Me and the lads

As it turns out, I am not free. I (luckily?) get to keep this job until Friday.
This job is at a distribution center in the middle of nowhere. As primarily there are truckers, loaders, pickers, etc, I am one of the few girls here.
Incidentally, the workers here are described as such:
Lads (the manual laborers)
Girls (the female office workers)
Guys (the male office workers.
There are probably around 250 people that work here. 90% are lads. 5% girls, and 5% guys.
In any case, twice today a 'lad' has introduced himself to me and mentioned that he's 'heard' of me. And on Tuesday, a 'guy' asked me where I was from and said that he and the lads were talking about me and couldn't decide on my accent (apparently, the consensus was not American). This isn't too surprising, though, as most Irish seem to travel to New York, Boston, and the rest of the Eastern Seaboard quite frequently to visit their kinfolk. Thus, my steadfast insistence on the pronunciation of Rs is probably quite confusing (though I acquired this skill in years of speech therapy to punish me for being taught to speak in New Jersey) to Irish ears polluted by our countrymates in the Northeast.
On one hand, I realize that as probably the only female under the age of 30, I am quite a novelty at work. It is understandable that they wish to converse about me. On the other hand, I am disturbed and slightly intimidated by myself as an object of conversation. Yet, on still another hand, I find myself wanting to wear short skirts and display copious amounts of cleavage, in hopes that someone will give me a candy bar. Perhaps I should do this tomorrow. I feel quite sure Bill would not notice my wardrobe change (even though I am writing about it), and it's not like I'm after anything more than a couple Kit-Kats.

Freedom

Today is the last day of data-entry/soul-depletion. Good, except tomorrow brings yet another day of Irish unemployment. Puke.
Maybe I will run around being clever and then write about it and my public will love me.
Without books, a charming boyfriend, and frequent trips to Lidl, life would not be worth living.
Today is the hottest day so far, according to my coworker. I'd estimate it at 75 degrees. The airconditioning in my work is set at probably 60. And Europeans are better than Americans? Fuck that, Jimmy Carter moved the White House thermostat up to 69 ages ago.
Also one of my flatmates (Irish) leaves the lights on all over the place.
mm hmm. European arrogance be damned, we will all go to hell in the same handbasket.

Such Indiginity...

I have to ask some lady for the key to the bathroom here! And not just one lady, like, any lady because my wardens all have keys and I do not! And the bathroom's crap, not like some awesome posh bathroom. Where is Amnesty International when you really need them?

Solitary Confinement

Have job, am locked away in the middle of nowhere in a small room by myself with nothing but a computer, an overactive air conditioner, and a shitload of data to enter. The firewall won't let me read my email or do anything nice except read and update my blog. I have nothing to say, except that I hate working and look forward to lunchtime freedom. Data entry makes me want to die and I go all brer rabbit on them. "Have you ever done data entry before?" they ask... bastards. One finger at a time, I'll do it. In between changing every "the" in every document on the shared drive to "bananaramadingdong," I'll enter how many sick days poor Bobby McGee took in 2004.

Bullet Points

• Saturday Bill and I came home(slightly tipsy) to find the window panes in our lovely wooden kitchen in our lovely wooden house covered with termites. Bill, armed with whiskey, all the junk mail in the house and a spray bottle of all-purpose household cleaner/poison, took on the invaders while I laid in the room wanting to die and/or vomit. He seems to have defeated them, though a few ugly bastards present themselves for slaughter from time to time. Of course, our Irish housemates/landlords are out of town at a wedding, so we've been left to fend for ourselves.
• I have not found a replacement temp job. This is bad for a number of reasons. I need the money for my travels which begin in just over a month. I also cannot register with another agency as I have done during previous dry spells as no one wants me for such a short time. Argh. I am positive I will have something for Monday, but I am not thrilled about being out all week if that's what it comes to. Though I am being very productive.
• Speaking of productive, yesterday I bought my first piece of totally impractical clothing since beginning this madness 9 months ago. A pair of sea foam green peekaboo toe heels. They are adorable and have a gigantic bow at the front. They were on sale for €8, so no major harm done. Of course, I can't even really walk in them as my foot is not entirely healed from rolling my ankle a few weeks back. But that's cool, they are a lot more fun and exciting than the practical clothes and shoes I have been wearing for ages.
• This morning, however, I shed a tear about how much I miss my lady friends as I was thinking who would borrow them and who would make fun of them only to want to borrow them a few months later... This made me really sad as I don't know when my friends will have access to my closet again and vice versa, as there is no city in the world that has any majority of them. Or even a sizable minority.
• Speaking of cities, it is time for Bill and I to begin the official European Extravaganza plans. So, if you are someone I know and will be in Europe from July 23 to roughly September 23, please contact me and we can make plans to kick it Euro-style (i.e. smellier and hopefully thinner!)

The Madonna and Child

Today marks the last day of my contract with Satan. I think I still have a soul, and yet, I have a strange craving for fois gras and veal...
In honor of my last day, I have illustrated something that I will miss. My daily bus co-riders. As the company I work for is based somewhat out of the city, I tend to ride the bus with the same folks each day. The couple I have illustrated here, the kid-hating trophy wife and her extremely adorable daughter, catch the bus just a few stops before I get off for work. Every morning, I see the mom, wearing a ridiculous amount of makeup (note her excessively orange skin--the mark of an Irish girl) for 8:10 am (the time we collect them), along with very trendy and revealing clothes, sulking just a little bit aways from the bus stop, while the daughter cheerily flags down the bus (holding her arm out as soon as she sees the bus until it stops for her). Then they board the bus, and the girl chimes, in her adorable little kid voice "one child please." That's the end of their cuteness.
In any case, here they are.

I'm pretty when you're stoned.

Yesterday I went out for drinks with my one friend, Alana. That is us above. We sat outside, as it was nice out. You might notice that I am wearing a cowl-necked sweater. It is nearly summer. Fuck them.
In any case, the man pictured (the airbrush feature is meant to be dirt) stumbled over to us and said "I wouldn't come over, except that I am stoned out of my mind."
Alana and I are like, errr, you totally can't have our bottle of wine, if that's what you are asking...
"but," he continues, "I just wanted to say how pretty you both are." And then he said some other stuff that was relatively incomprehensible and wandered off. But none of it sounded like begging or sexual harassment!
I figured it would make a nice picture...
Also, notice that my love-biscuit has entered the world of blogging. You will find the link to the right. Enjoy.

Last night I had a dream. Like most of my dreams, everything was exactly the same as my normal life except for a few key details. In this dream, Bill and I were living in Chicago with Amy (I suspect she took a starring role because I got a proper letter from her yesterday, making her a damn sight better than the rest of you jokers) and I picked up some vaguely newsy magazine like Newsweek or something, only to discover that there is a small article about me on one of those blurby-pages in the front stating that I am the most original mind of our century (just exactly like my normal life...). And I'm like, what, I haven't done anything at all! In any case, I look up the author (which incidentally I just typo-ed as the other...) and the article was written by a Knox alum, class of '97, named Nathan Odim who had listened to a talk radio show I did on good old WVKC back at the turn of the century (i.e. my freshman year). Much like in reality, I was like, no I never did a talk radio show although that would have been cool. Unfortunately, I say like too frequently to be of use in that respect. Anyway, this guy wanted to turn me into a celebrity, a bit like Dolly Parton in Straight Talk (incidentally, that is also in Chicago) but also thought I should write fiction. So we have a long talk about my insecurities as an English Lit major and how I'm simply not a fiction writer. Amy is very supportive on this front and through her encouragement I acquiesce and am turned into a celebrity (actually, I am guessing on that because the dream is totally hazy from this point forward). In any case, one can only assume that I am now yapping away on WNDY, driving my pink convertible to book signings and the like. Of course my books have matte covers. I am probably a celebrity writer like Toni Morrison or something although obviously I have overcome less.
One wonders, if, a year out of college, one begins to lose their critical thinking skills.

Sigh

Despite the fact that this has been a very fun week, and I have had many horrible and amusing things happen while at work, I cannot think of anything to draw you all. Indeed, I just spent half an hour or so working of a few different pictures, but all of them were crap. I just can't seem to capture the vibrancy of my early months. I trace my lackluster performance to a variety of things, all clustered around the same few days. I am unable to isolate them. 1. Coming to Ireland. March 22nd. Downhill since then. 2. Turning 23.5, March 26th (something not one of you commented on). Downhill, which, I think, suggests I should really be dreading 57. 3. Easter. March 27thish. Maybe Christ and I are on some sort of pulley thing. He goes up, I go down. ba dum chink.
There was of course, that fantastic cat burglar picture but I believe it is the exception that proves the rule.
Right now I am trying to translate a letter from Spanish to English. I have never studied Spanish. This is fun. Also, today and yesterday I was asked to shred a few thousand pages of confidental documents by hand (we have no shredder). Also fun, but it hurt my hands.
This weekend I am taking a roadtrip. I am driving. Pray for me.

The Wedge

So, everything is really great, blah blah. Bill and I went to Galway for the weekend and had a blast-- spent almost all of Saturday in various pubs, sitting outside with our Murphy's or Guinness, etc, watching the tour groups tread down the lovely cobblestoned streets.
Sunday my friend Amelia from my study abroad program arrived in Dublin. She was doing some teaching exchange thing in Wales and decided to pop over to bonny Ireland for a visit. In any case, she's here for the week which should be a blast as I am dying for someone to shop with...
You see, the wedge is back in town. I don't know if it's the case in America now, but every damn shoe store is filled with wedge heels here. And honey, there ain't nothin' I love more than a nice wedge. My closet at home is FILLED with wedges of all shapes, sizes, and colors (I love them all, baby). But of course, as I am traveling, I have nothing but the boringest black and sensible shoes here that I've been wearing for over 8 months now.
So, you are probably thinking, Ruth, you make good money working for the devil, go and buy yourself a nice pair of fuschia paisley wedges. Teeter about those rainy Dublin streets. But you would be thinking wrong. For one, I plan on two months of backpack-style travel beginning at the end of July. The kind of wedges I am thinking would probably fill a third of my 60 liter pack. Either that, or I'd have to pay to send them home or something, which would be pricey. And let's face it, Europe is no longer the land of superspecial shops. Anything I can buy in Europe you can buy in America... usually for a lot less. Fuck the VAT and the shoddy social services it provides to every goddamned foreign national but myself. In any case, I digress. The point is, by the time I return to my own shores, it will be late September and the American versions of these sexy sexy wedges will be on sale! Plus it'll practically be too cold for open toe.
So this, far and away, is the most difficult hurdle I've come to since being abroad: to buy the wedge or not to buy the wedge.

Working for Satan...

So, yesterday I began a new job. It appears that I will have plenty of time to update and draw pictures. This is the good news.
Friday, my agency calls me about a job as a secretary for a whiskey-maker! And it pays €2 an hour more than my current job, so I am like badass, even though I despise whiskey with every fiber in my little being. But Bill really likes it so since I was like, yeah, I'll do it. Then the temp agency says to me: Great! It's a small family company, and they also own another company based in the same building called African Diamonds!
So, that sucks, but I had committed to the job and I consoled myself with the fact that I would be making whiskey, not you know, being evil.
Then I come into work on Monday and am shown to my desk. In front of me is a sheet of paper listing all the companies chaired and directed by this family, though they are publicly traded, etc. Essentially, the list is pure evil. The whiskey production is the only justifiable sinning. I will go down the list with their mini-descriptions that sits in front of me for you. I will use the actual company names to prove that I do not care if I am discovered.

• Cooley Whiskey: "The Only Irish Owned Whiskey Distillery"
• Pan Andean Resources: "Oil and Gas Producer and Explorer in the US and Bolivia"
• African Gold: "Gold Miner and Explorer in Ghana and Zimbabwe"
• Petrel Resources: "Oil Exploration and Development in Iraq"
• MINCO plc: "Gold in Siberia, Silver in Mexico, Zinc in Ireland"
• African Diamonds: "Diamond Exploration in Sierra Leone, Botswana, and Guinea"
• Persian Gold: "Gold exploration in Iran"

!!!! So I have agreed to be the secretary to the financial director of all these companies! I'm in the head office! The bunker, if you will. But, like the protagonist of that Downfall movie, I'm just a secretary, I don't know nothin', right? Sure...
Really though, as evil as this company is, I've sold Nikes at Nordstrom (although I always pushed New Balance...) who sell diamonds and loads of other jewelry, probably mined in Africa.
I feel this is an opportunity to learn. I've shopped at Walmart, eaten at McDonald's (but not for many years!), and committed a multitude of sins. And I consider myself a conscientious consumer. So let ye who has not sinned cast the first stone, eh. This is a learning experience. And besides, I'm not REALLY working for Satan. I'm just a temp.

If I only had Paint...

I would totally draw you two pictures: one, my lovely library; two, the massive amounts of foundation worn by Irish women.
Instead, I will settle for telling you about them.
First of all, I live very close to a little library with a little Irish librarian. She is so sweet and cute and knows my name, as I am here 2 days a week for sure. Also, judging by the return cart, I am the only person who seems to read any books without embossed lettering; I assume this warms her heart. In any case, she looks just as a librarian should, with a salt and pepper longish bob, and nice cardigans and loafers. Sometimes she wears shimmery eyeshadow, which is precious.
Second of all, the Irish are massively into fake tans and bronzer. Literally, my new work place is filled with women with cracking faces. Today, I got a look at my boss's hands and was absolutely shocked to see that they were paler than mine. I honestly couldn't stop staring at them, as her face was about the color of a nice horse saddle.
And last week, when I was doing the market research stuff, the scientist in charge had about the orangest face I had ever seen. And coming from the suburban midwest, that's saying a whole hell of a lot. And she was a scientist!
So that is all. But just imagine what beauteous pictures I would have drawn for you.

6 Yogurts and a Free Bottle of Wine

Yes, it is easy to find a job in Dublin. It is, however, apparently impossible to find a job with free internet access! Devastating!
For the past week, I've been working for this university standing on a street trying to make people come inside and taste 6 yogurts, for which you got a free bottle of wine. Obviously, a really awesome deal. Even for someone like me, who finds yogurt wholly gag-worthy. While the job totally sucked, it was an interesting opportunity to interact with strangers. I only wish I could draw you a picture, but I am at a stripped-down library computer. I also made my first friend here that does not live in my house, so a major bonus.
Basically, this is what happened all day:
Me: Excuse me, did you have a few minutes...
Them: No
Me: to try some yogurts?
And from 5 feet away, they would look at me like I was a madwoman, laugh, and continue on their way.
Of course, this university is in a rather dodgy part of town, so there were lots of unsavory characters about, so I tried not to say free bottle of wine too loudly. Still, this was an exciting sociological adventure. The Irish are a good bit more touchy to strangers than Americans, so that was disconcerting.
I am really not feeling this update, so I will stop. I promise to regain my wit and glitter soon.

Belfast

Well, Bill and I went to Belfast for the weekend. It was pretty wild. As you are probably aware, Belfast is/was the centre of the IRA vs. British Nationalist-related violence for the past 40 years, although it officially ended in 1998.
In any case, Belfast felt largely like any other city of its size in the British Isles (which I am saying to include Ireland although I don't know if that's proper). Except for when Bill and I went off to see the murals, in the areas where the violence primarily took (and still takes) place-- two lower income neighborhoods on either side of the 'peace wall'. And this was far and away the most memorable part of the trip. The murals on the Protestant side of town featured quotes from such glorious Protestants as Oliver Cromwell saying things like "kill all the Catholics" and had pictures of their militia, men in black hoods holding gigantic guns. The Catholic side of town's murals were a bit less aggressive, with mostly painting of their martyrs, like those that died in a hunger strike during the 80s and children that have been killed by rubber bullets, which the police shoot at them sometimes.
Also, the Catholics had some murals of other oppressed people that they identify with, like the Kurds and the Palestinians and some others, I can't remember which. And of course the obligatory anti-Bush mural.
In any case, the Shankill Road (Protestant side) area looked like a war zone. First of all, there are these rows of 'terrace houses' (what we call townhouses, at least, what I do) and they all have murals on the ends, leading to a big grassy field. You would think, as it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, that people would be outside playing or something. But no, completely empty.
The Catholic side of town was a bit more lively, but I just couldn't believe it. We saw two prisons that had 5 foot thick walls, with more barbed wire than I had ever seen in my life. And the peace wall is just this monstrously tall concrete and barbed wire structure. It was truly frightening. I took pictures of course, so eventually I will post these.
And certainly, the conflict is far from over. Right by our hotel, there is this new office building going up, and already, the scaffolding features UFF murals, and the curbs were painted red white and blue. In a lot of ways, the UFF and IRA seemed like slightly politicized versions of the Crips and Bloods.
Sunday, Bill and I wandered around the city centre, when all of a sudden, a parade! Loads of old men wearing derby hats with orange fringey scarves around their necks. Now, orange is the color of the Protestants, so we figured this was them. But I was thinking this is probably some sort of Kiwanis thing for the Protestants. But alas, I was wrong, as sure enough there was a drum that said "Shankill Road Defense League." It would be so much cooler if American gangs marched around in bowling hats.
So this is a very disjointed update about Belfast. I was just surprised to see how present the violence was. The UK elections are, as you may know, in about a week, and the whole city had loads of signs up about various candidates, and literally, every single candidate (except for a few stray socialist flyers) featured the UK or the Irish flag. Apparently, everyone votes along these lines. Labour and Conservative have virtually no presence in Northern Ireland.
I suppose I could babble on about my reactions to the city for days, and indeed, have been. I will go ahead and leave it with this this though.

Not dead.

I am glad that none of you worried too much about my potential bedtime slaying.
On the plus side, I have a new job that has allowed me to complete Nelson Mandela's autobiography in 48 hours. No mean feat, considering it's 600 and some more pages.
However, the big negative is that I have no internet access at work which I consider to be truly abusive. An example of the unfair treatment temporary workers are subjected to. However, the job should end on Friday and I should then have something better. And by better, I mean pays more money and allows me to dick around online unencumbered.
This is all very sad for you because I had a fairly eventful weekend that would have made nice pictures. Alas, no Paint for me.

Drama

You are bad, ungrateful people. I have had several requests for photos from my abroadlife, and then when I put them up, at great personal cost (€1.99 for the CD and obviously such clever captions were mentally taxing) and what do I get in return? Nary a comment.
But alas, I am a benevolent and forgiving god, so I will not punish you. In fact, I have even drawn a few more pictures, because...
Yesterday Bill and I had AN ADVENTURE. Not really the good kind, but you know, the acceptable kind. I will relay the story now:
Around 10:30, Bill and I stepped into our backyard for a breath of fresh air. When we came back into the house, our front door was wide open. Our front door that locks automatically. No one else was home. I've illustrated our looking out the door.

And yes, our house is that color. The curtains are a little off, I think there is also green. Also, Bill and I look literally nothing like that. Especially as we have bodies. And that's art on the wall behind us. It's not original, it's a print. Also, the cat burglar may or may not actually exist. The rest of the post will explain.
So Bill walked around the house looking in all the doors and yelling hello. I stood by the door feeling like a girl.
In any case, Bill turned up nothing. So we left the house and set the alarm, figuring well, if someone's in and they try to leave, it will go off. If it's our flatmates, they'll turn off the alarm.
But when we leave, we see a suspicious looking mini-van. Mind you, our street is literally narrower than most American drive-ways, and it's a dead end. Why the mini-van? A mystery.
So, we wait outside for a while, thinking it's possible one of our flatmates ran home and then ran out to get something and didn't shut the door all the way... But no flatmates. So, Bill makes us call the Garda, which is like the police except Irish.
And they come and declare our house safe. This is one of them. The picture is entirely fictional as Bill and I met them at the street. Still, I felt like this was a multiple image story.

And of course, as they leave, my Spanish flatmate comes home with his non-english speaking friend. So I am sure that amused them. I am quite sure I heard them call us gringos and stupidos and americanos. Except, do the Spanish call white people gringos? They are white too. Well, so maybe none of the words sounded like that and I am imagining things.
In any case, I could have a ghost! Or, someone could have tried to rob us! Who knows!
So that was the yesterday adventure. If I am murdered in my bed tonight, expect no further updates.

My exhibitionism reaches a new level

I have elected to post pictures from my life here. Actually, they extend as far back as roughly last flunk day until last weekend. So about a year. However, they are edited and in groups, so peruse at your leisure. Please note that they were taken with the sort of digital camera that comes free with a printer. a $30 printer. Hence, the 'special effects.' Also, the London pictures are in reverse chronological order, so for those who place great weight in chronology, start at the end.
Look at my little life!

Should I stay or should I go now?

Most of you are probably aware of my next few years plan, as you know, I adore planning and talking about planning. But lately I've run into a serious conflict. One part of me is really dying for a more permanent lifestyle... you know, I'd like to paint my walls, expand my CD collection, these sort of materialistic pursuits that I adore... It's obviously not worthwhile to do these things here. I'd like to live on the same continent as my friends, or even in the same city. And I really miss Chipotle. Where's globalization when you really need it?
On the other hand, it's fairly easy to procure Irish sponsorship. And, if you are under 35, you can get a full year's work visa for New Zealand. And the commercials for New Zealand look really grand. Plus, I've made several friends from Down Under, and while they are all in England now, they won't always be. And I would love to see that part of the world and I could go travel around Asia fairly easily. Of course, I'd have to learn to like fish more than I do.
I meet so many Europeans and Aussie/Kiwis who have literally travelled the world and they don't seem any worse for the wear not starting their 'actual life' until later. But it's a bit different too, for them, because it's much more a part of their culture. And they have loads of friends abroad.
I wish I could do both, you know, go back to the US and get a month's paid holiday to go running around seeing the world like many people I've met do. Alas, a month's holiday would be unlikely.
In any case, I'll almost definitely go home to Kansas City in September, once the Irish visa runs out and the travel money runs out.
Ideally, all of you would say, yeah, fuck it all, let's move to New Zealand and we can all go be friends together. And then we'd hold hands and skip.

I'm grand, thanks.

Everything's grand, in fact, because that's what they say here and that's what it is!
Bill and I had a terrifically exciting weekend!
We bought insanely cheap grapes and tomatoes on Saturday and then went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (which is, incidentally, around the corner from my house) where Bill discovered his new god, the American artist Laurie Anderson. They had a huge exhibit of her work there and it was truly awesome. It's really rare that I feel so strongly about those jack of all trades contemporary artists, but man, my socks were totally knocked off. Also, they had a Fred Tomaselli exhibit that was great, as well as a Jasper Johns post-1983 exhibit that was pretty cool too as he had lots of paintings that incorporated the optical illusions old lady/young lady, face/vase, rabbit/duck etc, which is really cool. Also, I encountered a new artist that I thought fairly interesting, some Dutch guy named Mark Manders.
And if that wasn't enough culture for a day, we saw an underwhelming production of Hamlet in the evening by some Irish troupe called Guna Nua or something like that. But it featured two men and two men only, so fairly interesting in that respect.
Yesterday, Bill and I went to nearby Bray Bay, where we walked around a mountain, and then directly up to the top of the mountain. This was great fun, except the going directly up to the top part. This hurt my calves considerably, but I suspect was truly excellent for my ass.
And then we threw rocks into the ocean. Or rather, I threw them in and Bill skipped them around on top all fancy-like. He even managed to skip this huge boomerang shaped rock several times. He is a real man and I am lucky to have him!

Central Asia

On Wednesday, I read the news for the first time in several weeks due to the fact that I've been moving, etc. I learned several things, including that there is a country I swear I have never ever heard of in my life-- Kyrgyzstan. I looked at it on the map I wondered who these people are and what they do.
I then realized I have a deep fascination Central Asia and perhaps ALWAYS HAVE. This is due to the fact that in the 9th grade, I asked my World Geography teacher what race far eastern Russians were (which, indicentally, my teacher didn't really answer. dick).
Also, one of my favorite restaurants is a Mongolian barbeque.
So, last night I literally could not fall asleep I was so obsessed with Central Asia. Like, why haven't I learned anything about these countries? Why do archeology and artifact type museums have nothing from Central Asia?
Also, a few months ago there was this article in the New York Times about Mongolia's push to make English the nation's second language.
In any case, I've spent like all day reading about various Central Asian countries. Apparently, it's quite difficult to travel to those CIS countries, but I really want to go there. I literally cannot imagine anything more foreign than those countries (which I am not spelling out due entirely to laziness and uncertainty). I mean, for chrissakes, they play a sport involving a headless goat that somehow looks a bit like rugby.
Has anyone been to Armenia? Azerbaijan? Kazakhstan? I just cannot imagine it, though I've spent much of the day looking at pictures and reading about drinking fermented mare's milk. I am disappointed, Jubin, that you aren't going to go to Kyrgyzstan as I would really like to hear about it.
If anyone else is fascinated, I found www.eurasianet.org to be a nice resource. Also, Lonelyplanet.com.
Really, this is a plea for your wonder and wanderlust.