All Entries in the "Featured Peeks" Category

GAELIC SHIPS LAND IN WALES

(Editor’s note: Last night I had a happy dream, as sweet as it could be. I dreamed that then brave Irish men had set old Ireland free).

(1644) A combined force of Irish and Old English Cavaliers remains anchored just off the coast of Wales at Cardigan Bay this morning. As the sun rose thousands of well-armed Irish troops began their cross-country trek toward London.

As expected, Welsh regiments joined the Irish in their attempts to snuff out the abuses of the Roundhead element under Oliver Cromwell. Background: These forces, along with Royalists loyal to English King Charles I, had been embroiled in a bloody civil war since 1642. The year before Gaels in Ireland had arisen in an attempt to drive out the plantation settlers who were given large tracts of land in Ireland in return for loyalty to Elizabeth I. These lands were taken from the native population many of whom now lived an impoverished life in their own country.

     Saying that they’d rather have the Irish than Cromwell or the King, for that matter, the Welsh were relieved to know that the Irish would not stay.

“We do not want England,” said Finn MacCool, a Celtic warrior. “We just want England out of Ireland. They’ve cut down our virgin oak forests and confiscated our farms while forcing the earls of Ulster from their lands. We don’t bloody like them.”

Despite these emotions the Irish promised not to harm the English peasantry, who they say are pawns in the evil master plan to subjugate the world.

“We’d just like to teach them to read and about all the cultures of these islands,” said Hugh O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone. “It is through this kind of understanding that we can avoid future conflicts and live side by side in peace. Ignorance is the enemy of all men. How do you think these Puritans rose to power in the first place?”

Many English cheered as Druids priests condemned the practice of witch burning and the harsh philosophies of the Puritans.

“These barbarians must be stopped,” said Brian Boru, victor of Clontarf. “There will be no peace with these religious zealots under arms.”

The Irish high command in Kinsale has offered amnesty to any Puritan soldier who surrenders. Those who do not will face the sword or a life of slavery in the Caribbean. Although both the French and Spanish governments had pledged assistance in the punitive action against Cromwell the Irish declined the offer.

“We ourselves can handle the situation,” said O’Neill.

– Finbar O’Haille  

 

 

My Grandma’s Irish Stew

 

Actually this recipe comes from my great grandmother, Mary O’Brien, who moved to New York from County Tipperary in 1858.

*Fry equal portions of lamb and beef in flour and oil (About one pound of each)

*Add eight medium size potatoes and a dozen carrots.

*Add three stalks of celery, 1/2 an onion and two small cloves of garlic.

*Put ingredients in caste iron cook pot, cover and simmer for twenty minutes.

*Salt and pepper to taste

*Add two fifths of Paddy’s Irish whiskey

*Simmer for 45 minutes. Serve with soda bread and pilsner of Guinness.

If any portion of the above ingredients seems too extreme feel free to cut back on the suggested amounts. For instance: Maybe there are too many carrots for some tastes.

– Kevin Haley

 

DISNEY EYES COMMUNIST THEME PARK IN CUBA

(Havana UPS) Unconfirmed sources within the Disney corporate network have announced plans to pursue the rights to the construction of a Communist Theme Park here in Old Havana. Alluding to the fact that Cuba is the sole heir to the Marxist ideology, Disney wants to document that period in history with frightening roller coaster rides, sub-tropical sweetmeats and tumultuous economic amusements aimed at recording the ongoing social experiment.

Despite the large campaign contributions from Cuban dissidents in Miami, world opinion will dictate changes on the island. Politicians in the Estados will soon be forced terminate the bully approach and make peace with Cuba,” said Mickey Duck, vice president of pasteurized cruise lines for Disney. “and when they do our systems will already be in place, insuring visitors from the north that they can set foot on Cuban soil without really having to deal with any Cubans. Our hermetically sealed vacations are the stuff of which legends are made,” he said. “Dirt is out and the sterility is in.”

At present, however, negotiations are at a standstill. The Cuban government wants portraits of fatigued Fidel Castro and the late Che Guevara displayed all about the park while the Disney people are holding firm on trademarks, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck. and Goofy (coincidentally the logo of the U.S. Department of Cuban Affairs since Castro came to power). In this clash of ideologies insiders confirm that money will win out over revolution.

The Nortes are so sure of the outcome that they have already sunk millions of dollars in the planning stages. The structure of the proposed park is expected to follow the Disney blueprint with segmented attractions following distinct themes. Most of the rides in the exhilarating, yet squeaky clean, Caribe Village will be built with parts from Fifties era autos that currently line Havana’s streets and back alleys. Attractions like the Joe Stalin Mustache Ride and the Batista Whirl are sure to be favorites.

A dazzling, antiseptic Third World Night life park, offering safe, diluted 3.2 rum drinks and politically incorrect hand-rolled Monte Cristo cigars at inflated prices, will rock until at least dark. Although clean jean Disney stockholders, uncomfortable out of their Puritan comfort zone have began squirming at the thought of vices within the confines of the park, they are expected to bow to lucrative fiscal projections (profits). This sector will be built next to the loud, brightly colored Habanaland, which celebrates the golden age of Cuban music and dance despite the almost forty-year economic embargo.

Sugar Cane Denial Land, chronicles CIA efforts to sabotage desperate Cuban attempts to harvest its major crop in the Sixties. (It was legitimate. The god-less commies were sending sugar to Russia). A proposed haunted house complete with snarling Communist bogeymen is sure to be a hit. The Latin American version of Frontierland will substitute Bay of Pig exiles for warpaint  Indians and Russian missiles for coonskin caps according to Disney spokespersons.

Finally, in what is perhaps the most demanding challenge to date, Disney will wade into the surf with Cuban Flotillaland (rhymes with tortillaland) with 24-hour ferries from the island nation to the Florida Keys. This theme will be carried over like a video game only involving real Cuban gunboats, desperate economic refugees and the vigilant U.S. Coastguard.

Virgin charter flights are already being arranged from Canada, Nassau and Mexico.

– Richard “Santiago” Ricardo

DISNEY LOS OJOS COMUNISTA PARQUE TEMÁTICO EN CUBA

(La Habana UPS) fuentes no confirmadas dentro de la red corporativa de Disney han anunciado planes para perseguir a los derechos a la construcción de un parque temático Comunista en La Habana Vieja. En alusión al hecho de que Cuba es el único heredero de la ideología marxista, Disney quiere documentar ese período de la historia con aterradoras paseos en montaña rusa, dulces sub-tropicales y diversiones tumultuosas económicas destinadas a la grabación del experimento social en curso.

A pesar de las grandes contribuciones de campaña de los disidentes cubanos en Miami, la opinión mundial se dictan los cambios en la isla. Los políticos en los ESTADOS pronto se verá obligado por terminado el enfoque matón y hacer la paz con Cuba “, dijo Mickey Pato, vicepresidente de líneas de cruceros de Disney pasteurizados.” Y cuando lo hacen nuestros sistemas ya estará en su lugar, asegurándose de visitantes del norte que puedan poner un pie en suelo cubano sin realmente tener que hacer frente a ningún cubano. Nuestros destinos están sellados herméticamente el material del que están hechas las leyendas “, dijo.” Dirt está fuera y la esterilidad está adentro ”

En la actualidad, sin embargo, las negociaciones están en un punto muerto. El gobierno cubano quiere retratos de fatiga Fidel Castro y el Che Guevara tarde aparece todo sobre el parque, mientras que la gente de Disney se mantiene firme en materia de marcas, Mickey Mouse, el Pato Donald. y Goofy (casualmente el logotipo de los EE.UU. Departamento de Asuntos Cubanos desde que Castro llegó al poder). En este choque de ideologías insiders confirmar que el dinero va a ganar a lo largo de la revolución.

Los Nortes están tan seguros de los resultados que ya se han hundido a millones de dólares en las etapas de planificación. La estructura del parque propuesto se espera que siga el modelo de atracciones Disney segmentados siguientes temas distintos. La mayoría de los paseos en el estimulante, sin embargo, absolutamente limpio, Pueblo Caribe será construido con piezas de autos Fifties época que actualmente callejones línea calles de La Habana y espalda. Lugares de interés como el Paseo del bigote de Joe Stalin y el Whirl Batista están seguros de ser favoritos.

Una deslumbrante, antiséptico Noche Tercer Mundo parque de animales, ofreciendo seguros y diluidas 3,2 bebidas de ron y políticamente incorrectos cigarros enrollados a mano Monte Cristo a precios inflados, harán temblar hasta al menos oscuro. Aunque estaba limpia jean accionistas de Disney, fuera incómodo de su zona de confort puritano han comenzado retorciéndose en el pensamiento de los vicios dentro de los límites del parque, que se espera que inclinarse ante lucrativos proyecciones fiscales (beneficios). Este sector se construirá junto a la Habanaland fuerte, de colores brillantes, que celebra la edad de oro de la música cubana y el baile a pesar del embargo de casi cuarenta años de economía.

Caña de Azúcar Negación Land, crónicas esfuerzos de la CIA para sabotear los intentos desesperados cubanos para cosechar su cultivo importante en los años sesenta. (Era legítimo. Las comunistas sin Dios estaban enviando azúcar a Rusia). Una casa embrujada propuesta completa con gruñidos cocos comunistas es seguro que será un éxito. La versión latinoamericana de Frontierland sustituirá a la Bahía de los exiliados de cerdo para los indios pinturas de guerra y misiles rusos tapas mapache de acuerdo con voceros de Disney.

Por último, en lo que es quizás el reto más exigente hasta la fecha, Disney meterse en las olas con el cubano Flotillaland (rima con tortillaland) con 24 horas de ferries de la isla hasta los Cayos de Florida. Este tema se acumularán como un videojuego para incluir únicamente los verdaderos cañoneros cubanos, desesperados refugiados económicos y el vigilante Guardacostas EE.UU..

Virgin vuelos chárter ya están siendo organizados de Canadá, Nassau y México.

– Richard “Santiago” Ricardo

FUTBAL, MATE’ Y TANGO

Arriving in Buenos Aires, burned-out after 14 hours at the mercy of the airlines, it would only follow that the first cabby I meet would be an enthusiastic and accomplished conversationalist, chatty but likable.

“You live in Western Colorado, heh? Do you know any Apaches?” he asked.

“Not too many,” I answered. “I’m bigger with the Utes and Navajo.”

“I like Apaches better. I like their war paint,” he said while he jutted in and out of traffic pointing out landmarks and beautiful women.

“What do you do for work?” he asked.

“I write,” I answered keeping it simple.

“How many books have you written?” he pursued, narrowly dodging an merging horse and wagon.

“Well…none up till now,” I said sheepishly.

At that point he took his eyes off the road for a moment and just looked at me like I had just arrived from Mars.

“A bad writer,” I continued.

He laughed and said he thought not.

Bario San Telmo and Chacabuco Street appeared as a Madonna song blasted on the radio. She once played Eva Peron in “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”. Many of the people here are still in shock. Some are still offended. I wonder if they’ll ever forgive our indiscretions.

“Here is your bohemian paradise,” continued the cab driver. “Be careful of the local grappa, dog poop on the street and inexperienced taxi drivers from the provinces who don’t know their way around the city.”

After meeting my gracious hosts Andrea and Damien proprietors of Mi Casa en San Telmo, I go out for a walk. It’s been a year since I relied on my Spanish and searching for a bakery I got a little confused and mistakenly asked a passerby (in perfect Spanish, mind you) “May I borrow your toothbrush?” He stared and walked on. It will get better when I get some sleep.

Quickly noticing that the space between a raging collectivo bus and the sidewalk is proportionally the same as the space between my ears I tread carefully and begin digesting what I can of this lovely city of 13.5 million European souls.

At one point I give a cigar to a man who said he was running late for a doctor’s appointment. In a garage/concert hall an orchestra plays Glen Miller’s In the Mood. Down on Piedras I discover a charming tavern and buying a copy of La Nation, sit down for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Says here under obituaries that one Javier Marcue, of a well-to-do Palermo family is getting buried today. According to the report Marcue stepped off the curb without looking and was “run over by a cement truck on its way to Bario Barracas, leaving only bits of hair and part of his left ear on the pavement.” According to companions, now in mourning, his last words were: “Let’s just see if any of these wild portenos will stop for me while I’m straddling the crosswalk.”

Well written, albeit morbid, story. Here’s a piece on the Boca Juniors, the mega-popular football team from Boca that plays before some 85,000 rapid Argentine fans every Sunday. Here are some listings for dinner and tango lessons and expensive package trips to Punta del Este for Easter. I realize I don’t have the right shoes for such extravagant outings and turn the page.

Returning to my pension and a short siesta an evening at the theater emerges. Since it’s Tuesday night only about 30 of the city’s 50 productions are on. Should I see The Charge of the Camarones Ajo or settle for a twin bill of Rosita de La Plata followed by  M’ Hijo el Doctor? Maybe they’ll all feature a cameo or two by Pepino, the traditional character that made his way over here from Southern Italy in 1890.

Later, back at Mi Casa the first chivitos come off the grill at about midnight and the guests and innkeepers eat and talk till all hours. To the proud residents of this splendid city it is clear that Buenos Aires is the center of all civilization, indeed…the entire Universe. Anyone who cannot see this is written off, politely with a frown, as a poor, ignorant barbarian.

I fall asleep remembering a conversation about gauchos who, add sugar to their mate’ thermos water when no one is looking, so as not to surrender their machismo in the face of mere mortals.

***

Crossing the river in the early evening the ferry pulls up at the lovely town of Colonia, Uruguay. What a great place to write dirty poems and meaningless dialogue in cafes and watch the procession of the Southern Cross. Taking to the side streets I find that everything looks about normal –  kids at cyber cafes, beautiful grandmas and grandpas who look like they’ve lived here for 200 years, motorcycles for rent, big dogs kickin’ little dogs’ arses. Tethered horses watching.

I find a wobbly table and sit down to a meal of corvina, tomatoes, olives and beer. All the tables here are wobbly since it was against the law to have balanced tables during the U.S. supported dictatorship. Back during those dark years of the late Seventies and early Eighties the government here, as well as in Argentina, went about murdering countless innocent citizens accused of harboring leftist ideologies. The whole shooting match was sponsored by the protectors of democracy over at the CIA. I met one sweet lady whose mother spent 8 years in prison, not because she was a felon but rather because she was a Social Democrat. Everybody knows commies don’t mix with nice furniture, especially stable tables.

In Colonia, which was originally a haven for Portuguese smugglers and now is a UNESCO world heritage site, my hotel is in an agreeable neighborhood lined with Sycamore trees. Checking in to the Hostal de los Poetas am taken by the proprietor, Beatrice, an olive-skinned, dark-eyed beauty who gives me my room keys with a large, noisy bell on the end.

“Do you think I am a cat?” I ask her in Spanish. “Are you afraid I will prowl for birds?”

She laughs and says I look dangerous.

“Do you speak English?” she asks in Spanish.

“Not very well,” I answer.

“But you are a Norte,” she jousts.

“But not one of the brighter ones,” I respond.

“But one of the more handsome ones,” she smiles a pretty lie.

He: “Will you have a glass of wine with me.”

She: “Maybe, but I must work until nine.”

He: “The length of a lifetime for me.”

She: “Are you asking me for a date?”

He: “My Spanish is worse than my English.

She: “I accept.”

He: “Dios mio…I am a happy man.”

She: Meet my outside at nine.

He: You betcha!

She: You betcha?

He: I would walk through fire to meet you at nine.

She: And hungry alligators?

He: And hungry alligators.

Bella. Lovely people these Uruguayans, so gloriously human, so civilized. An accomplished musician, my companion filled me in on her country’s music scene. Jorge Drexler, Jamie Roos, Ruben Rada and the Argentinean great Teresa Parodi are her favorites. Overhearing our conversation the waiter suggested we might like to hear his favorite tango by Carlos Gardel. He would play it just as soon as he runs off some local ragamuffins attempting to charm a few pesos from his assembled diners.

After three days taking pictures, hitting tennis balls and sampling wine in Colonia I bought a bus ticket for Montevideo. But what have I learned?

First, like a desperate little man selling ice in the noonday sun, Colonia’s mellow days may be numbered. Already on the horizon are golf courses and trays of little sandwiches for the rich. They’re even talking about building a suspension bridge from Argentina.

Secondly, in my own defense, I have learned the proper response to “What do you do for work?” Now, when asked, I tell my grand inquisitor that I work in the security sector as a traveling fly killer for a chain of Nicaraguan truck stops and that we are considering an expansion into Uruguay and Brazil. That direct, if lengthy, response always sets them back for a while. If it fails to do the trick I simply tell them I’m Willie Nelson and they are far too polite to ask “Who’s he?”

***

When bad vegetarians die and go to hell they make a stopover in Montevideo. The city is teeming with meat. Parillas, pizza parlors and cafes featuring  steaks, ribs, Milanesas, chorizos, and empanadas of every kind are everywhere. Besides this carnivorous fare one can enjoy paella, lots of fish and mariscos till the cows come home. The breads are exceptional, the tomatoes delicious and the ice cream is arguably the best in the world. This is the spot for the best dulce de leche and the fruits and vegetables are seducing the senses on every corner.

One early morning I could swear I saw the words mas comidas? scratched subliminally across the bright amethyst sky.

After the bustle of Buenos Aires, Montevideo is a small town of 1.5 million…kind of like the Gypsy Kings on Tulsa Time. Nothing (much) opens until 10 am and, after a serious afternoon siesta, reopens until about eleven. I wander down Avenida 18 de Julio, the main artery, I am all but trampled by a ragged, aging woman set on retrieving an aluminum can from the sidewalk. After she grabs the can she looks up and says, “Where are you from?”

I answer “Los Estados Unidos” and she stares. “Do you live near Graceland?”

“No. I live in Colorado.”

“Is that near Graceland?”

No, senora, it’s in the mountains. Graceland is in Tennessee.”

“Is your house near Graceland?”

“No ma’am. That’s a long way away…

“I want to go to Graceland,” she says and scurries away searching for more recyclables.

“Hell, maybe I do live near Graceland,” I say to myself.

My appetite encouraged by the stirring exchange, I sit myself down at an outdoor cafe near Plaza Independencia and order a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. A little girl stops at my table selling air fresheners.

“Le gusta strawberry, limon or tuti-fruiti?” she smiles.

“I choose the strawberry,” I say as the waiter approaches to take my order. I’ve always wanted my very own cassette of Uruguayan air freshener and now I have one. She takes the pesos, smiles again, and is off to hustle a tiny little grandmother sitting under her umbrella reading a copy of El Pais, the headline announcing James Brown’s (Senor Dinamito himself!) concert over the weekend. Commerce completed, I order a light lunch of calamari, salmon, tomatoes, roasted eggplant, bread and more wine.

When I’m done I walk at least a mile to Cuidad Vieja, El Mercado del Puerto and El Pero Que Fuma Bar, down on the riverfront. Why are all the good taverns always in the bad neighborhoods? Here at The Dog That Smokes there are more people behind the bar than in front of it and two Eastern European sailors are engaged in a heated video game much to the displeasure of the other customers.

“Buenas tardes…Como lo acaba?” (How’s it running?) asked a man from one of the tables. He proceeds to sit down at the bar and give me a running history of The Dog That Smokes, Murga music, futbal, women, world politics, gauchos, the city of Montevideo, the skies and the outer atmosphere. He’s a retired sailor who has been all over the world. I tell him I only understand parts of what he is saying. He smiles, raises his arms and his eyebrows in a questioning gesture and rattles on.

“Did you hear that the Pope has died?” he asks. Before I can answer he jokes that mathematically it is more likely for a Pope to die while I’m in town than for it to snow. Then he reminds me that it is proper etiquette to flirt with every woman I meet whether she is eight or eighty. “If you are a gentleman”…he adds.

Meanwhile over in Bario Nuevo Paris another toothless dog barks menacingly protecting a dirt street from dust, or perhaps another dog. Horse carts clop down the street. My friends are preparing for a Sunday asado where we will make music all afternoon long and into the evening. The best people in the world live in Nuevo Paris. I check my sport coat and flip-flops and prepare to throw the fat onto the fire, as they say.

***

Me gusto algunos ruidos:

El ruido de ninos

El ruido de amantes

El ruido de mi companero viajero

la luna del oro

cuando ella es llena.

 

To a practicing pagan it seemed fitting to spend Semana Santa at Punta del Diablo. “Hola!” said a young boy as I departed the bus, grabbing for my backpack. “Welcome to my town.” The young man named Hector helped me find a cabin and when I offered to pay him for his trouble he refused the money saying his mother would not be happy if he hustled tourists. His little sister was selling shells so I bought three instead.

There are no few Nortes here. You’re on your own. No past baggage leftover from five-star heroes or cruise boat power shoppers. And the beaches remind one of the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Waves crashing on ancient boulders and novice sand. Sun bathers returning to their hammocks looking like swollen marshmallows thrown into hot oil. Hippie stalls selling everything from leather bracelets to linguini noodles.

The cabin next to mine has a sign on the door that says “therapy”. The other neighbors are two charming ladies who drink all my beer but cook me corn omelets for breakfast. Tonight it’s samba and tomorrow futbal: Uruguay vs Brazil.

I wake up on my last morning here to the sound of thunder and the crash of lightning. Soon I discover that all the neighborhood cats and dogs are hiding from the storm in my cabin, some under the bed, others in the bathroom. One cat is on my lap trembling every time the thunder rolls. She looks at me with that pathetic what’s for lunch? expression. Maybe I should shut the door or maybe not. I’ll make that decision by early afternoon or evening.

– Kevin Haley  

 

Leftover Holiday Perfumes Shipped to China

(New Jork) Bottles and bottles of perfume are bound for China as part of a Franco-American trade deficit sanction aimed at warming over recently chilled U.S.-Sino relations. The perfume, unsold in Europe and the United States during the hyped up holiday romance campaigns, has an eternal shelf life and most industry sources feel its time to upload the stuff.

Officials in the United States, the country seen as the biggest beneficiary of the arrangement told reporters that “without the French we could never pull this off.” The Socialist government in Paris had little comment but implied that the move would dispel fears that the French had become a pawn of Peking.

The aromatic cargo is expected to arrive in Shanghai sometime in February in time for Valentine’s Day, which is only beginning to be celebrated on the mainland. The average Chinese worker has not been able to afford this olfactory luxury up until now but the discount prices have changed all of that. Government sources say that 90% of the scent is already sold.

“They believe that the perfume has aphrodisiac properties and, like rhino horn and grasshopper spittle encourages virility in males and females,” smiled Arlo Wangzee, importer of the smelly liquid in pretty bottles. Maybe we have found something here,” he continued. “We can produce gallons of perfume for very little and then sell it to the Chinese at a tremendous profit.”

Wangzee added that if the Chinese become addicted to perfume strains (see Opium Wars) the deficit could come down in a big hurry. He warned of a violent reaction on the part of the new customers if they feel they are being duped (see Boxer Rebellion).

The FRench and U.S. ships carrying the perfume are expected to stopover in Hawaii where bottles will be passed out to locals and then pause for rest and relaxation in Guam where it is hoped that the perfume samples will ease the tedious boredom on the island.

“We need to get a leg up on all this trade nonsense before China owns the Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate Bridge too,” stressed Wangzee, himself a second-generation American from Nanking.

The beauty of perfume as a balanced commodity is that it does not harvest endangered species to create sexual enhancement products. The scents are nothing new and perfume can be made easily and cheaply in large or small quantities.

Madison Avenue, the White House, Fox News and an assortment of chambers of commerce are taking credit for this breakthrough in trade relations with the Asian giant.

“What’s wrong with a woman from Hunan smelling nice?” asked Wangzee.

– Gabby Haze