Since my first time with Rick Steves when I was in college (reading his books, you pervs), I have been in love with travel guides. I will sit down with any travel guide and read it cover to cover. Restaurant reviews make dash for it when they hear I'm coming, because I gobble them up. Nommy nommy nommy. Ha. I'm hilarious with the puns. I know.
Here is my first review for Examiner.com. I'm hoping that this will be a stepping stone for me to eventually become a full-time travel/lifestyle writer. I'm certainly nervous, because I've only ever been paid to write website content, which is excellent, though not super entertaining. I'm also at a crossroads about what I want to do with myself, and would surely like to earn some extra dolla bills y'all in the process. If you don't mind hooking a sister up and clicking on the reviews and checking back for future TPO opinions, I would massively, hugely, ginormously appreciate it.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Guinness Makes You Strong
I've been to Ireland exactly once. When I was studying in England my Junior year of college, a long weekend trip to Dublin was a requirement. Being a student with limited funds, I set off the least expensive way I could determine, which was via train and ferry. Since everything is so close together in Europe, it wouldn't be a big deal. Just a few hours there and back. It took 14 hours. Each way. Looking back, I now realize I could have flown from North Carolina to Dublin and back in 14 hours, but if I had done that, I wouldn't have ridden a train through gloriously green Wales and taken a ferry across the Irish Channel. Hey, did you know the Irish Channel is notoriously choppy? Yeah, the people who puked the whole ride do.
Upon arrival, I noted there are palm trees all over Dublin. Who knew? Fourteen years later, I'm still baffled by this. Never thought of anywhere in Ireland as a tropical coastal town, but that Gulf Stream is a sneaky little character.
I fulfilled the typical tourist requirement of visiting the Guinness Brewery. That place straight up accosted my olfactory nerves. Seriously, someone open a window. The mash is astanky. In my opinion, Guinness tastes like used coffee grounds, so it isn't all that surprising that the brewery has such an offensive odor. Following the riveting tour of wax figures demonstrating how Guinness has been produced through the years, everyone is given the option of a pint of Guinness or a Pepsi. You can guess what I chose.
You know how people always talk about how children in Europe drink alcohol at young ages, and no one thinks a thing about it? It seems to be true, as there was a field trip group of middle school aged children there at the same time I was. It appeared that the students had disabilities as they were using wheelchairs. They were also covertly drinking the free Guinness at the end of the tour, and it must have effected them quickly, because shortly after their consumption, I watched them have drunk driving accidents with each other and the displays in the gift shop. Hilarious and wrong.
Later, my friends and I came upon a pub from which Garth Brooks covers were emanating. So of course we went in, found a pint and a seat, and joined the natives in the belting out of the American country songs. They were loving some Garth, and I was reminded that most country music is based on the music that immigrated to the United States along with the Scotch-Irish people who first settled in Appalachia and the southeastern states. It also explains the love of fist fights that many of their redneck/hillbilly descendants have, because I recall witnessing tons of drunken bar brawls while in England, Scotland and Ireland. It's true. I did a TPO sociological study on it. Somehow at this Garth Brooks loving bar, I ended up talking with a Guinness infused Spaniard who was in Dublin working on a fishing boat. I think. His accent got thicker and thicker as the evening went on, and he became more and more irritated with my nationality. Sneering "American. Beel Cleentone." over and over at me did not bode well for either of us, because at the time, I was a proud, unwavering Republican. As I tried to school him on the Democratic process and explain that not everyone voted for Beel Cleentone, and that his ire should not be directed at me personally, I got scared. He was drunk and angry with something much larger than me, and I ended up leaving as he went into a tirade in Spanish. So maybe he is descended from the drunk Spanish rednecks. Not sure what the term is for that, but this gringa wasn't going to stay and find out.
I still love that trip and the memories. Even though I still don't like Guinness, I love the Guinness advertisements that are pervasive in Dublin. Some of my favorites are shown throughout this post.
Happy St. Paddy's Day!
Upon arrival, I noted there are palm trees all over Dublin. Who knew? Fourteen years later, I'm still baffled by this. Never thought of anywhere in Ireland as a tropical coastal town, but that Gulf Stream is a sneaky little character.
I fulfilled the typical tourist requirement of visiting the Guinness Brewery. That place straight up accosted my olfactory nerves. Seriously, someone open a window. The mash is astanky. In my opinion, Guinness tastes like used coffee grounds, so it isn't all that surprising that the brewery has such an offensive odor. Following the riveting tour of wax figures demonstrating how Guinness has been produced through the years, everyone is given the option of a pint of Guinness or a Pepsi. You can guess what I chose.
You know how people always talk about how children in Europe drink alcohol at young ages, and no one thinks a thing about it? It seems to be true, as there was a field trip group of middle school aged children there at the same time I was. It appeared that the students had disabilities as they were using wheelchairs. They were also covertly drinking the free Guinness at the end of the tour, and it must have effected them quickly, because shortly after their consumption, I watched them have drunk driving accidents with each other and the displays in the gift shop. Hilarious and wrong.
Later, my friends and I came upon a pub from which Garth Brooks covers were emanating. So of course we went in, found a pint and a seat, and joined the natives in the belting out of the American country songs. They were loving some Garth, and I was reminded that most country music is based on the music that immigrated to the United States along with the Scotch-Irish people who first settled in Appalachia and the southeastern states. It also explains the love of fist fights that many of their redneck/hillbilly descendants have, because I recall witnessing tons of drunken bar brawls while in England, Scotland and Ireland. It's true. I did a TPO sociological study on it. Somehow at this Garth Brooks loving bar, I ended up talking with a Guinness infused Spaniard who was in Dublin working on a fishing boat. I think. His accent got thicker and thicker as the evening went on, and he became more and more irritated with my nationality. Sneering "American. Beel Cleentone." over and over at me did not bode well for either of us, because at the time, I was a proud, unwavering Republican. As I tried to school him on the Democratic process and explain that not everyone voted for Beel Cleentone, and that his ire should not be directed at me personally, I got scared. He was drunk and angry with something much larger than me, and I ended up leaving as he went into a tirade in Spanish. So maybe he is descended from the drunk Spanish rednecks. Not sure what the term is for that, but this gringa wasn't going to stay and find out.
I still love that trip and the memories. Even though I still don't like Guinness, I love the Guinness advertisements that are pervasive in Dublin. Some of my favorites are shown throughout this post.
Happy St. Paddy's Day!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
jen + chris
They are so sweet. And kind. And beautiful. And talented. And creative. And fashionable. If they weren't so genuinely sweet, I would completely hate them. But I can't. Because they are some of the best people I have ever met. Be jealous that they aren't your friends.
Thank you, Jen and Chris, for sweetly capturing the details of a few hours in the life of the O family, monkey faces and all. As I said, you are the only two people I know who can make a loading dock into art.
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