Reaaaaally long entry about the break...

[fan_elune]

Warning, this is gonna be one gui of an entry. Break was great! And it deserves me to rant about it all.

Seeing as Ireland felt a bit like Scotland must have felt to the MacMees (minus the obsession), we decided that we too needed a name. We shall therefore be known as the O'Teamhair clan. Please do not pronounce "Teamhair" "team hair". Or "thé amer." Or, closer but still not it, "ta mère." Instead, "tam hair" will do. Just for the record, it is the Irish name of "Tara."

Also, we shall all be known as Jim, just as the French revolutionaries were known as Jacques. Kudos to Mr Larkin.

Dublin was fab. The trip there was uneventful, and miss_kao was waiting for me at the airport. We caught a bus downtown and I visited – hang on to your seats, people! – my first Irish McDonalds! Which felt more French than Irish, what between the euros and the French people everywhere. Dublin is full of French people. And let me take the opportunity to whine against the UK: why haven't you guys got the euro yet? It would make things so much simpler.

Then we caught another bus and Catherine, the mother of the family Noëlle's au-pairing for, picked us up at the bus stop and drove us home. Home happens to be on a hill – the one with three rocks, yuh-huh – where there's very little apart from a pub, a taxi and a woman to throw candy at buy candy from. House is lovely and the terrace magnificent, not to mention the view. Oh my. Unfortunately, no deer were spotted.

On the Saturday, we woke up at an ungodly hour for a first day of holidays and I met the kids. Sean (10, isn't he?) greeted me with singing "Early one morning." Shibby. Molly, the youngest, was stealing peeks of me eating breakfast from behind the doorframe, very cute. We caught the bus (hurray!), walked around Stephen's Green and waited for She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named before declaring her a lost cause. Then we headed for Temple Bar, spotted a gay bar we unfortunately didn't go to, ate some very good banana-nutella crêpes and visited a couple of galleries of photography. We were at the airport early to get twixou and heikki_cheren and we didn't miss their arrival at all, no siree.

The next priority was to have lunch and drop our luggage off at the youth hostel. Paul Bettany's little brother was spotted when we bought food (and it wasn't just me, 'Lexia agreed that he had something of Paul), a notable occurrence. We took the food to the hostel, where the guy at the reception was v. cute and wore a wicked hat, not to mention was very friendly and nice. (Plus, loved his accent.) We shared the room with two German guys that were really cool as well. I miss youth hostels, I love the atmosphere and the way you keep meeting new people from everywhere around the world.

Next we headed for Phoenix park, which we didn't see much of, but oh well. Then we headed for the Bram Stoker Experience and we had no problem locating it since it was so famous! and found it in a big complex, beyond a swimming pool, a bar, an arcade, some pool tables and the loos. I swear. First part was just an exhibition about Bram Stoker's life, and then you stepped into a Time Tunnel to reach 19th-century Transylvania. The whole thing was very cheap and the only scares were you getting startled. I feel quite bad for the guy whose job it is to suddenly open a latch and thrust a skull or a fake arm forward to surprise visitors; I swear it wasn't a machine but an actual someone. Poor guy. The Time Tunnel itself was the best part, because ultimately we're very childish and easily amused. Skids would have loved it. It was a sort of bridge in the middle of a room, whose walls were covered by cloth with fluorescent points and what-nots on it, and that turned around the room and the bridge as if you were actually spinning; it was very effective and the dizziness was fun. As I said, we're easily amused. After that we played a couple games of pool (I haven't got any better at it) and 'Lexia got her coat christened with beer. We caught a bus back downtown and ate at a Supermac's. They unfortunately didn't have any cheese muffins, to Noëlle's greatest dismay. (Cheese muffins are a favourite of Jims'.)

Sunday we went to Howth, a peninsula South of Dublin, but not by Dart! Joss kept having fun messing up our plans, but things always worked out in the end. We went there by bus, which took longer but not as much as we thought it would. Kudos to the guy at the Dart station who warned us about the Dart not going to Howth on weekends; we clearly can't read signs. Anyway, Howth was brilliant though very, very, very windy. We went to a church first, then headed for a castle (though the ruins next to it proved much more fun – Jims really are simple creatures and kids at heart). Then we headed for an alleged kern, not knowing exactly where we were headed, and I brainstormed Alexia for help on my Sarkney fic. We reached golf courses and a hotel at the foot of a hill, at which point we questioned the way we had chosen to take. But it turned out you could walk past the hotel and then up the hill! And that was lovely. I had been disappointed by the lack of atmosphere, when compared to Iceland (though it's only logical, I suppose in-land Ireland has much more atmosphere than the surroundings of Dublin), but that filled my atmosphere quota (just for the record, still didn't compare with Iceland). The different trails were so desert and nice and you had no clue where you were going, if anywhere, and your imagination played tricks on you and the wind was crazy!

I ended up asking a skipping fairy a guy if he knew where the kern was 'cause we could have kept walking like that for a while. It ended up being too far away for us, because we had to catch the bus home. True shame, that was. Contrarily to rumours, we didn't get back down the hill on our butts, but merely scrambled down. I took 'Lexia along some rather steep ways back down and getting your centre of gravity as low as possible was the safest way to go for us not gifted with Elvish agility. It was great! And I'll not say a word about someone falling off a tree.

That was Noëlle's day, when she lost one of her black fingerless gloves and thought she had lost her bus pass. Mine was Monday, but we'll get back to that.

We went back home and cooked. 'Lexia had brought reblochon over and tartiflette is good. Also, Noelle's lemon cake was getting very close to a tasty orgasm, Reloaded-style. It roused taste buds that were not usually stimulated. Presents were given to the two almost-birthday-Jims, Noëlle and Alexia, which I'm sure they'll discuss in more lengths on their own LJs. Also, we planned for Alexia's and my next t-shirt to have printed, a Boy Meets Boy one. Then we headed for the Blue Light, aka the pub down the road (where, incidentally, U2 used to come once upon a time). There was a concert, very good. Lots of covers (Beatles, Bowie...) and some originals, the band was great. The bass player looked far too much like a high school friend of mine (Elodie, if you're reading: picture Nicolas Preteseille, only with brown hair, taller, and of course a much better English), it was uncanny. The guitarist had something of Sting, somehow. He didn't look like him, but he gave off the same vibe, at least to me. There was also a drummer and a sax/clarinet/guitar player. They were so very good.

And guys, you remember the Psycho Beach Party credits? The dancing girl? We had the same. I can't believe some girls actually still dance like that. There was also a Jude moment – our Jude, not Law – when they played Hey Jude – you're a Jude fangirl or you aren't.

Finally, Monday, aka My Day. I forgot to pack my favourite shirt, which is still at Noëlle's. I ripped my leather coat – the thing survived traipsing through the woods but it can't take a piece of metal on the coach. *sobs* It's just a small tear so I hope to be able to fix it somehow. I also had a stomach ache for a great part of the day. We missed the bus in the morning and had to wait fifty minutes in the biting cold. And then of course when we got to Newgrange we realised how illogical they were, not timing the visits so that visitors could catch the bus back to Drogheda. Fortunately, the people at the reception were ever so nice and helpful, the way Irish and British people are, and we managed with a cab. The cab driver's accent was quite thick and reminded me of Brad Pitt's in Snatch. *smirk* The site itself was nice and all, but to me the big day was really that traipsing-through-the-woods-looking-for-a-kern one. Anyway, on the good side: Joey had asked Noëlle to buy me a rose for V-day. How sweet is that?

Discussions on the coach between Drogheda and Dublin (or vice versa) were most philosophical: the ways to eat a muffin correctly, the blurring of the line between eating and sex as far as the famous lemon cake was concerned, Anne Rice and the incredible Mary-Sueness of her Mayfair witches, and trying to figure out whether we'd missed Drogheda or what. Also, on the way back, there was napping.

I picked up my stuff (and the fading rose) from the Rainbow Hostel (I swear) luggage room, and then we waited forever for a bus to the airport. It was Joss having fun toying with us again. It finally arrived and I barely had time to wave bye at the girls. I got to the plane all right, where one of the flight attendants very much reminded me of Jake Gyllenhall. I thought of Alex and how much he'd envy me for that. On the plane, it was very nice to witness a sunset of sorts, above the clouds. The colours were sharper than they usually are on the ground, with more contrast, from clear blue to scarlet red. Beautiful.

Readings while waiting for the plane to Dublin taught me, from David Fury, that the Hurley episode of Lost was gonna be funny. Hmm. Lost, funny? Okay. It's David, so I trust him. 'Sides, I'm really looking forward to learning about Hurley. Also, the end of the season will be – surprise! – a huge cliffhanger. I disagree with David when he says it was the only way. You can have many unresolved issues/questions without having a cliffhanger (but clearly not on a JJ Abrams show). Also, there are rumours about Joss and Wonder Woman. And the first critiques on Serenity are wow. I cannot wait for September.

I am sad to report there was no sightings of any U2 member or better yet, in my opinion, Stuart Townsend. But then again, I've never seen Dominic around Manchester (much to my utmost sadness). Who else roared with laughter and cannot see enough times the Easter Egg on the first DVD of RotK:EE? Not to mention his amazing work on Lost.

Also, overall impression: man, is Dublin cold!! Mostly, the wind was the problem. According to Etienne, it was very cold here as well anyway. It even snowed on Saturday! We only had a teeny weeny bit of melted snow on Saturday morning, and that was it.

As I write this, the Jims are probably headed for Galway. I do hope they'll have had a lovely time!

As for the quotes of the weekend:

As Noëlle was pointing out the approximate location of Bono's house:
Alexia: Ci-git Bono. (Here lies Bono.)
Noëlle: Non, il ne git pas. (No, he isn't lying.)

That one is a quote of my own, that soon became a cult classic since I kept suggesting it:
Fan': On pourrait leur demander, ils ont l'air sympa/ils savent peut-être. (We could ask them, they look nice/they might know.)

I'll gleefully refrain from giving you any context for that one:
Noëlle: Allez-y, déshabillez-vous. (Go on, take off your clothes.)

And again for that one, it's more fun without any context:
Noëlle, to Alexia: Comment ça se fait que t'es ch...? (Where "ch..." stood for "chaude," but she stopped speaking as she realised what she was saying. Translation: "How come you're h...?", where "h..." stands for "hot.")

While listening to U2's Crumbs from your table and eating the wonderful lemon cake:
Noëlle: Tiens, on peut faire des miettes! (Hey, we can make crumbs!)

Noëlle, about Alexia and herself: Nous on est les athlètes!

Unrelated, but we have a date for the release of Les Miroirs Obscurs, Martin Winckler's next book on series, to whom so many people have collaborated, least of all Joey and I: the 17th of March, ie St Pat! I can't wait to have it! I haven't read most of the articles yet, but it does live up to my expectations big time! I strongly recommend this book.

On Tuesday night we went to Canal Street. Good thing I had slept 12 hours on the Monday night, else I don't know in what state I would have been (good thing I drank glass of OJ after glass of OJ on Tuesday, too). Unfortunately Madeleine's plane was very early on Wednesday morning, so Fred and she couldn't come with, but we met up some other friends and it was great! I had a peak at Gaia (did I mention they actually had a gay bar called Gaia?) but it has nothing to do with mine at all. This one is classy and stuff, looks expensive, wooden panels and all.

Anyhoot. We started off by hitting a few different bars (hey, Tuesday nights there's no chance of an entrance fee, so it was good to make me discover a few new places; too bad Tuesday night also means it's sort of dead), then settled for quite a while at the Hollywood Showbar yet again. I officially love this place, plus it wasn't as packed as last time. Great for dancing, and did I mention gay guys are so much fun to dance with? (And when on top of that one of them reminds you of Donnie Wahlberg, it doesn't hurt. Donnie Wahlberg isn't the type of guy I lust after, just the type that has something that makes me love him.) Then we headed for Poptastic for clubbing. I wasn't too fond of the first room, but then we headed for the second room which actually played indie rock tunes, and that was great. Also, it was fun to actually see ShagTags "in action."

I really enjoyed myself. It was nice to get to know those guys a little; I'd gone clubbing with them before but we hadn't exactly talked. I can't wait to go out with Jo and them (though that means no Vanilla).

I just watched American Outlaws, aka the story of Jesse James with Colin Farrell playing Jesse. Now, I have no clue about the real story of Jesse James, so the only opinion I can have of this film is as if it were a fiction. I do have to wonder about the reality of what they depicted, especially the ending, but oh well. The "Jesse shoots around" moments did not look that good, but apart from that tiny problem (which is symptomatic of their making him into too much of a super good hero, but oh well) the film was quite good.

Hell, from what I remember of Ned Kelly, American Outlaws is a hell of a good movie. I really need to see Ned Kelly again, just to make sure that for some reason I haven't judged it much more harshly than it deserves, but really... The scenario was much better, for one thing: one of the things that truly disappointed me in Ned Kelly was that they had Naomi Watts and Geoffrey Rush, and their characters were incredibly under-developed. In American Outlaws, they exploited Timothy Dalton's character to the fullest – and the same goes for Harris Yulin and Terry O'Quinn. (All right, perhaps not Terry because, well, I know and love his full potential, but I just love him and that's that.)

Apart from Colin Farrell, the Jesse-Younger gang actors I did not know before (apart from the lovely young "Ephram" kid from Everwood), which probably helped, but I still think that the dynamics and the interaction of that band of friends are what makes the film so damned fun to watch. That, and the fact that the future Mrs. Jesse James is a spitfire without actually being a Mary-Sue.

Now, American Outlaws isn't the best film ever, but it's a nice entertainment with good actors and a good script. And it gave me an urge to write. Because all of us can't write a Requiem for a Dream or a The Others, a Memento or a Phone Booth, a Donnie Darko or an Arlington Road. But if we tried and raised the average quality of a script to that of an American Outlaws, a Pirates of the Caribbean or a Wimbledon, a Peter Pan or a Pitch Black (and let it be said that I do think Pirates and Pitch Black are a notch or ten above Wimbledon or American Outlaws, my ranking is so far from perfect) – that is, not masterpieces but good, tight scripts, each in their own genre and on their own level... If we could do that, then the average viewer wouldn't get excited by the prospect of watching a Steven Seagall movie. People wouldn't take mediocrity as average, and those films would not be out of the extraordinary anymore (but then, that raises another issue: would I still consider these movies good if they were the average?).

Again, I'm really not being that snobbish – hell, I think the script of Pirates is one of the tightest I've ever had the pleasure of watching on screen, and certainly the best blockbuster script I've ever seen. And you can hardly say that loving Pirates is a snobbish trait. I'm not rooting only for independent films (though I much enjoy those as well), or masterpieces or breakthroughs, I'm not asking for originality all the time. I'm asking for a certain level of quality. And when I see a film like American Outlaws, I realise that this level of quality is reachable, and I come to think that it is within my grasp... maybe, or that it might come to be, some day. It makes me want to try.

On that note, I'll go direct those writing urges to my Sarkney fic. Writing fanfiction is a hell of a training ground... shipper issues aside. Or I might work on my flashbacks for the rpg I'm playing with Jo. Did I say anything about it? We're pretty much writing our own version of Lost, except without the freakishness, and with freshmen (for the most part)... and they're not lost. Just temporarily stuck together. Loads of fun, and I don't know anymore about her characters than she knows about mine. I keep reworking my flashbacks to get something actually good with all my guys. Not that they all have some big great drama like in Lost, no, it's just some key moments to get to understand their character. We're working it external-pov and it's an experience, more like script-writing than anything I've done before. It's fun, and interesting. And did I mention fun?

Unrelated, but I need to try and find me the Stage Beauty DVD. Where's the British equivalent of Cdiscount?

Saturday night was quite full of films. First off, I finally saw Thelma and Louise. I understand what the fuss is all about, really. Good script, good actors, good directing. I do love Michael Madsen something fierce. The ending was very appropriate too, I kept wondering what they would go for.

Thicker Than Blood was on afterwards. I hadn't planned to watch it, but I left the telly on while working on some stuff on Kaylee and one of the name on the credits caught my eye: Dan Futterman. I knew that name from somewhere, and a few more seconds of watching the screen made me right: he was the American guy in Shooting Fish. It was great to finally see him in something else, and the movie wasn't too bad at all. Nothing out of the ordinary, and I probably wouldn't have stuck around if I didn't like Dan so much, but oh well. Also, the lovely Lauren Velez (think Oz, the doctor) was in it.

Finally, I'd taped Sweet Sixteen. Usual Ken Loach quality, what can I say? Brilliant, and depressing, and touching, and bloody real. 'Nuff said.

I was so excited last night. Coming back to work is not of the good, but Jo’s coming tomorrow... You know how before a big day, your mind won’t stop working and you can’t get to sleep, ever? I didn’t manage to sleep until fivish, which means two hours of sleep for this gal. I don’t know how I can be up and running (or, well, working). And it’s pretty stupid ‘cause the big day isn’t until tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be so sleep-needy that I’ll get to sleep without trouble tonight. And latest breakthrough, Madeleine is gonna be back for a few days, so she can actually meet Jo. Goodness abounds.

Anyway. I’m seeing Joey tomorrow! Wheee!