April 2001

Without trying to force anything, here's the best I can do to start to recap the last couple of weeks... 

After saying goodbye to my visting brother, I needed a half day to sleep off the wear and tear of the last few weeks.  They were busy weeks, as I got a roommate from EMC Hopkinton - Michael Mahoney, a real up and comer fresh out of Holy Cross, a former groundskeeper at Fenway Park, and a speech writer for the CEO working in the high class and unreal world of investor relations.  It's part of his job to soothe worried souls who have too much of their investments tied up in EMC stock.  I guess there's always a need for a soothsayer storyteller, and Michael does it well, even with a twinge in his conscience every now and then.  After Michael arrived I felt obligated to show him the sights, al the pubs, including the Hairy Lemon, and a new entry on my list of Eternal Drinking places: the Hi-B.

Here's where the fun begins:

April 21, 2001
I had only heard of the it's reputation from a few people at work, and I had unknowingly walked past the Hi-B dozens of times on Oliver Plunkett Street.  But with time growing short until my inevitable departure for the
US, I had to hit the Hiberian (Hi-B).  I haven't met the owner just yet, but he is somewhat of a Soup-Nazi character, who will throw out patrons on a whim.  The Hi-B is on the second floor, up some solid stairs and above the jax that allows paying customers the added (free) thrill of watching their business flow before their eyes through unenclosed piping.  The pub itself is a small rectangular room, about 25 x 35 feet, filled with
comfortable couches, a fireplace, and some understated but essential newspaper clippings, bumper stickers, and prints hanging on the walls.  For each sublime entry ('Cell phones are NOT allowed'), there is the just plain silly ('Irish Americans for Hillary').  There is also a bookcase with some reference materials, just in case.  The pub is adorned with pale beige, reds and browns, with an intricate and hypnotically ornate ceiling.  I think the closest I have come in my mind to describing the Hi-B is to reference the Van Gogh at Yale of the red and green pool  hall lit with the buzz of yellow electric lights.  There is something in the current of that yellow clashing so gingerly with the red and green that is somehow captured in the slightly claustrophobic, entirely comfortable atmosphere of the Hi-B.

April 22, 2001
On the eve of my 26th birthday, I woke up thinking about where I've been in the past year, and the sense of dread my scheduled departure on May 13.  Closer to the truth, I was trying to work off the after affects of the
previous night's Hi-B and Hairy Lemon 1-2 punch.  Luckily, the weather has been beautiful, and soaking upa few rays, and heading into town I recharged my batteries with a couple Guinness and was ready to roll once
again.   Michael and I headed up the roaqd to drive a few balls at a country club just up the road.   I can now see why golf is such a magnificent sport - any excuse to be surrounded by the rolling hills and unbelievable vistas that the course are built in is fine by me.  We then headed up past Ballincollig to meet up with one of his co-workers who took us to his Uncle's dairy farm.  No longer can I answer no to US Customs Agents hassling me about visiting a farm while in Ireland.  The cows we visited supply my house with the milk I drink.  I still don't trust the beef though, there's been 49 cases of Mad Cow (in cows) in Ireland since the start of the year, three in Cork this past week.  I really wanted to make it to my 26th, so I respectfully declined an invitation to jump on the back of a horse and trot around the farm. As all nights should end in Ireland, the three of us headed to one of the local watering holes in Ballincollig- Healy's, a.k.a. Hitler's, for much
the same reason as the Hi-B.  Hitler's also had a similar bathroom situation as the Hi-B, but instead of open plumbing, this was more of an intimate stable affect, complete with the most repulsive odors I've come
across in some time.  Everyone in the pub was an old timer, and John was welcomed with open arms.  When it was discovered (a bit stronger word than is necessary) that Michael and I were Yanks, the floodgates opened, and the rush of Irish humour hit us full throttle.  Relentless ridicule, satirical song, the whole lot, thinking on my feet, I started giving it back to them, and we were on equal footing once again.  Of course, the game was started, and it needed to be finished.  Michael and I held our own most of the way through, but we threw our hands up when the six old Irishmen in unison, threw their heads back and started saying, "WASSUP" over and over.  White flags flew, and the drinks only went down faster after that...

April 23, 2001 - Hairy Birthday
I arrived home after fighting off Hitler's affects all day (the start of a trend that week) to find a chicken dinner and a bottle of wine on the kitchen table.  Michael and I sat down, devoured the meal, as the mellow and refueling mood was charged by Miles Davis.  After the bottle disappeared, we headed into town, for ceremonial birthday activities.  26 never started so well - easing into the night with a few pints at the
Hi-B, slowly sensing the crescendo in the night.  After visiting the jax on the way out, it was back to 72 O. Plunkett Street.  We had joked a week earlier that it would have been grand to rent out (for free) the second
floor of the Hairy Lemon on the big day, but as fate would have it, it was already booked.  The night jumped, and I looked for every excuse to keep the night going and forget about work the next day.  Last call and a
seemingly all too early closing of the Lemon dashed all hopes of extending the night into the morning.  Don't underestimate the sense of the Irish for setting 11:30 last calls early on in the week.

The next few days fell into a blur, my heart pumping with May around the corner, so every night became larger than the previous one.  A little earlier start here, another pub there, and people at work started
realizing I was out every night of the week.  Of course, a couple of them were guilty of meeting up for a pint (so innocent) to celebrate my birthday once word leaked.  The week took an unscripted turn on Wednesday
- I had to call in to my weekly staff meeting in Massachusetts.  My boss asked me for an update of all the things I've been working on, and I pieced together recollections from here and there off the top of my head.
Next thing I know he's asking me if I would like to stay in Ireland longer.  No lie, those are some of the happiest words I've heard in a long time.

CLICK TO CONTINUE TO MAY...