Then take advantage of this great deal from Sherwin Williams. This printable coupon takes 20% off your total purchase. And because it's good till the end of the year, you can keep coming back to print more as needed. Expires 12/31/2008.

Go forth and paint!

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Turn your iPhone into a pint with this cool app. When you tip your iPhone you lose some of your virtual lager. Thanks directdaily

Naturally, we decided to do what needed to be done when in Dublin: head to the Guinness factory!

It was actually called the Guinness Storehouse, and it was a really interesting place, with seven levels of brewery fun-ness, and a taste test here and a free pint there – and even though the last taste I wanted in my mouth in the middle of the afternoon was a Guinness, it was still a great time. We learned a lot about… Guinness.

Afterward, we headed back towards the hostel for lunch, but then decided to stop in at a little pub along the way. The special of Seafood Chowder and brown bread caught my eye, and before we knew it we were tucked in a corner drinking Bulmer’s and eating delicious food. It was really nice, and Kara had a huge crush on the bartender, who sadly left mid-meal.  Boo to that.

We grabbed a quick nap before heading out to pubs – over to the hotspot which is the Temple Bar area. The first bar had fantastic, authentic Irish folk music, but also had a sketchy old, old guy who kept following me around and spitting in my eye. The next bar was a bit more rowdy, with less authentic music, but we stayed there the longest. It was an interesting people-watching bar, and I made the mistake of singling out the biggest bum in the bar – I just know how to pick ‘em! Honestly, he might have been homeless.

On to the next bar. Finally, we ended up in The Temple Bar itself, where we were instantly greeted by a middle-aged man with no sense of personal space and plenty of alcohol already in his system. I simply had no tolerance and walked away, which I’m learning is less rude and more self-preserving than I once thought. As we walk away, however, Kara and I got stopped by this group of guys who we inevitably ended up talking to for the rest of the night. It was innocent, it was interesting, and I let them know that they were the nicest group of men we’ve met on this entire trip, which is absolutely true. We really haven’t had much luck meeting nice people, especially nice people of the opposite sex. So it was very refreshing, and definitely a nice start to our two weeks in this beautiful country. ☺ I’m looking forward, as I believe Kara is, as well, to the more rural places in West Ireland, and the sense of peace and poetry that such places bring with them.

Tomorrow we pick up our car from the airport, which we will have for the rest of the trip, so that’s fantastic. It’s nice to have a place to put our stuff, and… if necessary, a place to crash. Haha. Need to consider all our options. ☺

On the way back from the bars, Kara and I talked about relationships, and all that comes along with them. It’s always a tough subject for me, which is hard for me to accept since love and relationships have always meant the world to me. But now… things are different. I get very anxious talking about past hurts and pain, and even though I have a good handle on everything that has happened to me in the past four years, it is also a conflicting thing for me. I understand, though, that I need to place a bit more faith in God and the plans he has for me. If I am meant to love again, he will ensure my safety and my strength.

I just can’t imagine a world without love.

When I was in the tenth grade, I met a boy in my typing class who was to become one of the best friends I'd ever have.  Our relationship was platonic, but incredibly affectionate, and we grew to love each other very much.  

During my senior year, he had to move away, and occasionally, I'd think to myself, "I may never see Ryan again," and miraculously, within a few days of having this thought, he'd show up on my doorstep, or make some other grand re-appearance in my life.  This continued for years, all the way through college, and I've only recently given up on trying to track him down, as he never maintains an email address or phone number that allows me to reach him whenever I want.

Similarly, my high school obsession was an older boy whom I'd fallen heels-up for at the ripe old age of twelve.  He moved to another school when I was 14, and every time I had the thought that I'd never see him again, he'd make another appearance, though more at events like football games than ever at my doorstep, as he and I never actually developed so much as a friendship, likely due to how effing nervous he made me.

Obviously this presented the temptation to force The Thought, just to make Ryan come back or to create an apparition of my Obsession, but it just doesn't work like that.

Anyway, so while I was getting dressed for work on Friday, there was a football (soccer) game being advertised on the little television in my bedroom, and I glanced at it with relatively little interest, until the camera punched in on this quintessential English guy on the field: tall, blonde, rosy cheeked, and running a hand over his well sculpted face in exhaustion over scoring some sort of point for his team.  

Hello.

And I thought, "Oh yes.  That's why I was so interested in English guys.  I'd forgotten.  Shame, I'll probably never meet one like that.  Who'd have thought they'd be in such short supply?"

Bingo.  I'd unknowingly evoked The Thought.

So, I get into Molly's that night, expecting the playpen of horrors that has been my experience working there.  

There's a funk band setting up downstairs, and Molly is nowhere to be seen.  Big Sue (I'm not making that name up, for once) tells me that she's broken her shoulder and several ribs, and that there would be in a few girls to help me out later tonight.

This is fantastic, as I'm not even done being trained yet, but I take it in stride whilst Big Sue gets progressively more lubricated on rum and diet coke.

The band is comprised of a lot of cute young 'uns, and they set up around me while I serve beers to the alarmingly large crowds coming into the bar.  The crowds filter downstairs eventually, and in walks The Quintessential English Guy, fitting every characteristic I described in the footballer.

"Cute," I muttered as I watched him walk past and down the stairs.

"Wotchu say?  Cute?  Haaaa," Big Sue observed.

He came up a few minutes later and tried to order a gin and red bull.  We were out of red bull (I drank it all), and I asked him if he wanted something else.  "No, that was the only thing I wanted ..." he said, and trailed off, making eye contact with me for the first time.

There was a pause, and I finally croaked, "You sure?"

"Um, actually, I'll have a Strongbow," he said, flashing me a smile, and easing into the stool at the end of the bar where I was polishing glasses.

I smiled back and expertly spun a glass and poured him the cider, passing it across the bar.

"Are you going to be downstairs at all?" he asked.

"I'm mostly up here tonight.  Should I make a point to go down there?"

"Wait until the second set," he said, with a bit of a twinkle, taking a sip of the drink.  "What part of America are you from?"

Hence began the conversation, which somehow led to my professional ventures, his professional ventures, and software piracy (dunno what it is about that).  

In this Part A conversation, I find out that he's an engineer, as well as a bass player in a funk band, and he finds out that I'm a filmmaker who desperately needs someone to steal Final Cut for her, even though he's never heard of Final Cut.  

He's forced to excuse himself and go play the first set, and returns about 40 minutes later.  I ask him how it went, and he makes a grunting noise that doesn't sound particularly positive, orders another pint and quickly says, "Andoneforyourself," while handing me the money.  I beam at him and thank him, putting aside £3 for my pocket, and he quickly excuses himself, needing to deal with the band, and likely a little shaken by having flirted a little more blatantly than he's likely used to.

After the second set, he flew by a few times with his friends, not really looking at me, and a few times, I thought he was already gone.  I actually started to plan a blog post about falling a little bit in love with this ideal English guy, who then vanished.

The Sloppy Drunk of the night decided to buy the band some beers, so I helped carry them out, and still wasn't able to make eye contact.  I got very discouraged.

He and two of his bandmates came in to thank the guy, and a series of absurd conversation attempts occurred with the Sloppy Drunk.  At this point, I did glance up at him, and we made amused eye contact, which caused a flip of my stomach which could be described as anything but minor.  He has very dark, intense eyes.  I looked away before my smile could slip, and continued to pretend to be busy.

The band went down to pack up and I felt sure I'd lost him when he finally did come back up, causing the butterflies residing in my stomach to burst to life and begin pummeling my ribcage.  He sat at the crux of the bar and I sort of gravitated to him.

"So, I was thinking about this Final Cut Pro ..." he said

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, and I was thinking you might be able to torrent it from this site ..." he handed me a note on the back of a card that said, "Hey, for 'Final cut pro,' See 'Bit Torrent!' - (His Name)x"

"I've tried Bit Torrents," I said, laughing and sliding the card into my back pocket.  "My Mac doesn't like them."

So began a conversation that lasted almost an hour.  Wherein I gave him the vocal version of the last post I wrote, even detailing with happened with Sam(?).

"So, if I went into the pub next door and asked for Sam, I'd see who you're talking about?" 

"Um, maybe?  I dunno if that's actually his name."

"... were you the big spoon or the small spoon?"

I also found out that he's studying for his PhD, which is just incredibly attractive.  The drummer came up at one point with the clear intention of messing up PhD Guy's groove.  So, to quell the smug nature of all percussionists, everywhere, I bought PhD guy another beer.  This was probably incredibly forward, but what the hell.

It also helped, beyond my abilities to express, that Molly wasn't there, because she would've almost definitely been telling me to work instead of chatting up attractive, rosy cheeked PhD students at the end of the bar. 

Anyway, the whole band was taking off at this point and PhD Guy said to me, "Well ... um, you have my number in your back pocket ... if you want to give me a ring at some point."

Startled, I pulled out the lame little note he'd given me and realized he's written it on his business card.  I laughed.  "All right, I will."

"Night," he said, flashing me his big eyes again.  Damn.

Good to know that whatever mental powers The Thought has ever provided are still intact.  Very good indeed.

We were both in our work out gear but as we were walking up to a local pub she suggested we go in for a pint. Fine... not really what I had planned for the evening but I figured a glass would be fine. She'd buy, she said, since I only had my water bottle with me.

The sign outside suggested we 'join them for a pint on the patio.' Who are we to ignore such a kind invitation. We went to the back patio after walking through the maze of this Old English Style pub (which is really quite a fabulous place!) and sat at a great table in the corner. The waitress finally came by and attempted to hand us menus.

"Oh no thanks, we're only here for a quick pint," my friend said.

"Then I'll need to see some ID," the waitress said politely. I kinda laughed, as did my friend - she had her's but still... we're 28 and 29 years old!

"I don't have mine on me. Sorry."

"I'm sorry then," the waitress said.

"You're serious? We're both 29 - we went to high school together. I don't remember the last time I was ID-ed.."

"Even if you were my sister, I couldn't serve you."

"Really... I don't believe this."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I can't serve you."

"Then I'll just have water," I said naively.

"No," my friend said, "She can't serve you at all... we have to leave."

"What? Seriously!?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," the waitress said with either disgust or genuine apology. At this point, I couldn't tell.

Unbelievable. I was kicked out a bar. I've never been kicked out of a bar before and what a lame reason! Okay, I get the whole maintaining the law thing but DUDE! What happened to common sense? What if I had been her sister and I didn't have ID - would she really still not serve me? It was just nuts. I felt so embarrassed walking back through the maze of the pub that we'd just so carefully navigated our way through just 2 minutes ago. The bartender said "Have a nice evening ladies." HA.

So - no pint, and then no coffee either. We were too miffed about the entire scenario. grr...

Jelly in a can - bought from a drinks vending machine. Is it a drink? Is it food? Im not quite sure, but its very yummy!

Engrish - its absolutely everywhere. I have a file which says: "Yeah, I want to make my arms like ham... pretend like you`re a pretty kitty" and a notebook which says: "tiny flowers of shine". Ive also tried a beer which according to its description on the label* "taste of autumn"... whatever that means.

Oh and we went to a fake English style pub last night where you could choose from 4 sizes of beer: half pint, Pint, 3/4 pint, and a LITRE. (I had a 3/4 pint just to see what it looked like, but it is actually just a 3/4 pint sized glass filled to the top, not a pint which isnt fully filled up in case you were wondering.)

Everything is going really well, everyone is really nice, my jetlag is non-existent and the food is delicious. Today I had yaki-soba for breakfast, mochi icecream for lunch, jelly in a can as a snack and who knows what for dinner. Not particularly healthy, but very Japan.

There has been a LOT of orientation (more like disorientaion in the case of the talk on finance) and had a campus tour, Ive discovered internet which you dont have to log-on to (we havent had that orientation seminar yet!) in the CJS office so thats where I am right now. The campus is amazing, and massive compared to what Im used to at SOAS, so its going to be a while before I really know my way around! Theres a gym, a pool, (free to use!) a (proper) bookshop, a movie rental store (free!!) a language exchange centre where Japanese is prohibited so to promote other languages, about 4 or 5 cafeterias, a couple of cafes, sports grounds.... whereas SOAS is essentally one building! So I feel like Im having a real university experience! Its much more what one would expect uni to be like. The best part is, my dormitory is literally spitting distance form the main gates! 

Will try to update again soon, Im thinking about getting internet in my room; its very expensive (25 pounds per month) but I think its a necessity. Especially since there are no wireless networks on campus (its all dial-up!!) all the wireless networks around my hall are secured and even though there is a room where one can skype from on campus, the computer rooms shut about 8.30. Even to using an internet cafe requires registration, so its a bit of a hassle really.

Hope you are all well back home!

Gracias a Digital Paint: PaintBall, podrás disfrutar de este deporte con tus amigos de manera virtual y evitando "lo malo" del mismo: el cansancio, los moretones, etc. Con una gran cantidad de mapas, un avanzado motor físico y una capacidad gráfica que rinde en ordenadores de gama media, PaintBall es una diversión única.

Descarga e instalación

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Este no es un proyecto de los integrantes de thetuxteam, solo es una noticia "cualquier problema de ejecución de dicho software no es nuestra responsabilidad", pero si intentaremos ayudar si es posible

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Descargar   AQUÍ

Solo hay que descomprimir el contenido del archivo .tar.gz y ejecutar "pintball2" el proceso de ejecución dura barios minutos pero al final se ejecuta (solo tarda la primera vez que lo ejecutamos).

Al iniciar te aparece una pantalla que dice setup, para salir de ella y disfrutar el juego solo tienes que presionar el botón Esc

Screenshots

El juego lo hemos probado pero aun no sabemos como jugar modo on-line ni como añadir bots. si alguien lo sabe que comente ;)

Juego añadido a la lista click AQUI

]]> http://londonlayovers.wordpress.com/?p=403 Sat, 30 Aug 2008 12:40:36 +0000 Tilia http://londonlayovers.wordpress.com/2008/08/30/waking-up-in-a-strange-englishmans-bed-and-other-sides-of-my-new-job/ Posted by Tilia

So, yay, I got a job!  And, no, I'm not a hooker.

Naturally, it's not the film-business-entry-level-perfection I'd hoped for, but it's turning out to be way more relevant than I forsaw.  I'm bartending at an Irish-owned bar/pub in North London, in a trendy district known for its bohemian community.

As such, the owner of the bar has given me reign to organize and execute film-related events, like mini-festivals and group screenings at the bar.  I get to keep all the cover money, and I get a cut of bar intake, plus my hourly wage, which isn't bad, not bad at all.  

So, somehow, getting hired as a barmaid has put me in a position to learn about my chosen industry.  Crazy.

All that aside, which looks great on paper, my boss is a bit of a loony, very rural Irish, loves her booze, over-shares her personal life, and one time, offered me cocaine.  It's going to be a trial to separate myself from the personal connotations to working in such a close knit environment, but I've only been there for three days, so I'm sure I'll get the hang of it.

We close late, especially by London standards, and generally aren't finished clearing up behind the bar until around 2:30am.  Then, it's expected to stick around and drink with Molly, my lady guv, her friend Christian, also Irish, who owns the pub next door, and a small assortment of regulars and hangers on whom Molly has deemed worthy of staying after doors close.

On Thursday night, my second night on the job, I decided to stick around for only an hour or two, since I hadn't gotten home until after 6am my first night, and was sipping coke that was I was pretending was vodka and coke with Molly, Christian, and two local boho activists who run a localized serial publication.  One was a young Irish poet, with pretension out his ears, and the other this quiet, English publisher who was actually pretty hot in a Viggo Mortensen kinda way.

Anyway, soon after we'd settled in with our respective drinks, Christian's barman, whose name I think was Sam(?), showed up with some food, which is really why I was still there, so I stuck around to eat, and argue with the pretentious Irish poet guy, who was obviously trying to impress me by attempting to intellectually outdo me, about how the film industry has become "artifice over art."  What a tool.  

Sam(?), Christian's barman, was also clearly attracted to me, but was much more tactical and English about it.  He's tall, and has long, blonde, curly hair, and very angular features.  He's not unattractive; he's just not my type at all.  Not someone I'd ever go for or dream of fondly during solo-activities.  But, I kind of flirted back just because regardless of physically not being my type in the least, and honestly only minimally impressing me personality-wise, he was somehow sort of sexy.  I don't know what it was.  I still don't know.

My phone alarm went off at 4am, and they wanted to know what that was all about.  I told them I was expecting to be home, and it was to wake me up so I could watch Obama speak at the convention.  Suddenly, here came this tirade of angry judgement about how Obama has no policies, how he's a patsy being set up to be assassinated for martyrdom, because he's black, etc. etc. etc.

Really some of the most absurd shit I've ever heard.

Most of it was my drunken manager and the "poet," yelling things they don't really understand at me, attempting to educate me, because, being an American of course doesn't give me any perspective on the American political system, and what they've heard on TV is much more accurate.  I attempted to participate in the conversation, but it was clearly an attack in which my input was both unwelcome and futile, so I decided to excuse myself.

Christian and Sam(?), both of whom had been defending me and trying to get us off the topic also took their leave at this point in time.  The publisher, heretofore no longer attractive, said, softly, to me, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do," I said, and continued out.

"You don't," he insisted, and Christian told him to let it go, which then almost resulted in a brawl.  Disgusted, I continued toward the door with Molly apologizing to me, saying it wasn't a personal attack, etc. 

Once I got outside, Christian and Sam(?) invited me back to their pub for some wind-down time and a free pint.  Considering I was on the verge of tears, I thought it might be a good idea to take them up on it.  We sat and listened to Christian do Monty Python impersonations for half an hour or so, to cheer me up, and then Christian offered to get me a cab.

I declined, ever missing my car and the ability to just leave.  There's a night bus that takes me very close to home, so I wanted to just go catch my bus and not be a trouble to anyone.  Finally, Christian relented on the condition that Sam(?) walk me to my bus stop and stick around until I got on.  I was more than happy to agree to this, since waiting for a night bus is pretty unpleasant if you're alone.

Sam(?) and I walked to a bus stop a bit farther away than the one I usually go to, and sat to talk.  An hour went by, and I learned that Sam(?)'s Girlfriend (The girlfriend revelation was made by Christian, and clearly wasn't something Sam(?) was planning to reveal) is 30, and he's 24.  He once worked in a gay bar, and also spent a year teaching drama at a boarding school.

The bus still hadn't shown up, which was very odd.  Both of us were losing steam quickly, having been on our feet all night, then drinking, then in a political argument.  He suggested maybe just crashing at his place for a few hours and catching a regular bus once they were back on the rota again.  He said he'd take the couch; it wasn't a big deal.

I declined about eight times, and we'd almost hit the hour and a half mark when I realized that maybe it was the best option for me.  

We jumped the fence at a nearby park to cut through, and continued talking as the sun rose, we jumped another fence, and then ended up at his flat.  

Sensing my discomfort, he offered to put on a season of Extras for me to watch if I just wanted to wait until around 6 to catch a morning bus.  He put it in and, curled into a ball on the corner of his bed, I fell asleep fairly quickly.  He fell asleep similarly, curled into the opposite corner.

Several hours later, I have vague memory of being nudged into normal sleeping position, under the covers, then him taking off his shirt.  Spooning commenced a few hours later, and was pretty inappropriate, all things considered.  Maybe it was just waking up next to a male body in a bed, but I wasn't really thinking logistics, and instead was just cuddled up with the topless form of a man I'm not even really attracted to, whose name I don't actually know, and who had his arm possessively thrown over my waist.

I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but that wasn't going to happen, just because I was awake enough to remember the girlfriend, the fact that he's not my type, and that I'd probably have to see him lots in the future, considering the working relationship and proximity of our two bosses.

The inappropriate cuddling and topless nature of his garb maintained through two more episodes of Extras and a cup of tea.  I got calls from Tim (I've never been so happy to hear Tim's voice.  He's seriously the only English man I've met so far that I trust completely, and would believe capable of monogamy), and Jane (who really doesn't approve of this tale at all).

Reaching my usual level of lucidity, I strapped on my shoes and made my exit, after the awkward comment he made that was something like, "We're doing a lot of hugging for people who only met yesterday."  

"Yeah, I need to go."

He gave me a hug at the entrance to the park I ended up cutting back through, but I didn't even give him a second glance.  How effing awkward, really.  I would be completely okay never seeing Sam(?) again, though there are no extreme feelings about the situation either way.

Just the hint of the bizarre when I remember the thing as it was, and the sincere hope that it never gets back to anyone who knows both of us, or that he ever expects anything similar to happen again.

I guess in the end, as long as it's a good story, it was a worthwhile experience.

I do love my Guinness.

Cheers.

~KR (Written on 28 August 2008 )

Chad by Cold Electric
from Cold Electric

Camera: Canon PowerShot SD850 IS
Exposure: 0.067 sec (1/15)
Aperture: f/2.8
Focal Length: 5.8 mm
ISO Speed: 200
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Flash: Flash did not fire
Software: picnik.com

Melt chocolate bar in water over low heat stirring frequently. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

Meanwhile, whip cream until it forms peaks. When chocolate mixture is cooled, gently fold in the whipped cream. Turn into pie crust and refrigerate until ready to serve, or at least 2 hours.

Swill was the most recent underage hangout. Back then it was difficult enough to get a pint at sixteen, but the odd bar would chance serving youngsters for a while before getting caught, or more likely, they were planning on not renewing their license so it didn't matter a fuck for the month or two they'd remain open.

The Swill was such a bar. Whispers spread around about some place. I only got to go the once.

This time it was me and my buddy heading out to town for drinks - no older cousin or friend's brother 'chaperone'.
The Swill was a small enough, run down enough square room, upstairs on the corner of a building overlooking the street from small windows both sides. The walls were painted dark yellow as well as nicotine stained. The bar was dirty and old, but the room seemed to take on a hue of delightful peach to me as I ordered, from the exquisite bartop, two of the cheapest - bottles of san miguel. Never have seen them in this country before or since.

But what really shook me about the place was the girls. Girls I'd been to school with until age twelve, girls I knew from the school down the road. Girls I'd see out and about during the week or hanging out in the evening and weekends. Girls. Girls? Girls no longer! These were women creatures all around us.
Women, sipping alcoholic beverages with style, class and sass - like they'd been frequenting trendy cocktail bars for years.
Women with made up faces; huge sparkling eyes, brilliant strings of pearls shining the from the dark ruby drapes of parted lips, then pouting out to grace a cheek in a flirtatious playful formality I'd only before witnessed on television.
Figure-hugging dresses and skirt/top combos cut low to show off something I'd never imagined were beyond these women... eh, girls' clothing until then.

A beer dangling in one hand, the other snaking around an old classmate, eyes peering into batting lids, this was a level of sophistication never dreamed of.

Of course, we were playing 'grown-ups', but it was new, it was exhilarating it was an eye-opener to say the least; and it was fun. The best.

I got tipsy but not drunk.
Snitz led me a new way to the last bus, through a dark arch/alleyway.
A bum lay seeking slumber under cardboard covers. His cup lay by his head to catch coin while he slept, his bottle, no doubt tucked safely by his chest.

Next up on the zombie movie list:

Zombie Strippers, Zombies on Weed, Flight of the Dead, and Bio-Zombie

Undoubtedly the best pub in Soho. Don’t expect to find a clean glass. Don’t expect to get served unless you can be forceful enough to push your way to the front. When you get there, be prepared to shout your order at the Italian or East European bar staff – and don’t forget you’ll be drinking either Stella or London Pride. The latter is one of the country’s best pints of bitter, thanks to the taste of the Thames at Chiswick. Pint in hand (lunchtimes you may be able to perch at the bar with a pickled egg), proceed outside to the pavement opposite, sit down against the back wall of the Palace Theatre, ancient home of Les Mis., and wait for the visual assault – beggars, performers, octogenarian theatre goers, and all the ragtag rabble of Soho workers drinking themselves into a stupor before stumbling off to a party or a sex show. Enjoy!

Bricklayers Arms

A pub with a really small bar. Glaswegians will like to tell you (when they are extremely drunk and repetitive of a Tuesday morning just after opening time) that they once knew a place with a really LONG bar. I mean really, really LONG. Well, the Bricklayers wasn’t it. So you have to be on your toes to get a space, but the staff know this, and if you get demoralized into thinking your drink will never be drawn, there’s a rather longer bar upstairs. Rather like the C&H, this is a pub for Soho regulars, but in this case it’s a bit more off the beaten track, therefore rather more civilized, and well worth a visit for a good tight conflab with a mate over an excellent Sam Smith’s.

The Toucan

This place is niche, insofaras you won’t find anywhere better for a pint of Guinness. But if the black stuff isn’t your thing, it’s still worth a look for curiosity’s sake, as the pints of velvetine black liquid will be lined up well in advance of orders by multiple taps all serving just one beverage, a production line of Ireland’s favourite tipple. On the street outside (it’s often difficult to get through the front door, and if you do, it’s usually claustrophobic inside) you’ll have a glimpse of Soho Square, where the young workers of London’s most vibrant district pause for 5 minutes at lunch, look up at the trees waving in the wind, try to ignore the rumble of buses up and down Tottenham Court Road, and wish they weren’t slaving their guts out for fifty pounds a day. Sup slowly, and dream of the Emerald Isle.

The Crown and Two Chairmen

This used to be purely drinking. In 2006 it had a revamp, with pretensions to offer food. As Soho is so full of excellent places to eat, it’s surprising to find top quality traditional pubs trying to break this market. But while the Crown and Two might not have the finest or cheapest menu on offer, it still retains its old Soho boozy atmosphere. It’s difficult to say how, exactly. Perhaps the old soul of a pub never quite dies. Perhaps its regulars don’t like to shift to new stools. Perhaps their reputation for maintaining clean taps is deservedly kept. Whatever you think, be sure to drop in. It’s historic.

All Bar One

I’m reviewing this to tell you that pretty much any other pub in Soho is better. If you really want to scrape the barrel, if you hanker after going home with a minger, if you want to tank up on ‘beater and get lifted through the livestock in the arms of four steroidally overdosed bouncers to do some maximum-force pavement kissing before pulling yourself to your feet and having a go at putting someone you’ve never seen or talked to before into casualty, or if you just want to put paid to the paltry remnant of brain cells drifting around your genetically inferior skull, then make a special trip to this awful place. You will meet your wildest expectations. You will excel yourself as pitiful scum. You will deservedly wear the crown of least discerning drinker. Welcome to the Club of Fools!

If you're looking for a good local guide to London then you'll be interested in We Love Local. The website features reviews by customers who have used services or visited businesses in London and throughout the UK. So if it's good Pubs in Soho you're after, look no further.

My friend Liz invited me to a theme party my first week back in London, and naturally I said yes; though I had nothing to wear. It was a 1940's do with lots of gin and swing music. Or at least that's what I expected.

Being of little means calls for being extra creative. And with a little help from my friend Carla I devised an almost secretarial ensemble that fit the era quite perfectly.

I borrowed Carla's red alligator shoes and found a pair of nude stockings at the bottom of my suitcase, topped with a bare black skirt and a black top with ruffled sleeves and ruffles in the front. I just tucked it in, added some dangling earrings my mother gave me and Carla did my hair with bobby pins in a proper 40's up do. I added a lilac in my hair and some bright red lipstick for the finishing touches. I looked fabulous, as did my counterparts.

Carla, Liz and I stopped into a pub around the corner from the party to have dinner. We had some fish and chips and a pitcher of gin and raspberry fizz. I'm not usually one for fried food but somehow I was in the mood. We had a great time getting tipsy before the party. And it was a good thing we did.

When we went to find the place, it was this secret underground door. Good start. We walked down into the basement where guys in soldiers uniforms and girls in flowery dresses and hats commenced, drinks in hand and decorations from floral wall print to vintage chairs surrounding us. Another good start.

Unfortunately the company was quite dull and the lack of air conditioning was brutal given it was around 30 degrees that night. (85 F) And to my surprise, the DJ's didn't find it apropos to actually have 1940's music playing at a 1940's party.

Yes, they were playing Techno. Why on earth would you play Techno when people are dressed like Fred and Ginger?

Anyway, to express our disappointment thoroughly, we walked up to the DJ and asked him what the hell he was doing. He said he was playing 40's music earlier in the party but nobody was dancing. I looked around. Nobody was dancing to the bloody Techno either. When I pointed this out, he made up another lame excuse about moving up his choices by decade.

Just. No. This was a theme party. If they wanted to do that they should have just made it a free for all game where the drunker you get the more modern your clothes become. I would have found this perfectly acceptable as, like I said before, the heat was deathly. We could of all just played strip poker to the fucking Techno.

Us girls made the best of it though, and embarked on a partially drunken photo shoot with Carla's super sexy professional Nikon camera.

Gandhi also appeared a bit later on in full white garb, sandals and some rounded purple glasses. I found this hilarious and asked Carla to take a picture with him. He then replied (in a very Indian accent)

"Wait, let me get my pint for the full effect."

When the DJ's finally sobered up and put some 40's (more like 30's) music on, we danced a bit, and drank a bit more, but all in all it was a great let down to what have been a truly fabulous evening. You'd think London would know how to do a party of this nature right.

I couldn't stop thinking of the irony surrounding the fact that this very city had been bombed during Word War II not 2 or 3 blocks away from where we were very badly portraying the era, almost like a high school party with cheap, watered down booze, almost mocking the people who sacrificed so much for so little. I felt kind of sick about it. Not to mention the shoes were killing me as they were 2 sizes too big and stuff to the brim with toilet paper. Liz felt sort of sick and Carla was bored. So we left.

Lame.

I've always thought of it as the beer of slow, slow down, relax and enjoy the show. Same with their ads in a way. Good things come to those who wait - but not to those who wait too late, which is why two minutes is an ideal time frame.

By a funny accident, Guinness and slowness both end in 'ness' so that kinda does it for me. Or like Milan Kundera put it,

Sir Carol and I felt it wise to walk Sir Sue home rather than get her into a taxi, due to the risk of her throwing up. The walk home took ages. Throughout the whole thing, Sir Sue repeated the following phrases again and again...and again:

"I'm really sorry"
"I've behaved really badly tonight"
"I'm fine, I'm actually really sober"
"Hee hee hee I am quite drunk"
"You guys are so much more drunk than I am"
"I'm so much more drunk than you guys"
"I resent that deeply"

I was so amused. We had the nicest chips and cheese ever. Although Sir Carol was offended by the man who served them to him. I don't know why.

I love the Campbell. I love Sir Sue, Marcus and Sir Carol. And everyone else who was there. :-)

When I first read the story, I felt a little sentimental. I still have several vivid memories from the Bennigans where I worked, store #420, a perfect number for this particular store. Oh the stories I could tell. I ran across a letter I wrote to Metromedia, Inc., almost five years ago to the day, July 31, 2003. Reading through the letter, I feel like a prophet, or perhaps just Mr. Obvious.

In the letter, I outlined for the corporate office tales of outrageous food costs, outrageous liquor costs, inept and sometime absent management, illicit activities among many of the staff members and reminder of the store's nefarious past. In the letter, I did not mention the story of the female hostess who tried to seduce five male servers, including myself, during one shift. The corporate office ignored my letter and it hardly shocked me to see the news today that Bennigans would cease to exist. At the same time, I can't help but shed a small tear, if for nothing else the death of the Turkey O'Toole.  So tonight my brothers and sisters, have yourself a pint of Guiness, raise it to the roof and shout out the old Gaelic phrase, "Slainte," in memory of Bennigans.

I love Mrs. Wages.  Don't tell my wife.

Actually, I think my wife loves Mrs. Wages too.

I have harvested over 18 pounds of tomatoes so far this year from the back yard.  I have also learned to do canning in glass jars!  I'm very excited about having this skill now.  It's very comforting to know that I have not only saved the food I've grown from rotting unused in the kitchen, but that I'm not counting on the freezer to keep running either. These have all been labeled as experiments to see if our family likes the recipe.

I have canned:

• 7 1/2 pints of salsa (some in half-pint jars)
• 5 pints of spaghetti sauce
• 5 half-pints of chili sauce
• 2 1/2 pints of bread & butter sweet pickles

By far my favorite thing has been the sweet pickles.  I experimented with cucumber slices ranging in size from 3 inch shorties to a big 8 inch cucumber with semi-developed seeds.  They all taste awesome, but I do like the smaller ones a bit better.

My wife's favorite, and a close second for me, has been the salsa.  It is truly awesome salsa and I can't believe I made it myself!  Then again, I'm pretty sure I'm not really allowed to take much credit because I used the Mrs. Wages spice pack.

Using the tomato based spice packets does add a significant cost to the tomato-based products.  $2.25 per packet makes 5 quarts.  I would spend less than half of that on spices if I used my own recipe.

The pickling packets make far more product...10 to 12 pints I think it said, so I'll definitely continue to use those.

Oh!  I canned up experimental jars of bread & butter Jalapeños and Banana Peppers.  The sweet brine flavor was tasty, right at first, with the jalapenos, but then...FIRE!  By *FAR* the hottest jalapenos I had ever tasted.  I'm not going to have another one.  They are HORRIBLE by themselves they are so hot.

By the way...aren't the quarter-pint jelly jars just FUN?  Too bad they cost the same as halves and full pints.

The first one is a decorated wine glass.  We have many different ones, including pint glasses, ale glasses, and martini glasses, all decorated differently... but this one is by far my favorite

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="370" caption="Purse Party!"][/caption]

I next present to you a local favorite, Dells Lemonade scented candles.  For those of you who don't live in Rhode Island, Dells lemonade is a state staple... just think of a lemon slushie or a frozen lemonade.  

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="374" caption="Dells Lemonade scented candle... don't worry folks, a New York System scented candle is on the way"][/caption]

PS. The Bistro now has extra seating

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="383" caption="Our second floor dining area is now open... provided you bring your own table"][/caption]