Man About Town

August 6, 2010

Went and saw a couple bands at a popular venue called Wheylan's a couple weeks ago. The first was Lou McMahon, a lovely singer-songwriter that played acoustic folk pop along with more uptempo numbers with a backing band. She told a story in which a man broke into her and her roommate's house the week before. The roommate, she explained, was exceedingly messy, in fact, creating a mess pretty much wherever she goes. As they huddled in a locked bathroom listening to the intruder go from room to room, they heard him open the roommate's door and simply mutter, "Jaysus," before quietly closing the door and moving on to other parts of the house.

After was The Pulpit, who were a bit more my speed. A cross between Dick Dale and the B52s, The Pulpit was fronted by a sultry lead singer (the nicely named Laura Lovejoy) in skin tight pants, spiked heels and a large gold glitter guitar that she wielded deftly along with two skinny lads on drums and keyboards respectively. There was something completely alluring about the way she played, her long gold lashes turned coquettishly downward and she banged on her guitar. Why is being passionately indifferent so damned sexy?

Stumbling home around 3 am on a dark street bordering Marrion Square, I was propositioned by my first prostitute. She wasn't unattractive and looked unusually dressed up, as if waiting for her friends to pick her up to go clubbing. She said something to me and I stopped and took out my earbuds.


"50 for hand, 70 for oral, 90 for sex."

I tried to make sense of what she had said.

"Wait... 50 FOR HAND? Fifty? Wow, I find that disturbingly consistent with the rest of the prices in Dublin."

She stared at me blankly.

"No thanks," I said smiling softly, stumbling off into the night.