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.

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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.  

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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.