L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

November now and thus the end of the Halloween-themed Flashback Fridays. Ah well.

This is a bit of an odd one: It’s a “rerun” if you will…a blog post that I made on October 18, 2006, during my Angry Blogger^TM days.

I was stuck on the road for almost 3 hours last night because of the stoplight computer crash that I discussed yesterday. Obviously, I had plenty of time to think…and sift through all the flotsam that floated up when I set my iPod to shuffle (where the hell did that Emmy Rossum song come from?!). Of course, the sun began to set during my commute, and something about the colors reminded me of my 30th birthday trip to Ireland.

So this morning, I went back to the blog entries that I made right after that trip, and I found this little gem. It’s actually one of my favorite posts from those days. I hope you enjoy it, too.

Oh, and as an added bonus, here are two versions of a PhotoShop project that I’ve pretty much been working on ever since that trip. It’s a shot I snapped while on our tour of Glendalough. As you can tell, I’ve been going a bit tweak crazy. I can’t help myself. I loves me some PhotoShop!

And here, now, is my 10.18.06 blog post, originally titled, “Universal Sign Edition.”

The cabbie who had driven us from the airport to our hotel had recommended this as a great pub for music and dance. We wanted a place to unwind; I wanted a place to have a proper pint and a glimpse of the Dublin norm to top off our touristy day. Inside, bodhrán, flute, and accordion merged with that most glorious of all sounds in Ireland: that gorgeous Irish accent. The musicians sang; they chatted up the audience with meandering stories that may or may not have been true…but they were marvelous either way. There is nothing more loquacious than an Irishman with an audience, no matter what the size. And this pub was packed. We were able to finally locate one empty table near the door and I quickly made my way to the bar to appease my desire to drink Guinness as often as possible.

Soon another couple entered the pub, making their way in from a damp evening stroll. They saw the two empty seats at our table and approached. “Are these seats unoccupied?” Their English was proper and tentative; not their first language. The accent hinted at a Scandinavian root as did their appearance: fair hair and almost translucent skin etched with the ruddiness of blustery winters passing. We smiled and gestured that the chairs were theirs. The man brought back pints for them–not the thick darkness of a Guinness, but the golden hue of a Heineken. We all sat silently, our chairs turned toward the stage where our entertainment played on.

Shortly, the woman turned her chair back toward the table and began removing something from her coat pocket. It was a small pouch, which contained an envelope of rolling paper and a tin of tobacco. Her companion noticed her movements and they conversed quietly in their native language as she proceeded to hand-roll a cigarette. I’ve seen this in movies before. It’s so much cooler in reality. She deftly measured out the perfect amount of tobacco onto the paper and rolled it into proper form. Sealing the cigarette with a swift lick, she patted his arm and moved once more to the door. Smokers are now exiled from pubs, so they contentedly line the curbs outside, puffing plumes of smoke into the heather-colored dusk.

Smoking must have quite a drying effect on the palate, because when she returned, she knocked back half her pint in one impressive swallow. Her companion was absorbed in the music, his back once more turned to the table. His pint was still nearly untouched. And then his pint became the nearly finished as she switched glasses. She glanced up at me and winked—that universal symbol that transcends any language barrier with its simple impish elegance—and I couldn’t help but laugh.