Was that mass... or class?

Rule No. 1 about starting your first blog, I suppose, is post to it often.

Can't seem to accomplish that so I'll just have to instead defer to Rule No. 2: fill it with enough self-deprecating stories that no one seems to notice your occasional absences.

I just returned home from a few days stint in Dublin for my Mitchell orientation and besides the overall exhaustion from walking, the four-hour bus ride, and the lack of sleep, I'm also still reeling from a comment last night in a pub. You see, when in Dublin, you do as the Dubliners do. In this case, that usually involves dinner, grabbing a pint with some friends in a pub, and then settling down to do some dancing to work off the calories later in the night. (Most of the pubs are actually quite deceiving.. on your way to the bathroom you'll start to notice a staircase that leads to other rooms with live music or dance floors.) Keeping with this fine Dublin tradition, a group of Mitchell Scholars - myself included - wound up dancing to bad 80s music in a pub last night.

Now, being as it was a dance floor, a young Irish chap decided to come up and propose cutting in on what had previously been my imaginary dance partner. (I prefer to dance alone or with gals without the company of Jon Page.) Indeed, with a winning American smile and perhaps a quick flash from the eyes, I inched away to leave him to find some other willing dance partner so I could continue my rather ill-rhythmed dance routine in a circle of my own creation. As this obviously knackered boy walked on, he pulled aside my friend Mike and said that I "Sure had some mass."

That's right. Mass.

Which, thanks to sites like Dictionary.com, I'll define for you.

Mass: the property of something that is great in magnitude

Mass: a property of physical objects that, roughly speaking, measures the amount of matter they contain.

Mass: A measure of the total amount of material in a body

So, I'm assuming, this was some slight comment about the relative amount of mass I seemed to be packing in the pub. Mike, ever the knight, tried to convince me that I heard him wrong.

"I think he said 'class,'" he protested. But I doubt it. As I doubt that mass has some strange dual meaning in the Irish language. Massive dieting will ensue tomorrow.

So, self-deprecating story aside, I suppose I can update you all about my first trip outside of Derry and my official introduction to the Mitchell program.

Ben (my Mitchell roommate in Derry) and I headed to Dublin early on Wednesday morning via a 4-hour bus ride which, I'm embarressed to say, I slept through entirely, completely missing all the countryside. We spent much of our first day in Dublin (a city of relative size and confusion but very little height) trying to find our way to our hotel and other museums, mostly guided by Ben's sense of "direction." (In his defense, I did little to help but to occasionally sigh and gaze at my watch.) After landing in Derry, it was amazing to see the contrast between big, booming Dublin and my quiet university home. In Dublin, I couldn't get past a sense of manufactured authenticity, specially imported, I'm sure, for the tourists. Men dressed as leprachuans lined the streets begging for euros as musicians strummed traditional Irish music from each street corner. But instead of feeling the pulse of Ireland, like I felt in my first Irish pub in Derry, I couldn't help but feel as though a costumed Disney employee was about to pop out of a shopfront at any minute. As prosperity and promise continue to boom in the wake of the "Celtic Tiger," as they call the Irish economic rebound, I feel the South slips a little further from the Irish character that flows like Guiness in the North.

And, more relevant to my studies, I couldn't help but feel as though the days of the South fighting for the republic may have fallen to the wayside, as the new generation seems to focus more on gaining jobs, adopting a new cosmopolitan life, and pushing their way into the next phase of their rebirth. One of our speakers, in fact, said it is probably true that while a number of the Irish in the South do, at least theoretically, hope for a United Ireland, very few of them are willing to put up the taxes to pay for it. And, in fact, very few of them think much about the North outside the political parties.

Commentary temporarily put aside, our official activities began Wednesday night as we met up with the Mitchells (11 in all) for a reception at the Guiness Gravity Bar -- essentially a round bar atop the Guiness Storehouse which stands far above all other buildings in the city. (Notice the pattern of placing beer above all else.) The room is entirely surrounded in glass so the vistas were amazing but most impressive were the pints of Guiness. Not only were they much better than in the states but the bartenders finished each pint with a Shamrock and an "enjoy" written into the foam.

I'm not entirely sure who was invited to the reception but it certainly ran the gamut from politicians to a gossip columnist. I tried to work the room as much as possible but spent most of my time conversing with an old professor who berrated George Bush and made fun of nearly everyone else in the room. All in all, it wasn't nearly as stressful as I might have imagined.

The second day was our orientation to Ireland and to Dublin. We spent the morning at Kilmainham Jail, an institution used primarily in the late 1800s and early 1900s to hold everyone from petty criminals to some of Ireland's most notorious political prisoners. Some of the original signers of the Irish Declaration of Independence were interned and later executed, as was one of Ireland's early presidents (he wasn't executed) and a number of children guilty of stealing minor things like bread. During the Great Famine, apparently, the cells overflowed with petty criminals who chose the thin watery soup served in prison cells over starving in their own homes. It was a bit eery to walk along the pathways and to see and imagine the executions that took place but I left with a much better understanding and appreciation for the Irish fight for independence.. now I can't wait to get into my classes.

The rest of the day involved briefings with local officials on the Irish political system, legal system, and judiciary; dinner at a fancy restaurant; and a showing of Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest" at Abbey Theatre.

The highlight of the day, no doubt, was the play. Turns out this particular production has caused quite a stir amongst Dublin's finest. Primarily because of the director's decision to have an all-male cast. That's right -- all males. So all the romances were men and men in drag. And there were even some homosexual overtones in some created scenes involved Oscar Wilde and the "rent boys." I found it delightful but the rows and rows of prepubescent girls behind me, apparently, found it disgusting as they groaned and screamed from the backrows anytime that a cast member attempted a kiss. Needless to say, gay rights and discussion of gay issues in general are still years behind America in Ireland.

The last planned day involved a trek into the Wicklow Mountains for what our scholarship director, Trina, called a "nice, easy walk" through the hills.

Let's define nice and easy.

We started at the top of the mountains battling wind that nearly knocked my mass-packing self off the trail and rain that pelted us all from all directions. Once we left the paved path, we began trampling down a "bog" for about half an hour. A bog, for anyone that doesn't know, is a landscape of wet, spongy ground, usually a former swamp or lake. In this case, the bog was covered in tall reeds and grass that cleverly disguised the uneven ground and the occasional three foot, water filled hole.

Once the bog ended, the hike got relatively more humane, although still intense. We got the chance to see an early 7th century village and watch tower; one of the oldest complete Christian churches standing on the island; and a number of impressive geogical and natural sites such as a glaciated valley, a natural waterfall, a patch of shamrocks, and some old thousand year old logs. (Seriously, these things were exciting.) To get my point, check out the photos. (If they loaded.)

More than just a trek past some amazing vistas, it was a great opportunity to get to know the other Scholars. I can't help but be humbled and excited by their accomplishment and our overall diversity. We've got someone studying fire safety at Trinity, already with a patent to his name (or at least a patent pending); we've got someone who's preparing to become a nun; we've got other studying ethnic conflict; an actual composer; and one who I'm convinced will one day be Secretary of Defense. It makes it hard to imagine how I wound up in this group but I'm hoping to take a little something from everyone so that I can incorporate just a piece of their fabulousness. Even if it's just some musical appreciation from Mike, our Stanford composer; a better understanding of the Catholic faith from my flatmate Ben; or a host of groan-worthy puns from Melissa, who rattles them off almost as much as I say "fabulous." More than anything, I think being in their company and sitting down to philosophical, religious, and political debates at the dinner table will push me to rethink my own views and investigate those things that make them the most passionate. Already, I can't help but be impressed at how easily they can all debate current events and how much of a more global perspective they all seem to bring. Staying on my toes, I'm certain, will require some self-education and exploration on my part.

More than the intellectual inspiration they might bring, however, everyone is just tons of fun. We spent our nights around pints in pubs and then dancing past midnight. We all sang along at one bar and then watched and cheered as Mike took the microphone before the end of the night. Already, I sense some great friendships and just hope we'll all find time to hang out now that we've returned to our respective campuses.

For now, I'm exhausted and desperate to find some food. I'm debating what clubs to join this week at "Fresher's Fair" so let me know if you think women's gaelic football or hill walking if you get the chance.

Until then, I miss you all!