OK, not much going on today. Was hung over to bits earlier on because of cheap vodka and cheap red bull. And I don't mean they were at a discount. they were just cheaper versions of each one. Like drinking the originals aren't bad enough. It's certainly enough to make you consider the damage you are doing to yourself actually drinking them. Ugh.
So yeah, that's another rotten night's drinking materials. Well, for half the night anyways. The other half was spent drinking Koppaberg... a pear cider. Tastes damn good though. In the end of the day (or night as it were) that was probably the one thing that saved me from a killer hangover. Don't ask me why.
Pear cider is all right. Better than that apple stuff. On occasion it can be okay itself. But no one can make pear cider like the Swedish. That's damn good stuff so keep an eye out for it.
Anyway, though I laid waste my liver on a large scale as per usual, All wasn't bad about Saturday night on the town. We were walking towards Pravda when we heard some nice blues coming from a window upstairs in a Temple Bar pub. It's very very unusual to find a Dublin pub that plays anyway decent music anywhere. Even the rock bars are tedious and some of the Alt. rock venues are very very pretentious indeed. We decided to go in and investigate these rather soothing blues melodies and see, overall, what the establishment was like.
And you know what? I was pleasantly surprised.
Upstairs was a small tightly packed bar with around 100 or so people inside. There was a small stage area with 2 older guys playing blues guitar, one guy, the older of the two doing the majority of vocals. The other fella looked like a mix between Pat Kenny and Martin King and had way more talent than both of them put together. He also wore the kinda clothes a gangster in the times of Al Capone would have worn. We grabbed ourselves a cider each and set about taking in the music. The guys played for about two hours and that was two hours quickly passed. Time flies when you're having fun and all that. Suffice to say, we will be returning to that bar again.
The next place we ventured into was a little bar that was made to resemble a garage from the 1950's... called The Garage, funnily enough. It couldn't have been a more perfect place to happen by after the blues pub. The drink was reasonably priced also. They played retro music from the 50's and 60's mostly. I cracked out a jive or two that I thoroughly enjoyed. My body is angry with me today for it though.
The next destination was Pravda... It was the second time in the night actually, but for some reason we went back. Pravda was just Pravda as usual... nothing new there except they have no upstairs right now and the majority of the clientèle are dodgy looking men. Was a good night though.
I don't really have a point to make in particular today. It just isn't the day for it. I pretty much fried my brain last night with red bull and vodka or to be more accurate, a poor man's red bull and vodka. I guess if I was to settle on a point just for the hell of it, it would be this: What's the point is getting absolutely fuckered and regretting it? There is none. When we decide to go out on the lash and have fun, that's usually what we do. We get messed up, have a dance, have a great laugh and then pay for it big time the next day. We always promise ourselves that we won't do it again and the experience falls into that of relativity. We are not mind readers or prophets who can picture the future. If we were we'd never get drunk because we wouldn't willingly make ourselves suffer like that. People avoid suffering as much as possible. We want to enjoy ourselves instead. A junkie takes heroin the first time because they think they are super-human and don't worry about relative judgement, much like the rest of us. But there is a difference in just drinking ourselves stupid with no awareness of what's to come. I mean, come on, how stupid are we? I knew I'd feel shit today, but fuck it, it's all in the name of fun ey? I set out to have fun last night and did just that. Why bother complaining about something I can't change anyway?
I mean, It's not like I purposely infected myself with the pox or something, is it?