Good Guys Finish Last

They say that good guys finish last. Of course they do – they always wait for the woman to finish first. Nobody will ever call you good if you finish in two minutes before rolling over and going to sleep. You might get called ‘Two Minute Jack’ though!

If you think about it, the world would be a much better place if only it had more good guys. But of course, that's not going to happen anytime soon. And you know why? Because the very people who like good guys and want everybody to be good actually promote a different kind of behavior.  I know a lot of women who date or are married to good guys. But these very same women who found the goodness attractive to begin with want their guys to be good only to them They are forever egging them on to be more assertive, to bargain more for better prices, to not let anyone cut them off in traffic and so on and so forth. What they don't understand is that a guy can either be good or bad. If he's beating up errant taxi drivers, then it's only a matter of time before he exhibits similar behavior at home.

It's the same at work. All of us say that we like the good guys, but people are constantly told to be more aggressive, to take tough decisions, to not care what happens to their co workers as long as they get the job done. When you keep hearing the same message over and over again, at home and at work, it's bound to leave an impression. I think that we should all encourage the goodness in people a little more - it will eventually lead to world peace.

Diwali is around the corner and there's a big party on at A's place as usual. This has become a tradition of sorts with us where a bunch of friends all meet at A's house for a night of alcohol and firecrackers. It's a little bit different this time though. In the bustle of her day to day life, A has forgotten to invite us. She's not forgotten us, she's simply forgotten to invite us. I know she hasn't forgotten us because my name figures on her list to get the booze and the speakers. I mention this casually to S and he must have ratted to her because two minutes later my phone rings. The caller ID tells me that it is A and I presume that this is my formal invite. I pick up the phone "You bastard, I'll kill you if you don't come" she growls in my ear. "Of course ma'am, wild horses couldn't keep me away after that loving invite".

The party is already rocking by the time we get there and I find that I have lost my wallet. It had some cash in it and a lot of plastic. Sherlock is alive and kicking and I deduce that I must have left it behind at the grocery shop that we stopped at to buy batteries. A few frantic calls later we find that the wallet is not at the shop. It's gone. You can't keep a good man down for long (that's not strictly true - a 'good' guy will go down on you for as long as you want) and I am soon back on my feet with my cards blocked and a glass of rum in my hand.

The party is hotting  up. There is a bunch in the corner doing shots. They have the glasses lined up and are repeating them at about 5 minute intervals. One, two, three and then I lose count. I wonder what the heck they are thinking - they look too ugly not to be smarter than that.

The firecrackers are a blast. There are a lot of them and the kids go berserk. The sky is filled with light, the night reverberates with sound and the air is foggy with smoke. Finally Se says it's time for the grand finale.  It's a box about three feet long and a foot wide and high. What is it I ask him. It's supposed to go up he tells me. Well, this is getting interesting: It's big, it goes up and then it explodes!  Hmmmm it almost sounds obscene.

We make our way back inside to find that I have been right about the shots. There are horrible sounds coming from the bathroom and I see a couple of people passed out on the beds. That does not deter the rest of us and we continue with our karaoke. The night ends in the wee hours of the morning with some excellent dinner. Another great Diwali; Except that I have to be at work the next day!

The door bell rings early the next morning and a good Samaritan has brought back my wallet. It's missing all the cash, but at least my cards and my license are intact. Thank you God.

Happy Diwali.

The Son God

The Son God

The music in our  house has changed. In fact, it has changed so much that it sometimes almost doesn’t feel like home anymore. And it’s not just at home either; the music in the car is different too. I look around to find the reason for the change and I realize that I now live with the Son God who seems to decide what music gets played. I switch to the radio and find that his influence extends there too – the radio station seems to own a similar metronome. If the music is cacophonic, the lyrics are worse. The singers seem to be in competition to make the songs dirtier. They are all speaking English but I nevertheless cannot understand. There is an upper limit on the number of letters in each word and it is set to four. And the ideas and what is considered right and wrong is even worse. Rap music must have been very popular in Sodom and Gomorrah.  

My hearing has been slowly failing with age and for the first time I realize what a boon that has been. I think that God makes us hard of hearing as we grow older so that we don’t have to listen to the music of our kids.

But I can sometimes be an atheist, especially with regard to this particular God. I find an old DVD of Dire Straits and sit back with a glass of the best. The drumming intro of ‘Money for Nothing’ fills the room and then the guitar takes over and I wonder why I thought the drums were that great anyway. The song changes to ‘So Far Away From You’ and it fits my melancholy mood (brought on by the wife being in Thailand). I lose myself in the song:

“Where are you when the sun goes down,  You’re so far away from me ……”

And then it goes on to:

“I'm tired of being in love and being all alone
When you're so far away from me 
I'm tired of making out on the telephone,
And you're so far away from me”

This reminds me of another song that has been playing a lot in our house lately. It talks of pretty much the same situation but oh what a difference in the approach. It’s called “I Like It” By Enrique and it goes something like this:

“Girl please excuse me if I’m coming too strong
But tonight is the night we can really let go
My girlfriend’s out of town and I’m all alone
Your boyfriend’s on vacation and he doesn’t have to know
No no no, oh oh!”

Sigh! I’m beginning to feel my age!

An Open Relationship

Am I in an open relationship, I wonder. The wife left yesterday to Bang-kok (is that the right spelling? Or maybe it’s the atrocious grammar!) and I am beginning to think that I may be missing something here. (As you can probably tell, I am home alone and bored out of my wits).

L has got a hair transplant. Why someone with a harem and a house full of kids wants to grow his hair again is beyond me. I mean, all the reasons that caused his hair to fall out still exist around him, so I don’t see much point in growing it again. I have one question though. L was totally bald to begin with; where then did he get the hair to transplant from?  This may be low thinking but I’m not touching his curly head ever again. But then again, this may make it a lot easier to get him by the short and curlies.

Geetha is running the Pondicherry marathon and we decide to scout out the place in L’s new BMW. It’s a nice ride but why wouldn’t it be – it costs upwards of 80L (that’s USD160K). We get lost. There is a man standing beside the road with his back to us and we stop to ask directions. L rolls down his window and calls out loudly “Thambi!”. (For those who are not familiar with Tamil, Thambi means younger brother and is used to address kids. “Kiddo” would be an apt English translation). The man turns around and smiles – with his wizened face and snow white beard he looks like he could be a hundred. It is extremely disrespectful to call such an elderly person “Thambi” and L is immediately apologetic. The rest of us can’t stop laughing.

Cock on the Bedside Table

Dave calls me up out of the blue and asks if we want to go to Hampi. I mention it to the wife. “Can’t you guys think of anything else?” She retorts. Hampi with an 'a' honey, I tell her. Oh, the women of today – they have a one track mind; not that I’m complaining!

We set off in Dave’s Scorpio. The car is packed with seven of us and his luggage rack is put to good use. The bags piled up on top limits our speed somewhat but we still make good time. Our plan on leaving early to avoid traffic works and before we know it, we are checking into the Hotel Malligi in Hospet. The hotel is set among what appears to be the ruins of Hospet but you leave the squalor behind as  you enter the gates. The rooms are spacious, the food is acceptable and the service is superb. They have a full bar – they even stock Johnny Black – and at prices that I havn’t seen since I was in high school.

Come evening, we are driving around the ruins of Hampi. A police car coming in the opposite direction stops us and asks us to turn back. There has been too much mugging lately and they don’t want us driving around lonely roads in the dark. It’s a sobering thought and we turn right around.

Hampi is impressive : Huge temples carved out of solid stone. A lot of it has been done by just one king over a span of 20 years. I wonder how many men it took to make all this; what looks like ruins today must have been teeming with activity a few hundred years ago. What must have been a rich and vibrant empire has been reduced to almost nothing now. It just goes to show that whatever wealth you may amass it will still be in ruins in a few hundred years.  I change my life motto : Don’t worry about building stuff in stone. Get stoned instead!

The queens bath is impressive; it’s as big as a football field. Either she was a big woman or there were many queens. I suspect that it is the latter. There is also a bunch of musical pillars. These are stone pillars that emit musical noted when hit with a stick. Different sections contain different sets of pillars that are set to different scales. Simply amazing!

All that walking in the heat is draining and I fall into an exhausted slumber (some may call it a drunken stupor ………….. and they may be right) I am woken early the next morning by the cock that the wife keeps on her bedside table. I don’t know where she got it because she picked it up when I was away in Singapore a few months ago. I was agast when I came back and found it staring at me. “Can’t you at least hide it away where it can’t be seen, honey?” I ask her. “No,” says she. “I need it here every night”. I resign myself to it even though I hate it. And get your mind out of the gutter – it’s just an alarm clock that cries ‘cock a doodle doo’.

One crow less in this world

Summer is here. Ah, long days and even longer nights! We have visitors from Corvallis and the time seems to fly. We do a few road trips to show them the sights – Belur, Shravanabelagola and of course, the Mysore temple. D is fascinated by the traffic. “How can they not hit each other more often?” he asks. I have no answer; I have wondered that myself a hundred times.

We end up at the elephant ride behind the palace which is clearly marked with different prices for Indians and ‘foreigners’. One of the mahouts taunts the elephant too much and it takes umbrage. It simply steps in his foot and does not let go. The other mahouts beat and berate the elephant and he finally steps away with one last squeeze leaving the mahout massaging his injured foot. Serves him right for torturing an animal in captivity! We get out of there, however; an angry elephant we can do without!

G is teaching a weekend class in Chennai and she has volunteered me as her travel agent. Of course, I am nowhere near perfect as she would like me to be (I am a work in progress) and she end up with no tickets for one of the weekends. But this travel agent has a good customer service policy - unlike the corporates of today who simply don’t seem to care – and I offer to drive her. We wonder which of the Hondas to take and it’s a short discussion – size and comfort wins hands down over economy and environment.

We have killed a dog on every trip to Chennai in the recent past and I am determined to watch out for them this time. It’s not that I care that much about the dogs; but they take out a bumper each time and bumpers are expensive. My diligence pays off and we reach there without incident. We set a speed record of sorts, at least for our family. We have driven 385 kilometers from home to the Cosmopolitan Club in 3 hours and 50 minutes; that’s averaging about 100 kilometers an hour and some of it through city streets. Midway through, just when I am beginning to think that I can qualify for the F1 trials, I am rudely brought back to the ground by a blimp in my mirror. I am flooring it at this point and the speedometer is hovering around 180. Nevertheless, the blimp quickly metamorphizes into an Audi Q5 which passes us and disappears over the horizon. The wife now knows exactly what she wants for her birthday. Damn!

Chennai is dry. The election results are to be announced and there is a big sign at the club telling us that all liquor is prohibited. Oh no it’s not; it flows freely in my room. Boy, am I glad I’m packing! We are up early the next day and head for the beach. The beach in Chennai is crowded. There are all kinds of shapes and sizes taking in their morning breath of fresh air. There are a whole bunch of people sleeping; apparantly they live on there. We notice one family of Dad, Mom and two daughters. All their worldly possessions seem to be crowded onto about ten feet square of cardboard packing laid out flat on the ground. All of a sudden that Q5 doesn’t seem very important; I say a silent prayer thanking God for the abundance that He has given us.

The bad luck with animals continues; or should I say, the bad luck for the animals continues. We are sedately making our way back from the beach when a crow takes a fancy to us and does a kamikazi style dive straight into our windshield. Wham! Blood, gore and feathers and one crow less in this world. No damage to the windshield, at least. A friend of mine once told me a story of how an eagle dived into his windshield and created great damage. I thought it was pretty funny, especially when he told us how he ducked instinctively; well, it’s funny when it happends to someone else; I didn’t find this funny at all.

We watch a lot of TV. Not having cable at home has its advantages; we have not seen any of the ads and laugh hysterically at some of them. There is an old cricket match playing and we watch. Bangladesh is bowling to Pakistan; the bowling lacks bite and the batsman takes a mighty heave at one sending it out of the country I think.

It’s a short trip and it’s time to head back soon. Dave and his family are coming over tomorrow and we are all off to Hampi. 

For a Good Time, Call Ambrose

Presents, presents, presents. It’s hard to buy presents because everybody seems to have everything. And yet Santa works overtime every year to bring everyone an abundance of presents that they don’t need. Our family is no different and Calvin is very excited about his presents. When I was a kid, I was lucky to get one present every Christmas. Nowadays presents are counted by the dozen. I shouldn't complain however. We are blessed with a contented kid. His list is not long and the first item on his list for the past four years has been the same "Everybody should be happy". I guess he's got his wish in a way. Looking back at the year, I can only say that I have been happy. And I think the wife has been happy too - at least as happy as one can be when married to an idiot like me.

I was part of a conversation last week that prompted some introspection. Somebody was telling somebody else that he does not suffer fools and is quick to and I quote ‘put them in their place’. What struck me was that this person had a certain pride in being this way. And the other person responded with admiration thereby reinforcing the behavior. In retrospect, I know a lot of people who feel this way and I might have been guilty of harboring similar thoughts myself on occasion. Is it OK then to steamroll someone just because he or she is not as intelligent as you?  How different is this from the bully in school who steals candy from his weaker classmates? Or even the thief who steals your wallet just because he has a gun and is thereby stronger than you. Yet, to ‘not suffer fools’ is not just acceptable in our society, it’s a quality that is admired! There is something wrong here.

I have been asked many times about the picture on my previous blog that says “For a good time call Ambrose” so I will put down the story here. On my last visit to Corvallis, we all went out one blustery evening for a night on the town. We started at Squirrels, moved on to Block 15 and a few pubs later ended up at Aqua in downtown Corvallis. The restaurant is sufficiently snotty to have a girl at the entrance with a reservations book. We tried to talk our way past her but she would have none of it. She finally said that she would check inside if there was a table that we could get. She swayed her way inside and I took the opportunity to make a new entry in her book that read “For a good time call E.N” and I put my buddy’s telephone number next to it. I was obviously not as surreptitious about it as I thought I was because by buddy apparently saw me do it. He had the last laugh because as we left, he wrote the same message on the specials lunch menu board at the entrance – the only difference of course was that he wrote my name and number instead of his. And he is much better that I at being secretive because the first I got to know of it was when I got an email from him the next day with a picture of the board. The restaurateurs also have a sense of humor because it was still there two days later. A friend who went there for dinner called asking me if I know that my name and number were on public display. I didn’t get any other calls though – the people of Corvallis do not like to have a good time or they don’t prefer to do it with someone called Ambrose.

Have Merry Christmas.

Small Farm Animals

I have lost S and K’s phone numbers. My emails to them draw a blank and I decide to cold call. Boy, am I glad I did. S has just shot a deer and we have deer steak for dinner. There have been a lot of animals involved with me during this trip – stop right there, you with the perverted mind! I am not talking about escapades with small farm animals! I first saw a skunk in P’s backyard, then I hit one on my way to Salem and he sprayed me. Not me, thankfully, but the outside of my car. I’m glad it’s a rental because I can smell him for weeks after! So, two skunks and a deer so far!

Thursday night is a small send off for me. Folks here seem glad to see me go because they have all come to say good bye and make sure that I am really leaving. There is even a couple that I have never met before. They wish me safe travels and I graciously wish them well in return. Ray likes the way I smell and makes no secret of it. It’s a new feeling for me to have a grown man smelling me up. This is what it must feel like to have a dog!

My argyle vest is quite a hit and I am made fun of for wearing too many layers. “Take off the vest”, the women tell me, “You look hot”. Well, can’t argue with that! But I relent and take off the vest and Steve promptly puts it on. We move upstairs for more dancing where I find that Steve has transformed himself into a beautiful woman. At least, the apparition is wearing my vest. Wow, he looks good and I now regret turning him down last week. But then I spot Steve in the corner sans the vest and heave a sigh of relief - I almost heard the closet doors opening there for a bit!  The vest is very popular and propagates even more before ending up on the floor in the corner. There is even talk of starting a vest club of Corvallis! Nic, the bartender is a friend of mine (as are all bartenders) and she pours me a whopper that keeps me going through the night. Soon it’s time to go and I find that someone has walked away with my jacket. I search high a low but can’t find it. It’s too cold outside to be without a jacket and I finally choose another one that fits me. My apologies to the owner but I come from a warm country and need a jacket, even for the short walk to my hotel.

Friday night is supposed to be a quiet night to let me recoup and pack. But no – I have friends in low places and they have other ideas. After karaoke at the El Prez, we move to P’s house. He has finally bought his new mattress. This one is high tech, he tells us. It’s got memory foam. Oh yeah? This one has a memory and your last one had just stains? And what memories does it retain? That of every backside it’s sees? Hmmm kinky! Now all he needs is mirrors on the ceiling and a video camera in the corner and he’s set.

P says that I have to see JP’s before I leave. He tells me that JP’s the roughest bar in town and that they will run me out because they don’t like people like me. Well, I am about to find out soon enough. JP’s does turn out to be rough but it’s got a DJ and some decent music. We get cut off and a bouncer takes the drinks away from out table. Jo doesn’t like it. “We paid for those” he tells him. “Give us back the drinks or give our money back”. I silently watch, hoping things don’t get ugly. The bouncer is about thrice the size of Jo and there are two of them. But Jo holds his own and they finally return our money and escort us out. One of the bouncers even stays long enough to make sure that we get in a cab and don’t try to slink back inside. Anyway, P has a way of making his words come true. They did run us out of the bar, even though he was more the reason for it than me!

The next morning is brutal. I find P on his knees praying to the porcelain god. I give him a few minutes of privacy and then walk into the bathroom to find him asleep on the floor. I help him back to his memory foam bed! Lunch is in woodburn with the two B’s. The big B has also shot a deer and we have a nice lunch with beer and deer. Finally it’s time to say goodbye and I reluctantly head out to Seattle. A great trip! Au Revoir, Corvallis, until we meet again!

Seaman on my Bed

I love Corvallis. Everything is familiar and it feels like a home away from home. I walk into the office and am overwhelmed by the hugs I get. Mostly from men, I might add. What is wrong with the men of America – aren’t men supposed to shake hands and not hug? But I’m not complaining – it feels good to get such a warm welcome.

There is a brew fest in Albany. We have VIP passes and we are supporting a good cause - we are raising funds for the Boys and Girls Club. Many large screens around the hall are showing the game. It’s my first football game in a while and I watch. UCLA wins by a last second (that’s right, last second) field goal! Hopefully, next week’s home game will turn out better.

From there we move to house behind Rays for pina coladas. P’s got this new blender which he puts to good use. V tells us that proper pina coladas have to be made with real bananas. She might have a point there, because it goes down smooth and easy. Soon the bottle of rum is gone and Jan and I move to the Peacock where there are quite a few people gathered. We go upstairs to dance the night away. I meet Steve who immediately starts hitting on me. I get worried after a while and try to talk him out of him. It turns out that he was joking but I still have my suspicions. We finish off at the El Presidente (where else) with one hundred push ups. The forced workouts that I had to endure have done their job – I out-push up everyone else at the bar.

Work hard and party harder becomes my motto. Its veteran’s day and I take half a day off. P and I go out looking for a bed that he wants to buy. He tries out various mattresses at the store by laying on each of them in turn. Join me, he yells at me, trying to embarrass me and gets a few laughs from the onlookers. I laugh too, little knowing that it was going to come true all too soon. We come back and hit the El Presendente and then the Peacock. P is a veteran too. He was in the navy - a seaman! Well, apparently the girls at the Peacock like seamen, and P gets his 15 minutes of fame. Somebody calls for shots and at that point, I knew that I could never let P drive home. I take him back to my room at the Holiday Inn and he takes my bed. Well, he got what he asked for, I guess, though it is nightmarish for me – Seaman on my bed! Ughhh!

The game sucks. It’s cold and raining and tailgating becomes an effort. We have great seats but for once we wish that we could see less of the game. I bet $10 against the Beavers – it’s not really a gamble. I am certain to win. All in all, the Beavers play true to their name. They are the Beavers and they play like @#$%s (insert the crude word for Beaver here).

The after game party takes us to the Peacock where I meet Bri. Bri is wearing a jacket that she tells us that she will only take it off if she can get one more drink. Well, that is a condition that is easily remedied. Unfortunately, Bri does has to work in the morning and does leaves early. It might have been interesting to find out how many drinks the other articles of clothing would have needed.

Immigration is a Bitch!

Immigration is a bitch! There is a high security alert and the airport is a scene of frenzied activity. I am asked to step aside and grilled for twenty minutes about everything from my place of work to what I did in Dublin. Finally, the guy decides that I am not suicidal enough and lets me through.  I am flying Delta for the first time and probably the last. They serve us a cold meal and then whiz past with the wine so quickly that no one has a chance to partake. I decline, mainly because I am never asked. I wonder if the airlines realize what their cheap cost cutting measures actually cost them. I for one am never flying Delta again if I can help it. There is a cost to cutting costs and many times it ends up being more expensive than what you save, but this is mostly lost in today’s corporate world where everybody works in silos and just wants to make their numbers.

I finally board the plane. I am seated by the window and next to me is an enormous woman with her young daughter. The plane takes off and the daughter promptly goes to sleep on my shoulder. I sit unmoving. After a while, I realize that the kid takes after her mother – she is heavy. My arm goes to sleep, but the rest of me cannot. I staunchly grin and bear it. It’s going to be a long flight!

Chicago is freezing but I am somewhat acclimatized by now. The drive to Milwaukee WI seems to take forever. Even in the dark I can see Obama’s stimulus dollars at work. There are orange flags every few miles or so and large signs that tell me that hitting a road worker could get me 14 years in jail. I slow down. The freeway is blocked off in one place and I am asked to detour. I am not worried – I have my trusty GPS to guide me. We go through the usual lefts and rights of any detour and my GPS asks me to enter the freeway. Drat, this entrance is closed too. This happens a couple of times before I realize that the GPS is bringing me back to the same freeway entrance every time. So much for technology; I switch off the GPS and decide to rely on the road signs instead. And before you ask, no I had not had a drink; in my defense, it was dark and raining and I had just got off a 16 hour plane journey.

A good day’s work at Milwaukee, a nice dinner and a night of solid drinking. The barmen in Wisconsin sure know how to pour a drink. The morning dawns bright and clear and it’s time for my drive back to Chicago. I get the exit row (see, United is better than Delta) which is a lot more comfortable and I catch up on my sleep. The drive from Portland to Corvallis is nostalgic. It feels like I’m coming home.

Good Friends ... Good Times

The days pass in a blur. There is so much to get done at work before I leave. Couple that  with a stream of visitors at home and I am left exhausted. I don’t have time to pack and G and Cal take care of it for me. Ah, the small pleasures of life – to come home late and find your bag already packed. I am flying Air France for the first time and a number of people scare me about their pathetic service. My fears are unwarranted as the flight turns out to be pretty good. We have two male stewards to serve us and I watch as they work their charm on the passengers. I am beginning to realize why French men are so popular with the women. I have a four hour layover in Paris and I spend a considerable amount of that in a bus getting to my terminal. We are packed six deep in the bus and there is barely room to stand. It’s not very comfortable having four grown men pressing on you from all sides but I put on my poker face and get through it.

I walk through the airport and am surprised that the entire terminal has just one bar and you have to stand in line to get a drink. It’s a long line and I pass. I don’t need a drink that bad and it’s 9 in the morning anyway. I always thought that Paris had a lot of glamor but there is nothing glamorous about the airport at least. The only good thing about this is that I can now truthfully say that I have been in Paris. I mention this to JD and he says so what, hasn’t everyone?

 It’s time to board at last and we are herded into another bus. The bus journey takes forever and I am beginning to wonder if they are planning to drive us to Dublin when we arrive at a little plane. A short flight but the seats are super small and super uncomfortable. I look out the window and watch the ground slip away from me as the plane gains height. Higher and higher we fly until everything below is a blur and we seem to be suspended in mid air. I know we are getting somewhere and pretty fast at that, but there is no visual indication of this. This is what it must seem like to be top management, I think. You are right on top and so far away from the little people that you don’t really care if they live or die. But you’re going somewhere in the meantime.

Dublin is sunny and warm; I seem to have brought the good weather with me - again! It’s Halloween here and all the people are dressed up. We go to the Ginger Man for a pint and a quick bite and then end up at Kennedy’s because they have a big screen TV. All my old buddies are there with a couple of new ones added in. Nobody looks anyone else in the eye, but that is probably because their eyes are glued to the tube above them. Australia beats Ireland narrowly and that is a big disappointment. There is too much sorrow and it needs to be drowned. We are up to the task.

Aimen has grown a pointy beard. The secret to a long beard, he says, is to stroke it often. The more he strokes it, the longer it grows. From the looks of his beard, it looks like he likes to stroke himself. Keep stroking, Aimen, if that’s what makes you happy. Back where I come from, we have a different name for it, but whatever dude.

The next stop is the No Name Bar which is actually a house converted into a tavern. It has thumping music and Spanish women. We lose a part of our group (who I cannot name for obvious reasons) who desert us in favor of going dancing with the Spaniards. We carry on and end up in Ray’s brother’s house. It’s quite a party and it looks like it’s been on for a while judging by the number of empties on the living room table. It’s a disaster waiting to happen and sure enough the brother over steps and crashes into the table. The result is chaos. Broken bottles everywhere and thankfully the little candle on the table goes out without causing too much damage. The bro is not finished for the night though. He goes downstairs and attempts to climb on to the 5^th floor balcony from the outside. The drunker he gets the more confidence he gains in his climbing skills. No matter that he cannot stand straight; climbing is different. Finally Katie convinces him that taking the stairs is climbing too. He is not happy and he storms back inside. Well, almost storms back inside because he doesn’t see the door in the way and slams right into it.

The party continues undeterred. I walk to the bathroom and surprise the couple inside. Apparently, the bro is getting the cut under his eye attended to. It seems to me that the attention that he is getting is concentrated well below his eye. I refrain from asking which eye they were referring to. Ray is too much in a hurry to wait for them to finish and heads out to the balcony. I follow him and point out a couple of potted plants as likely candidates for his use but like his brother, he cannot curb his climbing instincts. He hops on the wall and waters the plants five stories below. I just hope nobody else was trying to climb up the wall at that moment. They would have been treated to some acid rain!

We wind down finally and decide to call it a night. The next day sees more of the same. This is the only place in the whole world where I am honored as a cook and it instills a sense of recklessness in me. A dash of this and a splash of that, another glass of Jameson and I forget what we set out to make in the first place.  We cook two kinds of chicken, simply because two is better than one. It’s Halloween and there are kids in scary costumes knocking on the door. Candy is doled out generously and the monsters leave.

The days pass so quickly and it is time to leave. There is a heightened sense of security at the airport and I am grilled for a while before they decide that I am harmless. I finally get the required stamps on my passport and I am off to the United States. All in all a good trip. Got a lot done at work, good friends, good times. Au Revoir Dublin, until we meet again.