Done.

Well, it's happened: I am 3/4ths done with my undergraduate career. I gave my final presentation today in my Contemporary Irish Theatre class and have officially finished all required work for my junior year. My parents are on their way over in about 24 hours, and I couldn't be more excited to finish this incredible adventure with them. 

Where last week might have been defined as one of stress, this week has been one of nostalgia. This shouldn't be surprising to me, I suppose: The semester has been one of personal deepening and artistic growth, and I have been blessed with so many wonderful experiences while being here. I never took for granted the idea that this opportunity could be once in a lifetime, though now having experienced Ireland for the last five months I can safely say that there is no way that this country has seen the last of me. 

It's funny when visitors come to Dublin, because it takes a minute to think about what to "show" them. There is no Eiffel Tower, no Big Ben.  Seeing Dublin, and Ireland, takes a gradual enveloping. Gradual isn't even really the right word, because there's not really much of a progression. It just one day overtakes you: the people, their humor, their points of view. The restaurant that you begin to frequent, the directions that you find yourself giving. Even the theatre here is such an essential part of Dublin's collective that its founding authors are treated as saints, and its current up-and-comers are working to redefine a foundation they obviously revere. I'd say it was 'inspiring', but that word has such a fairy-tale, Slumdog Millionaire quality attachment to it. This is very real, understated. But it's really, really nice to be around -- whatever it is. 

What makes this city, this whole country, so unique to me are its individuals. They create a palpable heartbeat, diluting their undeniable kindness with an adorned pessimism that can only be compared to a die-hard Vikings fan. They have gotten the raw end of the deal so many times that, they figure, they might as well get used to it and laugh about it. To think that Ireland is the size of West Virginia is something that still blows me away. It is hard to imagine what America would be like if every state, every county, had such a unique identity, as it does in Ireland. It makes you feel like the world doesn't need to be that big to be significant. 

I have had some of my most memorable conversations while being here with cab drivers. I had taken on the mentality that conversations, smiles, and friendly glances were not universally accepted. I can't even remember the last time I got out more than my destination to my cabbie in New York -- or anyone on the subway for that matter. It's not like that here, and I am so incredibly grateful for that wake-up call. We're all trying to make sense of this together, and ultimately, we're all as clueless as the guy next to us. But there's a comfort in not being clueless by yourself, I guess. 

I still have a ways to go to shed these habits -- Kathleen noted while visiting that I  "never look up", that I'm always looking directly in front of me, and that I should "do that".  I really should. 

I recognize that everything is looking a little rosier this week -- as most things do, towards an end. But I believe that it's necessary to verbalize when one sees the world in sepia tone, because it's infectious. It really is; swine flu's got nothing on appreciation.  As advanced as medicinal treatment is destined to become, I hope that no one ever cures spring fever. It's too valuable.

.................................................................

CHELSEA

 

Chelsea and her friend Alissa came to visit me for the weekend, two weekends ago now I guess, before kicking off an Italian adventure after ending their respective semesters in Spain. It was a very good time: seeing my wonderful cousin was just what I needed heading into the home stretch.

Top 5:

1. St. Steven's Green -- A beautiful day in the park. 
2. "Love & Money" by Dennis Kelly at the Project Arts Center -- The play is really something special and received three thumbs up from us.
3. Oysters and Guinness at the Temple Bar -- Maybe the best combination of two already amazing entities since David Bowie and Queen recorded "Under Pressure". The musician playing that afternoon made it all the better. 
4. Bar Hopping -- Hit the Stag's Head for an afternoon refreshment, The Cobblestone for some traditional music, Dice Bar for a little dancing, and Gogarty's to finish it all off. Wonderful in their own right, they made for a fun evening. 
5. The Dancing Man In the Middle Of Temple Bar -- aka Brian Lamb in 20 years.  

.........................................................

Don't tell my parents, but I started looking into graduate programs this afternoon -- nothing wrong with looking, right? It started after my Contemporary Theatre professor told me about the Masters program at Trinity. The playwriting section is headed by Marina Carr, who wrote about half of the plays we saw this semester. It's a one-year program, a Masters in Philosophy in Theatre and Performance program, and it kind of made my mouth water. Then I sort of went crazy, looking into Yale, Juilliard, and the MFA Playwriting program at the University of Iowa, where Tennessee Williams is a boasted alum; I promise, this has a point. Anyway, I also looked into the Meisner Acting Technique school, a two-year training program in San Francisco. On the school's site, a quote from Sanford Meisner, which reads: 

“To be an interesting actor – hell, to be an interesting human being – you must be authentic and for you to ever be authentic, you can’t be concerned with what others think about you. In other words, you must embrace who you really are, warts and all so the real you can show up in life. Do you have any idea how liberating it is to make friends with yourself?”

Obviously the school knew it was a great quote, because they included it on the homepage. But the idea of becoming a more authentic human being is one that has underscored my train of thought over the course of this semester. There is a new calm in me, a heightened confidence. I have become less afraid to state my side of things, or to refrain from doing so. I am more independently my own person, I guess is a way of saying it (I almost made the mistake of saying 'self-sufficient', but let's not kid ourselves; that would have probably given my parents both heart attacks).  It is a proud accomplishment that I thought I might keep secret, but find myself sharing.

Being in a foreign country, with a new group of people... heck, even writing these entries, I find myself constantly editing, tinkering, and abstaining to create a version of myself that I wish to present. Little by little, though, I'm beginning to trust that, when I say what I feel, people respond to it. And it's such a release, you know? To say what you feel. 

So here it is: I feel so grateful to have been able to share this experience with all of you. I can't wait to catch up with everyone and to hear your stories. I'll see you very, very soon. 

Lots of love.  

Dylan

In Lieu Of An Update On Chelsea, While I Finish My Assignments, A Short Story

 Guilty By Association

           Guilty by association: I tailor KKK uniforms. I always feel uneasy telling people that -- not because of the moral ambiguity involved in such work, but rather my phrasing. Is “uniform” the correct word to be using? Are they team?

Maybe I’m overanalyzing. I'm sure they wouldn’t mind me using the word “uniform”: it’s basically their mission statement, after all. I would say “outfit”, but it makes them out to be a gaggle of seven-year-olds at a dance recital. Ever been to one of those? I have, and it has taken years to suppress it. I don’t know what I fear worse -- a grove of Klansmen, or a mob of mothers living vicariously through their future-slut Sugarplum Fairies. Now I just go for the eye-candy.

The legal ones, I mean. Get your mind out of the gutter. Ah, Gutters -- tributaries of the roof. I wonder who invented the gutter; I would have liked to have seen the guy who said, “I know what I will contribute to society: I will make all the rain  go to the same particular place, instead of letting it fall to the ground naturally.” Someone should have told him to get his mind out of the gutter... Now some pro-gutter aficionado is probably rolling his eyes, calling me a Philistine of home economics. And I’m sure he will later explain to you how gutters are an underrated modern advancement, and you will likely end up agreeing. And I don’t blame you. This mob mentality is typical; when it rains, it pours, that sort of thing. Perhaps it’s even a part of human nature: hence, my line of work.

Like I was saying, I’m not proud of this. And I’m a proud person, I’m not too proud to say it. Do those negate each other? Maybe I’m not as proud as I thought. But the bills don’t pay themselves – just everyone else. When you think of it that way, making money is the epitome of selflessness: ‘You can’t take it with you’, as someone once said. Imagine if banks upheld that policy.

I once entered a bank with a buddy of mine, and there at the window on the other side of the counter was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. I told my buddy, I said, “I think I want to ask that cashier lady out on a date”. My buddy quickly responded “teller”, so I did. The woman naturally recoiled from my advances, so I withdrew.

I know a thing or two about withdrawal. My mother was a heroine addict – she couldn’t get enough of Jane Austen. Once we couldn’t go on vacation because the BBC had just released a new miniseries. I still have never seen the Grand Canyon. She said she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the scenery without knowing how Pride and Prejudice ended. I found this mildly humorous because in terms of unpredictability, watching Pride and Prejudice is like watching Classic Sports. After twelve hours of Colin Firth’s expressionless face, I wondered how anyone could be satisfied with any conclusion other than unspeakable homicide -- but, as expected, Smart Strong Woman gets her Frumpish Antagonist, and all is right in the world; my apologies for the spoiler. I hated my mother for her addiction. Sure, my father was an actual heroin addict, but it never stopped us from having fun. Talk about a shot in the arm. Oh well; You can’t take it with you, as I said before that someone said before... I don't know if the phrase currently applies, to be honest. But it certainly makes shopping more harrowing.

I knew a man who would return his entire living room every ninety days to the local superstore, capitalizing on their generous return policy. I would  see him moving his couches, big screen television – everything – into a little $20-a-day rent-a-van quarter-annually. “Are you moving?” I would ask, knowing full well he would later return with a new batch of everything. He would smile, maybe wave a little. It was sort of our thing. 

Last November, though, he rolled into his driveway with that old blue Buick of his empty-handed. “What happened?” I asked him. And he stamped out a cigarette as he said, “I just realized what I have been doing with my life. And it made me a little sad, I suppose.” And with that, he went inside.

About a week later, however, the truck is back. So I take my stroll down the block and ask, “Are you moving?” in my typical cadence. And he smiles at me and replies, “I think I’m going to, yes... I think that I’ll give it a try.” And turning his keys, he drives off, never to be seen again. And even though I made that story up, to alleviate my hearing that he had shot himself inside his empty living room, I smile nostalgically. Because I would have respected that, you know? Trial and error...

Someone once asked me how I got into what I do, and after careful consideration I responded, “by getting out of what I did.” And I was pleased with myself, because I hadn’t really told him anything about me at all.

So, funny story...

So I'm talking to Haley on the internet, and I'm describing my new "girlfriend" that was implicitly supposed to be that seal that has shown up in so many of my posts. 

Meanwhile, my uncle Mick sends me a message on Skype saying he's in my old stomping grounds in New York for the week. 

I try to hold conversations with both of them: 

With Mick, I start talking about the Twins, his trip, etc.

With Haley, I start describing the 'attributes' of my new lady:

• She likes to swim
• Thick, brown hair
• Big eyes
• Usually covered in an oily substance
• Distinguished features

... etc.

My punchline was going to be sending a picture of Cindy Crawford in a bathing suit to Haley. I googled for the perfect one, and when I finally decided I cut-and-pasted the web address so that she could see it, and the joke would be over.

It turns out the joke was on me.

I had pasted the photo into my conversation with Mick instead. I waited a couple minutes in pained silence for a response. I tried to justify it to him, but there was no way to explain myself sending a bikini-clad model to my uncle from out of nowhere. 

Finally, Mick sent a reply: "I have no idea what that is". 

I tried to explain it a little further: 

DYLAN: i'm so sorry this is a ridiculous comedy of errors. this is why you never have two conversations at once, you end up sending a swimsuit-clad model picture to your uncle who is waiting for a business meeting! oh man, so much for multitasking. I am writing an explanation on my blog as we speak. I am doubled over in laughter. i'm sorry Mick that's beyond ridiculous that I sent that to you.

a moment passed. 

MICK: Gilleeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It turns out that someone else who Mick was meeting for business had taken his computer, and had mistaken me for a guy named Gill. 

MICK (or whoever he was meeting): Gilleeee did you send mike that naughty girlee picture!!!!

I signed off, in complete embarrassment. And we left it at that. 

I still feel gross. But I can't stop laughing about it.

The worst part was that Haley witnessed the whole thing on webcam, so now I'll never be able to live it down. 

Anyway, just thought I'd share.  

Happy Easter! (Here's some catch-up for those eggs)

Something was different about Easter this year; besides being in a different country, I mean. There were no tears, no lingering frustrations, about this morning. I sat in mass carefree, for the first year that I can really remember. The reason being is that the Easter Bunny over in Dublin is much less maniacal than the one back in Minneapolis. 

For years, I was tormented by increasingly aggravating locations of my Easter basket, accompanied by the nonsensical off-the-cuff clues that my father, his messenger, would grant me, and then justify in retrospect. In contrast, my sister's basket was likely to be found at the foot of her bed, or just underneath the coffee table, so while she munched away on delicious treats (like my kryptonite, Starburst jellybeans) I was left questioning if there even was a God on the day I was supposed to be celebrating his resurrection. All the while, Mr. Clues would sit on the living room sofa, donning his ancient red-robe that covered not nearly enough of his legs, a cowlick to make Alfalfa Switzer envious, silently laughing through his nostrils as he generously offered up another clue. 

I remember one year specifically that my mother pulled my into the bathroom, with puffy eyes and snot dripping down my face, and whispered with great emphasis the euthanizing words, "Look... behind... the drawer... in the living room!". I promptly did as I was told, and then pretended like I had come upon it by my own resources: we're a proud bunch, we Lambs. Even when covered in snot, we're proud. 

Outside of windows on the roof, hung by coat hangers behind an unused swinging door, underneath glass bottles in the recycling... and that's just ages 7-9. Some years it would be eight o'clock in the evening before I found it, having to give pause to my expedition to allow time for mass and a family party or two. Even in later years, when I would boycott the search altogether, the smug look on that disheveled man's face would bore into me to the point where, even at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, I was convinced that this would be the year that I would defy the fates and prove him wrong. It never happened. I have dreaded Easter ever since... and simultaneously can't wait to do the same thing to my kids one day. 

This year, Kathleen and I spent the morning at Easter service, followed by a nice brunch at Elephant & Castle, home of the best omelette in Dublin, and home made ginger ale. This was a great capper to an eventful week with my lovely aunt, which I believe warrants a Top 5:

1. The Dramatized "Stations of the Cross" at St. Mary's Church: We walked out, and Kathleen instantly said, "that will be burned in my memory for the rest of my life". Without saying much else, for fear of being struck by a bolt of lightning on this most sacred of days, I will say that if you told me that Christopher Guest had directed it I would believe it without hesitation. Put on by all local parishioners, the event showcased a tooth-optional Jesus, Simon in street clothes, an overly-contemplative Centurian guard (clearly the Brando of the bunch), and a howling group of female high-priests, who harmonized their unexpected shrieks like a chorus of stray dogs to the wails of Mary Magdalene (okay, bring on the lightning, I couldn't resist). Really, the best show in town. 
2. High Tea at the Shelbourne Hotel: This place was so nice it had its own barbershop next to the restrooms. Located right across to St. Steven's Green, the Shelbourne was one of those places that you never want to be rich enough to actually afford. It was fun to sample, however, and boy did we ever: a three-level feast of scones, sandwiches, and various pastries. 
3. Trip to Glendalough: A beautiful day in a beautiful part of the country, headlined by Irwin, our tour guide (and someone who should not be given a microphone -- I think he ended his sentences after every word), that had us (particularly me) cracking up all the way down and back. 
4. "All My Sons" at the Gate: Len Cariou, of Guthrie and original Sweeney Todd fame, was the lead, and was very good. It was interesting watching an American play performed by predominantly Irish actors, particularly because all of them had different regional dialects
5. Lamb Alley: I had been meaning to get over there, if only for the photo opportunity. Turns out, that's about all there was: it was most certainly an alley, with barbed wire and beer bottles decorating it. So much for our namesake! 

• Honorable Mentions: Easter Mass with the archbishop of Ireland, lunch at Bewley's Cafe

London finished up in fine fashion, as well. Noah and I went on a Jack the Ripper tour, and ended at a bar, The Ten Bells, that supposedly all of the slain prostitutes once frequented (a wonderful marketing ploy to say the least). The Tower of London was a highlight for me, since they were highlighting the controversy around Richard III (one of my favorite Shakespeare plays) and showcasing the armor of Henry VIII (who had the codpiece the size of a baseball helmet due to his terrible syphilis, the profile was quite amusing). We checked off the London Eye, Big Ben, Abbey Road, and Buckingham Palace, and spent Monday afternoon in Hyde Park on a paddle boat, attempting to catch a goose. 

Anna and I went on an adventure, setting out to find some graffiti art by this guy Banksy , who has kind of made a name for himself in New York but is originally from London. It turns out, his artwork was painted over, but it led us to the El Dorado of graffiti art. It was like walking through a museum, inside of this government-approved tunnel on Leake Street. It was a great payoff to our impromptu scavenger hunt. 

Before London, Katie and Tim were here! They flew into Dublin before heading westward to where the real action is, scenically speaking, then looped back for the last couple days before flying home Friday morning. The first day we were a little concerned that Tim was dying: a combination of jet-lag and sickness made a guy who's chipper even after a 70-hour workweek look like he was on his last legs. Luckily, he recovered in fine fashion, and they seemed to have a great time (I think taking over 600 pictures). I credit the mediocre Apache pizza, which we picked up and ate in their hotel room the first night,  as the miracle remedy that brought him back to good health. 

We did manage to squeeze in the Book of Kells that first day. I don't know what I was expecting, but for all the fanfare, it's one page of a (granted, well crafted and historically significant) book. Kathleen informed me that they change the page every day, however, so maybe after multiple viewings I'll get a better sense of it (though at eight bucks a pop, I'm skeptical). Anyway, check it off for experience. The Long Room upstairs in Trinity College, however, stole the show, stacked floor-to-ceiling with old books and statues of famous writers. 

I was writing Acts 2 and 3 of Bernie when they got back, but we managed to still have some fun as well. We went to dinner at Gruel (aka Sam Shepard's bathroom encounter) and they gave me a sampling of the pictures they had taken and the sights they had seen. I was glad that Tim was back to good, even clueing me in that T-Rex arms actually faced upwards and therefore were not as useless as depicted (believe it or not, it was relevant the conversation at the time... not sure how we got there, actually). We headed over to the Stag's Head pub afterward, on the recommendation of playwriting teacher Michael West, for a couple pints and more merriment: putting me in the perfect condition to write thirty pages when I went home (hey, it worked!). 

The next day we met for brunch at my favorite breakfast place "The Joy of Coffee" (I also took Mike and Haley there... I'm sort of a broken record), and afterwards made the leisurely walk to the Guinness factory. I personally thought it was better than Jamieson, for a couple of reasons: one, you could tour it on your own, instead of following a tour guide (though I believe they have that option as well), and two, there is a seven-story high bar (one of the very few skyscrapers in the city) with 360-degree windows where you can enjoy your pint that comes as complement with the ticket. There was a sign in the factory that read 'There's Poetry in a Pint of Guinness', so I figured there must be a play in there as well, if you had enough of it. Again, afterward, I walked home and knocked off my entire third act... I'm not one for superstitions, but...

Anyway, it's been great to have so many visitors and to visit new lands, but, as I told Liz in an email on Good Friday, I could use a couple days in the tomb myself! Unfortunately, it looks like a busy week: a history paper and an edited draft, full day of class on tuesday, class and a play on wednesday, and thursday/friday helping Jake with his final music video (not in drag... that I know of). The weekend is atypically free: I couldn't afford the ticket to Seville, but Chelsea heads in the following weekend to be the better cousin of the two of us. I guess her friend Munch is coming too. I'll be breathing easier by then. 

Here's a hodgepodge of pictures from the past couple of weeks (my computer's on overload, so I might have to upload more later. I'm also uploading some clips from The Stations onto my YouTube Channel, so check in on the sidebar in a little while to see what you missed). 

I think I've made myself sick from Starburst Jellybeans, so I'm off to remedy that. If you see that Bunny, punch him for me, will ya? 

- D

The Aran Islands

The gang ventured Westward to the Island of Inis Oirr, the smallest of the three Aran Islands, just off of the coast of Ireland's mainland. The island boasts about 250 full-time residents, probably four streetlights, and just about as many pubs. We stopped in Galway on the way over and spent the afternoon perusing through street markets, walking the beach along Galway Bay, and squeezing in some fish and chips at McDonaugh's (?), which Susanne dubs "the best in Ireland" (we got cod -- they were out of the ray). Erin recommends the mushy peas for a lighter vegetarian alternative.

On the Island, we were treated to a home-cooked meal at one of the pubs (the name escapes me at the moment), which warmed us up a little from the nasty weather outside. After checking out the local night life (read: drinking some really cheap Guinness with a few, shall we say, regulars), we called it an evening and snuggled in at a local hostel. (Some slept more soundly than others: I apparently snored -- uncharacteristically, of course). 

After a nice light breakfast, a local woman came in to talk about the island, and its rivalry with the two other islands Inishmore and Inishmaan. After that was free time, and I took the opportunity to walk along the rocks at the coast of the Island -- probably my personal highlight. We met back up for lunch at the same pub we had dinner in, and from there were treated to a horse-and-carriage ride around the Island. The driver took us to a shipwreck on the far coast, and we were allowed to explore a little bit as the sun finally decided to come out. 

We had to hurry back to catch the last ferry off of the island (we made it). On the way back, a rescue helicopter practiced emergency landings on the back of our boat: an added bonus as we sat on the ferry's deck. The four-hour ride home went quickly enough, thanks to our driver Francis' two young grandsons providing entertainment from their "bunk beds" in the overhead compartments.

Currently, I am with Kristine and Noah in London (!) visiting my pals Anna and Jordan for the weekend. Anna is studying with the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts this semeseter, while Jordan is taking advantage of NYU's study abroad program in the Film / TV writing focus. Today we walked Abbey Road (great picture, I'll upload it when I get back), and saw an awful, awful production of the musical Blood Brothers on the West End, breaking my "consecutive plays I liked" streak at four. Tomorrow should be more eventful; Buckingham Palace, London Eye, Tower of London, the Globe, and a Jack the Ripper tour in the evening. We fly back Monday night, so it's a quick jaunt but a fun one nonetheless.

I am pleased to say that I have finished a draft of "Madoff In The Garden", as I am calling it. While it still needs a lot of work, to type the words "End of Play" after 90-plus pages (most of them written sometime in the past week) is an exhilarating feeling, and I treated myself accordingly to a pastry at the local bakery. 

Irish playwright Mark O'Rowe came to speak to our Contemporary Irish Theatre class this week, which was a little awe-inspiring since we had just read two of his plays and watched a movie that he wrote the week before. He was so down to earth and made me excited to be writing, which is all I could ever hope for in meeting influential writers. I just rocked a paper in that class as well, so consider my step spring-loaded academically speaking. 

Kathleen flies in on Wednesday morning, and I am very excited to be spending the Easter Holiday with her. I will report on our outings, as well as the rest of this trip, very soon.

Your April Fool,

Dylan

Mike, St. Patrick, and Haley: The Top 5s

(Casey, one of the girls in the Community Arts program in Dublin, decided to catch me at a lower moment with this photo-op. Seeing that it's one of the only St. Patrick's Day photos I have on my computer at the moment, I have decided to share it. More will come, mind you. For now, you'll have to be satisfied with me wearing a ten-year-old's guitar and a primordial dwarf's leprechaun hat... why I didn't just say "a leprechaun's leprechaun hat", even I am unsure of).

Top 5 Things About Spring Break With Mike Plantan:

1. Golfing In Howth -- For economic reasons, we decided to do the 12-hole short-course (or as we referred to it, The Not As Manly Course... we might have been a bit more derogatory. Boys will be boys.), but the view was incredible, a few pars were sunk, and the afternoon was relaxed. I had a rough first go of it teeing off, but eventually found my stroke and worked my way to a very admirable sister-kisser -- er -- tie (Mike might take that expression a bit too literally: he has never hidden his plans to wed Pegeen and offically be made a Lamb). The tie was fine by me, seeing that, realistically, it was the best-case scenario for me when golfing with Mike. We had to ration our golf-ball output, which proved to be more difficult than anticipated because we were both drinking relatively large bottles of Slice throughout the afternoon, if you catch my drift. My personal highlight was losing a ball into some heavily-thorny bramble (which referred to as "The Devil's Nether-Regions"... again I might be using a euphemism), and not only was I able to locate it, but battled against the branches and enured a lifetime's worth of splinters in order to successfully achieve it.  In the clubhouse after, we enjoyed a pint and some better than average bar food, and it was the most content in our seven years of friendship I had ever seen the fella. It looked a little something like this. Hiking the trails afterward was just gravy, and, as we know, I don't use that term lightly. 
2. Celebrating International Women's Appreciation Day at Gogarty's: Mike really brings out the best in me, as does live music. When you put the two together, it tends to be a near-lethal combination. When Mike took me out for my birthday, the night ended with me sitting in the bathtub with my feet over the sides (balance is incredibly undervalued, in my opinion), waking up my entire family in the process (I vaguely remember Pegeen screaming "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?"). The week before I left for Dublin, he and Daisy Donohue had gotten me up onstage at the piano bar under the misconception that I was leaving for 'Iceland', which, of course, we played up to no end. A worthy member to be included in this trilogy was International Women's Appreciation Day, which landed on March 8th this year. I gave him a tour of a couple places in Temple Bar while we killed time for the music to start, eventually meeting up with Olga, Amy and Dianne (three of the other six playwrights), who didn't mind being appreciated with a couple pints (to their credit, they deserve it). I kept up my tradition of Irish stepdancing, and was asked to "learn" some Spanish girls who wanted to be shown how it's done (absolutely the last thing that I needed was a vote of confidence). The gang also did their part, apparently well enough for Mike to overhear an Irishman say to his wife, "Jaysus. Michael Flatley would be shittin' himself." The night concluded with a sing-along back at our place, with me playing until my fingers bled (which only took, like, two songs, since I cut my finger open mid-song -- and still had the stage-presence to finish. Terry Westerman would have been proud). I guess it goes to show that when women feel appreciated, the world seems to run a little smoother... Too bad we have to wait a whole 'nother year before that happens again! (Kidding, of course: I can see my mom's face as she reads that, which warranted a disclaimer. Granted, I also saw my dad's disapproving laughter, which is why it wasn't altogether erased: that's sort of an insight into the moral conflict I have to wrestle with daily. Now you know my Hamletian struggle).  Anyway, great day. 
3. Seeing Tom Stoppard's "The Real Thing" at the Gate Theatre: First show at the Gate, and I enjoyed it very much. We were the younger than the median age by a good forty years, I think, which was interesting. He's a smart playwright, that Tom Stoppard, which had to've made it a stretch to write a play about the tribulations of a smart playwright. It is always nice to have the question posed, "Isn't love wonderful?", and he does it well enough to have it not necessarily be rhetorical. So there's my sixty seconds of pretentiousness. Anyway, I liked it.
4. The Jameson Distillery Tour -- Based on the pre-tour cheesy informational video, you would have thought John Jameson was a decorated war hero or something, judging by "how brave" he was to distill his whiskey three times instead of two. One of my favorite moments was Jameson's cat, who used to catch mice around the distillery and was honored by the family when it died by being stuffed and put on display. Honsestly, on the list of top-five creepiest things I've ever seen, it's definitely an Honorable Mention. Mike was chosen to taste-test between Jameson, Jack Daniels, and Johnny Walker. After "correctly" choosing Jameson as his favorite (he lied), he was presented a certificate stating that he was a capable whiskey-tester. Since I am not able to be at Mike's graduation in May, I treated the ceremony as though he was being handed his diploma, bursting into an abrupt round of applause. A few people even joined in, not even knowing why. Needless to say, I was very proud. 
5. The Dublin Writer's Museum -- We decided that, for me, the phrase "Dublin Writer's Museum" was the equivalent to the phrase "Candy Chocolate Pancakes". 

Honorable Mentions: 

• Charlie II Chinese Food -- Mike for some reason placed this run-of-the-mill fast food Chinese restaurant on his list of things to do. Turns out, it was a run-of-the-mill fast food Chinese restaurant. So my question is, if you receive exactly what was advertised, regardless of personal expectations, do you still have the right to be disappointed? (I've asked my now-ex-girlfriend this very question, by the way). 
• Rooftop conversations -- Turns out, on top of being a great guy to be around, Mike's also a great guy (Take that, Benilde-St. Margaret's school newspaper, which published an article labeling him "Crap Date Mike", after Stephanie Geerdes went home from the winter formal less-than-satisfied). 
• Lunch for breakfast, dessert for lunch... dinner for dinner. I know what you're thinking, and yes, we are that crazy. Would I do it again? I don't know. Am I glad that I tried it? Absolutely. 

Top 5 Things About St. Patrick's Day in Dublin:

1. The Parade -- Bands, floats, music... All of the plusses of the Thanksgiving parade but of a more intimate size and much, much warmer. What a great way to spend the morning / early afternoon. 
2. Barbeque at Tommy Graham's -- Tommy grilled up some chicken, sang us an "abridged" epic tune (maybe 5-10 minute) a capella, and disappeared to the pub before we could say goodbye. His kids, 10 and 7-year old twins, were chips off the old block, (Tommy's oldest played "The House of the Rising Sun" on his guitar -- because it was the only one he could remember all the way through) and his wife was an incredibly nice hostess. Other families were there as well, and made for a great atmosphere. Erin joined the eight-year-olds on the trampoline, Jake and I butchered half of modern music on the guitar while trying to lead a sing-along... it was just too good.
3. The Pint of Guinness you somehow manage to get in the overstuffed pubs: I told myself I had to have at least one on the day. Turns out it's pretty much the same, except less elbow room and more elbows while trying to get it. I guess that mad it all the more rewarding. 
4. The unfortunate state of affairs crowding the streets around 2 AM -- Take the dramatic hilarity of the worst college party ("No! Nnnnno, Jaasssson! Jaasssonn I'm surrrrrrrry. I'm surrrrrrrrrrrry, Jassssson, I'm jus-- my feet hurrrt...."), multiply it by fifty, add about nine other countries represented ("No! Nnnoo, Juuuuuuuanita! Juuaaaanita, lo ssssssiento!"), and then force them out onto the streets. Some of the best people-watching I have ever experienced. 
5. The pride of being Irish -- Self-explanatory. 

Honorable Mention:

• The big dumb oversized felt leprechaun hats that were selling like hot-cakes. Okay, it's one thing to be wearing them in celebration of the day in a party situation. I'm all about that. It would be the times where I would walk by an Indian restaurant and see a guy sitting by himself and absentmindedly poking at his chicken tikimasala with a depressed look on his face that made me want to knock on the window and say, "You need to take that hat off, right now, or no one is going to want to be friends with you." I refrained, but the guilt haunts me. 

Top Five Things About The Long Weekend With Haley:

1. Seeing the World Premiere of Sam Shepard's play "Ages of the Moon".  -- Easily, the best use of of a ceiling fan as a character that I've ever seen. Two-man show with Steven Rea and Sean McGinley, kind of like a middle-aged True West, except instead of smashing typewriters they just sit on the porch and drink whiskey. Been looking forward to it all semester, and it didn't disappoint. We saw Sam again, by the way (not peeing this time) taking a cigarette break outside of a pub... at 10 in the morning.  
2. The Dublin City Zoo -- THEY HAD A TAPIR! I had grown fond of tapirs because of the one at the Minnesota Zoo. (Haley did an amazing job at recreating them). I had yet to see another, and Dublin had three of them. The Tanning Orangutans and Gorillas also put on a good show, and the day itself was the warmest of the week. You have to walk through Phoenix Park to get to the zoo, which was lovely enough for Haley to dub it "like Idaho". In fact, almost every beautiful place that we saw, it was compared in passing to her hometown of Boise. We even saw Idaho's state bird, state flower, and governor on the trip, now that I think of it. Since all I really know about Idaho is Larry Craig and Napoleon Dynamite, you can see why I might be a little skeptical. But if any of you can't manage the flight to the Emerald Isle and you're looking to get away, consider it Plan B. 
3. Sitting on the rocks looking out at Galway Bay -- "Picturesque" would be a suitable way to describe it. Of course, when I pulled out my camera, the batteries were dead. Haley created an artistic rendering of it, however, so you all could get the picture. We decided to spontaneously hop an early bus to the west on Saturday, forging the 3-hour ride to spend the afternoon along the beach.  We ate dinner at an Italian red-and-white-tablecloth-type place called "Fat Freddies" and listened to the roar of the rugby fans as Ireland cemented it's grand-slam victory (meaning that it went undefeated in its five-game season, apparently a great rarity). We killed time waiting for the late bus back in a hotel lobby that sort of reminded me of somewhere, I can't quite put my finger on it. This made me miss New York, since wandering into hotel lobbies like we had business being there was one of Haley and my most popular pastimes. (Side note, don't try to change the lyrics to "Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay", even to make the applicable parody "Sittin' On Some Rocks By The Bay", because this girl loves her some Otis Redding).
4. Cutthroat Scrabble Wars -- A significant cluster of dinosaur bones were found this week in Montana. On an equal plane of discovery, I found a Scrabble board in my room. Haley, get this, had never played Scrabble. Apparently too busy counting all of the flying pigs clouding up the Idaho sky. After walloping, and I mean walloping, her the first two times, she managed to squeeze out a victory in the final round. I wonder if she's coping with a standing record of 1-2, since, as I've been told on several occasions, Hepworths don't lose. Consider the Fates defied. 
5. Styling Haley's hair -- What can I say? I have a gift. I don't want to say that I've found a fallback, should this whole writing thing not work out... but okay, you've twisted my arm. I have nearly mastered the Aileen Wuornos look but, like a fine wine or trying to renew your driver's license, these things take time. 

Honorable Mentions:

• Sitting in on Michael West's rehearsal -- It was great to see my playwriting professor work on developing his new play, and especially fun since his wife is the director. The two are part of the theatre company The Corn Exchange, which develops and performs plays for The Dublin Theatre Festival. The process, in a nutshell, is that Michael makes an outline for the play, Annie (his wife, who actually went to NYU) guides rehearsals with the actors (who are allowed to experiment based on what they know of their characters and the basic plot), by calling out different styles, side-coaching, and even playing a small drum set that sits in front of her. Then Michael takes what's been done in rehearsals and goes off to write the play, and two months later they stage it to be performed in October. It was really a treat to see your teacher at work, and I think Haley (an acting major in the David Mamet-founded Atlantic Theatre Company studio) enjoyed it just as much. Michael, of course, asked Haley how much I was paying her to hang around me for the week. The heckling never ends.
• Creating my alter-egos -- My favorite of which is "The Bovine Helix", the persona (created from consecutive Scrabble words) that I would use should I ever go into professional wrestling. The costume is a cow with bionic qualities (which Haley is designing) that best executes my killer wrestling moves, such as "The Cow-Tow", "Hoof-in-Mouth", and "Udder Insanity". Other personas include Jerry La d'Racula, a Vampire who, instead of seeking out victims, decides to spend his evenings honing his craft as a standup comedian (I'm tapping into my role of Sven Ghouli from the Pleasant Avenue Players as inspiration). Obviously, he is terrible, relying on his catchphrase "I mean, Vaaaaaaat is the Deeeeeeal?" to transition him from joke-to-joke. We're thinking of developing it into a one-man show, working title: "Vamp". This sort of came into fruition when I yelled "You Suck!" to a cheesy Vampire in the St. Patrick's Day Parade... The final one is Scatman, a talented Jazz singer who has never quite made it to the top because of his irregular bowel movements.  As you can see, on top of having a fun week, we were also very productive. 
• Late-night pizza by the Liffey -- We had put off dinner for, admittedly, too long. When it came time, I kept talking up all of these great places, only to have them close as we arrived up to them. What had to have been the last remaining place open in the city was Apache pizza, and even there they were only selling slices through the express-window (of which we snagged the last two slices... score?). It actually turned out to be great: I got to show her O'Connell Street and all of its historic landmarks (thank you, Tommy Graham), and sitting at the river turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. I mean, it was no Idaho, but...
• Our steady diet of blue mints, pocketed tea packets, and Cadbury chocolate. Like I said, sometimes mealtimes fluctuated. I will, however, say that there was not a time throughout the entire week that we were deprived of any of these three elements. I know I don't need to say this, but when Haley left on Sunday, there was certainly a noticeable absence... she had taken the last of the blue mints. 

Katie and Tim are headed to the airport in less than 30 hours from now. I believe a trip to the Guinness Factory is on the docket for Friday afternoon, Then they're off to do their own thing while I head to the Aran Islands on a field-trip overnight. We reconvene back in Ol' Dubs for a couple days before they fly home next week. Then London. Then Kathleen / Easter. Then Chelsea in Seville. Then Chelsea here. Then May. Then parents. Then home. Now that doesn't sound so bad, does it? All I'm wondering now is who's going to write the rest of my play. These are not the worst dilemmas to have, I suppose. Spring has certainly sprung in my state of mind: Everything's looking like Idaho.

Until next time,

D

PS -- Follow me on Twitter, if you're so inclined. They'll be more frequent, more stream-of-conscious, and might help some of you blog addicts coughGrandmaKaycough as you wait for me to do more things, so I don't have to keep making them up and then saying that my camera was dead. XO

A little something while I cram in some studying:

Hi Everybody,

March has indeed been Madness (My bracket is terrible by the way: apparently Western Kentucky decided not to be the Cinderella story I had fabricated for them. Kathleen, my apologies about your office pool). Finishing two papers this week that I had put off to enjoy all the fun I've been having. I will post a much longer update by the end of the week, I promise. Until then, I have two very exciting PREMIERES to wet your appetite!!

First, a couple teaser moments from my Bernie Madoff play. 

It all takes place over the last night in his house (March 9th, 2009). The second scene is an imagined one in Bernie's mind, remembering his meeting with his client William Foxton, who later shot himself after losing everything. It's bookended by snippets of a lengthy conversation he has with his hired security guard -- saying whatever he wants to fight off the feeling of his own looming mortality. It's hard to play to all audiences that read this, so my apologies if this is a little racy: either way, it's what I'm doing and it's been kind of fun to write such a demonic character -- it's almost a catharsis for knowing that he actually exists. 

.........................................................................................................

MADOFF

Do you ever have one of those moments where you wonder, if you could do it all again, what you would change?

GUARD ONE

I suppose so. Every once in a while. 

MADOFF

And?

GUARD ONE

Oh, I don’t know. I might traveled a little more. Wrote a book. 

MADOFF

 I think I would have eaten more pork.  

Pause.

GUARD ONE

Please don’t be finished.

MADOFF

Life is too short to be Kosher. 

GUARD ONE

Well, I don't know what's holding you back. By all means, live a little. 

MADOFF

Hey, don’t get cute.

GUARD ONE

I’m not being cute. I think it’s safe to say that you’re a terrible Jew. I mean, if Moses had seen you back in Egypt, sitting on top of the largest and most literal of pyramid schemes, selling Rameses on your sham of a hedge fund, I'd bet that Exodus might currently read: “Let my people go, except that one. That one can stay.”

MADOFF

Just because I’m talking to you doesn’t mean you have the right to an opinion. I’d be having this conversation with the ottoman if you weren’t here. You got that?  “A terrible Jew”... You know, another guy was labeled a terrible Jew, if I remember correctly. His name was Jesus Christ.

......................................................................................

MADOFF

If a guy marries his high-school sweetheart, and then fifty years later finds himself fantasizing about the first time that they ever made love, does that make him a pervert or just nostalgic?

GUARD ONE

Are you asking me?

MADOFF

I don’t know... You got a wife?

GUARD ONE

Me? No.

MADOFF

You gay or something?

GUARD ONE

As a matter of fact.

MADOFF

Is that right? I guess that’s a good enough excuse... Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you don’t look gay, at all... I can usually call these things, I’ve got a very good eye for it. You, I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years... So, you got a buddy?

GUARD ONE

What?

MADOFF

You know, like a fella?

GUARD ONE

Oh, no.

MADOFF

You’re more of a party guy?

GUARD ONE

I’m reading Dickens. For fun.

MADOFF

A gay guy reading Dickens. There’s a joke there somewhere... You wouldn’t happen to have five dollars on you, would ya?

GUARD ONE

You’re not serious.

MADOFF

Why wouldn’t I be?

GUARD ONE

What are you going to do with five dollars?

MADOFF

Turn it into six dollars.

GUARD ONE

I'm done with this. I’m not paid to entertain you.

MADOFF

Who’s asking you to? It’s clear to me that I’m the entertainment around here. Look, here’s my proposal: you give me five dollars. We wait for ten seconds. I promise you that you will have made another dollar in that time. Take it from me, that's an incredible return. 

GUARD ONE

You don’t have any money!

MADOFF

I always have money, it’s just not always my own. 

GUARD ONE

You’re out of your mind.

MADOFF

Old habits die hard... You haven't said 'no', by the way. 

............................................................................

Bernie takes a long sip of water. He flips through a book on the coffee table as though it were a financial portfolio. 

MADOFF

I’ve found honesty to be the best policy, Bill, so I’m just going to cut to the chase and say that we’re not interested in the amount that you are offering. Thanks for coming in. 

FOXTON

I don’t understand... You said it had potential on the phone. 

MADOFF

Oh, your account has potential, that we could have been interested in. Your offer, however, is, simply put, too low.  

FOXTON

Too low? 

MADOFF

We mostly deal with a seven figure minimum, which, if I recall correctly, you were not interested in. And as much as I don’t understand that, Bill, I accept it. I just can’t do anything with it. We don't need the smaller stuff. 

FOXTON

Seven figures would be my entire life’s savings.

MADOFF

I see that, Bill. Your file tells me that. I am reading your file. What I’m not understanding is, given what you know about what I am able to do, given that you are already willing to place the majority of your savings into this firm... do you see where I’m going, Bill? 

FOXTON

Look, I trust you, Mr. Madoff, and I appreciate you coming out here to see me -- 

MADOFF

It’s a seven-hour plane ride to London, you realize that.

FOXTON

Of course... This is my nest egg. It’s all we have. So you have to understand why I would want to keep some of it out of the equation, should something go wrong.  

MADOFF

I’m sorry, should something go wrong? 

FOXTON

Should the market turn, should we lose it -- 

MADOFF

Okay. Okay, thank you. Thanks for coming in, Bill. Thanks for coming in, and wasting my time.

FOXTON

No, wait -- 

MADOFF

Should something go wrong? You’ve seen the figures. I beat the market. I always beat the market. Hell, I’m running the market Bill! 

FOXTON

If you could just help me understand --  

MADOFF

No, time’s up. I’m sorry, but this is a waste of time. Your investment is too small, I have nothing to work with. Thank you for coming in.

FOXTON

Please, if you could maybe explain to me again, one more time, how this all works -- 

MADOFF

'How this works'? 

FOXTON

How you are able to run the market, I mean.  

MADOFF

How this works. Well, in a nutshell... I can’t believe I’m doing this again... In a nutshell, Bill, Mr. Foxton, what we have done is arranged a system of computers that can predict fluctuations and make transactions through a system of puts and calls, faster than any man-operated business. You following me? Now, other firms are afraid to do this, and they’re suffering because of it. You know why? Because the computers will make the decisions that human beings are too afraid to make. There is no hesitation, there is no second-guessing, it is completely and entirely computational. When you take the human being out of the equation, Bill, you solve your regulatory problems. It’s that simple... Now what I have outlined for you, what we have spoken about over the phone, what I have flown across the ocean in the hopes of making you realize is that this is the chance of a lifetime. You’ve got your nest egg, and that’s wonderful. But I’m making you a fuckin’ omelette, Bill, pardon my French. You’re a veteran, I’m sure you’ve spoken a bit of French, on occasion... Bill, what I’m saying is, I know what I’m doing. Very important people are living much happier lives, because of me. And if you want in, you’ve got to make an investment that I find worthy of including... I will do what I do well, to your benefit. All you’ve gotta do is pull the trigger. 

Madoff extends his hand. Foxton breathes deeply, shakes it. 

MADOFF

Do you love your wife, Mr. Foxton? 

FOXTON

Of course. 

MADOFF

Then this is the second-best decision you’ve ever made. 

.....................................................................

GUARD ONE

Are you scared?

MADOFF

Am I scared, is that what you asked? Scared of what? 

GUARD ONE

Dying.

MADOFF

Are you kidding? ... I picture Hell being a lot like Florida: a little warm, full of old pricks like me... Politically fucked, a few too many Cubans, but an unbeatable view, you know, in the afternoons? And great golf. 

GUARD ONE

I have a feeling you might be disappointed. 

MADOFF

No. No, in truth I’m a realist. There’s nothing after this. It’s like that Lennon song... John Lennon, now there was a fraud.  

GUARD ONE

All right, I could take my Lord and Savior, but I draw the line at John Lennon. 

MADOFF

Oh, fuck the Beatles. “Yeah, I’m the Walrus too”, who gives a shit? 

GUARD ONE

I need a cigarette.

MADOFF

Yeah, and I need 65 billion dollars. Life is tough shit sometimes. 

.................................................................

So there's a few pages, from here and there. It's still very much a work-in-progress (I'm only done with the first act, the first draft is due in a couple weeks), so any feedback, articles, tidbits, etc. would be more than appreciated. It's been a fun challenge to write hypothetical history, particularly as it is unfolding in real-time. To incorporate the real elements that you learn while still making it an enjoyable play to watch is a balance that is definitely making me a better playwright (though, while working through it, "better" isn't always "good"). Anyway, it's fun to share what I'm writing -- obviously, otherwise I'd probably be studying for the wrong thing. So thanks for reading. 

Okay, so if I haven't scared you off yet, here's the link to the regrettably wonderful music video that I was a part of. I willingly am giving myself a death sentence with this one, but since you guys have for some reason taken an interest in what I'm doing, I can only be fair and hold up my side of the bargain. Also, most of you have seen me hump a tree, so it's only a half-step down from that. Acting as though I have shame is only a formality for our more prudent readers. 

This group of us is talking about making more comedic videos in the future, so that would be great. See? I totally did this for a reason...

Look forward to a lengthy update regarding visits from Mike, Haley, and St. Patrick (and maybe even Katie and Tim, since they get in this week)! Until then, Happy Spring! 

Dylan