New York State of Mindby Molly Muldoon
- Ground Zero ten years on
- Are Ireland and the Catholic Church finally getting a divorce?
- Casey Anthony from PA: 'I can't change my name, ladies and gentlemen’
- Casey Anthony’s shamrock tattoo - a response to reader reaction
- Start the weekend with a party!
"I know it sounds cliché, but I feel that Americans will re-build and I believe in that."
So to all those we offended, I do offer a sincere apology.
That’s exactly what Irish founder and webhost of ClubbersGuide.com Fiona Walsh is offering tomorrow night, July 1 at a destination to be - you know - announced (you have to sign up via their Facebook page or on their website to find out where it is, that’s what makes it underground) somewhere in the city.
“I’m throwing a party on the 1st of July,” Walsh tells Irish Central. “It’s a one year anniversary party for my website and I’m bringing – along with my producing partner Trilogy (famous for running amazing underground parties in New York) a DJ called Steve Rachmad over to play.”
were over. The video footage was replayed at several intervals throughout the weekend. I had conquered the log but it had stolen my pride in the process. A fair trade off for the experience of camping in the Catskills.
I jumped up from my desk and made my way out of the classroom and down the corridor to the make-shift fitting rooms.
It was February 1997 in St. Attracta’s National School in Ballaghaderreen, Co. Roscommon. And it was time for my fitting for the school band uniform. I was 11 years old.
With the General Election looming, millions of people around the globe will once again be robbed of their right to have a say in Ireland’s political destiny.
Under Irish law if you are living abroad you cannot be entered into the register of electors.
The majority of us speak the same language, but my sentences have been lost in translation on many an occasion since moving Stateside.
It occurred to me this morning when my friend emailed me concerned about where one of her guests would lay his head this coming weekend when he visits the Big Apple. “God knows where he will sleep!,” she reflected.
Read more: The top ten Irish Christmas traditions that make the season - SEE PHOTOS
Today is a special day in Ireland when we celebrate the women who worked so tirelessly during the holiday period.
Nollaig na nBan or the Feast of the Epiphany, as it is more commonly known, marks the end of the Christmas period.
It was four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, amid freezing temperatures and treacherous road conditions, to my disbelief the people of Athlone has left the comfort of their surroundings to join their friends in Sean's Bar.
The bar was packed with locals, and a turf fire burned in the grate that people stopped at on their way in from the cold air. A lively trad session was in full swing in the corner and the barman, greeted me with a smile when I arrived at the bar.
SEE PHOTOS - Arctic weather hits Ireland
My only outing this past weekend reminded me of three things...
Ireland is incapable of dealing with snowfall.
Driving into the eye of the storm is never a good idea.
People can and will find the funny side of things.
It's Thursday morning in Ireland, Brian Cowen wakes up early, still in a hazy stupor from his restless nights sleep. He looks in the mirror and disappointed, he soon realizes, he wasn’t dreaming, it wasn’t a nightmare, his Government is in ruins and Ireland's future is being held together with rubber bands on loan from Europe.
Ireland's destiny held together by billions of rubber bands, anyone of which is liable to snap as a result of his Government's actions over the coming weeks.
I answered with a curious tone, as a familiar voice on the other end of the phone greeted me. It was one of my college friends, John, calling after he had finished a hard days work in Gurley, Australia.
I have a bad habit. OK I have a lot of bad habits but like many, my biggest form of procrastination takes the form of hours spent social networking, in other words time wasting on Facebook when I should be proactive.
It was on one of my latest bouts of procrastination that I had the realization of another great thing about America.
It started a week ago when one of my friends made a frantic plea via Facebook:
“Does anyone in NY have an absentee ballot they are not going to use? If so, can I tell you who I am going to vote for and you fill it in?? I'm totally serious!! Thanks!”
Last week I went in search of this exotic species, except I’m one myself - despite my New York life.
Back in Ireland for a spell I now know you can take the woman out of Roscommon but you can't take Roscommon out of the woman. Never were truer words spoken. Last weekend I found myself and two friends zipping through the back roads of lovely Leitrim en route to the annual Culchie Festival, in Mohill.
A lot had changed. Unemployment figures mirroring the eighties, high levels of emigration, and a government with few solutions, I knew what to expect but I was keen to see it with my own eyes.
As I drove into the west I had my eyes peeled for visible changes. A common theme emerged as every town and village that I drove through was branded with big bold letters of real estate agents “For Sale”. The property boom had burst and left it's stain all over the island.
The people I meet love to tell me they are American but also from other places. They are proud of their heritage, drawing lineage from maybe two to three different countries stretching from disparate areas around the globe.
The strength of this country is that it is first and foremost about an idea, that we can come from all four corners of the globe, yet become one nation and live our own version of the American dream.
Victoria’s secret, Hollister, Abercrombie & Fitch, AMC 25 movie theatre and the Empire State Building. Apart from throngs of eager tourists, what did all of these New York businesses have in common this past summer? Bedbugs.
Last Saturday morning I woke up with seven bites, 4 on my left arm, 1 on my right and 2 on my face. I quickly established after moving to the United States that mosquitoes are big fans of Irish blood, but this really was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
I get bitten a lot, I have tried everything to stave off the nasty critters but few things seem to work. So as I strolled into my moonlighting gig as a weekend bartender on Saturday night, with an arm the size of Popeyes and a swollen face, I was none too impressed.
One year ago today I boarded a plane in Dublin, JFK bound for what I thought was going to be a year abroad. One year to garner some experience, broaden my horizons and leave an economic storm in Ireland behind me.
Five jobs and 365 days later I’m still here with no inclination to return home. With everything this great city has to offer is it any surprise the one resounding sentiment among my Irish comrades here is our joint distaste at the prospect of returning to our great Emerald Isle.
Not because we don’t love our home, but because of the lives we have built here for ourselves that we don’t want to abandon just yet.
Bad news travels across the waters that things at home haven’t drastically improved. Our banking system remains in dire straits, as unemployment grows and every day more and more people make the decision to leave.