Gone To Galway...

...for the weekend. What has already been a great break will continue as such. I'll be back Sunday night with stories and pictures from the week. Hang in there.

Quote Of The Day: Groucho Marx

"I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book." ~Groucho Marx

In God's Country

Southwest Ireland. Rolling fields of green. Rugged mountains framing the horizon. Glacial valleys. More sheep than people. 3,000 year old stone circles. Brilliant blue bays. Celtic dwellings dotting the hills overlooking water. Village shops painted in every imaginable shade of pink, blue, yellow, red, green, and orange. Early Christian monasteries. Waves crashing against cliffs. Remote country roads. Panoramas at every turn. A tangible sense that life isn't meant to be spent at such a fast pace. A slice of heaven on earth.

Spring Break

After two more unexpected cancelled classes today (they really don't mind cancelling class here), I'm officially on Spring Break. Mom & Dad are coming to pick me up in about an hour, and we're going to a house that they rented out in Killarney. From there, we plan on doing a bus tour of the Ring of Kerry, explore Dingle, spend Easter in Killarney, and who knows what else. We'll be back on Wednesday, because they're flying home on Thursday, and then it looks like I might be going to Galway to stay with a friend for the final weekend of break. Or maybe I'll meet up with some friends in Scotland or Spain. Why? BECAUSE I CAN. And as always, you'll be the first to know. See ya in a few days.

Just Another Day In Limerick

The other day, I'm with Mom and Dad in a Limerick cafe. We stopped in to take some tea and scones and check out some maps to plan their trip. Fumbling with maps must be a giveaway that we're a long way from home, so a guy at a table next to us asked if we needed help getting somewhere. So, we start talking to him for awhile, about Ireland, the States, politics...a whole spectrum of topics. He was at a table with two other buddies, and eventually one of them chimes in, and we start talking to him. Turns out, this buddy of the first guy, his name is Gerard Hannan, a well-known Limerick author, journalist, and broadcaster. You've surely heard of Angela's Ashes, right? You know, Frank McCourt's memoirs on growing up in Limerick that earned him a Pulitzer prize in 1997. Anyway, this Hannan guy is infamous both here and in literary and media circles around the world for his public dispute with McCourt about the authenticity of his memoirs. When he was writing what would become Angela's Ashes, McCourt had his friend Hannan read the manuscript, and Hannan absolutely loved it. After going through publishers at Simon & Schuster, however, the finished product was hardly recognizable to Hannan's eyes. Citing the publisher's desire to "spice it up a little bit" as the reason for the divergence from the original, and claiming that McCourt painted an untrue representation of Limerick life at the time, while touching a serious vein by degrading the names of some of the local legends and heroes, Hannan couldn't believe what he read. He published a work of non-fiction of his own, entitled Ashes, that painted the opposite, and according to Hannan, true, picture of people who were more than happy to stay at home in post-war Limerick and help build the city. Finding himself interviewed by media centers across the world, including Larry King and CNN, Hannan wouldn't relent in his assertions. Eventually, he got an opportunity to have a televised debate with McCourt. Frustrated at what Hannan was saying, McCourt threw a fit and stormed out of the studio, and immediately issued an injunction against the footage being aired. And to think, we just happened to run into this guy when we went in for a small snack. An hour into the conversation, the staff is stacking chairs behind us, and we're still talking to this guy. The conversation even spilled out onto the street for a little bit before we parted ways. Truly fascinating stuff. I'm in the middle of Angela's Ashes right now, and after I finish I feel like I have to read Hannan's version. He said he has a bookstore in the area, so I'll try to stop by and pick that up someday soon. You really never know who you're going to run into in a small cafe in Ireland, I guess.

Photo Of The Day: Paddy's Day Carnival

My friend Lorenzo, from Italia, joined me in the parade and here we are afterwards in King John's Castle.

St. Patrick's Day Tomfoolery

Parade and carnival in the morning, pubs and party at night. From the word GO, this place was ready to celebrate this day. Whoever suggested that it's not as big of a deal over here as it is in America clearly doesn't know what they're talking about. In the morning, not only did I go down to the parade, but I actually took part in the parade. I hooked onto the Fair Trade group (Limerick is the first "fair trade city" in the whole of Ireland) and carried an American flag in one hand and played a tambourine in the other. The theme of the parade was "One city, a world of people" and we were also with a Brazillian group who danced and had a percussion band going, so the multicultural theme fit in well with our contingent. At the end of the parade, they opened up King John's castle for a big party. Most of note there was a band, "De Jimbe," whose music was a fusion of traditional Irish, Caribbean, and West African music. Nice. Then after a lunch break, I shifted gears and joined the rest of the city in the pubs before ending the night with a party at a local's house named Pat (logically). I apologize for the laundry list account of the day, but I just wanted to discredit the myth that St. Patrick's Day is just another day for the Irish. Here's a photo gallery of the day's festivities.

Rocky Mountain High, meet Ceol Agus Craic!

Saturday night, Ellen joined my parents and I for dinner after Mass. The highlight of the evening had to be at the end of our meal when the table behind us decided that they would hold an eight-person sing-a-long. You come to Ireland and what would you expect to hear from spontaneous, drunken, acapella, karaoke? "Leaving On A Jet Plane," of course. And not just the chorus; they belted out all three damn verses. John. Freaking. Denver. Close runner-up: Mom telling me that I should marry Ellen when she discovered that she doesn't use any pre-made mixes when she cooks. Needless to say, I'm going ring shopping tomorrow.

Off The Cuff

Wednesday was the big day. The day I was supposed to make a fool out of myself in front of the three judges and five people who accidentally wandered into the theatre. But I didn't. I actually made a fool out of myself in front of three judges and 30-40 people. Yes, that's right, there was inexplicably a small, but real, audience for "Off the Cuff" from Mary I, at the Irish Student Drama Awards. They must have been on a dinner break from the real drama. If any of you know improv, we did a fairy tale, marathon/freeze, and two pyramids. For the rest of you, suffice it to say that we just had a lot of fun. It was an eerie feeling to be onstage and to have people genuinely laughing (because of me, not at me, you smartass). Even eerier to be going on stage making up your script as you go along, but that's the challenge of the genre. After we finished our 45-minute show, we went out in the lobby right away to stand before the judges to get their feedback, American Idol style, with half the crowd sticking around to hear as well. Two of the judges were impressed by what we were able to do, and offered some good constructive criticism on what we could do next time to make it better. The third judge must have been one of those on dinner break from the "real" stuff, because he was clearly unimpressed and possibly even sickened by it. You know, the kind of guy who treasures his Shakespeare, Becket, Yeats, Joyce...all that proper stuff that has been around for ages. He struggled for words, but here's some highlights he was able to spit out, slightly paraphrased for your enjoyment. "Those games are what any actor will do when they are warming up." "Improv comedy? What about more of a dramatic take on it? You don't have to limit yourself to comedy when you are improving." "It wasn't really something that you would bring to ISDA." "I have a giant stick lodged in my rectum and sucked horribly when I did improv, which is why I carry this vendetta against it and its originality." Okay, so maybe I made up that last one, but that's what his body language was saying. Hearing him say all that, though, actually made the experience even better. Before we came, we knew we'd run into some hard-case like that. Watching him squirm trying to find words was worth the price of admission. Performace-wise, we actually did just about as good as we've done in our month of practices, but it was never about going to ISDA to win anything. We were there to have fun and support each other, which we did. Some of the people who overheard the judges' review actually came up to us afterwards, though, and said to ignore that hard-ass; they loved to watch what we did and thought it was very well-done. You won't see me on the stage at Second City anytime soon, but I had a fantastic time and plan on continuing with the improv group here.

October Revisited

So I'm in a Limerick pub on St. Patrick's Day, wearing my bright red Cardinals hat to go with a green Ireland rugby shirt, and this guy comes up to me and says, "nice hat, but I like the shirt better." Not many people wear hats here, so I was guessing this apparent Irishman was giving me trouble for my clash of cultures. "Thanks man, I always like you take a little bit of home with me, you know," I replied. He just looked at me and pointed at his shirt: World Champion Boston Red Sox. Then he pointed at his buddy's hat: World Champion Boston Red Sox. Missing Day 1 of the NCAAs and running into Red Sox fans in the same day. If it wasn't St. Patrick's Day, I might have just jumped into oncoming traffic.

Croagh Patrick

Here's a little bit more about last weekend's trip to the top of Ireland's most climbed mountain, Croagh Patrick, or as it's commonly referred to by locals, the "Reek." First, though, here's a little introduction to the mountain. As I mentioned before, it is said that St. Patrick fasted on the summit of the mountain for 40 days and 40 nights during Lent in 441 A.D., at which time he strengthened the country's bond to Christianity. When it's said that St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland, it's really a reference to him bringing Christianity to Ireland and expelling the pagan religions that serpents were quite often a common symbol of. Croagh Patrick itself was a pagan sacred place long before St. Patrick's time, a place of thanksgiving and celebration of the abundance and beauty of the earth. Every year, on Reek Sunday (the last Sunday of July), over 25,000 pilgrims flock to the mountain. Mass is said throughout the day at the summit, and the most devout pilgrims (or those just looking for a good thrill), climb the mountain barefooted, which, as I hope to impart on you shortly, would be quite a painful endeavor. And up until the past few decades, the climb was carried out at night, undoubtedly providing quite a spectacle as thousands and thousands of people ascended the mountain with torches in hand. For safety reasons, the Church has discouraged that practice. Enough history; here's my account. At its base, there was a sign that described how making the trip to the top of the mountain, meeting certain conditions of prayer at stations along the way, and following up your trip by receiving certain sacraments would grant the pilgrim a special plenary indulgence. Check out these tough conditions. I took a divot on a grassy spot on the mountain when I tried to play golf with my walking stick and accidentally chomped down on a meaty Irish breakfast the following Friday morning, so I'm sure I'm out of the running for the indulgence by now. Oh well, I can recover. The climb immediately proved to be difficult, as the asphalt path that led up to the statue of St. Patrick at the base soon gave way to a path of worn rock. If you weren't paying attention, any step could have been a sprained ankle waiting to happen. In contrast to the thousands of people who make it to Croagh Patrick on Reek Sunday, it seemed like Ellen and I had the mountain to ourselves on Sunday, only passing people going the opposite direction every few minutes. There's an initial climb of about an hour, then a short plateau before the ascent to the top. Up until the plateau, there were gorgeous views of the Clew Bay and Mayo mountains behind us, and the mountains of Connemara showed themselves in the distance once we reached the plateau. The sights were amazing in a way that inevitably eludes photographic description. After we took in the views from the plateau for a bit, we embarked on the final climb. The last half hour, with the path consisting of nothing but loose rock, forced us to climb at a near-45 degree angle. The conversation between the two of us had died down to nothing by the end, as I think each of us were struck by the grandeur and sudden dramatic increase in difficulty of the climb. Instinctively, feeling the power of the mountain I suppose, I uttered a quick Our Father when I was trying to make the top. When we finally reached the summit, which last Sunday was engulfed in a layer of clouds, you can slowly begin to make out a weather-blown white chapel, built in the early 1900's by some crazy bloke who had the great idea to haul some building supplies to the top. Because we were literally in the clouds, the views weren't as impressive as they were three quarters of the way up the mountain, but the experience of standing at the top was incredible. Thinking of the history of the mountain, while listening to the absolute silence at the summit, and feeling the temperature drop and winds intensify, I found my mind drifting back to some things that St. Patrick must have been thinking about over 1,500 years ago. The climb, although relatively short (it took Ellen and I two hours to reach the summit, 2,510 feet up, and another two hours to descend), made up for its smaller size compared to the big boy mountains with its rocky path and perfectly conical final ascent. It was a mountain seeped in history that I could almost feel as I admired the stunning panoramics of the surrounding countryside. We stopped to talk to fellow pilgrims along the way, unsure of each other's motives for climbing, but finding the simple companionship of being on the same historical mountain a suitable point to launch into conversation. Some people see the trip as repentance for what they have done wrong, but much like its original context, I saw the trip up the mountain as something which celebrated the stunning beauty of the surrounding land and as good reason to give thanks for my health and a good friend. Click here for photos of Croagh Patrick and some of Westport.

Happy Paddy's Day!

From me in Ireland, to you all over the world, happy St. Patrick's Day. More on the activities for the day later. To celebrate and test your knowledge of Ireland, here's a 10 question quiz: 1. Some areas in Ireland are known to receive this many inches of rain each year, which accounts for the brilliantly green grass that has earned Ireland the nickname the "Emerald Isle": a. Sixty inches b. Seventy inches c. Eighty inches d. Ninety inches 2. "Erin Go Bragh," a phrase heard often on St. Patrick's Day, means: a. I Love Ireland b. Ireland Forever c. Brave and Free d. Ireland, My Home 3. Irish tradition says that anyone who kisses the blarney stone, which is located near this town, will be blessed with the Irish "gift of gab": a. Dublin b. Wexford c. Cork d. Waterford 4. This Nobel Prize-winning Irish poet and playwright was also a senator of the Irish Free State from 1922 to 1928: a. George Bernard Shaw b. James Joyce c. Jonathan Swift d. William Butler Yeats 5. This film, shot in Ireland in 1952, was directed by John Ford: a. Ryan's Daughter b. The Quiet Man c. The Dead d. The Informer 6. Traditional Irish music has found an international audience with the popularity of such Celtic bands as: a. The Chieftans b. The Lads c. Shannon Rovers d. Sweet Honey in the Rock 7. Today, the prime minister of the Republic of Ireland is: a. Frank McCourt b. Ian Dunkirk c. Bertie Ahern d. Gerry Adams 8. In November 1995, the people of Ireland narrowly passed a referendum legalizing: a. Same-sex marriages b. Abortion c. Divorce d. Marijuana 9. With 27,136 square miles of land, the Republic of Ireland is approximately half the size of this U.S. state: a. Montana b. California c. Louisiana d. Arkansas 10. Today, this number of Americans trace their ancestry back to Ireland: a. Ten million b. Twenty-five million c. Forty million d. Sixty-five million Answers: D, B, C, D, B, A, C, C, D, C

Photo Of The Day: Summit Of Croagh Patrick

Dubliners

Tomorrow morning the improv group is getting on a train and heading over to Dublin for the Irish Student Drama Awards. We don't expect to have a crowd bigger than maybe five and a few judges, but I'm hazarding a guess that it'll still be some great fun. Stories to come, along with the Croagh Patrick report.

Rising Craicometer

Now, when I said that Westport seemed a little sleepy in the off-peak season, you didn't think I was including the pubs in that statement, did you? Shame. Matt Molloy's (the one owned by a member of the Chieftans, one of the biggest traditional Irish bands) was packed Saturday night, shoulder to shoulder, everyone trying to be in earshot of the lively music. After squeezing into a spot to stand, I wondered how this place would look in the summer when there actually were a lot of people in the area. The music was first rate. In between sets, a woman in the crowd would sing songs of her own. It was amazing to hear everyone grow almost dead silent, at the urgings of the other musicians, as she sang her acapella tunes, before the band would break back into a lively jig and the conversations would resume. Eventually, Ellen and I found ourselves at a table with three thirty-something Irish men, out in Westport on a holiday celebrating the impending marriage of one of them. Well, maybe they didn't actually see much of Westport, because by the time we got there at about 10:30pm, they had already been in the pub since 1:30 that afternoon. Our conversation was not only interesting, but shockingly coherent for three guys who had spent the better part of the day hanging out with Arthur Guinness. We talked politics, the decline of old Irish life in the face of new European life, sports, their uncanny aversion to the Jesuits, and even Part of the pub culture in Ireland is the system of rounds, where everyone takes turns buying drinks for the group. They wanted Ellen and I to get in on it, but sensing that we were about 15 Guinni behind and knowing we had an early day ahead of us, we tried our best to avoid taking part. I may have stumbled upon one of the many hidden secrets of the craic that night, however. At one point, I glanced up and realized that the musicians were gone. I asked how long they had been gone, and someone in our group told me they packed up and left over an hour ago. The musicians worked me into such a musical frenzy of enjoyment that it drifted me off into conversation and carried me onward for the better part of an hour. I think that's why real Irish pubs don't have TVs or stereos; either would distract you from the conversation. I'm starting to get the hang of this.

Weekend in Westport, Co. Mayo

As with a lot of the scenic towns in Ireland, Westport seemed a little sleepy in the early March off-peak season, but that definitely worked to our advantage in many ways. Ellen and I checked into the Old Mill Hostel to find that our bunkbeds were the only beds occupied in the room, so we had no random, weird roommates. Straight away, we tried to arrange bikes, but were a week too early for the bike rental place's liking, so we were relegated to exploration of Westport by foot. After walking around downtown for a bit and getting my Ireland rugby shirt that I was after, we went outside of town a bit to look at the mountain, Croagh Patrick, we had decided to visit on Sunday. From a distance of six miles, it dominated the scenery and would prove to be a worthy test for the next day. Before Sunday came, though, we wandered down for dinner at a restaurant on the bay and ended up on the fireside couch, enjoying the heat from the fire, tasty food, and great conversation for nearly four hours. To cap the night off, we wanted to check out some music. Just as easy done as said in Westport; about every pub seemed to have a hand-written "live music tonight" sign in their window. We settled on the famous Matt Molloy's (owned by the Chieftans flutist, for any traditional Irish music fans out there) and enjoyed the craic that was out in full force. To start off our Sunday, we hit a quick morning Mass (most Irish Masses clock in in a little over a half hour) before going out to Croagh Patrick. In lieu of a bike, and keeping in the spirit of adventure, we footed the trip to the mountain, which we had heard to be anywhere from 5-14 miles away. We were correct in assuming the lower end of that range, and even though the approximate six mile walk took about two hours, there were great views of the bay and countryside on the way out. After a quick lunch at the visitor's center, we began our trip up the mountain, which took us two hours to both ascend and descend. I'll get to the experience itself in a forthcoming entry. Feeling a bit wasted from our grueling climb, we were in no mood to hike the additional six miles home. Luckily, Ellen approached some guys that looked like they were college-aged in the parking lot and got us a ride home. I became a mountain climber and a hitchhiker in the same day. After freshening up with a shower and a short rest, we hit the town for another dinner and music session. This pub was definitely not as crazy as Molloy's, and we just sat back and enjoyed the tunes. Again, the music proved to be unpredictable, as people would just come in the door and pick up an accordian or guitar and join right in. I struck up a conversation with a friendly Scottish guy who was there on holiday with his parents and girlfriend of 14 - fourteen!- years. And I thought Irish people were hard to understand. Wow. I did manage to make out that a roundtripper from Dublin to Edinborough was pretty cheap, so my desire to go there was renewed. Exhausted, we left the pub and were asleep by midnight. On the bus back home Monday, we stopped off in Galway for a walk around and lunch. It was one of those really crappy, wet, cold days, so we didn't see too much, but Galway definitely seemed to have it going on. I did pick up a copy of Angela's Ashes at a used book store, figuring it would be safe to read it now that I am entrenched in Limerick and in no danger of wanting to leave early. From the bus station in Limerick, we went straight to school and made our 4pm class - Irish culture, followed by the Irish language class. Even though we didn't have to miss any classes, I'd say that it would have been okay if I did; I got a hands-on study of Irish life and custom this weekend. A wonderful weekend spent with wonderful company. More tomorrow about Croagh Patrick, Molloy's, and pictures.

Planned Spontaneity

The plan for the weekend? Ask me again on Monday. All I know is that Ellen and I are getting on a bus in about seven hours, heading to Westport in Co. Mayo, and we'll see where the wind takes us from there. Ascending Croagh Patrick looms in our sights -- a 2,500ft. mountain just outside of Westport where in 440 A.D. St. Patrick fasted for 40 days and 40 nights while ridding the country of snakes and reaffirming the promise of Christianity in Ireland. Further on, we're thinking of checking out Achill Island, and perhaps renting bikes somewhere along the way to get around. We don't really know where we're staying, or what we'll actually be doing, but you know what? That's an exciting way to travel. My backpack is packed and I'm ready to go. See you Monday.

No Phone, No Problem

I must say, it's pretty nice to be in the extreme minorty and not to be carrying a mobile phone these days. Sure, no one can reach me when I'm not home, but it's not like I often have my phone on anyway when I'm back home. With a little advance planning, yet still having a sense of spontenuity to just go with the flow when I'm out, I'm really not missing carrying around a 6.9 oz. piece of radiation-emitting plastic in my pocket. Plus, there's just something about being certain places here in Ireland, like the Cliffs of Moher, and having the moment spoiled by someone calling me.

Photo Of The Day: Cliffs Of Moher

Located in County Clare on the Atlantic coast, this is where I spent my Saturday afternoon. Check here for more pictures now, but there's a lot more coming soon. Pictures don't really do the natural beauty of the place justice, but they'll have to try.

Why Phone Cards Are The Best

This morning, I decided to give Bonnie a call. I think I would have a better chance of ordering an enchilada in a pub around here than I would than getting through a phone call not annoyed by the wonder that is the phone card. First try. After dialing the requisite 672 numbers before you can talk to anybody, I was told that I "was not allowed" to call the number I was dialing with the phone card I have. Super. Second try. The Walgreen's phone card didn't even stand a chance. It couldn't even get me to the rejection phase. Third try. I try another brand of card, and finally make it through. Except a lady kindly tells me that my 100 minute phone card actually only has 16 minutes of call time to New Zealand. Have you ever had a good conversation when you know that there's a clock ticking away from 16 minutes to zero? It's not easy. After a bit, I hear a beep, and guess that means that I only have one minute left. Before I could switch topics and finish explaining the time-bomb situation, I hear a click. Recorded Lady comes back on: "You have 0 minutes remaining on this phone card. That is not enough time to continue this conversation." If I wasn't ready to throw the phone into the River Shannon, I would have almost had to laugh at the absurdity of that statement.

College Life 101: How to Save Money, Tip #561

cotton invaders
Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

My clothes have taken over my room. I could only get this quick shot in before I ran to safety in the clothes-free living room zone. The photo only tells part of the story. There's a calvary in the bathroom, infantry flanked out on the bed, crawlers on the floor next to the bed; it was a full-scale attack that no one could have predicted.

Maybe they're revolting for not being washed for a month. Or maybe the $5/load wash discouraged them from spending time bunkered up in a $1.30/10 minutes drier. Who knows what's going on in their crazy heads; all I know is that my room has been hijacked.

Limerick & The Jesuits

jesuit church Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Last Sunday, I checked out Sacred Heart, a Jesuit church here in Limerick. Here's the history behind it, according to what I gleaned from a plaque in the church. As early as 1540, the same year that St. Ignatius founded the Society, two Jesuits were dispatched to Ireland to explore the state of affairs, making Ireland the first mission of St. Ignatius outside of the mainland of Europe. Through the influence of Ignatius Loyola, his personal friend Fr. David Woulfe S.J. was sent to Ireland in 1561 to make the first permanent Jesuit foundations in the country. In the very city of Limerick, Fr. Woulfe set up the first Jesuit secondary school in Ireland. "Limerick was the cradle of the Society of Jesus in Ireland," one historian says. Among other Limerick-born Jesuits, Edmund O'Donnell, S.J. held perhaps the greatest distinction. He became the first Jesuit to be martyred for the faith in what was then known as Great Britain and Ireland. In 1572, he was hung, drawn, and quartered in Cork. In 1642, the Jesuit Fathers built their first church in Limerick City at Castle Lane, a short walk from where I live right now. A stone from the Castle Lane establishment, dated 1643, is inset and can be seen, a symbol of the continuity of the Jesuit Traditions in Limerick. In 1773, Fr. Joseph Maroney S.J. was forced to close the school and oratory at Castle Lane because of the worldwide suppression (other than in White Russia) of the Society of Jesus. It wasn't until 7 August 1814 that a bull of Pope Pius VII restored the Society throughout the world. In 1859, at the invitation of Bishop Ryan, the Jesuits returned to Limerick and took up residence across town, opening a school and a public oratory. In 1862, the Jesuit Fathers acquired the Crescent House property where the present Church and community residence exists. 1864, the building of the Church of Sacred Heart was begun, completed in 1868. On 27 January 1869, on the Feast of the Holy Name, the Church was dedicated, becoming the first church in Ireland to be dedicated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. In 1876, the three altars were consecrated, with the Lady altar becoming the first in Ireland to be dedicated to Our Lady of Lourdes. The 20 years from 1919-1939 saw modifications of the nave, organ, marble sanctuary floor and walls, confessionals, and mosaics until the Church is as it is today. In 1959, the Jesuits celebrated the first centenary of their second coming to Limerick (1858-1959).

A Taste Of Ireland

A few observations that don't seem to fit in anywhere else: -I consulted an Irish girl about the roving canine phenomenon, and they check out. Most of them aren't strays; she says that their owners let them go and they fend for themselves for a few days and they eventually make their way back home. -A good percentage of the time, people, young or old, give a quick sign of the cross whenever they walk past a church. -A great Irish joke: inspired by me being the only male in an eight person group for my video production class, Sinead O'Mahony quips, "Blessed are you among women!" -What's a perfect lunch in Ireland, in Lent, on a Friday? Fish, chips (which I didn't realize before I came, actually are what we call fries), and a Guinness. Oh, greasy greasy heaven. -Ian Paisley cracks, even in an improv setting, don't go over very well here. Especially when you refer to him as "Uncle Paisley."

Choir Update

No, they haven't kicked me out yet. And no, I still can't really explain why exactly I'm there in the first place. At rehearsal last night, one of the movements we were going over included a line that started out with "wretched lovers." In true Freudian fashion, when he wanted to hear the tenors (consisting of myself, a guy as lost as I was, and one true tenor probably kicking himself for getting tossed in with us clowns), Maestro called out, "okay, let's hear our wretched tenors." Coming right up, sir. At one point, when the sops or altos were going over their parts, I couldn't help but look around the room and notice that I was one of five guys in a room of about 43 girls (yes, I did a quick head count). That should come as little surprise, however, in a school consisting of about 2,100 girls and 400 guys. Maybe I have a future in the Mary I choir afterall.

Ireland v England Rugby

For Sunday afternoon's rugby match between Ireland and England, I declined invitations to watch from American friends in favor of a more authentic approach: go to a pub, grab a pint, and try to blend in with the locals. As you would imagine, Ireland v England was a huge match. But even with politics and history aside, Ireland is in the running for their first Six Nations Grand Slam rugby title since 1948, and had to beat reigning world champion England on Sunday to keep their hopes alive. Throughout the game, the crowd at the pub was very focused on the game. Whenever their man was lining up a crucial kick, the whole bar would go dead silent. I've noticed the difficulty in understanding Irish people under normal circumstances, but at some of the more action packed moments, it got even worse. All I could decipher from the grunts was "Kill him!" whenever England had the ball, or "Drive him!" when Ireland was advancing. These death threats must have made a difference, because Ireland won a thrilling game 19-13 after a last minute flurry that saw England stall at their goal line, igniting quite a celebration in the pub. If they get past visiting France the weekend after next, that will set up a showdown with Wales in a likely winner-take-all situation. Though rugby isn't a tradional Irish sport, it's still huge here, and in Limerick especially, and I'm not quite sure what a win over Wales would set off. Europeans have a difficult time dealing with American football. They wonder, why do the players wear so many pads? Why does the action stop so much? So you're saying there's actually a player who gets paid just to punt the fecking ball three times a game? I have to admit; there's definitely some validity in that critique, especially when you watch 30 guys with no real pads on beat the hell out of each other in two 40 minute, non-stop halves. Even though I don't understand all the rules, it's fascinating stuff to watch.

Photo Of The Day: Sunset Over River Shannon

A sunset over the River Shannon, shot last week outside of City Hall, a brief walk from my apartment.

Show Me Heaven? Show Me Fresh Scones

I don't know if they have scones in America, but if they don't, I'm definitely bringing back a recipe. Since bagels aren't easily had over here, they have become my new favorite snack. A scone is kind of like a biscuit, except much better. Last Sunday afternoon, our Swedish friends Ann and Caroline had a group of us over to their apartment to enjoy some freshly baked scones, jam, tea, and Swedish breakfast music. Caroline has been after me to post this, so here you go girls, this one is for you. The scones and the company was quite excellent. A wonderful Sunday brunch.