I'm Just Here For The Craic

New Play Festival

2006-04-04T12:09:00.000-05:00

One of the main projects for my playwriting class this semester has been the writing of a 15-minute play to be produced at the Loyola New Play Festival at the end of the year. My script, "Great Fish," is going through final edits and my director and cast are about to begin their rehersals. The date of the festival, held in the Studio blackbox theater at Loyola, is Saturday, May 6. To give you an idea of what the show is about, here's the first paragraph of my script treatment: "Ever wonder what it would be like to leave behind the normalcy of your life and embark upon a journey into the great unknown? In “Great Fish,” that wonderment transforms into Jodie’s very reality. After a violent storm knocked her husband off the deck of a cruise ship and into the waiting mouth of a Great Fish, Jodie threw all caution to the wind. Driven by her personal horror of being apart from her husband on their anniversary, Jodie said a quick prayer to The Almighty One and leapt overboard into the waiting mouth of the same Great Fish. What awaits Jodie below the surface is a fantastic journey of biblical proportions."

I Love Jesuit School

2006-03-31T18:30:00.000-06:00

Phi Sigma Tau (National Philosophy Honors Society) presents: Professor Thomas Carson, speaking on: The Cubs, Baseball, and the Problem of Evil Does the existence of such evils as the Cubs' terrible record for the past 98 years constitute evidence for the non-existence of God? Wednesday April 5, 4-5:30PM Crown Center 434 Refreshments to follow

A Contrast In Styles

2006-03-30T14:18:00.000-06:00

In the past week, I've had two interviews for teaching positions for next year. Here's a short recount of each. TEACH FOR AMERICA: One hell of an intense day. Five hours long. Sample teaching lesson. Group discussion. Individual reflection. Individual problem solving. Information session. Role playing. Rank all 26 regional preferences. Personal interview. Situational questions. Personal questions. Interviewers furiously scribbling notes all day, offering no feedback. One more thing, fill out this survey. Will hear on April 13. Throbbing headache and exhausted at the end of the day. ALLIANCE FOR CATHOLIC EDUCATION: One hell of a quick phone call. 20-25 minutes. Why do you want to join our program? What makes a good teacher? How do you handle stress? Stuff like that. Here's what you are qualified to teach. My thought: Why am I being interviewed over two months (!!!) after I paid $10 to overnight my application? Guy doesn't know. Claims he has been given my file and told to interview me. Even though guy who set up interview said interviewer was Assistant Director. Whatever. One more thing. For sure I'd be on waitlist. Positions have already been filled. Don't worry, people are always taken from the waitlist. Will hear sooner than later. Maybe as late as May though. Laughing in disgust at the end of the day. Looks like my initial sarcasm about Notre Dame might not have been too far off.

What Am I Thinking?

2006-03-29T01:21:00.000-06:00

To the College Committee on Commencement, I wish to express my interest to be one of the student speakers for the upcoming commencement ceremony. By reading my cover letter, resume, and abstract, I believe you will find that I am suitably qualified to receive this considerable honor. Being bestowed with this honor would offer me a humbling end to my undergraduate career. If selected to deliver the speech, I would bring a well-rounded perspective to the graduates and their families. Through my numerous involvements with University Ministry and the study abroad program, I have met a diverse group of people that has opened my eyes to parts of life that I could have only imagined existed before coming to Loyola. Being a theology major has taught me many things, but one aspect in particular sticks out as the most important. By studying theology and the deeper meanings of what it means to be fully human, I have learned a considerable amount about how to connect with people at a profound and meaningful level. Only after establishing a degree of common experience can anyone truly connect with anybody else. No matter how different people may appear on the outside, their hopes, dreams, longings, fears, beliefs about a greater power, and other common experiences of any human life are all capable of providing a unifying force. I consider this skill—the skill to bring these commonalities to the surface and connect with others—to be one of my greatest. Thank you for your consideration. Sincerely, Brian F. Gilmore College of Arts and Sciences

Spring Break '06: The Group

2006-03-25T18:43:00.000-06:00

Here's one last short post about my Spring Break. If you want more, feel free to ask, but I think it's time for a new topic to write about. After seven days spent together, upwards of 2,000 miles driven, nights spent sleeping next to each other on carpet, shared meals, shared reflections, working together, game playing, minimal showers and changes of clothes, inside jokes, group discussions, and a constant state of general togetherness, you obviously bond together as a group. Our group was no exception. And what a group it was. Presenting: Marisa, Charlotte, Erin, Dana, Paul, Heather, Brian, Melanie, Laura, and Lyndsi. Spring Break '06; Rosebud Reservation; Mission, South Dakota; SIGNING OFF. Mitakuye oyasin!

Spring Break '06: Hoch, True Lakota Warrior

2006-03-21T12:11:00.000-06:00

Hoch: True Lakota Warrior Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

This is Hoch - director of the FLC, fun-loving guy, and our personal tour guide and adventure-seeker throughout the week. Hoch is the shortened form of his Lakota name, which is something much too long for me to even attempt to sound out. Hoch was a wonderful friend to have. Archery isn't the only thing that he's a straight-shooter in. He'd be just as likely to bluuntly point out the negatives of a situation--be it with housing, neighborhoods, economics, health care, schools, (the list goes on and on...)--as he was to point out the successes and beauty of something. He'd lay it all out on the line in a way that was as close to objective as possible. He just wanted us to know what they were dealing with. Like I said, he also knows how to have fun. At the start of the week, he casually asked if I was left-handed. Slightly taken by the randomness of his question, I said that in most things, no, but in certain things, like basketball, I am. He said how he remembered that I "lucked out" and hit a goofy-looking left-handed shot to beat his team in a pickup game of basketball that we played last time. The rest of the group got a good laugh out of that. His laid back, yet quietly demanding and in control, personality seemed to mesh well with the kids. One story about him and the kids sticks out in my mind. On the final day, we went with the kids on a field trip across the state. At one point, we stopped at a look-out spot in the Badlands, and some of us climbed down and through them. Hoch was the one leading the charge, barking out orders for the kids who were following behind him. Though they probably wouldn't admit it, some of the kids were having trouble (hell, let's include me in that group) finding success climbing up the precipitous, rocky formation (Looking back, this was actually quite a dangerous situation, as one misstep could have spelled a serious injury). Hoch didn't appear worried though. He was directing everyone how to get up, imploring them along like it wasn't a big deal at all. Through simple encouragement to the kids ("You're a Lakota warrior! You can do it!"), he empowered them to find what it took within themselves to get over the hump, so to speak. Don't get me wrong, finding the inner strength needed to overcome fears is a big accomplishment for anyone, but for these kids, it seemed to be something extra special. For as dedicated as he is to the kids and the program at the FLC (he also teaches a pyschology class at the university one night a week, as well as raising a three and ten year old), Hoch did show signs of wear, admitting to me that he would entertain other options with prevention work should they develop. However, it was also obvious how he holds his tribe and town dear to his heart, saying he could never live in a city like Chicago ("Whoa, people live on top of each other! I'm a Plains Indian, man.") He speaks passionately about his people, openly wondering why others would found success didn't come back and try to pull the rest of the community out with them. He speaks with the candor and perspective of someone who will surely find success in whatever he does.

Spring Break '06: Family Life Center

2006-03-19T21:24:00.000-06:00

Our place of residence all week was the Family Life Center, or FLC, as it is affectionately known around those parts. The mission of the FLC is to provide an alternative learning environment for kids who have been suspended or kicked out of their normal middle and high schools. There are FLCs in all parts of the country, but the FLC in Mission is one of the only ones that provide all-day services, not just after-school care. The kids, 15 or 20 of them currently, ranging in age from maybe 12-17, stay there for a period of 90 days and try to work on their studies, behavior, and social interactions. They are rewarded for their actions with privileges to leave the FLC for field trips, lunches, and other organized outings. Hoch, the director of the program, said that the FLC represents a "last chance" for kids. If they don't succeed at the FLC and get reintegrated into their schools, he said they will probably eventually end up in jail. There are tutors and prevention specialists who work with the kids throughout the day. I noticed that one of the positive fixtures at the FLC two years ago, Tipi, was no longer around. I learned she had moved on, showing some of the frustrations that accompany such a difficult position. Gloria, Myron, Jacinda, Harley, Hoch, and a couple of others seemed to be doing some really positive work with the kids, though. Not only do they teach them academics, but they, and other speakers who come in, try to educate the kids about their cultural heritage. As is the case with many minority cultures these days, their history, language, and customs are in danger of being relegated to a museum with the younger generations, so exposure to this seems to have become another one of the major aims of the program. Above is a picture of the FLC that I took two years ago. It looks pretty much the same now, save for the fact that we were not caught in a violent blizzard this year. As you can guess from the picture, it is nothing more than a normal, modest ranch-house. In the evenings, we would spread out our sleeping bags and sleep on the carpeted living room floor. Without a stove or refrigerator, food preparation for ten was a trick, but we made due with a microwave. In the morning, we would clean up the area in preparation for tables and chairs to be moved in for the school day. In the beginning part of the week, Hoch seemed to make sure that we wouldn't be around the kids much. Once they arrived in the morning, we would typically be leaving for a day's worth of activities. He was apparently not confident that this year's kids would interact favorably with us, and this set up a little confusion with the kids not knowing exactly what we were doing ("You sleep on the floor?"). Toward the end of week, though, this situation improved. Ones who had earned advanced privileges participated in various activities with us: attending a lecture, horseback riding, and a field trip across the state to Wounded Knee, the Badlands, and Crazy Horse Memorial in the Black Hills. For the most part, they were some great kids who just happened to fall into some trouble. Which, when you look at the lack of options available to kids around Mission and the rest of Rosebud, wasn't shocking in the least bit. Over the course of the week, we scraped & painted the floor of the garage (that had been converted into classroom space) and sanded & painted the outside deck. Our work was minimal, though, in comparison to what we were learning everyday. The trip was definitely a cultural immersion and not what some people might call a "service" or "mission" trip.

Spring Break '06: Sacred Space

2006-03-18T18:08:00.000-06:00

Last spring, I tried to describe what it was like to set foot in St. Peter's Basilica and the Sistine Chapel, two awe-inspiring parts of the Catholic heritage. Now, let me try to describe what it was like to encounter a bit of Native American sacred space. First, the inipi (sweat lodge) ceremony. In the Native American way of life, the inipi ceremony is a sacred ritual of purification, intercession, thanksgiving, and communion. Roughly speaking, it is what the Mass is to a Catholic. However, for the Lakota, there are no regulations or suggestions for how often you must take part in this ceremony. It is there whenever you want it. Some sweat on a near-daily basis, some once a week, some once a month, or some hardly at all. In fact, we learned that some of the kids there knew nothing about the ceremony at all. As you can see, the exterior of the sweat lodge is nothing more than a small, earthy structure made out of branches, rugs, and tarps. On the inside, there is a firepit in the middle, with room for maybe 13 people to sit comfortably around the pit. I pulled this picture off the web, but I thought it would help to get an idea of what I'm talking about, even though I think this particular picture was taken in Canada. Ritual preparation for the ceremony takes place long before anyone ever sets foot within the lodge itself. Seven large rocks - representing the four directions, the air above, the ground below, and the fire within - are selected and ceremonially placed on the fire. Then, nearly two dozen more rocks are placed on the fire, all of which are left to bake on the fire for at least two hours. Over the course of the ceremony, ritual dominates the proceedings. All the rocks are brought into the lodge, their initial red glow accentuated in the otherwise total darkness. The ceremony usually lasts about 45 minutes. Lakota songs are sung, prayers are offered, and the sacred chanupa is smoked. The person running the sweat has a large bucket of water at his disposal, and every so often he will throw another ladle-full onto the rocks, sending off blasts of scorching air. That part of it is reminiscent to being in a sauna, but I don't remember any sauna ever being so physically demanding. There's more to be said about the experience, but I feel in me describing it, it loses some of its meaning. We made friends with a man who would sweat nearly every night, so over the course of the week, our group participated in three sweats, including two on single day. My point here has been to try to impart on you the natural simplicity of all the materials involved in the ritual. Fire, rocks, and water provide the backbone of the ceremony. At the end of the week, we drove past a site ("Crow Dog's Paradise") for the sacred sundance, a ritual where once a year in the summer, people gather for four days of dancing, community, and prayer - all without the aid of food and water. Much like any sweat lodge, this site wasn't hardly outwardly impressive or imposing. The land was abandoned and barren, the site marked by splotchy white paint on an old abandoned tire, tattered prayer flags tied to a central tree blew in the wind, and foundations of sweat lodges showed. As if they were protecting the sacredness of the space, two stray dogs came toward our van and barked ferociously. Yet, just like being in the presence of a sweat lodge, a sense of something bigger than yourself radiated. The Lakota would describe this as the presence of sacred spirits. Their sense of sacred space is something totally foreign to anything I have grown up with. Yet in many ways, the way they view sacred worship makes perfect sense.

Spring Break '06: A Photo Journey

2006-03-16T21:04:00.001-06:00

For all my photos from my trip, go here.

Spring Break '06: On the Rez

2006-03-16T15:02:00.000-06:00

My senior year spring break is now officially a thing of the past. Time for wild spring break stories, right? Well, kinda. Here we go. Anyway, let's start with the basics. Here's where I spent my week: Yes, you're right, that wonderful state you see on the map is South Dakota. Having travelled for nearly 14 hours out of Chicago, admiring the beautiful I-90 pavement for a healthy 790 miles, we found ourselves in the small town of Mission, a town of about 730 people in south-central South Dakota on the Nebraska border. Todd County (pictured in red), the county which contains the town of Mission and most of the Rosebud Indian Reservation, is listed as the 5th poorest county in the country, as measured by per capita income. In fact, four of the top five and five of the top ten poorest such counties in the country are all in South Dakota, their populations mostly consisting of Native Americans on reservation land. An interesting fact. Numbers are one thing, so what did it look like? The poverty of the town is plainly obvious. Houses and buildings are run-down. Roads are bumpy and dusty. Cars are driven until they give out for good and find a permanent home on a front lawn next to the previous five. Services appear minimal. Job opportunities are scarce. Movie theatre? Fast food chains? Forget about them. Most businesses in the town are owned by white people, as any Indian-operated stores aren't supported by the residents. It's hard enough for these people to get going with something good in their lives when they don't have to deal with the jealousy of seeing a successful neighbor pulling them back down. The Todd Country Tribune only comes out once a week. The Indian Health Service building, located a healthy 20-25 minute drive outside of town, offers a long wait, Tylenol, and green cough syrup as antidote for any assortment of maladies. The quality of life appears to be as rugged as the terrain. Over the next few days, however, I'm going to try to pull out some of the inherent goodness of the location and bring it to light in this blog.

Teach For America

2006-02-21T14:31:00.000-06:00

Late last Thursday night, I submitted my application for Teach For America, an ultra-selective program that has become my top choice for post-graduation plans. While some Loyolans applaud its idealism but question its effectiveness, others find it to be a powerful and developing vehicle for social change. I hear back on my interview status a week from today (2/28), and if I'm given an interview, it will be sometime at the end of March.

Laying It On The Line

2006-02-13T01:25:00.000-06:00

Downhill skiers are insane. I really don't know how else to rationalize recklessly hurtling your body down an icy hill at 65+ mph, where one minute slip on an already tenuous hold could send you tumbling head over heels into an awaiting precipice. But boy does it make for some great viewing! I must salute these wackos for their willingness to lay it all on the line, though. They have no fear, letting the thrill of pursuit guide them down the hill. They listen to their hearts, not their common sense. They respect a friend's chosen way of life, but know that they are called to something a little different.

Seeing the dangers that lie ahead of them, they push ahead full-throttle, anxious to get on with their quest. Each time they strap on their skies, they know full well it could be the last time they find their body intact. More often than not, they arrive at the bottom of the hill; sometimes victorious and sometimes disappointed, but always happy that they had the cojones to try. Now if I could only relate downhill skiing to my life. There's gotta be a lesson here somewhere...

Quote(s) Of The Day: Georg Hackl

2006-02-11T15:12:00.000-06:00

georg hackl Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Georg Hackl: German luge legend, beer connoisseur, and outspoken personality; only Olympian, Summer or Winter, to win five medals at the same invidual event ('88,'92,'94,'98,'02); given the nickname "The Flying White Sausage" because of his Bavarian roots and the traditional breakfast food in that region: "American beer is the first successful attempt at diluting water." "Great, so I get a free graveyard plot." -In response to being named an honored citizen of his hometown of Berchtesgaden, where he is also a representative in the local parliament. "We're both having problems with our left wing." -Comparing a left arm injury to the state of the Socialist Party in Germany after lackluster 2005 elections. The injury left him unable to lift a full beer with his left arm during Oktoberfest, which he found "very sad." I think I like this guy.

Torino: Passion Lives Here

2006-02-10T20:03:00.000-06:00

The Winter Olympics are upon us, and I don't know about you, but I'm a sucker when it comes to this Olympic stuff. To me, and I know I might lose my Right To Drive A SUV for saying this, but the Olympic Games fascinate me much more than, say, the Super Bowl. There, I said it. For one, I'm a big story guy, and these games are storytelling on an epic level. For two weeks before the Super Bowl, we heard canned interviews, stories about players' hair, and story after story about the amazing coincidence that some millioniare was actually playing in the Super Bowl in his hometown! For 17 days during the Olympics, though, we are captivated by stories from people we never heard of before and probably never will again. We hear stories from their lives and how sport gave them hope to overcome. You hear nicknames like The Herminator, Flying White Sausage, and the Flying Red Tomato. For the majority of these athletes, their desire to compete is pure and their sport a passion, not a way to make big money. Most know they have little chance at standing on a medal podium, so for them, the victory is just their opportunity to be present and represent their country. Two, the Olympics represent a chance for athletes and spectators of the world to come together in celebration. Did you see the North and South Korea athletes walking in together to the Opening Ceremonies? In that case, sport accomplished what politicians cannot. The Games can offer a two and a half week symbolic respite from the discord of the world, suggesting that there is a way to live together peacefully. Three, I absolutely love being able to see the visuals and hear about the culture from some place I have not visited. This year's Olympics are at the foot of the Italian Alps, and of course not too long ago, I found myself on the other side of those majestic mountains, in Switzerand. Seeing these pictures return me to that international, cross-cultural state of mind that I was introduced to last year...a state of mind that I hope to hold on to forever. Four, no advertisements on the snow. No advertisements on the ice. Nothing "brought to you by...". Just competition. So excuse me while I remain horribly distracted for the next 17 days.

Taste of Belgium

2006-02-09T12:29:00.000-06:00

tripel-karmeliet-glass
Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Sometimes all you need is a beer to bring back wonderful memories.

Saturday night, with Elaine and Nick being the guests of honor for the weekend, a small group of us went to a bar, Hopleaf, in Andersonville which specializes in Belgian beer. Or, in my opinion, some of the best beer around not brewed by Arthur Guinness.

Belgian beer is an art form. For a country with about 10 million people, there are at least 500 different kinds of beer. Trappist monks brew beer from recipes that date back one millenia. And if you walk into a Belgian pub that has 300 kinds of beer, there will be 300 unique glasses, each carefully designed to maximize the flavor of its contents. Talk about dedication.

After looking at a menu with more than 200 different kinds of beer, only about four of which I felt confident in pronouncing, I decided on Tripel Karmeliet. I recommended the champagne-like Lambics to the girls, and the other guys joined me in taking shots in the dark.

We weren't disappointed. Spurred by the atmosphere and beer, our discussions turned international. Stories from abroad were told, and vague ideas to return were thrown around. Distant dreams were brought a little closer to home.

Due to the expensive nature of the imported beer, it's certainly not something I could do every weekend on a student budget. But once in awhile, if nothing else, it would totally be worth it to reinvigorate the imagination.

Quote of the Day: Graham Greene

2006-02-03T16:17:00.000-06:00

"A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead." —Graham Greene, opening line of The End of the Affair (1951)

Sweet, Sweet Victory

2006-01-28T01:29:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week, I made a major step toward reclaiming my desk as a workspace. You see, ever since Halloween, my computer has been relocated from my desk because the desk was the best fit for the 1000 piece puzzle that just called out to me when I saw it at a thrift store. Not sure whether it was the best or worst 55 cents I have ever invested. Either way, one thing is for sure: God sure blessed me with a, uhh, sense of patience. Now hopefully it won't take me another three months to mount it on the wall. Anything that takes that long to put together just ain't gonna go right back in its box.

My Last Undergraduate Classes

2006-01-28T01:08:00.000-06:00

Christian Marriage I've been waiting two or three years to take this introductory level class as the capstone of my undergraduate career. With 120 on the roster, I haven't been in a class this large since first semester of freshman year, but it's the professor that makes the class. Forget the fact that Fr. Gene's requirements are generally easier than a wide-open layup. This man gives you the opportunity to learn without the stress that usually accompanies it. Fr. Gene says that learning is one of the truly human experiences of joy, and his classes reflect this simple belief. He is an inspirational man that speaks with such candor and warmth that draws you in and forces you to reassess your own life. What more should learning be about? Religion, Violence, and Peacemaking Including such book titles as A Problem From Hell: America and the Age of Genocide, Terror in the Mind of God, and Liberating Faith, this looks to be a fascinating course. Part of the reason why I am a theology major is because of how intertwined I see the role of religion in society at large. So far, we've been reading and watching accounts of such 20th century genocides as Turkey's killing of Armenians, the Holocaust, Iraq's slaughter of the Kurds, Bosnian Serbs' mass murder of Muslims, and the Hutu elimination of Tutsis in Rwanda. Intense way to start a Tuesday and Thursday morning. The Ethics of Poverty Is poverty a tragic misfortune or a social injustice? This is another class that I took because of the professor. Fr. Hartnett, a Jesuit who spent over 20 years living and working in an impoverished community in Peru, is one of those warm and geniune people with a humble sense of compassion about him. While in Peru, he developed what he calls the "Pedagogy of Justice": experience, understanding, judgment, and action. The class is structured the same way. Right now, we're "experiencing" poverty by having guest speakers for whom poverty has been a real issue come to class and present. After that, we'll study other peoples' explanations and theories on poverty (understanding), consider what obligations the problem of poverty places on the rest of us (judgment), and finally, how it all translates to how we should live our lives (action). For the final paper, I'll be articulating my own theory of poverty and its incumbent moral obligations. Playwriting No, I didn't flunk it last semester; I just loved it and I'm taking it again. A major difference: this semester, the class is working in conjunction with a directing class, and at the end of the semester, each writer will have his or her play produced onstage. Sexy little resume builder there. Synoptic Gospels The word "synoptic" comes from two Greek words that mean "same looking" and is used to describe the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke in all their similarities. This is an upper-level theology class that will go in depth with those three Gospels. From the syllabus: "source criticism, text criticism, form criticism, and redaction criticism will be further enhanced by literary, theological, socio-political analysis and feminist approaches to interpretation." A little more technical than I usually care for, but I'm interested enough. I think.

Overnight Express

2006-01-23T16:55:00.000-06:00

In a move reminiscent to my last minute balloting last election year, I overnighted my first application for post-graduation plans today to meet the January 24 deadline. This program is a graduate teaching program at the University of Notre Dame, where for two years, my summers would be spent studying at Notre Dame and the rest of my year would be spent teaching at any one of many Catholic grade schools or high schools around the South or Southwest. I hope they don't get in touch with Undergraduate Admissions and notice that my test scores were only good enough to get me on the waiting list there four years ago...gulp... Incidentally, I wonder how long you remain on a wait list once you are placed on it. Are they still considering admitting me? Maybe they just wanted to see how my undergraduate experience would play out before they reopen my case.

"Next" Year?

2006-01-12T21:57:00.000-06:00

As I am a senior in college, people inevitably ask me what I plan on doing next year. These days, it seems like it's usually the first thing out of peoples' mouths when they talk to me. I understand their concern, but what the heck happened to this year? Is it a foregone conclusion that nothing significant will happen the rest of the way for me? If it is, how sad is that? I'm all for taking things one day, one week, one month at a time. For example, who's to say that something that happens to me this year won't affect what I do next year? In fact, it might already have. So, while I appreciate the concern, let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay? Every day is a gift. Every day is an opportunity. Every day is a surprise. We'll get to next year...next year.

Photo of the Day: Lisa

2006-01-11T11:15:00.000-06:00

Today, Lisa sets sail for her semester in Rome. Here, I just want to raise a glass to her and my other friends going abroad, to say safe travels and happy trails. You're embarking on an adventure of a lifetime, and I salute you and your spirit. Know you will be dearly missed.

Sláinte! Salute! Prost! Salud! A votre sante!

Rant: The Da Vinci Code

2006-01-10T23:31:00.000-06:00

After 18 months of saying I'd read it, I finally gave in...and finished it in less than a day. Having read its prequel, Angels and Demons, I knew how Brown would interpret history to create an intellectually captivating thriller. And as I've had a pulse over the past year or two, I knew how it, umm, has touched nerves of sensitive Catholics. A few thoughts on that: Yes, the book claims that the Church has long covered up the fact that Jesus married and had children with Mary Magdalene. Okay, so maybe it was suggested that Jesus was a pioneer in the feminist movement and the Church attempted to destroy evidence of this and created a patriarcial monarchy that has suppressed the spiritual beauty of the feminine form. And wasn't there something in there about how Christ's divinity was a product of a tight fourth century vote and the Bible was put together with a political agenda? After all, it ain't the losers who get to dictate how history will be remembered. And apparently, last March the folks over at Vatican City appointed a "top cardinal" to debunk these fanciful conspiracy theories by conducting a string of public debates that began in Genoa, Italy. And if I cared about it more, I could search for specifics about how the Church has in other contexts spoken out against the book and even banned it. Bad, Dan Brown, BAD! CHILL OUT, PEOPLE. If there actually are people stupid enough to make ultimate decisions about their faith based solely on a fictional best-seller, then who really thinks these people will take the time to heed some stern papal encyclical or attend a seminar put on by some Cardinal who may have actually been around at the time of Christ? Hell, these people probably can't even read anyway and had to get the book on tape from the library. But I digress. My points: (1) Books are works of fiction, not historical records. Suspending what you believe when you're reading can actually be fun sometimes! (2) Yes, Mr. Brown. Yes, Mr. Church. Yes, Mr. Censor. I know you all probably know this (especially you, Mr. Brown, but out of fairness I had to include you in this indictment), but people do have minds of their own. Some even use them from time to time. (3) Have these censorship people even read the book? I wouldn't at all be surprised if most hadn't. (4) The controversy around The Da Vinci Code swirls around the interpretations put forth by a series of FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. Do we know what Dan Brown thinks about it all from reading the book? Absolutely not. Has anyone ever heard of creative writing? How dare Brown create characters which espouse some radical idea! (5) And speaking of radical ideas,why the hell freak out when one comes around? If nothing else, it spurs good conversation. In fact, if I were a betting man, I'd wager anything I own that at least 97% of the Christians who read or talked about the book learned something about why they hold their beliefs. With intercourse comes justification. (6) Isn't this an odd reaction from the Church over what amounts to only a pop-culture book (and an upcoming movie)? Should it even have to respond? This much attention is never paid to major agnostic intellectuals like David Hume, Bertrand Russell, or Friedrich Nietzsche, whose claims would be quite damaging to the Church if believed, but of course that's because only a small percentage of people will read their works - much less than will read The Da Vinci Code, anyway. Plus, what about all the other researchers who have published works - works with much stronger academic credentials, but much less notoriety - about the same idea? Why aren't we hearing about those and how horrible they are? It just seems a bit odd to me. It's not going to win any awards for its prose, but The Da Vinci Code is an entertaining and engaging book nonetheless. And maybe I'm going to hell, but you know what, I plan on enjoying the movie when I see it in May. Oh, where are you now, John Stuart Mill? The world needs a little bit of you.

Quote of the Day: Jim Valvano

2006-01-01T22:10:00.000-06:00

"To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives. Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special." Jim Valvano, who coached the North Carolina State Wolfpack to an NCAA basketball title in 1983, said those words in an ESPN awards show acceptance speech on March 4th, 1993. Less than two months later, Valvano lost his fight with cancer and died. Words of inspiration that transcend the boundaries of sports. What's your average day like?

2005: A Loving Post-mortem

2006-01-01T20:31:00.000-06:00

My year started out full of uncertainty and promise. I had the entire month of January to sit around in St. Louis and think about my upcoming trip to Ireland. I never thought I couldn't do it, but going to live in another country carries with it some tough baggage. Save for one dear friend who would join me in Ireland, I left everything and everyone, and indeed everywhere, I knew back at home. Everyone, except for one, Bonnie, who would also have her own overseas adventure that spring; I will never forget the power behind that goodbye. It was time, though. Life was calling.

Before I left, though, another piece of the Gilmore clan came together. Sarah, my first niece, came into this world a few days before liftoff. She’s sure to have quite a life, surrounded by her older brother Joe and five older male cousins. I wish her luck the first time she ever brings a boy home to a family party. But she’s still working on crawling, so first things first I suppose. It was quite a long and emotional trip from a tearful embrace at 1258 Arthur in Chicago to an exhausted entrance at my new apartment at Grove Island in Limerick, but a good nap helped to raise my spirits, and there was no looking back from there. I would be living with three of the coolest girls ever, Ellen, Holly, and Megan, and Sven, our Swedish-named, German delight. The four of us, sans Sven, were all from Loyola, so we held a distinct advantage over Sven, who was still trying to master the intricacies of the English language (and as it turned out, his own personality).

My school for the semester, Mary Immaculate College, was a division of the University of Limerick that used to be a teacher training school, so that might account for the 7:1 female to male ratio. However, “Mary I” is a school of only 2,400 students, and apparently at a small Irish school, you would never even think about dating (because “if things went bad you would see them all the time!”). I shrugged my shoulders and joined the International Student Society instead.

Through the International Student Society (which a few Irish students also joined), in addition to other Americans, I quickly became friends with people from all over Europe: France, Germany, Belgium, Switzerland, Poland, England, Sweden, Austria, and Italy. Luckily, not only did everyone speak English at varying capabilities, but they also all understood the importance of learning how to say (and perform) “cheers!” in many different languages. Even though society meetings were often held at local pubs, we had our heads on straight long enough to organize weekend trips to the Dingle Peninsula and Belfast, along with plan parties, an international food night, and other nights out around Limerick.

Outside of the International Society, I joined a couple other groups around campus. At Holly’s urging, I joined her one night at practice for an improve comedy troupe, and next thing I knew, I was part of the troupe myself. I’m not sure what happened, but it turned out to be some of the best fun I’ve had in a long time. The semester was highlighted by two performances, including one all-expenses paid trip across the country to Dublin to compete in the Irish Student Drama Awards.

I also decided to take part in the school choir, and every Tuesday night we met and practiced Händel’s Acis and Galatea. Not knowing any better, I randomly joined the tenors when asked whether I was a tenor or a bass. They looked like they could use another voice. Now, I’m hardly a plus singer, but I must say, I stuck with it the whole semester and actually had a good time. I donned a nice dinner suit for the performance at the end of the year in St. Joseph’s Church and gave it everything I had.

My classes weren’t much of a concern at Mary I. They were interesting enough, but rarely did I find myself stressed out. Highlights of my class lineup included learning a bit of the Irish language, studying Irish culture, sport, and music, and a production class where I helped create four 30 second television advertisements and a 15 minute documentary on Adapt House, a local domestic abuse shelter. The class required a lot of work, but I enjoyed the necessity of working closely with the other students in my group, most of whom were Irish.

In an attempt to experience as much of what the country has to offer, I decided to stick within Ireland until my exams were over. So, weekends were typically spent traveling around the country. I had a perfect travel partner in Ellen, and one of the most memorable weekend trips was our trip to Westport, where we took part in some of the best music we’d seen and climbed Croagh Patrick, the mountaintop from which St. Patrick is said to have cemented Ireland’s ties to Christianity.

I even had a few visitors during my four month stay in Ireland. Over spring break, my parents and I explored much of Southwest Ireland, and a few weeks later, Brother John, Cousin Martin, and Friend Ned made a pilgrimage to the homeland and Ellen and I joined their trip in progress in Galway for what would be a crazy weekend.

After my finals were over in May, I had a little over two weeks before I was coming back to the States. So, I embarked on a 14 day solo trip over to the continent. Because of a freakish chance meeting with a buddy from home in a London airport on my way to Rome, I met up with some more friends once arriving in the Eternal City. After parting ways with them, I backpacked it around Switzerland, Germany, Holland, Belgium, before meeting up with a few friends from Mary I in Paris. I cannot say enough about how amazing the two weeks were on my own. I went skydiving and hiking through the Swiss Alps. I saw the sun shine over Dachau. I spent half an hour staring at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I explored a slice of paradise in Bavaria. I was dwarfed by the grandeur of St. Peter’s Basilica. I wandered around the streets of a medieval city in Belgium. I shared beer and conversation with locals until four in the morning. I met and spent days with other backpackers. I saw what Paris looks like from the top of the Eiffel Tower at night. I figured out how to get around Europe with only a train ticket, not even a plan. I let my instincts take me where they will. I dreamed.

As you would expect, coming home to St. Louis for the summer was a mixed bag. I had been living each day abroad totally unsure of how it would play out. Days at home were much more predictable, but it was very nice to be reunited with family and friends. I was sad to leave Ireland, a place whose people I found to personify the meaning of hospitality and compassion.

My summer was spent just trying to recover, physically, emotionally, and indeed, financially, from my time in Ireland. Money was made caddying for the ninth summer in a row and working for Brother John. Back at Mary Queen of Peace, my grade school parish, I played piano in the Noon Mass Band, helped chaperone a trip to the Steubenville Youth Conference, and had an opportunity to lead an after-Mass activity for the youth group. In preparation for October’s Chicago Marathon, running was a staple of most days. I caught up with friends when they were around, but things were already starting to change, as many stayed at school to work. I caught up with Bonnie, with much to talk about and absorb from our semester abroad. I didn’t expect things to be the same, but things had definitely changed. As summer bled into fall, it slowly became clear that our paths had diverged as a couple. By the end of the summer, I was ready to get back to Loyola and begin my senior year.

Senior year started much the same way that much of the summer went – with many miles being run. Like in 2004, when I really only knew one other person doing the marathon, I wasn’t doing it alone among my friends this year. Some of them, and others I didn’t know, decided to train and do the race as well. Through group training runs, I got to know some new people, including one special woman, Lisa.

Lisa shared my dedication to the rigors of the training schedule, so the two of us ran together quite a bit. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a person when you spend early mornings running side-by-side with them. On top of our runs together, we slowly added other encounters: swimming in the pool, breakfast in the cafeteria after weekday runs, Masses, Youth for Christ meetings, and next thing I knew, a week before the marathon, we went out on our first date. After the marathon, we eventually decided to make things more official, and she turned her Claddagh ring around to show she was taken. There was no turning back at that point.

Marathon Day (October 9) was a triumph of grand proportion for me. Powered by a boisterous cheering section, I spent the first half of the race cruising along with Brother John before pulling away in the second half. Not only did I run the second half of the race slightly faster than the first, but I finished in 3:28, a full 26 minutes faster than my debut effort last year and two minutes under my “dream” goal of 3:30. And there’s nothing quite like the feeling of downtown Chicago on Marathon Day and having your parents among the 1.2 million screaming spectators.

Other highlights of the semester: a football weekend spent at Notre Dame with Lisa, a YFC (Youth for Christ) retreat, singing in the 10pm Mass choir, watching a short play I wrote being read onstage, a roommate Thanksgiving dinner, freezing my balls off (literally) in a snowy cross country race with some great friends, spending Thanksgiving and Christmas at home in St. Louis and getting to show Lisa around my hometown, another Christmas sweater party, dressing up in a full-gear Santa outfit on Christmas Eve, and my first New Year’s Eve spent in Chicago.

With the onset of 2006, I’m making my way into a momentous year. I’m scheduled to become a college graduate in May, a feat that I really hope I can stop and appreciate. Not only have I worked hard academically to get to this point, but I truly do feel fortunate to have been in a position to achieve this in the first place.

On top of graduation, I’m also set to continue my quest onward into the “real” world. I’m not sure where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing in six months, and as scary as that is, it’s also quite exciting. I feel like I’m ready to take the next step, bringing with me what I have come to learn in the past while forging ahead into my future.

2006 Resolution #1: Resurrect this blog to the lofty heights it reached while I was abroad.

Born To Carve

2005-10-25T13:05:00.000-05:00

We at 1234 Albion take our pumpkin carving and music very seriously. Props to Hunter and Michelle for this masterful creation. Behold, the Bruce-O-Lantern:

Marathon Pics

2005-10-14T16:46:00.000-05:00

Here are some photos of some of the Loyola crew from the train ride before the marathon and the party at the Navy Pier Grand Ballroom that night.

Only In Rogers Park

2005-09-14T19:14:00.000-05:00

22 YEAR-OLD VIGOROUSLY SHAKEN, UPSIDE-DOWN, BY BULLY IN BUNGLED ATTEMPT TO STEAL LUNCH MONEY

You read that headline right, folks. I was confronted by a bully in hopes of getting my lunch money. I only wish I could think this stuff up. It was about midnight on Friday night, and I was walking back to my apartment. In fact, I was right in front of my own apartment. So close, that any of my roommates could have seen the oddity described below if they were looking out the window. Just before I was going to cross Albion and duck into our door, the Bully, who had been in a group on the other side of the street appeared right in front of me, staring directly at me. And from the looks his stern Bully disposition, he probably deactivated his muscle memory for how to smile when he was four. I didn't see him come across the street, so I must assume that he possesses some sort of magical bully transporting superpower. I'm a tall guy, but the Bully was even taller. And, believe it or not, wider and from the looks of him, stronger than me. I was silent. The Bully was not. "Give me your lunch money," he demanded. "Huh?" It's midnight, Bully. You appear to be terribly confused. "GIVE ME YOUR LUNCH MONEY," he said, raising his voice and inching even closer to me. Not wanting to laugh in the Bully's face, but uncertain how to exactly handle the situation, I stood and looked directly into his beady bully eyes. Is this the new style of assault? Confusing the victim by demanding a ridiculous ransom of lunch money before clubbing me over the head and dragging me off to some dark basement? "Huh?" A twinge of fear began to sink in. The Bully meant business. The Bully was undeterred by my questioning. Apparently set on his quest to get my lunch money, he tried a new tactic. He threw one hand between my legs, one hand over my shoulders, and picked me up. Then, the unthinkable. He turned me upside down and started to shake me vigorously. At this point, let me remind you of how tall and gangly I am. Shaken upside down? Got that picture in your head? Okay, let's proceed. My sandals quickly abandoned my feet and went for a ride. A notebook I happened to be carrying hit the pavement. My keys exited my pocket and clinked down on the sidewalk. But, ironically enough, my wallet remained in my jeans pocket. At this point, the Bully puts me down on my feet. "Just kidding, man." Gee, thanks. Sensing I was the butt of a joke, I looked over to the other side of the street and saw his buddies laughing, shaking their heads, and saying how much of an asshole the Bully is. After reorientating myself and getting my stuff together, I tried to go the rest of the 50 feet and get into my doorway. The Bully's friends would have none of it, though. They were in the mood for small talk. I even got the Bully's name and handshake in a slightly odd display of bully amicability ("Hey, I'm Dan, but people call me Dion."). The strangeness didn't stop there. "What's that you're carrying?" Bully's companion, Mega-Wasto-Girl asks. "Oooo, is that a journal?" "Yes." "Wow, noooo way, I'm in the same class!!!" "Huh? I've only got my name, address, email, and number. No class info." "Oh. (pause) Is that your social security number???" "Nope, it's my phone number." "Oooo. (pause) Can I get your phone number???" "Uh..." Before I could finish, she whips out her phone and begins the painstaking process of entering my name and number, quite possibly not even able to remember her own. "Make sure you walk her home in the morning," the Bully jeers, him the group leaving Mega-Wasto-Girl behind with me. "You assholes!" she yells, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk as she attempts something akin to a wobble to try to catch up with Bully and Company. As I watched them stumble off down the road and into the night, I could only wonder if I would get a call from Mega-Wasto-Girl the next day. I never did. Was it all a dream? Am I making this up? The moral of the story? Hell if I know.

August 30, 1983 Was A Good Day

2005-09-13T23:32:00.000-05:00

Here's a fun collage of my girl Teresa and I from our picnic we had down at the Jazz Fest in Grant Park. She's a pretty swingin' country gal, and believe it or not, we have the same birthday. Aren't you jealous? In fact, I attribute a lot of my friendships from high school to meeting her in an AIM chat before sophomore year of high school. Who said internet meetings were all bad news? Not us.

A Birthday Kidnapping in Saugatuck, MI

2005-08-30T12:27:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning, Bonnie put me in her car and drove me away for the day. As you can guess from the picture, it wasn't exactly the world's worst kidnapping. She took me to Saugatuck Dunes State Park, about two and a half hours away from Chicago on the other side of Lake Michigan. As the name suggests, it was an entire park on giant sand dunes, which provided a nice soft padding for walking around on the trails. The highlight, though, was definitely the beach that you see above. I don't think I've ever been on a beach that didn't have condos or stores butting up to the shore. We parked the car and walked through about a mile of forest before breaking through and getting to the sparsely populated beach; it was absolutely gorgeous. After an afternoon of picnicking, hiking, lounging, and swimming, an awesome sunset, and a dinner in the town of Saugatuck, we loaded up and went back to Chicago late that night. What a way to celebrate a birthday with a great friend!

A Break-Up Note

2005-08-30T12:03:00.000-05:00

Dear my eight month vacation, The time has finally arrived for us to part ways. I think we both can agree that you and I had a lot of fun together and had some amazing experiences, but we can't continue on like this. I didn't want to have to tell you this in a note, but I'm not strong enough to say it to your face. I finally broke my fidelity to you today. I went to a class. Not just any class, either. A class where I have to get up early and think about stuff. Hard stuff, too, like the authority for the use of your will. I wasn't getting any of that with you, and it was just time to move on. I hope we can still be friends. I trust that good things are in store for both of us. Until we meet again, Brian

"A Dream Come Reality"

2005-08-10T00:44:00.000-05:00

She says it best. An email recollection of a friend's visit to Interlaken, Switzerland: "...after being there I can truly say I had a 'mystic' experience. I was undertaken by the scenery of the small town with the bluish-green lake that was circled by the elevated, snow-capped and brown mountains! Hiking every day I was there - all through the Alps was surreal... a dream come reality! Breathtaking! ...when I was in Switzerland particularly, I was so drawn into its beauty that I forgot about all my problems, possessions, worries and truly and honestly just lived each moment as I walked it, saw it, breathed it. I was immersed in an indescribable beauty that mystified me, a numinous and unexplainable feeling, a feeling that I don't need to worry or have all that much to be truly happy. Looking around me, life was simple and people were happy! I long to return..."

Hell And Back; Take 2

2005-06-24T14:42:00.000-05:00

marathon Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

When I haven't been busy being lazy so far this summer - which, admittedly, takes up the majority of my time - I have been trying to get my butt in gear to get ready for the Chicago Marathon again, which this year is on Sunday, October 9. And after four months of doing curls with pint glasses in Ireland, training has gone surprisingly well, so far. I just wish St. Louis wasn't so wretchedly hot in the summer. Oh well, paying the price with the heat now makes the Chicago weather in September and October seem oh-so-perfect.

I've Found Paradise

2005-06-22T15:37:00.000-05:00

Radio Paradise, that is. Tired of Clear Channel's iron-fisted dictatorship over the FM dial? Give Paradise, CA's own Radio Paradise a shot. From their website:

"Each hour of music is carefully blended together to flow smoothly between different musical styles & genres - just like real DJs used to do on FM. We don't use the computer-generated playlists or "carefully researched music libraries" that have sucked the soul out of FM radio - and we never just throw songs together at random the way many web stations do."

You'll hear an eclectic mix of songs you've never heard before, familiar songs that sound like you're hearing them for the first time because of the way the playlist flows, and true classics. http://www.radioparadise.com/

Gallery: Paris, France

2005-06-21T12:20:00.000-05:00

la grande arch Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Finally, the last gallery of my European adventure. Paris grew on me over the course of three days, and I began to appreciate its lore as a wonderful place...to visit. I don't possess anywhere close to enough fashion sense to stay there for any prolonged amount of time.

For the first two days, I went around with John, David, and Walter, who I had arranged to meet there. It was definitely a different dynamic than being on my own, but I'm glad I had the chance to spend a couple days with them.

After they left, I spent my final day wandering around the city with only a map and Metro pass before ending up at the Eiffel Tower (to the locals, Tour Eiffel) to close out the night.

Highlights: Tour Eiffel, Picasso museum, drinking wine along the banks of the Seine late at night, walking down the Champs-Elysées, using my Chinese to order sushi for four.

Photo Of The Day: Tour Eiffel

2005-06-20T12:52:00.000-05:00

Gallery: Munich, Germany

2005-06-20T07:32:00.000-05:00

My Munich photo gallery has been completed. I had expected to experience an acute case of PAL (post-Alps letdown), but once again, my expectations were shattered. Things just never seem to work out how you think they will. One more gallery to go (Paris), and then I'll be getting back into some entries with a bit more linguistic appeal.

Gallery: Bruges, Belgium

2005-06-17T12:11:00.000-05:00

My Bruges photo gallery is up and ready to go. This little place in western Belgium is one of the most interesting places I have seen in my life - just because there is really nothing I have seen to compare it to. Living over here in the States can really limit your perspective if you aren't careful, and it's sad to think that a vast majority of the people in this country don't even realize something like this exists and consider the Gulf coast an exotic getaway.

Photo Of The Day: Nighttime Canals of Bruges, Belgium

2005-06-15T14:44:00.000-05:00

Gallery: Rome, Italy

2005-06-15T14:17:00.000-05:00

Piazza San Pietro; Roma Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Rome. Not only the start of Western civilization, but the start of my European trip. Thanks to me randomly meeting Thuet in the London airport, I ended up spending much of my time there with friends from Loyola. I really enjoyed the city, minus the massive tour groups that seemed to take over most of the attractions. Here's a bunch of pictures for you to check out.

Rockin' The Suburbs

2005-06-13T23:43:00.000-05:00

My journey has officially gone full circle; I'm now back in Middle America Suburbia. Even though entries from Glendale might not be as interesting as ones from random internet cafes across Europe, I'm currently trying to figure out how to transition my blog. Until then, though, I plan on doing a little post-game blog show about my travels, so bear with me for a bit on that. First off, my Switzerland SkyDive picture gallery has been completed. The files are large, but if you've got a quick connection and a little time on your hands, knock yourself out. And for a slightly calmer take on the beauty of Switzerland and the Alps, check out Interlaken and Surrounding Areas. Any way you cut it, though, this place was tantalizingly close to paradise.

Sad But True

2005-06-10T12:45:00.000-05:00

Here's a joke that I heard over in Europe that has acquired extra meaning since I've been back in the States. I should probably put some sort of warning for vulgar language ahead or something, but it's my blog and I can do whatever I want, damnit. How is American beer the same as having sex in a canoe? Both are fucking close to water. Cheers, mate.

Quote Of The Day: Pablo Picasso

2005-06-08T12:57:00.000-05:00

"If you know exactly what you are going to do, what's the point of doing it?" -Pablo Picasso

BA: British (Badass) Airways

2005-06-08T06:33:00.000-05:00

Next time you find yourself searching for the perfect transatlantic flight, look no further than British Airways. Those guys know how to take care of you. There might be some cheaper alternatives, but whose thinking about that when you're crammed in next to a screaming baby for eight hours, squinting to see a screen with some horrible movie on it, and throwing down food that makes McDonalds seem gourmet? BA has great food and wine (honestly), a wide selection of entertainment to watch on your own individual monitors, spacious and comfortable seats, and wonderful service...and that's just in "second class." Not too shabby. Plus, I sat next to an American freelance journalist, originally from Romania but living and working in Chicago, on his way back from Iraq. He was an incredibly interesting older man who had stories from all over the world. Due to his background, he said he had contacts all over Eastern Europe, and his friendships with some of the prime ministers and other leaders from that part of the world has led him to take consulting jobs with many different companies trying to get into the ex-Communist countries. Didn't catch his last name, but I have a feeling I was hanging out with a very accomplished and well-known man. Just one of many random, fascinating people that I've met over the last four or so months.

Next Stop, Chicago

2005-06-05T20:16:00.000-05:00

I don't quite know how I pulled it off, but I backpacked around Europe for two weeks without any real setbacks. Me, the same eejit who this very semester has screwed up a grilled cheese sandwich and failed to figure out the complexities of the modern marvel, the can opener. I guess that just means I come through when it really counts, eh? So what exactly happened over the course of the last two weeks? The last semester? Sure you've read some stories and maybe even seen a few pictures (you've realized by this point that I have a site with a lot of pictures on it, right?), but it's hard to say. I can tell you stories about how I've seen old Japanese men plastered, standing on tables, and singing their national anthem at the top of their lungs in the Hofbrauhaus. Yes, I can tell you about how I ended up caught up in a group of locals one night in Brugge and ended up getting back to my hostel four hours later than I planned on. I've already alluded to you about the day in Bavaria when I lived out one of my favorite movies. I can show you the video of me and my buddy Hans dropping like a rock through the atmosphere. And I can even tell you about how I was forced to speak Chinese at a sushi joint in Paris. But if you ask me how it really was, I wouldn't know what to say; not yet anyway. I need some time and perspective to go back and fit together the pieces of the puzzle. Of course, some of this crazy stuff was nothing more than funny moments or bouts with stupidity. A lot of it was more, though, and I definitely feel like it has left its mark on me. Just try to not kill me if all I can do is smile and nod when you ask me the million dollar question: "So how was Ireland?"

Paris: Sunset de Eiffel

2005-06-04T04:24:00.000-05:00

David, John, and Walter left for the airport today, so that means I have one more day to explore this beautiful city on my own. It's quite a city, and a stroll along the River Seine last night offered a clear explanation of the romantic lore it has to offer. After going around to a few more sites, I plan on ending my trip at the top of the Eiffel Tower tonight, watching the Parisian sunset. See you back in Ireland. Au revoir!

Paris: Final Destination

2005-06-02T14:12:00.000-05:00

Just as the Tour de France concludes with a lap around the Champs Elysées, so too does my trip. In fact, that was the first place I went once I got here and waited to meet up with John and David. My flight to Ireland is on Sunday afternoon, and until then I'll be exploring the rest of this beautiful city. Brugge turned out to be one of the best places I've been to; it's as if it was placed in a time capsule back in medieval times and perfectly preserved until today. It was a great example of "old" Europe. More to write, but I'm on the clock and we're about to hit the town for dinner. Travelling alone was a great blessing in many instances, and provided me the possibilities that gave me the best memories, but it's nice to be somewhere with some familiar faces again.

Photo Of The Day: Let's Go!

2005-06-01T06:28:00.000-05:00

Photo Of The Day: You Sure About This, Hans?

2005-05-31T12:04:00.000-05:00

Switzerland: Sublime, High-Flying, Terminal Velocity Memories

2005-05-31T03:41:00.000-05:00

Remember how I warned you I was about to do something stupid? Well, I guess it's time I let you know what that was. The Swiss Alps were so beautiful, and the day too perfect, that when I got there I decided to take a little scenic plane ride over and around it all. Just a nice plane ride at 13,000 feet...with a parachute and a dude named Hans attached to my back. The rest is, as they say, history, as I tumbled back down to solid ground at 125mph. The whole thing was a combination of sheer terror and sublime beauty; well worth the hefty cover charge. And don't worry, I've got pictures and a video to prove it all.

Amsterdam: Hotel Kabul, A Turkish Nightmare

2005-05-31T03:23:00.000-05:00

If you ever find yourself in Amsterdam and in dire need of a place to stay for the night, avoid the Hotel Kabul at all costs and consider a better alternative: bringing a raft and floating around one of the canals for the night. Maybe I'm being a bit unfair, but this was the scariest hostel I've ever been a part of. First of all, the place was too expensive, dirty, and the staff seemed very shady. And perhaps my giant, 30+ year old Turkish roommate (my only roommate in a 10-bed room) who stumbled in at 4:30am, sat next to my bed on a chair, woke me up, freaked me out, and warned me to be careful when he found out I was American and didn't have any joints, maybe he had something to do with it, but who's to say, really. But hey, if you want to stay at a creepy hostel steps away from the Red Light District, then by all means, Hotel Kabul is your one. Personally, I'm looking forward to my train to Brugges, Belgium. Amsterdam seems like it could be a really fun place, but I think coming here by myself hindered that a bit. When I was on the streets, I was too busy watching out for myself, avoiding the window prostitutes and drug dealers to really enjoy it all. If I'm ever back in Amsterdam, I think it might be wise to stay a little further away from the RLD. The Boom Chicago show did make the trip worth it, though.

Amsterdam: Boom Chicago

2005-05-31T03:13:00.000-05:00

When I came in yesterday, I saw an ad for a nightly comedy show by a group called Boom Chicago. It started when a few college grads came over to Amsterdam and decided to quit their jobs and start up a comedy show in the vein of Second City or Whose Line Is It Anyway. The website said that tickets were sold out, but that's no reason to give up. So I took a tram down to the theatre, asked if there were any tickets left, the girl said it was completely sold out, but I persisted. "What if I hang around until show time...would there be tickets then maybe?" She goes back into her computer, looks around, and asks if it's only a single ticket I'm after. When I said yes, it's just me, she hands me over a ticket and says I better hurry up and get a seat. I sat next to and talked to an Australian woman throughout the night, who was fresh off the Great Wall Marathon in China last week (kinda gives new meaning to the term of "hitting the wall" for marathoners). We both enjoyed the show throughly, and I was able to learn a little bit about the Dutch culture. Afterwards I wandered back to the hostel, taking in the bright lights of the Amsterdam bars and canal lights. Who says a little persistence doesn't pay off?

Amsterdam

2005-05-30T10:34:00.000-05:00

I'd been hearing about this city ever since I started on the hostel-circuit a week ago, and what I've heard is pretty much all true. I've only been here since this morning, but that's been more than enough time for me to see what they're talking about. It's a beautiful city, engulfed in canals and cool architecture, but one that is equally shocking. My hostel seems a bit shady, to boot, so I'm not too sad that this will be my shortest stay of any city on my trip. One day is plenty of time for me here, especially since I'm by myself. Tonight, though, I'm trying to make my way over to see a comedy show, so that should be fun.

München: Dachau

2005-05-29T15:38:00.000-05:00

After the magic of yesterday, today's main attraction was just about the complete opposite emotion. I made my way out to Dachau, about 15km outside of München, to visit the WWII concentration camp memorial site. Luckily, I met a couple from Maryland on the bus out there, so I had someone to walk around with and not have to experience all that alone. The site isn't just a memorial site...it is the actual site of the camp, liberated only 60 short years ago. We walked around the whole place, going through the role-call area, rubbled foundations where the barracks were built, and inter-denominational faith memorials that had been set up in the years after Dachau. We walked through reconstructed barracks, saw a documentary, and browsed through the museum. The tour also took us through the actual crematorium used for a majority of the murders: the waiting room, the undressing room, the "shower" room, and the furnace room. Between yesterday's excursion to Bavaria and today's trip to Dachau, I really didn't get to see a whole lot of Munich itself, but it was easily one of the most memorable parts of my year. I did lounge around the English Gardens (a really big city park) and enjoy a mas of Hofbrau original lager at the Hofbrauhaus, home of Oktoberfest, before I left town, but the other sights will have to remain for another trip to Munich.

München: My Luck Continues

2005-05-28T16:40:00.000-05:00

So remember how I told you that I planned on spending the day doing the city tour and beer garden crawl? Yeah, well, that didn't quite happen. Last night, when I had just gone to sleep, my bunkmate at the hostel comes in (who I hadn't met yet) and wakes me up trying to find something in her bag. We start talking in whispers in the dark, trying not to wake the others. Next thing I know, without even knowing her name or what she looks like at this point, which would make identifying her next to impossible if we weren't sharing a bunk, I've agreed to ditch my plans for the next day and take a two-hour train trip with her early in the morning to some castle she had planned to go to alone in Bavaria. I spent a completely random day in a beautiful area around the mountains of Bavaria with some girl that I didn't know one lick when I set foot in Munich. We walked for miles and miles, never a lull in the conversation, and just had a great time with the beauty of the surroundings and with each other's company. We met some others from our hostel on the train home, had dinner with them in a beergarden (quite memorable in itself), and she ended the day by getting on a train just before midnight, bound for Italy. It was an absolutely incredible, almost magical, day with someone that I knew for just about 24 hours...which brings us to rule #42.b of solo-backpacking around Europe: always follow your instincts, even when it means scrapping your previous plans. Her motto, and theme of the day, was, "never let any experience leave you unchanged." And, perhaps fittingly, her name: Angela.

München

2005-05-27T14:48:00.000-05:00

Tonight my home is in Munich, Germany. I got in from Interlaken semi-late in the evening, so my day will be full tomorrow before I leave on Sunday morning to go up north to the Netherlands. I plan on doing a walking tour of the city in the morning and tomorrow night trying a pub crawl that starts in one of the big beer gardens. The language makes me feel REALLY lost here, but I should be okay and learn about the city once I get in the tour groups. The insanity continues... It's a shame I didn't do Interlaken last, because I can't imagine that I'm going to be able to top my two days there. Here's to trying, though.

Interlaken Arrival

2005-05-25T05:10:00.000-05:00

After finding my train about two nerve-wracking minutes before it left, spending the night with an Italian man and his aunt who spoke very little English, I've made it to Interlaken and this place is absolutely gorgous (I know, I know, I've been throwing that term around a lot, but I really don't know what else to say). I have a confession to make, though. I'm about to do something quite stupid. Remind me to tell you about it later.

Grazie, Roma

2005-05-24T11:21:00.000-05:00

I lead a charmed life. There I am, standing in line in London, at 5:30 in the morning (after spending the night in the Stansted airport...fun!) on Sunday, and I run into none other than John Thuet and his girlfriend Fran. I completely forgot that they were going to be anywhere close to Europe. Turns out, he spent a few days in London and Dublin before taking his flight to Rome to start a summer school class at the Loyola Rome Center in June; and we just happened to be in the same airport at the same time. So logically, as is the rule of travel when things take an unsuspected turn, I threw my preliminary plans out the window and split a cab with him and Fran to go to the Loyola Campus, where I knew Aaron and Matt had arrived the day before. I didn't run into them right away, but I did run into Fr. Bosco (a favorite teacher of mine from Loyola) and a group of his students that were there for a different class (a few of which are friends of mine too). So I got invited along with his class for a guided tour of the city, and as this is the 11th time he's been to Roma and is a super intelligent man to begin with, he knows his stuff. Later that day when we got back to the Rome Center I ran into Aaron and Matt, and we set up plans to meet on Monday. Monday morning I went on a tour of ancient Rome with a group from my hostel, and then met up with Matt, Aaron, and another friend of mine, Lisa, and the four of us went to St. Peter's. We climbed to the top of the basilica (the highest point in Rome, by law) and got a great view of the city. Then we walked around the floor of the basilica and even got down in the crypt to see where John Paul II is buried. The basilica is just downright amazing in its grand scale. It's quite a sight. The four of us then finished the night off with dinner and wine at an outdoor cafe in Piazza Navone, a popular area of the city. I thought there was a chance that I MIGHT run into Aaron and Matt in Rome, but never did I even imagine all this stuff could have happened. Today (Tuesday), after a couple frantic hours in the train station, getting thrown in circles trying to figure out how to get to Switzerland tonight before I finally got it, I went back to Vatican City by myself. This time I went to the Vatican Museums, which is an impressive enough collection of art in its own right, but of course the jewel that the whole long museum leads up to is the Sistine Chapel. I must have sat in there for at least half an hour, amazed at the beauty and detail of it all. In two hours I'll be getting on a train to Bern, Switzerland. It's a night train, which is lucky considering it's about a 12 hour trip, and in the morning I'll get another train from Bern to Switzerland to set up camp in the Alps for a few days. I don't think I'll run into anybody else I know, but who knows. When I was alone in Rome, as rare as that ended up being, I definitely succeeded in meeting some interesting people, so I'm excited about what lies ahead. It's been slightly difficult in Rome because this is the first time I've been somewhere where I came in knowing nothing about the language. I've picked up a few simple things, but the stress of being alone and trying to navigate through a huge train station and ask people where I need to go was a little much. Just gotta be patient. Well, that's all for now. Rome is a real beauty of a city, and I'm glad Nick talked me into coming down here. The weather has been sunny and warm, the likes of which I definitely never saw in Ireland. And oh yeah, the gelato? That stuff is unreal; sorry you're not here, Mom! You're missing out on this one. I've had one everyday I've been here. Next up, Switzerland. Ciao!

Here We Go

2005-05-21T10:43:00.000-05:00

Well, it's time. Documentary has been finished, essays turned in...now, to Europe. First up, a few days in Rome, and from there, probably Switzerland. I'll update this a few times while I'm gone, so stay tuned in. It's gonna be exciting.

Photo Of The Day: Red Carpet Treatment

2005-05-20T10:58:00.000-05:00

Here's Ciara and I last night after the premier of all the documentaries. I really was amazed at the quality standard that all of the groups hit with their work. Later on this summer I should have a DVD of everything that was screened last night for anyone who wants to check any of it out.

Photo Of The Day: Ireland Road Signs

2005-05-19T06:01:00.000-05:00

Photo Of The Day: Boring Night In Grove Island

2005-05-17T21:02:00.000-05:00

Six different nationalities represented here. Can you spot them? While you're at it, go ahead and see if you can find Wizard Whitebeard's scroll, too.

Final Week In Ireland

2005-05-16T05:10:00.000-05:00

...and I'm going out with a bang. A bang of work, that is. Finishing up the documentary by Tuesday night, two papers for Thursday, screening of the docs on Thursday night, and one more paper for Friday. And then? Flight to London late Saturday night, hang out in the airport for a few hours, and then board a plane for Rome early Sunday morning! Then, I'll have two weeks until I fly from Paris back to Shannon on June 5th, before flying home two days later. In between Rome and Paris, I think I'll hit Interlaken (Switzerland; IN the Alps), Cologne (Germany), Brussels (Belgium), and Amsterdam (Netherlands). For the most part, I think I'll be going at the trip pretty much on my own, although Megan, David, or John may join me for parts. Needless to say, I'm pretty stoked about the whole adventure. More info later...these assignments are really dragging me back to reality.

"Are You Kidding Me?"

2005-05-13T05:54:00.000-05:00

My fish 'n' chips and occasional salmon steak has been put to shame. Last night at dinner with Ellen's parents, I got some real sea food. Kate, Ellen's mom, and I ordered the same thing, and we thought it would be another salmon steak. Ha. "Are you kidding me?" I said to our waitress when she brought out my dinner. She laughed; I looked at Kate; we cringed. Right table. Turns out, we ordered another seafood platter, which was basically 39% of all the marine life in the River Shannon. The salmon was a shade of reddish-orange, smoked and raw, piled high on a bed of salad. About 15 mussels, still in their shells, ran around the perimeter of the plate. Around the salmon was fresh shrimp and crab. And finally, hanging out in their shells, simmering in a pool of salt water, was raw oyster. It was a hell of a lot of food, but I managed to throw back and enjoy most of it. It's noon the next day and I'm still not hungry again. It was so fresh and tasting of the sea that we were convinced that after we ordered, they radioed ahead to the docks and had someone catch our dinner right then and there. Eating the raw oyster was the biggest challenge of the night, though. Kate and I sprinkled lemon juice on it, raised our shells, saluted, and dumped the shell down the hatch at the same time, the sea water and raw meat flowing down our gullets, like we were taking a shot of Irish whisky. I tried to chase it with my Guinness, but the taste of the food, as it was all night, was so distinct that even that tasted like it came straight from the sea. I've come a long way since Egg McMuffins, I'd say.

Photo Of The Day: Shankill Road Mural

2005-05-12T03:19:00.000-05:00

The End Is Near

2005-05-12T03:03:00.000-05:00

Ellen's moving out of the apartment tomorrow to travel around Ireland with her parents for a week before she leaves for London next Wednesday; Sven is packing his bags and going home to Germany in two days; and Megan just left to briefly go home for her brother's graduation. It's gonna be a quiet apartment this weekend. A quiet weekend is okay with me, though, after all the time spent on our documentary this week. It's gonna turn out pretty good by the time it's all said and done, I think. Tentatively titled "Behind Closed Doors," it's a piece on Adapt House, a place in Limerick where women who are in situations of domestic abuse can go to seek refuge. The "premier" with all the groups' work is next Thursday night, so I imagine that will be a big night out for everyone after the screenings. After today, another exam will be in the books. Thanks for the memories, Peace & Justice.

Photo Of The Day: Antrim Coast

2005-05-11T02:52:00.001-05:00

Megan & I at Giant's Causeway along the Antrim Coast in Northern Ireland Go here for more Northern Ireland pictures.

Belfast: A Long Way From Glendale

2005-05-09T09:04:00.000-05:00

I admit that I don't know about all the intricacies of "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland, but I saw enough to know that there is a long way to go before there is any sort of lasting peace in the city. There are segregated cities, but then there is Belfast. There is literally a wall that divides the Catholic Nationalist and Protestant Loyalist neighborhoods in two, known ironically as the Peace Line. At night and on weekends, gates along the wall are closed to help keep the peace. Some of us took an open-top bus tour of the city, and this tour included going through these neighborhoods. It was before the shops were open on Sunday, so the streets were mostly deserted and the shops were barred shut. Graffiti and broken-in windows were more common than not on the buildings and houses. Each side has intricate, and quite artistic, murals on the sides and fronts of buildings that depict their various ideologies. The Loyalists, on Shankill Road, have murals that depict the throne, flags, and perhaps most ominously, weaponry and the refusal to surrender. The Nationalists' murals on Falls Road, newer than the Loyalists', have murals about hunger strikes, military, elections, IRA, Sinn Féin, repression, and resistance. As were were driving down Shankill Road, hearing stories about what has happened in the neighborhood, and what was especially memorable, seeing a plague that commemorated the innocent dead from a bombing at a store a decade back, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't see what it was, but I saw the form of a body wind up and throw something. It was coming right for me, so I tried to cover myself up. It came and hit me on the neck on my sweatshirt, but luckily, it turned out to only be eggs from a couple of small kids on the sidewalk. In another instance, I saw a little kid standing on a side street, hanging out with his friends on any normal Sunday afternoon, just holding up a Union Jack. A few others who went out the day before and walked the area got asked what religion they were by more small kids. My friends said that they didn't really have a specific religion and they support anyone's choice, and in response, this little girl says, "well we don't." Nothing really happened, but it was clear to me how tenuous the peace in Belfast really is. The egg was nothing more than kids messing around, but even that unnerved me, just considering the situation and the moment from which it came. I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up in an area like that and think that there's stuff like this is normal. The city centre, where we stayed, certainly wasn't as bad as these neighborhoods, but even then I got the feeling that I really stuck out. Most of the younger population seemed to be committed to all-black dress, and the short amount of time to when the city centre went from packed in the afternoon to deserted in the evenings, save for the police, was eerie to say the least. Belfast. A memorable city that I'm glad I saw, but one that definitely left me feeling unsettled. Never threatened; just a bit uneasy.

Headin' North

2005-05-05T20:52:00.000-05:00

This weekend, the international society is taking the long trip up north to visit Belfast. By long, I mean eight hours on a bus. Fun! But anyway, since Belfast is in Northern Ireland, which is part of Great Britain, this'll be my first painful experience with the British pound. See you on Sunday night; my pockets sure to be a little lighter.

Shorts Day

2005-05-04T14:59:00.000-05:00

Today wasn't remarkably warm or anything, but when I got out of bed and saw a hint of sunlight, I decided that day would be Shorts Day. For two reasons. One, it would be a shame to pack two pairs of nice shorts and not wear either of them once while here. Secondly, proclaiming a day Shorts Day has the opposite effect as Oh Shit I Overslept Day, where your day is basically screwed before it even starts. When you have the audacity to bear flesh and point and laugh at the gods of Irish weather, it just adds an extra step to your day. As expected, it was a great day. Grades were posted for my Romanticism essay, and I did extremely well (first grade I've seen this semester!). Then after a little class, we had our improv show in front of maybe 30 people in the lounge, and it seemed to go over quite well; either way, I had a fantastic time. Then tonight, Sinéad and I got a lot done in the edit suite for our documentary. Hopefully this karma carries over for my Irish culture final tomorrow.

Dublin Recap

2005-05-04T05:11:00.000-05:00

Dublin definitely had its charms, but as I expected, it wasn't different enough from Chicago or any other big city that would warrant me regretting studying in Limerick rather than going there for the semester. Since Ellen was part of our travelling group, that means that we would have some good food. Over the course of three days I had Mediterranean, Mexican, and Turkish. Very tasty, although the Irish should just stick to pulling pints rather than trying to make a margarita. Over the course of three days we walked around most of the city, including parks, gardens, and a personal favorite, seeing some of the sights on the north side of the city that had so much history with the Easter Rising and other independence struggles. Just as an aside, the Liffey is a river that divides the city into two, separating the more cultured south side from the rougher north side. When we were walking around on Sunday, we noticed the incredible amount of people that had one of four different Gaelic football jerseys on. We stopped one of them to find out what was going on, and there were championship games for two different divisions later in the day at Croke Park, which is the biggest venue for Irish sports in the country (and where U2 is playing next month). We walked down to Croke to see if we could get any cheap student tickets, and for only 5 euro, we ended up with tickets about 15 rows behind one of the goals. Gaelic football is one of the national sports of Ireland (hurling and handball being the other two), and if I had to describe it, I'd say it's a mix of soccer, football, and rugby. 46,000 people packed into Croke, and it was a great time. In the game I saw, Armagh took care of Wexford to claim their division title. Other noteworthy moments: finding a local brew house/pub in Temple Bar and having the best pint I've had all spring, taking a tour of the Ireland Writers Museum, getting back to my hostel on Sunday night to find a woman, already asleep, in my bed, wandering around the National Gallery for an afternoon, and meeting Mike, a guy, fresh from army duty, on a tour of Europe before going home to Seattle, that we spent much of the weekend with (my apologies for the run-on). Dublin photos

National Gallery

2005-05-02T19:39:00.000-05:00

st. francis's stigmata Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Here's a quick shot I snapped today at the National Gallery in Dublin. It's a painting of my man and patron saint, St. Francis, receiving the stigmata. It was quite nice to have the chance to wander around the exhibits, looking like I know much more about the art than I actually do, for a couple hours and take in some Irish and other European art.

Bank Holiday Weekend In Da Capital

2005-04-29T19:11:00.000-05:00

Ellen, Sven the Great, Swedish Supermodel Ann, Swedish Supermodel Caroline, and I are off to Dublin for the three-day weekend. Sven recoiled in trepidation upon hearing that we'd be in a giant room with about 25 people at our hostel tomorrow night. No! says Sven, but Yes! says my blog.

Photo Of The Day: Ireland Cliff Jumpers

2005-04-29T19:01:00.000-05:00

"No more shearing!" promises one bloke to the other before taking the plunge, as part of the 2005 Wool Rising.

Quote Of The Day: Seamus Heaney

2005-04-28T12:26:00.000-05:00

"W.B. Yeats is a mountain range on the horizon under which I live." -Seamus Heaney, when asked how he feels he fits in with W.B. Yeats For any of you pseudo-wannabe literature dorks like myself, Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney came to Mary Immaculate to read some of his poetry and field some questions this afternoon in a packed lecture hall. I'd never read any of his work, other than his translation of Beowolf, but he's a literary icon over here and is regarded as one of the best known poets in the English-speaking world today.

Gaeilge Exam Caps Off Busy Week

2005-04-28T12:06:00.000-05:00

Imagine that. I've been working hard all week, I promise. Wednesday, I had a presentation on Wordsworth and Shelley in my Romanticism class, along with my Irish language exam. Hard to believe it's getting to be exam time, but my first one is in the books. I can't promise you that I'll remember a ton of the Irish I learned by the time I make it back over the pond, but I think I did well enough yesterday. Just so you don't worry about me not being a total bum around here (for you, Mom and Dad), here's what I have left to do for school: -Irish culture exam next Thursday -Justice & Peace exam in two weeks -Rough version of documentary due 13 May; polished product a week later (ours is on a Limerick domestic abuse shelter) -- this is my major thing to finish -Irish music essay due 20 May -Romanticism exam TBA, around 28 May (might try to take it earlier so I can travel at the end of the semester) Okay, that's enough about school for the next week or so.

(Potentially) Deep Thoughts From A Dingle-ite

2005-04-25T07:31:00.000-05:00

Sitting at Murphy's Bar in Dingle having my Sunday lunch, I started talking to a old man who looked like he could have founded the town himself. We spoke a little Irish, mainly about the beautiful weather, but let's not kid ourselves, I could only really communicate with him in English. When I found out he had lived in Dingle his whole life, I decided to try out a joke I had read somewhere. Not really a joke, but just a comment about life on the peninsula that I thought said volumes about the line of thinking of the locals.

A tourist visits Dingle one day and starts up a conversation with a local. Eventually the tourist asks if he has lived on the peninsula for his whole life. "Not yet," says the Irishman.

With a faraway smile in his eyes, my friend slowly says, "no, that's not quite the answer," and then says nothing else until we say our goodbyes when I get up to leave. I'm hopelessly confused by what he meant, even as I'm writing this today, but maybe it'll hit me one day.

A Weekend Of Firsts

2005-04-25T04:20:00.000-05:00

A few "firsts" from my weekend in Dingle:

Playing piano...in a pub. This happened at Dick Mack's - a leather shop by day, packed pub by night. It's a weird pub with several different rooms to it, like you are walking through someone's house. In the back room is a beat up piano, the girls with us urged Felix and I to play some tunes. I was hesistant about it at first, but when the bartender came back to collect empty glasses, he didn't even say anything about our sweaty drinks on the piano, let alone telling us to stop pounding away, I knew we were okay. As I was leaving, I even got a nice compliment from some guy who had apparently been in earshot the whole time.
Getting called a local. Near the end of our bike ride Saturday, after the final big mountain climb and before our three mile coast downhill back into Dingle, Megan, Holly, and I took a break. Some Aussie stopped and got out of his car, obviously in need of some directions. We helped him out and he said, "great, always nice to run into some locals." Maybe my accent is coming around after all.
Hitchhiking. Well, Ellen and I had already gotten a lift back from Croagh Patrick earlier this trip, but this was the first time that I have ever walked along the side of a road with my thumb out. It was about six miles from Dingle to the top of a mountain, called Conor's Pass, where you could see the width of the whole peninsula, and John and I decided to get a little help going up it. It took us about 45 minutes to get picked up, but eventually two guys in a BMW helped us out. Then on the way back down to Dingle, we got a lift with a young couple from Chicago.
Sunburn. I'm actually a little bit red from the weekend in Dingle! I knew I'd be going through a lot of things here in Ireland, but I never thought to put sunburn on that list. Obviously, we lucked out on the weather, again, which seems to happen every weekend when I want to go somewhere. No complaints from this one.
Sleeping with Sven. No typo there. The Germans, Sven and Felix, were my roommates on Saturday night, and lucky for Felix, he walked into the room ahead of us. Immediately throwing his bag down on the single bed, he left Sven and myself to stare at the remaining double, at each other, and back at the bed like a scene straight out of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Nice. That was definitely a first.
Irish-language Mass. As Dingle is located in a Gaeltacht, a designated region where Irish is the official language of day-to-day life, Sunday morning Mass was in the native tounge. Didn't understand much at all, and got a sinking feeling about my language exam on Wednesday, but other than that it was a cool experience.

Tour de Dingle

2005-04-24T17:25:00.000-05:00

Tour de Dingle
Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

This weekend the International Student Society teamed up with the Irish Society and we all boarded a bus for Dingle. I spent an afternoon in Dingle with Mom and Dad when they were in town, but liked it so much that I didn't at all mind having the chance to spend another two days there.

Right when we got to Dingle on Saturday, I ducked away from the masses going dolphin-watching to head off on a slightly quieter, but intense, mission. Megan and Holly joined me, and we rented bikes to head out around Slea Head Drive, the road that takes you around the Atlantic coast. I saw how beautiful the trip was when I was with my parents going around in a tour bus, and knew that doing the path on a bike would offer a different perspective.

The 30 mile path took us through rolling hills and the occasional steep climb, but the trip validated my contention that the Dingle Peninsula, and specifically the westernmost fringe of it (and of Europe itself), is the most beautiful place I have ever personally seen. To be alone on a bike, on the outskirts of European civilization, with the sounds of Atlantic waves crashing into cliffs and sheep bleating, smelling crisp, clean air and grass...and getting a nice workout, as a bonus...was simply incredible.

The only downside to the whole affair was the lack of cushion in the saddle, so my posterior has been a bit sore today. Eight euro for the rental was the best 8e I've spent yet, though, I'll tell you that much.

Poor Time Management

2005-04-22T06:33:00.000-05:00

Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Living with Sven hasn't done anything but reinforce stereotypes about the precision of Germans, that's for sure. To illustrate, here's some of our conversation from before we left for our choir concert Sunday evening:

Me: "I'm gonna go finish getting ready, Sven. What do you say we leave for the church in about 15 minutes?"

Sven: "Mmmm...nooo...we should leave in 12 minutes."

Okay, whatever you say Svenster, 12 minutes it is.

Twelve minutes later, though, I was ready, waiting for him, and he wasn't close to being ready. In fact, I'd say it was at least another 7-8 minutes before we stepped foot out the door.

Luckily, they didn't castrate us then and there for walking in three minutes late, but Sven might have been sweating it a bit.

Photo Of The Day: Concert Attire

2005-04-22T04:45:00.000-05:00

Public Service Announcement: Just Stay In Bed

2005-04-21T11:34:00.000-05:00

As Ellen suggested to me, days when you oversleep just never seem to amount to much more than a big headache. Just one of those weird quirks of life that rings true. After getting up half an hour late today, I should have known better. I had to hurry my leg/hip combo (I've been told I really have no butt) to get ready and make it to class on time. This was the same class I missed last week when I overslept by three hours (see stupidity in previous post), so I didn't want to miss it again. Turns out, I missed the memo that class ran for an extra hour today, so when I walked in the door and thought I was right on time, I had actually missed the first hour. Later on, I read an email from my flaky theology advisor back at Loyola that says I shouldn't be taking an upper-level medical ethics course next year without a background in a similar entry-level course. Thing is, last fall she specifically TOLD me to sign up for this particular upper-level one precisely because I lacked the ethics portion of the theology degree. So, when registration opened earlier this week, I went ahead and signed up for it. Now, after everyone else at the college has registered and my schedule has been more or less finalized, she tells me to change it. Then, following the trend of an ever-growing black hole in her memory, she questions me on whether or not I'm taking a course here in Ireland that could count for upper-level credit for my degree. This, after lecturing me before I left about how I could go ahead and take a theology course here if I wanted, but because she couldn't trust the quality of the professors or the courses it wouldn't be proper to count it toward my degree. As I'm stewing over the absurdity of her email, I then realize that I forgot my Irish homework at home, so, of course, that means an extra four mile hike just to retrieve it and make it back to college three minutes before class starts. Fittingly, to top the whole thing off, I had a restless night's sleep, so the catalyst of the bad day didn't even stop me from being tired for every minute of it. Oh sweet irony. Even though the weather admittedly is quite nice today, that can only do so much for you sometimes.

Lost In The Flood

2005-04-20T11:39:00.000-05:00

You know those plans of mine to see Bruce when he and his guitar visit Dublin on May 24th? Shit, I never told you, did I? Well anyway, trust me, they were fantastic plans involving me, the Boss, and 7,499 other lads and lasses. Denied. Tickets sold out in 40 SECONDS. In the immortal words of Robert Goulet, "that's crazy!" Who am I kidding, anyway. It wouldn't have mattered if it were 40 seconds or 40 minutes. I set my alarm for 7:30am that morning and didn't wake up until 10:45, 45 minutes after tickets went on sale. Bruce could have sold out Central Park by then.

Choral Concert

2005-04-18T07:54:00.000-05:00

Sunday night marked my choral debut in Handel's "Acis and Galatea." For those of you not up on your Handel, here's a quick rundown of the story found in the program, slightly paraphrased. Galatea is this half-divine sea-nymph, and she thinks this shepherd, Acis, in a neighboring field has it going on, so she falls for him. They are eventually united as they run through the fields in slow-motion and leap into each other's arms. It's not happily ever after though. There's this huge monster, Polyphemus, and he's all pissed off because he can't get any girls. So naturally, he falls for the beautiful Galatea, and we have ourselves a love triangle. She's all into Acis, though, and hardly impressed by the giant stature and smelly breath of Polyphemus. This pisses Polyphemus right off, and to protect his woman, Acis steps in to fight the monster. Bad idea, dude. Polyphemus interrupts when Acis and Galatea are having a private moment and crushes Acis with a giant stone. Galatea is crushed (no pun intended) over the loss of her man, but remembers her powers, as a half-divine sea-nymph, and turns her dead lover into a fountain. Got it? It was a cool experience, but I can't say I'm going to miss it too much. There were a couple hundred people in the church, to see us and the Limerick Baroque Players, and they seemed to enjoy it. I wouldn't mind wearing a suit like the one I had on more often, though. I'll post a picture soon. When I went to take the suit back on Monday afternoon, the lady asked me if I owed anything. "Um, I don't think so, ma'am, the college was supposed to be picking up the tab for me, right?" "Ah yes, that's grand. No worries." Apparently even the salespeople are in on the trusting, laid back vibe that is Ireland.

Back In Business

2005-04-18T05:27:00.000-05:00

Back from a great weekend in Galway. It's got a notably different feel than the other cities around Ireland I've been to; a very international, European flair to it. Pedestrian shopping streets jammed all day and night, street musicians around every corner playing everything from bodhrans to wood blocks to upright pianos, outdoor cafes - basically, just a cool city with so much happening. Highly recommended. We really lucked out on weather, too, and had a sunny weekend. And, though I may not hit all the pubs in Ireland while I'm here, we damn well might have gotten most of them knocked out in Galway. Friday we took a day trip through Connemara, which, along with Dingle, is the best scenery I've seen. Rugged mountains, lakes, green fields, isolated sheep-infested roads...you get the idea. Along the way, we stopped in the island village of Cong, which is famous for two things. First of all, Cong is where The Edge from U2 has lived. Secondly, it's home to The Quiet Man everything, the 50's film with John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. It was shot in the area, and the town is quite willing to let you know that and make a Euro off of it. We had lunch at the The Quiet Man Cafe, which apparently the Duke hung out at back in the day, but who knows. Points to those ladies for serving sour cream 'n onion Pringles as a side to my toastie, though. The waitress at the cafe directed us to what she called "the best pub in the country" in Maam, a short drive down the road. After shooting the peat with our squeeky-voiced bartender for about 45 minutes, who filled us in on everything from how to properly hand-wash an Aran sweater to how televisions in pubs have been ruining the social scene, we set off to find the Kylemore Abbey, an impressive structure nestled within the Twelve Bens mountains that started off as a present from a 19th century tycoon to his wife, became a WWI refuge for Belgian nuns, and is now a girls' boarding school run by the sisters. We came across a few of the students, but when I told them that I was thinking about taking a class or two there, they thought that I was too old. Too bad. Friday night, I saw my second U2 tribute band, Rattle and Hum. Both of the ones I've seen have been musically spot on, but this Bono seemed to have much more passion in his voice. Saturday, we walked around Galway before taking in more of the nightlife. If for no other reason, being one trips like the one I am on is amazing because of the people you come across. Some nice ones, some weird ones, and some crazy ones that you could never even dream up with a Guinness-soaked imagination. Thanks to John, Martin, and Nederino (when we saw him) for letting Ellen and I invade their hotel room for a couple days and for giving us a great weekend.

Meeting The Birthday Boy

2005-04-14T11:55:00.000-05:00

Tonight Ellen and I are bussing it to Galway to meet Birthday Boy John, Cousin Martin, and Nederino. Be good while I'm gone. I don't want to hear stories about people misbehaving. See you Sunday.

Quote Of The Day: John Milton

2005-04-13T12:45:00.000-05:00

"The mind is its own place, and of itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." -Satan, from John Milton's Paradise Lost

Photo Of The Day: GilMartin In Ireland

2005-04-13T06:57:00.000-05:00

Nederino, Cousin Martin, Brother John, and myself in the Grove Island courtyard. More to come this weekend, but here are some pictures of their first day in Ireland. After leaving Limerick, the three of them went to Dingle, Dublin, the Cliffs of Moher, and are now in Galway for the rest of the week. It's John's birthday on Thursday, and I (and possibly Ellen) plan on taking a bus to Galway Thursday night to join them for the weekend. It promises to be quite a good time.

Best Barber In The World, Est. 1946

2005-04-12T18:16:00.000-05:00

best barber in the world Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Today was the first time I've ever gotten a haircut while being out of St. Louis. No prolonged deliberation over this baby; I had some time between classes this afternoon and decided it was just time. Didn't hurt that I was going to Pat Stapleton, the best barber in the world. No, really, that's what the sign on the door said. A picture of him cutting the hair of former taoiseach (Irish prime minister) John Bruton didn't hurt his cause either. I walked up three flights of stairs, peeked in a room that looked like a converted bedroom, and was immediately ushered into the barber chair by Pat's wife. Pat himself was the next to enter. He was an old man, and had trouble speaking, but he got out "how much off?". Within 60 seconds of walking into the room my hair started falling to the ground. The cut lasted about 15 minutes and I'll be damned if a word was said the whole time. I'm telling you, this guy was a cagey pro. He had the room decorated with all sorts of pictures of him and his family, along with ribbons from agricultural fairs and other fun pieces of flair. On the mirror was a simple sticker that said, "Quiet. Genius at work." Plus, he had a microwave in front of the chair I was in; not sure why that adds to his prestige, but it just does. At the end of the cut, again without a word, he held a mirror up so I could see the back of my head, like a proud artist displaying his masterpiece. Check. Then he hands me a towel and brush to clean up with. Again, only a few words uttered. After the whole experience, and especially after only being charged 10 Euro for the cut, I get the sense that I'll be blown away if I ask him the next question, so I go ahead and do it. "How long have you been doing this?" "Since 1946." For those of you scoring at home, that's three years older than the Republic of Ireland itself. Yeah, I guess after 59 years of doing something, you really start to get the hang of it. Talk about some serious dedication. Needless to say, I like the cut, but even if I didn't, I wouldn't have the heart to complain. So, if anyone's looking for a barber, come to me. I know the best barber in the world.

Adventures With Food

2005-04-09T17:47:00.000-05:00

Recap of some culinary adventures from my weekend in Galway: Ever try to make gooey butter cake with carrot cake mix? I thought I'd bring a taste of St. Louis to my gracious host family, and that's all I could find at the store. Needless to say, it didn't taste quite the same, but I pulled it off okay and didn't poison anyone. They seemed to really enjoy it, and we polished off a whole 9x13 pan of it that weekend. I need to work on getting the baking time right, though. Slightly well-done, but still quite edible. What did I have for dinner on Friday night? Lamb liver. I knew it was liver before we got started, but only after I happily polished off two plates of it did was I informed that I could have been hearing Mama Sheep ba-ba-baaing in the field next to the house while I was dipping Baby Boy in soy sauce. After another feast on Saturday night (beef cooked in oyster sauce), we had the traditional Sunday afternoon "lunch" at the Sture's. Two full birds (chickens), three different kinds of potatoes, veggies from the backyard garden (leeks, spinach, carrots, parsnips), and for dessert, English pudding. Lunch? Thanksgiving dinner, more like. And before you ask, I still haven't stumbled across any haggis. That's a Scottish thing, anyway.

Dingle Gallery Up

2005-04-08T13:14:00.000-05:00

My Dingle photo gallery is ready. Check it out. Edit: Props to Reader Hunter for pointing out the absurdity of this statement. Obviously, even the best of us let things slip past our radars every once in awhile.

Halfway Home

2005-04-07T11:52:00.000-05:00

Two months from today, I'll be arriving back in Chicago. Time has gone by pretty quickly, but I would hardly say I feel cheated of any time. So far, I've done everything I set out to do before I came. I'm happy with what I've done and what I've learned, but I know that there is more ahead of me. This has been a great experience and it will only get better. Bring it on! -Brian

Quote Of The Day: P.B. Shelley

2005-04-07T08:12:00.000-05:00

"Poetry turns all things to loveliness; it exalts the beauty of that which is most beautiful, and it adds beauty to that which is most deformed; it marries exultation and horror, grief and pleasure, eternity and change; it subdues to union under its light yoke all irreconcilable things." ~P.B. Shelley, 'A Defence of Poetry' Only reason this quote makes the blog is because even though I liked it a lot, I couldn't find a proper home for it in my essay on the aspirational quality of Romanticism. I just didn't have the heart to send it off into the cold and dark cyber space abyss.

Photo Of The Day: Slea Head

2005-04-07T02:32:00.000-05:00

Slea Head, at edge of the Dingle Peninsula, is the most westerly point in Europe. There are 500,000 sheep on the Peninsula alone, so it's no surprise to see a few more out working on their tans.

Quote Of The Day: Anyone And Everyone

2005-04-06T11:34:00.000-05:00

"If you don't like the weather in Ireland, just wait 20 minutes." ~Anyone who has ever lived here Oh, how true it is. I thought I understood this sentiment; I really did. But today proved that I really didn't know jack about what I was talking about. Without one bit of exaggeration, here's today's weather pattern. Right now, it's approaching 6pm. From my count, it's rained at least seven times since I woke up at 9am. How is that possible? Well, it rains once, the clouds dissolve into a bright blue sky, and next thing you know you're being pelted by hailstones. Huh? When I started to walk home from school, it was sunny with nice puffy white clouds. After I come out of the bank, the rain is pelting down diagonally. I run down the street, my umbrella flipping inside out three separate times, and make it into the grocery store. I spend about 20 minutes in there, come out, and the sun has returned and there are no traces of the rain clouds. Just as I was getting home, I see dark clouds coming again, run into the house, and ten minutes later it's pouring rain. I wonder why the weather forecasters here even try.

Opening Day 2005

2005-04-05T17:37:00.000-05:00

"You always get a special kick on Opening Day, no matter how many you go through. You look forward to it like a birthday party when you're a kid. You think something wonderful is going to happen." ~Joe Dimaggio Right about now, the Cardinals are kicking off their 2005 season in Houston. Thanks to loyal blog reader Hunter for making sure I was aware of this. Don't worry, I wore my Cardinals hat and league champion t-shirt today. Once you've lived in St. Louis, Opening Day is a celebration no matter where you go. It won't be long until a summer night is spent under the stars at Busch or listening to the Moonman poolside. Now that is something that I can't wait to get back for. Go Cards!

Ireland Spring Break

2005-04-05T05:18:00.000-05:00

Though my spring break didn't set any wildness records, it was a fantastic one nonetheless. To start out, I joined Mom and Dad at a house in Killarney in Southwest Ireland. That served as a base for day trips all around the region; the Ring of Kerry, Dingle Peninsula, Killarney National Park, Bantry Peninsula, Tralee, and many small towns in between. As I mentioned before, Southwest Ireland is quite beautiful. And that's on the bad weather days. If you catch a break and get a sunny day, the land suddenly transforms into something almost magical. It really only rains twice a week in Ireland, though: once for four days and the other time for three. We did manage to grab a day that our Dingle tour guide called "one in 50," an easy consensus as the highlight of the trip. I'll get pictures of that up in the next few days. Much of Easter Sunday morning was spent in St. Mary's Cathedral, after being an hour and a half early due to a completely unknown Daylight Savings Time snafu of ours. Ooops. We managed to recover, possibly picking up a little extra holiness along the way. So we got that going for us...which is nice. After Mom and Dad left for home, I went to Galway for the final weekend to stay with Caroline and her family, an English friend of mine that has lived in Ireland since she was three or four. I got a walking tour of the city (an important Spanish port city way back when), met some of her friends, hung out on the beach in front of Galway Bay, watched some movies, and just had a generally relaxing, really nice weekend. Thank you, Sture's, for your warm welcome in taking me in. And thank you, Mom and Dad, for a wonderful week. It was a great opportunity to be able to spend it with you. Now that spring break is behind me, it's back to school. I have an essay due on Thursday about some Romantic critical essays, which will be my first piece of work that I've handed in so far. Amazing. I hope I haven't forgotten how to write a paper. More later, including pictures and a story about lamb liver and carrot gooey butter cake. Mmmmm.

"Where Where You When..." Moments

2005-04-05T04:45:00.000-05:00

There have only been a few of these time-stopping television moments (sorry, Groucho) that have stuck with me in my own life. I wasn't around for JFK, of course. But where was I when Princess Diana's car crashed? At home, celebrating my birthday. Where was I when the news of the 9.11 attacks broke? Watching the reports on a classroom television at SLUH. Where was I when Pope John Paul II died? I was in Galway, at the home of a English family that moved to Ireland 16 years ago and joined the Church of Ireland. After dinner, we were sitting around and the news of the pope's death came up on the TV. Keeping in mind the 800-year history between England and Ireland that frequently included the repression of Irish Catholicism, I decided to ask Caroline's father what he thought of the man. His reply was brief but assertive. "He was a great man," Mr. Sture said, "and will be quite hard to replace." I only pass that story on to provide one small example of how certain people are able to transcend history and beliefs; certain people who speak to the hearts of people everywhere. Love or hate what he stood for, Karol Wojtyla was one of those people. A man that will be missed.

Gone To Galway...

2005-03-31T19:44:00.000-06:00

...for the weekend. What has already been a great break will continue as such. I'll be back Sunday night with stories and pictures from the week. Hang in there.

Quote Of The Day: Groucho Marx

2005-03-31T07:11:00.000-06:00

"I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book." ~Groucho Marx

In God's Country

2005-03-31T06:22:00.000-06:00

Southwest Ireland. Rolling fields of green. Rugged mountains framing the horizon. Glacial valleys. More sheep than people. 3,000 year old stone circles. Brilliant blue bays. Celtic dwellings dotting the hills overlooking water. Village shops painted in every imaginable shade of pink, blue, yellow, red, green, and orange. Early Christian monasteries. Waves crashing against cliffs. Remote country roads. Panoramas at every turn. A tangible sense that life isn't meant to be spent at such a fast pace. A slice of heaven on earth.