The Spire, Dublin


From Europe, with love:

The Spire, Dublin“The Spire.” What bullshit! I can’t believe Ireland honestly wants us to get excited over an oversized flagpole! As a ratio of population size to length, my penis is a larger monument!1 This “was the winning entry,” but what was the competition? A flaming bag of poo??  This looks like a junkie’s syringe.  What crap.

Honestly…  Anyway, I’m having a blast here in Ireland.  I wish you were here, man.  Take care.



To my friend Frank, who has never been to a place worth sending a postcard from:

Downtown DublinI can’t tell you what the sights are, I haven’t been to any castles, the women are all unattractive, and I haven’t slept since before I left.  If it weren’t for the fact that I got to dance an Irish jig and drink an Irish beer and sing with Irish drunks, I’d be miserable.  As it is, I’m having the time of my life.  Why aren’t you here??



To Bre, my bar buddy and BFF:

Temple Bar, DublinScene: Temple Bar, Dublin.  Down the street from our hostel.  Twelve hours ago.

John, finally talking to a cute girl, asked her if she’d like to come over to our hostel.  “I’m not that kind of girl,” she responded.  “But you can ask for my phone number and we can get dinner tomorrow and see how it goes…”

John, not missing a beat, said “I’m not that kind of guy.”

Miss you, Bre.


To Steve, who once flashed Stonehedge:

Venezia means VeniceSteve,

So here I am, eating pizza, a gelato, & drinking some cheap Italian wine from an unmarked 2 lt. container.  Also, I’m drinking a cappuccino while wearing a beret.   Isn’t that great?

The only problem is that I spent so long and so much money living every stereotype possible for postcard writing that I forgot to go on a gondola or see the town in any way.  Crap.


To Leonore, who hates Venice, but (probably) not the nearby islands:


Happy Birthday!  Or, as they say in Italian: ‘Felezi Cumpleanni!’

Actually, it might surprise you to learn that I’m not as well-versed in Italian as I claim to be.  I know: shocking.  😮

I spent all day today going from island to island. (Venice is a bunch of islands slapped together with spackle.  “Spackle,” in this usage, means “tourism.”)

It was fun being spackle.  This particular island, Burano, was the craziest.  They didn’t stop partying until five in the afternoon!

I know.  Crazy.


To Mayra, a friend from way back and fellow philosopher:

Gondolas, VeniceMoira,

“Buon Juorno!”

I know you’re probably wondering how I’ve gotten so good at making up words.  But stop!  That’s not gibberish!  That’s a foreign language.  It’s called ‘Italian’ and they speak it in mafia movies.  Also, I  just found out: Italy!

Isn’t that so wacky??  Anyway, I know how you’re always asking me to bring you back a foreigner, so this time I did.  His name is Poulo and I stuffed him in an airtight box and mailed it (him) to you.  He should arrive in four to six weeks.  Enjoy!


To Gordon, my former roommate and fellow first-year:

Cristoforo Colombo, BarcelonaGordon,
For your consideration, I have circled all of the words on this postcard that are not written in Spanish. I, having spoken Spanish since my wee youth, would know. Spain, being the originator of the language, seems to have made a huge mistake. I wonder if they are aware of this fact? Perhaps I should tell them? Send my best to Becky, your daughter, and your parents.
Take care, man,

To Susanne, a fellow first year who buys me burritos, invites me over to swim, and drives me to airports and who I helped get to the hospital when she gave birth most recently:

Barcelona BeachSusanne,
Many thanks for the rides to and from the airport. My poor feet are very grateful. I’ve had an absolute blast, or ‘|blast|’.
Yesterday, we went to the Salvador Dali museum, which was overwhelming in its scope and genius. We also went to the Picasso museum, but I think they organized it wrong: they have all of the good drawings and paintings in his ‘early work.’ Later on, they barely represent anything at all!
Also, there seems to be a period in which he ran out of every color but blue. So sad: to be a starving artist with only one color to work with..

To Heather, who loaned me a duffle bag and once let me stay in her house after my door was broken down by a large, fat man:

Gaudi is very GawdyHeather!
Hello! Thank you so much for letting me borrow your duffel bag. It was very useful in setting aside seats on the metro. Also, for holding my clothes while I wasn’t wearing them (presumably).
This is the first sight I saw when I arrived in the heart of Barcelona. It filled my heart with awe and wonder as I sought the hostel in which I was staying. Of course, since I arrived late, nobody was there to tell me that the building was being remodeled and I was staying elsewhere. So the bag was also useful as a pillow while I waited outside an empty apartment until my friends came to rescue me. Thanks for that.
So much,

To Jing, who, I hope, no longer hates me:

Scary part of town, BarcelonaJing,

Did you know that there is an active nightlife in Barcelona?  Neither did we.  Heck, I still doubt it.  But I keep hearing it , so I’ll keep repeating it.  I’m a sucker for Ponzi schemes.

Anyway, we hung out by the beach and talked philosophy for most of the trip.  We went to a few museums (Picasso, Van Gogh, Modern, Art, Dali), and came up with a wonderful new way to capture ethical insights (“Aha! There it is!”) as well as had a few new ideas.  Come to think of it, for all the nightlife we were promised, the daylife was the most fun.



To myself, because I think I deserve it:

Rush Hour, IrelandPixel,
I’m waiting for the guy ahead of me to move and taking advantage of the time to write you this. I know the front of this postcard has cows, so you probably think I’m waiting in traffic. I’m not, I’m waiting for the ‘loo.’ Confusing, I know.
Gotta Go!

I can’t figure out why I sent some people postcards and not others.  I should have sent Anson, Ashley, and Alethea a postcard, but didn’t.  Possibly because they didn’t request any, but more probably because I hated ‘A’ names then.  I didn’t send Moof a postcard, but I did send her three pairs of socks, so I think she’s happy.

I also don’t remember why I sent these particular postcards to these particular people.  I doubt there was much thought associated with it, honestly.


Sorry Sarah Blur and Luciana Something.  🙁

  1. [Editor’s note:  This is mathematical fact.  There are many rude mathematical facts.  But you’d have to be a math-hole to figure them out.  I’ve done this one for you.  You’re welcome.] []


  1. It’s ok that you hated A-names. I have been secretly siphoning lard into all your shampoo bottles since high school. And you thought your healthy, shiny hair was naturally thus! 😆

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