The Motherland…Round II.




After a four hour delay at the Manchester airport, our spirits were dampened by the fact that we wouldn’t get into Dubin until much later in the evening. Therefore, our mouths were dampened by spirits with the many airport beers we had while waiting. Heehee
Probably a blessing in disguise that we didn’t get in until late, since we had to work the next day………IN THE MUD AGAIN.



Geez Louise!!!!!! I am so sick of this shit! This rain is relentless! One of the stagehands put it eloquently….”It only rained twice this year in Ireland. Once for three months and once for four months.” No wonder it’s so damn green.




The next day at work, as we tried to build the video walls while simultaneously covering them in plastic in the downpouring rain, my “rain-resistant” jacket stopped resisting and water was running off my head into my eyes and down my nose, my second pair of socks were already wet and my pants were so wet and heavy I had to wrestle with gravity just to keep them up. I almost lost it. Well, I did lose it. I have a vague memory of standing in the middle of the stage, looking up to the sky and screaming at the top of my lungs, “JUST 10 MINUTES!!! 10 F$#@!ING MINUTES! PLEASE! DAMMIT! JUST STOP FOR 10 MINUTES!” When I came to and my frozen breath cleared, several of my crew guys were standing around me just shaking their heads and laughing at me. But I’ll be damned, IT STOPPED. For about 4 minutes.
Anyway. This time we were playing at a huge castle (they call it that, but it looks more like an insane asylum or an orphanage).

Apparently it was owned by the Guinness family and once most of the heirs had passed, they turned it over to the Irish government. Oh, yeah, and they have NEVER had a concert on the grounds before. So let me get this straight, we’re just going to keep frolicking around Europe and playing these castles in the middle of cow fields that aren’t set up for our sort of production, much less accomodating 20,000 people to park and pee? In the mud? Sweet.

About half-way through that first day, my luck started to turn around. Mike, chivalrous man that he is, gave me his baseball cap out of pity. Or maybe just so I would shut up and quit bellyaching. But at least now the rain was running off my head 4 inches from my face. Then, I turned around to see Jean Claude, the French chef who does all of the patisserie work for the caterers, walking towards me with a steaming cup of gourment hot chocolate made from scratch. He said (with a cigarette hanging from his mouth), “Zees is for dee girlz only – it ees much too cold and wet for zee ladies.” Then, Kathleen, the production coordinator pulled me aside and whisked me away into the castle, (where you had to put on these obnoxious shoe “booties” – red shower cap like covers over your shoes to keep from tracking mud into the castle) and led me to a secret room, looked over both shoulders, opened the door slowly, and motioned for me to go in. When I crossed the threshold, my mouth dropped. There before me sat at least 20 pairs of WELLIES! GALOSHES! Like the ones Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins almost took a nosedive over. In all different sizes and colors!
EUREKA! PAY DIRT! It’s like the difference between off-roading with a moped versus a Hummer. All of a sudden, I’m invincible! With a little modification (I had to buy some granny slippers to slide in the boot for some support and because they were a bit too big – I know, I know, too big for my canoe feet?!) I was a whole new person.


The caterers, of course, found their own way to deal with the onslaught of rain and mud.
Very cute ladies!


After the show, (in my new boots) I just succumbed to the fact that load out was going to suck and I tried to keep my chin up about it. It’s a good thing, too. If I didn’t keep my chin up, I surely would have drown. Evident in this picture of Matt, Jerry, and I - post load-out. Hey Kam – remember how you always say, must be nice to live like a rock star? Yeah, that’s it alright. Caviar, champagne, and exquisite accomodations. Hahahaha


As an act of mercy, I think, we had a day off in Dublin following our sludge-fest. Ironically enough, the only real sight-seeing in Dublin is the Guinness factory. Now why would you waste your time in a factory when the only sight-seeing you need to do is from the bottom of an empty Guinness glass? That being said, Deron, Jo, and Marcus took me to a pub famed to have the best pulled pint of Guinness in all of Dublin.



Considering I’ve had very few Guinness beers in my life, I think they were right – because I slurped down 3 of them at McDaids - a proper Irish pub.




But a girl can only drink so many of these before she has to start chewing to get them down, so to what did my wondering eyes appear? A COORS LIGHT?! I was called a wanker numpty knob for drinking such a crap American beer while in Ireland – but I didn’t care! I was reunited (and it feels so good) with my favorite beer!!


As the night progressed, it seems that the majority of our crew ended up in one place and it sort of molded into a tour crew party! Good thing all we had to do was fly the next day because good ole One-Eye Jerry came out. And not many of us were in much better shape!

Hillary is looking lovely in the leprechaun hat which was passed around to everyone at the bar - but I'll spare you all of the messy photos...



J.T., our usually serious security guy, walked around all night with this dumb look (and hat) on his face - he was most definitely enjoying the Guinness!





So I guess in retrospect, I still love Ireland – despite the lack of sleep, rain and mud (and loss of shoes and socks to said mud).
I will conclude this update with another random photo/story. As most of you know, I seem to be a flystrip for wacky strange people on the street or in bars. Well this tour has been no exception. However, on this tour, I seem to have a knack for meeting “little people.” (Yes, Kam, that means midgets). This guy was a pole dancer in a club in Berlin (and I used the term dancer very loosely here). We named him “Pirate Midget”. As I was talking to someone, I felt a tap on the shoulder and when I spun around (and looked down) he was standing there with a smug grin and asked me if I liked what I saw when he was on stage (he must have seen me taking pictures of him). I’m not sure what he was asking or how I was supposed to answer that, so I just said “Hell yeah!!”



Then, I went to an ATM machine in Dublin and this little guy was singing traditional Irish drinking songs on the street for donations. I was fascinated. He had the body of a 12 year old, yet the voice of a 50 year old man. I had to know how old he was. He told me 27, right before he pulled me into the middle of the street and proceeded to serenade me with “Molly Malone” at the top of his lungs in front of a major shopping plaza. That certainly didn’t invite stares from the passerbys.

Finally, a few days after we left Dublin we were going through pictures to have a laugh and this picture shows up. Not one person present that night remembers this guy, or who he was or why he was hanging out with us. I can only chalk it up to my animal magnetism of the “little man.”

So long Dublin…..so long my home away from home!
Next up – last stop for the BABS tour. London. A visit from some dear friends from the states, Big Ben, and airport horror stories. Talk to you soon!