Seattle, April 23, 2005

It was a beautiful spring day and several of the @U2 staffers were headed into town for the first Vertigo show in the Pacific Northwest.

Teresa and I were brand new to the staff, so I was greatly anticipating the dinner that Matt had arranged to get us all acquainted.

Joining us from Portland were Rashas, Ian and Scott; from Eastern Washington, Matt; and from California, the writer I then knew only as Answer Guy.

Because we arrived early, Teresa and I slipped into Easy Street Records for some browsing in the vinyl section.

I bought two gems that night: a mint condition vinyl copy of the Duran Duran single “Union of the Snake,” and a souvenir Cheap Trick button. My total was less than $5.

When we emerged from the store, down the street we saw Matt with two guys walking toward us. He soon introduced us to Scott and Michael (a.k.a. Answer Guy).

We were joined by Ian and Rashas shortly thereafter and it was clear I had found my new family.

Typically when a bunch of people are brought together in a social setting for the first time, there is a level of awkwardness that can’t be avoided. That didn’t happen here. In fact, I felt like I was at some sort of reunion rather than a meet-and-greet.

There were U2 nerd jokes that only we would consider funny, debates about which songs from How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb were the best and side talks about mutual passions (Rashas and I had a lengthy Beatles chat, for example).

What was even crazier is that this guy whose columns I’d been reading for years could somehow finish my sentences and vice versa. In fact, I traded seats with someone so I could sit closer to him, despite the fact he pulled out my record store purchases and laughed openly about my choices. At one point, our admiration for Cheap Trick culminated in a sing-a-long of “The Flame.” And yes, we were drinking that night, but we were in no way, shape or form drunk.

We stayed out far too late—after all, the next day was the first of two consecutive U2 shows and we had to camp out in line.

I had no idea what the universe had in store for me that week.

The Waldorf Astoria, March 2005

At the time I was still just a contributor for @U2, so the site’s press pass into the event went to one of their regular staff writers. I put my name into the pool for other accreditation directly with the Hall of Fame and a few weeks later, received an e-mail from VH1.

They were in charge of the red carpet coverage and invited me to be one of the lucky ones. I probably answered them in less than 30 seconds: “Yes please, I accept! Where do I pick up my press pass?”

My sister bought me a new outfit, I booked a room at the Waldorf, and flew in a few days early so could get my bearings and prepare to meet my Gods of Rock.

I was a ball of nerves the day before, so Jeff (who lived in Brooklyn at the time) took me to breakfast, then we made a special trip to Central Park to see the Strawberry Fields area, which is a tribute to John Lennon. From there we went to The Dakota, where Lennon lived and was shot, and finally back to the W hotel for cocktails and a bite to eat. I distinctly remember knocking back their delicious key lime martinis before everything went fuzzy.

We had a good night and the next morning it was a hurried rush to get from the hotel in the village where I stayed the first few nights to the Waldorf Astoria, where I would remain for the duration of my trip.

I needed to shower and change before heading down to the press tent, but my room wasn’t ready when I arrived, so I planted myself in one of the plush chairs in the lobby. I soon learned that U2 was conducting their sound check in the ballroom right behind me, so I blogged about it on @U2.

The plan was for me to provide audio updates from the red carpet for @U2, but having never been on the red carpet, I had no idea how chaotic and ultimately loud things really get. There was no way that anything I taped would be audible when transmitted over a cell phone, so I quickly bagged that idea, but taped the interviews anyway, so I wouldn’t forget anything.

We were given the tip sheet of guests scheduled to come down the red carpet: Michael J. Fox, Ice-T, the cast of SNL, U-freakin-2! I was stationed in between The New York Times and People Magazine. Each time someone would enter the tent, I’d say their name and the other reporters would jot it down. Clearly I was the pop culture nerd of the crew.

We all chatted in a friendly way and they soon learned I was a U2 nut, a red carpet rookie and had traveled the farthest of anyone in our little group to cover this part of the event.

When the celebs came down the line, the VH1 folks would help distribute them to the reporters who wanted an interview. I was so timid at first, I let Patty Smyth of Scandal and her tennis star husband John McEnroe pass right by me (all the while singing Shooting out the walls of heartache/Bang, bang!/I am the warrior in my head).

Other reporters asked me who I was most excited to see, aside from the obvious. I answered Michael J. Fox because I was obsessed with both Back to the Future and Family Ties as a young girl. I even cried back in ‘87 when I learned Fox was engaged, reading the announcement in one of my Grandma’s tabloid newspapers.

Not two minutes after I said that, the VH1 folks said that Bruce Springsteen (who was inducting U2 that night) and Michael J. Fox were both detained and would not have time to come down the red carpet. That news was disappointing, but the still-handsome John Bon Jovi soon distracted me, flirting with the People girl (Jennifer) and me. I asked his wife who designed her dress, and used her first name, which must have impressed him considering the smile I got in return.

“How the hell did you know her name was Dorothea?” one of the other reporters asked. I replied, “Years of watching MTV and VH1, and reading every Rolling Stone in existence.”

I was just getting warmed up.

Next down the line was Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty. He approached me sweetly, shaking my hand and introducing himself as “Rob” (in case I didn’t know). We had a fast chat and I could tell by the way he answered me that he was really there to support U2 that night, which warmed my heart.

As his handlers pulled him away, the cast of Saturday Night Live walked in. Their “people” came through and asked us who we wanted. I got very brave and shouted “AMY!” because she had recently had a “moment” with Bono on her show.

Much to my surprise, she came right over. She’s one of those people who looks identical to their television self so I had a tough time focusing on my questions and not saying out loud, “I’m interviewing Amy Poehler from SNL who I watch EVERY WEEK!”

She was very gracious and kind, answering each question with a smile until she was led away by her handlers.

Then came the punch in the stomach.

After The O’Jays passed through, we knew to expect the remainder of the inductees (U2!). My palms were sweaty, my neck hurt from straining to see the entrance, and the battery was dying in my tape recorder because I kept accidentally leaving it on after I finished my interviews.

The VH1 team came down and said they had an announcement to make: U2 would not be coming down the red carpet.

I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. Even the VH1 folks came over to console me.

My whole reason for being in New York, being on this red carpet, was to get those few precious moments with the band, but this time it was not meant to be.

I remained composed (though tears were forming) and when Percy Sledge approached me, I asked him the same question I was set to ask Bono, Larry, The Edge and Adam, had they graced me with their presence. You can read a transcript of all my interviews from that night here.

It would be the first of many times that U2 would dodge the “Tassoula, Reporter-at-Large” bullet.

U2 “Vertigo” Rehearsals, March 2005

When it was announced in February of 2005 that U2 would be rehearsing for their Vertigo tour in Vancouver, BC, my friend Teresa and I made fast plans to get there.

Rumor had it that BC Place would become home for the band, at least for a few weeks, so we quickly booked a room at the hotel across the street and set out for an adventure.

We drove up early the first Saturday of March, armed with old-school portable tape recorders, pens and paper, and point-and-shoot (film) cameras. We also became very familiar with the business center at the hotel—filing reports on the @U2 blog frequently (though neither of us were formal staff members just yet).

When we saw the trucks with the “Vertigo” signs in the windshield outside the venue, we knew we were in the right place. We walked the perimeter of the building looking for signs of the four stars (and even went IN the building at one point, thinking we were undetected).

We didn’t find Bono, Larry, The Edge or Adam, but we did see many familiar crew members (note to non-fans: U2 has had the same crew for decades, with few exceptions).

After watching them build pieces of the stage through an open door, we grew tired and decided to plant ourselves on the water side of the venue, where there were plenty of places to sit.

Food was something we were smart enough to pack in advance—granola bars and chips, if I remember right. But what we didn’t consider was the cold. Our layers of clothes were not heavy enough and soon we were shivering in the overcast, windy weather.

Seeing our updates on @U2, a thoughtful reader named Scott in Abbotsford responded by bringing us both hot cups of coffee. He had driven half an hour to meet us, then promptly locked his keys in his car after handing us the warm cups.

I felt so awful for him, with no way to help him out of his predicament. I’m not sure who finally did rescue him, but I do remember enjoying his company while he waited (and thankfully, this would not be the last time we would see Scott on the tour).

This next portion is taken directly from our blog that night.

Braving the cold, we started conversations with every tour employee that walked by. I’m pleased to report that each one of them was polite enough to speak to us (if not amused by our dedication). What we were told was that the band wasn’t going to be there that evening, and the crew wasn’t even sure when they would arrive, as the stage was still being built. Duran Duran, who had performed the night before, had only vacated the space early that morning, so the venue needed to be prepared fully for U2.

Believing this to be true, and not wanting to catch pneumonia from the cold, we hung around only a few hours longer, chatted with some fellow fans who had the same idea (or had heard our first blog on the website) and decided to retreat to a local establishment for some socializing. To our delight, the place was filled with Vertigo crew members. What we witnessed there (aside from awful, hilarious karaoke) was nothing short of heartwarming. Personnel just arriving in town were greeted by existing staff with hugs and smiles as chairs were brought in to make room for each new addition. Stories of former tours were exchanged, updates about family and pets were shared and an overall sense of joy permeated the room. In short, we felt like we stumbled upon a family reunion. The vibe was great and the camaraderie lasted well into the night. When we left we couldn’t help but feel like we’d just stepped out of a Willie Williams tour diary.

The next morning, we rushed to the window of our hotel like kids on Christmas morning to see if any “presents” had been left at the venue. Realizing that a second garage door had opened, and somehow thinking Bono and the boys may be hiding like stocking stuffers in one of them, we rushed through breakfast, grabbed our gear and headed back to our familiar spot … only to find that most of the crew from the prior day were hard at work like little elves, again doing what they do best.

And though they were genuinely busy, if we didn’t know better we would never have guessed that these were folks working against a serious deadline for the biggest band in the world, who were set to start their tour in a mere three weeks. They all just seemed too calm!

With nothing left to lose, and the clock ticking away, we spoke informally with more staff members and learned that the band had still not arrived. We also figured out that the heavy drum sounds we thought may be Larry warming up were actually large vehicles thumping across the overpass that loops the venue. We were actually hallucinating drum sounds.

Next we learned that we had been the stars of our own James Bond-like film on the GM Place surveillance cameras! The security guard who blew our cover said that the place is saturated with safety cameras that span the circumference of the structure and beyond, and that their team had been keeping an eye on us the whole time. Although we were disappointed that our 007 skills weren’t what we’d hoped, it’s good to know that our boys will truly be safe if they ever arrive to rehearse.

Deciding that our day jobs were probably more important than risking another night of no-show band members, Teresa and I gracefully gave up, snatching one last picture of the reader board flashing “U2″ and saying a sweet goodbye to the cool and collected crew responsible for igniting the tour magic.

So for those of you who have asked how my gig with @U2 began, that was really the turning point. Though I had written a Beatles/U2 feature for the site almost a year prior, I was only considered a casual contributor.

When I began my at-large reporting (truly what I enjoyed—and still enjoy—most), that’s when I got the attention of the boss and the other staff members that would soon have to vote me in to their exclusive team.

I’ve always been grateful they said “yes.”

November 23, 2004

Oh, how I miss Tower Records!

My love for that store will have to be a story in itself some other time, but what happened on this day is probably my last great memory of the place.

Die-hard music fans of all persuasions know that the best time to get a new album is at midnight on the morning of its release. Record stores don’t do this for just any album, but when a band like U2 has a horse in the race, they break out the extra staff.

Lines form starting around 10:00 p.m., which is when Teresa and I arrived to stake our place near the door for the release of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. We’d helped host a listening party for the album two days earlier and were looking forward to getting our own copies ASAP.

News crews from local channels were beginning to show up and interview fans in line (making us regret our fashion choices, or lack thereof) when we started to realize: not everyone looks like a U2 fan.

Not to be judgmental, and certainly not to imply that you have to look a certain way to favor a certain band, but I’ve met thousands of U2 fans in my day and most of them don’t have long hair, threatening tattoos, and cigarettes dangling from their mouths.

The crowd outside Tower was nice enough, but as we started casually overhearing conversations, we knew there had to be another album by another band coming out at the exact same moment.

Just as we said that to each other, one of the TV stations began interviewing a long-haired, cardigan-wearing man and he expressed his joy at the anticipation of a new Nirvana album. It seems that the long-awaited boxed set from Nirvana was U2’s competition.

I loved Nirvana very much and felt a kinship with their tribe, but the juxtaposition of the Grunge Gods vs. the Rock Royalty was nothing short of funny.

Soon enough the two camps were talking to one another, essentially in two different musical languages, but the mood was kind and peaceful. The more I heard the Nirvana folks talk, the more I wanted to get their boxed set too, but my budget only allowed for one splurge that night so I had to stick with U2.

At the stroke of midnight we were all led in two-by-two so the cashiers could keep up with the purchase lines. Large displays indicated where each set of fans were supposed to land, and Teresa and I quickly grabbed our deluxe version of the U2 album, then went to check out.

Following our buys, we posed with cardboard cutouts of the band, which were sprinkled throughout the store.

Since we both had to work the next morning, we drove right home. I fell asleep to the sweet sounds of “City of Blinding Lights,” not knowing that five months later, I’d appear in the official video for that song.

November 21, 2004

We took the title of our U2 listening party from a lyric in the song “Vertigo.”

I can’t stand the beats
I’m asking for the check
Girl with crimson nails
Has Jesus ‘round her neck
Swinging to the music
Swinging to the music

The band was set to release their new album How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb on Nov. 23, so @U2 decided to host listening parties across the country (Seattle, St. Louis and Boston) to celebrate the event. Proceeds would be donated to the African Well Fund charity, which was started (and is still run) by U2 fans, and the most dedicated of fans would get to hear the album in its entirety two days before it was available for purchase.

Album leaks were such a concern at the time that to get an official copy of the CD and play it in a public place, we had to gain permission from the record label and U2’s management, and it couldn’t be delivered too far in advance of the event … meaning, if there was any delay, the entire purpose of the party would be ruined.

To be on the safe side, Teresa and I, who organized the Seattle function, found a fun pub (T.S. McHughs) and rented half the establishment, ordered a bounty of delicious food for the guests and made up U2 trivia games, which we would play for prizes. We also lined up two speakers: girls who had found Bono’s missing handwritten lyrics from the 80s and returned them to him a month prior. They were happy to share their story and fans were anxious to hear it.

Of course, if things went too smoothly it wouldn’t be right.

On the rainy night of the party, the person on staff at the pub didn’t let us in as early as the manager (who wasn’t there) had promised, so the decorations went up quickly (sometimes while folks were sitting down at the tables). The PA system, which we had rented that afternoon, had microphone issues and there was a certain amount of time that passed before we could get the high-security CD to actually play. The amount of folks we anticipated attending didn’t show up, so we feared we might not break even, which would have let down the charity.

All of that panic and doubt soon washed away as the food was brought out and the album began. Fans started to smile, other restaurant patrons came over to see where Bono’s voice was coming from and the spirit of why we were there was rescued.

Our presenters gave a great talk, our games went over well, and by the end of the night, no one wanted to go home.

Surely the sign of a good party.

Portland, Oregon, October 2004

I was one of, if not the first Seattle volunteer for the DATA (Debt Aids Trade Africa) organization, which was co-founded by Bono.

The organization’s website had downloadable petitions that us volunteers could proactively take to events and meetings to gather support and send to our representatives. I did this for about six months until DATA hired a field organizer. Her name was Teresita and she was wonderful—positive, organized, friendly and helpful.

Together with about three other core volunteers, we began meeting regularly at local coffee shops and attending area events as a united force to educate the world about DATA’s mission (to fight global poverty and preventable disease with a focus on Africa). We were a committed, tight group who shared the same beliefs and enjoyed working together to honor them.

Soon, DATA morphed into what is now the ONE Campaign and Bono began accepting speaking engagements to get the word out about the cause. Except, we were told never to call it a ‘cause.’ It was an ‘emergency.’

When it was announced he would be appearing in my hometown of Portland, Ore. for a World Affairs Council lecture, I quickly made plans to be one of the volunteers on site.

To see him speak would be fabulous, but the chance to actually meet him had my knees shaking.

After handing out flyers and signing up folks for the campaign for over an hour, we saw the entourage arrive. Jammie Drummond, the Executive Director and Agnes Nyamayarwo, an HIV+ African nurse, came right over and introduced themselves. They were both wonderful and grateful for our support. Agnes had just become a grandmother so we chatted about that, and about how she didn’t get any sleep on the plane to Portland because Bono wouldn’t stop talking (U2 fans know he’s a chatterbox).

But where was Bono?

He was backstage preparing for his talk and we were told there was a chance we’d get to meet him afterward.

His speech was perfect, the crowd loved him and soon we learned he had to go straight from the speech to the airport, so a few other fans and I waited outside to catch a glimpse of him as he departed. He waved out of the SUV and that was that.

Disappointed, but still hyper, I stopped in the Taco Bell drive-thru on the way back to my parents’ house. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast due to excitement, so I burst through the front door to head to the basement (where I slept) and inhale my late dinner. I promptly fell down the stairs (I was wearing slippery, silver flats after all), which made my dad come running down to see what happened. Soon, both of my parents were icing my broken foot, debating about taking me to emergency.

I talked them out of it, took some Advil and went to sleep. When I woke up, my foot was the size of a football, so I was put on crutches and wrapped in a tight ace bandage for the next week or so.

When I returned to Seattle, my office was buzzing: Bono had just made the rounds of the Starbucks corporate office (after winning a TED award, I think) and many folks headed down to that building to get their photo taken with him.

This was the first of many near misses I would have with the rock star in the next six years.

As for ONE, I went on to become the team captain for the Lifelong AIDS Alliance Seattle AIDS Walk in 2005 and 2006, then Teresita left and the old team fell apart.

I still volunteer remotely (signing petitions, writing letters to leaders, etc.), but now that the campaign has more than two million members, there aren’t many opportunities for face-to-face advocacy. It’s still worth it, though.

Eze, France — 2004

The U2 song “Electrical Storm” debuted in 2002 with perhaps the sexiest video the band has ever made. Directed by acclaimed photographer Anton Corbijn (who is now also a film director), the story consisted of their handsome drummer, Larry Mullen Jr., rescuing a mermaid from the sea and falling in love with her. The mermaid was portrayed by Oscar-nominated actress Samantha Morton.

You can view the steamy video here.

Because I’ve had a crush on the drummer since I was a kid, and due to my love of the song, I watched this video countless times that year, and made it a goal to visit the actual beach in the South of France where it was filmed.

When my friend Teresa and I planned our European getaway, it was decided we would end our trip with a day on this beach in the village of Eze, visiting the locations of the video and lounging around near the water.

Armed with my iPod (so I could play the song while I was there) and a silver swimsuit to match the mermaid’s attire, we entered the rocky heaven at one of the hottest points in the afternoon. Dipping my feet in the ice-cold water felt spectacular, but it was such a shock to my system I decided not to go completely underwater.

I didn’t yet own a digital camera, so I brought a high-quality old-school camera with me and loaded it with a roll of black and white film. I wanted all of the pictures I took on that beach to mirror the real video.

After Teresa took a few shots (me at the train station sign; me in the water), we both laid out on our towels (wishing we had brought chairs because the rocks were so hard) and listened to our headphones until we got too hot.

We ate lunch across the street, then visited the church where U2 guitarist The Edge married his second wife. Last, we toured the gorgeous Exotic Garden at the top of the town.

We finished the evening with a lovely pizza dinner at a nearby restaurant and watched a bride and groom descend down the path as donkeys led their wedding party out of the church. A gorgeous site, for sure.

Our vacation was coming to an end and we thought the drama was behind us. Boy, were we wrong.

Halloween, 2002

In 2002, U2 released the song “Electrical Storm,” which was accompanied by this steamy video. Favoring the drummer for years (who is the romantic lead in this one), I was immediately smitten and fantasizing about becoming the band’s “tour mermaid,” the next time they took to the road.

The entire history is detailed here in an essay I wrote for @U2 back in 2007.

But for the purposes of this story, I wasn’t just any old mermaid, I was the U2 mermaid, and my friend Teresa was her own interpretation of Bono’s stage character, The Fly.

We rocked.

How they helped me heal.

The time of the U2 Elevation tour in 2001 was phenomenal in many ways—the band was enjoying immense success with their latest album All That You Can’t Leave Behind, and Bono was rapidly emerging as a global humanitarian.

By August, I’d already seen them in Seattle and Ireland, but I wanted to see a show with my sister, so I booked a flight to Boston so she and I could take a road trip to Providence and attend a fall show.

As the date grew near, everyone around me thought I was nuts not to cancel my trip. September 11 happened just over a month prior and no one was anxious to get in the sky. I had the attitude that I wasn’t going to let fundamentalists from other countries stop me from living my life. Plus, we already had the much-coveted fan club tickets, which would grant us general admission access. No way was I giving that up.

The week before the trip at work was hectic. Holiday advertising deadlines always happen near Halloween, so I was down to the wire on several assignments, plus I was fighting to finish my first screenplay submission for Project Greenlight. In addition, the night before my journey, I decided that I needed to make U2’s drummer, Larry Mullen, Jr. a ‘Happy Birthday’ poster since his 40th birthday was the day after our show. I had the bright idea of making it glow-in-the dark so it would show up at night in the arena, but I didn’t have any supplies, so I made an evening trip to Seattle’s Display and Costume party store. Huge mistake. The week before Halloween at that store is like war zone and the crowds were insane. It took me over an hour to buy one small poster board and a small set of glowing paints.

Couple all of that with the excitement of seeing my sister and going to a U2 show, and I wasn’t eating much. Or sleeping much.

By the time I boarded my flight on the 27th, I was sneezing and feeling a sore throat coming on. It was especially hard for me because I personally can’t stand folks who expose others to sickness, and I didn’t want to be that person.

When I arrived at my sister’s, I had a slight fever and drank Thera Flu in hopes I could sleep off whatever was trying to get me. The next morning, I wasn’t much better, but I refused to stay home. We took a fall foliage drive and visited some witch sites in Danvers, then it was back home to rest up.

The next evening we got to our hotel in the late evening, prepared to camp outside the venue to earn the best spot inside the heart-shaped stage (U2 fans have a very strict self-policing process of numbering everyone in the order they arrive and staying in that order when the venue opens). After leaving our belongings in our hotel room, we went across the street to the Dunkin’ Donuts Center to scope out the line. We went to the main entrance, then the side entrance and no one was there.

Thinking the line just hadn’t formed yet, we retreated back to our cozy room and watched U2 perform on Late Night with David Letterman. Soon, we both drifted off to sleep and didn’t rise until the sun came up.

I wasn’t feeling 100%, but the sleep did me well. I thought that getting some healthy food into my system might help, so we went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast.

Just as I was taking my first bite of hash browns, I saw my sister’s eyes get larger as she looked out the window behind me. “Uh-oh,” she said. “I think we should have gone all the way around the building last night.”

What she was seeing were folks carrying their bags and belongings to their spot in line—underneath the venue near the parking garage where fans had begun gathering several hours before. We wouldn’t have heard them or seen them the previous night during our stroll because of the way the building was configured.

The poor hotel staff must have thought we hated their food. We jumped up as fast as we could, paid the bill and sprinted to our room to get our cameras and coats, then headed down to the line. We ended up as #149 and #150, respectively. Thankfully, we weren’t late enough to miss getting into the heart, but we were still farther back than we’d hoped.

I spent the whole day annoying my sister because I refused to put a hat on (didn’t want to mess up the curls I had) and trying to ‘charge’ my poster for Larry in the limited sunlight. I also ate an entire bag of Ricola cough drops to suppress the throat pain, which was only getting worse.

The crowd was jovial—many were in costume because Halloween was the next day. The band was in fine form, arriving on stage with the house lights still on (I wish they still did that) and balancing their commemoration of the recent terrorist attacks with their usual rousing rock numbers.

By the end of the show, I didn’t feel sick anymore. U2 had healing powers over me, for sure.

Drinking at The Kitchen

When U2 were just getting started, rehearsals were held in Larry Mullen Jr.’s childhood kitchen. Hence, why they named their nightclub, “The Kitchen” when Bono and The Edge bought part of The Clarence Hotel.

I, along with a friend I made on the trip (Leslie from Wisconsin), was determined to hang out in this magical club at least once in our lifetime, so that’s where we went on our last night in Dublin.

We dressed up a bit, stood in a long line with the the rest of the U2 fans and headed downstairs where we’d been told some of the Red Hot Chili Peppers had been hanging out.

The vibe was fun, the ceiling architecture looked like Swiss cheese and the bartender was oh so Irish, and cute.

I sauntered right up past some men who were waiting and got my drink order in—a Jameson and Coke—which cutie bartender seemed impressed by.

Leslie and I found a small table, chatting and people-watching as we enjoyed our drinks, but the music left something to be desired (it was more techno than U2). Nonetheless, we were still glad we went.

The Kitchen soon closed down, but in recent years re-opened. I hope this version of it lasts until I can go back to Ireland and check it out once more.