Sarah K Dell'Orto's blog

In Which I Serve Dinner to Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Conversation between me and Helena:

S:  But they didn't tell us that they were bringing RUTH FUCKING BADER GINSBURG
H:  Hahahah oh no!
S:  Or is it Ruth Bader Fucking Ginsburg?  Where does the in-fucking-fix go when the person has three names?
H:  No I think the first one was right
S:  Yeah, Bader-fucking sounds kind of weird.  Like some sort of sexual deviance that takes place in rural Louisiana.
H:  Right, like one of those things that everyone does but NO ONE TALKS ABOUT

So, as you may have guessed by this point, Ruth Bader GInsburg was at Commons last night.  She came to speak at the Trinity Philosophical Society, and I assume they decided it would be nice to have some kind of dinner before the event.  The society bought 60 tickets (which means there were about a bazillion people there last night), but, perhaps in haste(?) neglected to inform Trinity Catering that the reason they needed 60 tickets was because they were bringing RUTH FUCKING BADER GINSBURG. 

Before Commons began, my boss assigned me and Paula to one of the two tables reserved for the Phil along with a new girl, who we needed to train.  It was her first day, and she doesn't speak much English.  Fantastic.  At 6:15 (Commons runs like clockwork), the entire table was empty.  I figured my boss would be spitting fire--if the Phil buys 60 tickets but only uses 40, well, that's a whole lot of wasted soup.  Suddenly there's a bit of a to-do at the front doors to the dining hall, and a small group makes its way in and sits down.  I figure they were just late coming from an event of some kind.  Then, this American girl I work with comes up to me, grinning ridiculously. 

"THEY BROUGHT RUTH BADER GINSBURG!!!" 

....AND, she's at my table.

I can't believe they didn't tell us they were bringing Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  Usually when we have VIPs at Commons (in this case VIP means donor or ex-Provost or something, not SUPREME FUCKING COURT JUSTICE), we put down white tableclothes and serve wine.  Sometimes they get special desserts or better cutlery.  But at this point it was too late--my boss sent me out with bottles of wine for the table, but that was about it.  She had to eat regular old Commons like everyone else. 

She's absolutely tiny, so tiny that I was afraid the weight of her soup spoon might be too much for her to handle.  She was wearing her hair in that trademark bun, but she actually looked a bit more feminine than she does in photos  (Flashback to Orla looking at the poster advertising Ginsburg's speech at the Phil:  "I mean, I'm all for breaking the boundaries of gender stereotypes, but would it kill her to put on a little lipstick?").  She didn't eat much.  To be honest, she seemed a bit bewildered, as if she wasn't really sure who all these people were and why they kept talking to her.  When the dinner was over, my boss (who could tell I was ridiculously excited about the whole thing), let me bring Ginsburg her (fur) coat.  Yeah, I know, right?  Are fur coats still OK?  I know she was born in the 1930's and all, but fur?  Really?  Anyway, she shuffled off with her entourage and that was that.

Who knew that, after spending over a month temping at a major American law school, I would meet a Supreme Court Justice while working as a shitty waitress in Ireland?

In Which I Have a John Mayer-esque Quarter Life Crisis

To be honest, I don't know what triggered it.

Colleen, Katie and I were having a lovely dinner at Thai restaurant in Belfast, a bit tired from a full day of black taxi tours, double decker bus tours, and the sobering reality that those abandoned lots we had just walked by were all the result of bombs. 

"I don't really like what I do", says Katie.
"I don't want to move back home to Chicago", says Colleen.

And then it comes tumbling out of me, as surprising to me as it is to them:

"I don't want to move back to New York in August".

As I've discussed in previous entries, I am "that girl", the one who can't shut up about New York.  I was practically counting down the minutes, seconds until my return.  And then something just changed, like a flipped switch.

Argh.

I was in New York for a week and a half and it was glorious--hamburgers and karaoke and champagne on the roof and all that.  But for some reason, I missed Dublin.  I missed the quiet pubs and the football games in the afternoons and the way everything is just scaled down.  Smaller buildings, smaller cars, smaller queues...

And then I started thinking about what my life would be like if I moved back to New York right away.  I'd move into a tiny apartment in Brooklyn and, in order to afford said apartment, I'd have to take a shit job I probably won't like.  I'm afraid that I'll get stuck that way, and suddenly I'll be 30 and I will have wasted 7 years just trying to make ends meet.  But then...maybe that's just the way life is?  Maybe that's what happens when you major in English and get a Masters degree in Popular Literature.

But, I don't know.  I refuse to accept that.  So, I've been doing some thinking.  I might stick around Dublin for a while after I submit my thesis and work.  In the fall I can start applying to PhD programs, most likely in London.  Then I can get a PhD and...well...I'll be back at this crisis point again I suppose.  But at least at that point I'll be qualified to teach at the university level which, although I'm not sure it's what I want to do with my life, sure beats the hell out of being a receptionist.

Anyway, things are not as certain as they once were.  I think I'm OK with that.

In Which I Summari(s)e

Things accomplished while in New York:

Hamburger at Corner Bistro
Crif Dogs
MUD coffee
Epic New Years/fireworks/party-hopping
Eric's ghost bike
The M8
The M14
Whole foods salad/cornbread
Bab al-shams, to the max
Yoga, yoga, more yoga
Dinner with Greg/Cindy/Andrea and...!?!
Brooklyn lager
Magic Hat #9
Satsko
Karaoke at Sing Sing
Virage brunch
$4 cocktails/free edamame
Reunions
Mama's
Chinese delivery
Letter-writing
The automat
Think Coffee/paper-writing
Bed-stuy
Kodak moments

And after all that...I'm ready to go back to Dublin.  I miss it more than I thought I would.  I am starting to feel dual-continental.

In Which I Make Plans In Anticipation of an Epic Week In NYC

NEW. YORK. IN. 2. DAYS. 

I really need to apologise to all the people I've met in Dublin-- specifically I am apologising for my inability to stop talking about New York.  I told myself that when I got to Dublin I wouldn't be that girl, i.e. that girl who says "well, in New York..." or "This one time, in New York..." etc etc.  But really, I am that girl.  I admit it.  My hope is that during my nice long stay in the city (10 whole days!), I will do all the things I miss doing and see all the people I miss seeing, thus returning to Dublin with the ability to get through a full sentence that in no way references New York, or even America. 

As for my friends from home, I apologise for spelling "apologise" with an "s", but I'm trying to get into the habit as my programme requires me to use UK spellings in my papers.  That means there are going to be u's where u's should never be, s's where one expects z's, and the possibility of center spelled "centre" and program spelled "programme".  Please bear with me. 

OK, back to the point (and this is a big point), I WILL BE IN NEW YORK ON FRIDAY.

I have a shitload of things I want to do, and that doesn't even include the two 5,000-word essays I have to write by January 12th, so time is limited.  If you are also going to be in New York, call me!  Or facebook me!  I also accept carrier pigeons and messages in bottles that have been cast into the East River.  At some point between the 29th and the 7th there is going to be a rather large party to celebrate Carla Stickler's new job (National Tour of Mamma Mia!), and I fully intend to use this party as an opportunity to see as many people as is humanly possible.  Details as soon as they are available. 

ALSO, here are some things I would like to do while I'm in the city.  If you want to do those things as well, I would love to have you along:

-A trip to the Museum of Natural History (must be OK with only seeing the whale and the dinosaurs)
-Visiting Eric Ng's ghostbike on the West Side Highway
-A large amount of coffee and perhaps a peanut butter and banana sandwich at Think Coffee
-A hamburger at Corner Bistro
-A trip to Beacon's Closet
-A night in which I stay out until 4am (as bars in Dublin close much earlier)
-Brunch--preferably at Virage but possibly at Sidewalk or 7A
-A possible excursion to Red Hook for beer milkshakes at schnack
-Several trips to YTTP
-A meal at Mama's Food Shop (bonus points if it's delivery, as the bike boys they employ are usually hot)
-A visit to the Mud Coffee Truck in Astor Place (note: actual coffee will only be purchased if my favorite guy with the yankees hat is working)

I think that's all, at least for now. 

With any luck, this will be epic.  Epic like that party we threw at the sake bar.  Epic TO THE MAX.

See you there?

P.S.  If anyone is going to be in the city and, like me, has a shitload of work to do, I'm totally down for spending a large stretch of time in Bobst, for old time's sake.  We get three free visits with our alumni card!  Score!

In Which I Return To America

I arrived in New Hampshire yesterday around 5pm.  By the time I went up to bed at 11:30pm, I had managed to do the following:

-Eat 3 slices of pizza
-Drink one can of Diet Dr. Pepper
-Watch 5 1/2 episodes of Tivo-ed 1-hour shows (1 1/2 Gilmore Girls, 1 Gray's Anatomy, 2 Studio 60, 1 Numb3rs)
-Read the cartoons, Shouts and Murmurs, Theatre Review and Talk of the Town in the latest New Yorker
-Read the latest issue of Lucky
-Change the battery in my computer
-Talk to Kristen
-Unpack

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty eventful evening.  Pizza really tastes amazing when you haven't had a proper slice in almost 3 months. 

Also, it's amazing how wonderful the really small things can be--last night I sifted through all of the items I took out of my wallet before leaving (old metrocards, my NYU ID, the JCrew credit card I never use, my Dumpling Man frequent eater card, etc), and after that I sat by the woodstove and cuddled with my puppy.

Anyway, home is good.  Happy to be home. 

In Which I Am Thankful

So I read Helena's livejournal, and she had this fantastic post on all the things she is thankful for and I thought, "man, Helena is awesome".  And then I thought, "I should write one of those". 

I'm thankful for the fact that leaving New York has made me realize just how much I love it, and I'm thankful for graduating NYU with honors and for getting accepted into Queen Mary and Goldsmiths and Sussex (twice) and Trinity, and I'm thankful for my Mphil which, at times, feels as though it was created just for me.  I'm thankful for Jenny Lewis in general but specifically for that one point in "Spectacular Views" when she says "It's so fucking beautiful", and I'm thankful for the part in The Satanic Verses where Rushdie talks about how sometimes it's possible to actually be happy, and how that reminds me of the way Helena talks about happiness being a paper house, and how that metaphor fits so perfectly it hurts.  I am grateful for the people I love who, despite being 5,000 miles away, still talk to me almost every day and listen to me go on and on about all the ways in which boys suck and don't mind, and I'm especially grateful for the friend I had and lost and found again and how our friendship is even better for it.  I am thankful for my parents and the fact that they love me enough to send me DVD's of Studio 60 and Gilmore Girls and Gray's Anatomy every week, and that they sent me maple syrup and foliage.  I'm thankful for tights and wellies and tea and rainy days and the way a really nice book feels and smells.  I'm thankful for people who understand Ulysses and people who love "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day" and people who aren't afraid to like trashy pop culture and people who can analyze pop literature but still like talking about the snobby stuff.  I'm thankful for the lobster scene in "Annie Hall" and when the entire cast of "Everyone Says I Love You" sings "I'm Through With Love", and how watching Woodie Allen movies reminds me of being in New York and makes me feel less guilty about romanticising it.  I am thankful for my hetero life partner and how, even though she lives with other people now, we still call eachother "roommate" and that she is so kick-ass and driven she'll probably be on CB3 by the time I get back and how she was willing to get cavity searched just to send me my favorite hair dye.  I am thankfull for Homage to Catalonia and The Quiet American and really all the books I read in Patrick Deer's class on British war literature, and I'm thankful for Robert J.C. Young and John Waters and Lytle Shaw and Will Kenton and Patrick Deer and Kit Cohane and all the people who made me love being an English major.  I'm thankful for not really knowing what the hell I want to do with my life because that way there are really so many possibilities.  I'm thankful for sling-back peep-toe heels and good vintage finds and Topshop and lusting after things I can't afford but never actually buying them.  I am thankful for all of the amazing places in New York that I love, and the way that they all have memories attached to them and the way that I'm starting to form memories in Dublin even though they probably won't be as good as the New York ones.  I'm thankful for people who like me because of my craziness and not in spite of it, and people who like to tickle me and people who don't mind listening to me ramble on about how much I miss New York and Helena and Gemma and Annie and Kristen and all the people in my life who I can't see right now.  I am thankful for the fact that I will see them all soon.

That is all.  Happy Thanksgiving, a day late.

In Which I Learn How to Call Your Mom a Slut, In Spanish

Things I have learned while working for Trinity Catering:

1.  How to carry eleven soup bowls on a tray with one arm, while distributing them with the other
2.  How to carry three full hot dinner plates without burning myself and/or dropping anything
3.  How to carry four full desert plates without covering myself and/or the dinner guests in cream/frosting/mousse etc.
4.  How to clear 6 dinner plates without dropping any utensils
4.  How to call your mother a slut, in Spanish (it's puta tu madre, in case you were wondering)

Basically, the people I work with fall into two categories:  those who speak Spanish and those who speak Chinese.  The girls who speak Chinese were a bit cold to me at first, but one day I was running late and came straight from class in my regular clothes.  Bai immediately recognized my dress as TopShop, and from then on we were all on good terms. 

(Side note:  At one point, Bai asked me where I was from.  When I said "I went to college in New York", everyone started laughing while I stood there feeling confused and awkward.  When they had finished laughing Bai said to me that Gin thought I was from Australia, and that none of them could figure it out, so they were sort of betting on my nationality.  Gin clearly lost that bet)

Anyway, the people who speak Spanish sometimes try to speak English around me, but mostly they just speak to each other in Spanish while I sit in silence.  Then, the other day, I laughed at a joke. 

I think someone was making fun of our boss, and about how she gets in these moods where she can't stop yelling.  I was looking down at my plate of rock-hard potatoes and mystery meat and sort of chuckled along in solidarity--our boss has been known to yell at me for doing something that, a few moments earlier, she had asked me to do.  I have never seen a conversation stop so fast--they literally had no idea that I can pretty much understand most of what they say, even though I don't have enough skills to participate.   I have some basic vocab and grammar but I'm usually too embarrassed to use it around actual Spanish speakers, for fear I'll sound like an idiot. 

Anyway, most of them are trying to learn English, so our language differences have become a kind of game.  When someone is trying to figure out the English word for something, they tell it to me in Spanish and I can try and figure it out--or visa versa.  One guy, who is from Mexico, has begun to teach me Spanish curses (hence the "puta tu madre") so that I can say things about the scholars and/or our boss without being detected.  Sometimes, I translate menus for them, while they help me with my vocabulary.  Occasionally scholars or guests ask them questions they don't know how to answer and I can help them out.  My crowning moment came on Friday night as I was getting ready to leave. 

"See you on Monday?" my friend asked.
"No, voy a volar al Londres para las vaccaciones"
"Ah, si, visita su familia?"
"No, no tengo amigos de los estado unidos quien estudian en Londres"

OK, so the Spanish isn't that great, but it felt nice to finally use some of those skills I acquired studying Spanish with Sr. Forman.  It's like a waitressing job and a Spanish language class all wrapped into one.  Brilliant!

In Which I Suck at Blogging

The inherent problem with blogs is that, as far as I'm concerned, they're not really a good place to air your dirty laundry.  They are a good place for keeping a lot of people updated on your goings-on without having to tell them each story individually, but some things just don't belong outside of the realm of the one-on-one conversation.

So basically, what I'm trying to say is that all the things going on in my life right now are not really blog-appropriate, and thus, if you want to know, you're going to have to find out the old-fashioned way (how?  skype me of course!  voiceover IP is about as old-fashioned as I get).

Other than those un-bloggable things, really not much has been going on.  Classes are enjoyable and challenging, but not difficult enough to make me want to pull my hair out.  The job is going just fine, and I'm actually starting to master the whole 10 soup bowls at once thing, without spilling it on anyone!  OH, well, this is kind of exciting: I got a call from this children's theatre near campus to come in for an interview!  I submitted my C.V. ages ago and forgot all about it, but apparently they like me--I think I'm interviewing for either a box office or front of house type position, so hopefully that pays well and doesn't involve dirty dishes.  If I get it, I'll just take less shifts at catering and everyone wins!

So, yes.  There you have it.  Cryptic and not very entertaining.  Someone needs to do something wacky, STAT, or this blog is going to die a slow and painful death before it even hits puberty.

In Which I Miss New York

So, I'm not sure what triggered it.

Perhaps it was the fact that Tim, who lives on my floor, was watching Annie Hall.  Perhaps it's that my loving father sent me foliage in the mail.  Perhaps it's the fact that I've been spending my free time reading Gawker and Gothamist and Curbed and Eater instead of...well...the Irish Times?  I don't know.

But yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks: I miss New York like whoa. 

I miss the sake bar and 24-hour delis and Tompkins Square Park and good hamburgers and the subway (but not Subway restaurants.  We actually have those in Dublin) and at the risk of sounding like a complete sap, I miss my lovely lovely friends more than I ever thought possible.  Really, I suppose it's not about New York at all, but rather about those who reside there. 

So, I'm going to keep this post short because I really ought to be doing my work.  If you are reading this and we are friends and you are in New York, just know that I haven't run off to Dublin and forgotten all about you.  Quite the opposite actually.  Oh, and you better be in the city for New Years.  There will be much sake, I'm sure. 

In Which I Finally Get a Job

So, I got a job.  This is good for several reasons:

1.  The dollar is arse compared to the euro, so for every 1 euro I earn in Dublin I am actually earning $1.30 or so.
2.  I only have 8 hours of class a week, leaving me a lot of time to...sit around...and...stare at the wall?
3.  Guinness actually costs about 4.20 euro a pint, which is almost $6.  You think it would be cheaper here considering they basically pipe it in direct from the brewery, but not so.

So, based on the recommendation of a friend, I sought out the Catering Department here at Trinity.  Like everything else here, this was an elaborate process that involved going to the Accommodation Office, which sent me to the Catering Office (which is in some obscure building up a few flights of stairs, through a fire door and guarded by a buzzer).  They didn't have applications at the Catering Office, so the guy there sent me to one of the dining halls with only the instructions: Ask for Claire.  In the dining hall I found an employee who sent me up another flight of stairs into the kitchen, where there is basically a glorified toll booth also known as Claire's office.  She gave me an application and told me to fill it out and come back later for an interview.  Apparently by "come back later for an interview" she meant "come back later to sign up for you first shift" because my "interview" consisted of her telling me, in an accent almost impossible to understand, that I was to show up Wednesday at 4pm wearing black trousers, a white shirt, hair pulled back and no jewlery.  I would be there, she informed me, until 9 at the latest. 

Well, then.  So show up at 4pm I did, wearing my new black trousers and white shirt (did I mention I hate button-down white shirts?  Because I do.)  What happened after that?  I'm not really sure...but I do remember the following:

I worked the "Commons" shift.  Commons is a dinner held every night in a Harry Potter-esque dining hall with long tables and a big table up at the front where all the important people sit (they wear ROBES!).  Basically, this meal exists because every scholar at Trinity (the fancy smart students) is provided not only with better housing, but with a free three-course meal every night.  For the rest of us plebians, this dinner costs about 20 euro, or about $26.  A bit steep.   Anyway, the meal is three courses pre-fixe and served by an army of waiters (that would be me) every weeknight.

The atmosphere behind the scenes at this meal can only really be described as insane, I suppose.  I got very little training (really, none at all), although they did assign me to serve a table with another more experienced server.  That way, I didn't have to simultaneously carry a tray of 10 bowls of hot soup with one arm while serving the soups with the other--rather, I had to carry the tray while the other waiter set them down in front of the little bastards.  I did learn how to carry three plates at a time (yikes) among other things. 

The other waiters were nice to some extent, although half of them spoke Chinese while the other half spoke Spanish, leaving me stuck in the middle, unable to really communicate with anyone.  There was one Irish waiter, but he was kind of surley and called me a Yankee at one point, which I think was supposed to be offensive. 

In addition to Commons, the Catering Department oversees all special functions on campus, including private dinners and receptions.  Next week I'm working at a reception (in addition to three more Commons shifts), so perhaps that will be a bit less stressful?  We shall see.  Here are the lovely parts:

-It pays reasonably well (more than I earned at HERE arts center, and not much less than I earned temping)
-It's an on-campus job.  As you may remember, I live on campus. 
-They give you dinner, which, considering the price of food in Dublin, is a big deal
-Shifts only last 3 hours or so and the hours are really flexible

So...really, that's all I can remember.  I didn't drop anything or spill anything on anyone, so that's good, but I have no idea how I can possibly manage that whole tray of soups thing without killing myself and/or someone else.  Practice practice practice, I suppose.