All Entries in the "Hard News" Category

THREE FROM THE OULD SOD

 

An Evening at the Harcourt

When we hit Dublin it was still raining from the year before. The pastel gray Liffey blended with the faded gray alleyways peppered with foggy people in wrinkled long coats and proficiently ducked heads. Umbrellas were on every street corner. No frowns on crowded O’Connell Street. Hard to tell what evil lurks behind the walls of nearby Dublin Castle, for centuries a symbol of British control.

“The weather here has only been like this since about 300 AD said Richard Kelly, the same man who at the Harcourt bar assured us that the Dublin City Ramblers would perform at nine, ten o’clock at the very latest.

“It’s a week night and the people of Dublin have to work in the morning,” he smiled, embracing a Paddy’s. “Besides, by Irish law the pubs must shut their doors and half past ten.”

We had only arrived that afternoon, after a groggy trip from Denver. The only thing less appetizing than airline food is airline sleep.

“What do you mean you don’t have Cork Gin? What kind of airline is this anyway?”

The taxi ride to Tavistock in Ranelagh was an eye opener as our driver, Brian, covered 2500 years in about 15 kilometers.

“That’s the General Post Office and the Ha’Penny Bridge. There is Steven’s Green and Trinity College, and over there is the eternal flame to the famine victims.”

Everywhere people hurried about, a Saxon city, a Viking city, a Norman city, the Pale…now back in the hands of the ancestors of Repeal, forced emigration, landlordism. The survivors of a terrible potato famine, slow murder by unofficial Parliamentary decree. A place on the landscape.

But we were here to drink pints of Guinness, not dwell on the pains of my ancestors. (“No, I’m not here to find my roots…I’m here to find a good seafood restaurant.”) We stepped into a three-story pub off Parnell Road. We had been coached by the wise…the Dooleys, the Walshes, the Sullivans, the Healys.

“When you’re in Ireland and you’re thirsty, step up to the barman and simply ask for a pint,” they had told us. “You don’t need to say a pint of what. They will know what you’re after, and they will appreciate your knowledge of local custom.

We stood at the bar and were greeted by a red-headed colleen who could have been the Young Ireland poster girl.

“What’ll ya have?” she asked.

“Two pints,” I answered as Tuatha De’ Danainn might have done.

“Of what? was her curt response. It turned out she was an American student, unfamiliar with drinking manners and, as it turned out, much of the noted social curriculum at all.

“Did ye rent the hair too?” Slight disappointment overcome with the arrival of the dark stout. Where is The Gingerman, Sebastian Dangerfield, when we need him?

“Maybe a nap would put us in league with Dublin’s lovely night life,” someone suggested.

By now it was approaching seven and already dark on the shores of the Irish Sea. Strolling with the flow along Grafton we came upon the Harcourt and a sign in the window: “Tonight: The Dublin City Ramblers.

What good fortune. These people put on one hell of a show. I saw them in Boston some years back. What a fitting arrival to Dublin’s fair city.

We walked into the bar and were greeted by soccer on the big screen, (they call the game soccer here so as not to be confused with Irish football, hurling, rugby, or even horse racing, which, along with swilling the Product, makes up the recreational side of this culture.) The pub was full of men in suits who forgot to come home from work that evening. My beautiful companion began receiving offers of marriage right there at the bar.

“I don’t usually do this but in your case I will have to make an exception…”

Then the first of many pints arrived at my thirsty elbow. I acknowledged the gift, raising my glass in the direction of my benefactors.

“My name is Richard,” said the big man to my right, “and this is my mate, Tommy.”

We exchanged the basics, marinated in room temperature Guinness. The duo, with their British accents assured us that the band would begin any moment now. It was 8:30 and the pubs had to close and all.

As it turns out Richard and Tommy were in the British Army together during the 1970 Troubles in Ulster. Both were the off-spring of Irish parents who fled the starvation economics of their own country for better conditions abroad, in this case Liverpool. When the two were old enough the army looked to be the best prospect and they joined. Both volunteered for duty in Derry, a decision that continued to haunt them. Now both lived in Dublin.

“It all makes little sense,” I offered, “to hear you scream Some Say the Devil is Dead with a cockney accent.

As a gentlemen in Rosscarbery would later explain it: “Layers, laddie, layers.”

This cruel Anglo-Irish whirlwind of love and hate.

Finally the band arrived on the stage and played till about 2 am punctuating their rowdy performance with the Irish National Anthem. A Nation Once Again. The two of us got lost by the Grand Canal, going home. It was still raining.

 

Small Paradise at Castlefreke

The two Americans arrived in idyllic Rosscarbery, once home of patriots O’Donovan Rossa and Michael Collins (born in Clonakilty), after spending the five o’clock hour negotiating the under-construction sidewalks of Cork City. And we never left the car.

West Cork: The beach at Owenahincha. Templebryan, Longstrand, yet another Murphy’s Pub. The castle near Gally Head that Maureen O’Shea neglected to say was there when she sent us out for firewood to go with our processed peat bricks and lamb chops.

“Oh, I’d forgotten. We’ve so many castles and you’re from the States. Sorry, but castles are easier to find than kindling. They’re everywhere! Ignore the trespassing signs. If you’re confronted play dumb. Nobody really cares either way. Yes, I’ll have a wee nip of your Tyrconnell while we negotiate the tariff.”

The Irish forest, tromping through an 11th Century relic of rock and moss, a monster overlooking an expanse of more green and green on top of that. We’ll stay in Rosscarbery a few days, maybe forever.

It was on one of those accompanying nights that we met Timothy Fry, anchored in the doorway of what had been his bachelor abode for the past 65 years. A fine gentleman but a little too responsive to my lovely companion. With a tolerating glance in my direction he suggested Murphy’s at ten “and don’t be late if you’ll be wanting a seat!”

In the Rockies social hour hovers around dusk. Here it doesn’t start until later in the evening. We arrived and saw Mr. Fry seated in a booth. He waved us over. He was a farmer. He awoke every day at five and worked the fields until dark. Then he took his supper and a nap.

“That’s the way to beat the odds,” he smiled. “Then I walk down to Murphy’s for a pint or two before bed. It makes me sleep well.”

We sat in Murphy’s and watched the crowd grow larger, every cap and cane trying to out-animate the other. Pint upon pint, laughter and music. Then I made my first mistake.

When traveling in Ireland one must realize that one is among experts in the field of sacred bedevilment. At a tittered coming of age every Irishman worth his pipe spends at least 80% of his waking hours engaged in the holy obligation of aggravating his mates. It really doesn’t matter what else is accomplished. The art of getting another’s goat falls somewhere between nettled malarkey and playful wrath. It is rampant and I would fall victim to the razor-sharp wit time and again until, hammered mercilessly, I learned to keep quiet.

The fool’s errand: “So, Mr. Fry,” I said scanning my non-existent time piece in charade, “It’s almost midnight. Don’t you think it’s time you got to bed?”

He banged his cane down hard on the bar and a frightened silence invaded the room like muted Viking raiders securing a sneaky beachhead.

“Let me get this straight, lad…” he began, “I’ve been in town for 79 years and you’ve been in town for three days, and you’re setting me bedtime!”

The stares and the shaking heads. Don’t these Yanks have any manners?

Quick thinking on the starboard side.

“I’d like the buy Mr. Fry another pint, please,” I mumbled, embarrassed in the direction of the waiting barman. Then everyone smiled and went back to their chatter. Good craic, all right, for a week night.

Mr. Fry mustered a hopeless frown and rolled his eyes as he dove into the foam and turned to my companion, “And now lass, as I was sayin’…”

 

Blasket John and a lesson in stouts

It had just stopped raining in Dingle. Dick Mack’s Pub looked like the place to be. The tiny bar was maxed with Friday afternoon’s finest, all, of course, talking at once. A mixture of Gaelic and English, sifted through the wit of a Kerryman. Across the room stood Blasket John, as a youth a bare knuckles boxer in London, now a mildly contented 65-year-old grandpa “with all of me children living between here and Ballyferriter”.

Next to him swayed Ian, the half-asleep bachelor from Inishtooskert, who was reputedly “afraid of women”. John had grown up hard as the eldest of seven kids on an impoverished Great Blasket Island, a region that was finally abandoned due to played out fishing in 1954. At 15 he had journeyed to London to fight and send money home. He spent almost five years there, lonely, missing Ireland, the Gaeltacht.

One look at his well developed biceps told us this was no story. He had fought men ten years his senior and held his own. He had no love lost for the British, or the Germans for that matter.

Then, during a rare visit home to see his aging parents he met Mary Brennan and “that was that”. He never went back to England. They acquired a small farm and “did all right considerin'”. Six children came along and later 14 grandchildren.

“And they all live on this very peninsula,” he cracked. “I thought I had lost my family in those flea bag hotels of South London. Sometimes one has to have faith, one just has to hold out a little longer.”

He bought a round. I ordered a Murphy’s and to my surprise got a lecture:

“No laddie, you don’t drink Murphy’s up here, only in Cork. The stuff’s not fresh here. You drink Guinness here,” he pressed, engaged in a serious point of order.

I thanked him for the advice and later when it came for my round I bought Guinness for all four of us. He smiled approvingly. Slainte!  Some more bragging about his grandchildren, a wake-up nudge toward his sleeping friend and on to tell us about turf cutting near Lispole and turnip snagging at Inch Strand.

The next afternoon, which greatly resembled Colorado in blue sky and sunshine, we spent at Ceann Sleibhe, Slea Head, one of the most beautiful places on earth, on the recommendation of Blasket John.

– Kevin Haley

 

 

Cosmo’s Stellar Astrograph

The following star chart, as accurate as any other silly horoscope that one may encounter, is meant only as worthless entertainment and not an astral guide. If our frank, candid appraisal of your future is bitter or seemingly insensitive consider for a moment that this is February and we are desperately attempting to get our many houses in order for spring cleaning. We will attempt to be kinder, far more compassionate soothsayers after the passing of what we used to call mud season.

 

CANCER (June 21 – July 22)

Stop collecting aluminum cans. There are souls to be saved before the dawn. Only 49% of aluminum is actual aluminum while souls are lighter and easier to store. Exposure to the mundane will make your own life seem more eventful. Use your imagination as a door stop. Go to sleep early tonight so as to avoid insomnia. Nipping at the heels of the mainstream may result in you being left toothless for the next wave of barbarians. Avoid general assimilation especially if you are not familiar with its long range affects. Tonight: Spend time under water.

 

LEO (July 23 – August 22)

Watermelon dawns could bring on exotic afternoons and seedy evenings. Encourage humidity. Practice squinting. The dog has run off with the town cat, the litter box is full of junk mail and your pet hamsters are in open revolt. Take them all to the pound. Recycle personal debts. If you can’t be seaside at least spend quality time at the fish market. Examine the practical applications of physics in your romantic life. Isn’t it time you memorize your multiplication tables, and that says nothing of the chairs.

 

VIRGO (August 23 – September 22)

Open your mind but keep a fine screen in place over such apertures. Choose your vices carefully and lead by dangling limited charms. Let life evolve, not dissolve. Let a pile be your umbrella. People will buy you rounds of drinks in the morning. It’s during the mid-afternoon lull that you must embrace reality. Switch to oleo in early morning solitude. Barbara Streisand will phone you in reference to your latest postings on kosher gargling techniques.

 

LIBRA (September 23 – October 22)

While canned foods appear to be your salvation it is the perishables that will prove clear headed at moments of rapaciousness. Look through the mirror and all that makeup will seem inappropriate. Are there really suburbs in outer space? Who will step forward and compensate the eager innkeeper for these last barrages of intoxicants. It is not I, your less than noble kinsman, Basanio. Eleventh hour heroes are ineffective in conflicts surrounding the dinner table. An army travels on its stomach. Breathing through one’s naval could net a dandy commission in the height of battle.

 

SCORPIO (October 23 – November 21)

Squirrels are your equals, your colleagues, your peers.   Do not go near the barber until he’s had a shot or two. That razor-sharp wit of yours could be cut down to size in the padded, swirling furniture of personal hygiene. Recognize challenges and flee. You will attend a loud breakfast meeting followed by an annoying journey through lands so flat even your horizons are looking good. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. It was hair balls. Do your part to pollute the planet. Tonight: A chainsaw speaks louder than words.

 

SAGITTARIUS (November 22 – December 21)

Wander only the best sections of town. If you are looking for Lady Luck and/or Mr. Gumbo skim over the RV parks. Take long breaks during labors of the mind and short ones during labors of the flesh. Every six minutes is a good rule of thumb. Stress is harmless just as long as it is someone else experiencing the trauma. If you are a vegetarian EAT THIS PAPER! You’re in cattle country, pard. Shine your shoes. A picky Venus enters your third dimension. During this new cycle of love and intimacy be sure that someone volunteers to take out the garbage. Succumb to the pleasures of true adventure while the blinking light reads “Walk”.

 

CAPRICORN (December 22 – January 19)

Sure, that last charge was ineffective but I think the Visigoths are growing tired. There is less responsibility in being the mouse than there is in being the cat. Don’t even worry about being the dog. It’s always better to be eaten alive than to be saved as bait for some future debauchery. Quit complaining: Imagine what it’s like for your bathroom in the morning. Hope reigns eternal. It’s faith that keeps taking all the direct hits. Penetrating conflicts will emerge as rivers of milk and honey but only if you compile a legible  grocery list.

 

AQUARIUS (January 20 – February 18)

Innuendo is only innuendo unless it’s in the key of G. Take heart. Broken promises are not refundable. That would bring the system of checks and balances to its knobby knees. Go to the beach and stay there until the surf improves. Tardiness is always inexcusable if you intend to go home early. The gas that was once liquid in your tank is now no more than a fume somewhere. Learn from the simulated experience. If a wizard gives away all of his advice will he still be a wizard? Tonight: Pep talk to house plants.

 

PISCES (February 19 – March 20)

Is laying rubber on asphalt the best way to leave your mark on society? Signal before turning that ship of fools. A parrot kept in a cage since birth rarely knows that August follows July but his meals are generally delivered on time. Ponder the possibility of night life on other planets. Life is not twist-off! If you find it difficult to get out of bed every morning imagine how hard it would be if you didn’t go there in the first place. When engaging in simple gardening try to employ the mind over mater concept.

 

ARIES (March 21 – April 19)

Know that your heart strings are being manipulated by the moons of Jupiter, your spleen by the chariots of Mercury and your liver by that dusty glass bottle of Old Charter. Adjust wings for high altitude. Your brain remains at flood stage and the hardware store is out of sand bags. Embrace the eclectic fan. In a fist fight lead with your face. It’s not that you are tortoise slow it’s just that your shell has lapped you going into the stretch. Be careful not to spill white noise onto your aura. You’ll never get the stain out.

 

TAURUS (April 20 – May 20)

Time spent waiting for the toilet tank to fill could be used more effectively. How many trees does it take to create a roll of discount toilet paper? Let your mind go and your body will surely follow. Isolate weak spots located between your shoulders. Hitting a home run on the first date could jeopardize away game status and result in an unwanted home stand.  Watch out for roundhouse curves and keep your infield fly zipped so as not to be accused of grandstanding. Stealing right field, while quite an accomplishment to some, will never make it into the box scores.

 

GEMINI (May 21 – June 20)

There’s just not room in this horoscope for the both of you. Learn to tolerate incompetence especially when it is your own. It’s the cornucopia of ill virtue that sees you through.  Make good on verbal threats. Give the antagonist a way out of the corner or he could turn into a more forceful opponent. Applied violence could help you in the end. Learn to enjoy spending time with yourself since there is clearly no immediate run on that particular commodity. Duck when walking under the ladder of success. Integrity will not be found at the bottom of the barrel nor amid the foam at the top.

Copyright 2013 by the Astrological Cavalry, 

General Kashmir Horseshoe, CSA, acting demagogue.

 

Astrógrafo Stellar Cosmo

La tabla siguiente estrella, tan exacto como cualquier otro horóscopo tonto que uno puede encontrar, se entiende sólo como un entretenimiento sin valor y no una guía astral. Si nuestra evaluación franca y sincera de su futuro es amargo o aparentemente insensible Consideremos por un momento que se trata de febrero y estamos tratando desesperadamente de poner nuestra casa en orden para muchos limpieza de primavera. Haremos lo posible por ser amable, adivinos mucho más compasivos después del paso de lo que solíamos llamar temporada barro.

CANCER (Junio ​​21 – Julio 22)

Deje de recogida de latas de aluminio. Hay almas que salvar antes del amanecer. Sólo el 49% del aluminio es de aluminio real, mientras que las almas son más ligeros y más fáciles de almacenar. La exposición a lo mundano hará que su propia vida parece más lleno de acontecimientos. Use su imaginación como un tope de la puerta. Ve a dormir temprano esta noche, para evitar el insomnio. Pisándole los talones a la corriente principal puede resultar en que se deja sin dientes para la próxima ola de bárbaros. Evite asimilación general, especialmente si usted no está familiarizado con su largo alcance afecta. Esta Noche: Pase tiempo bajo el agua.

LEO (julio 23-agosto 22)

Sandía amanece podría traer en las tardes y noches exóticas de mala muerte. Anime a la humedad. Practique entrecerrando los ojos. El perro se ha escapado con el gato de la ciudad, la caja de arena está llena de correo basura y los hámsters están en rebelión abierta. Tome todos ellos a la perrera. Recicle deudas personales. Si usted no puede estar junto al mar por lo menos pasar tiempo de calidad en el mercado de pescado. Examine las aplicaciones prácticas de la física en su vida romántica. ¿No es tiempo a memorizar las tablas de multiplicar, y que no dice nada de las sillas.

VIRGO (agosto 23-septiembre 22)

Abra su mente, sino mantener una malla fina en su lugar sobre tales aberturas. Elija cuidadosamente sus vicios y predicar con el encanto colgando limitados. Deja que la vida evoluciona, no se disuelven. Que un montón ser su paraguas. La gente va a comprar rondas de bebidas en la mañana. Es durante la pausa de media tarde que se debe aceptar la realidad. Cambiar a oleo en la soledad de la madrugada. Barbara Streisand le llamará en referencia a sus últimas publicaciones en técnicas gárgaras kosher.

LIBRA (septiembre 23-octubre 22)

Mientras que los alimentos enlatados parece ser su salvación son los productos perecederos que demostrarán claramente dirigido a los momentos de rapacidad. Mire por el espejo y todo ese maquillaje se parece inapropiado. ¿Existen realmente los suburbios en el espacio exterior? ¿Quién dará un paso adelante y compensar el posadero ávido de estos últimos bombardeos de bebidas alcohólicas. No soy yo, el menos noble pariente, Basanio. Héroes Eleventh Hour son ineficaces en los conflictos en torno a la mesa del comedor. Un ejército viaja en su estómago. Respirar por la propia naval podría neto de una comisión dandy en la altura de la batalla.

ESCORPION (octubre 23 a noviembre 21)

Las ardillas son tus iguales, tus colegas, tus compañeros. No se acerque a la peluquería hasta que él ha tenido un tiro o dos. Ese ingenio afilado de los suyos podría reducir el tamaño de los muebles acolchados, remolino de la higiene personal. Reconocer los retos y huir. Usted asistirá a un desayuno fuerte seguido de un viaje molesto por tierras tan plana incluso sus horizontes se ven bien. La curiosidad no mató al gato. Fue bolas de pelo. Haga su parte para contaminar el planeta. Esta Noche: Una motosierra es más elocuente que las palabras.

SAGITARIO (noviembre 22 a diciembre 21)

Pasee sólo las mejores partes de la ciudad. Si usted está buscando y Lady Luck / o el Sr. Gumbo descremada en los parques de RV. Tome descansos largos durante los trabajos de la mente y corto durante labores de la carne. Cada seis minutos es una buena regla del pulgar. El estrés es inofensivo tal de que es otra persona experimentar el trauma. Si usted es vegetariano COMER ESTE LIBRO! Estás en región ganadera, compañero. Shine sus zapatos. Un exigente Venus entra en su tercera dimensión. En este nuevo ciclo de amor e intimidad estar seguro de que alguien voluntarios para sacar la basura. Déjese llevar por los placeres de la verdadera aventura, mientras que la luz parpadeante indica “Walk”.

CAPRICORNIO (diciembre 22 a enero 19)

Claro, eso último cargo fue ineficaz, pero creo que los visigodos se están cansando. Hay menos responsabilidad de ser el ratón que hay en ser el gato. No te preocupes por ser el perro. Siempre es mejor ser comido vivo que se salven como cebo para un poco de libertinaje futuro. Deja de quejarte: Imagínese lo que es para su cuarto de baño de la mañana. Esperanza reina eterna. Es la fe que sigue teniendo todos los accesos directos. Conflictos penetrantes va a surgir como ríos de leche y miel, pero sólo si se compila una lista de la compra legible.

ACUARIO (enero 20 a febrero 18)

Innuendo es solo insinuaciones a menos que sea en la tonalidad de G. ¡Ánimo. Promesas rotas no son reembolsables. Eso haría que el sistema de controles y equilibrios a sus rodillas huesudas. Ir a la playa y quedarse allí hasta que el oleaje mejora. Llegar tarde es siempre inexcusable si va a ir a casa temprano. El gas que fue una vez el líquido en el tanque ya no es más que un lugar de extracción. Aprender de la experiencia simulada. Si un mago regala todos sus consejos serán todavía ser un mago? Esta Noche: charla a las plantas de la casa.

PISCIS (Febrero 19 – MARZO 20)

Es por caucho en el asfalto la mejor manera de dejar su huella en la sociedad? Señal antes de girar la nave de los necios. Un loro en una jaula desde su nacimiento rara vez sabe que agosto sigue julio, pero las comidas son generalmente entregados a tiempo. Considere la posibilidad de la vida nocturna en otros planetas. La vida no es twist-off! Si le resulta difícil salir de la cama cada mañana imaginar lo difícil que sería si no fuimos allí en primer lugar. Al participar en jardinería sencillo tratar de emplear el concepto de la mente sobre la mater.

ARIES (MARZO 21 – 19 de abril)

Saber que sus cuerdas del corazón están siendo manipulados por las lunas de Júpiter, el bazo por los carros de Mercurio y de su hígado por la botella de vidrio con polvo de Carta Vieja. Ajuste alas para gran altitud. Su cerebro se mantiene en el nivel de inundación y la ferretería está fuera de bolsas de arena. Abraza el ventilador ecléctico. En una ventaja de pelea a puñetazos con su cara. No es que usted es lenta tortuga es sólo que su concha se ha rodado va en la recta final. Tenga cuidado de no derramar el ruido blanco en su aura. Nunca vas a quitar la mancha.

TAURO (Abril 20 – MAYO 20)

Tiempo de espera para el tanque del inodoro para llenar podrían utilizarse más eficazmente. ¿Cuántos árboles se necesitan para crear un rollo de papel higiénico descuento? Deja que tu mente y tu cuerpo va a seguir sin duda. Aislar los puntos débiles situados entre los hombros. Golpear un jonrón en la primera cita podría poner en peligro el estado del juego lejos y dar lugar a una posición no deseada hogar. Cuidado con las curvas de la casa de máquinas y mantener su infield fly con cremallera, para no ser acusado de grandilocuencia. Robar el jardín derecho, mientras que un gran logro para algunos, nunca lo hará en las cuentas de la caja.

GEMINIS (Mayo 21 – Junio ​​20)

No hay apenas espacio en este horóscopo para los dos de usted. Aprender a tolerar la incompetencia especialmente cuando es su propio. Es el cuerno de la abundancia de virtud enfermo que ve a través. Haga sus amenazas verbales. Dar el antagonista de una forma de salir de la esquina o que podría convertirse en un adversario más poderoso. Violencia aplicada podría ayudarle en el final. Aprende a disfrutar pasar tiempo con usted mismo ya que claramente no hay plazo inmediato sobre ese producto en particular. Pato al caminar bajo la escalera del éxito. La integridad no se puede encontrar en la parte inferior del barril ni en medio de la espuma en la parte superior.

 

The Cocoa Coast – Bahia, Brasil

Idyllic Bahia…
where they brag on old age,
tropical children and laughing family.
On crooked milk crates, houses behind them,
leaned against whitewash
and watching the bay.

Dandelion Coconut Palms
rooted in the bonds of ancient days,
promised salvation on the next wave.
Venus bright in black evening attire.
Mysterious Candonble, Moqueca, Capoeira
Like Elisabeth, a slaver ship
from Mother West Africa
squeezing just under the Southern Cross,
splashed the hot-blood Amazon
onto the decks of the African Queen

 

Beetles bigger than your hand,
Monkeys share the river, sloths the mango trees.
A scarlet macaw duo screeches through
brilliant skies…blue as the eyes of the European.
Roosters and preachers and motorcycles
take up the rhythm, Forro blasting…Lambada caressing,

I have been an unfaithful lover
to the temperate beaches to the south.
Uruguay sits in the parlor waiting for word.
Beautiful Bahian raindrops dart down
head-first and fast from heaven’s pools
on this morsel of peace,
this semi-serious coconut town.

The beach has seen the full moon
naked through the banana trees.
The trees have touched the soft sand
sparkling with the white caps,
Loud, happy Afro-Portuguese roars
across cobblestones worn slick
over 500 years.

Salvadoran dumpster, skinny cats and dogs
all prowling the streets
where one Carnival is not enough.
Capuchins in the window, chameleons on the wall.
Banana trucks filled to the brim with workers.
Hidden jungle…the dreams of run-away slaves
Tidy colonial towns of the Portuguese kings.

God is a beautiful Brasiliera
Yemaja told me so herself last night on Itaparica.
Every morning she mangoes, then swims in the sea…
At mid-day to her holy hammock
where she is no swift judge of life untamed
only someone waiting for the next breeze.

Brasil has the largest land mass
and the smallest swim fashions in South America.
A reasonably successful experiment
in 21st Century anarchy…
Twins were born in Bahia last night.
One came out black and the other one white.

RESOLUTIONS AND MORE

“We’ll be in Richmond by summer or I’ll eat Mr. Lincoln’s hat.”

-General George B. McClellan, Army of the Potomac, January 1, 1862.

 

“I promise to spare no expense on research and stop relying on fragile embellishments and outright lies to earn a paycheck.”  – Melvin Toole, minor scribe

 

If you missed New Year’s Resolution season again don’t despair— this is not one of those stupid resolution columns. It’s a stupid chronological resolution column.

Although documented episodes of out with the old, in with the new proclamations exist throughout the annals of history, perhaps no year better exemplifies these tragic attempts to get back on track than the 13th year of each century.

Conveniently enough, this enlightened harvest of historically linked passages arrived in our cognizant copy basket on New Year’s Eve. While we realize that there are a multitude of vows and pledges that have had far more impact on mankind, we have chosen to focus on resolutions that were actually kept.

Despite other images that this piece may conjure up, it is apparent that the elements, the planets, and the gods have always looked favorably on 13th year resolution makers. It’s kind of an superstition thing. It should be of a relief that Big Brother has yet to make these annual covenants mandatory like seat belt  and Monday holidays, for all citizens.

Our earliest concurrent reference point is 613, which, in itself, represents an epic journey into the past by a bush league research team that has yet to recover from the office Christmas party of 612.

Long after Guanara, a perky Neanderthal inhabiting Asia Minor in about 4000 BC, started her New Year by promising that she would get her family out of “this drafty old cave and into something modular”, St. Augustine started the ball rolling. Curiously enough it was January 1 in the 13th Year of the 5th Century. The stodgy bandwagon moralist had promised Pope Gregory he would convert Britain to Christianity. Two months later he baptized a leading antagonist, Ethelbert of Kent. Ethelbert would go on to become one of the most abrasive lounge singer/performers in Canterbury. Seeing what he had done, Augustine made a second resolution in which he promised never to discuss religion or politics. He then retired to a remote monastery to write his memoirs.

Highlights of other maintained resolutions quite possibly include:

 

713 AD: Marauding Arabs, searching for the legendary oil reserves described by the Roman poet, Sinclair, sack Carthage mistaking it for suburban Byzantium. Their leader, Caliph Abdelmelik III, makes a New Year’s Resolution to start carrying a decent and water-proof map into battle.

 

797 AD: Byzantine Empress, “Sweet” Irene, overthrows her son, Constantine, blinds him, and assumes sole power. She then proposes to marry Charlemagne. After repeated rejections of that conjugal arrangement, Irene promises, in 813,  to quite chasing men and to stop blinding people. Despite her anti-social behavior she was later canonized by the Greek Church.

 

913: After a string of architectural disasters, early electrical contractor, Alfonso III, resolves only to wire castles built with drywall. Saracens, looking for an open service station, launch a gas war with Bulgarians. In January they make a resolution to put their Holy Land condos on the market to pay for further military excursions into Europe.

 

1013: On December 31 Danes promise to stop sacking the Irish Coast but they don’t address rape and/or pillage. The Sultan of Ghanzi resolves to send his gums to the dentist once a year. Gondola operators in Venice pledge to go on strike until tips improve. A dramatic population explosion in China gives birth to the concept of 1/2 orders on sweet and sour pork. These same Chinese guarantee effective birth control methods and dynasty-subsidized egg roll distribution by 1015.

 

1096: The Cid takes downtown Valencia from the Moors and in promises to return it in 1113 when he’s finished with his Christian remodel. Unfortunately it is mislabeled as a present to his precocious offspring who break it the day after Christmas.

 

1213: An assortment of holy men, including St Anthony of Padua and Chinese philosopher, Chu-Hsi promised to stop talking to the sky in public.

 

1297: Scots defeat British at Stirling Bridge and then again at Chevy Chase. In response, by 1313, King Edward I of England’s New Year’s Resolution is to refrain from playing his bagpipes before dawn. He instructs his troops to cease looking up kilts worn by anyone related to Robert Bruce.

 

1413: The Duke of Gloucester vows to stick to his diet but is murdered before he can properly push himself away from his dining room table.

 

1513: Lucretia Borgia, daughter of Pope Alexander VI, shocks the Vatican by divorcing Giovanni Sforza and running off with Alfonso of Naples. Her New Year’s Resolution: Don’t unpack until the ring is paid for. Michelangelo sculpts “Bacchus” and pledges to stop using profane language during his next project .

 

1598: Vasco de Gama rounds the Cape of Good Hope under the flag of Lisbon. However, in 1613 after the check bounced, the explorer resolves that further business dealings with the Portuguese would be on a COD basis. The Second Spanish Armada is scattered by storms in the Atlantic. Spanish King Phillip II makes a resolution to start watching the Weather Channel in 1598. He further pledges to move out of mom and dad’s basement by summer.

 

1697: Peter the Great’s luggage is once again lost during a journey through Prussia, Holland, England and Vienna. He makes the trek disguised as Peter Michailoff in order to study European ways. In January 1713 he vows to travel with only a carry on.

 

1813: Casanova drops dead moments after vowing to stop chasing young women. After taking Vienna, Napoleon resolves to keep an extra pair of dry socks in his pack. He then exhorts his tired soldiers to “let the good times roll”. Headhunters in New Guinea make their first New Year’s Resolution: To eat only vegetarians. Court of Versailles promises to clean its Venetian blinds once a month.

 

1897: The citizens of Red Mountain, near Ouray, Colorado pledge to stop carousing and staying up late. That temperate climate hangs over the town to this day, especially on January 1. Old Man Roberts, proprietor of Tuller and Roberts Grocery at Portland, vows to stop bitching and chewing tobacco when he has to cut up a chicken. Mrs. Williams, a cook at the Victor Restaurant in Gladstone, promises to stop burning her husband’s toast. “Shorty” Bridgeman, “the racker salesman” resolves to stop spitting during conversations. Dr. Copp, a circuit-riding Durango dentist vows to stop drinking at the Little Chef Saloon before oral surgery. The United States government promises to uphold all future treaties with the Ute Nation since most of the latter have already been relocated to Utah anyway.

 

1913: World leaders meet in a Vienna Pool Hall and resolve never again to engage in destructive warfare. Home Run Baker retires pledging to donate his baseball card collection to the Red Cross.

 

2013: Iran and North Korea promise to scrap nuclear energy programs when the U.S., Russia, China, Great Britain, France, Israel, India, Pakistan and NATO  do the same. Republicans and Democrats in the United States pledge to work together for the good of the country. The White House resolves to drop al the pseudo-dialogue on bogus gun control and create a functional system of mental health immediately accessible to all citizens.

WORLD IS FLAT SAYS KANSAS EVANGELIST

(Dodge City) A somewhat respected television evangelist, Reverend Philip Pharisee, has shocked his flock by declaring that the world is flat. The announcement came in the middle of a sermon delivered at Church of the Undivided Plain in nearby Spearville. Pharisee remarked that it is refreshing to see ancient articles of his well-watered imagination backed up by physical law for a change. He added that any fool, even a secular humanist, only need look out of his window to know the real truth.

Pharisee, a major proponent of secession in Southwest Kansas, went on to add that the entire concept of Columbus discovering America was nothing but a cheap real estate scam.

“If he really discovered America why won’t he return my phone calls!” shouted Pharisee, working up quite a sweat by now. “If you cynics out there don’t believe me you can ask the Man in the Moon,” he warbled.