Here I am jumping from one step of the ladder of competence to the other. Preparations for TOEFL could be running smoother.
Firstly, I started to suspect myself of being dyslexic. I guess I'm joining the rest of the band - Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein and Picasso. Then I realized that I'm not concentrating - the bloody era of internet, when you surf between five windows, iTunes, gmail and manage to google at the same time. Moreover, because of spell checkers, kindly supplied with our PCs and laptops, I got used to making spelling mistakes. And finally - I DON'T LIKE AMERICAN PRONUNCIATION, which is one of the features of TOEFL!
Which stage I am at? I guess conscious incompetence, which makes me one step above the starting level and two behind the target. Another month to go. Just found a website saying "Learn English in 10 Days". Which reminds me a conversation between two students.
Do you speak Japanese?
No, when is the exam?
I've told you that Lithuania had been struggling with its image. It is official now. And as one of the means to improve that image a proposition to change its Lithuanian name was mentioned. I promise a more in-depth post about that, but in the meantime I would like to ask my English speaking readers what are their thoughts on that and what would be the best name for Lietuva in English. My Irish colleague calls it Lusitania.
Possible options:
Lituania
Litua
Lit
... or simply L? :)
On the other hand ... even though many tend to mishear our English name and think it is Ukraine or Romania, sticks and stones may break my [Lithuanian] bones, but names will never hurt me.
It is a gusty, damp evening in Dublin and I drop into one of the cafes belonging to a gargantuan chain owning thousands of cafes all over the world. They seem to be springing up in Dublin at the speed of light. Although everything mainstream and branded seems to be unwelcome nowadays, the place is packed and I find my spot besides an grey-haired man browsing through a holiday catalogue.
I'm sipping one of their special coffees, but it is neither special, nor great. Rather an adapted coffee flavored drink, mixed with vanilla syrup and topped with over steamed milk. I improve the cocktail with a pinch of nutmeg and a smidgen of chocolate. It is not cheap - I gave the girl a fiver without her even bothering to tell how much it was and got some change. I could get a meal for the price of this coffee in Lithuania. Yet probably not for long - prices have been soaring lately. As I was strolling the cobbled streets of Vilnius last September I remember dropping into a flawlessly spotless cafe owned by a Latvian coffee chain. I had an equivalent of over a euro in my purse, thinking I should be able to afford a coffee for that price in Lithuania. How innocently naive I was! The cheapest one was a Turkish coffee for about 2 Euro. In fact, I couldn't find a simple un cafe on the menu at all. Until then I had never paid for a coffee by credit card. Not to mention, I was waiting for the coffee and the bill for over ten minutes each.
But let's go back to Dublin. The service here is much quicker, yet just like in that cafe I find it hard to get my hands on a cup of good coffee. Not an Americano, not a double espresso and not a crème brûlée flavored pseudo coffee topped with whipped cream. If you ever had coffee in France or Italy you should understand me.
Why did I head to a cafe instead of a pub on this miserable evening? And who drinks coffee at this time of the day anyway, when the vast majority are sipping at their pints? True. Have you ever tried to find a cafe that is open till late in Dublin? No wonder the consumption of alcohol in this country is disturbingly high. It looks like socializing without booze has become mission impossible, apart from few exceptions. There is a tea house in Temple Bar, which to my knowledge was founded by a Croatian guy, and is the only spot in the city offering more than a teapot with a selection of tea bags - an extensive range of mixed herbal teas is available instead. And there is one cozy cafe that stays open till late, but the waitresses seem to be constantly struggling with their English.
Oh... and there is this mainstream chain I'm hiding in, buzzing with heart-to-heart talks, good music and the quality of coffee fading out into the background.
Opening a cafe might not sound like the most lucrative business, but I've never seen this place empty. Even though they charge nearly a fiver for a mug of coffee. On the other hand... it is quite a generous mug. Yet whenever I pass this place I tend to remember Krakow with numerous bohemian cafes, not acquired by global mega brands and with decent coffee. I admit having a few pints of Żywiec also. But sometimes one just needs a cup of good coffee.
Written for "Metro Eireann"
I went fishing today to Portobello canal. I caught a goldfish and when asked what three wishes I have, I told her the fulfillment of one would be enough - to add extra 3 hours to each day. "You idiot," she said, flapped her tail and off she went.
I know I am an idiot and it is possible I've taken up too much at the moment, but, hey, you only get to live once.
Writing for "Metro Eireann" is going well and I am really enjoying it, because finally I feel being in my shoes and the more I think about it the more I realize I should have tried to break into Irish media a bit earlier. If you don't risk you don't get to drink champagne - we have a saying in Lithuania. Now... not that I realize to have been wasting my time, but I'm just that kind of person - a perfectionist inclined to constantly ponder that things could have been done better. "Are you a journalist?" asked one of my tutors tonight when a guy I'm with in a course said he had seen my journalistic attempts. Possibly maybe. And then one Lithuanian newspaper in Ireland asked me to write for them now and again. It looks like my time invested in blogging seems to start paying off.
What else has been going on my block? Do you remember the coup of the palace we started planning in NCAD? Well.. we're getting there. It appears that I wasn't the only one unsatisfied with the quality of some classes and the dissatisfaction had occurred in the course last year also.
Oh, and I'm taking TOEFL on the 1st of March, because I need it in order to be able to apply for master's studies in the Netherlands. What if it doesn't work? Then I'll go fishing again. In Amsterdam canals this time.
Here's my story published in "Metro Eireann" last Thursday
It is Christmas day and it feels like Dublin has turned into a deserted ghost town, yet St Andrew's Church, adjoining Pearse Station, is nearly full. Some of the people, quietly sitting in the pews, had to walk for over an hour in order to get here - there is no DART, Luas or bus service today. Everybody is well-dressed and they quietly whisper greetings to their neighbors. A congregation of about 250 Lithuanians are waiting for Father Egidijus Arnasius to start a Christmas mass in their native language. 
Majority of them are in their thirties, many sit in couples, while now and again children climb the steps trying to approach two brightly lit Christmas trees standing behind the altar.
There is a choir of 10 people, among other songs performing "Silent Night". The pipe organ doesn't work and they are accompanied by acoustic guitar and percussion. Some of them had never sung before, others used to perform in a folklore ensemble "Lietuviskas Dobilas" ("Lithuanian Shamrock") which had participated in many Lithuanian events in Ireland, but recently many of the singers returned to Lithuania and the ensemble started to crumble.
Socializing and keeping the tradition
Jurgita Karazija is one of the members of the choir. She arrived to Ireland this summer and for her going to this mass is the best way of meeting her friends, since they live all over Dublin.
"The whole day is dedicated for socializing with Lithuanians. We stay in touch this way and it has become part of the weekly routine," says Mrs Karazija.
A woman, sitting next to me, is visiting her son who has been living in Ireland for 6 years. It is the first time she came to Ireland and it is the first time her son crossed the threshold of St Andrew's Church. His mother mentions that going to the mass during Christmas has always been a tradition in the family. 
The crowd today is large - on an ordinary Sunday about a hundred people would gather. Despite the fact that Lithuanians boast to be quite religious, with about 80% of the 3.4 mln population claiming to be Catholic, majority tend to visit the church only on special occasions - Christmas, Easter or All Saints' Day.
"We are that kind of Catholics. The culture of faith has been destroyed by bulldozer-like atheism," remarks father Egidijus.
Lithuania was the only majority-Catholic Soviet republic and during the Soviet occupation the Church remained a stronghold of resistance against the regime. Some of the churches were turned into storehouses, Roman Catholic publications were prohibited and property confiscated, but the Church was safeguarding Lithuanian traditions and the language - the most archaic among the living Indo-European languages.
The only priest on the island
Father Egidijus had been in Ireland for almost three years and recently his mission was extended for another three. He is the only Lithuanian priest in Ireland which, according to census figures, has become home to over 20 000 Lithuanians, although some estimate the real figure to be about 100 000. Father Egidijus had been busy throughout December, conducting masses in Ashbourne, Galway, Longford, Carrickmacross, Moy and Armagh, where over 500 people showed up on Christmas Eve.
"During those three years I saw many faces. Some had disappeared, because people returned to Lithuania, but new ones turned up instead," observes the evolution of the local community Father Egidijus and acknowledges that many appear in St Andrew's Church on Sundays in order to have a chat with their fellow countrymen.
As a matter of fact, the easiest way to meet them is to stay after the mass for a cup of tea - there are always biscuits and a kettle in a room nestled beside the church. Sometimes people bring along homemade goods and some claim that this is the best part of the day.
As they chat, a hand-carved wooden Rupintojelis (The Pensive Christ) is quietly sitting on Father Egidijus' work desk in his apartment - a characteristic Lithuanian art form, depicting a worrying Christ with a crown of thorns sitting on a stump. It shares our worries and reminds that hard times of life would become better. In the meantime Father Egidijus rushes to put the kettle on.
All photos © Lina Zigelyte
When I saw Primal's suggestion to nominate my modest reflections on living in Ireland in the best "Blog by a Journalist" category for Irish Blog awards 2008 I was obviously flattered. Hell, yeah.
Of course, as Primal admits, you can have doubts on whether I could qualify. I have some doubts as well - I believe out there, in the Irish cyberspace, there must be more journalists with more articulate English and plenty of time to ponder about zillions of issues. Yet it is up to you to decide and come to a conclusion in a debate what criteria define you as a journalist in this era of blogging, Current TV, You Tube, etc. Do you have to belong to the mainstream or can you be a voice in the wilderness while remaining independent? If everything goes well and I have a bit of luck, as of September I might plunge myself into a more academic research on this subject. Or continue a life of a mongrel with occasional posts on this blog...
On the other hand, Primal mentions the fact that there are not many non Irish journalists working in Irish media.
Amelie Mouton in her story "Why no news isn't good news for Ireland's ethnic journalists" published in 2006 in the annual magazine of Metro Eireann - Ireland's multicaltural newspaper - points out that the National Action Plan Against Racism asks for "positive actions" towards the recruitment of journalists from cultural and ethnic minorities. Yet a well-known Irish journalists, who's name is not disclosed, observes in the story that "Irish journalism does seem to be drawn from the white middle classes nearly exclusively - unless you count Protestans and Scots, there are not ethnic minorities represented in my staff".
In a way it is understandable - a little more than 20 years ago Ireland was almost exclusively Irish. I remember and Irish woman once told me that when she went to London about 25 years ago she was startled by the variety of people over there - never before she had seen so many shades of skin and heard people speaking English in so many different ways.
For the past five years Irish society has been experiencing vast changes. About 10 percent of the population today are foreigners. It is widely seen in cafes, "Penny's", construction sites and supermarkets. But not as much in the media.
Of course, immigration issues are being covered. The usual ones: possible layoffs, abuse of immigrants as cheap labor force, accidents, caused by drunk Eastern European drivers, other criminal offenses, etc. Yet apart from these clichéd news there is so much more worth feature stories, photographs, broadcasts and documentaries.
Seamus Dooley of the National Union of Journalists in a story mentioned above said that the main barriers preventing the mainstream press from taking on ethnic journalists are language barriers and a possible lack of knowledge about Ireland's socio-political background on the migrants' behalf. I'll tick for the language, yet many migrants have experienced that socio-political background themselves, therefore the last argument could be disputed. On the other hand, why not give a chance for foreigners trained as journalists and with previous work experience to gain more knowledge of that kind while they carry in-depth research? Many of them speak more than one language and know plenty of personal stories. Besides, we all know that journalists are jacks of all trades, yet masters of none and they all learn as they go.
I'm no expert in immigration and I am not a typical immigrant myself. A virtual friend of mine in Lithuania expressed a wish for a blog that would describe emigration process from day zero in a foreign country. As she said, the first slap in the face and the first applause.
A blog of this kind would be immensely popular. There are still many myths associated with emigrants in my country: hearsay about pay, living conditions, Irish, etc. If blogged honestly (therefore probably anonymously), it would offer the best chance to satisfy virtual voyeurism. If blogged in proper English, it would be phenomenally popular in the British Isles. Either way stories we - virtual voyeurs - would like to hear would probably never reach that blog. If blogged honestly and in the native language, most likely it wouldn't come from some mushroom factory. Even if internet access was available, blogging still requires some sort of ability to write. As another virtual friend of mine has observed, ability to write quite often does not coincide with the capability to tell something and vice versa. In terms of blogging in English, although I am convinced there are more people capable of doing that than we encounter today (non-native speakers), again those things we would like to read - everyday immigrant stories - would probably never make it to such a blog, just because they wouldn't happen to somebody who emigrates with more than basic knowledge of English. It would become a boring blog - with no bad news.
At first my blog was an attempt to highlight some of the issues Eastern Europeans have to face in Ireland. I should probably write more about the likes of my friend who came over to Ireland in November. For the past three months she had been working in an Eastern European grocery shop for less than the minimum wage, doing about 60 hours a week and without a single pay slip. I could also mention that they sell spirits from behind the counter and whoever speaks Russian can ask for a pack of 200 cigarettes for half the regular retail price. But I'm sure these stories will get to be covered someday by those who thoroughly know Ireland's socio-political background.
On the other hand, as I say in my profile, getting stuck in the topic of migration is easy, therefore I try to cover other issues as well, resisting the temptation to become too serious, too issue-focused. I'm learning to respect the readers - the second keyword bringing readership to my Lithuanian blog is "boobies" (because of a story about a character played by a Lithuanian actress doing it in "The Tudors" , shall I say, in a very open way - my suspicion was no English actress would have signed up for it). Therefore you might encounter more juicy material in the near future on this blog as well.
Whichever was the reason, a few weeks before Christmas I received and email from the deputy editor of Metro Eireann deputy editor offering to write about Lithuanians in Ireland. She said she had found my blog and thought it was very interesting. It wasn't all in vain, I guess... :)
If you think this blog deserves the spot in the nominations for the Irish Blog Awards 2008, mention me in any of the categories you think I qualify for. Or otherwise, please come back. Thanks for stopping by.
Thanks to Primal Sneeze I happened to come across the fact that the nominations for the Irish Blog awards 2008 are now open.
Nominations close on January 18. Good luck to everybody, especially new faces on the block.
I need to do more research before I make my choice, but hopefully by the end of this week I will make up my mind.
Before posting this rant I sought advice from my sister, who is a fourth year full-time student in Trinity College, and picked my workmates' brains who previously were engaged in studies over here.
I asked my sister if she had encountered many freestyle lecturers over the years that she spent in college. Although her object of studies requires a more specific and systematic approach than mine (for those looking for some background information, currently I am studying photography and digital imaging in the National College of Art and Design), recently myself and a few other guys I am studying with got worried. We've paid about 1300 Euro each for a six-month course which takes place twice a week for about 3 hours each time. We're split into two groups and have three lecturers in total - one of them we are sharing and then each group has the main tutor whom the other group only gets to see rarely.
So. The lecturer that both groups are sharing is kick-ass. Tons of material, dozens of pictures, intensive and brain-teasing lectures, lots of feedback on the projects we are currently involved in, etc.
The guy who is the main tutor of the other group (despite my bewilderment about the fact that although he had been photographing for over 15 years, he never aimed to exhibit his work abroad) knows his stuff, is very expressive and was very helpful when we were working in the darkroom. But my group only gets to see him rarely.
Now my group's main tutor, as one of the girls I'm studying with said, is a hippy, which is great, yet when I was paying the money I wasn't expecting to spend half of those 3 hours listening about her trip to New York. Neither was I paying the money for her to constant cross-examinations of how we are doing with our projects. Not that I don't like them or don't accomplish them, but spending over an hour of those 3 hours (which in her case mostly turn into 2) on asking what's your project? how are you getting on? how's your research? ON EVERY SINGLE LECTURE OF HERS is ridiculous, because as we are just talking the same stuff all over again and again, she is just nodding her head or mentioning a few random names (which in my case were totally absurd and out of context - on which even the kick-ass lecturer had agreed). She comes unprepared every single time and I am not the only one who is starting to feel fed up with her impromptu lectures.
An artist, one might wonder? I don't even consider her as an artist at all.
My sister admitted of having a few lecturers like that, while one of my workmates said that two of his lecturers could hardly speak English and one of hem was lecturing about mechanical solids (the colleague I am talking about graduated in engineering).
As we were sipping our Christmas drinks with the guys I study with, quite a few of us mentioned dissatisfaction with the tutor I am talking about. And before I could say anything one of the girls said "We, Irish, tend not to rock the boat". If it wasn't for her, I would have continued thinking perhaps I am just nitpicking. After all, good tutors are rare. Yet my guess is that she has probably been lecturing like this always - without students' complaints or any notions of improving the quality of her classes.
Since I am not Irish and one of the better students should I rock the boat? And how?
Shoulda woulda coulda...
Currently roaming in the "Scotch Mist", rewinding 2007 and trying to avoid mystification of the past. Happy New Year everybody.
Ho Ho Ho.
It feels a bit odd when people wish you Merry Christmas in the middle of December, but the marathon has kicked off even earlier. I think the first person to wish me Merry Christmas said this on the 3rd of December. And although this is supposed to be the season of joy and happiness, in a somewhat magic way as of the 1st of December Dubliners lost their usual easy come easy go attitude and turned into an army of angry shopaholics.
Shopping became part of Dublin life a long time before I had noticed a poster on Dublin Bus SHOPPING culture ENTERTAINMENT. The add was supposed to promote all three of the above, but the design of the poster was suggesting that Dublin equals to Shopping culture and Entertainment. Skip culture. Unfortunately quite often it is exactly like that. Unless you come to Dublin for some fiddle tunes.
A few weeks ago my sister was asking me to suggest a museum where she could bring her 12-year-old daughter and a 7-year-old son (they've been living in Ireland for over 7 years). Natural History Museum had been closed until further notice and I couldn‘t come up with any other ideas. You might accuse me of ungrounded bellyaching again, but this reminds me of a visit to Van Gogh’s Museum in Amsterdam, where they have special guide books for children. Kids are being asked to find particular details or colours or shapes in the paintings, observe differences and similarities with comprehensive and unfussy explanations. Last weekend I was in London and while strolling through Tate Modern and National Portrait Gallery I encountered quite a few parents and teachers with children. Looking at a dinosaur replica is one thing, but teaching to read paintings is another.
Anyway. Although constant state of shopping (despite the reason of need) - another attribute of the West - can be encountered in Dublin throughout the whole year (think Henry Street for instance), it reaches its pinnacle in December with Merry Christmas as a driving force behind it.
According to Deloitte’s annual consumer survey Irish households will spend on average §1,431 on Christmas this year. Compare this with §411 in the Netherlands; §420 in Germany and §556 in France. Of the Irish figure, a total of §720 will be spent on gifts, §431 on food with §279 on socialising.
My friend’s colleague who keeps constantly complaining about the lack of money and lives with her mother took a loan from the bank - 3500 euros - which she will spend on Christmas gifts. Next year she’ll be working for the sake of Christmas.
As I was looking for a coat last week I realized that the virus of “thingism” (a desire for things) is highly contagious. Indeed there are so many pretty things out there that cry to be bought. The handbags and the glad rags. Things which you desire, but you will never need. And have you noticed - although this is the season of happiness - everybody seems to be angry! Spend three hours in a shopping mall and you will feel as exhausted as a mountain climber who has just made it to the peak of Everest. That virus of thingism sucks out your spirits and leaves you a replica of consumerism fighting for those gifts. Although it is supposed to be a season of joy and happiness. Ho ho ho you’re in the army now.
In search for response to Christophe's comments on begging, over the past few days I came across two stories in the morning newspapers.
But in the meantime I just want to mention that of course, Christophe, when speaking of freedom I meant to say that our independence and the EU expansion opened the gate and we flooded through them driven by economic necessity and selfishness, yet we chose to work rather than to beg, even when a few years ago we were working illegally, without work permits, often for less than the minimum wage, but we worked, we were not begging (!). And I think I've written enough in my blog about Irish in order for you not to get the impression that I call all Irish street people. God forbid!
According to the recent stories, child begging is up by 30 percent in Ireland and according to some officials, the hike was due to both a change in legislation making it no longer illegal for adults to beg and the growing numbers of Roma in Ireland. This story only heralds my previous post in some way, yet I don't have the answer with a possible solution for this dilema.
Also I discovered that accordng to Dublin Simon Community, about a quarter of Dublin's homeless population suffer from serious mental illness and this is the question of the chicken and the egg: was it mental illness that drove them to the streets or are the streets to be blamed for their mental condition? Either way this should be tackled, but a penny or even a shiny euro jingleing into the empty "Starbucks" cup won't solve the problem.
Come ye who thirsty or starve or are simply lazy and the Celtic Tiger will embrace you all.
I suppose I was 20. Not that I am past my prime now, with grandchildren racing in the shadow of an apple tree thriving underneath my window, begonias on the windowsill and a duck roasting quietly in the oven. Anyway, I was 20. Third year in college, great expectations, naiveness, etc. I was in America. How incredible that even after the recent dark ages across the Atlantic (paranoic war on terrorism, Iraq, economic crisis, shootings in schools) those tree words still carry an aura of magic. The first glimpse at New York's Manhattan, skyscrapers, astounding feeling that nobody cares about you, therefore there is no need to feel uberimportant, black people, enormous traffic, over air-conditioned "Greyhound" busses, "Amtrak" trains, industrial suburbs of New Jersey, a guy with a python across his shoulders on the bus stop in Camden, a kid selling something colorful in a dinger, a street preacher moralizing about Jesus and Apocalypse and a vagabond shoving a tattered "Starbucks" cup into my face. No change, no change!
If you arrive to a Western country from Central/Eastern Europe, panhandling mostly leaves you outraged, the main difference being the fact that in Central/Eastern Europe you could rarely see fit young men and women, physically capable of working, begging on the streets. If you boarded a plane to Lithuania, you would mainly encounter old weary women on their knees asking for change besides Baroque churches. Throughout my explorations to the USA, the UK, France, Ireland, Italy and Spain I've never seen elderly women begging. Honestly - don't remember such an occurrence. Beggars in the West are fit and well capable of working. Men panhandling besides ATMs, restaurants, on Ha'penny Bridge, besides cars stuck in traffic... Have you noticed that the vast majority of them have hands and feet? Therefore I'm convinced they are in the streets not because they can't get a job or are incapable of working, but because they have chosen panhandling as a style of life.
I encountered panhandlers for the first time when I was walking towards underground station in Philly, USA. At first I couldn't even get - what's the problem? Why so much anger?
Over the past two and a half years that I'd spent in Dublin, I came to conclusion that panhandlers in this country are mainly junkies. Not as angry as in the States, but typically all young. Ironically, quite often they find shelter underneath or besides signs "Staff wanted".
I went to the ATM to withdraw some cash a few weeks ago, but some guy was in my way blocking the access. He apologized and placed himself underneath the money machine.
"Nice day", he said.
"I wonder if for long", added.
"Indeed", I answered.
"Good for you, I'm sure you can enjoy it", he muttered in a voice rehearsed for zillions of times.
"Have you got any spare change?" he asked.
"Sorry", I replied.
Panhandling besides ATMs in Ireland is a tremendously common sight. As a matter of fact, panhandling in general is acutely popular over here. Some say because of the widening gap between the poor and the rich - while some get more and more prosperous others become even more poverty-stricken. Sometimes it is the case, although knowing for a fact that dozens of able-bodied Lithuanians bulldozed their way to various benefits from the Celtic Tiger (on top of working 40, 50 or 60 hour weeks), I tend to think that panhandling nowadays for many has become a kind of occupation - despite vast opportunities on the job market. Although Irish still can't compare to the impeccability of the skills needed to, let's say, Italians. During my two-week-long stay in Italy this spring I learned of such numerous ways of mooching money that I could kick start a new career. I.e. distribute a flyer with a picture of a small girl on the train. She has one month to live. This is my daughter. Please help. I gave a euro - damn it, I couldn't look at that picture without apathy.
As of the 1st of January 2007 the number of those, who day in and day out live with a hand reaching out for small change, has even increased over here. New citizens of the expanded EU flooded the streets. But instead of IT professionals and laborers of mushroom factories, it was an army of gaudy skirts with a marching band of accordions. Until now if you ever met an Irish child on the streets of Dublin, it was a busker with a bucket in front. If you hit the streets of Dublin today, you encounter dozens of children, 10-year-olds and younger, with a hand reaching out for change (what a connotation of the word!). "Spare some change, madam" become the first English words they learn.
Once a Dutch woman whom I got to know while working in the shop, stressed to me that begging in the street with children is illegal in the Netherlands. In fact, during a couple of weekends spent over there, I had never encountered beggars. Just a quick glance of a tourist, which, obviously, could as well be quite wrong. During a few days spent in Denmark I was approached by a beggar only once. A friend of mine gave him a cigarette.
A couple of months ago a young beggar won his High Court claim that a law outlawing begging in a public place is unconstitutional because it excessively interferes with his right of freedom of expression. I guess, the expression of freedom can be interpreted in many ways nowadays.
Emigrants from Romania and Bulgaria risk being stopped from entering Ireland until the end of next year because of entry restrictions on low-skilled workers. In order to work in Ireland, they need work permits. Just 106 work permits were granted to Romanians this year and only 33 workers from Bulgaria were given access.
If I went for a stroll in certain areas of Dublin, I can bet a bottle of good wine, that in a few hours I could calculate more than a hundred of gaudy skirts or their mustached cavaliers. No, not those with accordions in their hands. And not those photographing the architecture of Dublin. But those exhibiting their freedom of expression. Because there can be no embargos for it. On the other hand, I could probably still calculate more pahnandling Irish, staying on the streets because they have chosen to. Despite the fact that there are numerous signs in town saying "staff needed".
Freedom lulled thousands of Lithuanians to Ireland like honey does the bees, while the Irish, allured by it, hit the streets. Isn't it ironic?
Time is too short for those who rejoice, (my social documentary project was quite a success) therefore I didn't notice that I'm one day late to post this.
Happy Thanksgiving Mr Bush and the rest of the mankurts. Greetings to Mr William S. Burroughs who's ass is probably being sizzled in hell. 
For those who by now have realized they have gone weary of people and themselves.
For those who get tired of 8 to 5 office jobs.
For those who don't see anything new on 7 o'clock evening news anymore.
For those who think they haven't found happiness yet.
Please watch Sean Penn's new movie "Into the wild" in order to understand that happiness is only real when shared. Listen to Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder's soundtrack in the meantime. Immense beauty.
Sometimes we tend to underrate our people, we are inclined to hand them over to others. You live in New York and they say that you have become a New Yorker, in France - then you have become French. This is a susceptibility of small nations. Big ones never hand over or underrate their people.
The quote belongs to Jonas Mekas, a Lithuanian filmmaker and the co-founder of Anthology Film Archives in New York, one of the world's largest and most important repositories of avant-garde films. Mr Mekas has just returned to Lithuania for a while to open Jonas Mekas Visual Arts Center in the capital Vilnius.
As usual, political matters were not avoided (politicians are always there where big names are present). The ex mayor of the capital Arturas Zuokas, demonstrating ambitions to rally for the presidency of Lithuania, yet facing constant criticism about his financial supporters, has been immensely involved in the opening of the center and also was one of the initiators of a request submitted to our president to grant Mr Mekas the citizenship of Lithuania (dual citizenship is very hard to get in my country). The citizenship was granted indeed. The journalists in the meantime kept quizzing Mr Mekas what were his feelings about the citizenship and Mr Zuokas. The film-maker managed to avoid any political statements and keeps shooting. One movie a day. Highly recommend watching. Avant-garde cinema par excellence.
I would like to mention here that the issue of belonging to Lithuania and the passport as a sign of acknowledgment is a bizarre one. As far as I understand, because of Soviet Union Mr Mekas lost Lithuanian citizenship (since this country ceased to exist until 1990), but the possession of it would not change anything. Figures like him are citizens of the world with their roots geographically undistinguishable. He left the country at the age of 22. And although he claims that he has never renounced Lithuanian citizenship, it is a pity the matter has become of great political importance. And it seems that everybody apart Mr Mekas himself are greatly involved in the subject. In 2050 Lithuanians will probably boast him as one of the greatest Lithuanians ever, although the future of his Visual Arts Centre is still under question and many people in rural areas haven't got a clue who he is. To expand on Mr Mekas' remark, small nations need their heroes otherwise they don't feel like they exist. They must claim their gods back.
I can see some parallels with Ireland here, but I'm frightened to despise its gods.
The pigeon must be Chinese or from some other country which has mastered martial arts. It has escaped. Was about to open the box, but I found it open already: with the brick tossed away, shit in the box and one feather. No sign of blood. I presume it must have had enough rest. The brick weighted about half a pound!
PS
Sorry - don't have any photos...
I get all kinds of customers coming into the shop. But never before have I seen a pigeon. A white one, with fluffy feathers and an imposing tail. He strolled into the shop just like that. At around 4 pm. Not flew in, but strolled in. Before that he hit the window of the hairdresser's next door. Twice. Like in a A. Hitchcock movie. Walked into the "Spar" nearby. And then decided to wander aimlessly in the pharmacy for a while.
I got a roll for him. Or her. It is hard for me to decide on the gender of pigeons. What are the indications, by the way?
Phoned the ISPCA.
Hello? I'm phoning from a wine shop in Churchtown. We've got a pigeon wandering around the neighborhood. A really nice pigeon. With a huge tail and a ring on its leg. What should I do?
They suggested to catch the pigeon, close it in a box, give some food and water and by tomorrow morning he or she should be all fit to fly again. After all it is a racing pigeon, they informed me. It must be tired. Off I went.
It is in a Valpolicella box at the moment. After a couple of minutes of stumbling around the neighboring shops I managed to catch it. It has some bread and water and a stone on the box to keep it from panicking. In the back of the shop. Would this be considered as animal torture? Was trying to negotiate with my boss to let it stay in the cellar overnight, but with no success. He called all pigeons flying rats. Be they racing or not. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning it will be fit to fly. I promise to update on that.
It is not easy to get used to the fact that I don't live on my own anymore. I'm a bad housemate and even worse as a roommate. I have to have my space, where others can't set their foot in. I have to have my cell of meditation where I can mumble to myself, scribble to you, perform in front of mirrors and indulge in reflective solitude.
A selfish kick-off for a monday morning.
For the past four days I have been sharing a room of my own with my best friend who after a few years of hesitations, persuasions and dubieties finally boarded "Ryanair" flight to Dublin. And for the past four days my 80 sq feet or so have been flooded with expectations and visions with spells of regret. Although visions prevail. Despite the troubles that emerge because of severe intimacy. On the other hand, my friends observations shed light on some things which I started to forget or got so used to that I barely even notice them. These are as follows:
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A trip from Dublin Airport on Bus No. 16A. Somewhere around Phibsborough she exclaimed with childish disbelief:
Look! Walking in slippers!
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Somewhere in town she suddenly scowled with disgust:
The stench of pee!
I hardly even noticed any...
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After a job interview she was surprised that by the end of it the interviewer called her by name. She remarked it felt very personal.
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Despite the fact that Eastern Europeans keep slagging off Irish about being fat, my friend was wondering, where are those fat people?
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TO LET. At first she was thinking these are signs for public TOILETS with the letter I pealed off. I wish...
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Everybody is nuts about anything organic.
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In terms of salaries food is inexpensive.
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She admired the fact that there are zillions of small shops.
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Wine lists in the restaurants describe wines rather than just stating "Torres Esmeralda" or "Concha Y Torro Cabernet Sauvignon".
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Pennies is great!
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"Guinness" is tasty!
I think she'll be just fine in Ireland, won't she?
"Lithuania" was not the first one. "Homeland" was shut before that and afterwards "Vilnius" was sold. The names of cinemas in my native Vilnius always used to be symbolic. Although I much prefer the way they sounded in the beginning of the 20th century: "Eden", "Fantasy", "Family". Nowadays only "Forums" and "Plazas" survive.
Dublin is much the same.
We're supposed to produce a social documentary project for the photography course. After deciding to leave out the issue of immigrants for now, I came with an idea to shoot closed down cinemas of Dublin. To search for the time lost.
In 2004 it was estimated that cinema audiences in Ireland are among the highest in Europe. The annual frequency of cinema going per capita here (at 4.5 visits per year in 2002) was only surpassed by Iceland’s (5.7 visits).
Although the number of screens in Ireland has increased by 72%, to 328 screens during the period 1991–2001, the number of cinemas in Ireland has reduced by 15% over the same period, but many cinemas were already shut by that time.
When I was in Krakow in January, we went for a stroll alongside a square similar in size to St. Steven's Green Park. There were at least five cinemas neighboring it. Shabby, decaying, run-down. With paint flaking off the walls. They were showing Polish and Central European cinema. In some of them you could still puff on your cigarette or sip at a pint of "Żywiec".
I managed to tally eleven cinemas in Dublin. Out of them IFI is the only one that screens movies that will never make it to the lists of top-grossing blockbusters. What's left are multiplexes with dozens of screens, dreadful sound isolation and carpets mantled with pop corn. These days Tarkovsky* we watch on DVD while the big screen is dedicated to "Spider-Man". The first. The second. The third.
*By the way, Kris Kelvin in "Solaris" is played by an accomplished Lithuanian actor Donatas Banionis. 
Classic Cinema. Demolished in June 2007.
