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Santa Barbara, Ca

I'm a full-time rambler and contract designer with as many skill sets in my quiver as there are plane tickets in my passbook. I've worked in ornamental iron, jigsaw puzzle design, bookmaking, glass engraving, and a variety of other mediums. I'm currently living out of a backpack as I trek my way around the world.

Blog

Celebrating American Independence…in Ireland!

Zak Erving

Without the Irish, we wouldn't have whiskey. Without whiskey, America wouldn't have bourbon. Thank ye, Lord, for the Irish (photo courtesy of Michael Erving)

Without the Irish, we wouldn't have whiskey. Without whiskey, America wouldn't have bourbon. Thank ye, Lord, for the Irish (photo courtesy of Michael Erving)

Wee Golf: Way Better than Wii Golf

Highlight reel: I managed a chip-in from 20 yards

Highlight reel: I managed a chip-in from 20 yards

Michael and I kicked off American Independence Day celebrations in Portrush, Northern Ireland, with 9 holes of wee golf played with pitching wedges and putters. My handicap is astronomical, but I still managed to oust Little Brother by tallying 75% fewer strokes. I’m sure it had everything to do with the golf lessons I received when I was twelve. In related news, those just south in the Republic of Ireland have a fondness of American Independence Day. Shirking off the British was one of the best things either of us ever did.

Happy 4th to all us Yanks!

American Bourbon & Irish Tradition

I’ll admit it wasn’t part of the plan, but the way events unfolded it seemed nothing short of rehearsed. My brother Michael and I were winding up our mini-tour of Ireland and settled in a Dublin hostel right off Temple Bar for American Independence Day celebrations. Obama had just visited a few weeks before, and Irish tri-color “Hope” posters still hung from windows of restaurants with giant banners marking the occasion. (Secretly, Michael and I chuckled to ourselves, wondering which country was next on the list of POTUS’ ancestral heritage. Surely Tbilisi and Paramaribo are already preparing for the festivities.)

Little American flags spanned entire city blocks and the alleys that separated them, and the further Michael and I walked the more we realized that American Independence Day—even here in Ireland—is a shared holiday. The Revolutionary War was the first act of a rebelling British Colony, and the Irish followed suit (and, notably, against more overwhelming odds) shortly after World War One. We didn’t have anything to do with the struggles, but for that day my brother and I shared a kinship with every Dubliner we encountered.

That same night, at a bar around the corner from our hostel, I bought my brother his first drink. In honor of both the Irish and American fighters, we ordered bourbon, no ice.

I raised my glass: “Here’s to the British!” I declared, keeping a straight face for only a short second before the two of us burst into laughter. The bartender chuckled, and shook his head.