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  • I’m sitting in the center of madness; loud rock music and loud Irish friends at Bruxelles Cosmopolitan Club in Dublin, Ireland on a Friday night. My friend, John Williams, and I are sitting across from each other discussing rock & roll and photography while waiting for his girlfriend, Sarah, to arrive when he looks at my empty glass and says, “What’ll you have?”

    “Jack and Diet!”

    He looks at me quizzically with what can best be described as a “you are an idiot” face and says in an amazing Irish accent, “JAY-SUS Woman! You are in Ireland, you have to drink Irish. BUY LOCAL for gawd’s sake!”

    Chuckling, I ask, “What do you drink when you’re in Ireland?”

    John slaps his hand on the table, “Guinness. What else?”

    “Nope,” I say, “I’m allergic to beer.”

    “WHAT? No one is allergic to Guinness!”

    “I’m allergic to beer, but I like whiskey.”

    He gets a look of dreamy pleasure on his face, then leans very close and says in a heavy Irish lilt, “Jameson.”

    Five minutes later I am sipping the smooth Irish whiskey and John is instructing me on the proper way to pronounce Jameson with an Irish accent, “It is not ‘Jame-son’, it is not ‘Jamie-son’, it is not ‘Jam-uh-son’.”

    I say, “Jam-uh-son?”

    “NO! NO! That’s not it girl. You have to kinda shorten the A. Here, say it like this, ‘Jim-uh-son’!”

    I say, “Jim-uh-son” as he closely reads my lips and listens for the Irish lilt over the rock music. He frowns, crosses his arms and says in all Irish seriousness, “No. Yer still not there, but yer close.” I snap a shot of his frown in the lights of Bruxelles and we laugh and toast our good luck.

    Drinking Jameson with a table full of friends in Dublin, I realize that no matter where you are in the world, if you have friends to laugh with you, life is good.
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