Dublin

Leaving on a jet plane. Okay, the next few blog posts are international-styles dudes. Jeff and I are headed across the pond for ten days for fun in the (not ) sun in Ireland, Scotland and England! We're gonna try to update this every few days cause otherwise we'll have way too many pictures to fit in one blog at the end. Our goals over the next ten days are to: walk around and look at shit, talk to crazy old Irish people about stuff, visit distilleries and breweries, get "soused," get "pissed," and avoid eating any form of haggis. So here we go.

 

We start the first two days of our adventure in Dublin. The pint of Guiness and the shot of Jameson are a national institution, a daily ritual, a chance to share stories and crazy Irish nuggets of wisdom. People are very friendly, the skies are very grey, and the buildings are very old.

 

 

Guiness brewery tour.

 

Water (aka Lifejuice) is one of the four essential elements in beer production.

 

Notes to the brewmaster. The irony of this angry demand is that I think Irish kids are totally given whiskey in their bottles as infants. There probably is no "real" drinking age, no matter what the laws might say.

 

We spread our seeds.

 

Gravity Bar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Brazen Head, claims to be the oldest pub in Ireland. Incorporated in 1198, or so the t-shirts of the servers say. BTW, you don't have a "bartender" in Ireland. You have a "barman."

 

 

Jeff can't resist ordering his American favorite to see how it compares to the domestic original. Most beers in Dublin are served in tap form and are served in specific pint glasses that match the brand of beer you're drinking. America could learn some lessons from this.

 

 

Drizzle on the outside patio.

 

Norwegian camouflage mechanisms - their only defense.

 

At a pub down the street called Mercant O'Shays, they have black lights in the bathrooms. This is totally my toilet paper, lit up like its ready to hit the dance floor.

 

Old person bar called The Millenium.

 

There is a traditional Irish band busting out the jams here. They find out that Jeff and I are Americans and on our anniversary trip so they dedicate a song to us. Then they make the mistake of telling us to come up and sing a song with them. We stumble awkwardly and drunkenly through "Jackson" by Johnny Cash until they mercifully cut it short after two verses. Thanks dudes. We appreciate you humoring us yanks.

 

Old ladies, on the other hand, are quite talented at busting out the hot tracks.

 

 

Breakfast the next morning in the hotel room. Irish people fucking love Pringles. Seriously, its like the only chip they sell and they're available at every bar.

 

Crazy-named Doritos.

 

St. Stephens Green.

 

I loved Die Hard 3.6 but I hear they worked out a lot of the virus-coding bugs in this new version. And its fully compatible with Windows XP.

 

Jeff is eating meat on this trip.

 

Mushy peas. That's actually what they're called on the menu, as if I would be appetized by that phrase. They're not bad though.

 

 

 

Darkness. Imprisioning me. All that I see. Absolute horror.

 

We're gonna have to go back for this one.

 

YES!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Liffey.

 

Jeff asks the barman what this jar is. We're thinking its a tip jar. Turns out they don't really do tips in Ireland. That's more of an American cultural custom. Instead, they get paid a living wage to serve you beers. Jeff thinks this serves as a disincentive for them to care about you, but it works out allright usually.

In reality, its some sort of vague and non-specific "charity" jar. The barman says in a thick Irish accent: "You know some is for cancer, some is for black babies, that sort of thing." We nod, confused. Also worth noting: dude was listening to Wu-Tang's "Enter the 36 Chambers" album in its entirety but was easily 50 years old.

 

YES! Bar close can't keep us down.

 

 

 

A map that our barman at the Millenium drew for us, explaining the basic geographical concepts of western europe.

 

 

A solid find. Edinburgh is next!