Fezzik In Paris

The weekend before last weekend (last weekend being the weekend in which we went to Dublin), the Purrito and I watched a movie called The Lobster. The Lobster is a darkly comedic not-quite-science-fiction movie set in a dystopic near-future in which newly-single people are sent to a “resort” where they have 45 days to find a new partner, lest they be turned into the animal of their choice. Colin Farrell plays David, a man whose spouse has just left him, and who has selected to be turned into a lobster should he fail to regain his status as a member of a couple. Being married (I’m waving at the Purrito), I would not be at the resort, though if I were sent to said resort, I would ask to be turned into one of those gnarly mountain goats that pop up in photographs of landscapes which you stare at and then ask yourself man, can anything other than fucking birds and photographers in helicopters actually see this place? Colin Farrell is from Dublin. While in Dublin, we visited the Guinness storehouse, and on one floor, they had recipes that use Guinness as an ingredient. One of these recipes was for Guinness lobster. I bought a t-shirt that proclaims that lobsters love Guinness, though I do not believe that the people who run Guinness have a source for this assertion.

At this point, my attempt at stream-of-consciousness style writing (Ulysses was set in Dublin) is confusing me (in addition to being more a series of non-sequiturs and perhaps run-on sentences), so I’m going to hang it up, though not before I confess that I have not actually read Ulysses, though amongst the bulk of our worldly possessions sitting in storage in Texas, I do have a very nice hardback Modern Library version that my mother gave me as a birthday present back in high school.

I’m serious this time, I’m stopping.

The lovely campus of Trinity College, Dublin, home of The Book of Kells. Not pictured: The Book of Kells, because one is not allowed to take pictures anywhere near inside the exhibit.

Milton, my man. (From Trinity’s library)

The recently-moved statue of Molly Malone.

A statue and a pigeon.

This is called something along the lines of The Spire, but it sticks in my mind because the original inhabitant of the location was a statue of Lord Nelson that the IRA blew up in celebration of 50 years of Irish independence.

The oldest part of Dublin “castle.”

Dublin’s old city walls.

Christchurch Cathedral, which apparently hosts weekend food shindigs.

This cathedral’s floor game is strong.

The oldest part of the cathedral.

You can read the placard, I’ll wait here.

This seems a touch heavy for, you know, being located on the wall of a brewery.

The Guinness Storehouse: Disneyland for adults (according to the Purrito), Disneyland for drunks (according to our hilarious cabdriver).

Guinness commissioned ships specifcally to haul Guinness.

The view from the bar at the top of the Guinness Storehouse.

Oscar Wilde, looking fabulous and smug.

Random mural.

Dublin’s National Museum of Archaeology is housed in a gorgeous building (and is also free).

These something-from-Ulysses-happened-here plaques abound.