THE EMERALD ISLE, PART II

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-06-19)

     As I continue my journey through Ireland, feel free to tag along. And if you speak the language, so much the better, because I didn't understand a word anybody said for ten days. Dublin is fun in the daytime and even more fun at night. Our hotel was right next to St. Stephen's Green, Dublin's central park, and from there you can walk to many of the sites worth seeing in Ireland's capital. At the Museum of Archaeology, treasures were on display that were uncovered in, of all places, peat bogs. Usually peat bogs are not a lot of laughs, but in Ireland anything goes. Objects of art and craftsmanship from the Iron Age to the 12th century fill the corridors of the first gallery. Afterwards we relaxed on the green at Trinity College. It reminded me of my college days at Syracuse University, relaxing on the quad, wondering how my class was going that I was supposed to be in. Nearby the ancient Book of Kells was on display for a 14 euro admission. We decided to skip it and wait until it came out in paperback. Besides they only open two pages at a time each day, so that's 7 euros a Kell. For dinner we sampled some authentic Irish favorites at the Hairy Lemon, where the cottage pie was delicious. We moved on to the famous Temple Bar near the River Liffey, which did not disappoint. If you can't make a friend in Dublin you're probably not using the right ingredients. 

     The next day we toured historic Kilmainham Gaol prison, which was witness to many controversial executions relating to the struggle for Irish independence. Afterward we visited Phoenix Park and the Dublin Zoo. I've never seen an okapi before, but it looks like a cross between a giraffe, a zebra, an ass, an impala, the car not the animal, and a vodka gimlet. If I left anything out I'll photoshop it in later. At night we went to the Thunderbird, and I finally realized we were at a gay bar when it became apparent that no guys were talking to me. When we went to the straight bar, an entire stag party conga-ed onto the dance floor all dressed as women. Nothing is uncomplicated in Dublin. The next day we went to pick up our rental car to explore the counties of Ireland. That's when the fun really begins.

 

     For those of you who have driven on the wrong side of the road by mistake, it's not nearly as disturbing as doing it on purpose. Even so, we were going along fine until we got to the "roundabout." You enter it from the left in Ireland, and you keep going around in circles until centrifugal force finally throws you out onto the third or fourth exit, and you're left to fend for yourself, subsisting on a diet of sticks and berries, until you figure out where the hell you are. All in all, it wouldn't be so bad other than the fact that it was ten times worse.

     We drove down to Waterford, which is the oldest town in Ireland, originally settled by the Vikings. To get there you have to pass through Tipperary, and from there you realize that it's a long way to New York. A tour of the Waterford Crystal factory demonstrated a cross between the artistry of hand craftsmanship and literally cutting edge technology. We stayed at the Waterford Castle, which dates back to the 16th century. If you've never stayed in a castle, it's everything you ever thought it would be. It was very drafty, and I'm just talking about the beer selection at the bar. The only castle I had been in up to that time was a bouncy castle, and it's more different than I thought it would be.

     Next day we moved on to the famous Ring of Kerry, a two-to-four hour drive around the highlands of the Iveragh Peninsula among some of the most scenic landscapes you can imagine. If you go, you should drive in a counter clockwise direction, that way, when you're done you'll arrive an hour before you started.

     The following morning, about a three hour drive north, the Cliffs of Moher jut up 700 feet from the stormy seas. They are stunning in person. You can either think of them as one of the Earth's amazing natural wonders, or the very worst beach in the world. There is a stone wall there to prevent you from getting too near the edge of the cliff, which you can hop over if you feel the need to get too near the edge of the cliff. If you do, you should first find out whether anyone has taken out a large insurance policy on you. Nothing can ruin a vacation faster than trying to remember where you parked your car after you fall down a 700 foot cliff.

     After a final evening in the lovely town of Galway our journey came to an end. At last we were on the plane pointed west. Since I already expounded last week on how annoying it is to fly, I'm not going to do any more carping on that subject. By the way, did you ever notice that while you are 30,000 feet up in the air, with the most cutting edge technology and electronics known to man operating the plane, that the one thing protecting you personally from disaster, the seat belt, looks like it was ripped out of a 1964 VW Beetle? Even my car has a shoulder harness and an air bag. My plane has a tray table and an air sickness bag. If this plane crashes and I live through it, that stupid seat belt will have bisected me in two. "Hey Rick, where's your better half?" "Oh, it should be along any minute now." I'll stick to driving, thank you very much. And now I know how to do it on both sides of the road. It may take a few days to get acclimated to the right side of the road again, so if you see me driving, you might want to fasten your shoulder harness and stow your tray table.

 

THE EMERALD ISLE, PART I

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-30-19)

     One of my duties as your faithful servant is to report back to you from interesting locations that I might visit during my yearly vacation. For those of you who don't get to travel as much as you'd like, feel free to live vicariously through me. As a word of caution, you should be aware that I do a lot of dumb things, so you may also hospitalize yourself vicariously through me.

     At JFK Airport we breathed a sigh of relief: we're finally on vacation! All our stress and worry vanish as we step up to the counter to check our bags. A HUNDRED BUCKS EACH to check our bags? Are you kidding me? Why should I pay a hundred bucks when it's not my idea that you check the bags in the first place! There's nothing dangerous in them, like a juice box or anything, but my wife says that's not what checking the bags means. I started to calm down once we got queued up for the security check. We had 45 minutes to relax on the line as we tried to solve the maze to the TSA area. All our stress and worry vanish, until we have a full 30 seconds to remove everything from our pockets, take our electronic items out of our carry-on bags, take off our shoes and jackets and put everything into the bins. I'm holding everybody up because I keep forgetting where I have everything stashed in various pockets. I make the TSA girl promise in advance not to laugh at anything she might see during the body scan but she laughs anyway. I told a joke at the same time as my scan so I wouldn't know what exactly she was laughing at. We get ready to board the plane and I feel like I've been through a car wash with the top down.

     Finally the plane takes off and I can sit back and relax. You want to know how much I can sit back and relax? An inch and a quarter, that's how far my seat reclines. But I'm not complaining, because I have a 5" by 7" pillow for my 8 1/2" by 11" head, and I'm going to nap until we get to Glasgow. 20 minutes later I wake up because I don't want to miss the complimentary beverage, since they took away my juice box. I'm still a little angry about the juice box- it's only really dangerous to me since every time I pop the straw through the top, a siphon immediately forms and drains the entire contents into my lap, and I have to spend the next 15 minutes thinking up an interesting story to go with it. The next thing I know we're passing over Greenland, and I know everyone is all excited to see what's under the polar ice caps now that everything is melting. I have to be honest, from 30,000 feet up it doesn't look to me like it will ever be a fantastic vacation spot. I picture myself sometime in the future trying to unload a time share that I bought there.

     Soon we were in Scotland- you never stop to realize how many great things come from Scotland: Scotch whiskey, Scottish terriers, Scott's lawn products, Scotch Tape. We took the subway to Kelvingrove Park and checked out the museum there to discover the influence of Scottish artists and designers. Charles Rennie Mackintosh was featured in an exhibit of furniture and art, which became known as the "Glasgow Style." His furniture was a fixture in the Cranston Tea Rooms, which were every bit as much of a part of Glasgow life in the 1800s as Starbucks is to American life today. The Scottish art wing featured the works of the "Glasgow Boys," James Guthrie, George Henry, William Kennedy and E. A. Hornel, among others. My favorites were called "crepuscules," or scenes of twilight, with their unusual lighting and color. Down the hall a provocative work by Dali depicts Christ on the cross as pictured from above.

     We shopped famous Buchanan Street, which is suffering from the same Banana Republic-itis as all other iconic pedestrian malls in the world, the high rents that are outstripping the ability of small and eclectic local shops to survive, making for a homogeneous global experience. But the people-watching is always worth the trip- there aren't that many places where you can find bag-pipe street buskers. Scotland and Northern Ireland use the pound sterling as currency, and the Republic of Ireland uses the euro, so it's a little confusing. You should conduct most of your overseas transactions on plastic for the best exchange rate, but there are some places that won't take maxed-out credit cards, so I went to the money exchange and picked up some euros and a hundred bucks worth of pounds. I mostly wanted them for tips and small purchases, so I asked for the pounds in 1600 ounces.

     The Glasgow nightlife is robust, and we went to the Howlin' Wolf, where they have live music seven days a week, sometimes more. The next day we took the train to the Glasgow Science Centre, which is a great place to take your kids. They could probably stay entertained there for a couple days if you wanted to get back to the Howlin' Wolf. At the Centre we saw the IMAX movie "A Beautiful Planet," which explores life in the International Space Station, and compares it to the planet Earth as a "spaceship," with only its own finite resources aboard. It warns of the challenges we may face in the future, and also how hard it is to wash your hair in space.

     Next we were off to the ferry to take us across the Irish Channel to Belfast. We checked into our hotel, and of course, as usual, I can't get into my email. One of these days I'm just going to hire a Russian hacker and make it easy on myself. The RMS Titanic was launched in Belfast from the very spot where a museum commemorating the ship's history and fate now stands. The exhibits cover the climate of the times, and how important the shipbuilding industry was to Belfast, as well as the monumental undertaking of constructing the ship itself. There is vibrant nightlife here in Belfast too, although we saw one place that said it was a "New York-style bar," an irony because most bars left in New York are Irish bars.

     The following day we were headed south, and by the time I woke up we were almost there. "We're about to touch down- I just heard the landing gear," I said. My wife said, "I hope so, because we're on a train." Dublin is going to be fun.

MAKING A SPECTACLE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-23-19)

     There has been a recent development regarding my eyesight which I found quite disturbing: it's getting better. I was very concerned about that, because it goes against a trend that has been occurring ever since I started to get old, which was some time after the 3rd grade, which is that everything else is getting worse. My knees are knotty, my back is balky, my shoulder is shaky and I thought any troubles with my backside were behind me. Even my tennis serve is getting worse, and I'm thinking about taking it in for an MRI. Also, I sometimes feel like I'm losing that thing that helps you remember stuff, I forget what it's called.

     I used to be quite near-sighted. Before I was married, I was seeing a girl when I was in college, at least I thought I was. It turns out I wasn't, and that's when I got glasses. The glasses I wore corrected for near-sightedness and astigmatism, but I had to take them off to read clearly. Bifocals were uncomfortable, because they can't remove the astigmatism correction from the bottom of the lens where I would read from. So I used to wear my glasses cocked to the side up on the bridge of my nose, so I could see below them when I was looking at something close, and see far away if I looked up. This caused people to believe that my face was attached to my head at the wrong angle. When I was talking to someone close up, my glasses were pointing over their right shoulder, and sometimes they would turn around to see what my glasses found so interesting. I was surprised that nobody else wore their glasses like that, but nobody else seemed to be.

     And now people who are near and dear to me are blurrier than people who are far and dear to me. So I went to the eye doctor, but which one should you go to? An optometrist has to go to college, then after four more years of school get a degree in optometry. He or she can test your eyes, check their general health and prescribe glasses. If there's a sty in my eye, you should see my office. Whereas an ophthalmologist goes to medical school, then has an internship, a residency, possibly a fellowship and maybe a friendship. He or she can diagnose and treat medical conditions related to the eyes. Whereas an optician does not test the eyes, but simply fills the eyeglass prescriptions from the optometrist. Whereas an optimist can find the good in me having to have a pair of glasses literally in every room.

     It turns out it's been years since I went to the ophthalmologist. That's because I used to take the eye test at the Department of Motor Vehicles when I renewed my license, and leave it at that. But with the advent of self-driving cars, pretty soon it will be necessary only to be able to see where your car is long enough for you to get in it.

     The ophthalmologist said he hasn't seen me in quite some time and I told him maybe he's the one who needs the glasses. He said something in Chinese even though he's not Chinese and told me to sit down in English. He had a machine blow this hard poof of air right into my eye, which startled me and I almost hit my head on the top of the machine. He says it's to test for glaucoma, but I think it's payback for all the times I blew in my dog's face. I'm not the only one who's done it either, so don't try to make me out as the bad guy. I know you've been doing it too, and if you have, stop blowing in my dog's face. But I AM probably the only one who told my dog that I was checking for glaucoma. She doesn't have it, by the way, I tested yesterday.

     Then he shines this incredibly bright light into my eye, apparently trying to peer into my soul. I told him my mother said I shouldn't look directly into a bright light, and he told me he wasn't my mother. He also said I should see a specialist about my soul.

     He said put on the eye patch and take a look at the chart. He's probably never heard my pirate accent before so I told him a quick pirate joke, which went over like a lead doubloon. He told me to just say the last line, and I thought he meant the last line of the joke, which went over like another lead doubloon. He meant the eye chart, which I could only read if I squinted. It said in really small letters  D  O  N  T  S  Q  U  I  N  T.

      If you're getting new eyeglasses, you have to look through this contraption that has a million lenses attached to it, and try to see the eye chart on the wall. The optometrist flips back and forth between the lenses to narrow it down to the best combination. He says "better or worse" after he flips each lens, and you let him know things are going. It dawned on me that this might not be a bad way to pick the Democratic presidential candidate. Here's Amy Klobuchar, here's Kirsten Gillibrand, better or worse, better, worse? And you say, I can't really tell, maybe the first one? It's true that only your optometrist really loves you for better or worse.

      But I just wanted a contact lens that would let you see close up. My idea was to put it in my left eye and let that one do any reading, and let my right eye see far away, if it wants to. The eye doctor looked at me like it was the dumbest thing he ever heard, but then he gave me the contact lenses and told me it wasn't the dumbest thing he ever heard. So the bottom line is that this technique works okay as a compromise if you don't want to keep looking for your glasses all the time if you're out at a restaurant. Now I just have to try to remember where I put my contact lens instead of my glasses. I finally understand what Francis Scott Key was talking about when he wrote the poem that became the Star Spangled Banner. O say, can you see by the dawn's early light? Not really, and I can't find my glasses, so I'm going back to bed until dawn's later light.

BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-16-19)

      A few days ago I read a story about a dystopian society where everyone was being watched by thousands of cameras, and the government had all these people in a big room where they watched all the video and, using high-speed computers, interpreted all the data so they could identify certain behaviors. The story was in the New York Times, and the name of the place was Ecuador. They bought the system from China, and they justified it to the populace by saying that the it would be a deterrent to crime. Instead, it has been alleged that the system has been used by the government to keep track of political rivals.

     It's just like Big Brother from the novel "1984." But I have to admit, a matrix of cameras sounds like fun. I'm thinking of getting it myself. The deal is, the Chinese buy it for you! They loaned Ecuador the money, and Ecuador is paying it back by giving them oil. If I had known that you could pay back a loan with oil, I would have bought a much bigger house. Old man Jed in the "Beverly Hillbillies" found oil right on his property by shooting at some food. I still have my Dad's Winchester 94 ("The Gun That Won the West," he always used to say), and I might just take it out to the back yard and give it a try. First I'm going to pick off all the mushrooms in the refrigerator as long as I'm shooting at food. I hate mushrooms. If you are food, and you're hiding from people with guns, don't hide behind the Swiss cheese or the doughnuts, a word to the wise.

     If I get my own video system, I want built-in speakers on mine so that I can talk directly to the citizens. "HEY! Why are you standing there blocking the doorway of my train when it's not your stop? Two feet away from you on the other side is the door that DOESN'T open. Why don't you go stand over there? THIS is your fearless leader speaking." It will be much easier to express my opinions. "HEY, yeah YOU! What's with that nose ring that goes from one nostril to the other? You look like a bull I saw in a cartoon once. What happens when you forget you already took it off and then you blow your nose?" Maybe I can test out some new material, tell a joke and check out the reaction: "Why do mice have small balls? Because so few of them dance well! Hahahahaha! THIS is your fearless leader speaking." I like to tell that one to kids right in front of their parents, and watch Mom & Dad get angry with me when it turns out that it's not a dirty joke like they thought it was.

      I'm going to have a lot of fun with my new camera system, but I'm going to need to hire people to sit in the media room and analyze the footage. But what if they're not doing it right? I'll  need to set up some cameras in the media room to keep an eye on them. But what if I'm not keeping an eye on them correctly? I'll need a camera trained on myself at all times to make sure I've got everything covered. I'll be right back, I've got to get into hair and makeup on the double. I heard the camera adds ten pounds.

      I thought when I read this story that it sounded familiar. Where have I heard of something so diabolical as recording a person's every move on camera? Then I remembered: It was my sister. When her first kid was born she had the camcorder out for every single move the kid made. "Was that her first yawn? Let me get the camera! Damn I missed it!" No that wasn't her first one, I was just telling that story again of how I got kicked out of my high school math class for not baking enough cookies. I bet I could coax another one out of her, because I got kicked out of a lot of classes. My sister still reaches for that camera every time something happens- it's a reflex action. "Look! her first divorce! It's adorable! Let me get the camera!" By the way, if you videotape every single waking moment of your kids first five years, won't you need every waking moment of another five years to play it back? That may be the first binge-watch followed by a purge-watch.

     I just realized- I can also use the system to spy on my wife. Do you know what she does when I'm not there? She "tidies up" by throwing away things that I'm "not using." "Honey, where are you going with those empty Amazon boxes? Don't you understand that I'm saving those in case I need to send something back? Yes, I know that they keep sending things in a new box, but you know how it works, they send a toenail clipper in a refrigerator box." "And where are you going with all my paperback books? I was just about to re-read those." She wants to bring everything I own to the Goodwill box, and then we have a fight about it. I ask the people at Goodwill, what's so good about THAT?

      If you go to Ecuador you should be aware that the software is going to have facial recognition capability, which I consider a personal challenge. Because I am the Man of a Thousand Faces. I can make a face that looks like I sucked on a lemon and stubbed my toe at the same time. Or I can make a face that looks like a catcher's mitt from the 1940s, and I can also make a face that looks like an opossum if it just ate a chocolate chip cookie. So stick that in your algorithm and smoke it.

     So far, the most notable conclusion that has been reached since the system has been in use is that Ecuadorians are BOR-ING with a capital B. Dull Ecuadorians make for dull television, and nobody is going to put up with that for too long. So I expect to see a change soon. I expect to see muggers breaking into song, maybe something by the Police, if they have any sense of irony. Ecuadorians are going to be wearing a lot more bikinis and performing a lot more well-choreographed dance numbers. I might travel to Ecuador myself and try to go viral. I can either go viral down there, or stay here and wait until I catch the measles. So if you see a person on the streets of Ecuador tap dancing and reciting Shakespeare, and it looks like they sucked on a lemon and stubbed their toe at the same time, that was me. But I won't know how all this comes out because my wife gave my copy of "1984" to Goodwill.
 

WRITING THE WRONGS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-09-19)

      This month marks the fifth anniversary of the first time I wrote a piece for the Somers Record, and since that time I have written 260 columns, one each week without missing a week. I don't say this to pat myself on the back, but to pat you on yours. Reading supports writing, and writing means much more than itself. It means ideas, it means community, it means communication, it means democracy. My column by itself is so much silliness, I readily admit. But it's part of a forum that keeps an eye on things. And that forum is part of a larger culture of journalism. Real journalism, by people who stick their necks out in many different ways. People who take the time to check facts, verify sources and corroborate research. That's what it takes to make sure that nefarious people don't operate unchecked, no matter how high they rise in business and in government. Journalism is the link from the ranks of humanity to the top of the pyramid, and it's the only thing that can turn a pyramid upside down.

      And that culture thrives because people want to know the truth, they want to know the answers to questions they didn't even know they should ask. It shouldn't be neglected and it shouldn't be taken for granted, because once in a while there's a politician who wants to drive around in a presidency with dark tinted windows- what could they possibly be doing in there? The press makes it their job to find out, they sniff around, and claw at the dirt, and when the facts are laid out clearly and substantively, the difference between fake news and false idols is stark. There might come a time when these institutions may need to be protected and propped up, and I hope that if that time comes people rise to the occasion willingly. We shouldn't expect people to work for free, and anytime you go on an internet site where information is free, it always either has an ulterior sales motive or is a bunch of crap. Remember when you got a free pen at the bank and you put it in your car for emergencies, and then an emergency came up and you tried to write something down with it after you screwed all its parts together, then threw it out the car window?

      A newspaper, or however you get your news, is something you see every day, and over a period of time you decide for yourself if if you trust what comes out of it. If enough people trust it, that source becomes the antidote to knuckleheads who don't get their kids vaccinated, or think that you need an AK-47 to hunt deer, or believe that coal mining jobs are more important than preserving the finite resources of the Earth. It does disappoint me that newspapers and news sources make the decision to support individual political candidates, because I believe that it not only impugns their standard of impartiality but also ties them into broad ideologies embedded in the two-party system that casts impossibly wide nets on either side. I guess I know where to find a grain of salt if I need one.

      Local news has probably been thought of as low priority at times, but people don't live nationally, they live locally. And whatever affects you where you live affects you most. And whatever happens nationally happens locally first. That's where grassroots take root, and I can tell you it certainly isn't underneath my lawn. I'd like to think that I contributed a laugh here and there over the last five years. I hope so, because I deducted the contribution on my taxes. I'd also like to think that I disseminated some information here and there, because that would imply that I once had some information.

      Over the last five years I've attended so many more local functions and events than I would have otherwise, and that has been fun and rewarding. I hope I'll see you at some of them. I'm an extremely private person who publishes every waking moment of his life in the local paper. So I'd like to thank the Somers Record for allowing me to vent about all things, great and small. And to those who read my column, those who even enjoy it, and to those who have reached out to say hello and even meet in person, a sincere thank you. And those who don't read my column, now is the perfect time to gossip about them. I have something juicy, but I can't tell you right now, so call me.