david lynch wishes he was in film school

I saw David Lynch's film Inland Empire tonight... 3 hours of weirdness - some of it pretty scary, and almost overwhelming at times. I kind of felt like I was watching someone's dream.... wasn't there a TV show back in the 80's where dreams could be recorded, to rewatch later, Max Headroom maybe?... or did I make that up.

My weekend was pretty eventful – to backtrack a little: Even thought the film festival is over, everyone involved will take any excuse to get together again and have a party – So last Wednesday I was invited to yet another "Thanks for helping out" get together… free Jameson, new friends – you don't have to twist my arm. I started chatting with a boy called Eoin, and he invited me to a party on Friday (hooray!), saying that he thought I would get along with his friends, since they are all wannabe band guys. (hooray again!) I gave him my number and crossed my fingers he would call. On Friday afternoon, I started planning in my head the text message I was gonna send to make sure he hadn't forgotten me, but no need – he sent a message after work, with info for the place and time.

I tried to get some people to go with me – fallback friends, in case I was feeling awkward at the party, but everyone already had plans, so I sucked it up, and went by myself. I ended up having a great time. After the bar closed, E and I rode bikes to his 'rents house, raided the wine cellar, and then rode back across town to a house party. There were a couple of close-calls involving parked cars and E being weighed down by a messenger bag full of 4 or 5 wine bottles.
The party was fun, and I had some good convo about American politics, USA vs. Ireland (a common topic that the Irish like to quiz me on), music, and DRUNK people. I finally left at 7am, when another party-goer, also on a bike, offered to escort me home – I took the chance, since I didn't actually know where I was.

Saturday was spent sleeping til about 2, cleaning the sitting room, and then Al came over and we tried a new curry place and watched Southpark. I went to a birthday party for Louise (another film fest friend), but didn't last long, due to my lack of sleep the night before. (BTW, thanks for sending the beef jerky Sarah, I opened it and had a couple pieces, then gave the rest to Louise for her bday. She was pretty syked.)

On Sunday, Pete, Eithne and I took advantage of their new car and drove to the National Museum of Ireland, Decorative Arts and History – I spent a couple hours looking at Irish architecture, the history of Irish dress, furniture and jewelry. Afterwards we drove up to Phoenix Park, got icecream and looked at the deer. (It was raining, so we did all of this from the comfort of the car.) Then we went to a pub called Hole In the Wall for a dinner - I got Irish Ham on cabbage and mash... pretty tasty. The Hole in the Wall was a pretty cool pub. It's made of several building that are attached so it's really long and narrow, and of course almost overflowing with typical irish pub paraphenelia.

I think I've decided that unless I've been drinking and need food in my stomach, I should stay away from late night Irish take-away. 2 nights now, after eating curry one night, and pizza the other, I've woken up in the middle of the night thinking I was gonna puke. I resist the urge, fall back asleep, and feel OK in the morning… The first time it happened, we'd built a fire, and forgotten to turn the heat off. I slept terribly because of it. I wasn't really that hot, but the fire totally dried out the air in room. I thought that maybe there were some fumes or something since I sleep on the floor, but last night there was no fire, and no heat – so I'm blaming it on the take-away

I love my housemates – they are really nice, and easy to live with, but we definitely do not think on the same brainwaves – or maybe I just don't understand the Irish (here's a recent conversation, I think it would have gone on forever but I got so frustrated, I had to leave the room – although now reading the convo – I think it's pretty funny.)

(The subject was about opening a small business, and saying that you're spending money, that you're not actually spending, so that you can get a tax write-off.)

The guy with the business said something like:
"Oh great, my first year in business and i'd be committing tax fraud"
Housemate (HM): "that's not tax fraud"
Me: "how exactly is that not tax fraud?"
HM: "in ireland that's not fraud, everyone does it"
Me: "it doesn't matter if everyone does it - technicallyy it's fraud isn't it?"
HM: "well yah technically it's fraud."
Me: "that's all i'm saying, i'm not talking about ireland specifically, just the definition of tax fraud"
HM: "yah but that's not fraud, you just don't understand the irish"
Me: "but you just said it was fraud"
HM: "yah but everyone does it, so it's not fraud"
Me: "that's not what i'm talking about, I'm talking about the definition of fraud"
HM: "you just don't understand ireland, america does thinngs differently"