Meet Steve. He's a not-so-twenty-something Irishman who posed us (as in Elizabeth and I) for the picture off to the left.Steve was with his group of very drunk friends at The Thirsty Scholar, or the pub we always resort to after going out, maybe because it's on the way home from everywhere, and maybe because it's a a really sweet pub. Apparently, Steve is a regular.
While Steve is a large part of this story, he comes very near the end. The short version of our night is that we (as in Elizabeth, Allison, Rachel, and I) opted to skip out on rugby and go for comfort. I discussed in an earlier entry how the "cinema" is like my new comfort food, and a great way to feel at home in a country oh-so-far away.
We saw Atonement. I highly recommend it...although I will warn you it is quite graphic and somewhat traumatic.
After we saw that, against the recommendation of Allison (who was too depressed after Atonement to do anything but cry), we walked over to the pub. It was on the way home, after all.
I had a 1/2 pint of Murphy's, Elizabeth her usual pear cider, and Allison went for the Baileys shot. We sat in the back part of what was actually a pretty crowded pub--at least more filled than we had ever seen it. The back was still cozy and not overwhelming, and we were able to find comfy seats and good place to talk and listen to the American hits rocking out of the speakers surrounding us. We drank, we laughed...nothing out of the norm for our routine. But, we did notice a group of people at the bar that had had a few too many and were stumbling about, enjoying something we didn't quite understand. We found great amsuement in watching them though...so much so that at one point I looked at my friends and stated, "WOW. I can't believe I was so entertained with them I watched them like they were on television." The only thing you need to know about them was that they were sufficiently drunk; the woman was harlot-esque, while one of the men, built like a refridgerator, was suave in a black blazer, dress shirt, and jeans.
Steve looked like a college student in his faded Levis, a yellow and red "football" t-shirt, and camoflauge belt that missed a few loops. Steve, it seemed, was missing some himself.
But, we declaritively stated (we as in Elizabeth and I) that we liked him. He was more than tipsy, but not obnoxious, and just having a slight bit of fun carousing with pals.
All I wanted to hear all night was The Killers. Finally, they came on. I had started my own shot of Baileys (my second and last drink of the night), and I was so happy to hear the Killers that I just wanted to dance. Sadly, nobody (namely, Elizabeth) would dance with me.
Well, another song, immediately following "Mr. Brightside" struck a cord in Elizabeth and she began to dance. We eventually ended up doing yoga-like interpretive dance moves in the middle of the back room of the pub. Steve slyly came up to Elizabeth's side and joined in. In noticing, Elizabeth jumped three feet in the air and I almost fell to the floor laughing.
Nevertheless, Steve showed us his interpretive dance moves, and we all "yoga-d" for a bit. I think the song ended, or at least we were done dancing, and he asked us where we're from. We're accustomed now to not saying "The States" but rather, which state we are from. The Irish don't care about the middle man. He then asked us about how long we are going to be here, and we said until December and he proceeded to explain that being away from home is hard.
He should know; he told us about how he lived in Australia for three years. He said the first month was the hardest, but he'd give anything to go back there now. He also talked about going to Boston within a month of 9/11. The main point of this sobering, albeit amusing conversation, was that life is not meant to be rushed through. He loved how the Australians worked hard, but played harder, whicle taking it all one moment at a time and not rushing between the hands on the clock from one event to the other.
"They work, you know, nine to six, and that's one thing," he said, "but after six is a whole different life--a good one."
It was a nice moment to reflect on the cultural differences on the subject of time. Steve may feel that Boston, and even Cork, are too fast paced to enjoy life the way it should be enjoyed. I have found myself, though, taking life a lot slower here. I've calmed myself down, and I'm not rushing from one place to the next, from one meeting to another. I walk alone to class every morning because I feel like walking with everyone else is too fast. I don't want to run to class unless I'm running late--after class, I'm in no rush to go back to my apartment and figure out what to do with my time. Having no job, no afternoon class, no trips during the week may sound boring...but I've realized it's quite liberating. It's nice not to be taking life like it's a marathon, but rather like it's a nice stroll on a Sunday morning. It's nice caring about money and realizing it's not always a renewable resource, but also finding out what being resourceful can mean, without the almighty dollar (or Euro, as it were). It's nice to be here, and not just in this place, but in this moment, and not being so anxious about the next one. It's like my Austrailia.
This is Steve's lesson of the evening. His profundity. Otherwise, he's just hilarious--saying silly things and asking ridiculous questions. Elizabeth and I have been harping on the question, "How [flippin'] hard is it to meet Irish men in Ireland?!" When Steve heard this, he was surprised we've been here for a month and not seen any action...and by action, he was serious. We laughed at him and said it wasn't action we were looking for, we were just looking for company, for new people.
There is no need to go into the remainder of the conversation. The short of it involves questions, answers, and compliments. The suave man in a blazer, Shane, joined his friend Steve to help us with meeting Irish men. Steve proceeeded to compliment each one of us girls on, what he thought were, our best features (Me=face, Elizabeth=nose, Allison=smile, Rachel=eyes). There was no doubt some flirtation going on between everyone involved, but it was of the wandering, laid-back, no-end-in-sight-type, which is to say it didn't serve much more than a playful purpose.
The bar was closing and so did our evening...we had our goodbyes with Steve and walked home in the cold. Another Irishman, this one much older and drinking a cider, joined us for about a block. He was a friendly bloke who talked with us about San Francisco, being young, and how we were headed to the side of town with no hope--as youngins, we should be heading INTO the city at 1 AM , not out of it! He sounds crazy, and maybe he was, but he was friendly and not at all creepy.
Same with Steve. He was just fun. He posed us for the picture that is by far my favorite in awhile. Pictures speak a thousand words, and have stories behind them...I have to say, this is one of my favorites. The bartender was friends with Steve, so he may not be a flippant Thirsty-Scholar goer. Based on our love of the place, I'm sure my friends and I will end up there again...probably next week, before we realize just how expensive these nights can be. And, maybe we'll meet Steve again.
~MJ
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