may determine the need (or lack thereof) to answer point 1.
The first choice is to just go nomadic. I set my initial budget for housing by multiplying out what it'd cost to stay in lower-to-mid range Bed & Breakfasts every night of the trip. I figure if I were to average out a few hostels, or low-rent spots to counter act some times in pricier B&Bs or hotels, this should work out about right as a worst-reasonable-case scenario pricewise.
Advantages:
- complete geographic flexibility
- worries about paying for two places at once.
Disadvantages:
- cost
- potentially a lack of social network and stability
The next choice, which is overall more appealing, is to rent or sublet an apartment or house. I like the idea of having a "home base" of sorts, and this should be able to be arranged much cheaper. Whether to have a roomate or not is another tough subquestion, though it may not be up to me. If I'm in Galway, one bedroom apartments are said to be rare, so a shared accommodation will probably be necessary. It'd be good to have a basing point for some social interaction, though, but of course it depends on the being with whom you're being social. Could be a huge plus or minus, so we'll call it a push.
Advantages:
- cost
- will feel more settled and permanent
- kitchen to prepare food
- place to keep stuff while on side treks
- roomate?
Disadvantages:
- may be difficult to find
- will be paying for two places at once anytime I'm trekking elsewhere
- roomate?
Really, I don't think its much of a question. Finding a semi-permanent place is going to be about the only really feasible and practical approach. I just need to figure out exactly how much will be a reasonable amount to spend, keeping in mind the amount that I'm going to end up spending on B&Bs and hotels anyway. I should also mention that I don't plan on having a car while I'm there (unless I manage to extend the trip beyond 90 days with a work permit), so that has to figure in.
I was going to write about the first part of the question, but that's the far more interesting question and I'm getting too tired to really put creative thoughts together, as the rest of this post indicates, so I'll save that for tomorrow.
Next week on Seeking shelter: Galway, Clare, Mayo, or possibly other west coast locations.
To be continued...
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Rewind
You may need to forgive me. My mind has been racing through stuff lately with everything that's happening related to the trip recently and I've been throwing stuff up here, but I'm not sure how coherent the Big Picture is. Things got a bit side tracked a few days ago.
After I put up my initial "Why are we here" post, which spilled pretty much what's been in my heart about where I stand and my future plans, I intended to follow it up the next night with a post along the same lines, but showing what's been in my head. Call it the reality to counter the idealism of the first post.
That was the post that blogger ate late one night, and by the next morning, things had so drastically changed and starting spinning out of--and, ultimately, back into perfect--control that I never got back around to it.
So let me try and back up a few and bring you up to where we're at now.
Knowing that I wanted to leave Chicago and ultimately head back to Michigan--yet with no major financial or other ties at the moment--it seemed like the perfectly logical time to spend some extended time abroad. Back in the fall, I took stock of my tasks and responsibilities at work and started eyeballing February/March as a good time to leave. I figured if I could just get through year-end tasks that generally spill from January into mid-February and shoot the gap before first quarter end rolled around, it'd be the perfect time to leave. It was still too distant and everything at the time was too busy and chaotic to start serious planning, but I kept that rough timeframe in mind. I also set a starting point: New Years.
As the holidays approached, I started talking it up to close friends and family and firmed up the timeframe. As soon as I returned from the Rose Bowl, I was going to start looking for a temp or contract job in Ireland and finding out what it was going to take for me to move there for 6-12 months. If nothing had come through by the end of January, I was going to put in a 4 week notice at work, be done there by the end of February, and leave around the 10th of March. Seemed simple enough.
Inertia can be a bitch. As excited as I was about this plan, actually getting my resume together and starting to find jobs took longer than expected. It was mid-January before I got anything sent out anywhere. I'd also had time at that point to research work permits a bit further and was dismayed to learn that you must have a job offer *before applying* for a work permit, and that it takes typically 6-8 weeks from the time the application is filed until it is granted. My timeframe was looking a bit rushed, and with a few other obligations on the horizon in mid-to-late March, I decided to push things back about two weeks.
All along, I knew I had the option of just going for three months and not worrying about work or permits. Visitors to Ireland from the US are typically granted permission to stay for up to 90 days with no additional documentation other than a passport. The thought was very appealing... Hanging out, playing music, hiking and biking through the hills, and just meeting and mingling with many wonderful people, completely carefree. I had crunched the numbers, and while it looked tight on the bottom line, I was comfortable enough with my conservative estimates to think I'd be able to survive that long without income and still have enough cushion to land on when I got back, though the prospect of an unknown duration of unemployment in Michigan afterwards was a concern.
My budget and Ireland's immigration rules agreed on one thing--without a job, 90 days was going to be the limit.
The planning for a three-month trip was minuscule compared finding work and making all the other necessary arrangements for a longer stay. I was tempted many times to throw in the towel and give up the thought of staying longer altogether, but I really detest the easy path. Most of the biggest and best decisions of my life have been ones where I've taken the more challenging and unknown route.
After pushing the time frame back, I kept hitting the job search sites and sent out some more resumes. I got a few nibbles, most interestingly from a large, well-respected US-based company whose EU headquarters happen to be in Dublin and who happens to have announced plans to be hiring in Michigan in the near future. I won't name names, but let's just say if you like to ogle, you might Go to their site. But nothing really panned out and I reached the point where I started eyeing February 15th as my cut-bait-and-take-Plan-B date.
As it got closer, I was really fretting about actually committing to the plan. All the work I'd done up to then... none of it was irreversible. I'd just been window shopping. I'd been talking it up a bit here and there, so I'd look like a chump if I backed down, but I had no chips in the pot.
I was also fretting because I hated the idea of "giving in" and going with Plan B, but Plan A was not looking too promising.
I was also concerned about how it would go over with my boss. He's been one of the greatest people to work for that anyone could imagine. I started with this company almost 5 years ago, and was employee #5. We're currently at around 20 and still growing. I've been highly involved in building up one of our biggest accounts, not to mention being almost solely responsible for another, smaller one. Though at the same time, I knew that I'd been hitting some big stretches of burnout and that it had to have been showing. As long as a year and a half ago, I had talked to him, hypothetically anyways, about possibly working remotely--from Michigan anyways. It'd gotten a warm enough reception, though a follow up conversation some time later seemed much cooler.
So, I knew that there was at least a glimmer of a chance that we might be able to work something out for me to actually stay with the company in some way, but it had seemed a slight enough possibility that I hadn't really spent much effort researching what that would entail from an immigration and work permit perspective. I was prepared to be parting ways permanently and yet was dreading actually doing it.
As the week of the 15th rolled around, I was hit with a nasty head cold and cough that forced me to stay home on Wednesday and Thursday. I dragged myself in on Friday for the specific reason of having "the talk", but was so out of it from the cold medicine that I decided I was in no shape to have a major, life-altering conversation with the boss. I knew there was a degree of anxiety contributing as well, but I let my "I'm not feeling well" justification stand up and put off talking to him for the weekend. We had the day off the following Monday, but on Tuesday, on my second trip into his office to try and broach the subject, I succeed.
He is a good friend as well as boss, so I wasn't too surprised by how excited for me he seemed to be on a personal level. But he is a businessman first, and a good one at that, so I really didn't know what to expect in terms of support and acceptance from the company side of things.
I was overwhelmed. We chatted for a long time about possible tasks and values I could add to the company while I was in Ireland, logistics that would need to be worked out, and what other options might be available such as a leave of absence. We kept things open ended because there were way too many variables and possible paths that needed to be looked into, but I walked out of that conversation feeling completely elated. The bottom line was that he admired and supported what I was doing, and he and the company would do whatever they could within reason to help me make it happen.
As this conversation sunk in, I realized just how deep the mutual loyalty between this company and its employees runs, and how sincerely I hoped that I could work it out to stay with the company during an extended stay abroad and beyond. It really would be the perfect situation.
But then I started tracking down what would be required from Ireland's viewpoint. At first, it looked promising. I knew that a work permit wouldn't be granted in that case, but there was information on http://www.movetoireland.com/ specifically addressing the situation and indicating that I needed to write a letter to the Dept of Justice - General Immigration Division and provide as much proof about the company and employment situation as possible. But what exactly would need to be in that letter, whether there was some specific permit of visa I was requesting, and how long it'd take before I'd even hear anything back were all huge variables.
As I finally tracked down the answers to each of them, and was hit with an additional bit--that I'd also need to demonstrate why the work would need to be done specifically in Ireland--I was crushed.
I started trying to re-invent the plan and the process, when in reality, it was now laid out perfectly clear in front of me. My analysis of the situation was partially correct, but had some huge flaws. Particularly where I stated "That's going to mean pushing back my timeframe somewhat indefinitely".
After a few follow-up conversations at work, it was now crystal clear what the proper path and plan was. It seemed so simple as it was right in front of me the whole time. Yes, for the moment, it is accepting "Plan B"/"the easy path". But maybe I was blinded by too much planning, as I somehow failed to realize choosing that path "for now" does not necessarily preclude a longer stay. And in fact, in many ways, will make it easier. I can only imagine that making contacts on the ground will be a much quicker and more productive way of trying to gain employment than sending emails from 3000 miles away and expecting them to land on receptive eyes. What was I thinking, to believe otherwise?
And, of course, a critical component of this as well, was knowing that I had my employer's blessing to continue to do so, yet with an open door to return if it doesn't work out, pending the company's needs at that time. I can certainly live with that.
After I put up my initial "Why are we here" post, which spilled pretty much what's been in my heart about where I stand and my future plans, I intended to follow it up the next night with a post along the same lines, but showing what's been in my head. Call it the reality to counter the idealism of the first post.
That was the post that blogger ate late one night, and by the next morning, things had so drastically changed and starting spinning out of--and, ultimately, back into perfect--control that I never got back around to it.
So let me try and back up a few and bring you up to where we're at now.
Knowing that I wanted to leave Chicago and ultimately head back to Michigan--yet with no major financial or other ties at the moment--it seemed like the perfectly logical time to spend some extended time abroad. Back in the fall, I took stock of my tasks and responsibilities at work and started eyeballing February/March as a good time to leave. I figured if I could just get through year-end tasks that generally spill from January into mid-February and shoot the gap before first quarter end rolled around, it'd be the perfect time to leave. It was still too distant and everything at the time was too busy and chaotic to start serious planning, but I kept that rough timeframe in mind. I also set a starting point: New Years.
As the holidays approached, I started talking it up to close friends and family and firmed up the timeframe. As soon as I returned from the Rose Bowl, I was going to start looking for a temp or contract job in Ireland and finding out what it was going to take for me to move there for 6-12 months. If nothing had come through by the end of January, I was going to put in a 4 week notice at work, be done there by the end of February, and leave around the 10th of March. Seemed simple enough.
Inertia can be a bitch. As excited as I was about this plan, actually getting my resume together and starting to find jobs took longer than expected. It was mid-January before I got anything sent out anywhere. I'd also had time at that point to research work permits a bit further and was dismayed to learn that you must have a job offer *before applying* for a work permit, and that it takes typically 6-8 weeks from the time the application is filed until it is granted. My timeframe was looking a bit rushed, and with a few other obligations on the horizon in mid-to-late March, I decided to push things back about two weeks.
All along, I knew I had the option of just going for three months and not worrying about work or permits. Visitors to Ireland from the US are typically granted permission to stay for up to 90 days with no additional documentation other than a passport. The thought was very appealing... Hanging out, playing music, hiking and biking through the hills, and just meeting and mingling with many wonderful people, completely carefree. I had crunched the numbers, and while it looked tight on the bottom line, I was comfortable enough with my conservative estimates to think I'd be able to survive that long without income and still have enough cushion to land on when I got back, though the prospect of an unknown duration of unemployment in Michigan afterwards was a concern.
My budget and Ireland's immigration rules agreed on one thing--without a job, 90 days was going to be the limit.
The planning for a three-month trip was minuscule compared finding work and making all the other necessary arrangements for a longer stay. I was tempted many times to throw in the towel and give up the thought of staying longer altogether, but I really detest the easy path. Most of the biggest and best decisions of my life have been ones where I've taken the more challenging and unknown route.
After pushing the time frame back, I kept hitting the job search sites and sent out some more resumes. I got a few nibbles, most interestingly from a large, well-respected US-based company whose EU headquarters happen to be in Dublin and who happens to have announced plans to be hiring in Michigan in the near future. I won't name names, but let's just say if you like to ogle, you might Go to their site. But nothing really panned out and I reached the point where I started eyeing February 15th as my cut-bait-and-take-Plan-B date.
As it got closer, I was really fretting about actually committing to the plan. All the work I'd done up to then... none of it was irreversible. I'd just been window shopping. I'd been talking it up a bit here and there, so I'd look like a chump if I backed down, but I had no chips in the pot.
I was also fretting because I hated the idea of "giving in" and going with Plan B, but Plan A was not looking too promising.
I was also concerned about how it would go over with my boss. He's been one of the greatest people to work for that anyone could imagine. I started with this company almost 5 years ago, and was employee #5. We're currently at around 20 and still growing. I've been highly involved in building up one of our biggest accounts, not to mention being almost solely responsible for another, smaller one. Though at the same time, I knew that I'd been hitting some big stretches of burnout and that it had to have been showing. As long as a year and a half ago, I had talked to him, hypothetically anyways, about possibly working remotely--from Michigan anyways. It'd gotten a warm enough reception, though a follow up conversation some time later seemed much cooler.
So, I knew that there was at least a glimmer of a chance that we might be able to work something out for me to actually stay with the company in some way, but it had seemed a slight enough possibility that I hadn't really spent much effort researching what that would entail from an immigration and work permit perspective. I was prepared to be parting ways permanently and yet was dreading actually doing it.
As the week of the 15th rolled around, I was hit with a nasty head cold and cough that forced me to stay home on Wednesday and Thursday. I dragged myself in on Friday for the specific reason of having "the talk", but was so out of it from the cold medicine that I decided I was in no shape to have a major, life-altering conversation with the boss. I knew there was a degree of anxiety contributing as well, but I let my "I'm not feeling well" justification stand up and put off talking to him for the weekend. We had the day off the following Monday, but on Tuesday, on my second trip into his office to try and broach the subject, I succeed.
He is a good friend as well as boss, so I wasn't too surprised by how excited for me he seemed to be on a personal level. But he is a businessman first, and a good one at that, so I really didn't know what to expect in terms of support and acceptance from the company side of things.
I was overwhelmed. We chatted for a long time about possible tasks and values I could add to the company while I was in Ireland, logistics that would need to be worked out, and what other options might be available such as a leave of absence. We kept things open ended because there were way too many variables and possible paths that needed to be looked into, but I walked out of that conversation feeling completely elated. The bottom line was that he admired and supported what I was doing, and he and the company would do whatever they could within reason to help me make it happen.
As this conversation sunk in, I realized just how deep the mutual loyalty between this company and its employees runs, and how sincerely I hoped that I could work it out to stay with the company during an extended stay abroad and beyond. It really would be the perfect situation.
But then I started tracking down what would be required from Ireland's viewpoint. At first, it looked promising. I knew that a work permit wouldn't be granted in that case, but there was information on http://www.movetoireland.com/ specifically addressing the situation and indicating that I needed to write a letter to the Dept of Justice - General Immigration Division and provide as much proof about the company and employment situation as possible. But what exactly would need to be in that letter, whether there was some specific permit of visa I was requesting, and how long it'd take before I'd even hear anything back were all huge variables.
As I finally tracked down the answers to each of them, and was hit with an additional bit--that I'd also need to demonstrate why the work would need to be done specifically in Ireland--I was crushed.
I started trying to re-invent the plan and the process, when in reality, it was now laid out perfectly clear in front of me. My analysis of the situation was partially correct, but had some huge flaws. Particularly where I stated "That's going to mean pushing back my timeframe somewhat indefinitely".
After a few follow-up conversations at work, it was now crystal clear what the proper path and plan was. It seemed so simple as it was right in front of me the whole time. Yes, for the moment, it is accepting "Plan B"/"the easy path". But maybe I was blinded by too much planning, as I somehow failed to realize choosing that path "for now" does not necessarily preclude a longer stay. And in fact, in many ways, will make it easier. I can only imagine that making contacts on the ground will be a much quicker and more productive way of trying to gain employment than sending emails from 3000 miles away and expecting them to land on receptive eyes. What was I thinking, to believe otherwise?
And, of course, a critical component of this as well, was knowing that I had my employer's blessing to continue to do so, yet with an open door to return if it doesn't work out, pending the company's needs at that time. I can certainly live with that.
So about that The List???
It's pretty self-explanatory, but one of the first things I did when I started to work seriously on planning this trip was to start to keep a detailed list of all the things and tasks I'd need to do and take care of before I was done. Its one of several tabs on a big planning spreadsheet I've got, and includes everything from getting new shoes to doing my taxes to looking into housing. The list has been growing ever since, but I've been marking things off as they get done. It's really been a great tool to keep track of my planning and keep me motivated at the same time. I've even gone so far as to put goal dates to each one and have marked the dates as I've completed them. Maybe I've got the makings of a project manager in me, yet.
I won't bore you with the full contents of the list because some of them are, well, boring and/or irrelevant and/or just personal. But currently, there are a total of about 60 items on the list, and over 2/3 have been at least partially marked off. (light yellow highlights are for tasks in process, green is for completed. Grey are calendar items, not so much tasks. And bold red indicates significant milestones like Last Day and Departure.)
The "Important current ToDos" on the right is just a highlight of some of the major tasks currently in scope from The List.
The line numbers aren't really particularly relevant. Especially as I add/remove things or change dates and resort. It just lends an air of officiality to crossing them off.
And with that....
Now crossed off The List:
Line 29: Get a GSM phone - phone and SIM card both ordered today. I should have my new Irish mobile number in about a week or so.
Line 35: Renew driver's license
and the big one for now...
Line 42: Book flight
I won't bore you with the full contents of the list because some of them are, well, boring and/or irrelevant and/or just personal. But currently, there are a total of about 60 items on the list, and over 2/3 have been at least partially marked off. (light yellow highlights are for tasks in process, green is for completed. Grey are calendar items, not so much tasks. And bold red indicates significant milestones like Last Day and Departure.)
The "Important current ToDos" on the right is just a highlight of some of the major tasks currently in scope from The List.
The line numbers aren't really particularly relevant. Especially as I add/remove things or change dates and resort. It just lends an air of officiality to crossing them off.
And with that....
Now crossed off The List:
Line 29: Get a GSM phone - phone and SIM card both ordered today. I should have my new Irish mobile number in about a week or so.
Line 35: Renew driver's license
and the big one for now...
Line 42: Book flight
April Fools!
Not.
Wouldn't that be something though?
But my credit card says its no joke as it just processed the fee for my flight... departing DTW on April 1st at 4:40pm, arriving in Shannon on the 2nd. Ironically, I'll be connecting through Chicago.
Just a one-way ticket for now. When flights 90 days out are involved, there's really no cost savings to booking a round trip I found.
Wouldn't that be something though?
But my credit card says its no joke as it just processed the fee for my flight... departing DTW on April 1st at 4:40pm, arriving in Shannon on the 2nd. Ironically, I'll be connecting through Chicago.
Just a one-way ticket for now. When flights 90 days out are involved, there's really no cost savings to booking a round trip I found.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Sudden clarity
Take 1 cup of chaos. Boil it until clear. Spice with a dash of uncertainty to taste.
The plan is set. I'm still working out a handful of small details before I book my flight, but it will be sometime on or around April Fool's Day. I should pay extra for the appropriateness of leaving on the first, but I need to see how a couple things shake out as far as my plans for my first few days there.
Officially, it is a 90 day leave of absence from my current company, but with no definite commitment on either end beyond that. I'm free to look for a job over there that could allow me to extend my stay with a work permit and will have the the blessing and best wishes of my current employer if I do. If that doesn't work out or I simply decide that 3 months is plenty enough time a-ramblin' about, a decision will be made when I return as to whether there is suitable workload and projects to support me resuming my current job from Michigan. No guarantees, but I'd say the odds are very favorable.
After the frustration of my last round of calls to immigration, and the depression of realizing I wasn't going to be able to stay for a definite year while working for my company, everything suddenly just sort of settled in and I realized that what was left was just about the ideal plan! It has the best combination of stability and flexibility and as far as timing, they only asked that I stay one week beyond my tentative leaving date. I readily agreed to that.
My last day at work will be March 23. I'll spend the next week packing up most of my stuff and head back to Michigan sometime later that week to spend a few days with family and friends there before taking off on probably Sunday or Monday.
Its difficult to describe how I feel right now. Elation, excitement, trepidation, relief and giddyness have all been taking turns trying to poke through the dizzying shock-haze that's taken over after weeks of being *so close*.... months of stressful planning... years of idle talk...
Its going to happen.
Updates to The List:
Line 23: Resignation - postponed indefinitely
Line 39: Make a freakin' decision already! - done, and a day ahead of schedule
The plan is set. I'm still working out a handful of small details before I book my flight, but it will be sometime on or around April Fool's Day. I should pay extra for the appropriateness of leaving on the first, but I need to see how a couple things shake out as far as my plans for my first few days there.
Officially, it is a 90 day leave of absence from my current company, but with no definite commitment on either end beyond that. I'm free to look for a job over there that could allow me to extend my stay with a work permit and will have the the blessing and best wishes of my current employer if I do. If that doesn't work out or I simply decide that 3 months is plenty enough time a-ramblin' about, a decision will be made when I return as to whether there is suitable workload and projects to support me resuming my current job from Michigan. No guarantees, but I'd say the odds are very favorable.
After the frustration of my last round of calls to immigration, and the depression of realizing I wasn't going to be able to stay for a definite year while working for my company, everything suddenly just sort of settled in and I realized that what was left was just about the ideal plan! It has the best combination of stability and flexibility and as far as timing, they only asked that I stay one week beyond my tentative leaving date. I readily agreed to that.
My last day at work will be March 23. I'll spend the next week packing up most of my stuff and head back to Michigan sometime later that week to spend a few days with family and friends there before taking off on probably Sunday or Monday.
Its difficult to describe how I feel right now. Elation, excitement, trepidation, relief and giddyness have all been taking turns trying to poke through the dizzying shock-haze that's taken over after weeks of being *so close*.... months of stressful planning... years of idle talk...
Its going to happen.
Updates to The List:
Line 23: Resignation - postponed indefinitely
Line 39: Make a freakin' decision already! - done, and a day ahead of schedule
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Decision Day?
I need to have one more talk to try and sort out some final details with my boss, but I think today might be the day...
And for the record, I'm feeling pretty snazzy today in my freshly hemmed cords.
And for the record, I'm feeling pretty snazzy today in my freshly hemmed cords.
Three more things off The List
Line 17: Get pants hemmed
Line 25: Renew plates (what a waste)
Line 36: Dentist's Appt.
Okay, I never said they were exciting things. But maybe tomorrow. ;)
Line 25: Renew plates (what a waste)
Line 36: Dentist's Appt.
Okay, I never said they were exciting things. But maybe tomorrow. ;)
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Nomenology
Just a quickie on the name and address I chose for this little slice o' the net.
I spent a lot of time running down different possible names and/or URLs for this place. From funny to serious to flat out dorky, I kicked 'em all around, and finally settled on "dontpunt" and "Rattlin' Blog", which I think pretty much cover all the bases.
"dontpunt" is a tip of the hat to one of the most effectively worded and concise pieces of encouragement and advice I got when I was on the verge of backing down from this whole plan. A certain poster on The Victors board, quoting or paraphrasing a certain other poster's previous statement, simply replied "Don't punt from the 38 yard line of life".
Its a light-hearted and personally relevant interpretation of the one serious message I might hope to get across with these pages. To Nike, it's "Just Do It". To Horace, it was "Carpe diem". To Daniel Negreanu and his ilk, it'd be "All in."
However you call it, it just means to put yourself out there on the difficult path if there's something of worth on the other end of it.
"Rattlin' Blog", for those who don't know, is a play on the name of a popular Irish polka/drinking song. As a song, "Rattlin' Bog" is a fun one with a ton of variations in actual lyrics, but regardless of how you sing it, before you're done you're tongue's blasting a thousand miles a second about microscopic things on increasingly larger things until you reach the tree in the hole and the hole in the bog and the bog down in the valley-o.
I wanted to use something that would be a tip to the fact that the main focus is going to be travels in Ireland, with a slant towards my particular interest in Irish music, but wasn't really comfortable making this be an overtly "Irish blog" with all the contrite and stereotypical baubles and such that most Americans associate with the place. Although, I was sorely tempted (and surprised) when I saw that, as of this writing, slainte.blogspot.com was available!
In addition to being an obvious candidate for a play on 'blog', another interesting note on that title is that as both a song (i.e. music with words) and a tune (referring to it being an instrumental melody commonly played in quick, up tempo traditional sessions), it's one of very few that has crossed the boundary of my experiences in the two main areas of traditional Irish music. I've pounded my glass on the table trying to keep up with the lyrics belted out by Micheal O'Brien at The Old Shillelagh and I've tweedled and deedled the tune on a tin whistle in a lively session at The Grafton. While it might all be lumped together as "Irish music" to most, its surprisingly rare that a tune can make its way into both settings.
If you don't believe me, find yourself a local trad session and ask them if they'll play "Danny Boy" for you.
I spent a lot of time running down different possible names and/or URLs for this place. From funny to serious to flat out dorky, I kicked 'em all around, and finally settled on "dontpunt" and "Rattlin' Blog", which I think pretty much cover all the bases.
"dontpunt" is a tip of the hat to one of the most effectively worded and concise pieces of encouragement and advice I got when I was on the verge of backing down from this whole plan. A certain poster on The Victors board, quoting or paraphrasing a certain other poster's previous statement, simply replied "Don't punt from the 38 yard line of life".
Its a light-hearted and personally relevant interpretation of the one serious message I might hope to get across with these pages. To Nike, it's "Just Do It". To Horace, it was "Carpe diem". To Daniel Negreanu and his ilk, it'd be "All in."
However you call it, it just means to put yourself out there on the difficult path if there's something of worth on the other end of it.
"Rattlin' Blog", for those who don't know, is a play on the name of a popular Irish polka/drinking song. As a song, "Rattlin' Bog" is a fun one with a ton of variations in actual lyrics, but regardless of how you sing it, before you're done you're tongue's blasting a thousand miles a second about microscopic things on increasingly larger things until you reach the tree in the hole and the hole in the bog and the bog down in the valley-o.
I wanted to use something that would be a tip to the fact that the main focus is going to be travels in Ireland, with a slant towards my particular interest in Irish music, but wasn't really comfortable making this be an overtly "Irish blog" with all the contrite and stereotypical baubles and such that most Americans associate with the place. Although, I was sorely tempted (and surprised) when I saw that, as of this writing, slainte.blogspot.com was available!
In addition to being an obvious candidate for a play on 'blog', another interesting note on that title is that as both a song (i.e. music with words) and a tune (referring to it being an instrumental melody commonly played in quick, up tempo traditional sessions), it's one of very few that has crossed the boundary of my experiences in the two main areas of traditional Irish music. I've pounded my glass on the table trying to keep up with the lyrics belted out by Micheal O'Brien at The Old Shillelagh and I've tweedled and deedled the tune on a tin whistle in a lively session at The Grafton. While it might all be lumped together as "Irish music" to most, its surprisingly rare that a tune can make its way into both settings.
If you don't believe me, find yourself a local trad session and ask them if they'll play "Danny Boy" for you.
Time for Plan B? Or extend things further?
I don't want to know what my phone bill is going to look like for all the 1 min calls to Dublin this morning that ultimately yielded in not getting through once to that particular number. Nothing quite like being told repeatedly that the queue is full and that they won't even let you hold, and then having a recording telling you to call back later because they only take calls from 10:00 until 12:30-- at 12:20.
I'm too tired to have a full out blow up right now, so I sucked it up and tried calling back to the other number that I'd gotten on Monday. The one that had bounced me back to the first number to begin with.
Got through to someone right away and they actually spoke with me and addressed my questions.
And then I felt even worse.
According to this person I spoke with, it seems that while yes, technically it's possible to get permission to stay in Ireland beyond 30 days while working remotely for my US employer, it seems that I would not only have to provide proof of said employment and insurance, but unless I'm able to demonstrate that there's a business need for why the work would need to be done in Ireland, the chances of getting approved are slim. I'm welcome to write in and try, apparently, but I shouldn't expect a response in any less than 6 months.
Okay, lets try a glass-half-full perspective: At least that's one more option that I can cross off the list, narrowing down the choices for an easy decision! Right.
So continuing with my current employer while in Ireland for a year is off the list. Where does that leave me. Plan B is still there for the taking--3 month sabbatical to just completely unwind and spend the time maxing out my enjoyment of the time I have over there (not to mention decimating my savings). IF my employer can agree to 3 months off and guarantee me I'll have a job that can be done from Michigan when I return, this isn't too bad of an option, all things considered.
But if 3 months is too long--and it very well may be--I'm faced with not only a reduced experience in Ireland, but likely the grim prospect of trying to find a job in Michigan when I return. Should be interesting to see what yesterday's stock market thud will do to the already obliterated Michigan economy.
It seems my only choice if I want to stay beyond 3 months is to continue to pursue employment with an Irish company. That's going to mean pushing back my timeframe somewhat indefinitely. It looks as though most of my leads thus far have dried up, so I'll be basically setting myself back to where I was in mid-January, and without any definite end-time in sight.
Lessons learned:
The good... Not much, other than finally getting some fairly definite answers.
The bad... That continuing with my current job while in Ireland is basically unlikely.
The ugly... The Immigration Department's call center.
I'm too tired to have a full out blow up right now, so I sucked it up and tried calling back to the other number that I'd gotten on Monday. The one that had bounced me back to the first number to begin with.
Got through to someone right away and they actually spoke with me and addressed my questions.
And then I felt even worse.
According to this person I spoke with, it seems that while yes, technically it's possible to get permission to stay in Ireland beyond 30 days while working remotely for my US employer, it seems that I would not only have to provide proof of said employment and insurance, but unless I'm able to demonstrate that there's a business need for why the work would need to be done in Ireland, the chances of getting approved are slim. I'm welcome to write in and try, apparently, but I shouldn't expect a response in any less than 6 months.
Okay, lets try a glass-half-full perspective: At least that's one more option that I can cross off the list, narrowing down the choices for an easy decision! Right.
So continuing with my current employer while in Ireland for a year is off the list. Where does that leave me. Plan B is still there for the taking--3 month sabbatical to just completely unwind and spend the time maxing out my enjoyment of the time I have over there (not to mention decimating my savings). IF my employer can agree to 3 months off and guarantee me I'll have a job that can be done from Michigan when I return, this isn't too bad of an option, all things considered.
But if 3 months is too long--and it very well may be--I'm faced with not only a reduced experience in Ireland, but likely the grim prospect of trying to find a job in Michigan when I return. Should be interesting to see what yesterday's stock market thud will do to the already obliterated Michigan economy.
It seems my only choice if I want to stay beyond 3 months is to continue to pursue employment with an Irish company. That's going to mean pushing back my timeframe somewhat indefinitely. It looks as though most of my leads thus far have dried up, so I'll be basically setting myself back to where I was in mid-January, and without any definite end-time in sight.
Lessons learned:
The good... Not much, other than finally getting some fairly definite answers.
The bad... That continuing with my current job while in Ireland is basically unlikely.
The ugly... The Immigration Department's call center.
No Chelios? No Zetterberg? No problem.
I went to the Wings-Blackhawks game tonight at Joe Louis Arena West (formerly known as the United Center). During the opening faceoff, Justin predicted that the Wings would score in the first 1:50. At 18:16, Kyle Calder netted his first goal as a Red Wing.
Holmstrom added two more classic Holmstrom goals and Johan Franzen had an amazing spin-around goal that was worthy of a Datsyuk highlight reel. Pavel, meanwhile, had a quiet night statistically, but it is always a treat to watch him skate and handle the puck and a few of his passes tonight were pure van Gogh.
The 'hawks got a late pity goal with around a minute left in the game to make it a 4-1 final.
The crowd at the United Center is a shell of its former self. The nationwide hockey depression in general, and the specific woes of the Blackhawks organization over the past several years has taken its toll. When I first started going to games after moving here, it was always a full house and a raucous, hostile crowd. Whenever the pockets of Red Wings fans would start up "Let's Go Red Wings!", the cadenced gap in the cheer was filled with a booming response of "De-troit sucks!" It was spirited and lively and fun. No longer. I'd guess there were maybe 10,000 in attendance, and that's probably being generous. Of that, at least 4,000 were Detroit fans. There was nary a disparaging remark about Detroit to be heard, other than from one drunken and frustrated fan outside the stadium after the game.
But a 4-1 win for the good guys and great seats to watch it from make the concerns over not having profanities and beer hurled in your general direction rather minimal. Couple that with Michigan's impressive 67-56 win over MSU in hoops tonight, and I'll call it a good night.
Even if Blogger did eat the lengthy post I had meant to put in this spot after I'd spend about an hour and a half on it. Note to self: Do not hit the back button from Preview to try and resume editting.
A full rundown on my actual plans for the trip and how I got to this point is coming tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll have some more answers and ideas, as I'll be taking another crack at penetrating the beauracratic walls of the Immigration Department in--oh gee, five hours...
Holmstrom added two more classic Holmstrom goals and Johan Franzen had an amazing spin-around goal that was worthy of a Datsyuk highlight reel. Pavel, meanwhile, had a quiet night statistically, but it is always a treat to watch him skate and handle the puck and a few of his passes tonight were pure van Gogh.
The 'hawks got a late pity goal with around a minute left in the game to make it a 4-1 final.
The crowd at the United Center is a shell of its former self. The nationwide hockey depression in general, and the specific woes of the Blackhawks organization over the past several years has taken its toll. When I first started going to games after moving here, it was always a full house and a raucous, hostile crowd. Whenever the pockets of Red Wings fans would start up "Let's Go Red Wings!", the cadenced gap in the cheer was filled with a booming response of "De-troit sucks!" It was spirited and lively and fun. No longer. I'd guess there were maybe 10,000 in attendance, and that's probably being generous. Of that, at least 4,000 were Detroit fans. There was nary a disparaging remark about Detroit to be heard, other than from one drunken and frustrated fan outside the stadium after the game.
But a 4-1 win for the good guys and great seats to watch it from make the concerns over not having profanities and beer hurled in your general direction rather minimal. Couple that with Michigan's impressive 67-56 win over MSU in hoops tonight, and I'll call it a good night.
Even if Blogger did eat the lengthy post I had meant to put in this spot after I'd spend about an hour and a half on it. Note to self: Do not hit the back button from Preview to try and resume editting.
A full rundown on my actual plans for the trip and how I got to this point is coming tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll have some more answers and ideas, as I'll be taking another crack at penetrating the beauracratic walls of the Immigration Department in--oh gee, five hours...
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Why are we here again?
So here's the deal, yo. I've been in Chicago for nearly 5 years. It's flown by, but I don't think I could've imagined I'd be here that long when I first made that one-way trek down I-94. Overall, its tough to complain. There's been some great times, some great opportunities and some great friends and experiences.
But somewhere along the way, some things got lost. In many ways, I just haven't felt like I've been myself. I'm not sure if it's just the cold harsh reality of the Big City(tm) or if there's been something else at play, but I've known for a while that it was not a situation I could stay in long term.
My heart has always been back in Michigan. Its not the games alone that have driven me to not miss a football Saturday in Ann Arbor in over 11 seasons, despite living out of state for 7 of them (I spent the '99 and '00 seasons driving back from THE Worst State Ever). Family. Old friends. Old college haunts. But also a certain setting and atmosphere that I miss. Quiet tree-lined streets. A charming downtown area that you can walk end-to-end on a nice summer night. Knowing that a 10 minute drive in any direction will bring fields and forests. And the intangible sense of 'Home'.
I've known for a while that the time for me to leave Chicago has been drawing near.
But there's been another calling too. A sense of adventure that beckons before settling. I never took the opportunity to study abroad during school, and by the time I graduated, my coffers were tapped and my credit cards maxed. Loans loomed. There were no four-month walks-in-the-world before starting Real Life(tm) for me. Enough time to pack and move, and a short trip to Baltimore were all I was allowed before beginning the grind of a career that has been blessedly sustaining, but rarely fulfilling.
But now I find myself at this crossroad... eight years out of school, yet with no permanent ties or responsibilities tethering me. Why not? Why not take off for one last crazy adventure of youthdom. So what if a bit of a receding hairline and inversely changing waistline betray the fact that I'm just beyond the apparent targeted age range for the Eagle Creek Grand Voyage 90L. The opportunity is still there for the taking.
I first travelled to Ireland my senior year in high school. It was an unthinkable trip at the time my dad told my brother and I that he was taking us there for my Uncle and Aunt's wedding. Skipping over the minor bit about how they ended up getting married at a courthouse in Toledo--several years later--the three of us went and had an amazing time.
Maybe it was a bit of a "First Love" syndrome. Having never been outside of North America prior to that trip, it was certainly an impressionable experience. Spending some time with my Aunt's family in Cork helped to cement it and make it even more real. But from that point on, I've had an irrational love of the country and its culture, and a longing to go back.
Two years ago, I did finally go back. It was fantastic to see my Aunt's entire family again and relive those memories. And to see the grey stone fences and outcroppings crossing and dotting the green hills. And to smell the comfortingly foul scent of burning peat.
After arriving in Cork and spending the first night catching up with the O'Gormans and with jetlag, I struck out by myself, braving the task of dodging sheep on narrow hairpin turns with sheer drop-offs just inches from the left-side passenger door, with cars, trucks and tour buses cruising past on the right. A few days later, my step sister Sarah would fly into Shannon to join me for the rest of the trek, but for 4 full days, I was on my own in a world of brilliant independent bliss.
Two weeks and nearly every corner of the country covered, I knew I had but scratched the surface. From the moment I returned to Chicago I started scheming on a way to get back--and for more than just a vacation.
Remember the part above about my love for Michigan? I have no desire to move to Ireland permanently. My life and 'home' are in the Great Lakes State, and I don't foresee that changing (though I acknowledge that life does always have a way of throwing us curveballs). But I've been away in Chicago for five years. What's one more in some place just a bit further.
Somewhere along the way, some things got lost. I'm not sure what, exactly, or where I'll find them. But Ireland seems as good a place to look as any.
This blog hopes to tell that story.
But somewhere along the way, some things got lost. In many ways, I just haven't felt like I've been myself. I'm not sure if it's just the cold harsh reality of the Big City(tm) or if there's been something else at play, but I've known for a while that it was not a situation I could stay in long term.
My heart has always been back in Michigan. Its not the games alone that have driven me to not miss a football Saturday in Ann Arbor in over 11 seasons, despite living out of state for 7 of them (I spent the '99 and '00 seasons driving back from THE Worst State Ever). Family. Old friends. Old college haunts. But also a certain setting and atmosphere that I miss. Quiet tree-lined streets. A charming downtown area that you can walk end-to-end on a nice summer night. Knowing that a 10 minute drive in any direction will bring fields and forests. And the intangible sense of 'Home'.
I've known for a while that the time for me to leave Chicago has been drawing near.
But there's been another calling too. A sense of adventure that beckons before settling. I never took the opportunity to study abroad during school, and by the time I graduated, my coffers were tapped and my credit cards maxed. Loans loomed. There were no four-month walks-in-the-world before starting Real Life(tm) for me. Enough time to pack and move, and a short trip to Baltimore were all I was allowed before beginning the grind of a career that has been blessedly sustaining, but rarely fulfilling.
But now I find myself at this crossroad... eight years out of school, yet with no permanent ties or responsibilities tethering me. Why not? Why not take off for one last crazy adventure of youthdom. So what if a bit of a receding hairline and inversely changing waistline betray the fact that I'm just beyond the apparent targeted age range for the Eagle Creek Grand Voyage 90L. The opportunity is still there for the taking.
I first travelled to Ireland my senior year in high school. It was an unthinkable trip at the time my dad told my brother and I that he was taking us there for my Uncle and Aunt's wedding. Skipping over the minor bit about how they ended up getting married at a courthouse in Toledo--several years later--the three of us went and had an amazing time.
Maybe it was a bit of a "First Love" syndrome. Having never been outside of North America prior to that trip, it was certainly an impressionable experience. Spending some time with my Aunt's family in Cork helped to cement it and make it even more real. But from that point on, I've had an irrational love of the country and its culture, and a longing to go back.
Two years ago, I did finally go back. It was fantastic to see my Aunt's entire family again and relive those memories. And to see the grey stone fences and outcroppings crossing and dotting the green hills. And to smell the comfortingly foul scent of burning peat.
After arriving in Cork and spending the first night catching up with the O'Gormans and with jetlag, I struck out by myself, braving the task of dodging sheep on narrow hairpin turns with sheer drop-offs just inches from the left-side passenger door, with cars, trucks and tour buses cruising past on the right. A few days later, my step sister Sarah would fly into Shannon to join me for the rest of the trek, but for 4 full days, I was on my own in a world of brilliant independent bliss.
Two weeks and nearly every corner of the country covered, I knew I had but scratched the surface. From the moment I returned to Chicago I started scheming on a way to get back--and for more than just a vacation.
Remember the part above about my love for Michigan? I have no desire to move to Ireland permanently. My life and 'home' are in the Great Lakes State, and I don't foresee that changing (though I acknowledge that life does always have a way of throwing us curveballs). But I've been away in Chicago for five years. What's one more in some place just a bit further.
Somewhere along the way, some things got lost. I'm not sure what, exactly, or where I'll find them. But Ireland seems as good a place to look as any.
This blog hopes to tell that story.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Irish ping-pong
So... I'm going to have to go back and toss up a good introductory post talking about The Big Trip(tm) and why I finally decided to toss my hat into the blogosphere and all, but one of the main reasons was to have a sounding board and a place to vent as well as share my experiences.
The reason I'm up at such a ridiculously early hour, enough to start a blog and all before breakfast was to make a call to the Dept of Justice - Visa Section in Dublin. Their ever-user-friendly call center only takes calls between 10:00am and 12:30pm--Dublin time. That's 4:00-6:30am for us CST'ers.
I drag myself out of bed a little after six and dial them up. I actually get through to a rather pleasant sounding woman who at least doesn't throw up any more roadblocks when I explain my situation, but she directs me to the Gardai National Immigration Division (I think?) and gives me another number to call. First time up, no answer. I try back a few minutes later and only now that I'm trying to recall the specifics do I realize that the second conversation I had was a mirror image of the first, complete with being given another number to call.
After hanging up and looking at the number I realized that... yes, it was the same number I called the first time to get through to the Visa Section. *sigh*. I pick up the phone and dial again, figuring I'd try a different branch in the call center. As I navigate through the menu, I eventually reach a recording. "...this number offers telephone support from 10:00am to 12:30pm...."
The clock on my compy reads 6:29.
Did I mention they also only take calls Mon, Wed, Fri?
Lessons learned:
The good... No one told me 'no'. Actually, the first person was fairly helpful. She said that I don't need to seek any Visa or anything in particular--just write a letter to the Dept of Justice and explain the situation and ask for permission. Basically, confirming what I'd seen on http://movetoireland.com/. It's just the details of figuring out exactly what I need to include in and with said letter, how long I can expect a reply to take, and what the odds of receiving said permission are.
The bad... See post title; try again Wednesday.
The ugly... 6am is for farmers and over-achievers.
The reason I'm up at such a ridiculously early hour, enough to start a blog and all before breakfast was to make a call to the Dept of Justice - Visa Section in Dublin. Their ever-user-friendly call center only takes calls between 10:00am and 12:30pm--Dublin time. That's 4:00-6:30am for us CST'ers.
I drag myself out of bed a little after six and dial them up. I actually get through to a rather pleasant sounding woman who at least doesn't throw up any more roadblocks when I explain my situation, but she directs me to the Gardai National Immigration Division (I think?) and gives me another number to call. First time up, no answer. I try back a few minutes later and only now that I'm trying to recall the specifics do I realize that the second conversation I had was a mirror image of the first, complete with being given another number to call.
After hanging up and looking at the number I realized that... yes, it was the same number I called the first time to get through to the Visa Section. *sigh*. I pick up the phone and dial again, figuring I'd try a different branch in the call center. As I navigate through the menu, I eventually reach a recording. "...this number offers telephone support from 10:00am to 12:30pm...."
The clock on my compy reads 6:29.
Did I mention they also only take calls Mon, Wed, Fri?
Lessons learned:
The good... No one told me 'no'. Actually, the first person was fairly helpful. She said that I don't need to seek any Visa or anything in particular--just write a letter to the Dept of Justice and explain the situation and ask for permission. Basically, confirming what I'd seen on http://movetoireland.com/. It's just the details of figuring out exactly what I need to include in and with said letter, how long I can expect a reply to take, and what the odds of receiving said permission are.
The bad... See post title; try again Wednesday.
The ugly... 6am is for farmers and over-achievers.
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