Sadists' Night at the Boom Boom Room

Today, the people of Russia are most likely quite befuddled, wandering through the streets of Moscow and St. Petersburg asking each other, "Why is the vodka gone?" And the answer is: BECAUSE I DRANK IT.

A damn lot of it. And I'm not even sorry. *eg*

What happened was: I met up with jarsy, who showed me a real Irish night out on the town. We started off at Doyle's, which is a pub something like three feet away from Front Gate, and which I of course hadn't been to before, because I am lame. But jarsy was nice enough not to mock me too much. I had a vodka and orange and she had a pint, and then we went to see a trio of friends of hers play at this pub called Conway's. There were several interesting logistical factors involved. First, Conway's is INVISIBLE, so we had a hard time finding it. We actually walked right by it several times--I think there must have been a cloaking device involved, because the only other explanation is that we are both blind. (As we happen to sport nearly identical Geek Glasses, there may be some validity to this theory.) Second, we were told the club where the band was playing was up some stairs at the back of the pub, but from what you could see at the bottom, the stairs seemed to lead straight into the kind of restroom you'd expect to find in a nasty prison movie. But we braved it, and after a quick jot to the left down a (possibly also cloaked) corridor, found ourselves outside the club. Which was called--I kid you not--The Boom Boom Room. Sadly, it was not ladies' night. ;-)

( Our adventures at the Boom Boom Room, in which, sadly, there are no strippers, but rather creatures far more rich and strange )

Today, when I emerged blinking into the sunshine, miraculously without a hangover (but with my sunglasses handy, just in case), I met up with my friend Katrina and we went to the photography museum in Temple Bar. ( The exhibit was by a woman named Lindsay Seers, and like last night, it was utterly weird and utterly wonderful )

Katrina and I also visited the Chester Beatty Library at Dublin Castle, which was cool, but nothing compared to Evil Sailor Sid. The best thing, though? We got lost on the way there (my fault), and while we were stumbling around, I FINALLY found the groovy bookshop I've been dreaming of. It's called The Secret Book and Record Store, and for good reason--it's down this twisting alleyway off of Wicklow Street. It's also right next door to--I kid you not--Sheppard's Hair Salon. (Katrina did not get this reference, so she still has room to become awesomer.) And, miracle of miracles, they had a copy of Something Wicked This Way Comes! It was just sitting there, right out on a table. With all the time and effort I've spent looking for it, this was the equivalent of finding the Holy Grail, say, under a fur coat in a thrift shop. (And anyone who gets that reference is the awesomest person ever.)

Oh, and spazatron? I also got you the world's most cracktastic gift. I'd say "No need to thank me!" but really. You may not want to. *eg*