Climbing out of Hangover Hell (c'mon, it's Dublin, right?) and feeling slightly guilty about deleting all of my MoveOn emails but I figure, if I'm not in the country, there's not much I can do about it. I know at least 5 of you will get on me about the inherent flaws in that argument but shit, people, let me rest.

So it's friday and presumably the rugby game--Ireland vs. Australia--is on and it should be pretty good. However, I only started forming coherent sentences about 15 minutes ago, so let's not rush into anything, okay? And I just passed, coming down the street, a guy who looked almost exactly like John Whitehead except sans beard and a little shorter. It was wild, I tried not to stare, but couldn't help myself. I had flashbacks to that picture of John and his friends, Abbey Road style, from his office.

Anyway, the rundown--and by the way i might not have mentioned but my dad is here with me and it's awesome cause he's paying for a real hotel room but he IS still my dad with me in Europe and this was supposed to be straight up debauchery for 7 days. Although after last night, diluted debauchery might be more to the purpose.

Kids, I can't believe I'm in Ireland. I'm in Dublin. This is great, this is crazy. Dad and I have been planning to leave Seamus in the capable if neurotic hands of his mother in law for a couple days and run up to Mayo where at least one fourth of my family is from. We were walking down the street and Dad's looking around at people and mutters to me: "the thing is, we look like we're related to everyone here..." and he's absolutely right. My beloved Lydia would break out in hives at the pure IRISHNESS of it all. It is a little cloying after a while. Still, this city is just fun. As Megan was saying last night, it's a major city with a lot of diversity and all the amenities, but you still always run into someone you know when you go out. It's got that small town kind of feeling. And they're so chatty, too. They'll talk to you about anything and everything, but everyone's mostly been singing Clinton's praises once they find out we're 'Yanks' which is one I love (another good one is saying "on the piss" which means completely wasted when you're out for the evening). So that of course is right up dad's alley and he tries whenever possible to make the off hand remark of "oh, yeah, well, I worked for Clinton" "oh you did then!" "Yes, I'm in mining" "He was a lovely president..." "Yes, yes he was."

Back to me.

It's actually been fun having dad here with me. He was unexpectedly cool last night, leaving me at the bar with 2 other Yanks--Brian and Megan--Brian's a friend of Seamus's and Megan's a friend of Brians...but we had a riotously good time and I had way too many pints. One does not drink 7 Guiness in a sitting without paying a very great and unhappy price. Everything was a glorious haze last night, laughing, singing along to Dolly Parton and Kenny Loggins (yes, they played the Gambler. Yes, it was hysterical). I went up to ask if they had any John Denver, I really was going to request Country Roads, but no luck. So it was a golden time, Megan and I got along smashingly and Brian's all up for offering his cousin's house once dad ditches me on Tues. which would be superior if that works out. But I knew that this morning was going to be ugly. Sure enough, dad's up at 7.45 to go help move Seamus from the hospital (which hasn't happened yet, 4 hours later), and in an unexpected burst of kindness tells me he doesn't think i need to be up yet and just to wait until they're on their way back. Regardless, the sleeping dog had been shaken, and I responded to him in monosyllables until I heard the door snick shut behind him. Like a bolt of lighting (I've never moved so fast, I think) I was up and praying to that Celtic god of porcelin. A lot. Then I got up, staggered around the room for a while, went back to sleep, got back up, prayed some more, desperately tried to shower, and remained completely useless until Orla (Seamus's wife) called and told me that Sea. wouldn't be leaving for a couple hours yet. I tell her to hold on and dart for the bathroom once more. I come back and she tells me to feel better (with her husband in the hospital, she tells ME to feel better. What a lousy bastard I am). I will never hear the end of this from Seamus. I feel certain that had he been there, he would have plied me with more Guiness than I'd had anyway, not to mention probably more shots than just the solitary, not-quite-right lemon drop I made everyone do. Seamus is the devil, he is.

i should get back and try to see if everything's tip top yet. I'm scheduled to see the book of Kells this afternoon, and the gaol, and Dublin castle....and then i got invited out again. Only now am I beginning to think that's a possibility. I doubt it, though.