Boooyaaa! Check it!
We turned in kinda early last night and slept in this morning. We knew it was going to rain today, all day, so we elected to give Conemara the middle finger and just bum around town. Good call. I had seen some stuff in the shopping area I needed to explore so after checking out 2 historical spots (both churches…I swear, if the Europeans put as much work into their social issues and political systems France wouldn't have had 7 revolution in 100 years, Spain would have done without Franco and Italy wouldn't have had to worry about Mussolini) we started shopping for people, i.e. me.
I won't spoil any of the surprises that Matt and Paul will be bringing back but let's get one thing straight. Daddy shops for himself, so don't go expecting a bunch of presents and souvenirs from this one! Just kidding, I'll bring some refrigerator magnets back or something.
Now my initial plan was to pack my electric clippers and just sport my now famous, 3-day beard. I still think that would have been a great plan but unfortunately it seems that I was rather inebriated while I was packing the night before we flew out. Not only did I arrive in Ireland sans clippers, but sans razor, sans shaving soap, and sans aftershave. So going on 4 days now, I was in need of a solution. As luck would have it, it was lamenting the lack of these necessities when we passed a "warm towel and straight razor" barber shop! Now, I've never had one of these shave jobs but I have seen The Untouchables and I know that if you cut Robert DeNiro he'll kill ya. So I walk in and sit down and the guy soaks a towel, throws it into the microwave, gives it one flip and wraps that thing like a turban around my face. I swear, I damn near came out of the chair! That shit was like McDonalds coffee hot! So then he goes to work on my face. First the lather then the blade comes out. He starts working that thing across a strip of leather and it is at that point I take a good look at his face and notice the scare running down the length of his face. Phenomenal. As I pick my head up to say something he grabs me by the forehead and just starts working me over. I'm serious; I've seen meat being tenderized that got better handling than this. When it's all over, he slaps some Dad style Aqua Velva on my face is nice enough not to make a scene while I fight back the tears. I don't think I'll have to shave for 2 weeks. I'm not sure if my skin now has the ability to produce whiskers or even tan for that matter.
So then it was time for lunch and we wanted to check out this place the guidebook recommended for fish and chips. Galway bay oysters are only in season from September to April we bellied up to the bar, Matt ordered Haddock, I ordered Whiting (the most racists of all the fishes) and Paul ordered "ray wing". Now what do you suppose ray wing would be? I like to think that most of you would say, "uummm, is it a ray?" for which you'd all be awarded 10 points. Paul on the other hand just figures it's a nice way of saying catfish. So we eat the oysters (they kick ass, much more texture than our native oysters, and a little saltier too) and finally our food gets there. And low and behold, Paul gets himself a big basket of fried (whole, mind you) stingray, minus the stinger. Matt and I laughed our arses off, but Paul scarffed down the whole thing. Kudos Paul, Kudos.
After lunch we went into this big clothing store called River Island (check them out online) and I got some jeans that make my ass look like it was something sculpted by Michelangelo. Seriously, I'm going to start referring to it as the 8th wonder of the world! Oh yeah, some Bono glasses and some Euro-trash shoes. Very nice. I want to get a rugby shirt but I'm waiting for Dublin for better selection. I also want to get a bunch of Guinness stuff but of course I'm waiting for the actual Guinness brewery for that.
Oh yeah, we're now up to like 137 view on the blog and none of you people are posting kudos or comments! WFT?!?!?! How 'bout a little something for the effort?!?!?! One-way conversations suck!
Holla at your bai (Irish for boy),
"Mental" Mark Mitchell
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