It’s… a big mall. Not the sprawling monstrosity I had imagined, it was a giant square 4 stories tall, with a compact but entertaining little amusement park nestled in its center. I’ve since earned there are a couple far closer to home (like in San Mateo), but it’s the first I’ve been to a Lego store.

And then there were, of course, the tastes of childhood that I haven’t had in decades.

I went on a couple rides, M got to visit the American Girls doll shop as she’d wanted to do since being a slip of a gel, and everyone was happy.

Then on the way home we got hit by the motorcycle while waiting at a stop sign. And yes, you read that the right was around. Stay alert out there, riders. And thus was some stress introduced into the journey.

Not wanting to drive around with a busted tail light we swapped out rental cars on Tuesday as we passed through Minneapolis on our way to our true destination of South Dakota. Further purified by some spring monsoons paired with lightning the lakes (there are 10,000 of them in MN, dontcha know?) and steep hills slowly gave way to the plains and rolling farmland, not to mention other things found only in those parts, like The Happy Chef:

Or the Kum & Go. We stopped for Kum & Go shwag because, yes, we are that lowbrow sometimes.

Late Tuesday evening, however, we arrived at my brother’s just out side of Sioux Fall, SD; our launching point for the meat of the OHT2010. Pizza followed, along with catching up with the other half of that half of my family, and then to bed to prepare for a lot more wandering around miles on Wednesday and Thursday in Mitchell (where I was born) and Vermillion (where I grew up) respectively.

Needless to say, I’m not a morning person.

But the journey began anyway. The Old Homestead Tour 2010, a one-week journey into the past, had begun; and with a painful start. Painful as in 5AM painful. Painful as in mimosas-at-OAK-are-$12-a-pop painful. Painful as in kicking off with a 4 hour flight to Chicago before catching a connecting flight painful.

I know, $12. Seriously.

I admit M had the worst of it. She ended up directly in front of the little seat-kicking hid on the 4 hour leg, and next to too-much-perfume woman on the connector from Midway to Minneapolis. But then she got to sleep about 12 hours that night, so I think that made everything a little better.

The 22oz. orgasmically good prime rib I had that night made my world a little better. I was back in country where beef is king, and I loves me the dead cow.

Sunday was then spent catching up with family; some of the other offspring of my mother who I have generally only seen at weddings and funerals a few times over the course of the last 10-15 years. It was the annual re-lighting of the Christmas tree, and an annual event not to be trifled with. There were even tacos.

Now I should take a moment to mention to my California readers that there are, needless to say, some cultural differences between the Great Plains states, and say… the more metropolitan states. It is a diverse melting pot of Irish, Scandanavian, German, and Native American roots, with Italian, Mexican, Greek, and other influences that have appeared over the years.

None of this explains, however, how it began that our mother thought that a burrito was made by smearing hamburger on half of a flower tortilla and then folding it in half like a taco before frying it in oil.

We really have no idea how this came about, but it’s strangely tasty, and I hadn’t had one in a good 20 years.

“Supper” completed, it was time for the tree.

I wish I had had my camera ready to get the full effect, but as I had the honor of lighting the bonfire (with a blowtorch) and then after it was good and warmed up dumping the Christmas tree onto the flames to relight it. The tree, once 8 feet of pine cut by hand just before Thanksgiving, was now 6 months later 8 feet of extremely dried sap-filled pine covered in thousands of tiny matchstick-like needles.

Oh yes, it burned.

The flames swarmed into a 20-foot column of swirling chaos, a maelstrom of unleashed energy that reached heavenward in a mad dance of unconfined destructive potential.

Thankfully the neighbors weren’t home.

However by the time I had cleared the blast radius and gotten my camera ready the flames had dropped to about half their glory of just moments earlier, and that is the picture I have for you today.

Monday morning has dawned sunny and clear, and as soon as we can get rolling we’re going to be heading up the road into the heart of Minneapolis to take a gander at the heart of the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

Be that as it may, tomorrow kicks off the 2010 Old Homestead Tour! 7 wonder-filled days of heading back to the Midwest to visit some family and some of the parts I grew up in!

Yeah, OK, so not so much Wonder! involved, but it should be fun. M’s coming along for the ride which marks the first time I’ve ever taken a girlfriend anywhere to voluntarily meet family, so that’s sort of saying something right there. And it’ll be the first time in over a decade that I’ll be back for something that isn’t a wedding or funeral, so hey, break out the champies on that!

Anyway, stay tuned over the next week for exciting updates about our tour through Minnesota and South Dakota. They’ll really be exciting. No, really!

Research!

Wrong! Usually it comes from opportunity and/or alcohol.

My latest escapade to get underway is a show for the Pan-Kinetic Exposition which will be taking place on the Vallejo, CA waterfront on July 31 and August 1. After a quick proposal (that might have been written with alcohol involved) and some back and forth with the producers I’ve gotten the green light to start working up “Maury Flugelman’s Vaudvillian Circusarium and Phantasmamazing Wonder-Show!“

That’s right, kids: Vaudeville!

No act too bizarre, no talent too obscure for the stage; ahhh, vaudeville.

Now not surprisingly, this is not a topic that was covered in what little legitimate theater training I had, so now we’re in the research phase. I’ve got books, I’ve got a documentary or two, I’ve got a good month or so before I probably need to physically produce a script. These are all good things.

So, there will be more to come, including audition notices once we start getting closer to the show. And hopefully some news about the WWII USO show another group of us is trying to get off the ground for the 4th of July…

UPDATE: Sadly, both projects have been shelved for the year. Next year though, damnit…

GODR follows a low-budget, low-talent radio theater company circa the 1940’s and the madcap antics that ensue in front of, and behind, the microphones. “Crime Drama” is the action-packed case of a young girl trying to clear her name in her own parents’ murders with the help of the charismatic Detective Chuck and his far more charismatic partner. Hilarity ensues.

We’re damn happy with how it turned out, and welcome your comments in support of our self-inflated opinions.

Details to follow.

In 1896 the United States won 11 gold medals, all but three in Track & Field (the other 3 were in shooting). In the years from 1896-2006 the United States has won 986 winter and summer gold medals, and there are only 8 events through the history of the organized games of the Olympiad that we, as a nation, have not won gold in. [Incidentally those are Curling, Field Hockey, Judo, Lacrosse, Modern Pentathlon, Nordic Skiing, Polo, and the Triathlon.] So it is with pleasure that I mention the total through 2008 is now 987, and that for the first time the U.S. flag has been hoisted in these games in a country that’s not generally a big fan of having our national ensign aflutter within their borders.

The event? Women’s Sabres. 23 year-old Mariel Zagunis of Beaverton, Oregon won the gold against Sada Jacobsen. Jacobsen… sounds like a fairly American name, doesn’t it? Well, it should – Sada calls Dunwoody, Georgia home. [No, I'm not making these town names up.]

Gold AND silver? That’s a hell of a way to kick things off. If this was some kind of movie or something we would have gotten the bronze too. The bronze medal, however, went to some girl of 18 by the name of Rebecca Ward of… Beaverton, Oregon…

Oregon – the ribs of the West Coast – are apparently damn good at teaching a girl how to slide a blade into someone else’s.

So I admit it was with no small amount of ocular moisture that I watched three American flags raised to the melody of a once popular drinking song. And thus the 2008 games have begun.

Of course the rest of the opening day of competition hasn’t been without drama; an Olympic record was broken by the USA in the Men’s 400m [swimming] while across town a family was broken apart. Adding to the more local loss of actor Bernie Mac, a relative of a US Men’s Volleyball coach was stabbed to death, along with two companions who were wounded, before the assailant, one Tang Yongming, leapt off the Drum Tower and to his own death some 130 feet below.

More to come: I’m especially unhappy about Women’s Softball only being shown on the cable NBC affiliates, and therefore not able to be seen on my rabbit ears. For those that don’t follow such things the 2005 Olympic Committee voted to remove softball (as well as baseball) as an event after the 2008 games. Unpopularity? Anti-US bitterness? Citing the need to reduce the number of sports at the summer games the two decidedly American-influenced sports are the first to be removed since Polo in 1936.

Women’s Softball begins August 12.

Sean Tavis is running for office as a Kansas State Representative. I don’t care that you’re not in Kansas anymore, that you’ve never been to Kansas, or that you prefer Connecticut in NCAA basketball; Sean Tavis is the voice of a new America!

Or at least the new voice of Olathe, KS.

Sean Tavis and his wacky evolution-loving ideas can be found here in an easy to read, easy to understand XKCD format.

Sean Tavis has my $10. he should have your $10 too.

Ireland: Parte the Firste

FRIDAY/SATURDAY

*Eastward: Arrivals and Departures

So as I sit here on a dark, quiet airplane, the full moon out the starboard side window at my back, I am given over to contemplation. Pachabel’s [sp] canon in D plays on the iPod a friend gave to me right before my trip, and the glow from my monitor is soft; this plane doesn’t have an electrical port, so I have to keep it on low to save power.

It’s 5AM in Shannon, where we’ll be landing. It’s 8PM in California. I don’t know where the fuck I am right now, as I type this, but my guess is it’s midnight-ish. The times intertwine though, one blending from one into the next fluidly, much like in the Canon. A lone line flows into the next, the end of a phrase marking the beginning of another. The arrival marking a new departure into a different melodic line, into a new time zone, into a new moment of our lives.

“Wow,” I know you’re saying to yourself, “he must be fucking bored.”

Well, yes, that’s true. Right now it’s either bore you or watch King Kong, and really, as some of you know, I’m a sadist at heart. Just ask my audiences.

So I made it to BART fine, and then to SFO. A mimosa, a couple beers, and some breakfast later, I was off. US Airways… Meh. I don’t know if it’s them, or the new trend, but if you wanted lunch you had to pay for it extra. $5 for a snack, $7 for a sandwich. I took the snack, and invested that extra $2 towards a $5 Heineken. A couple of those and things were even better.

The only thing I can tell you about Philadelphia is that they’ve got some nice looking, and expensive restaurants within the airport. They’ve also got pizza by the slice, so all was well. Getting on this plane I got to flash my new passport for the second time.

And so here we are. I think we have 3 ½ hours or so in the air still, after getting off to a late start from Philly, and thus we now ponder arrivals and departures. I already have several ahead of me. The joyous departure from this craft and arrival in Shannon for one.

And past that? Well, the first adventure (past customs and trying to change some money into other money) is going to be driving to Killarney. I’ve already got a date (as it were) to meet with a Dingle local on Sunday for some local sightseeing. It also looks like Thursday I might find myself in Cork meeting up with a couple other locals. Ain’t the internet a wonderful thing?

Dingle’s been having a festival all week, so Sunday they’re having a parade. The woman I’ve been talking to there commented that “it will probably be much smaller than any parades you’re used to.” I was good and didn’t comment that the parades I was last in ran 3-5 miles and in the case of the Hollywood Christmas Parade was nationally televised. It should be fun though. And of course there will be drinking.

It’s 5:30 AM Greenwich time now. And, well, half an hour later everywhere else too. The full moon is a bit abaft the wingtip now and continues to light our flight East, and in King Kong they just ran into the mysterious island.

Hopefully our arrival to our own island will go much more smoothly.

And with that I resign myself to King Kong, the second movie of this flight, and my third today.

• Addendum (7:15 Greenwich) – Kink Kong SUCKED.

*Disaster and Recovery

Damn it felt good to get off that plane. The landing went well, getting my passport stamped went fine, and then I got to the car rental.

The car rental.

It had been prepaid, so all I had to do essentially was to show them the paperwork, get the keys, and head out. Right? Riiiiiiiight.

First of all, things are a little different here with rental cars. For us you have to bring the car back with a full tank (or whatever level you left with it at). Not so here. Here they charge you for a full tank of gas, and have you bring it back empty. How much you ask? About 97.50 Euro. [I have since learned it only takes about 45 or so to fill my tank]. So they want that up front in cash.

Not getting the extra insurance? Well then you better be able to pre-authorize 1200 Euro on a credit card in case you get into an accident. If you’re like me, and don’t have a real credit card, just a check card, and don’t have $1,500 in your bank account, that means you have to get the extra insurance at 15 Euro a day to bring the deductible down to 100 Euro. Cost for me for that? 100 Euro.

So suddenly, my prepaid rental was costing me 197.50 Euro, or about $250. After travel costs, airplane beer, and airport food, it’s safe to say I didn’t have that much. So suddenly I was faced with being 70 miles from where my housing was with no way to get there after getting about 6 hours of sleep and being up for 20 or so hours.

I was, at least temporarily, fucked.

It was actually done through another company, so I couldn’t cut the contract short and apply the money, it was all or nothing, and near as I could tell, I didn’t get paid until Monday the 15th.

Fucked?

Super-fucked!

So I went to the ATM, and got what I could, which was 150 Euro. That with the $80 I had in my wallet (thank the FSM that I didn’t but anything from duty-free on the plane…) put me at 205 and change. The nice lady behind the counter took my 197.50 and sternly mentioned that if I got in an accident I better be able to come up with the 100, or things would be drastic. I assured her I would.

So I had my car, I was at about 22 hours without sleep, I was in Shannon, and I have about 8 Euro and change to get me through until pay-day. Weeeeeee!

Off towards Killarney I went. I say towards, because one of the things I didn’t have, along with any money, was a map.

That’s not completely true actually. I had a color print of a map of the general Kerry area with blurry road numbers. This became, and still is, my working map.

Luckily, road signs here are very helpful. Often small, mind, but very helpful. So an exhausted Dan started off in his rental car, hungry but unable to afford anything yet (I was saving it for finding the local equivalent of top ramen), and sitting in the wrong side of the car with the stick shift on the wrong side of me.

I equivocate driving here to a similar feeling as driving when not sober, in one form or another. Not that I would ever do that, of course, but if I did, I’m sure it would be just like that. You’re on complete edge, focused almost painfully on just staying in the right part of the road, and not entirely sure what’s going on while sure that everyone KNOWS you aren’t quite right.

As I mentioned though, the road signs here are actually very good, and after only overshooting the tiny turn-off to where I’m staying (outside Killarney a couple miles), I found it. 10 minutes later I found where I thought I was supposed to check in which was closed, and 5 minutes later I found the actual cottage, which was just being finished, so they just let me in. I dropped my stuff off, and then set out to find somewhere to get internet access so I could get the phone number for my contact in Dingle where I was supposed to be going the next morning, and then to check my bank account to see if I have anything more I could squeeze out so I could eat.

Finally finding parking in the midst of Killarney (parking in Ireland makes parking in SF look easy), I found an “internet café”, which looks more like a porn place with private rooms. It’s a weird long room with dividers between the screens. I plugged my laptop in, got the number I needed, and then checked my bank account.

WOOHOO!!!!!!!!

Somewhere between leaving Shannon and getting to Killarney my pay check had come though. Ahhhhhhhhhhh…

I can’t really describe the sense of relieve I was suddenly filled with. Still afraid I was missing something terrible I carefully went down to the nearest ATM at the Bank of Ireland and hesitantly put in my card and number. It worked. It fucking worked. Ahhhhh…

So how did I celebrate this? Well, I’d been in Ireland for about 5 hours and still hadn’t been to a pub yet. Oh yeah, it was time. I went into one of the nearest which was advertising being open for the big match that day (soccer), and ordered myself up a Guinness.

It does taste different.

Guinness here is a little lighter tasting, a little more crisp. Easier to drink far more of.

I sat there in a pub in Killarney, County Kerry, Ireland, sipping a pint of Guinness while the guys swirling around me talked about the game starting soon, and the cute Irish girl behind the counter did her job, and I was happy. A tear came to my eye. As I let out a long sigh and finally relaxed. I was now on vacation.

After a couple pints I headed back to my cottage for the next need. SLEEP. I had at this point been up for about 30 hours straight, and I was feeling it. I sacked out for a couple hours, during which I was woken up by the girl who works for the place here who stopped by to make sure I was settled in and get my credit card number to unlock the phone. She was hot, she had red hair, she was Irish – I was too damn tired to make an idiot of myself, thankfully.

A couple hours of emergency sleep found me back up and heading back into town. Unfortunately I had sort of missed the eating hours, so most food was closed. I ended up breaking my 3+ months of no fast food by having a cheeseburger at Burger King. I know, I travel 11 hours, move 8 time zones, and I eat at BK. It was that or something for 15+ Euro, or some REALLY scary smelling fish ‘n chips place that also served burgers and French bread pizza.

Pints you ask? I had so many people ask me to have a pint for them, I’ve had to be careful to have a couple for me. Pints have been had now for Ben, Chad, and Rey in Killarney.

After leaving there I headed back to my cottage and went to the pub a couple blocks up. There are seriously pubs here in completely random places. Of course there are bars like that in the Mid-West. At that one I had a pint for Nancy, also known as the “damn, I fucking deserve this,” pint. I know she’ll appreciate the sentiment.

While there, and listing to the husband and wife pair who were pretty much phoning in their performance, I ended up sharing a table with this older couple who looked like Kathleen Faw (work reference), and Cavendish (from “The Great Escape”). They were nice though, and bought me a pint for getting into town, which I drank for Karen, who it seemed most fitting for.

It was also here I learned about Ribena. I had to have them write it down for me, since I was having enough trouble concentrating at this point as it was, and adding the music, and then the brogue on, made it damned near impossible to understand Kathleen and Cavendish. It’s a black currant juice (I know, I was immediately thinking of “Intervention”) that they add into the Guinness for women. It really completely changes the taste, and gives it an entirely different spin. Girls, I recommend you try it.

After this the duo was done, my pint was done, and I was so done it was sad. 30-something hours after getting up from my bunk in Oakland, I went back and crashed on my bed in Killarney.

Sunday and Monday reports to come.

————

I’m Getting Married!

OK, no, I’m not. But compared to the pathos and drama of my arrival, I needed to come up with something to make this next group of days sound more exciting.

Ireland: Parte the Seconde: SUNDAY/MONDAY/TUESDAY

Sunday and Monday were spent split between Killarney and Dingle, the town with the funny name, but the amazing view. A lovely lass by the moniker of Anja was my guide for the 2-bit tour; Danish by birth, but Irish by location. She also has a damned cute son. I’d post a picture, but she’s super camera shy, and the only possibly good shot of her I have is on film.

The pic I posted last entry (for those catching this on Tribe) was from a spot only about 2 minutes from my cottage that Anja pointed out to me. The one with this post is what you see when you turn about 30 degrees to port.

This actually leads to the next topic:

*GREEN!

It was the first thing I noticed when we broke through the clouds on decent… Ireland is green. I mean green. No. Really. I mean seriously fucking green. Everywhere you look is lush, verdant foliage in the key of green. It’s almost scary. Greenly scary.

And the parts that aren’t green? I’ve only found two. One is the dirt. The dirt is very reddish. But it’s a dark reddish that actually accentuates the green. And the other? There are these bushes (that are apparently a serious pain in the ass to farmers) that are a somewhat bright yellow. But guess what; it’s a reddish-yellow. And that reddish yellow? It compliments the fucking green!!!

I was planning on taking a ton of pictures (of the landscape, not the girls. It’s tough to do that without seeming weird), but really I’ve only just, after 3 days, finished off a single roll of 24 shots. Why? Because everything looks the same, sickening wonderful. I’ve got mountains, I’ve got valleys, I’ve got ocean, and really, and I got them all from one spot. The rest has become variations on a theme.

*And on the 7th Day…

One thing I do want to mention as a side, and unfortunately I didn’t get a picture, was this church in Dingle. It was one of those places you walk into and can just feel the age. You feel the age, the emotions, the belief… I’ve never found anything like it in the U.S.

Religion here is so different from what we’re used to. For us it’s angst, and saving people, and a flashy and public part or life and politics. When a lot of us hear anything about God or church we cringe and get defensive, but here it’s such a normal part of everyday life that there isn’t any of that.

Going to first communions or confirmations is the same as going to visit family. Actualy, they’re generally intertwined. It’s just a part of life. How different would our society be if we just “were”? How many more of us would try to find something like that if we weren’t pressured into it, and then surrounded by drama thereafter about our hereafter?

*Gimme some head baybee!

In this case bathrooms…

I’ll say this, for as fresh as the countryside is; I’ve only found about 3 public bathrooms (a la pubs, hotels, and places to eat) that haven’t been a little scary.

Though they are a good place to find vending for condoms and mints, and sometimes candy and jelly beans as well.

*Color me drinking

I know before I got here I saw pictures of pubs. They looked almost comic-bookish in their stark outside coloring, vividly displayed as if to beckon tourists. Well… EVERYTHING is like that. Other businesses? Houses in the country? Huts in the middle of nowhere? Yep, all brightly painted.

*Music and self-reverie

Tuesday night was spent in Killarney bouncing around a couple pubs with music happening. It was actually the first night I’ve had to close pubs down; that 8 hour change takes more out of you than you really want it to.

And of course, as is almost expected, sad, mournful songs and dashing music put you inside your own head. I was starting to lament the waste of all things musical in my past, until I reminded myself of the other amazing performance-related times I’ve had lately, including Single Entendre, Broadside/Ballyhoo/Cheapside Music Hall(s), etc, and a writing date with Laura for when I get back.

I need to pick up an instrument again though.

Unfortunately the main pubs close down around 11:30 or so. Fortunately that’s given me a chance to come back and catch up on 3 days worth of blathering.

* Housekeeping?

Pints: I had pints in Dingle for Jim and Andres. Really, what’s a better place to have a pint for “Dinglenuts” than in Dingle? Also for Riney in general. I had a good 7-10 over the last few days for all the kids at work.

Robin and Laurie, your requests are noted. Thursday’s drinking is for Mad Sal’s. I’m going to be in Cork, hooking up with the other person I had networked with ahead of time, and the words “pub crawl” were mentioned. Now, as a side note, the words “pub crawl” have always been dangerous, but you don’t understand the true terror those words can inspire when you’re somewhere with 5-8 pubs on a single block.

Rey, Jen, Meredith: Your mission was accomplished.

Pints still to come: Chris ‘n Holly, Bishop, Robin ‘n Laurie (as mentioned above). Tanya, I’m hoping to grab one in Limerick for you, or at least a pic to put up for the tribe. Quinby, I’m waiting to have one for you for when I can find someone to quote English Lit, Physics, or who looks underage.

And with that I think I’m caught up. Wednesday is going to be some more sightseeing, and maybe a day off from beer to prepare myself for the carnage in Cork Thursday. Friday I’m hoping to take a boat tour of the Killarney lakes, Gap of Dunloe, and associated touristyness. Saturday I get up fuck-ass early and start my way home.

Makes it sound so short. It was just Monday…

————-

Et Cetera

WEDNESDAY

Raiiiin. It’s a lot like the weather we had up until just a couple weeks ago, with some extra wind tossed in for effect.

After catching up on ye olde log of the trip I decided to finally play local tourist. Taking advantage of a break in the weather I headed up the road to the Killarney National Park.

Once again, the endless beauty of the countryside was shown up by the endless beauty of the lake, forest, and mountains. They had a herd of the little local cows wandering in a large area that I hiked by, but they weren’t very good at playing “Hey, Cow!” I tried, Sarah.

While there I wandered Muckross Abbey, founded somewhere in the 15th century. I got a few pictures, but a lot of it was under renovation. That being said you basically went in and roamed freely around the cemetery (still in use) and the grounds. Every time I found a dark, narrow staircase I kept looking for a “do not enter” sign, and there wasn’t one.

Roaming the grounds I found a semi-hidden little path at the end of a partially blocked staircase. Not seeing any definitive barriers I decided to head down it. It also happened to lead vaguely back towards where I parked my car.

It ended up down in this little valley with a small hill on one side, and a stream on the other. The hill blocked the winds and the trees most of the rain. It dropped me into this little meadow covered with blue flowers (bluebells?) under a canopy of trees, with a little stream running through.

That evening was the UEFA (soccer) championship game between Barcelona and Arsenal. Now I’m not really one for soccer, it’s slower than hockey and doesn’t have nearly the violence. Well, not on the field at least, the fans are a bit different. It was supposed to be a blockbuster game, and in a way it was. Arsenal’s goalie managed to get himself ejected about 17 minutes into the game. Because of that they had to pull another position to keep someone in goal. This meant it was 10 against 11 the whole rest of the game.

Despite this, and the pundits ranting on about how this had destroyed the chance of a good game and all that, and the disappointment of all the fans, etc, and all in that condescending British fashion, Arsenal scored first.

I caught the second half in at the pub I first found when I got to town, where Arsenal was winning up until about 15 minutes to go when Barcelona scored twice in 4 minutes and then just held onto the ball to let time run out.

From there it was on to a place I had been down the street where they’ve got good live music. I ended up in next to two cute German girls (who looked scarily like the twins at Dickens), and right next to some REALLY drunk Australian pair of older couples, who ended up jumping in on a couple songs, when they could remember the words. I did end up on bodhran a couple songs though. They let the drunk guy try it and watched in amusement, then gave it to me and let their drummer go take a break and get a pint after they figured out I know what I was doing.

Speaking of, Kerry is hosting the World Bodhran Championships. Unfortunately it’s from June 2-5.

PINTS!: JB and Holly in Killarney after wandering through a 400 year old cemetery and accompanying medieval forest. Quinby (though I didn’t find any discussions on English lit, physics, or hot, underage girls) had three; one for each goal in the soccer game. Chris and Holly had 2 at the music. Drummer pride, baybee.

*Delicate Departures: THU-SAT

Today’s departure from the beautiful emerald isle was done delicately. Not for worry of customs or missing my flight, but because my head is pounding and my stomach is not so happy.

Cork turned out to be a bit of a bust, unfortunately. It ended up pretty much being two of us, and my local guide in “the true capitol” wasn’t drinking. We did hit a couple different places though, and I explained why our political system wasn’t as crazy as she thought, and then why it was even crazier then she could imagine.

What this really meant though, was that I had to make up for it on Friday, and whoa gee nelly did I make up for it. After checking up on email and whatnot I decided to grab a quick pint at the place where I was going to be catching music later that night. After BSing with the bartender and some of the locals (and donating a couple bucks to getting the bartender’s leg waxed in the name of charity), who should come in but one of the local lasses who was going to be singing there the next night.

Sorry, she wasn’t a redhead, but she was pretty damn cute.

Talking with them all turned from a pint into about 5, and then a quick run back to the cottage to eat, and then back once more to really start drinking. Pints were had in copious quantities, and a few car bombs. I got some more bodhran in, and ended up doing a couple songs. Somehow after it all ended and they were closing the music turned to our side of the ocean and I found myself in the apparently enviable position of being the only one who knew the words to The Gambler. They were disappointed I didn’t know any Johnny Cash offhand.

Of course who should happen to reappear in the middle of that evening but the lovely local lass. So taking advantage of her… local knowledge we went from there to a bar and nightclub that was still open. A few more drinks there and we closed the place down.

After getting to the point of being able to drive and giving the lovely local lass a lift home (damn handy having that car) I got back to my own place around, ohhh… a little after 4:30 in the fricking morning. Which was handy since I had to get up at 6:30 to head out.

Oh, that was a lovely wake up.

It’s also a good thing I didn’t grab gas the night before when I needed it too, because then I wouldn’t have gotten to drive 20+ kilometers out of the way to find somewhere open before 8AM. Tralee was lovely though… Incidentally the gas station did in fact have a little redhead minding the pumps, for those that kept sending me requests for redhead sightings. Sorry, she was only fifteen or so.

My hung-over ass made it back up to Shannon alright though, and got the car back in with far less trouble than I had getting it out the first time. And with that I got my hungoverness onto the plane and back on my way home.

Of course that’s when disaster struck; the movie schedule changed on the 15th and now according to the magazine the movie on the flight from Philly to SFO is going to be King Kong.

Damn, Friday night was a hell of a fun night though.

Pints: Oh yeah, they were covered in spades. The bender on Friday was for all the Mad Sal’s crew, including the first car bomb for Laurie who requested a shot instead. At least one of the other car bombs (oh yeah, there were many) was for Bishop. Thursday found one for Marco. I tried to get a Limerick picture, but because of preparations for the rugby championship taking place later on Saturday afternoon traffic was rerouted a bit and got crazy, sorry Tanya.

Incidentally, in Ireland Guinness has seasonal brews. A new one came out Friday night and I had a couple pints of it. They release a few different ones, then after they figure out which one people like best they do a longer run of that one. This one was dubbed “Toucan Triple Hopped”. I was expecting it to be sort of hoppy al la Sierra Navada (from the name), but it was fairly fruity, and a bit thicker, more like in the US in that respect.

Rey, Jen, Meredith: Hehehehe…

Drinking on the way there, nursing a hangover on the way back: just the way a vacation should go.