Andrewdevenney.com

Bloody hell, but my back is killing me.

The paucity of posting in the last couple of weeks can be directly blamed on my mother, who, having come to visit us in merry old...er...um, Ireland, spent half the time monopolizing my computer for her games and vacation plotting. But no matter; she's on her way home, and I am free to...share my computer with my wife, who is writing a book.

Thank god I learned how to share in kindergarten or I'd go nuts. Anyhoo...

How was your Thanksgiving? Was it all families you can only mildly stand for short periods of time, gut-busting food that added two inches to your waist, and the painful horror of Detroit Lions football? I feel really sorry for you, I do.

You see, I don't really care for Thanksgiving or any holiday for that matter. I can't really put it in words. It's mostly the annoying pageantry of it all (which is another reason I won't be walking in my own graduation -- too much bullshit). But this year, Thanksgiving was actually fun for me. I had a blast. Why, you ask? Well, because I'm in Ireland, silly, and they don't do Thanksgiving here! HA!

Actually, it was because my mom and I went on a bus tour of the Boyne Valley. For any of you historically inclined, the only reason you might be aware of the Boyne Valley is for this pesky little battle fought there in 1690 between William of Orange and the Jacobite army of James II, a little something called that Battle of the Boyne, which sealed the deal as it were for the removal of the Catholic Stuart line from the thrones of England, Scotland, and Ireland. But that's not why we went to the Boyne. The Boyne Valley also happens to be the site of Newgrange, the best and coolest of the Neolithic passage tombs dotted all over the Boyne Valley. If you're ever in Ireland (and I know some of you will be), you really should check this tour out. You even get to go in the tomb itself (it's big enough to hold 25 people at a time). And the final stop of the tour is Tara Hill, which was the seat of power for the ancient Celtic kings of Ireland. Today, it's a tourist attraction and repository for sheep shit, but don't let that deter you. Admittedly, the views would have been even more spectacular if it hadn't been raining and almost dark when we got there. But I did get my picture taken next to the Stone of Destiny, which you should be able to see on The Evanography when I update it in the next couple of days.

I'd tell you about the trip Andrea and I took to Maynooth on Friday for a Fulbright Alumni Association Thanksgiving dinner reception, but I think I'll let Andrea do that. I'm going to bed.

The short short short version, before fucking Blogger eats it...

Wednesday I spent some time down at Trinity College Dublin. I was there for two reason. One was to use their library to find some books that DCU's library doesn't have (which would be any book I want). Because Trinity is a pretty compact campus, it has three smallish buildings that serve as libraries. I spent a couple of hours in one perusing an interesting book which I'll talk more about later this weekend when I feel like it (again, blame Blogger).

The other reason I was there was to go to a seminar put on by the Institute for Contemporary Irish History. It was a small talk by Professor John Horgan, a professor of Journalism at DCU, and he was giving a talk on "Broadcasting and public life: RTÉ news and current affairs, 1926-1997". The talk was interesting (roughly 20 people at the most). He had a lot of lively anecdotes, and because I have been reading up on 20th century Irish history lately (a topic I generally know in broad strokes but am by no means an expert on), I was able to follow the ebb and flow context of his narrative pretty well and get all the references. During the Q/A session after, this old Irish dude (who I presumed was some old Trinity professor or whatever) launches into this treatise on the foreign policy dimensions of government censoring the press (part of Horgan's talk was about RTÉ self-censorship and later government pressure during the Troubles for such actions through Section 31). And everyone listened politely and moved on. But then people started making strange references to him, including one dude next to him who I thought I had heard say something about sitting next to former politicians. Only after I heard some one say his name did it click. He wasn't some old Trinity gargoyle. He was Garret FitzGerald, a former Taoiseach of Ireland in the 1980s (a Taoiseach is the prime minister for those Gaelic-deficient among you).

As I was telling Andrea later, this would be like going to some small academic seminar at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. and seeing Jimmy Carter walk in all alone, and take a seat at the table. Wouldn't happen. No way.

This very much reminded me of an anecdote Tim O'Neil once told me about how he had a letter of introduction from the department head at Wayne State University when he went over for his research year in Ireland and the immigration officer asked him specific questions about the guy (who O'Neil didn't really know that well) only to find out later that the immigration dude and the academic had gone to school together. That's how fucking small Ireland is.

The Republic of Ireland's population is roughly 3.5 million people. That's a little over a third of the total number that live in the entire state of Michigan. You could take the entire population of the Republic, double it, and still fit it comfortably in New York City.

Okay, so I just spent an hour writing a nice long post for you, and Blogger's stupid interface just ate the fucking thing. Bastards.

So no posts for you. Blame the fuckers that kept me up writing this nice witty, sarcastic, and enlightening piece of work only to have it disappear when I hit the wrong button.

Ugh. I'll tell you about my day today tomorrow. You'll find it amusing. But I'm writing it out in Word beforehand.

Fucking Blogger interface.

My country disappoints me so much by its rampart stupidity.

Bloody amazing...

(edit: but of course, I can't even spell 'rampant'; just shows don't type with Evan on your lap. Leaving this up because revising history is not my thing)

The Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary defines the word 'fixation' thusly:

a : a persistent concentration of libidinal energies upon objects characteristic of psychosexual stages of development preceding the genital stage b : stereotyped behavior (as in response to frustration) c : an obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment

Let's ignore those first and second ones, shall we? 'An obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment.' Yeah, that about sums me up right now with this election.

I'm utterly engrossed by all the information I can find on the net. I pour over polling reports, read left-wing blogs (and sneer at the right-wing non-'reality-based community' of blogs), and generally spend my free time looking for any signs in the tea leaves about which way the wind will blow tomorrow (actually today here in Ireland, but whatever). I have found that I am growing more confident each and every day that our latest national nightmare will soon be over.
But...

I can't wait for this election to be over. Just over...please, with little to no controversy. I don't want to spend the next six weeks wondering who my next president will be. Listen to me, people. I'm an addict; don't you see? We have to break the cycle; I can't help myself until you help me. It's that simple. Vote John Kerry for President with a sizable mandate, and I can go back to normal. It's just that fucking simple.

This is me helping you to help me overcome my fixation. Please people, do the right thing. The world (and my wife's entertainment) are counting on you. ;-)

BTW, thought I would pimp Hudson some more. It seems that Hudson has decided to partake in that great experiment in futility and catharsis called National Novel Writing Month. And in typical Hudson style, he's got another blog!!! Go see him work out his creative frustrations here at Idols of the Tribe (which presumably is the title of his novel) in real time for your perverse pleasure and voyeurism.