tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67028453501192353212024-02-19T00:36:08.930-08:00Laura Goes IrishThe adventures of a USC Texan spending the summer in DublinLaura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-59025987827047969272011-08-04T12:42:00.000-07:002011-08-04T12:42:24.346-07:00blogs on blogs: cheers and farewell, dublinWhy hello. I know, I know, yet again I have been hardcore neglecting the blog...BUT my last post was so long it was more like two posts, right? Plus, it's HARD to find time to blog when your traveling around Europe! But BOY a lot has happened since my last post about Oxegen. Wow that seems like forever ago. In a nutshell, I'm done with my internship in Dublin! I'm currently in St. Andrew's, Scotland in the most charming B&B with my family who came all the way to Ireland a few days ago for our own little family vacay to end the most amazing summer of my life. You can bet that after our vacation I will have a lengthy post all about it, but for now, I want to share my final assignment for Totally Dublin. My editor asked me to write a more casual blog post for the Totally Dublin blog, so as you can imagine, I happily obliged. Here is the post exactly as I sent it to my editor. I actually took some bits and pieces from posts that I already wrote on here, so excuse the repetition! Keep in mind I wrote this for an Irish audience and that the magazine has a very casual, uncensored style (which I LOVE). I think this sums up my (Internet-kosher) experience in Dublin pretty well:<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the past two months I have become a foreigner for the first time, acquired an unexpected taste for Guinness (the black stuff!), begun to incorporate the words “cheers” and “brilliant” into my everyday vernacular, and fallen madly in love with Ireland. For the past two months, I, a twenty-year old, Texas-born, Cali-dwelling, American sorority girl have lived here in your city of Dublin interning at none other than this very magazine, and I have had the time of my life. If I have met any of you during my time here (likely at a pub, bar, or club, since that is where I have spent the vast majority of my time outside of the office), it is pretty safe to say that I love you, since I have developed an unnatural affection for Irish people. Don’t runaway yet—let me explain myself. One of the first things that became exceptionally evident to me upon my Dublin arrival was that Irish people are far, far different from American people—especially Los Angelenos—in the best way possible. Y’all (please excuse my language. I’m Texan) are just so unbelievably friendly. In America, and especially LA, where I go to college, there is a sense of competition, superficiality, and every-man-for-himself attitude that plagues every aspect of life. But here, there is camaraderie, joviality, and a sense of relaxation that infuses your lives in the most uplifting and refreshing way. Now, I don’t want it to seem like I am totally knocking my life back home. I love my life in America. It’s sunny and warm for 90% of the year for one thing, which I’m sure makes most of you want to slap me across the face, but hey, it’s true. I adore my university and despite the stereotypical superficiality of Hollywood (that is definitely more reality than myth), Los Angeles is a dream. But when it comes to people, at least in terms of friendliness and fun, well, it really is no contest. So congratulations Irish folk, you are my favorite people in the world. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everywhere I go, I am greeted with smiling Irish faces and cheerful Irish greetings, and this has been, hands-down, the most memorable facet of my summer. And it’s everywhere! On the street, in my office, in the pubs, even on public transportation. I can’t even tell you how many Irish cab drivers have become my best friends, giving me genuine and heartfelt advice about this and that and thanking me, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ME, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">for being so kind as to ride in their cab. This is very strange to me. In LA, the most you get from the cab driver is a series of grunts intended to convey that they did indeed hear your intended destination and they do plan on at least attempting to get you to where you want to go, with no guarantees. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another highlight of my time here has undoubtedly been experiencing what it’s like to be foreign. I am as American as they get. And I’m also Texan, which evidently has an even more “American” connotation than just your average American, if that makes any sense at all. Basically, I say the word “y’all” and apparently speak with a stronger accent than non-Texan Americans (news to me), so my voice, appearance, and whole aura in general essentially scream, “I’m American!” So, when asked where I hail from, which, due to my aforementioned qualities, inevitably happens upwards of a dozen times per day, my go-to response is “I’m from Texas, but I go to school in California,” which almost always generates a reply in the form of a musical rendition of one or more of the following songs: Katy Perry’s “California Gurls,” The Beach Boys’ “California Girls,” and/or George Strait’s “All my Exes Live in Texas” (I actually had a cab driver serenade me with that song for the entire 30 minute drive home once. I loved it.). People here have all sorts of stereotypes and whatnot about Americans, some of which are true, many of which are false, but it has been purely delightful, and often hilarious, to experience the vast scope of reactions to my American comrades and I. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In America, competitive spirit pervades everything we do—it is not about being </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">your</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> best, it is about being</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">best. Sure, growing up, we were all taught that as long as we do the best that we, ourselves, can do, we are good enough. But let’s be real here. Americans are conditioned to believe that we have to be better at everything than everyone else or our self-worth decreases. If our SAT scores are not as high as our peers, we don’t get into the best college. If we don’t go to the best college, we don’t get the best jobs. If we don’t get the best jobs, we won’t make as much money. And we all know that people who make the most money are superior to the rest of humanity, right? Well, strangely, most Americans foster the subliminal belief that that is true. As an American, I subconsciously expected the rest of the world to share this competitive spirit, but after spending only a few months here in Ireland, I am coming to realize that that is not the case. In Ireland, there is a much greater attitude of camaraderie rather than competition. Sure, everyone wants to succeed at what they do, but you also want other people to succeed. “Workaholics” by American standards are few and far between—if they even exist at all—in Ireland. Don’t get me wrong, I am not expressing by any means that you are lazy or blasé about work. Quite the contrary. You are extraordinarily passionate about what you do, but you are even more passionate about the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">people</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> you work with. This quality is a rare gem.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When it comes to my internship here at Totally Dublin, the highlight for me has been, without a doubt, the interviews I have conducted with various extraordinarily talented people in the fields of theatre, art, and dance. To be able to converse with such an eclectic group of brilliant and gifted Irish individuals, some of whom are quite well known in Dublin, has been a truly unforgettable and rewarding experience. I will never forget sharing some super-trendy soy chai lattes with the unbelievably inspiring Novacic sisters who co-founded their own production company and co-wrote, directed, and produced an original adaptation of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Master and Margarita</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> just out of college. I had a serious girl-crush on both of those super-cool, Serbian-born sisters after that interview, even if their astounding accomplishments made me feel slightly inferior. Or sitting in the stunning and historical Abbey Theatre lobby casually chatting with the well-known and charming Rory Nolan, one of the stars of Brien Friel’s brilliant play </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Translations</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. Or skyping overseas with Gerard Minakawa, the brilliant founder of Bamboo DNA, whose astonishing bamboo creations have dazzled music festival-goers worldwide. The list goes on and on, but one thing remained the same: I left each interview with my mouth agape, feeling so unbelievably lucky to have encountered such a unique, talented, and inspiring individual. And beyond that, Irish people are just fun to talk to, plain and simple.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my favorite interview moments actually happened just a few days ago: I was chatting with Cathal Leonard, a charming and endearing Irish actor, about </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sunday Morning Coming Down,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the play that he is currently acting in. He ordered a Guinness and then was all “This play is about showing Irish people that excessive drinking and alcoholism is a real problem in society and that we need to stop brushing it under the rug and deal with it.” I was all “Oh totally. How’s that 3 pm Guinness?” He was all, “It’s fucking delicious.” I was all “I love you and your people.” Okay, I didn’t actually say that, but I totally thought it. Because I do. I really, really do. I love that anywhere, anytime, Irish people are completely and 100% down to have a good time. You know that stupid American saying that goes something like “sing like nobody’s listening, dance like nobody’s watching, live like there’s no tomorrow blah, blah, blah”? Well, the Irish actually </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">live </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">like that without having to have some dumb quote written in fancy cursive and posted above every preteen girl’s bedroom doorway. See, Americans like making fun of ourselves too! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been here for an entire summer, but I still feel like I have barely skimmed the surface of Dubliving (Did that work? Too far?). I’m going to miss the sunny and warm but never miserably hot Dublin days (Though I am not going to miss the days of “pissing rain”). I’m going to miss smiling and saying hello to every person I pass on the street. I’m going to miss hearing “cheers” instead of “thanks.” I’m going to miss my triple espresso Americanos from Insomnia (yes, I know we have coffee in America, but it’s just not the same). I’m going to miss walking everywhere. I’m going to miss drinking everywhere. I’m going to miss Guinness. Hell, I’m not even legal to drink in America! I’m going to miss the Irish accent (so, so, so much). I’m </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">really</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> going to miss being foreign. I’m going to miss Irish theatre. I’m going to miss live music in pubs. I’m going to miss the song “Galway Girl.” I’m going to miss working at Totally Dublin (not a self-promotion, I promise!!!). I’m going to miss the beauty, history, culture, and liveliness of this remarkable city. And </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">boy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> am I going to miss the Irish people. This city, and y’all (Texas, remember?) have changed my life forever. I know that everyone always wants what they don’t have. People here tell me all the time that they would give anything to live in California. But you know what? I feel the same about Dublin. Appreciate it! Love it! And if you ever find yourself wandering around California or Texas, give me a call. I’ll show you around; buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do after showing me the greatest and most craic-filled summer of my life. Cheers, Dublin!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS70kkLXKiewNbXDKHkZHUwCX4YE1siIwKVcnG40N_uOqAXyjuylc4HKC0QJ8ZT2dg2Pzrg-MSKLaAduxI3azmowQ2A7aFBAKqbUROEeuu06wcGMkjFpQKL21HjBlZN7P7b9OHSs0PMnE/s1600/DSCN0644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS70kkLXKiewNbXDKHkZHUwCX4YE1siIwKVcnG40N_uOqAXyjuylc4HKC0QJ8ZT2dg2Pzrg-MSKLaAduxI3azmowQ2A7aFBAKqbUROEeuu06wcGMkjFpQKL21HjBlZN7P7b9OHSs0PMnE/s400/DSCN0644.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lovely st. stephen's green park on a sunny dublin day</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxbai3OlbrHZQcOYTFMQpq24adGjCrwn8g9DwltmXQ_29dte4GnUynUvW8wNUgC1_0SH-x3OdbhtoVmkOEZkvczrZRQr_ClIxGxhAYj16fh02AvgtZJ3qeAmBTvUU30rb56AZWSd0c2I/s1600/DSCN0645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxbai3OlbrHZQcOYTFMQpq24adGjCrwn8g9DwltmXQ_29dte4GnUynUvW8wNUgC1_0SH-x3OdbhtoVmkOEZkvczrZRQr_ClIxGxhAYj16fh02AvgtZJ3qeAmBTvUU30rb56AZWSd0c2I/s400/DSCN0645.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the americans work here</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvZl6r_gsZ30b2XJL6DlnUEa751L08vXKjd-ks5NbmT09rMhtn8ItixOKNB13FFJ4NUbLLICUW469_r1XjTDV7_xK-3WPCaBjIY6SR6hofoi77-1Tqeyo8GokQOrGzjX76kkj5jYskaY/s1600/DSCN0653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvZl6r_gsZ30b2XJL6DlnUEa751L08vXKjd-ks5NbmT09rMhtn8ItixOKNB13FFJ4NUbLLICUW469_r1XjTDV7_xK-3WPCaBjIY6SR6hofoi77-1Tqeyo8GokQOrGzjX76kkj5jYskaY/s400/DSCN0653.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">last night out in dublin</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So there you have it! In the next few weeks, I will be posting a Spain recap (Ibiza and Barcelona were INCREDIBLE), a family vacay recap of Dublin, St. Andrews, Edinburgh, and London, a fun "best of summer" post that's still marinating in my mind, andddd the revelation of where my blog will go from here! I have decided that I definitely want to keep blogging after the summer, since writing is something I want to do for the rest of my life, but I'm still working out exactly where I want to take the blog. Soooo stay tuned for more! For now, I'm off to brave some not-so-stellar rainy scottish weather with the fam for dinner! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Later y'all,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Laura</span></div><!--EndFragment-->Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-91568120058669699612011-07-12T11:52:00.000-07:002011-07-12T12:16:35.994-07:00Joining the OxegentryI am not a hipster. I don't wear fedoras, have multiple pierced appendages, or walk around with massive headphones on my ears listening to pitchfork's latest playlist. I didn't own a pair of skinny jeans until I moved to LA, and even now, I prefer to wear them with my cowboy boots and off-the-shoulder, powder-blue peasant top. And I still don't own a pair of Converse. Before moving to California, my knowledge of techno music did not extend beyond "Sandstorm," and my idea of a music festival was the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo (I'm not knockin' the rodeo. It rocks). I am as Texan as they get, and though my style, in both clothing and music taste, has made a turn for the Cali in the past 2 years, I will never stop wearing my pearl earrings or listening to my country music. I told y'all these facts of life as a little precursor to the rest of this post just so y'all know that I am fully aware that I am not hipster music festival aficionado. My taste in music is eclectic, ranging from country to rap to alternative to techno and beyond, but I am in no way qualified to make bold assertions or judgments about indie band performances. I know this. And I'm totally okay with it. All that being said, I adore music and my music taste, especially as of the past 2 years, isn't all that terrible. If you disagree, it's alright. I'll still be friends with you. I might talk shit behind your back, but I'll still act like I like you to your face. I like good songs, and when it comes to festivals, I like good performances. I'm not hard to please, and if the music is conducive to dancing and/or fist-pumping (as painful as that is to type), and/or singing along, and/or crying tears of joy, I'm a happy camper (not literally--more on that later). ANYWAYS, let's get right to it, shall we?<br />
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Oxegen. Here goes. It was nothing short of magical. I've had some pretty frickin' incredible weekends this summer, but this one just might take the cake. And at the risk of offending some pretty hardcore coachellers out there, I have to say, I think I liked Oxegen better than Coachella. Before you get all hot and bothered, let me explain myself. I LOVED Coachella. It was my first festival experience (aside from ACL circa 2002 when I hadn't heard of 96% of the bands performing), and it was everything I had hoped for and more. But Oxegen was too--plus even more than that. I think the primary reason for this was just the whole European vibe in general. By now, I've made it extremely clear to y'all (unless you're living under a stupid rock...boys will be girls, anyone?) that I'm madly in love with Europe and Europeans, especially the Irish. And lucky for me, Oxegen was packed with the Irish and brimming with European pizzazz. Being an American girl in the presence of about a zillion cute Irish guys never gets old. Coming back to America, and LA especially, where hot American girls are as plentiful as Starbucks and where we don't have cute foreign accents anymore is going to be an unwelcome reality check. But that's beside the point. So, the people at Oxegen, for the most part at least, were a barrel of laughs. Literally. Everyone was just down to party all. the. time. The sense of camaraderie was palpable, and we made Irish best friends every single day.<br />
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Now, since this was a music festival and all, let's talk music. This is where the whole Coachella/Oxegen comparison gets really tricky, because with festivals of that size, you can't really use the WHOLE lineup as a comparison. No matter how many incredible artists are on the lineup, it is impossible to see everyone you want to in just 3 days. Plus, there is always overlap between artists you want to see; so sacrifices must be made. Not human sacrifices (since I know you were thinking that), but musical sacrifices. There were definitely groups that I would have liked to see at Coachella that we didn't (Mumford & Sons, Bloody Beetroots) just as there were groups at Oxegen that I wanted to see but didn't (The Naked and Famous, Bright Eyes). It sucks, but you just gotta accept it and focus on all the incredible groups you DID see (ALL OF THEM). That's also why it's not fair to compare the entire lineup of Coachella and Oxegen. The whole lineup of Coachella was probably a little better than Oxegen, but the acts that I saw at Oxegen were better, at least in my opinion.<br />
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Let's start with day 1. I was already beyond stoked because my high-school luhvah <a href="http://parkerchambers.wordpress.com/">Parker </a>was here and it was beyond surreal to be casually kickin' it with her at this insane music festival in the middle of the Irish countryside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuNVMdaMP65Tnc1hbQBVq3-8PJ1RhYJ-3QBYLA0JyF0kNYAHRil_mAG2voyCKp1lCUUnkOT_oOJ5zFlzei88xgWKzgIfM9Mue2X7cJ9wjZAEcmNptgIWIwNyCHHdEO7QFJUmhIZUGLBk/s1600/DSCN0431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuNVMdaMP65Tnc1hbQBVq3-8PJ1RhYJ-3QBYLA0JyF0kNYAHRil_mAG2voyCKp1lCUUnkOT_oOJ5zFlzei88xgWKzgIfM9Mue2X7cJ9wjZAEcmNptgIWIwNyCHHdEO7QFJUmhIZUGLBk/s400/DSCN0431.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lovely view of porta potties in the background <3</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMZA1_LGsJOYNPJiwGcs8T_wgGHH4Anwm5cvDYaYS2NUdxwhNqw-2qxrCtNSLy9kUnSaLfaU7B3-1OPOMOSBD_c7AVsm_MOsF19L0tP4H-kjC2zS69kpKs4f02lvNuAKIG34zuzm0WLU/s1600/DSCN0432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMZA1_LGsJOYNPJiwGcs8T_wgGHH4Anwm5cvDYaYS2NUdxwhNqw-2qxrCtNSLy9kUnSaLfaU7B3-1OPOMOSBD_c7AVsm_MOsF19L0tP4H-kjC2zS69kpKs4f02lvNuAKIG34zuzm0WLU/s400/DSCN0432.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sippin on drank under a tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Soooo Parker and I <s>pregamed </s>relaxed and engaged in intelligent conversation for a while before meeting up with the rest of our friday crew and heading over to Weezer. I've always been a big Weezer fan, but I forgot how many epically awesome songs they sing. Undone? Say it ain't so? Buddy Holly? The Good Life? Memories? Island in the Sun?! Beverly Hills??!! I know. And lucky for us, they decided to essentially perform the sure-to-be chart-topping album Weezer: Greatest Hits of Your Angsty Preteen Years. It was thrilling. I took a video.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dywbPa1p1EnhT99nkYb1GJ7w83LDDq5e8Hes2BMApeXa58W_U11PDRBVaaBZCpKEDfCLy6FDlZpMwSt1WLkZw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><div><br />
</div><div><div><div><div>Yeah, I guess I was more concerned with documenting the lively company than actually filming any of Weezer. I also took some photos. Try not to get jealous of how good I look in the first photo. I was so lucky that it started raining because I got to bust out my sexy leopard-print poncho. Hoods really flatter my face.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2AINDsj2JYJdkLIzAopcbgt55yAhv59qdWzfmXiqPqtTrXxbcqyWBHoL_zInSzmwQfbIVEMAlAWPEpC5PUfhYDXeXhNv0lHL4xc6rjsHjm5_C2tzL4QL5hOCkMyUUOm5di22xMuAuRu8/s1600/DSCN0438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2AINDsj2JYJdkLIzAopcbgt55yAhv59qdWzfmXiqPqtTrXxbcqyWBHoL_zInSzmwQfbIVEMAlAWPEpC5PUfhYDXeXhNv0lHL4xc6rjsHjm5_C2tzL4QL5hOCkMyUUOm5di22xMuAuRu8/s400/DSCN0438.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"you look like a homeless cheetah"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDEAUyNq-JQJ65_LewDFkDG1yATVbckpfo4tscW41qmWczabQgU4a5B44b9DCaIAzJT3Kl6XouVWFpNLEXFL9NuqgZR4rja2lQkbVqsRGA4XhFhwnikjVAPSYZ0Q3-aoiA0CbTNCkMAA/s1600/DSCN0441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDEAUyNq-JQJ65_LewDFkDG1yATVbckpfo4tscW41qmWczabQgU4a5B44b9DCaIAzJT3Kl6XouVWFpNLEXFL9NuqgZR4rja2lQkbVqsRGA4XhFhwnikjVAPSYZ0Q3-aoiA0CbTNCkMAA/s400/DSCN0441.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not as attractive<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCmunHgHJubMReFWXv-coA48bbFmLml5JPHW-eyYaoX9CYoFd1APxFmYBl51fB3Pzp5QNFfdRlCVMqgw4_WziFmAT0Jh-PcbnVi7__MBH5CsDSSfhGXTBFddUEEBtZVBJXIg74mGWlxA/s1600/DSCN0443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCmunHgHJubMReFWXv-coA48bbFmLml5JPHW-eyYaoX9CYoFd1APxFmYBl51fB3Pzp5QNFfdRlCVMqgw4_WziFmAT0Jh-PcbnVi7__MBH5CsDSSfhGXTBFddUEEBtZVBJXIg74mGWlxA/s400/DSCN0443.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">friends are fun</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsdIguMboVv1pW1No1OxFBv2uFS2_AsuMlzQ1VhfCWm0M3Fu7W7VFzXjIJ5UCHKbZHoIs4e13ogKQXrh-s7Uuedi_hqBpmx8TiNn756BcMPgu5J5J0Hq2IxH2Mb35WK7QSD0DE-jhZ5U/s1600/DSCN0449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsdIguMboVv1pW1No1OxFBv2uFS2_AsuMlzQ1VhfCWm0M3Fu7W7VFzXjIJ5UCHKbZHoIs4e13ogKQXrh-s7Uuedi_hqBpmx8TiNn756BcMPgu5J5J0Hq2IxH2Mb35WK7QSD0DE-jhZ5U/s400/DSCN0449.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">weezer party animals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sooo post-Weezer, we made our way over to Tinie Tempah, which was both insanely fun and absolutely terrifying. Parker and I got separated from the group and decided that we would take advantage of this opportunity to push and shove our way to the front of the (extremely raucous) crowd. This was both the best and worst idea of our lives. It was the best because I've never had so much fun in a packed crowd in my life. Tinie is QUITE the performer, and the crowd was just eating it up and loving every minute. But it was the worst idea because towards the end of the concert, when we had finally made our way right to the front and center of the crowd, Tinie announced that for his next and final song, appropriately entitle "Mosh Pit," he would not stop singing (or rather, chanting "mosh pit" over and over and over again) until he saw the "biggest and rowdiest mosh pit the world has ever f*ckin seen!!!" Let's just say, I'm extremely thankful that we both made it out of there alive. I think I was airborne for a solid 10 minutes, and I'm pretty sure I made at least 4 people bleed trying to claw my way out of there. In hindsight, it was awesome, and I don't regret it in the slightest.<br />
<br />
After Tinie Tempah, we attempted to find the Naked & Famous, but somehow we got distracted by mini bottles of wine and a ferris wheel. Totally understandable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhZLpsMwbdDjtGFM2nQ0akgMij91LOBQg_AmZ-KT5ib_Qtb7DroAgBY7kR6JqwZceZ8C-ntHcqMzS0enKqBz5eoQxguc0WV4qx1QrHHQKsf7HWorGeauClw_27am8AGWE2tEB4v89OIM/s1600/DSCN0453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhZLpsMwbdDjtGFM2nQ0akgMij91LOBQg_AmZ-KT5ib_Qtb7DroAgBY7kR6JqwZceZ8C-ntHcqMzS0enKqBz5eoQxguc0WV4qx1QrHHQKsf7HWorGeauClw_27am8AGWE2tEB4v89OIM/s400/DSCN0453.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">romantic</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-NO7nduoQaWfspi04p6XdvDfXwjZzaSkiRxbJIjWoekgWNqMzRYEaP-O-7QQ4oaNTJzDcCUKx2vlTmi1hwxx-doit6nwnU05b2dXYXweRE3mCWfxKhVp2Bo9ehSnn7HN6LkzGHx9wd0/s1600/DSCN0455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-NO7nduoQaWfspi04p6XdvDfXwjZzaSkiRxbJIjWoekgWNqMzRYEaP-O-7QQ4oaNTJzDcCUKx2vlTmi1hwxx-doit6nwnU05b2dXYXweRE3mCWfxKhVp2Bo9ehSnn7HN6LkzGHx9wd0/s400/DSCN0455.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">behold: OXEGEN</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuA_HivomRsQin85qjS7q4acigpd0RXvL_-9Yjiyl3BJd-okEpQ4Rl3En88zHg16ycoCsrRA79lfTim03LebdBRSz6n0juJS0XLUgI6JhyA8aqMywEz7XpspdMvymCdhyphenhyphenmrLXc5jhlRA/s1600/DSCN0464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuA_HivomRsQin85qjS7q4acigpd0RXvL_-9Yjiyl3BJd-okEpQ4Rl3En88zHg16ycoCsrRA79lfTim03LebdBRSz6n0juJS0XLUgI6JhyA8aqMywEz7XpspdMvymCdhyphenhyphenmrLXc5jhlRA/s400/DSCN0464.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">spotted: empty wine bottle, stage left</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWF4zGyc1Uwe-xa7VITmufTaj9Tktjrfgk3eoJkSviG-DbkKESEawBl1FVl4UbO4QIGQiqpHFB8Jx2u-OOmTkKsFRC1UDQVoTxM829dyZvGwZYnNQ0Rp6G5hR5nbepHIm8Z0z0Ztqw6Y/s1600/DSCN0465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWF4zGyc1Uwe-xa7VITmufTaj9Tktjrfgk3eoJkSviG-DbkKESEawBl1FVl4UbO4QIGQiqpHFB8Jx2u-OOmTkKsFRC1UDQVoTxM829dyZvGwZYnNQ0Rp6G5hR5nbepHIm8Z0z0Ztqw6Y/s400/DSCN0465.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">life was so good at this moment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After our little date, it was time for The Strokes. Friends, the Strokes were everything we ever wanted and more. I had seen (and loved) them at Coachella, but I think they were even better the second time around at Oxegen. To be fair, at Coachella, I saw them the very end of the last day when the breath of life had all but been sucked out of me and it was all I could manage to keep my eyes open and stand on my own two feet. But regardless of my physical condition, they were and are amazing. I took another vid!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxCbuVooaWfjVFEhh9cgIPx7fG2idUcwsPFD50p9az_xs39mXaaAQFZ6_y_kFlQ5kyZQXoxKKF4xYnkDFJv' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
</div></div></div></div></div><div>I also took a bunch of photos, but it had been pouring down rain earlier anddd we had stayed out until 5 am the night before, so we were getting really tired. Thus, we both look like soaking wet crackheads in the pics. I'll spare you. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So after the amazingness of the Strokes, we miraculously ran into our crew just in time for Swedish House Mafia. Wow. My mind was blown. I was reallyyyy struggling at this point since I had hardly slept the night before, was starting to get sick (more on that later), and had been on my feet dancing and walking for virtually 10 hours straight, but lo and behold, as soon as Swedish House came on with their crazy lightshow and all, I was rejuvenated. They were awesome. When Miami 2 Ibiza came on, I nearly had a heart attack. Ever since I booked my trip to Ibiza, that song just gets me so pumped. God I can't wait for that trip. Anyways, after partying hard for the majority of the show, our exhaustion finally got the best of us and Parker and I threw in the towel for the night. We had decided last minute that considering the rain and cold, camping might not be the best idea for us high-maintenance girls, especially since our apartments were just a 45 minute bus ride from the venue. Best. Decision. Ever. Parker and I were literally laughing hysterically all the way home at the thought of camping. My warm bed and shower were the most blissful experiences of my life. That might have been a slight exaggeration, but they were amazing. I did the whole camping thing at Coachella, and yes, it was an incredible experience, but I think I like being clean and rested a little more. Call me a wimp, at least I'll smell nice. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So after the most amazing night sleep, it was day two. Now, there was a little bit of a damper on the whole weekend because as I alluded to earlier, I got sick. I woke up with a sore throat on Thursday, and it only got worse as the weekend progressed. By Saturday, it felt like knives to swallow, and I'm fairly certain I had a fever. I chose to disregard this little impediment. Plus, lucky for me, Irish medicine is extremely potent, so after taking a few Irish "advil" and consuming cough drops like candy, my throat was tolerable and my fever was not (as) noticeable. Okay, pity party over. </div><div><br />
</div><div>We were in especially high spirits today because a. we were SO much more rested and b. jennie joined us! We hopped right off the bus and literally sprinted to Two Door Cinema Club. I am 100% in love with them. My loves the Beightler sisters (shoutout! miss yall!) introduced me to them last semester AND we saw them at Coachella. They are soooooooooooo goooooooooooood. If you don't know them, call em up for a chat (bad joke), and if you don't like them, I don't like you. I know I keep saying this, and it very well might be because Oxegen is fresh in my mind, but I think they were even better than they were at Coachella. After all, they ARE Irish, so they were probably just so happy to be back in their homeland. I took a video, but the whole time you can hear me singing obnoxiously loud and saying annoying things like "this is my favorite song!!" so I'm not posting it. BUT I will post a youtube video of them for those of you who haven't yet discovered their glory. Dees is my favorite song:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/YXwYJyrKK5A?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
Andddd some photos:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWfI7qmnJzT9arQZT2jSG9aTvQTuY5uO9HRKOHfbDrAMfZH4kC1aaLXykl2St21HkvEQCU87Taw8PEc-Q2mkVI5zzso8eSRPJ56_OYl0lPwRqTzDnyJxKHXfTX2uSbpgAzhSul9cURqg/s1600/DSCN0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWfI7qmnJzT9arQZT2jSG9aTvQTuY5uO9HRKOHfbDrAMfZH4kC1aaLXykl2St21HkvEQCU87Taw8PEc-Q2mkVI5zzso8eSRPJ56_OYl0lPwRqTzDnyJxKHXfTX2uSbpgAzhSul9cURqg/s400/DSCN0477.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">be still, my heart</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sDKfMRYQh3rk7IpEZ5SzBHr7VDaxiNRYUaStYZQQpTMioPqUFURt4AltVRl-9nOidCcyW-3M2F5lG4kpkWDr7ydKX0a9qRJ_3ReOHjPRPQnOsbNtU4Q3qZhu_YeEMrPF-4-hYKlO6QU/s1600/DSCN0478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sDKfMRYQh3rk7IpEZ5SzBHr7VDaxiNRYUaStYZQQpTMioPqUFURt4AltVRl-9nOidCcyW-3M2F5lG4kpkWDr7ydKX0a9qRJ_3ReOHjPRPQnOsbNtU4Q3qZhu_YeEMrPF-4-hYKlO6QU/s400/DSCN0478.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">up-close and personal, lovin life</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd8YVV585uATElM1bqpB3YLTCh9fZ-2HEYTTEU9yP12NTrrp6iZr1xSb7SE7k2xvqu_5jskIyJF5Ot1Adh4EbHVktBD2boIRVBPQDr0MJUJeZHP2F1HJp1a6-T7IRDIlRQq40FX4QVPk/s1600/DSCN0485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd8YVV585uATElM1bqpB3YLTCh9fZ-2HEYTTEU9yP12NTrrp6iZr1xSb7SE7k2xvqu_5jskIyJF5Ot1Adh4EbHVktBD2boIRVBPQDr0MJUJeZHP2F1HJp1a6-T7IRDIlRQq40FX4QVPk/s400/DSCN0485.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MY GINGE LOVER!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>UGH the lead singer is the cutest little ginger with sideswept hair. I want to marry him, but I think Leslie might beat me to the punch. Oh one more note about TDCC: they are one of the few bands that sound just as good if not better live as they do recorded. The ginge is just brimming with natural talent and precious colorful cardigans. Be mine.<br />
<br />
Okayyy soooo then Parker and I set off for the RedBull Electric Ballroom to meet up with Jennie and the rest of the crew at Steve Aoki. This stage was awesome because unlike all the other outdoor stages, it was completely indoors, covered with this massive tent. It housed a lot of the crazy techno artists, which was great because from the outside, you couldn't see at all what was going on inside, but when you walked in, it was just this huge raging party. Steve Aoki was SOOO much fun. And that was that.<br />
<br />
Then we joined up with Jennie, and set out for some adventures in the form of ROLLER COASTERS. Yes, another reason why I liked Oxegen over Coachella was that Oxegen sported dozens of crazy roller coasters, allowing us to indulge in some 5-year-old fun in between shows. I think Jennie and I rode this one called "Xtreme" literally upwards of 15 times. It was one of those crazy, flippy ones where you are thrown all over the place and kinda feel sick afterwards but is SO much fun that it's worth it. Considering the fact that I was already sick to begin with and Jennie had just broken her collarbone like 2 months ago, it might not have been the most intelligent of decisions. But this was not a weekend of intelligence. It was a weekend of fun. And fun was had all around.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5HkX8rZx8VVMdto8YqN46bGYhyKu4oQhrnWkC3xUnH1dGrVFFJd_KYDfn1JG25yFb_hrxVp-AGaJxhuBY6qL_m51DHCDaujmZA8V2V1vuJrfyH7CEX7iqDOchuurM2JKvEKPbO343Lk/s1600/DSCN0494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5HkX8rZx8VVMdto8YqN46bGYhyKu4oQhrnWkC3xUnH1dGrVFFJd_KYDfn1JG25yFb_hrxVp-AGaJxhuBY6qL_m51DHCDaujmZA8V2V1vuJrfyH7CEX7iqDOchuurM2JKvEKPbO343Lk/s400/DSCN0494.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">literally 15 times</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcj-TYgoQcj5ZHksQcDKKQFI9srWrK83SxBP8_vQeFGqAoRctoES29kpL3pTXFUL8H0gFsyrWqimVVF9S4Fd8joT1Z84whh3RsBkI3a4KP5sphyRWNab-77MtcQs4xH1g1HOuap8vQ9A/s1600/DSCN0500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcj-TYgoQcj5ZHksQcDKKQFI9srWrK83SxBP8_vQeFGqAoRctoES29kpL3pTXFUL8H0gFsyrWqimVVF9S4Fd8joT1Z84whh3RsBkI3a4KP5sphyRWNab-77MtcQs4xH1g1HOuap8vQ9A/s400/DSCN0500.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 year old bffs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0u88nfjmDwD6DqxTKeFjf0CE-KCrPq1McLUIUTtEgG9R471NwZLSD0UzHMgtbw4SGc9MEdNp1dP_NuVLO-qW8L1bHYwzC_SGMXbj9G4HtExq8WZOCdD_YbTRyHaK9F4F7wKA7A1Je-A/s1600/DSCN0498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0u88nfjmDwD6DqxTKeFjf0CE-KCrPq1McLUIUTtEgG9R471NwZLSD0UzHMgtbw4SGc9MEdNp1dP_NuVLO-qW8L1bHYwzC_SGMXbj9G4HtExq8WZOCdD_YbTRyHaK9F4F7wKA7A1Je-A/s400/DSCN0498.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">who are these gentlemen?! a rugby team or something?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We evidently made some friends who I think were some sort of sports team. They enjoyed our accents. We enjoyed theirs.<br />
Before we knew it, it was time for Deadmau5 (to the parents out there, it's pronounced "dead mouse"). Wow. Deadmau5 may have been my favorite act of all of Oxegen. This was my first time seeing him, and I was completely blown away. The whole performance was mesmerizing, and Deadmau5 is so mysterious and elusive with that huge mouse mask. I loved it. When the light show and music was raging all around him and he was just standing there in the middle, with his huge ears and all, it felt like he was controlling the world. Powerful shit. Here are some vids and pix:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuYN_b9BN4lcDqKY88g17AlFmG39FLKqJbxFH_DtGUWgGQO7TBp6CRwwCN_rYQVjcPJm4c66cFnX8KMC1LJbBjwYrATqGnk_cp7VdlYojOefNbmwI0avupVvSuVm1cxyaxdMO79E3nrQ/s1600/DSCN0501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuYN_b9BN4lcDqKY88g17AlFmG39FLKqJbxFH_DtGUWgGQO7TBp6CRwwCN_rYQVjcPJm4c66cFnX8KMC1LJbBjwYrATqGnk_cp7VdlYojOefNbmwI0avupVvSuVm1cxyaxdMO79E3nrQ/s400/DSCN0501.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">deadmau5 almighty</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div>He played for nearly 2 hours and even after another day of non-stop activity, we stayed for the whole thing, loving every minute. Our insurmountable, inexplicable energy even lasted for the bus ride home when we met some new friends ("willy nilly" and "tricky dicky") and treated them to a delightful, full-volume rendition of "save a horse, ride a cowboy." They loved us. But really though. They got our number and invited us to a party this week. I'm gonna miss being exotic.<br />
<br />
So, before we knew it, it was day 3. Parker sadly had to go, buuuuut I had a new guest! Remember this loser from London?<br />
Oh wait...I haven't done my London post yet...my bad. Anyways, Catherine Cohen came to Dublin!!!!<br />
For y'all that haven't had the delight of meeting this little gem, we were bffs circa 1st grade--now. Soi fun, and soi random.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2GyzTVKAE0kJEFUjTISzlBNblezluiCj_qPwtgqN8LGB7Y198uM-E3iXwP9QzFdYU5hr6gej-w88B6ZXD5Aiz_Ci4k7mRyphtoDmCQpC8pg_-fI6peLCBZjjJnna0iAKUC_GMCQ4qYE/s1600/DSCN0510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2GyzTVKAE0kJEFUjTISzlBNblezluiCj_qPwtgqN8LGB7Y198uM-E3iXwP9QzFdYU5hr6gej-w88B6ZXD5Aiz_Ci4k7mRyphtoDmCQpC8pg_-fI6peLCBZjjJnna0iAKUC_GMCQ4qYE/s400/DSCN0510.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunshiney bffls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'll have to say, I'm pretty proud of myself for rallying and making it out this day. I woke up feeling like death. My throat ACHED, and I was positive I had fever. I'm sure my mom is cringing right now reading this (sorry madre), but I had paid for my ticket and sunday had debatably the best lineup. I HAD to go. After some serious pep talks from my friends, a few gallons of water, some delightfully potent Irish advil, a "flu-buster" smoothie, and 500 throat lozenges, I felt better! Honestly, it was all in the attitude. And once I arrived back at Oxegen, my new home for the weekend, I forgot all about being sick. We arrived that day just in time to hear the delightful musical stylings of Kesha performing the end of her brilliant tune "Tik Tok." It was beautiful. But seriously, what the eff was Kesha doing at Oxegen? Who invited her? I secretly was hoping to run into her at the bar or something, but they didn't sell any liquor--just beer and wine--so I'm sure that was a long shot. Afterwards, we had about an hour to kill before anyone we wanted to see, so what did we do? Ride roller coasters, obviously. This time however, genius Catherine taught us how to ride it once and then covertly stay in the ride area and get on again without paying for another token. It totally worked and we got a free ride...um, SCORE. I may have spent 200 euro on my tickets, but I made 5 euro cheating the roller coaster line!!! #worthit<br />
<br />
After our delinquent shenanigans, it was time for a much-anticipated band...JIMMY EAT WORLD!!! Now, I have to say, I saw them at Coachella and was a leeeetle bit disappointed. But now looking back, I realize it was probably just because we were all exhausted and dying of heat stroke and spent the whole concert sitting on the ground suuuuper far back. At Oxegen however, we were in the VERY front and fully alive to dance and sing the whole time. It was spectacular. So many teenage memories. Ahhh I loved them! Good ole Jimmy was SO into it and I swear we made eye contact. Plus he was rocking a baby blue, short sleeve button down that I just loved.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBqgHM6Aj9OgbZLUUgMAp3_sETPkOH2cmGBPvAz2VfhS3i-C77EfCTGQkKI-4ulPN4H3mAOY0bfW4MyfwO56W18pkjiHnonrwDrdWOdJjB_XBRr1dsbK00zJBEogY18X0FIyoRSqgfYY/s1600/DSCN0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBqgHM6Aj9OgbZLUUgMAp3_sETPkOH2cmGBPvAz2VfhS3i-C77EfCTGQkKI-4ulPN4H3mAOY0bfW4MyfwO56W18pkjiHnonrwDrdWOdJjB_XBRr1dsbK00zJBEogY18X0FIyoRSqgfYY/s400/DSCN0507.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">in love</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxB_pJND41fcR1ks2HAud9NE_J7TDbJlyUpVrikgiVidY4h0AEJ_tLJEdVP79DLQdBGxj4cP9dPjSTq9GtB_OtmjB3VRHkViM3WEbqBZTk2HyRenjzaimiBqmH6ECjQlfsTDbwR0H2-1o/s1600/DSCN0508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxB_pJND41fcR1ks2HAud9NE_J7TDbJlyUpVrikgiVidY4h0AEJ_tLJEdVP79DLQdBGxj4cP9dPjSTq9GtB_OtmjB3VRHkViM3WEbqBZTk2HyRenjzaimiBqmH6ECjQlfsTDbwR0H2-1o/s400/DSCN0508.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">blissful jennie</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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</div>After the joys of JEW (funny acronym), it was time for Beyonce. Oh yes. I was NOT going to miss that. This is where my non-hipster aura came into full swing. Now, to be honest, Beyonce wasn't one of the acts I was most excited about. At least not according to what I told people. We went because it's freakin BEYONCE and she's like the superwoman goddess of America. We weren't expecting to fall in love with her, but lo and behold, we did. I actually think I turned into a lesbian for the half hour that we watched Beyonce. She's just SO beautiful, has the most bangin bod, is such a good dancer, is an incredible singer, and still somehow manages to stay humble. I'm proud to come from her hometown!! (htown represent). It was especially rad because she debuted with a fabulous selection of throwback songs from the days of middle school dance parties when we had just started "grinding" with guys. As soon as "Crazy in Love" came on, I was transported right back to that middle school gym, wearing a pink and black tube-top dress, a middle part, and kitten heels (ew), standing in a circle of girls awkwardly bouncing around, trying to pretend like we weren't all just desperately waiting for some brace-faced guy to approach us and ask us to dance. Ahh, those were the days. It was awesome. Oh man and then she played "Naughty Boy," always a favorite, and when we first heard the "oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...'s" of "Single Ladies," you better believe our hands were up in the air flippin' that ring finger.<br />
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It wasn't long however before we got a little fed-up with the crowd, which consisted largely of rude 15 year old Irish punks, and headed over to The National. I wasn't cool enough to know who they were before Oxegen, but luckily, Catherine is. Sooo she took us there, and they were really good! Download their stuff. It rocks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEaX_VAz4RKO5QgmDhI7feVbBkqJLZJotxEtU6wWWx6Yizn_yqvqFiE-Sgh4xyXVAflNl9FKOlVF2gaqHhwcyJWtFyTbSUoXgeP1huwh9AFpL5HAkbWCsdd58Gqm81e4RuG3Pju8hoDs/s1600/DSCN0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEaX_VAz4RKO5QgmDhI7feVbBkqJLZJotxEtU6wWWx6Yizn_yqvqFiE-Sgh4xyXVAflNl9FKOlVF2gaqHhwcyJWtFyTbSUoXgeP1huwh9AFpL5HAkbWCsdd58Gqm81e4RuG3Pju8hoDs/s400/DSCN0512.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">amy winehands</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmKzdTswfGDi107YMiqCPXT0qhkNK-wbjYv1lmb0Lb-QRvsy1CedvNbrPMHByIIgxYywZQqzOTVJtZ-tGFlm8hCFNLkO-VNJDLiAy4epzXgjJjk0Nit_aJ2yk2jdpqC1QZ91IoK0iMh8/s1600/DSCN0516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmKzdTswfGDi107YMiqCPXT0qhkNK-wbjYv1lmb0Lb-QRvsy1CedvNbrPMHByIIgxYywZQqzOTVJtZ-tGFlm8hCFNLkO-VNJDLiAy4epzXgjJjk0Nit_aJ2yk2jdpqC1QZ91IoK0iMh8/s400/DSCN0516.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">omg soi funnn</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqsUBH5h8jeSiRGw7lCNwrW2RJ5TKG4tGGLhl4mQRX9MeucNA0uw5Ftb2TqHEQGOjp-xXgrPCvN2WRGiWbHsAfdy04QataTLyXeuZ-YdDGXZ_UJo9-rvmyNpzPtTxcCRjRoMOAYSxZek8/s1600/DSCN0517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqsUBH5h8jeSiRGw7lCNwrW2RJ5TKG4tGGLhl4mQRX9MeucNA0uw5Ftb2TqHEQGOjp-xXgrPCvN2WRGiWbHsAfdy04QataTLyXeuZ-YdDGXZ_UJo9-rvmyNpzPtTxcCRjRoMOAYSxZek8/s400/DSCN0517.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lovin life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Post National, it was AFROJACK TIME. My favorite time. Ahhh I'm so in love with Afrojack! Though they might not have been my favorite act <i>musically</i>, I DEFINITELY had the most fun at Afrojack--at both Oxegen and Coachella! They were in the Red Bull Electric Ballroom, and it was literally one huge party in there. I've never danced/jumped around so much in my life. I probably burned like 4000 calories just from that concert alone, which totally isn't true but is fun to exaggerate anyway. After the madness of Afrojack, it was time for the final concert of the night: Coldplay. We spent so much time raging our faces off at Afrojack that we missed the first half of Coldplay, but I'm totally fine with that because we caught my favorite song--Fix You. Okay, I totally agree that it's 100% cheesy, but it's also 100% amazing and powerful, no matter how many times I hear it. What is it about that song that makes it so emotional?! God, it gets me every time. Oh and then there were fireworks. FIREWORKS. I had chills. (PS, if any of my high school friends who were at hilary's house before sr girls circa freshman year are reading this right now...I still think of that night every time I hear this song haha).<br />
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</div>And that my friends was Oxegen for ya. I'm basically in depression now that it's over.<br />
<br />
I know this post was epically long, so if you made it this far, I commend you. I still feel like I have so much more to say about it, but I'm sure you're sick of hearing my (metaphorical) voice right now, so I'll just leave it at that.<br />
<br />
Oh, I got an exciting piece of news at work today: my boss is giving me the go-ahead to write my first magazine piece, as in actually published in the printed magazine!!! Thus far, I've only written for the website so I'm beyond stoked to actually be able to SEE my writing in print! Rad.<br />
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Only 2 more days of work and then our last weekend in Dublin!!! Next weekend we'll be in Ibiza/Barcelona, so I'm not like, broken up about it, BUT I am broken up about the fact that in just 3 short weeks, my time here will be over. But that's a sad song for another day.<br />
<br />
For now, I'm off to transfer my laundry to the dryer (for 6 effing euros) and catch up on the bachelorette. Great evening.<br />
<br />
Later y'all,<br />
<br />
LB<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-78368124676644639252011-06-29T11:59:00.000-07:002011-06-29T12:03:04.184-07:00Dublivin'<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I know I have been a neglectful blogger this past week, but I am just so darn busy now that my internship is in full swing. That being said, I just wanted to pop in and say hey. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Today, I have officially been in Ireland for one. full. month. WHEREEEEEEE did that month go?! It literally feels like maybe a week since I touched-down in Dublin, wide-eyed and eager for my own little Irish adventure. Well, quite the adventure it has been. I know I still have an entire month here, but a month seems like 5 minutes considering the astronomical speed with which this first month flew by.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't want to leave. Like, never. I want to a billionaire (so frickin' bad...) so I can travel around Europe for at least a year and see all of the places that I don’t have time to see this summer. As y’all know, I’ve been to Galway, Amsterdam, London and of course, all over Dublin, and I have fallen head over heels in love with Europe. The people, the culture, the architecture, the accents, the food, the fashion—all of it! Such charm, such importance—so modern, yet so rich with history. I love it all, but my Americanness is very evident. Strangely though, as much as I adore all things European, I love being American here. I love the looks I get when I say something in my evidently “excruciatingly hick” accent (thanks, coworkers). I love the smiling answers I get when I ask a question that seems painfully obvious to locals. Mostly, I just love that everything is new to me. I feel like a small child in that the most mundane and minute things never cease to delight me. Every time the phone rings in my office, my heart flutters and I crane my neck just so I can hear the “cheers, brilliant, thanks-a-million” uttered in that irresistible accent before whoever it is hangs up the phone. Every time I see my bus coming around the corner, I cannot suppress a smile, for I look forward to the bus driver’s always enthusiastic and complementary greeting when I step on and tell him hello. I love sitting at Insomnia, my favorite little Dublin coffee shop, and simply watching the people walking by, guessing where they might be going based on their attire, companions, and general demeanor. I’ve always loved people watching, but Dublin has taken it to a whole new level because the people here are so damn </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">cool</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. </span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yep, I’m never gonna wanna leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Some of you might be wondering what I actually DO at work. After all, the whole point of me coming here was for this internship, but I’ve barely posted anything about my job. Well, I guarantee you I have been doing A LOT. My favorite part of the job has been interviewing people and writing feature stories about them. I’ve interviewed a sculptural and architectural bamboo artist (read that interview <a href="http://www.totallydublin.ie/event-feature-body-and-soul-site-designers-bamboo-dna-28.html">HERE</a>), a ballet dancer/choreographer (read that interview <a href="http://www.totallydublin.ie/culture-item-dance-fast-portraits-1695.html">HERE</a>), and an adorably charming actor (read that interview <a href="http://www.totallydublin.ie/culture-feature-translations-1410.html">HERE</a>). Though I have always loved to write, deciding to major in journalism is a brand new development in my life; thus, prior to this internship, I hadn’t had hardly any experience in the actual journalism work setting. My thoughts so far? I’m totally into it. It marries my social, outgoing nature (interviews) with my creative, intellectual side (writing) in a way that I can absolutely see myself making a career out of. After two decades of having no idea what I want to do with my life, this is a very exciting thing. And if anyone tells me one more time that “journalism is a dying field,” I think I might punch them in the face. Literally, I will. There will always be media. There will always be writing. Sure, times are changing but guess what? Journalism is changing to fit the times. Hackneyed as it may sound, I firmly believe that you are much better off and much more likely to achieve success doing something you love and are passionate about than by doing something just because it seems lucrative. But that’s just me. Anyways, moral of the story, I love being a journalist. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But it’s not all fun and games. Work, fun and exciting as it is, is exhausting and can, at times, be kinda boring. Some days I have loads of work—interviews, theatre previews, and music reviews galore! Buuuut other days, especially when my coworkers have impending deadlines to worry about so that they don’t have time to worry about the pesky little American interns, all I have to do is listings. I know listings are a necessary component of any arts-based magazine, but MAN they really, well, suck. Cinema listings are the worst. Imagine staring at a screen and uploading every single showtime for every single movie playing at every single cinema in all of Dublin for hours and hours on end. It’s exhilarating. Luckily, that happens rarely, and the exciting work that I get to do most of the time makes the not-so-glamorous work totally worthwhile. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’m going to save my profound “these are the groundbreaking things I learned in Europe” spiel for after the summer is over, but I do want to talk about some exciting things I have coming up. Firstly, as y’all all know, this weekend is 4</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> of July weekend, a cornerstone and favorite holiday for anyone with even an inkling of American pride. Well, it looks like the Irish have some American pride latent in them somewhere because there is a whole slew of 4</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> of July-themed events that would enthuse and excite even the most hardcore, down-south, boot-wearing, beer-drinking cowboy. Just you wait. Here are some photos taken at The Comet, the host of this delightful American celebration:</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9d-bTzm9tavZaMyRroKM5kLMKgduHbI2UK-drU2ZKmY1y6ebv-mzavVIktJlTe1MszM5fL-0AYENkBaikJRBc-6mwd4anMQ6fKokZhHRWhrIKQHUrsR4gbNNzRrtKnvVn-ufAZHeA78/s1600/DSCN0348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9d-bTzm9tavZaMyRroKM5kLMKgduHbI2UK-drU2ZKmY1y6ebv-mzavVIktJlTe1MszM5fL-0AYENkBaikJRBc-6mwd4anMQ6fKokZhHRWhrIKQHUrsR4gbNNzRrtKnvVn-ufAZHeA78/s400/DSCN0348.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">casual wednesday outing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WomqLDkh22R_BDTCZ2TojPKnAlWnfrgi09AiX0CPfV4GC_sFiQYg93RYEjYjeeGLNIgI8BSCapFusROo7G5POwmP0mBC9F1yrIBYZ0kLUR5ZQLhC76lyywGDn706VAapSt2J5V6GNHs/s1600/DSCN0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WomqLDkh22R_BDTCZ2TojPKnAlWnfrgi09AiX0CPfV4GC_sFiQYg93RYEjYjeeGLNIgI8BSCapFusROo7G5POwmP0mBC9F1yrIBYZ0kLUR5ZQLhC76lyywGDn706VAapSt2J5V6GNHs/s400/DSCN0347.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">friends on friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3iWFIy9pW4I09qYNXiOGOMG9diDr97HxQ9l5QI4EYfWtK6tOH_A46tAhErO0M_WLp8sPHNp-hFQRLl0tvl8s6t54SJpFQcWyHOsFH3jk3-eqYiVH4lu1rSgROztxJPvowDEjWJfe7hLA/s1600/DSCN0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3iWFIy9pW4I09qYNXiOGOMG9diDr97HxQ9l5QI4EYfWtK6tOH_A46tAhErO0M_WLp8sPHNp-hFQRLl0tvl8s6t54SJpFQcWyHOsFH3jk3-eqYiVH4lu1rSgROztxJPvowDEjWJfe7hLA/s400/DSCN0346.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">american flags on american flags!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On Friday, the first day of the “4</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> of July Festival” (it actually exists!), there is a hot-dog eating contest followed by a special appearance from none other than DJ USA. Enough said. Immensely looking forward to that playlist. But not as much as I am looking forward to Saturday. The day will start off with a bang with some casual live pig racing because everyone in America loves racing their live pigs, obviously. This delightful little event will be followed with some country cookin’ at the Down South Barbeque (including 200 free ice pops…don’t know why they felt compelled to include this tidbit in the flyer, but hey, I’m into it). However, all these festivities only pale in comparison to the musical guest that will grace the stage in the evening: A Garth Brooks Tribute Band. Take a moment to let that sink in. I swear, I’m in Ireland. Finally, on Sunday or as they refer to it “Stars and Stripes Sunday” (I KNOW!), we will be treated to a day of guitar hero “on the big screen” followed by Las Vegas Casino Night. Apparently the Irish are pretty in-tune to American culture. So into it, so stoked. Obviously, though I may not be getting sloppy and setting off fireworks at someone’s beach house in Galveston, Texas (nothing against those 4</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> of July weekends, can’t deny my roots), I will be enjoying a thoroughly American weekend all the way in Dublin. Can’t freaking wait. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The following weekend is <a href="http://www.oxegen.ie/">Oxegen</a>, which I am BEYOND excited about. Check out the website and swoon over<a href="http://www.oxegen.ie/line-up/"> the lineup</a>. ‘twill be magical. And all the more magical because I have a <a href="http://parkerchambers.wordpress.com/">visitor</a> coming!! So stay tuned for a surprise guest :)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Besides Oxegen, I plan to do a lot more exploring of Dublin and befriending of Irish people (still prowling for my Irish husband…) and a bit more traveling (Barcelona in July...GET AT ME). Basically, I gotta lotta (dub) livin' left to do (dierks bentley, anyone?).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Since this post was lackin' in the photo department, I'll leave y'all with some of my favorite tunes as of late. I do a LOT of jammin' here since I spend so much time walking and riding on the (double decker party) bus, which does wonders for my mood. Does music affect y'all as much as it does me? My mood can literally change from song to song...it's kind of bizarre actually:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For some strange reason, I've been on a huge country kick lately. My theory is that being so far away from my southern roots makes me love them even more. So naturally, I'm really into this song:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/Lwc4IBAp_IU/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Lwc4IBAp_IU&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Lwc4IBAp_IU&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I just discovered this song andddd it simply rocks:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/WdO85Qf4Poc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I challenge you to listen to this song in the morning and NOT have a good day:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/jZhQOvvV45w?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On that note (ha), have a great day friends! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cheers, y'all</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">LB</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh PS London recap post is coming tomorrow I promise!!! </div>Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-77059010763596858112011-06-20T08:29:00.000-07:002011-06-20T08:32:47.273-07:00Amsterdamned.I am exhausted. My body aches, my feet throb with blisters, I am dehydrated, and I still feel sleep deprived even after a full 8 hours last night. Some might say, I've been Amsterdamned. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Let's start at the beginning. Friday morning, I popped out of bed energetically at 4:30 am (jokes..) to catch our super early flight to Eindhoven. From there, we took a bus and a train to Amsterdam, arriving at about 11 am. We were exhausted, delirious, and completely clueless on what to do since none of us had any idea where to go (not to mention everything was in Dutch, which might as well be Chinese). But we were SO excited to be in Amsterdam. We made our way to our hotel, which might as well have been paradise compared to the hostels that we considered staying in. Clean rooms, privacy, private showers, and comfortable beds are rare luxuries when traveling parent-less throughout Europe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnlfPvwTa7Lk1_34Oc2Y-nTT2_jtj-h13GQir3OhJV1rasx_Az0NW5jbN9-3ID3nQ18dqFcL7aQ8Bc2vEjo7-O2Yo_SUusF9Y80tuI6RZw6RWYoZpCI2CvgWVgvfQM3B6vSuQtY6HK4M/s1600/DSCN0261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnlfPvwTa7Lk1_34Oc2Y-nTT2_jtj-h13GQir3OhJV1rasx_Az0NW5jbN9-3ID3nQ18dqFcL7aQ8Bc2vEjo7-O2Yo_SUusF9Y80tuI6RZw6RWYoZpCI2CvgWVgvfQM3B6vSuQtY6HK4M/s320/DSCN0261.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">things got a little emotional</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So after sobbing with joy and hugging each other repeatedly as we walked around our hotel room (kidding...kind of), we met up with the rest of our crew, along with some fellow Trojans studying in Madrid, at Hard Rock Cafe Amsterdam--naturally, the most American place we could find.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDSxl0IH5hflyNjRXncOBM6spB-_Iz7WJmACSb1_e232L8MeDd0v6aXGkWBt3Y74EdP-Ypo3EYi6WLa0lSVx8chDJ-1BRkZyd5XEbGrZta_jCvvOhaW_Afxp4VUgly37iBPj9HUsmvUg/s1600/DSCN0262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDSxl0IH5hflyNjRXncOBM6spB-_Iz7WJmACSb1_e232L8MeDd0v6aXGkWBt3Y74EdP-Ypo3EYi6WLa0lSVx8chDJ-1BRkZyd5XEbGrZta_jCvvOhaW_Afxp4VUgly37iBPj9HUsmvUg/s400/DSCN0262.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dubliners+Pat !!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0_SgPJJBZhgeg3RVqQ6NDhOhe3xHgj5DDm6LpkSQq04Nb2LWprk84t94Ut5dlrgQmiLA1rWvR-RzKy4cZjpqOkXwGWyv50Qhc4LlYtxRzlFNtGAJXBQRquqr7Jrq40qzXuu-oIbj5zY/s1600/DSCN0264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0_SgPJJBZhgeg3RVqQ6NDhOhe3xHgj5DDm6LpkSQq04Nb2LWprk84t94Ut5dlrgQmiLA1rWvR-RzKy4cZjpqOkXwGWyv50Qhc4LlYtxRzlFNtGAJXBQRquqr7Jrq40qzXuu-oIbj5zY/s400/DSCN0264.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Post-lunch, we meandered around Amsterdam and ventured into the Bulldog, one of the famous coffee shops. For anyone who lives under a rock, coffeeshops in Amsterdam don't sell coffee. Well, they might--I'm not sure actually, but people don't go there to drink coffee. Unless it's laced with marijuana. Hmm...caffeine and weed...an interesting combination. Anyways, being in Amsterdam, we HAD to at least check out one of these famous coffeeshops. It was dark, smokey, and frankly, pretty sketchy. Metal music was playing, accompanied by trippy visuals on several television screens throughout the bar. Shady people were huddled in corners, ceaselessly and dazedly smoking and rolling joints like it was their job. Honestly, the environment alone sufficed to induce the effects of marijuana without even smoking it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSTiVj4W4Cmi3f90miU0gYXJ7jA90wmTT4so34Wpc2sfHYmb4m05ALCLi3U1qoVstk5smtEIdaSdud3ffyYb0JBzj2T2g_4XuN44M3nt_lz3aqnby7BzbM6D5-BtyJVB6MFC3ansAWqU/s1600/DSCN0266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSTiVj4W4Cmi3f90miU0gYXJ7jA90wmTT4so34Wpc2sfHYmb4m05ALCLi3U1qoVstk5smtEIdaSdud3ffyYb0JBzj2T2g_4XuN44M3nt_lz3aqnby7BzbM6D5-BtyJVB6MFC3ansAWqU/s400/DSCN0266.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">coffeehouse from the outside</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNOz2aH5cdF1fd3BHfYTKlwO8aK2CPFqCtGlxy-ut2TBOxqp4dd1T3NxE0rdgahBbFSh4WTdfQSxphtJ2CaZFH6kOSOwEMr_Bnp6QPhhliDmASym3CxBGU5znHoOyCWQWziDVNVpxHxY/s1600/DSCN0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNOz2aH5cdF1fd3BHfYTKlwO8aK2CPFqCtGlxy-ut2TBOxqp4dd1T3NxE0rdgahBbFSh4WTdfQSxphtJ2CaZFH6kOSOwEMr_Bnp6QPhhliDmASym3CxBGU5znHoOyCWQWziDVNVpxHxY/s400/DSCN0267.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on the inside...random sailor statue?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>After curiously observing the place for just a few minutes, we headed back to our hotel (aka paradise) to get ready for a night out in Amsterdam. Oh wait, first we went to a candy shop because we all have ADD and subconsciously gravitated towards the bright colors and sugar, without really realizing what was happening. Okay, so we did realize, but maybe after being in such a...corrupt? dirty? mature? (whatever) environment as the coffeeshop, I think we needed some place innocent. And we just wanted candy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk649GAaRlHZHi5sMV7cYW2KsaP3yJTap78HjbJdE3npVfqNDsCOdJ-MWRikIvGgbUKTfh9ZChSG7oBenhShkNiuqag9H0Ey1n3g9iCwpA1DWF9p5qexz8dXkDXi3O9WrEGnBSZKYo3BI/s1600/DSCN0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk649GAaRlHZHi5sMV7cYW2KsaP3yJTap78HjbJdE3npVfqNDsCOdJ-MWRikIvGgbUKTfh9ZChSG7oBenhShkNiuqag9H0Ey1n3g9iCwpA1DWF9p5qexz8dXkDXi3O9WrEGnBSZKYo3BI/s400/DSCN0268.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">caffeine and sugar...healthy habits!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHAKRHoeRg72qGRaMtRmcWj8_iyWbcbRlQkzqUbWT95tKLnTU6g7hWkKG1wxzoSF8zce3CBl9hvRwvOAyTRaqls0KymzK6w6W-5mtkx7fl5VIrH8Y5-ocPTAcWKtBUQYRXeAFaFHo6Bk/s1600/DSCN0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHAKRHoeRg72qGRaMtRmcWj8_iyWbcbRlQkzqUbWT95tKLnTU6g7hWkKG1wxzoSF8zce3CBl9hvRwvOAyTRaqls0KymzK6w6W-5mtkx7fl5VIrH8Y5-ocPTAcWKtBUQYRXeAFaFHo6Bk/s400/DSCN0269.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">kids in a candyshop</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div> So then we went back to the beloved hotel, got all glammed-up, had a spontaneous girl-power pregame accompanied by the sweet sounds of Hilary Duff, circa 2003, and met up with the rest of our crew at a pub crawl (supposedly, "Europe's biggest pub crawl"). Twas spectacular. And foggy?</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMK6uiHmJ2DAafq0dClYF1z2buu1qVKnsLqw2eUsPAK3mECFJqV_kZQDtgioltg-loQ9s_GZYqiBgZ-fB_VBkfA1Kys55qMJWXiAgGj3Nh1B50G-VUJvGNf4PpywniU82MyzCW-eLxEMs/s1600/DSCN0275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMK6uiHmJ2DAafq0dClYF1z2buu1qVKnsLqw2eUsPAK3mECFJqV_kZQDtgioltg-loQ9s_GZYqiBgZ-fB_VBkfA1Kys55qMJWXiAgGj3Nh1B50G-VUJvGNf4PpywniU82MyzCW-eLxEMs/s400/DSCN0275.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">note the hand-holding</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqFDES_16PePMwOdyLZpKYLqjX8lu_N0OctOX4Hj-kqthxeHKwM_w16zgfeEfEgQE4nqlZf54-cNLqNonNGTpJgjPgWaixdNtTp9dqEFit49nBV9c7qHEH1bARRB05L8vTQ46ZygrcDI/s1600/DSCN0278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqFDES_16PePMwOdyLZpKYLqjX8lu_N0OctOX4Hj-kqthxeHKwM_w16zgfeEfEgQE4nqlZf54-cNLqNonNGTpJgjPgWaixdNtTp9dqEFit49nBV9c7qHEH1bARRB05L8vTQ46ZygrcDI/s400/DSCN0278.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just partyin'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sRZcFCYncln7tyORRm6xn3F-VidX8rKY8XuSTDCTKE-O77Nr3IM00Gs9yvlUySpmdRIMSCExsKcHQERJRlDR9RcC04aXXLlUMsGNgpUhLCo5accx9h2m4z59Mo4n-i3XAiG38fzZc7U/s1600/DSCN0279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sRZcFCYncln7tyORRm6xn3F-VidX8rKY8XuSTDCTKE-O77Nr3IM00Gs9yvlUySpmdRIMSCExsKcHQERJRlDR9RcC04aXXLlUMsGNgpUhLCo5accx9h2m4z59Mo4n-i3XAiG38fzZc7U/s400/DSCN0279.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the point...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>With a handful of USC kids in Amsterdam, it's pretty much impossible to NOT have a good time. Maybe even a great time. Something to ponder...<br />
<div><br />
<div>Sooo the next morning, or rather afternoon since we didn't actually make it out of our enticingly comfortable hotel room until almost 3pm, we ventured out to do some more Amsterdam exploring. We saw the Van Gogh museum (awesome) and then headed over to the Heineken Brewery. Well, we didn't actually go on the tour or really see any of the inside of the brewery, but we DID go to the gift shop to get matching jackets and hats because we wanted to be 100% sure that every person we passed on the streets knew with absolute certainty that we were American tourists. Based on the amount of gawks that we received, I'd say we were successful. We were quite popular with a group of Spanish men who were on a gay bachelor weekend. Not kidding. They insisted on taking the following photo with us:<br />
<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMe1rtwP3WaOVNR3NpEfELgsscRK6tYh4rVS3F1yJhLXXcta_QqYN13iKQFJ2QKoCWqwj2KQ6oFoYVRqXEwqzBEJXzVj5SsoQz78wV_aB8uD35VJWyu4SDt9yR3rYwqgUzD0aW50clRTY/s1600/DSCN0286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMe1rtwP3WaOVNR3NpEfELgsscRK6tYh4rVS3F1yJhLXXcta_QqYN13iKQFJ2QKoCWqwj2KQ6oFoYVRqXEwqzBEJXzVj5SsoQz78wV_aB8uD35VJWyu4SDt9yR3rYwqgUzD0aW50clRTY/s400/DSCN0286.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 american chicks and a gay spanish bachelor<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">They liked us so much that they started a "USA" chant in the middle of the street. I swear, we were just innocent bystanders...although it was pretty fantastic. We met up with guys, excited to roll up in our matching jackets and super cool hats, only to discover that they had the same idea we did...anticlimactic. But then we realized the photo-op potential at hand and quickly remedied the situation.</span></div></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTcQoEBG_UTsDFRGy2XUyg-xu_0sNm9jtl1adBu3QNtieYVi0_wCCn6HmFRKJyf8C-0anaIEA1_GZ9RozVbyK_QxBb7QLxfVUdgc6FyC8cmcwe5uY8jqxqppG8417OHU9DgeN99ncoeY/s1600/DSCN0293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTcQoEBG_UTsDFRGy2XUyg-xu_0sNm9jtl1adBu3QNtieYVi0_wCCn6HmFRKJyf8C-0anaIEA1_GZ9RozVbyK_QxBb7QLxfVUdgc6FyC8cmcwe5uY8jqxqppG8417OHU9DgeN99ncoeY/s400/DSCN0293.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heineken Drinking Team-suited up</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Prof pic? Duh. Soooooo then we hustled back to our hotel to pretty ourselves up for another raucous night in Amsterdam. We started with a (party) boat tour through the Amsterdam Canal, which was a magical experience. In all seriousness, it was a fantastic way to see the city. A microphoned tour guide told us about all the places we were passing, which was a great way to absorb a little Amsterdam history and culture along with our bottles of wine. See, this was an educational trip. I promise. We saw Anne Frank's house, which was surreal. Just a small, simple, inconspicuous house, but so rich with history. We passed through the infamous Red Light District, which was...bizarre. Rows and rows of windows with scantily clad (haha) women just standing there, posing and pointing at passersby, hoping for a "customer." It was fascinating, in an eerie and disturbing way. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazc0WGIxxEL2B3r_kDl5nPUy2QmmNz6V0kqqcpYUjlwBYUEUH501optH3ZRKbv-UH-xJA32e7sxdROL2p2LkaUZ6ZgvqgcJ-_5kMkXk9cWpzK3hPKcUXsR0Hdm8V2czA96Wd0Sly0X1U/s1600/DSCN0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazc0WGIxxEL2B3r_kDl5nPUy2QmmNz6V0kqqcpYUjlwBYUEUH501optH3ZRKbv-UH-xJA32e7sxdROL2p2LkaUZ6ZgvqgcJ-_5kMkXk9cWpzK3hPKcUXsR0Hdm8V2czA96Wd0Sly0X1U/s400/DSCN0296.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lovely canal</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nkcDvlqZRVQDghJ71IAuMPZmY6aAb0ZivLD2Eypng4JSRGSvyF8hrPGyZEFDMJld0E0Pu8rN2pY67ZZmdPGuEHuM005y-0g-935r-WpZ0aJqAczPbV6UZeVJaxwBh86qS6EbNNju7Jg/s1600/DSCN0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nkcDvlqZRVQDghJ71IAuMPZmY6aAb0ZivLD2Eypng4JSRGSvyF8hrPGyZEFDMJld0E0Pu8rN2pY67ZZmdPGuEHuM005y-0g-935r-WpZ0aJqAczPbV6UZeVJaxwBh86qS6EbNNju7Jg/s400/DSCN0303.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"can i please have a glass of white wine"<br />
"can i please have a bottle of white wine"<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfVE8cRSIdbsAABuyHwHt_qwmo4000Kec6dS2u3vMz9oNs2C2FDBgEMfCtcQcJHAp8owIP8NVfi1lzJnbLeRHzO7s31nhVWjcyhZpGkwJhIDbVac-NpKNPL2pYkj7oh-2UpAlNNtBO9g/s1600/DSCN0306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfVE8cRSIdbsAABuyHwHt_qwmo4000Kec6dS2u3vMz9oNs2C2FDBgEMfCtcQcJHAp8owIP8NVfi1lzJnbLeRHzO7s31nhVWjcyhZpGkwJhIDbVac-NpKNPL2pYkj7oh-2UpAlNNtBO9g/s400/DSCN0306.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cant escape the rain</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYX6HrKOO80uEFz018IM1eagrlM4qbNjFOgNJFVtjCk8LEQFnBXP03BEpx_BmVGCYTKDImW9q7xZ9RWf62dfEsEyZSEK-dBPaChOZlpo_w432K6q7LhtC3pn6sn1XKDOKw8lXcHJjHXpw/s1600/DSCN0310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYX6HrKOO80uEFz018IM1eagrlM4qbNjFOgNJFVtjCk8LEQFnBXP03BEpx_BmVGCYTKDImW9q7xZ9RWf62dfEsEyZSEK-dBPaChOZlpo_w432K6q7LhtC3pn6sn1XKDOKw8lXcHJjHXpw/s400/DSCN0310.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexoLYkAeMbCWbib3vwbkUeMB0ElapgcnsdCDodkaAEgGuqVvdcgTbCwtQ2uCEUHhEJG9b-G8Mh1LBq0bPFTg71W-0vCdPbbX_9XYVAvm4-soSEOnwZtEse6x3eip6wYBmmJqRg58BnSk/s1600/DSCN0313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexoLYkAeMbCWbib3vwbkUeMB0ElapgcnsdCDodkaAEgGuqVvdcgTbCwtQ2uCEUHhEJG9b-G8Mh1LBq0bPFTg71W-0vCdPbbX_9XYVAvm4-soSEOnwZtEse6x3eip6wYBmmJqRg58BnSk/s400/DSCN0313.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">friends on a boat</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXh1s8JVYgY1w0PGRgAyP7QRUyXc2XQjI3lo_s0XhyphenhyphenP9BsDL4zqN0eFD32f_4Wj2RfCQfuuVsVnGj3ZIj9IvTRpZtkCyw2D1PY2UjFprZOSgT8Jd3cP1lblsOwEOwzOCAeQ2dkT-BWM4s/s1600/DSCN0315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXh1s8JVYgY1w0PGRgAyP7QRUyXc2XQjI3lo_s0XhyphenhyphenP9BsDL4zqN0eFD32f_4Wj2RfCQfuuVsVnGj3ZIj9IvTRpZtkCyw2D1PY2UjFprZOSgT8Jd3cP1lblsOwEOwzOCAeQ2dkT-BWM4s/s400/DSCN0315.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the crew</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3KD4CS5uK1UvM4A1bOoWT0zjspJkNANSYDiJwuI1S8bWzKcnrQy0bqdttyaSX9ZpV9euDzuA5jxE2_ZkehRKiaNnwEYamDaidTC1ml0amQAMhbbzAIcb7CKynYzND17iEFTfgs_v0ykg/s1600/DSCN0317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3KD4CS5uK1UvM4A1bOoWT0zjspJkNANSYDiJwuI1S8bWzKcnrQy0bqdttyaSX9ZpV9euDzuA5jxE2_ZkehRKiaNnwEYamDaidTC1ml0amQAMhbbzAIcb7CKynYzND17iEFTfgs_v0ykg/s400/DSCN0317.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the crew+our beloved bartender, ryan<br />
"you guys drink too much"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLMDfkU5gquL4MPBoQ8P3FHB7vlLP-dH4PBiSY7-iVMxIqq766TbpF9MwvPib_AXWFplJFK_r09CNqicuCoLV59Qa8CtiU2Yn3yv5BuTP-CohSAcAT4In9aSyeUvI1TttTBwg6UdpIfY/s1600/DSCN0318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLMDfkU5gquL4MPBoQ8P3FHB7vlLP-dH4PBiSY7-iVMxIqq766TbpF9MwvPib_AXWFplJFK_r09CNqicuCoLV59Qa8CtiU2Yn3yv5BuTP-CohSAcAT4In9aSyeUvI1TttTBwg6UdpIfY/s400/DSCN0318.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">party time</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>All in all, the boat tour was possibly my favorite amster-tivity (Amsterdam+activity? Did that work?). So, after the boat tour, we hit the town for another night out in Amsterdam. As per usual, fun times were had all around.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBrWMMaHLe4CZBWfp09SETJhPk82rExpHLNo-AQ_1O_0r2WZEa19FBlgOYa4VFzVpJ94wJZ0nyRCmy8vZxToJzqLB9A7Z6OC_y4XB3DZYOU9taQWRih8dffYOW3owr-QLMxrEG4Xve4Y/s1600/DSCN0319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBrWMMaHLe4CZBWfp09SETJhPk82rExpHLNo-AQ_1O_0r2WZEa19FBlgOYa4VFzVpJ94wJZ0nyRCmy8vZxToJzqLB9A7Z6OC_y4XB3DZYOU9taQWRih8dffYOW3owr-QLMxrEG4Xve4Y/s400/DSCN0319.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">outdoor urinals...not normal</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7w9qGNtI5vZ-mx3PP-uGDsV4eZKZTKR9kKxV5qBe2fz3PTxaRy0S_94zg0fTNK4xqEED7CumC-nnl6aRBsa_4s9yTmfBVjAh1lRE2nc5DTrZ2xCz5oOX8jXCYOdSCvyQ6rRGvvuR8Y9Y/s1600/DSCN0322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7w9qGNtI5vZ-mx3PP-uGDsV4eZKZTKR9kKxV5qBe2fz3PTxaRy0S_94zg0fTNK4xqEED7CumC-nnl6aRBsa_4s9yTmfBVjAh1lRE2nc5DTrZ2xCz5oOX8jXCYOdSCvyQ6rRGvvuR8Y9Y/s400/DSCN0322.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">more usc friends!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3-aL7a4sfiNPevyqsZaqCFSVTG9ojAoysTGqDiM_38PhCbA9tByf2Ssd81NPSQX3JTQC_wvbVlvKYj2E_D9Yiya19Lc_k0E83Vvbb8JZCB_9q2H8v8YXuLWpzqS8aJNQCCyIHvcTsgk/s1600/DSCN0325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3-aL7a4sfiNPevyqsZaqCFSVTG9ojAoysTGqDiM_38PhCbA9tByf2Ssd81NPSQX3JTQC_wvbVlvKYj2E_D9Yiya19Lc_k0E83Vvbb8JZCB_9q2H8v8YXuLWpzqS8aJNQCCyIHvcTsgk/s400/DSCN0325.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">excitement?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxRt6Pctymoi9OERyzlYvVaICnNmcmZsKI55ayscAfRf_RBddltDkGVJ0tca_nVPIdsY-sMm1CQz18TQgw9-VKaPJId86pRARL1BpGkVSk8DQB0F6TmSKf3s1IdYIRcXS5IKTUebw8rs/s1600/DSCN0327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxRt6Pctymoi9OERyzlYvVaICnNmcmZsKI55ayscAfRf_RBddltDkGVJ0tca_nVPIdsY-sMm1CQz18TQgw9-VKaPJId86pRARL1BpGkVSk8DQB0F6TmSKf3s1IdYIRcXS5IKTUebw8rs/s400/DSCN0327.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">get it</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksK6y5vGyCWdDOgu4ks9XW5fI-bW_mOEOkC0RkH5HI3onVtx6f0rq-PUd3Vpd9zUNxfB9NgT2I0n5sekxE3Jp7zGFyvR2WOINQo0aLSeAJavysX8TZhZxOGiF8shG4L472RYm5dGUPk8/s1600/DSCN0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksK6y5vGyCWdDOgu4ks9XW5fI-bW_mOEOkC0RkH5HI3onVtx6f0rq-PUd3Vpd9zUNxfB9NgT2I0n5sekxE3Jp7zGFyvR2WOINQo0aLSeAJavysX8TZhZxOGiF8shG4L472RYm5dGUPk8/s400/DSCN0334.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">:)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Soooo...then I sort of insisted that the crew check out this place called "Paradiso" that our hotel concierge urged us to go to because it was the "hottest club in Amsterdam." I swear he said that. Either he had a skewed idea of what our definition of the "hottest club" was or he was just messing with us because this place was a full-blown gay club. We literally walked in the door and were greeted by a charming bunch who insisted on dressing us up in ostentatious garb for photographs. We weren't allowed to smile either. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitq-bowBjLSHyQvmY29NUZmmXT4aYejH7tt9S8ZgNj6BhRr0tf13GMYeEuy3QyYqS8Nq_xRPQ41GpM3_hIWBj55JpPBa8MBMcEeRnRW5w3MTJ8Rz6KhtU7LO5Mk-GntmrDNCvzKgdmgRc/s1600/DSCN0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitq-bowBjLSHyQvmY29NUZmmXT4aYejH7tt9S8ZgNj6BhRr0tf13GMYeEuy3QyYqS8Nq_xRPQ41GpM3_hIWBj55JpPBa8MBMcEeRnRW5w3MTJ8Rz6KhtU7LO5Mk-GntmrDNCvzKgdmgRc/s400/DSCN0339.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tyra would be proud</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Don't get me wrong, I thought it was fabulous and hilarious, but we were with a big group of guys who were not so down to party in such a...flamboyant atmosphere. Sorry, boys.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Afterwards, we wandered the streets of Amsterdam for a while, which I'm sure was a really safe activity, and then headed back to our hotel, excited to crash for one last night in our oasis of a hotel room with its cloud of a bed.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The next day was a travel day, involving more modes of public transportation in one day than I think I've ever taken in my life (cab to train station, train to bus station, bus to airport, plane to dublin airport, cab to HOME!). The weekend was absolutely incredible, but I was thrilled to get back to Dublin. We all agreed that though Amsterdam was one of the most exciting and unique cities we've ever experienced, Dublin is still our favorite thus far. Like I said in my last post, the Irish are the friendliest people I have ever met, and Dublin is just a much more comfortable, homey place, while still being wildly exciting. I've only been here for three weeks, but it already feels like home, and I know that I am going to be kicking and screaming when I have to leave. This upcoming weekend, we are headed to London, which shall be extraordinary, but I am also really looking forward to spending some more time exploring Dublin and Ireland. Stay tuned for more! </div><div><br />
</div><div>In the meantime, I'll leave y'all with this super-Irish photo I snapped while riding the double-decker (party) bus on the way into the City Centre after a rainstorm:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVHECIbPIf_zk7QB3-1BaYmwTyeQK3tjpKzb4y7TrwSSUL4clX977R4Sl0iIyDDmEvmoRzep_6ktjNFTEcp_Q5FigRgUVHX8k2Keln9WV1cPSiHReJ9FKUFY56b8GgOvVPuBiVTGg65A/s1600/DSCN0240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVHECIbPIf_zk7QB3-1BaYmwTyeQK3tjpKzb4y7TrwSSUL4clX977R4Sl0iIyDDmEvmoRzep_6ktjNFTEcp_Q5FigRgUVHX8k2Keln9WV1cPSiHReJ9FKUFY56b8GgOvVPuBiVTGg65A/s400/DSCN0240.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just add a leprechaun and a pot of gold</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>A rainbow in Ireland? Get a little more cliche, Dublin. Geez.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cheers!</div><div>LB</div><div><br />
</div><div><div><br />
</div></div></div></div>Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-63817239422794280812011-06-15T02:59:00.000-07:002011-06-15T03:05:25.759-07:00Musings: The Irish Way<div class="MsoNormal">I love LA. I really do. I love going to school there, and I will most likely end up living there one day. It is exciting and vibrant and the perfect place for me to flex my creative muscles and make a life for myself in the industries I am passionate about. I would not trade my life in LA for anything. But that being said, one of the things I miss most about my life back in Texas is the people. Don’t get me wrong—LA, and USC especially, has been extraordinarily kind to me in the people department. I have met some of the most amazing people there and have made friends that will be by my side for the rest of my life. But in the general sense, there really is no comparison between the people in Texas and those in LA. Texans are just…nicer. In Texas, Southern hospitality permeates every aspect of peoples’ lives. You walk past someone on the street, and you smile. You put your blinker on in rush hour traffic, and someone lets you over. It’s refreshing and uplifting, and though I adore LA, I do miss the friendliness of my Texans back home. Now that I have reaffirmed my affinity for southern hospitality and love of all things Texas, I am going to say something that I never thought I would say. There are people even friendlier than Texans. And not just a few people—a whole country in fact. That’s right, the Irish reign supreme in the friendliness and compassion department. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">People in Ireland are just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nicer</i> than Americans. In America, competitive spirit pervades everything we do—it is not about being <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> best, it is about being<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> the </i>best. Sure, growing up, we were all taught that as long as we do the best that we, ourselves, can do, we are good enough. But let’s be real here. Americans are conditioned to believe that we have to be better at everything than everyone else or our self-worth decreases. If our SAT scores are not as high as our peers, we don’t get into the best college. If we don’t go to the best college, we don’t get the best jobs. If we don’t get the best jobs, we won’t make as much money. And we all know that people who make the most money are superior to the rest of humanity, right? Well, strangely, most Americans foster the subliminal belief that that is true. As an American, I subconsciously expected the rest of the world to share this competitive spirit, but after spending only a few short weeks here in Ireland, I am coming to realize that that is not the case. In Ireland, there is a much greater attitude of camaraderie rather than competition. Sure, everyone wants to succeed at what they do, but they also want other people to succeed. “Workaholics” by American standards are few and far between—if they even exist at all—in Ireland. Don’t get me wrong, I am not expressing by any means that the Irish are lazy or blasé about work. Quite the contrary. They are extraordinarily passionate about what they do, but they are even more passionate about the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">people</i> they work with. My coworkers and boss are not just coworkers to one another; they are friends. They chat with one another as they work, laughing about the crazy party over the weekend or what their evening plans are, but despite the colloquial and jovial aura in the office, they all continue to produce excellent and intelligent work. Seriously, they are brilliant writers as well as brilliant…well, people. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And it’s not just in the work environment that this notion of Irish friendliness and compassion is evident—it’s everywhere. Cab and bus drivers, for example. Consider cab drivers in America. Sure, there are the few diamonds in the rough, but for the most part, taxi drivers are abrasive, curt, and often completely silent the entire ride. They are there for one purpose: to drive you to where you need to go so they can take your money. Nothing against American cab drivers—it’s just the average American working attitude. Perform the job—nothing more, nothing less—and get paid. In Ireland however, things are different. Every time I hop into a cab or step onto a bus, I am surprised and delighted by how friendly the drivers are. I have had copious conversations with my cab drivers about a vast array of topics. They are astonishingly knowledgeable and eager to offer advice about anything and everything. Sure, they are there to drive you, but they are also there to help you—to get to know you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And another example: there is a dingy little pizza shop right around the corner from where we are staying, and hanging in front of the shop is a banner that reads “Probably the best pizza in Dublin.” We Americans found this hilarious, accusing the restaurant of lacking confidence and automatically assuming that because the sign did not say “The BEST pizza in Dublin,” the pizza must be, for lack of a better term, really shitty. But then one day in the city, I noticed a sign for a little coffee shop that read “Probably the best coffee in Dublin.” Odd, I thought. I started to pay closer attention. Before I knew it, I had counted 11 restaurants or shops that advertised as offering “probably” the best of whatever they were selling. No, it’s not that Dubliners lack confidence in their product or that they don’t wish to market successfully. They simply have confidence in the products of others as well and wish for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i> to market successfully. Unlike Americans, it is not in the nature of the Irish to want to have the best of this and the best of that. They are perfectly content asserting that there is a certain degree of probability that their product is the best, but that there is certainly a chance that it is not. If you were to storm into a shop and aggressively declare that their product is shit and another Dublin vendor sold a product that was 100x superior, the shop owner would simply smile and say “hey, cheers to them.” Well, probably.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">PS: check out my first published interview <a href="http://www.totallydublin.ie/event-feature-body-and-soul-site-designers-bamboo-dna-28.html">HERE!!!</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Stay tuned for a first few weeks at work recap plus a recap of my trip to Amsterdam this weekend!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cheers!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">LB</div>Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-75969959831957781782011-06-08T08:58:00.000-07:002011-06-08T09:11:59.267-07:00Vikings Take Galway!!!Anddddd she's back. Sorry for the delay...it has been a WILD few days in these Irish lands, so this post will be a long one. Let's start at the very beginning (a very good place to start...what is it with me and these sound of music references?). So, Saturday. Saturday was a magical day that made me very thankful for two things: the Vikings and America. See, we started our day with a <a href="http://www.vikingsplash.ie/">Viking Tour</a> that basically represented everything Europeans hate about Americans. It was fantastic. We rallied our USC crew and basically took over one of the tour buses. Decked out in horned viking hats and our American finest, we hit the town, immediately befriending our hilarious tour guide who affectionately referred to us collectively as "America."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOhVx9cqcEujMLTPcFNVeQlHTQvomfZshO_9pVC9iAFnkeM7MQO3Uy35z4gpSM1bBIMkGcuVN87SUCgH0Rs7P0qrzBt-km_Z2sXDp122gjtAH0hNKvVQhoT0V0VrosiXFhbl44vvZESk/s1600/DSCN0125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOhVx9cqcEujMLTPcFNVeQlHTQvomfZshO_9pVC9iAFnkeM7MQO3Uy35z4gpSM1bBIMkGcuVN87SUCgH0Rs7P0qrzBt-km_Z2sXDp122gjtAH0hNKvVQhoT0V0VrosiXFhbl44vvZESk/s320/DSCN0125.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huhzah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We were having plenty of fun in the company of just our tour, but the real magic happened whenever we passed someone looking at a map, holding a cup of coffee, or looking distinctly like a tourist--basically all of us, if we were the ones on the street and not the bus. When we passed these lucky individuals, our gem of a guide would quietly count down from 3 and then we would all scream at them and shake our viking fists. We got WAY too into it and loved every minute. Oh, I should mention that we spent some quality time on the party bus on the way to town, so the tour was especially enjoyable after that. Fun times were had all around.<br />
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Then the bus pulled a serious Jedi move and turned into a boat. Badass. We looked SO good in our viking hats and life jackets, especially when we did closed-mouth smiles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHxJv_Ama08MFonzn1KVRwvw0sVKlzKK_vbw3FnHuz2f4sF_Kaz6z4o597cv3dTFDSjj1ls7yPTrELGzpfHyUSFzHKqlFTV5qvvmzGsAHHqbg-qU36-64VgSGoYPshgOTeo7XzCLkGNk/s1600/DSCN0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHxJv_Ama08MFonzn1KVRwvw0sVKlzKK_vbw3FnHuz2f4sF_Kaz6z4o597cv3dTFDSjj1ls7yPTrELGzpfHyUSFzHKqlFTV5qvvmzGsAHHqbg-qU36-64VgSGoYPshgOTeo7XzCLkGNk/s320/DSCN0129.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">God that's attractive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Post viking tour, we cried a little bit because it was over. Then we got over it and went prowling the streets of Dublin, in search of a fun pub to eat lunch/dinner at. Then this happened:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That, my friends, would be Captain America. We were walking down the street, fully intending on finding some grand ole Irish pub, but upon sighting the sign for "Captain America's"...well, the rest is history. Dinner was fun, to say the least. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPH5tX87_4oF7ABhi9PwRcWxLTR0iZYSG1SPR9jtREElyvIaNDJP9Fw1fsZPas7MCEfAlxmoQe39uOBBO4GB-fPzfI18z0SBk5tbOFJIQtAv4GnilEAX-Z-dl55sEYTkWs_eJ_HIgp8Ls/s1600/DSCN0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPH5tX87_4oF7ABhi9PwRcWxLTR0iZYSG1SPR9jtREElyvIaNDJP9Fw1fsZPas7MCEfAlxmoQe39uOBBO4GB-fPzfI18z0SBk5tbOFJIQtAv4GnilEAX-Z-dl55sEYTkWs_eJ_HIgp8Ls/s320/DSCN0137.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Good ole American fun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As joyous and blissful as Saturday was, we decided to get back into the Irish spirit and take the train to Galway on Sunday morning since Monday was a bank holiday. Despite a painful 6 am wake-up call and a nearly 3 hour long train ride, Galway was magnificent. I fell in love. After checking into our delightful little hostel Snoozles (so European of us), we caught the noon ferry to take us out to Inishmore, one of Galways beautiful Aran islands. Though we were exhausted, the beautiful Irish countryside invoked a burst of energy and adventure in us, and we rented bikes for a 7 mile (effing hilly) bike ride along the coast. I have no words for how impossibly beautiful this bike ride was. Luckily though, I do have photos, though they really don't do justice to the splendor of the Irish countryside.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqBFk9l1OsV-B_GU4i4zHPWuQI679dUfX-Dh5ptZhsQTtoxlEEv4PVgzqCp0i6JIKyxZov_sv6-MSlipDqKHpdVbIAkbni3qxwUnJSli3SzUx8ZXYAlbI_vUxCmih4XCxz8UESp83jps/s1600/DSCN0159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqBFk9l1OsV-B_GU4i4zHPWuQI679dUfX-Dh5ptZhsQTtoxlEEv4PVgzqCp0i6JIKyxZov_sv6-MSlipDqKHpdVbIAkbni3qxwUnJSli3SzUx8ZXYAlbI_vUxCmih4XCxz8UESp83jps/s320/DSCN0159.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Though breathtakingly beautiful, the bike ride was HARD. My thighs were feeling the burn, but we all pressed on, determined to do something active and wholesome after a pretty crazy week. Success! The long ride really reminded me that although experiencing the nightlife is crucial to getting the full experience of a new country, I am here for so much more than partying. Ireland is such an amazingly beautiful, cultural, and fascinating place, and I want to experience every facet of it--no matter how badly my thighs may burn in the process. That being said, the first thing we did after our commendable, eye-opening, and wholesome activity was head to the nearest pub and order pints of Guinness. Hey, when in Ireland, do as the Irish do. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">post bike-ride hydration at its finest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After our island excursion, though every inch of my body was imploring me to rest, we all rallied and got ready for a night out in Galway. I am SO glad we did. I'm sorry y'all, but the Americans have nothing on the Irish in terms of having a good time. On a SUNDAY night, every bar we went to was completely packed with Irish folk enjoying themselves immensely. It was fantastic. The first place we went was called Fibber Magees, which were lured to by the promise of free drinks from a Blonde Irish bartender prowling the streets looking for gullible Americans who looked to be more sober than they wished. I guess we fit the bill. I am actually glad we obliged because although those "free drinks" were nowhere to be found, the bar was bursting with craic (Irish for fun) and they were playing hilariously American party songs (think Like a G6 and Umbrella). Ali, Jennie, and I however started getting a little creeped out by these two old Irish guys posted up at the bar with their eyes glued on us American girls. Not chill, Irish dudes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">creepy men in the background!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>So we left and headed to a supposed Galway favorite, The Front Door. So. Much. Fun. This place was much bigger than the first and much more...Irish? They even played the song "Galway Girl" (PS I Love You, anyone?), which literally made my life. I actually got up and started dancing and singing by myself, which turned a lot of heads, but not in the good way. This bar also reinforced the notion of the uh...boldness of young Irish gentlemen. I am a sucker for those accents...</div><div><br />
</div><div>So after a raucous night of Irish fun in Galway, we crashed hard at our lovely little hostel, Snoozles (which I actually highly recommend) and caught a morning train back to Dublin. I LOVED Galway but was so glad to be back in my own little room in Shanowen square--it's really starting to feel like home! </div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, this post, per usual, is a novel, so although I have loads more to tell, I'll save that for another post. Stay tuned for a recap of my first couple days working as a journalist intern for Totally Dublin! </div><div><br />
</div><div>Later y'all,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Laura<br />
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</div></div>Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-84798320230814226222011-06-03T04:09:00.000-07:002011-06-14T07:53:35.973-07:00Interviews, Guinness, the Palace...Oh My!Quite the exciting place, this Dublin. Quite the exciting place indeed. Let's rewind to tomorrow, eh? So I finally had my interview, which went gloriously--even the transportation! I feel like a proud little schoolgirl to tell y'all that I caught the correct bus this time and got off at the correct stop. It turns out it's only about a 5 minute walk to my office from the RIGHT stop. Not a 45 minute walk like I attempted yesterday...baby steps. Anyways, my office is small but adorable--very bright and open air. He conducted our entire interview sitting outside on the ground so he could smoke a cigarette. He is a boss (literally and figuratively). I don't want to get too in-depth about my internship until I actually start working there next week, but I will say that there is a 100% chance that I am going to swoon over this job. Basically, I will be writing (my favorite thing to do) about theatre, film, music, bars/pubs, and fashion (these are a few of my favorite things...sound of music anyone?). He told me that I will likely be spending several days a week just walking around Dublin, a city that I am falling more and more in love with each day, just exploring and talking to people. Yeah, I think I might like this job. Check out the website <a href="http://www.totallydublin.ie/">Totally Dublin</a> because my first project is to write online! I'll try and snag some pics of my office and coworkers (who all seem awesome) once we become besties. It's happening.<br />
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Post-interview, it was time to get ready for our tour of the Guinness Brewery. We left a little early so we could walk around the city for a bit. We started, naturally, with grand ole time on the party bus.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hombres chillin at the bus stop</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and the ladies</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">finally on the bus...red cup in hand<br />
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</tbody></table>When we got to the City Centre, we had plans to grab some quick dinner and drinks at <a href="http://www.thechurch.ie/">The Church Bar</a>, which turned out to be totally packed--totally awesome, but packed nonetheless. So we forwent those plans, and decided to just stroll around Dublin to kill some time pre-Guinness tour. It was about 7 pm when these pictures were taken and still completely bright outside. Evidently, it will stay light until around 11 pm in late June and July. This is excellent news for the nocturnal party animals in us, but not such great news for the responsible, early-to-bed working adults that we also must become. I'm confident we will cope. Oh also, it was warm yesterday! I mean like seriously <i>warm.</i> It's been pretty chilly the past few days, but nothing unmanageable at all. Yesterday though the sun was shining all day, and I was completely comfortable in a tank top. Plus, according to the cab driver, this summer is going to be a "scorcher" and cab drivers here know all. Summer!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-MExBRP1THaPPNm3jhuAD6r2hTbTW-t9YRwedvQ7IyAddXZzElgcu4ud-Io9jImiTdF7GB0AkkrhyphenhyphenUFU0A99bBwp9k9CeG4-zUa1lJDEP0qU4GtJWVBXd5yfoEar-oCefBd-TkrzTtko/s1600/DSCN0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-MExBRP1THaPPNm3jhuAD6r2hTbTW-t9YRwedvQ7IyAddXZzElgcu4ud-Io9jImiTdF7GB0AkkrhyphenhyphenUFU0A99bBwp9k9CeG4-zUa1lJDEP0qU4GtJWVBXd5yfoEar-oCefBd-TkrzTtko/s320/DSCN0068.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fight on</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">downtown dub</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Come 7:30, we promptly scurried over to the Guinness Factory. They enticed us with the promise of a free pint of Guinness at the end of the tour, so naturally we were the first ones there. We were greeted by the legendary Tom Kelley (program manager...what a guy) and went on our merry way through the brewery. It was very, very cool.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">times at the Guinness fountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtzw1-GhoyKeIqQKe4a2hwr2AbOh-LygHgElFYlhlrAWeAm_R2mVDS678-sP46fm-fbRXgGpT4RiwaJ6I4-Izi7pD19WCg_I5aY-iDK58HBPl-PeEXjPxNqM5pUepsGbP3rRbKACVFmM/s1600/DSCN0074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtzw1-GhoyKeIqQKe4a2hwr2AbOh-LygHgElFYlhlrAWeAm_R2mVDS678-sP46fm-fbRXgGpT4RiwaJ6I4-Izi7pD19WCg_I5aY-iDK58HBPl-PeEXjPxNqM5pUepsGbP3rRbKACVFmM/s320/DSCN0074.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">brewers got skillz</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuq76PoQBcGhlwFWvdZAqfhmgPzuBJduudRJ9jI7KDDm-ePvtXgzoQ1keW-2rdwiq0ja7Z8Bb0cskB6rCVog1gRCe64inXIuPs4r4OEqcWEjtAsMdJoTKe7HvmfY6RV0FuJr9K4xT8_fc/s1600/DSCN0078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuq76PoQBcGhlwFWvdZAqfhmgPzuBJduudRJ9jI7KDDm-ePvtXgzoQ1keW-2rdwiq0ja7Z8Bb0cskB6rCVog1gRCe64inXIuPs4r4OEqcWEjtAsMdJoTKe7HvmfY6RV0FuJr9K4xT8_fc/s320/DSCN0078.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">chair times</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
<div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fLC0wUCcRDiPkf86l0n7SLxI171o4tMeXxGrh4BE8jWz_LmMjpGEDAShoefuKczYAJNP_5LDerGZ9pdvvFbQWUwW61JMxBLzX6-SJ1CNKKs0h7gknLq8B9nLov0hcb5ybiTI8WzD8a4/s1600/DSCN0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fLC0wUCcRDiPkf86l0n7SLxI171o4tMeXxGrh4BE8jWz_LmMjpGEDAShoefuKczYAJNP_5LDerGZ9pdvvFbQWUwW61JMxBLzX6-SJ1CNKKs0h7gknLq8B9nLov0hcb5ybiTI8WzD8a4/s320/DSCN0080.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">some contraption</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9bRh93KGM5BRMDleSwV_FprBsUT18oDubb_AFWRRYNHA4p4ySBHjd0ultNN3MiHlW9PF0ORwxzEBkMar9TK3wQVoC1W3Z3PbjgYYjqvItWrk7TPBOELcIltp7KB3aD086AwlX5r8ips/s1600/DSCN0081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9bRh93KGM5BRMDleSwV_FprBsUT18oDubb_AFWRRYNHA4p4ySBHjd0ultNN3MiHlW9PF0ORwxzEBkMar9TK3wQVoC1W3Z3PbjgYYjqvItWrk7TPBOELcIltp7KB3aD086AwlX5r8ips/s320/DSCN0081.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">barley...smelled like coffee beans!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbb8VkvqdrxIDgKrwjJ9AsvlV77C6a-Nx3__tcAgYnLSeFuWYroVW0fV42uvfahQYMGndgdbCp6FQVbH5_M8lACUkiPqFnMghngFF5FjWNqIGtvTHWF2Dyx-D9C-NU8biI8Ft1Dt0q7k/s1600/DSCN0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbb8VkvqdrxIDgKrwjJ9AsvlV77C6a-Nx3__tcAgYnLSeFuWYroVW0fV42uvfahQYMGndgdbCp6FQVbH5_M8lACUkiPqFnMghngFF5FjWNqIGtvTHWF2Dyx-D9C-NU8biI8Ft1Dt0q7k/s320/DSCN0088.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bartendin'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then we made it to the top!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeyBkk5ZeN0k4-yKfN79K17cs5fZNXid0joSC8PGkdjBc6-bJ5lRPbNnrk-l8IpVLWKMqyTUbdS2xFx-X8AwqHoxU6xUajyGXcB0r1Tm_efFcZ3BV_aTmZKWIcEizyitqZ_Pfe9ZLrOw/s1600/DSCN0092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeyBkk5ZeN0k4-yKfN79K17cs5fZNXid0joSC8PGkdjBc6-bJ5lRPbNnrk-l8IpVLWKMqyTUbdS2xFx-X8AwqHoxU6xUajyGXcB0r1Tm_efFcZ3BV_aTmZKWIcEizyitqZ_Pfe9ZLrOw/s320/DSCN0092.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">real bartenders...ginj...naturally</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1_uqX59ogPR98K4eDk_WcYRoWDJchbAfW3M2o9IJSk721cp-zlOdqpVVT2GEvYzhsV8c_1OwNradOOnQ_5V-S09F9T7Lxa71wyqCUDqEhQ4kiAU57k31OSefE9fHRDts_S23zfpZRjg/s1600/DSCN0094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1_uqX59ogPR98K4eDk_WcYRoWDJchbAfW3M2o9IJSk721cp-zlOdqpVVT2GEvYzhsV8c_1OwNradOOnQ_5V-S09F9T7Lxa71wyqCUDqEhQ4kiAU57k31OSefE9fHRDts_S23zfpZRjg/s320/DSCN0094.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">jennie and some gingers</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCMhcG3WgzaxwB2qA-7UOKX_ogm3qEeHQkNpuJyI7r32O0EqNFgAna4njvqXT6VW8hrlwK7UGTIv4BAu0BeqMZdKk7gWCMF34SWu2Uuhz3mXYw8KC6W1ErB1xBr_5U2GY0fI75iKFFDk/s1600/DSCN0097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCMhcG3WgzaxwB2qA-7UOKX_ogm3qEeHQkNpuJyI7r32O0EqNFgAna4njvqXT6VW8hrlwK7UGTIv4BAu0BeqMZdKk7gWCMF34SWu2Uuhz3mXYw8KC6W1ErB1xBr_5U2GY0fI75iKFFDk/s320/DSCN0097.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">frendz</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1kYL756Daa5Si5BGbX9pBfv5cF3uBFWT-_3uQA8fOrIN6PY2HMPn0i4uCKx7y9eEeZ97E9u5qaR7zjNIKtVxbdSCsOTNBsIaba69wjWQ6CtJSNHp8bijN6834-8k1lCwZbbT_9SVVP0/s1600/DSCN0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1kYL756Daa5Si5BGbX9pBfv5cF3uBFWT-_3uQA8fOrIN6PY2HMPn0i4uCKx7y9eEeZ97E9u5qaR7zjNIKtVxbdSCsOTNBsIaba69wjWQ6CtJSNHp8bijN6834-8k1lCwZbbT_9SVVP0/s320/DSCN0098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i just want to enjoy my guinness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I thought I would hate Guinness. I even had a sip of it the other night, and well, I did hate it. But since I'm fully committed to becoming as Irish as I possibly can short of dying my hair red and changing my last name to O'Burdine, I decided to give it a second chance. It really grows on you! A few sips in, and I actually started to enjoy it. It is definitely an acquired taste--dark, thick, and rich, which is a far cry from the light, cheap, watered-down natty lights that plague fratty fridays at USC. Now, I'm not saying that I'm going to be throwing back pints every night, but a glass here and there to complement my dinner? I could totally do that. Irish win. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So after enjoying our Guinness and mingling with our program-mates (thanks Jennie), a huge crew of us hit the town for another crazy Dublin night. The first pub we went to, Flannigans or Flannerys or something like that, was fun but totally filled with Americans. Literally EUSA kids completely invaded it. </div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym7Lhqbw5o6h18gJ8mTl94wJ_CJEUN2cFlIKW4Ux_TtbnONygsqjYO8-akkUnOmS8-WGqm3oHNV9Nz6nYrb1uePBl7_gmwFjd2pYmZLusse2-4f6BG75wNGTVZUU8HoXb6etiTT_zq3w/s1600/DSCN0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym7Lhqbw5o6h18gJ8mTl94wJ_CJEUN2cFlIKW4Ux_TtbnONygsqjYO8-akkUnOmS8-WGqm3oHNV9Nz6nYrb1uePBl7_gmwFjd2pYmZLusse2-4f6BG75wNGTVZUU8HoXb6etiTT_zq3w/s320/DSCN0108.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">:)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBbSQu842F4krHo5ETw-Yzw70-gAhQiBR3DGcnr95JsrRcbWPpwnCkRoCI5z_c3B1ff_UlWvMPWcoPLBYAg3Qnd0t5bW8VasJhrUdPD2hFfUBrLxyPj8AYJ8T-OC61cE897Mw7QTO5Vc/s1600/DSCN0104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmBbSQu842F4krHo5ETw-Yzw70-gAhQiBR3DGcnr95JsrRcbWPpwnCkRoCI5z_c3B1ff_UlWvMPWcoPLBYAg3Qnd0t5bW8VasJhrUdPD2hFfUBrLxyPj8AYJ8T-OC61cE897Mw7QTO5Vc/s320/DSCN0104.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i like to party</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbVH9G8tWwOC2eScVFyAOIREp5WWSepcSN-OX7YHscqdr_ZR2JywOOPKYeiLi2LmbmBgpWUfeJXsN6qPF_5cF5F2XtrjdaixyF9qyiUF0R4-0A2fW7ZaumGJNDcHieWtRAo4ZoKhkV8s/s1600/DSCN0102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbVH9G8tWwOC2eScVFyAOIREp5WWSepcSN-OX7YHscqdr_ZR2JywOOPKYeiLi2LmbmBgpWUfeJXsN6qPF_5cF5F2XtrjdaixyF9qyiUF0R4-0A2fW7ZaumGJNDcHieWtRAo4ZoKhkV8s/s320/DSCN0102.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">paybacks a bitch</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENUMTvUEHHZaTMb2zG3IGMOQEzAukv5xYE5xcTRN9ZhKygVs1DF-v-zqQCTIGleQkB5E-fUj22xLebVBQ5NOeEaVlXZO1iwo302HG5PEmGRL3YCPSMRHULg8KnYykHiPJh7PQxmU4224/s1600/DSCN0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENUMTvUEHHZaTMb2zG3IGMOQEzAukv5xYE5xcTRN9ZhKygVs1DF-v-zqQCTIGleQkB5E-fUj22xLebVBQ5NOeEaVlXZO1iwo302HG5PEmGRL3YCPSMRHULg8KnYykHiPJh7PQxmU4224/s320/DSCN0111.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new friends!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>We had a great time, but I was craving some Craic (Irish for "fun"), so heeding to the advice of the bartender, a few of us headed across the street to this place called The Palace, which evidently has quite a reputation of being THE place to go on Thursday nights. Wow. This place was unbelievable. Three stories of rowdy Irish fun. The bars in Dublin are nothing like American bars, in the best way possible. They are much cleaner, better organized, and more spacious--basically the exact opposite of the 9-0. Plus, this place had a dance floor! We danced our faces off. I wish I had taken more photos because this doesn't do it any justice, but I'm sure we will be back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2oz-1J9qblOdjiWyy-9YJZo3_ky2Qvcvsi9b787BXyUOSDvwW0IYYkyCE81bwDdLLXNgwhjtRBhxYfX88xzkjJOyhMBwTHqQvlqsTznYUkIt5-JIQL6Va4eLKBjDRoE_GNhVRUBEWlg/s1600/DSCN0118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2oz-1J9qblOdjiWyy-9YJZo3_ky2Qvcvsi9b787BXyUOSDvwW0IYYkyCE81bwDdLLXNgwhjtRBhxYfX88xzkjJOyhMBwTHqQvlqsTznYUkIt5-JIQL6Va4eLKBjDRoE_GNhVRUBEWlg/s320/DSCN0118.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>It was here that I got my first taste of how...bold Irish guys are. I actually had to start inventing made-up stories about myself to fend some of them off because evidently if you respond "no thank you" to a drink offer or dance invitation, Irish guys take that to mean "yes, I REALLY want to, but I am just playing hard to get." So they try harder. It can be cute and charming, especially with those darn accents, but it can also be annoying. I actually told one of them that I had a husband back home, and he still offered to buy me a drink. I had to give that one credit for his persistence. But don't worry, my cab driver on the way home gave me some excellent advice on how to deal with Irish guys, so I am fully prepared for our next outing. I'm tellin' you, these Irish cab drivers know things.<br />
<br />
Well, it's after noon now, and I am itching to explore the city. Today we plan to do the "touristy" tour of Dublin, and we may try to do some traveling around Ireland this weekend since we have Monday off from work. Stay tuned for more!<br />
<br />
Later y'all,<br />
Laura<br />
<span id="goog_1882370585"></span><span id="goog_1882370586"></span></div></div>Laura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-48414829619436255282011-06-01T10:57:00.000-07:002011-06-01T11:03:16.387-07:00public transportation is not my friend.So remember how I said yesterday that I found taking public transportation "oddly fun"? I was wrong. So, so wrong. Let me tell you about my morning. (WARNING: rant ahead)<br />
<br />
I woke up bright and early for my interview, got all dressed up in my business finest, and headed out to DCU where I was supposed to catch my bus. I however made the mistake (mistake #1) of not looking at a map and figuring out which bus stop exactly I needed to find. I walked past a bus stop at the entrance of DCU, but for some reason did not think it was the one I needed, so I proceeded to walk all the way through the DCU campus, seeking out every campus map I could find, trying to find my way to the street I was supposed to take. I looked painfully American. After about 20 minutes of trekking all over the campus, I finally made my way to the correct bus stop, only to find that it was the same one I passed on my way in. Perfect.<br />
<br />
Once I was at the correct bus stop, I somehow decided that the big flashing numbers on the front of the buses are not important, and that as as long as you are at the right bus stop, you will get to where you need to go (mistake #2). They all go to the City Centre, so as long as I'm at the right stop, any bus should be able to take me to my next stop right? Wrong. I hopped on the bus clearly numbered "4," even though I had been instructed to take 11, and took my seat. I was supposed to get off at the Burlington Hotel stop, which is just past the City Centre, so when we made our way to the City Centre, I was quite pleased and confident that I would get to where I needed to go. Just to be sure, I decided to go ask the bus driver when we were going to arrive at my stop. It turns out, if you are clearly instructed to take a certain bus number, and you take a different one, you will not get to where you need to be. Go figure. Luckily, the bus driver was extremely helpful and took me to another stop, allegedly close to my office, and instructed me on how to get there. I thanked him and went on my way, following his directions exactly (mistake #3).<br />
<br />
Now I don't know if I misheard him, he was wrong, or he simply did not want to be on time, but his directions did NOT lead me to my office. I happily walked for about 30 minutes, enjoying the vibrance of downtown Dublin in the morning, before I realized that I had been walking for quite a while and my office was still nowhere to be found. I stopped to ask somebody how close I was to Upper Leeson street, where my office is, and you can imagine my delight when they replied, "Oh goodness, love, Upper Leeson is about a 30 minute walk in the opposite direction." Super. Now I was starting to panic. I had about 25 minutes until my interview, and we had been told to arrive 10-15 minutes early. I knew that I would never make it in time on foot, so I decided to hail a taxi, which was not an easy process. After literally standing in the middle of the street and waving my arms around like an insane person, I finally got a taxi to stop. A taxi sent from the heavens. I gave him the address of my company, and he had me there in 5 minutes flat. We also had a great chat about working life in Dublin and basically became lifelong friends. I'm finding that taxi drivers here seem to know everything about everything. I thanked my new best friend profusely and got out, beyond thrilled to have finally found my elusive destination. I literally could not believe it, but I actually had 15 minutes to spare. I smoothed my skirt, tried to collect myself and recover from my near nervous breakdown, and approached the building.<br />
<br />
Right as I was about to walk in, I heard my phone ring. Lo and behold, It was my internship placement manager letting me know that my interview had been rescheduled at the last minute for TOMORROW. I was literally speechless. I had spent the past 2 hours taking incorrect buses and running around Dublin only to find out that I had to come back and do it all again tomorrow. After about 16 seconds wallowing in self pity, I literally started laughing hysterically right there on the streets of Dublin. In hindsight, anyone that had been watching my behavior in the past 2 hours would have probably committed me to an asylum. I couldn't help it though--I found my situation just so purely hilarious. I had been so stressed, frantic, and basically a nervous wreck all morning, and it was as though the universe was saying "That's life, and it's all going to be okay in the end." After all, even though I didn't have my interview, I did get a chance to explore the lively and fascinating city that I will be working in all Summer, and honestly, if given a chance to redo my day, I don't think I would do anything differently. Besides, if I had known my interview was tomorrow, I probably would have just made the same mistakes that I did today. More than anything, today reinforced the notion that as an American, I truly am a foreigner here. I cannot wait to start working next week and truly immerse myself in this fascinating culture. I just want to be Irish, okay?!<br />
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Sidenote: there is an adorably charming coffee shop chain here called "Insomnia," which I think is the most clever name for a coffee shop that I have ever heard. I want to be friends with whoever invented that name. Speaking of insomnia, no matter how late I go to sleep here, I have not been able to sleep past 6:30 or 7. Oddly enough, I wake up feeling refreshed and energized, and with a little caffeine boost, have managed to maintain that energy throughout the day. At home, I need at least 8 or 9 hours to feel rested, but here, I've been running on 5-6 and feeling great. Jetlag? Adrenaline? Whatever the reason, I dig it. I have so much more to tell, but this post is already a novel, so if you have made it this far, a. I apologize and b. I'll be back later with a more <i>fun</i> post. I'll leave y'all with this photo that I thought was just too hilariously stereotypical to go undocumented.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBtygxShXkrseHwQH7PQNdZ0KvEcKcKewMeKbAEZAYk2B4AqM7qAXXtMDRNGCATeH1v6czOay8rS7xdRSEFoOACodLdGrSpG8acvfPLbRCFw1k6d5kIelnY5No6N4q8NfX91xNc4EeP4/s1600/DSCN0052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBtygxShXkrseHwQH7PQNdZ0KvEcKcKewMeKbAEZAYk2B4AqM7qAXXtMDRNGCATeH1v6czOay8rS7xdRSEFoOACodLdGrSpG8acvfPLbRCFw1k6d5kIelnY5No6N4q8NfX91xNc4EeP4/s400/DSCN0052.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll definitely be checking out that museum.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Later y'all,<br />
LBLaura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-6976654034661640092011-05-31T08:54:00.000-07:002011-06-01T15:54:52.300-07:00WHIRLWINDWhoa. It has been a CRAZY two days. This is literally the first time I've had a chance to just relax since I arrived in Dublin yesterday morning, but so far this trip has been incredible. The plane trip was...long. I first flew from Texas to Newark, which actually rocked because I watched Avatar and The Hurt Locker thanks to Continental's badass new in-flight on-demand. But the flight from Newark to Dublin was pretty brutal. It was entertaining at first because my flight was filled with Irish men crackin' jokes and literally singing Irish folk songs, but once the excitement wore off I just got annoyed. I tried REALLY hard to sleep and consumed a rather large dosage of melatonin, but I literally never fell asleep. Shockingly however, I wasn't even tired when we landed in Dublin, even though it was 3:30 am back home--I'm sure I was running on pure adrenaline and excitement.<br />
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After struggling immensely with my exorbitant of luggage, I made it through the airport and managed to find my friend Jennie right away, which was a huge relief. We found the EUSA crew, immediately bonded with our fellow USC Trojans (we have an awesome crew) and headed over to Shanowen Square, where we're staying. The apartments are nice--small--but totally fine and everyone is really close together, which is great. Our USC crew walked to the shopping mall for lunch and some apartment necessities and then passed out for a solid 2-hour afternoon powernap.<br />
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Although the smart, responsible thing to do after traveling for 13 hours the night before a 9:00 am orientation would have been to go to bed early and get a good night sleep, we are college students and we don't like to make good decisions. So naturally, we rallied and decided to explore the city. We started off with a bang on this crazy double-decker bus that we decided to transform into our own personal party bus. I'm sure after a while, being completely reliant on public transportation will be irritating, but for the first time, it was oddly fun!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrdu-oWt6elDi8vx4pmMZHw5Deo5wRx_5h_MdyW3hjKXAl-1JZLzKAAPMHIMDZNUBxvmkcnckE2blFm75ltU-2LzhfWUJ_w8QN6CV9i4Gli5rECV4IXcGRt1A96a2mqOmVXoYHpTUAgM/s1600/DSCN0015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrdu-oWt6elDi8vx4pmMZHw5Deo5wRx_5h_MdyW3hjKXAl-1JZLzKAAPMHIMDZNUBxvmkcnckE2blFm75ltU-2LzhfWUJ_w8QN6CV9i4Gli5rECV4IXcGRt1A96a2mqOmVXoYHpTUAgM/s320/DSCN0015.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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We ate dinner at this ridiculous 3-story pub/restaurant called Porterhouse, and the food was actually delicious, despite the commonly held belief that Irish food is less than stellar. Even at 8:30 pm, Porterhouse was so alive with Dublin nightlife. Young Dubliners were everywhere, sitting at their "regular" tables no doubt, laughing and talking with one another in true Irish fashion, and drinking their traditional Irish beers--mostly Guinness. It was vibrant and exciting, and I couldn't wait to see more.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRr07aX49uaG5r9-rZ9zmKKzxzBwWW8FIJb-gXDwGXvILZl3L-Kogb1XT9ubmBml1c7HzwGURBGzg7YVimsrXw1ZzR3BGVROh0uSxzcn1cGnrYgBI4pZ4qTdxnWeEHPmVNu62ndkgyzz4/s1600/DSCN0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRr07aX49uaG5r9-rZ9zmKKzxzBwWW8FIJb-gXDwGXvILZl3L-Kogb1XT9ubmBml1c7HzwGURBGzg7YVimsrXw1ZzR3BGVROh0uSxzcn1cGnrYgBI4pZ4qTdxnWeEHPmVNu62ndkgyzz4/s320/DSCN0018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5PcAVBB2a4f5tFFMPO9Jj4UoOdaLOnTv6b7GnX2luepT_CdBc_CVv0HdLThom2DQxoyIlfZz8gSVwP05aiio5zui-zRFuKv-2Yub-wwuXs1bYd-3hri4aQyY0bOpHR7G89G4DV0RQGA/s1600/DSCN0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5PcAVBB2a4f5tFFMPO9Jj4UoOdaLOnTv6b7GnX2luepT_CdBc_CVv0HdLThom2DQxoyIlfZz8gSVwP05aiio5zui-zRFuKv-2Yub-wwuXs1bYd-3hri4aQyY0bOpHR7G89G4DV0RQGA/s320/DSCN0019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>After eating our meals, we decided to investigate the famous Temple Bar that we had heard so much about. Temple Bar has somewhat of a reputation, especially among the Irish, of being quite "touristy" and not a good representation of traditional Irish pub and club culture. But, since it was our first night and we had no idea where to even begin to get a taste of that Irish culture, we thought we should start with what we know. I guess I am guilty of being a very "American" American because I have to admit, I loved Temple Bar. Yes, it was touristy and expensive, but there was a pleasantly surprising large number of Irish people at the bars, and everyone seemed to be in high spirits. The live band made things all the more fun, especially when Jennie made best friends with every member of the band and forced them to dedicate every single song to her. All in all, I had a great time at Temple Bar, but I am really looking forward to "getting in" with the local Dubliners and frequenting some of the more traditional pubs. You know what they say, when in Dublin, do as the Dubliners do! Sadly, this is the only picture I took at the bar, but I'm sure there will be PLENTY of other opportunities. Like, say...tonight?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c6NjsRpxlcupBZtR3KJaKvV-u6JlRpEqcykc93oXH-zMfAL0aUCN79D79gCIqoEMtJ5vDKDNPXWFTUChyvfL88_F3XaFZ_k4VFol00YP5PTFXyvLcgY2UqKCErTt_7EPDD9YIGQIxqM/s1600/DSCN0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c6NjsRpxlcupBZtR3KJaKvV-u6JlRpEqcykc93oXH-zMfAL0aUCN79D79gCIqoEMtJ5vDKDNPXWFTUChyvfL88_F3XaFZ_k4VFol00YP5PTFXyvLcgY2UqKCErTt_7EPDD9YIGQIxqM/s320/DSCN0020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This morning, we were all SO excited to wake up at 8 for orientation (ha). You would think that after not sleeping for literally 24 straight hours, staying out late, and waking up early I would be exhausted, but I've been strangely awake and energetic all day. I think I'm just so excited to finally be here that my body is refusing to show any tiredness that might prevent me from taking advantage of every single second in Dublin. I have to literally force myself to rest. I guess it's a good problem? Anyways, orientation served to get me even more excited and eager to begin my internship and meet my boss and coworkers and truly start my time here in Dublin. Afterwards, a few of us grabbed lunch at this cool pub on the DCU (Dublin City University) campus. I learned that in Ireland, "silverware" doesn't exist--it's "cutlery." Oh on that note, can I just say that I am 100% obsessed with the Irish accent. I literally go out of my way to speak to anyone and everyone Irish just so I can hear them reply. There is something so endearing and irresistibly charming about not just the accents but their whole demeanor and vernacular in general, and I could not be more thrilled that I am going to be surrounded by Irish people all summer. I'm hoping to adopt the accent when I go back to the states. After lunch, we headed back to Shanowen, and I FINALLY unpacked. Now I'm just relaxing and resting (ugh) until we all meet up before dinner and hitting up the city! Tomorrow I have my preliminary interview with my boss at Totally Dublin, which I am simultaneously ecstatic and nervous for. All in all, an amazing start to a sure-to-be unbelievable summer. I'll be back tomorrow!<br />
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Later y'all,<br />
LauraLaura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6702845350119235321.post-25255272931274397882011-05-13T10:59:00.000-07:002011-05-13T10:59:59.637-07:00The Countdown...Hey y'all!<br />
Welcome to my blog where I will be documenting my sure to be crazy/exciting/scary/amazing adventures living in Dublin, Ireland for 10 weeks this summer. I will be interning at <a href="http://www.totallydublin.ie/">Totally Dublin</a>, taking an online Communication class, and <s>drinking a lot of Guinness</s> learning as much about Irish culture as I can! Today marks exactly 16 days until I leave. As great as it is to be back home in Texas, I wish these two weeks would just fly by already--I am ready to finally be a Dubliner! In the meantime, I think I'll just study up on my Ireland travel books, paint my nails different shades of green, and watch <i>Leap Year</i> 900 times.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOTPV8BjWPvoWZ-8mhpL85ESJILH4r7gYesBYUMiHXczGpuSL3giT-HMhjnqM662Ks1_cFlOj9z-XxtcrdzCjUWAH3ZPtXLiAvqj90eKqQ3lys-B5vuFZB_g6K6z7SF4PCniIEYDLIMs/s1600/leap-year-lands-20100309105442792-000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOTPV8BjWPvoWZ-8mhpL85ESJILH4r7gYesBYUMiHXczGpuSL3giT-HMhjnqM662Ks1_cFlOj9z-XxtcrdzCjUWAH3ZPtXLiAvqj90eKqQ3lys-B5vuFZB_g6K6z7SF4PCniIEYDLIMs/s200/leap-year-lands-20100309105442792-000.jpg" width="159" /></a>I hope I find Matthew Goode in Ireland...</div><br />
Later amigos,<br />
LBLaura Burdinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17931974991694269070noreply@blogger.com0