Ferris Bueller You're My Hero

Today was a most peculiar day. Skipping class at Trinity College, before actual semester classes commence, may not be the smartest of thoughts I've had before. And yet, Intro to Women's Irish Lit was not all that alluring, and it was so sunny outside... I COULD NOT let time pass me by. So, I ran home from campus, threw on my Mizunos, and took off on my first run since my arrival in grand Ireland. I followed the Grand Canal (located conveniently 50 yards from my apartment).

I followed it for, maybe 2 miles. But that's not important. What IS important is what I saw.

No doubt, you can guess what I saw.

Apparently, while the young aristocracy of Europe is attending class in Trinity's cathedral halls and lecture stadiums, there is a quaint little market bustling along the canal. Not too much, just a few stands with people sitting on benches, talking, smoking, laughing, NOT working at 2pm on Thursday.

ANYWAYS, one of the stands had about 14 large, straw woven baskets lined up in rows, and each basket contained a different kind of loaf of bread.

And it was so beautiful, I was running and my iPod was shouting Tall Skirt and a Long Jacket to me, and I just had to smile and think about cake, which made me run in an odd-skip-like way, and a very attractive blue-eyed man crossed to the other side of the street before I reached where he was sitting...

But the best part isn't the cake, it's the icing. As I was awkwardly running zigzags on an already uneven cobblestone path, staring at this masterpiece of a market, a man appeared in line for the bread baskets, and he had THE dirtiest, greasiest, most-sausage-link-y dreadlocks I have ever seen. I felt home.

I am happy to report the hippies are alive and well in my neck of the woods here in Dublin 4, and that's just grand. Maybe I'll run again tomorrow. Maybe I'll find a dreadlock rasta and we'll form a baked goods bond, and have little dreadlock-bread-eating babies. But I doubt it.

Save ferris. And skip class more often.