My Irish Week in America
Ah yes, another week in the life of a stereotype from Ireland. And a typical week at that.
People, places, and animals have had their names changed. And their souls.
The reading of Irish blogs has been omitted for reasons of brevity. And levity.
Monday
Find myself listening to Therapy? and wondering where the question mark has gone in Irish rock? Stroll with dog to discuss the decline of Irish civil war politics. Debate ends with appearance of robins that aren’t Irish.
Tuesday
Receive link from the Da, An t-Eolaí, of online photos from my trip home to Ireland last autumn. The photos were taken in Howth while I was in West Cork. It was that kind of holiday. On walk past absence of burnt-out Irish pub, dog expresses some interesting ideas on photosynthesis and eating greens, before rolling in a dead racoon
Wednesday
Local supermarket has special on Jameson Whiskey, though spells it Jamison on sign. Drinking Jameson makes you feel Irish, it says. Feel happily miserable instead of Irish, so go looking for music by Lisa Hannigan. Cheered, I don my ‘bitch jersey’ to cycle to an Irish pub for it is March, and it doesn’t get more Irish.
Thursday
Watch RTÉ documentary online on soccer and rugby coming to Croke Park. Walk dog until a strange woman says, hey you’re Scottish. Skype friends in Dublin and Kildare who don’t know how warm or cold it is there.
Friday
Go to Aldi. It’s palatable in its use of the shamrock and the leprechaun. Pub quiz trivia in a downtown American pub probably a week too early to be a hero. No Irish-related questions. No European questions. Lose. Do not buy bread and cheese on cycle home, but do find tennis ball.
Saturday
Online follow Ireland winning the Triple Crown. Get chased around a white neighbourhood by a large inflatable silver burrito, while watched by cheering thousands unaware of Ireland’s victory but wearing green shirts with ‘Ireland’ on them. Escape to drink enough red wine to remember the formula for green poo.
Sunday
Wake up with trousers tucked into socks. Unable to find tin whistle. Online follow England giving Ireland chance to win Six Nations. Go to authentic Irish Pub, too late for live music, but am consoled on cycle home by finding a tennis ball.
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
Now, Eolaí, that’s just not true - Dogs do not discuss Irish civil war politics on a Monday. Dogs take Mondays off. Thereafter, while they may discuss photosynthesis, the eating of greens is never a topic of debate. Unless of course the greens are members of a political party who arrive unannounced at the door. I’m beginning to think you are making things up. But then, I could be wrong. Things are strange in Kansas.
Aye Primal, but they’re even stranger in Missouri. Take Mondays off? Are you mad? American dogs have a work ethic that doesn’t even let them take weekends off, and are so guilty about family holidays [translate: vacations] they’re reluctant to take them.
And there aren’t as many shades of green here, you know? Ask Johnny Cash. Perhaps I should elaborate. Maybe tonight.