I'm sitting here listening to Broken Yoke's newest CD (I'm seriously addicted to "Ends With You"), and I thought why not blog? Well, why not?

Related to the previous post, I got up too early on Sunday morning (!!!) and, yes, got talked into a game of catch, played on the driveway. In our Sunday best.

My youngest brother (7) is so funny. Everything is always someone's fault. Sometimes I have to send him away because he gets so frustrated when he can't catch and/or gets hit by the ball. For instance, once in a while he doesn't get his glove up in time and gets nicked by the ball, which I admit isn't a particularly pleasant experience. But when it happens to him, he always gets mad and paranoid that we've all got it in for him (he'll never make it as a pitcher). Once when it happened he tore off his glove, threw it into the nearest tree, and yelled, "YOU THREW IT AT ME ON PURPOSE!"

Um. Yeah. That's kind of the point of playing catch, kid.

My eyes hurt from spending too much time online doing research. I'm thinking about using BUNAC and working in Britain or Ireland one of the next couple of summers. I have a feeling after a year or so in college I'm going to be ready to blow off some steam in a foreign climate, and I've always wanted to explore that area more. I'm torn as to which country. I really loved England. I love the countryside, the lilt of the accents, the literary legacy that pervades, the bustle of London, and the echoes of shared history. But, I've never seen Ireland, and I've always wanted to go. I've always empathized with the Irish and Scottish people and their unsuccessful bids for liberty from Britain. The more I look at world history, the more I realize that conflicts between countries are rarely as clear-cut morally as they're sometimes portrayed.

However, I'm going to end that tangent before I start it. It's one of those rabbit-trails that could end up winding around and around and around until it suffocates me.

Anyhow, BUNAC basically helps college students that want to work abroad during the summer (or longer) by cutting through all the red tape and getting them work visas. It's not a babysitting service, though; you are basically on your own once you get in the country. You get a job, you make friends, you handle your money. It's all you and God, which, once I get over the shock, I tend to love.

You know, I could so see myself getting a wee flat in Dublin and practicing my Irish. Or going to Galway and learning to play Irish fiddle and speak Gaelic in my spare time. Perhaps I'll dye my hair red? Overkill?