I spent a long weekend in Dublin hanging out with an Irish friend and his three siblings. It was his younger sister’s birthday, so that was the main reason for celebration (although I think there would have been a celebration regardless of whether there was a reason or not, simply because it’s Ireland and it was the weekend). I have to say that it was something of an eye-opener. In my family, at least, blood and alcohol don’t mix. You can hang out with your family, or you can go for a crazy night on the town, but you can’t do both. While I’m sure most American families are less rigid than mine, I am also pretty sure that few American families are quite as crazy as the Irish.
While I was there, my friends recounted some of their craziest nights out, and I must say that they seem to take things to a level far beyond even that which I saw in New York. For instance, they were recounting one night where a few friends were tossing pint glasses full of beer or water on each other in a pub, and then one friend went into the corner of the pub and starting pissing in empty pint glasses and tossing those, instead. On another night, one of their friends tossed a pint of beer on my friend, who responded by tossing a pint of water back. The guy punched him twice in the face, thinking that the pint was full of beer, and had ruined his clothes (keep in mind that this was after he had thrown a pint of beer first), and then apologized when he realized it was water (and they’re still friends). Another guy started picking a fight with one of their friends, who pretended to shrug it off and walk away, but later stood next to the guy at the bar and calmly urinated into the guy’s pants pocket. Other nights involved stripping buck-naked in the middle of a crowded pub, falling off bridges, crashing into parked cars, breaking backs and noses, and other over-the-top hijinks. Perhaps it is no coincidence that one of the most insane nights I witnessed in New York came after my friend had had four or five Irish car bombs. It must be something in the Guinness.
The day after a heavy night out can be a somewhat incongruous experience, as well. After having watched the siblings drinking and smoking up a storm the night before, dancing and shouting and having a wild time, it was rather amusing to see them sitting on the couch like senior citizens, drinking endless cups of tea, complaining about the amount of sugar and milk, commenting on the flavor of the tea, debating over which cookies, or "biscuits," rather, would best complement the tea. (One of the brothers, who spent the previous night drinking and dancing like any twenty-something, enthusiastically recommended the website nicecupofteaandasitdown.com, as it provides detailed analysis of various teas and recommends a Biscuit of the Week). I thought my parents drank a lot of tea in having a couple cups after dinner at night, but apparently the average Irish person drinks eleven cups of tea per day, perhaps to balance out the eleven thousand drinks they had the night before.
Even more so than Britain and the U.S., Ireland and the U.S. are separated by a common language. When speaking one on one with an Irish person, I know most of what’s going on, with a few questions here and there as to what a particular slang term means, but get a few Irish people together, especially if they are from the same city, and the slang flies fast and furious. “Lamp the gatch on ‘im” translates into “Look at the way that guy walks.” “Woke up with a minger of a mouth” means “I had awful morning breath when I got up.” No restrooms, just the “jacks.” And words like “berries,” “business,” and “savage” all refer to things that in various regions of the U.S. would be “awesome,” “wicked,” or “rocking.” It’s a funny sensation, going to an English-speaking country, and still feeling like I need to learn the language.
Heading off to London this weekend with two friends, and we’re going to catch Ewan McGregor live on stage in Guys and Dolls.
While I was there, my friends recounted some of their craziest nights out, and I must say that they seem to take things to a level far beyond even that which I saw in New York. For instance, they were recounting one night where a few friends were tossing pint glasses full of beer or water on each other in a pub, and then one friend went into the corner of the pub and starting pissing in empty pint glasses and tossing those, instead. On another night, one of their friends tossed a pint of beer on my friend, who responded by tossing a pint of water back. The guy punched him twice in the face, thinking that the pint was full of beer, and had ruined his clothes (keep in mind that this was after he had thrown a pint of beer first), and then apologized when he realized it was water (and they’re still friends). Another guy started picking a fight with one of their friends, who pretended to shrug it off and walk away, but later stood next to the guy at the bar and calmly urinated into the guy’s pants pocket. Other nights involved stripping buck-naked in the middle of a crowded pub, falling off bridges, crashing into parked cars, breaking backs and noses, and other over-the-top hijinks. Perhaps it is no coincidence that one of the most insane nights I witnessed in New York came after my friend had had four or five Irish car bombs. It must be something in the Guinness.
The day after a heavy night out can be a somewhat incongruous experience, as well. After having watched the siblings drinking and smoking up a storm the night before, dancing and shouting and having a wild time, it was rather amusing to see them sitting on the couch like senior citizens, drinking endless cups of tea, complaining about the amount of sugar and milk, commenting on the flavor of the tea, debating over which cookies, or "biscuits," rather, would best complement the tea. (One of the brothers, who spent the previous night drinking and dancing like any twenty-something, enthusiastically recommended the website nicecupofteaandasitdown.com, as it provides detailed analysis of various teas and recommends a Biscuit of the Week). I thought my parents drank a lot of tea in having a couple cups after dinner at night, but apparently the average Irish person drinks eleven cups of tea per day, perhaps to balance out the eleven thousand drinks they had the night before.
Even more so than Britain and the U.S., Ireland and the U.S. are separated by a common language. When speaking one on one with an Irish person, I know most of what’s going on, with a few questions here and there as to what a particular slang term means, but get a few Irish people together, especially if they are from the same city, and the slang flies fast and furious. “Lamp the gatch on ‘im” translates into “Look at the way that guy walks.” “Woke up with a minger of a mouth” means “I had awful morning breath when I got up.” No restrooms, just the “jacks.” And words like “berries,” “business,” and “savage” all refer to things that in various regions of the U.S. would be “awesome,” “wicked,” or “rocking.” It’s a funny sensation, going to an English-speaking country, and still feeling like I need to learn the language.
Heading off to London this weekend with two friends, and we’re going to catch Ewan McGregor live on stage in Guys and Dolls.
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