Paddy's Day

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Shona!

Tomorrow (or, um, today I guess, what with it being past midnight) is St. Patrick's Day. It is the thing that every non-Irish person knows about Ireland, aside from leprechauns, maybe. There are parades. There is green beer. There are shamrocks. There are droves of people wearing funny hats. Only some of these things have to do with St. Patrick himself.

A little background: St. Patrick was (presumably) born in Britain near the end of the 4th Century A.D. (maybe). He was (so the story goes) captured by Irish marauders and taken to Ireland, but (as the legend goes) he escaped, became a priest, and returned to the Emerald Isle to do some hard-core evangelizing. His evangelizing was so hard-core that you have no idea how hard-core it was: he converted the entire island to Christianity.

Not a lot is known about the man himself, but stories abound. Many of them involve facing off against Druids in trials by fire, which in my mind means that he shot flames from his staff at dudes and burnt them to a crisp. One story in particular mentions how he drove the snakes out of Ireland. He was even a bit of a hipster; he was way into abolishing slavery before it went mainstream and like, most people hadn't heard of it, man. Most importantly, he died on March 17th, which is why the holiday is celebrated when it is...

...and how it is. Spoiler alert: there's lots of drinking involved. It is, after all, an Irish holiday. You'd think that a deeply religious nation like Ireland would have a problem with so much merry-making during Lent, but no, it turns out that they're calling a Theological Time-Out for the weekend.

So! In honour of my current home, let's give a warm round of applause to some of my favourite famous Irish people, in no particular order:

-Bram Stoker

-Liam Neeson

-Enya

-Oscar Wilde

-Flann O'Brien ("A pint of plain is your only man")

-James Joyce

-Pierce Brosnan

-Evanna Lynch (Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter)

-Kenneth Branagh

-Maureen O'Hara

-Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance

I'll be drinking a pint to them, and to many more of the lovely people in this lovely country. Maybe more than a pint. Maybe, like, a drink of Jameson on the side.

My landlady

I'm reasonably sure that my landlady is a hoarder.

Now, fortunately for me, she's not the type of person who refuses to throw away rotten food or who keeps soiled tissue paper or anything like that. If she was, I wouldn't be living here. No, apparently she just likes random stuff. She's the kind of person who keeps things just in case someone might conceivably need them, someday, maybe, who knows. That being said, I don't know whether someone might ever want to use the following items, all of which are found in the house where I rent my room (location in parenthesis):

-A mannequin (next to the front door)

-An old CRT monitor made by Gateway Computers (under a table, next to the mannequin)

-A 1992 issue of People magazine with Princess Di on the cover (stairs)

-A Russian bootleg release of Fahrenheit 911...in VHS (kitchen counter)

-A rotary saw (floor of the guest bathroom)

It's like I'm living in the imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

I asked her about this once, and she truly does want to get rid of all of this useless crap...someday. Like, maybe next year or something. Unless someone might need that VHS tape, then oh no, she guesses she'd better just keep it, just in case.

This morning, as I was leaving the house, I tripped over a cardboard cutout of Captain Kirk from the 2009 Star Trek movie. It's not a question of why she doesn't get stuff anymore; now I'm actually curious as to where she gets all of this stuff in the first place.

The Deluge

So it turns out that Dublin is having a bit of a weather situation.

This is to be expected. Ireland is notorious for crappy weather. Back in the day, even the Romans refused to conquer the island because of its climate. These were people who were known for two things: rocking togas and conquering stuff. Maybe also gladiators, so three things. And also orgies, so four, look, my point is that the weather here is horrible and it rains a lot, all right?

The problem isn't limited to Dublin. Yesterday a group of hikers in Country Wicklow had to be rescued after the rains took their hiking path and turned it into a river. This is heavy duty weather phenomena. I come from a country where it can rain for eleven consecutive months and even I'm impressed.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go buy a canoe.

The wheels on the bus go round and round

This is how you take the bus in Dublin in 10 easy steps:

1. Go to the bus stop. It's either a shelter-type thing on the side of the road or a yellow pole jammed into the sidewalk.

2. Look at the bus schedule. This is one of two things: a piece of paper with the bus routes and their arrival times, or a digital billboard that tells you what buses are coming and when they are due to arrive. Do you see them? Good, now;

3. Ignore the bus schedule. It is worthless. You should have gone here to search for the bus you needed to take and the time that you were actually supposed to be at the bus stop.

4. Stand around like an idiot for half an hour and wonder why the bus schedule is lying to you (mainly to toy with your emotions).

5. After around 45 minutes, look to the horizon. There should be a small, yellow dot in the distance. That's the bus.

6. Stand on the edge of the sidewalk and hold out your hand. This gesture lets the bus driver know that you intend to board it. Observe proper out-hand-holding etiquette: Your arm must be at a 90º angle to the ground, palm facing down, with one finger outstretched, as if pointing to something on the other side of the street. The rest of your body needs to be facing the direction the bus is coming from. Don't stare at it directly; instead, bow your head in reverence. A tear of humility won't hurt.

7. Keep your hand up and your head down until the bus comes to a complete stop in front of you. If you did not follow step 6 to the letter, or if you waited too long to initiate it (the bus must be at least 5 km from the bus stop), then you will have offended the rumbling transportation god. You are now cursed and without public transportation. Go back home and try again.

8. If (and that's a big If) the bus stops and deems you worthy, the door will open. Step inside and thank the bus driver profusely for such a high honor.

9. Pay the fare. Coins only. If you don't have exact change, round up to the nearest Euro and pay that instead. If you're lucky, you will get a slip of paper that you can redeem later for a refund of the excess that you paid. If you don't get this slip of paper, it's because you have sinned and the bus driver, priest of the moving double-decker temple, has passed judgment on you. Accept his reprimands with nods and apologies. (Note: you will probably get yelled at no matter what you do. You probably deserve it, for the nature of the bus passenger is to sin. Accept your wretched fate gracefully and move on).

10. Find a seat and sit down. Congratulations! You have officially taken the bus in Dublin. That wasn't so hard, right?

A pint o' the ol' Guinness

So, let's deal with the elephant in the room first. Irish people drink. A lot.

I was sitting in a pub a few weeks ago with a guy I know. Let's call him Dave, because that is his name. Now, Dave and I were on our sixth pint of the evening, total (two for me, four for him) when I asked him what his plans were for the following day. He answered that he had to get up early to get a train somewhere. When I asked him if it was wise to be out drinking the night before getting a 7:00 A.M. train, he said:

"But, uh, I'm not drinking."

I stared at him. Then I stared at the empty pint glasses on the table. Then I stared at him again.

"What, this?" He said, almost offended. "This isn't drinking. This is just having a pint or two."

"Or four," I said.

"Or five. Whatever. Not drinking."

True enough. After a few weeks in this country I have discovered that there such a thing as an Irish Drinking Threshold--a minimum amount of alcohol that must be consumed before one can be considered to be "drinking". Less than that, and you're not drinking at all. This is interesting because I can get to the point where I start stumbling and making a fool of myself with an amount of beer that, by this logic, would be nonexistent.

It makes sense, though. The pub is the centre of social life in Ireland, and alcohol is the cure for everything. In a good mood? Go to the pub and have a pint with some friends. Depressed? Go to the pub and drink by yourself. New in town? Go to the pub and make some friends.

Obviously, this is not without its problems. Ireland has a serious alcoholism situation. One look at this page should be enough to get a good idea of the way booze is harming the country. Or better yet, take a bus heading downtown after 11:00 P.M. and count the amount of people who are singing songs they don't know as loudly as possible.

But really, what can you do? The foundation of modern Irish culture is held up by pillars of empty beer bottles. Asking Ireland to stop drinking is like asking Colombia to stop having coffee. It just can't be done. For better or for worse, alcohol is a part of Irish life. The only solution I can think of is the one that's already in use: reframe the problem. In order to be an alcoholic you need to drink first, and this? Nah, this is just having a pint or two.

Hello.

Welcome to Dublin. It's a city in this one country called Ireland, you may have heard of it.

I live here now. Or at least I try; other stuff gets in the way most of the time. Mostly I stare at things that I think are funny or interesting; occasionally I'll write some of those things down. So join me, won't you? I'm learning things about this place every day. Even if you were born and raised here, you may learn something too.

Let's begin!