There’s something wrong with his hair…

Tuesday night, yours truly had an interesting experience, one of many on this Fulbright gravy train. Andrea and I were invited to a reception put on by the US-Irish Fulbright Commission in honour of the US Ambassador to Ireland James Kenny. Unfortunately, my wife couldn’t go. She had motherly duties to consider, so I, with bad back and a crappy cold, made my way across town to the residence of the Deputy Chief of Mission for the US embassy.

First thing of note: the Deputy Chief of Mission has a swank house (I won’t tell you where it is in case terrorists are casing my blog; you never can be too careful in Bush’s America). I mean, columns and curved front stairway and spotlights to illuminate it swank. What in the hell are we paying this man that he can live here? Now I know the US government might own the bloody thing, but for fuck’s sake, when did our diplomats start getting mansions to live in? I’m sure the lowly consular official punching visa apps all day in Morocco isn’t living it up.

Second Thing of Note: I finally got to meet in more detail the other Fulbright students. They seem nice, but all with their own queer personalities. One of them is a playwright with an MFA from U of M. I think Andrea and her will get on very well, if we can ever get them in the same room together. We chowed on appetizers, drank copious amounts of free wine, beer, cola, and water, and even dared to talk US politics in the presence of a hack Bush appointee! Gasp!!

Third Thing of Note: The ambassador’s hair is a bit…I dunno. It was too managed, if that makes any sense. It was like it was scraped flat against his head with a steel-toothed comb and lacquered with decoupage. And I’m not being flippant or rude (well maybe rude); it’s just an observation. I wasn’t even the first one to notice this phenomenon (it was another Fulbright student). I did meet the Ambassador though and got to exchange all of three words to the man before he wandered off to press more flesh and chortle about US politics (i.e make fun of Democrats) with his Republi-cunt friends. Oh yes, and his bodyguard drivers had to wait in the cars. Nice.

All in all, a fun time for all (except Andrea). The most annoying part was waiting for-fucking-ever to catch a bus back to DCU. It took longer to wait for the bus than it did to drive the four miles across town and drop me off. The timeliness of the Number 11 bus is really getting on my nerves.

Tomorrow folks, I’ve got a special treat for you. Andrew talks about his professional development!! Oh rapture!!

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