In brief:

Ireland was fun. It was cold and rainy the whole time, but it was great to see the family again, eat a big home-cooked breakfast for the first time in, like, forever, and introduce my brother and stepbrothers to the wonders of cider--not Strongbow, unfortunately, but the Irish stuff is still OK, even if it is the colour of Irn-Bru (Irn-Bru being the national drink/hangover cure of Scotland. Gary made me try it once and I was immediately reminded of this sickly sweet bubble gum-flavored toothpaste I had when I was six or so. Think I'll take my chances with hangovers.)
I also really liked the pub music culture I saw there, where the musicians that play in pubs aren't on a stage, but rather are sitting in booths or at tables--like they're just regular pub patrons who decided to bust out a guitar, violin and accordion and start playing. There was one place where one man sitting in the middle of the crowd was singing a folk song a cappella, and everyone else in the room was dead silent, some with tears in their eyes. If anyone tried to do that in an American bar, nobody would be able to hear him over the Li'l Jon (or the Smiths, if we're in a hipper locale.)
So now I'm back in Edinburgh, and the festival's just started up. It really is a great atmosphere. On any average walk down the Royal Mile, you'll encounter a crowd made up of around 50% tourists, 15% locals, 20% performers and 20% flyerers (and yes, I just pulled those statistics out of my ass, thank you.) The line between who's in the festival and who's not becomes totally blurred, so that even the most humble tourist feels like she's part of something big.
Of course, I'm not just any tourist. First off, I was here for a month before the festival started, so I feel like I have every right to complain about the crowds of gawkers shuffling around Princes Street taking pictures and asking stupid questions (for example: "How do I get to Princes Street?" You're on it! Now go back to bloody West Virginia!)
Second off, I'm in the festival. Sort of. I get off work a couple of hours before the Ladyboys actually perform. But I still get free tickets (which I'm using sometime soon, I hope) discount Ladyboy merchandise and free rides at the fun fair next door--closest I'll ever get to being a carny.
The job itself is hectic as all hell, which is a refreshing change of pace from EVOC. The phones ring every five seconds, and confused tourists are perpetually at the box office window. If nothing else, it's given me a chance to practice my faux British accent on people who'll never see my face. Today I got as far as "Hello, Meadows box office!" before slipping back into Americanese, but by the end of this gig, I expect to have the accent fully functional and ready for use whenever I don't want to admit I'm an American. In other words, all the time.