Rhinestone Cowboy
Rhinestone Cowboy
The Rooskey Pub’s sign, visible from the Shannon River, promises “Traditional Irish Music,” and we riverboaters, Americans in Ireland, clamber up the bank and across the road.
Through the dense cigarette smoke young parents are juggling babies and pints, and blue-haired ladies, scalps gleaming whitely, sip hard cider. They are mostly Irish, these pub-goers, and on holiday.
The lights go down, and the buzz of conversation lowers as the owner of the pub, trussed snugly into an accordion and sporting a mouth harp strapped around his head by a Draconian orthodontic device, begins to play:
“Like a rhinestone cowboy,” he sings, “riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo…”
The song brings the crowd to their feet where they stomp and clap, old ladies and babies and pretty young redheaded moms all swaying and singing along. The evening of traditional Irish music has officially begun.
The Rooskey Pub’s sign, visible from the Shannon River, promises “Traditional Irish Music,” and we riverboaters, Americans in Ireland, clamber up the bank and across the road.
Through the dense cigarette smoke young parents are juggling babies and pints, and blue-haired ladies, scalps gleaming whitely, sip hard cider. They are mostly Irish, these pub-goers, and on holiday.
The lights go down, and the buzz of conversation lowers as the owner of the pub, trussed snugly into an accordion and sporting a mouth harp strapped around his head by a Draconian orthodontic device, begins to play:
“Like a rhinestone cowboy,” he sings, “riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo…”
The song brings the crowd to their feet where they stomp and clap, old ladies and babies and pretty young redheaded moms all swaying and singing along. The evening of traditional Irish music has officially begun.
posted by Linda at 1:01 PM
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