Thanks for reading!

This here is my last entry. Like, my selling point was that I was in Boston, and now I’m back in good ol’ Tipperary, so – yeah. I’m glad to be home. It’s only been six days, so the novelty hasn’t worn off yet. Nor has the thesis panic kicked in. And it’s Christmas – I had a great one, did you? Though I’m at that point where I find myself saying “Ah no thanks, you’re grand” when offered chocolate or beer, which is serious.

Summary of my last week in Boston: well. I got my results, I did okay. The Hamlet essay must not have been godawful. I shopped, I partied, I cleaned, I packed. What with all the shopping, I had to leave a lot of stuff behind. Casualties included my beloved black high top Converse (they served me well, but good lord they were riddled with holes) and my Tipp towel (some Boston thrift store customer will soon be the proud owner of a bath towel monogrammed with ‘Tiobraid Arann’). Plus my packing philosophy is just to throw everything in willy-nilly and hope for the best – my roommate sort of showed me up with her feng shui packing (lots of folding and ingenious space conservation).

The trip home on the 22nd was pretty tiring. We were flying in the evening and arriving on the morning of the 23rd, Dublin time, so we tried to sleep on the plane, which is of course impossible. I draped my blanket over my head – I think I looked like I was trying to hide, badly – but there was a crying baby so even that didn’t work. Meeting all my friends again was fantastic though. As was Christmas. (I got a shiny new iPod, and more Converse – ones with cats on them!) There’s still a lot of people I have to meet over the next few days.

What will I miss? The friends I made, the lovely classes. Baseball. The decisive weather – none of the vague, grey cloudy stuff we get in Ireland. The Smartfood cheesy popcorn. I regret that I didn’t go to Salem, or ice skating in the common, or to the Paradise Rock club. Reasons to go back, I suppose.

So, yes – thanks to everyone for reading, and for your lovely comments. I’m pleasantly surprised I even kept this going. My longterm writing projects usually die after a few weeks. Maybe it was that I knew this was terminal.

Happy New Year folksies!

Rant

I did one of my menial tasks today: took my textbooks to Barnes & Noble to sell them. It didn’t go too well. Turns out my $90 psychology textbook was a ‘custom choice’ for my class and will never be used in any school again. Ever. It’s too bulky to bring home and too damn costly to just dump. What shall I dooo?

But hey, I got $3.75 for my poetry anthology. “Y’know, there’s a very nice coffee shop on the first floor,” said the guy with the I CAN HELP t-shirt. Yeah, thanks matey.

It was quite a good day other than that though. I found a guy who’s willing to come to our house and take all our furniture away, and even pay us a bit. And in the cafe, a tattooed guy with multiple piercings told me he’d always had a thing for girls with Irish accents. See, this is what I’ll miss about America. In Ireland, nobody finds my name or accent or freckles quirky and cute.

Walking around the city is getting to be quite treacherous. The footpaths are edged with heaps of snow that you have to wade through if you want to cross the road. And even though people are shovelling and ploughing the snow away there are certain paths where there’s only room for one person to pass at a time, or where there’s a layer of frozen slush that sends everyone slipping and sliding. I need wellies.

Done!

Last exam today – Intro to Psychology. It was a little bit horrendous, but I should pass due to the other tests I didn’t suck in and my paper about hate crimes on gays (a riveting albeit depressing read).

Aww man … that was my last honest-to-God college semester. Spring in DCU is going to be all about thesis-writing and ‘news days’ (in which we simulate a real news room in order to prepare ourselves for the workplace … *shudder*).

Four full days left in Boston. Off to live my life/do last minute shopping/pack/do tedious things like close my bank accounts and cut off the gas …

Last day o’ class

It was actually quite emotional! Our lovely Creative Writing teacher brought us farewell doughnuts (chocolate glazed … yum) and everybody was misty-eyed and nostalgic, because it actually was a fabulous class. Oooh I’ll miss BU! It’s just so damn collegey. I love the choices we had. I love that I got to study precisely what I’m interested in for a whole semester. I handed up my final portfolio, too, so I’m pretty much free now. Except for those pesky exams of course, but let’s not think about them. I’m going partying with some Boston College folk tonight. Not very school spirit of me, I know. But it should be fun.

My fabulous godmother Sinead gave birth to her and Brendan’s second daughter last night. Hannah Ryan, 7lb 10oz and doing wonderfully well apparently! Huzzah!

I’m after going and misplacing my headphones now. I’ll have to buy new ones. Can’t be without portable music. I’ve also lost my nail scissors, and another earring – a dangly purple one. What is it with this losing streak of mine lately?

Going into town now to get my hair cut. I hope I get a nice non-judgmental hairdresser. Is it just me that gets the pointed comments about split ends or how I should really consider changing conditioner?

I do not know why yet I live to say “This thing’s to do.”

I have the essay sweats. Just realised I have nothing original to say in my Shakespeare paper, so I’m diligently not thinking about that and procrastinating. Which is actually really appropriate, considering it’s Hamlet. I keep checking my email, running to the loo, going for coffee – anything to not be writing this thing and realising how devoid of insightfulness I am. (See? I said ‘insightfulness’ instead of ‘insight’. I’m even mangling the English language now.)

Why doesn’t Television Without Pity do Torchwood recaps? And why do they hate Entourage? Never fear – the America’s Next Top Model recaps should keep me going for a while. I do miss those cute little illustrations they used to have at the top of each page, they were funny …

Oh God help me.

(This blog entry was brought to you by Eimear’s failed academic career, and the letter F.)

Snowed under

(Much better title than ‘Snow day’ … cheers Andrea!)

For the last week or so, we’ve had snow. Proper snow! Not the watery sleety kind you get at home. Here it’s powdery and soft and makes a pleasant creaking noise under your feet. It’s incredibly cold, and slippy. The lake in the Public Gardens is frozen over. You’d see the occasional snowman. I can’t really enjoy it all, though. It’s Essay City for me right now. Hamlet essay due Tuesday, Creative Writing portfolio due Wednesday. Then my Shakespeare exam on Saturday, and my psychology exam tomorrow week. I’ve only got – yegods – 13 full days left here. Wish I could enjoy them properly, just focus on the important things, like Christmas shopping. Stupid college.

There’s a thin little tail protruding from one of the mouse traps in our kitchen. I can only assume there’s a mouse attached to it. It looks sort of poignant actually, poking out like that. And all day yesterday we could hear this squeaking, which is possibly the other mouse wondering where the dead mouse is gone. I know they’re vermin and everything, but – awww. We’re all too girly and jumpy to actually get rid of the trap though. So, we’re sharing our living room with a corpse. Lovely.

It just struck me that Futurama’s eccentric professor, Hubert Farnsworth, could be named for Philo Farnsworth, inventor of TV and lead character in The Farnsworth Invention which I saw in New York last week. Cooool.

Leaving New York

Never easy. (I love that song. Best song on Around the Sun, by far. Not that that’s much of a competition.) Anyway, I am back from trip to NYC #3 – not a huge chance of me getting back there before I come home. (Which is like twenty days from now, yegods!) The god of industrial disputes seems to have heard my bitter rant about the stagehands’ strike, because it ended the day before I went to NYC. I saw two plays, to repent for my glut of musicals in September: The Farnsworth Invention, and Rock ‘n’ Roll.

The Farnsworth Invention was about the invention of electronic television and the battle over patents between boy genius Philo Farnsworth and RCA mogul David Sarnoff. The awesome Hank Azaria played Sarnoff and a rather brilliant young guy called Jimmi Simpson played Farnsworth (apparently he guest starred on 24 during Day Two – something about Jack and a severed head). It was funny and wordy and smart – well, ‘twas written by West Wing guy Aaron Sorkin, so that would follow. I got Hank’s autograph afterwards but not Jimmi’s. He was talking to his mates so I left him to it. But aww, he seemed to have come to the theatre on a skateboard. Or maybe he just thought it was a cool accessory.

Tom Stoppard’s Rock ‘n’ Roll made me wish I’d read up about Czech communism and 1970s prog rock before going to see it. I’m afraid too much of it went over my head. But it starred three wonderful actors: Brian ‘I played Daphne’s dad on Frasier to total perfection’ Cox; Sinead ‘my husband is so famous people don’t realise how frickin’ talented I am’ Cusack; and Rufus ‘nobody has prettier eyes than me, nobody!’ Sewell. Best line? Sinead Cusack, to a girl who’s flirting with Brian Cox: “Please don’t shag my husband until I’m dead, or I’ll shove this copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance up your rancid cunt.” It’d be almost worth having a love rival, just to say that line.

I kept seeing Irish people everywhere. Or rather, hearing. A woman behind me in the queue for the ticket booth, lamenting in a Cork accent that since Hairspray was sold out they’d have to content themselves with Mary Poppins. A Dub dissolving into giggles in Foot Locker: “Noo, I meant a UK size six!” And two elderly women at a nearby table in the restaurant, ordering one dessert and asking for two forks. Nobody says the word “forks” like an elderly Irish woman. The short O sound, the slight rolling of the R. I was weirdly thrilled to see all these people.

Now, some pictures! First, a scantily-clad cowboy playing guitar, whom I saw in Times Square on Friday. Remember, he was in the Guinness ad? I didn’t think he was real.

My signed-by-Hank playbill. It looks like ‘Hlk Az’.

My funky yellow Rock ‘n’ Roll mug atop my funky yellow Rock ‘n’ Roll playbill.

The view from the hotel room, 43 floors up. Yep, that would be the Twin Towers crater.