Irish Pub

Anyone who joins one of those partnerships that invest in movies knows that there is a great deal of risk involved. For the hardy Irish souls who put up the money for Eat the Peach, there was also clear and present danger. The comedy, written by John Kelleher and Peter Ormrod and directed by the latter, was made on a set where a shoestring counted as a luxury. One way to save money was to round up visiting investors and invite them to play extras in their own movie. Since the enterprise that engages the film's two heroes is the building of a ramshackle wall-of-death in which they gun their motorcycles, the assignment turned out to be a little tougher than a normal day at the races.

The Ambler campus of Temple University will stay dry - for now anyway. But the students - many of whom are of legal drinking age - aren't complaining too loudly. Their campus isn't well-suited for a boisterous barroom, they say. It's in the middle of a nice residential area, and many of the students like to think of themselves as a bit more serious than their counterparts on the main campus in Philadelphia. Which is just as well because the campus isn't likely to follow the lead of Temple's North Philadelphia campus and allow liquor to be served on campus, said James Blackhurst, Ambler campus dean.

FRI FOURTH If you take in Shay Duffin's one-man show, "According to Mr. Dooley," Friday or Saturday night, your face might end up on cable television. D.N. Goodchild and Associates, a video production company, is taping the 8 p.m. Friday and 6 and 9 p.m. Saturday shows at the On Stage Theatre, 2020 Sansom St. Goodchild plans to syndicate, to cable stations, its tape of the show, which is based on the humorous writings of a mythical Irish-American Chicago bartender created by Finley Peter Dunn at the turn of the century.

Eh, what's up, Doc? (Chomp, chomp, chomp.) So goes the familiar question - along with the accompanying bites of carrot - by that cartoon favorite Bugs Bunny, the Cwazy Wabbit himself. And what's up is that this month marks the 50th anniversary of Bugs' creation by the folks at Warner Bros., and that Taylor's nightclub will be celebrating the occasion with a Bugs Bunny birthday bash tonight. The club, at 2310 W. Marlton Pike in Cherry Hill, will kick things off with the happy hour starting at 5 p.m. There will be a bunny buffet that will include a bunny mold, plenty of carrot sticks and a birthday cake (carrot, naturally)

AH, ST. PATRICK'S Day. Pub crawls, yards of green beer and bowls of mushy corned beef and cabbage If that's not your idea of fun, you're in luck. At many local bars and restaurants, the holiday traditionally celebrated as a raucous rite of spring has gone upscale. This means that if you love to paint shamrocks on your cheeks, pile obnoxious plastic green beads around your neck and get in line outside your favorite taproom at 6 a.m. for your chance to chug dyed Miller Lite, you may find yourself in the minority this year.

St. Patrick's Day is almost as good an excuse for guzzling the brew as New Year's Eve. And every pub worth its pints is more than happy to oblige. But before anyone gets carried away - literally or figuratively - be forewarned that these days the focus is more on having a blast than on getting blasted. Along with all the corny plastic chimney-sweep hats and cardboard shamrocks - what would a festive Irish occasion be without them? - many of the celebrations seem to have taken on a more refined air, with the focus on traditional food and music.

There's an interesting story on the menu at the new John Patrick's Ale House in Old City. It tells the tale of John Patrick Murphy, third generation Irish-American, born and raised in this historic part of town. Murphy, the story goes, dreamed of one day opening an Irish pub in his neighborhood. He married, had a son, and then was a Union soldier during the Civil War. He spent his quiet time sketching his vision of the pub he would build when he got home. But his dream was not to become reality.

America's Irish and honorary Irish took to the streets by the hundreds of thousands yesterday for annual St. Patrick's Day celebrations. It was a day of parades, green grits, a green-dyed river and green-beer- drinking contests. It was also a day muted by the awareness of fresh bloodshed in Northern Ireland. In an emotional homily before the parade down New York's Fifth Avenue, Cardinal John J. O'Connor proposed a pilgrimage to Ireland to pray for "peace with justice.

This is the day when the only things you attempt to moderate are your trips to the restroom. This is the day when the only part of your body you work out is your elbow. This is the day when the only social taboos are discipline and discipline. This is the day many Americans wait for all year. So much so that in recent years, St. Patrick's Day has begotten St. Patrick's Week, especially at pubs throughout the region. "It's not enough to throw a party for one day anymore; now it's a week- long celebration," Mickey Cavanaugh said in a brogue as thick as a pint of ale. Cavanaugh, who came to America 27 years ago from County Galway, has run Cavanaugh's (23d and Sansom Streets, 567-9335)

I have yet to find an Irish pub that didn't claim to draw the best pint of Guinness. But the handsome new Black Sheep on South 17th Street may not just be bragging. Over the years, I've heard talk of wooden kegs versus steel, special basement cold rooms, state-of-the-art cooling towers, pure nitrogen infusers, and hotshot bartenders whose stout was so creamy they could sign their names in the foamy head. I had also heard of old-country doctors prescribing pints for iron deficiency.