Singing in the rain.

Since the adventures of Ulrich and Marcos seemed to spark some speculation, I feel it neccesary to report that Ulrich is alive. I found out yesterday evening that he has simply been slipping away to the pub "downstairs." At first I was excited, then I realized by "downstairs" he means "down the street." OK, thats normal activity. However, he continues to inform me of his fun evenings singing "IRA songs." So now I wonder, what did the IRA do with the recent abandoment of arms? Where did they go? Why did Ulrich move to Ireland? What are these songs? Why is there not a decent cup of coffee on the entire island?

Don't Mention the War

So I'm living with an italian and a german. So, what rule applies to an american in this situation? In the words of John Cleese: Don't mention the war.
It turns out, I didn't have to. The italian did it first. That's right. Marcos brought it right out in the open and Ulrich kind of stared at him and I left the apartment for two days. I'm going back now. I wonder what I'll find...

Butter Battle Book

You thought I couldn't do it, but only one month into my trip, I arrive at my destination:

Friends, European Style

All right, I have a great picture for this post, but I can't put it up. Why, you might ask? Because I have moved and have only internet cafes available now. So until I find one with usb ports, it's just plain text. Text can not do my life justice right now. As I said I have moved (19 St. Nichols Square, Off Blarney Street, Cork City Centre, Co. Cork--for those who wish to send a homesick man some mail). Now, in order to afford a place in the city, I have ended up in an apartment sharing situation. I shall call that situation, Ulrich and Marcos. I call it that because those are the names of the two, middle aged Apple employees I now call apartment mates. One is German and one Italian. I can't understand a work they say and they scare me a little. Truth be told, it's like living with Josh and Jesse.

Tralee Tra la la

I travelled the long road to Tralee, the capitol of Kerry, with John O'Keefee today. He had a business meeting and was kind enough to drop me off at the National Folk Theatre there for a looksee. So I looksaw and it lookseed something like this:

I also took a tour of the local museum to get a bit of the ol' town history under me. A particular bit worth noting is the original set of rules to Gaelic football shown here:

I spaced out a little after that, but I believe what followed was a depiction of what an early game might have looked like:

Kick your sissy soccer ball Martinez! I've found a real sport!

Farewell

My dog, Sophie, died this past week. Please take the time to tell your pet you love them.

Foxes Have a Hole

Sorry to those who got the impression that I didn't last past the first night. I am just now getting moved into my housing after a crazy week. My kind flute playing host father from last year dragged me along with his band of merry musicians to sessions from Cork to Killkenny. But now I'm home, and home is here:

It's a suite style housing thing and I'm sharing with one french nurse and a family of four from Manchester.
For those of you who are intrigued and wish to know more, check out www.carraigbarre.com. For those who don't care the tour ends here. I do have a couple of interesting little pictures to show. First is my new church, St. Fin's


Also, the other day I had that experience that we all have in our lives. I was walking down the city street and saw a line of kids staring at a closed store. I glanced to see what they were staring at, and lo and behold, it was burning. The fireman thought so too because they came quickly and smashed the glass. I had a choice between going about my business or looking completely stupid and taking a picture:


The IRA just turned in all of its guns. The banjo player from the band however, is teaching his sons how to beat back the brits. As if that takes training...



Ok, so I live one minutes walk from where they make all of the Beamish in the country. Pretty impressive. However, on my daily stroll (as in I took a stroll once) I found something odd. See if you can tell...



That's right friends, it would seem as if Foster's is really Australian for hijacking loads of Irish Stout.

Alright folks, until next post...