Stuck Inside of Hickory with the Durham Blues Again

Have you ever had one of those weekends were everything is going perfectly...but then all of a sudden things take a sudden turn for the worst? Everyone probably has, but how well you deal with the sudden turn of events might depend on your attributional style, a little smidgen of fortune, and a "this sucks now, but that's what memories are made of" outlook.

Possibility One: You are a strong believer that things happen for a reason. You believe in destiny and fate. When things go awry you tell yourself that this was what was meant to be and quite honestly things could be much worse (you better believe they always can)

Possibility Two: You are a cynic. You believe that the universe operates by way of a series of random events that sometimes unfold in just a way that work in your favor. But most of the time it's a case of "wrong time, wrong place." Life's a bitch...

I'm not sure which category I fall under, and I suppose I probably sway back and forth between the two outlooks. But here's a recap of one such unplanned turn of events:

The weekend started off just fine. My husband and I had planned to attend two concerts by two amazing singer-songwriters out of Nashville-Jim Lauderdale and Darrell Scott. Both of these songwriters have written bunches of songs for county "stars", if you will. George Jones, Garth Brooks, Travis Tritt, the Dixie Chicks, Faith Hill-you know the powerhouses of Country music. I will admit I don't care for many of the aforementioned performers, (except for maybe George Jones & the Dixie Chicks) and I won't go into the reason why any more than I view most of them as flat and artificial who may be decent performers, but who lack the talent of songwriting and musicianship that I, as a listener, greedily demand from my faves. Anyway, these two guys have those qualities, so when we heard they were each playing on a Saturday and Sunday, we were there. The Acoustic Stage out of Hickory, NC, a worthy non profit organizations who bring quality americana & roots music to a small intimate venue called the Fireman's Kitchen, deserves a plug here.

Anyway, after debating about accommodations, we decided we would camp instead of forking money out on a hotel. I will tell you this- hotel costs are unreasonable in my opinion. I remember when you could get a fairly clean and decent room for about $40. You're lucky these days to find a Motel 6 that costs less than that. Nonetheless, we decided that the weather outlook was good for camping, and being the avid outdoorspeople that my husband are, we decided to try out a campground that was recommended by a friend of my husband's. So we started off and had a pleasant drive towards the foothills of western NC. I always love that drive as you see the landscape gently changing from hills, to bigger hills and off in the distance the tiny mountains that will give way to larger ones the farther west you travel. When we arrived at the campground in Moravian Falls we decided it was not what we expected. Mind you , the referral came from a person who had only camped in this campground during Merlefest (bluegrass festival extraoridinare) which probably beckons a different clientele that what we observed at the campground. After a quick tour of the spots and the too close for comfort neighbors that would surround the site, we decided to head back to some state parks we had camped at before that offer a little more seclusion and wilderness. We stop first at Bandits Roost and after some communication problems with the gatekeeper, (I asked if there were any sites available which to her ears must have sounded like a foreign language because I had to repeat myself 2 more times and I'm pretty sure I spoken clearly enough) we decided to go over to Warriors Creek instead to camp because it would be a little closer to the concert venue. We set up camp on our own private wing and pray that no one else will arrive and choose a site right next to ours so we will continue having privacy & peace. All of this goes in our favor. Sure, Plan A didn't work out, but we quickly and smoothly transitioned to Plan B which seemed to be an Authentic, Genuine This is the Way It Was Meant to Be moment.

We attend Concert #1 and have a great time. Before the concert we hit the closest bar. It's called McGuires, a good Irish name, but were sorely disappointed that they did not have anything good on draft. When I go out for beer, I want a nice selection of draft beer. I can sit home & drink bottled beer, and rarely touch a can. And what's an Irish named bar that doesn't serve Guinness on tap? So we each have one bottle of beer but leave to find greener pastures. That's when the Olde Hickory Tap Room enters the picture. There were about 20 beers on tap and an extensive wine and liquour collection too. We both have a Guinness, and my husband gets a double shot of Powers Gold Irish Whiskey-this impresses the bartender because they apparently don't get too many orders for it, and we actually have rarely found this whiskey to be available at most bars we have frequented so we're impressed too. After getting warmed up with whiskey and beer we go over to the venue. We have a great table right in front of the stage. They're are beverages for sale, I'll take a Sam Adams thank you very much, could be better, but could be worse (that's the beer snob in me talking, I can't be held responsible). Jim entertains us in his rhinestone cowboy outfit befitting the finest Nashville cat. Jim plays my request too, and puts on a very heart felt performance. Things are good.

We wake up the next morning to our quiet campground and have a very lazy day. Finally it's time to check out of the campground and head over towards the concert. We stop for drinks and end up ordering dinners because the waitress brings us bread that probably only comes with dinner and to avoid the embarrassment we decided to order entrees instead of appetizers. The restaurant is situated on a lake and has a Key West theme. Jimmy Buffett is the only thing playing over the speakers. I like Jimmy, and the atmosphere is nice. We get Sunset Margaritas, shrimp and skirt steak, and key lime pie for dessert. If I had know then what I knew would happen now, I would not have splurged on the expensive dinner. But I cannot foresee the future, so we are merrily on our way back to the Olde Hickory Tap Room for Hickory Stick Stouts and more Powers Gold. Maybe it was because we would not give any money to the panhandler in the park, but for some reason Karma doled out a little kink in our otherwise pleasant weekend a little later. My husband pulls the car into a spot in a parking garage to take a whizz-(he has the smallest bladder for a man) and it doesn't sound like the car is running anymore. When we go to pull out the car is obviously not running anymore. Then we crank the key and it just won't turn over. The other problem is the key will not come out of the ignition. Ok, time to talk though the dilemma. We've had the key get stuck before, so maybe in time it will eventually come out and the car will start up. The optimist view. Worse case scenario, oh, we won't go there yet. We have a show to attend. So we leave the car and lock it up because I have a spare key to get us back in. We enjoy the music of course. Darrell Scott is a phenomenal song writer. He has such an uncanny knack for telling stories in song that cut through to your heart and soul. Check him out if you ever get a chance, because I can't say enough great things about his spirit and talent. We run into a couple that we have known for years, but haven't seen in several. I have to admit, I'm not feeling very social at this point, but somehow get through the conversation about our kids. I feel bad I can't devote any of my charming self into this interchange, but I have other pressing things on my mind.

Our friends end up taking us to hotel for the night. They live out of town too, and offered the best they could and we are grateful for the ride. We check into the hotel and try our best to enjoy what's left of the weekend. The Blues Brothers are on, so we get by watching that. Sleep, sleep, and many dreams about my car. In one the key comes out but is found to be broken, so all we have to do is use my key to start the car and we're on our way. Wake up to face the day. Ok, first take advantage of continental breakfast, then take cab back to the car secretly hoping the key will come out and the problem will be miraculously fixed. Wishful thinking of course, so we call the tow truck. It's an interesting study to observe people who pass by when you're experiencing car problems. You have the ones who walk by real fast without looking at you as if you are a pariah. Then you have those that just stare, like you've never seen a hood open before? And then there are the sweet and helpful ladies who offer jumper cables, or the men who think they know how to fix the problem but when they find out the key is stuck in the ignition they realize it is beyond their "know-how". Thanks for your concern, but Skeet's Wrecker Service is on its way (no kidding about the name). Even Skeet tries to get the key out, but it won't budge. We get a ride to the dealership with Dear Prudence in tow(my name for my car, I think everyone should name their car by the way, they have personality). The dealership people are real nice, (the advantage of breaking down in a nice small town instead of a big Northeast city for example). Wanda with the big hair & cigarette hanging out of her mouth tells us they will look at her in 10 minutes. So we sit in the lobby watching Little House on the Prairie and King of the Hill reruns on the TV. I read O magazine. I have never read it before, and it's filled with Dr. "I call 'em like I see 'em" Phil advice. Finally we get the verdict, it's just a blown fuse. The fuse kit costs $2.62, but we leave the dealership about $120.00 in hole after diagnostics and labor. I guess it could be worse, so I thank whatever forces are at work here and take off towards home. This of course does not end the saga. Being that we are on a very tight budget, especially at the end of the month, and I hadn't really factored in the $70 hotel stay, the $10 cab ride back to the car, the $85 tow and the $120 car repair so needless to say my checking account balance is at -$300.00 until payday on Friday after all the insufficient funds and overdraft fees the bank so happily assesses when you spend money you don't really have. I have begged Wanda not to send my check through, but it was too late by the time I called her and she was so sweet about everything even though I appear to be a deadbeat who writes bad checks. So I might be looking at even more fees, either from my bank who may or may not allow the check to go through, or by the dealership who will charge a return check fee if my bank bounces the check back. This is what you get for not have a savings account-I spent that all on my new house and stuff to fill it up with. Or not having an emergency credit card, which I incidentally have, but guess what? it's maxed out. Needless to say, I'm not that good with money. Well, I take that back, I'm great at spending it, but not so good at managing it.

I could be real bitter at this point, but for some reason I don't feel too bad. Believe me this is real progress. I usually am the one who likes to feel sorry for herself when bad things happen, oh woe is me! Or I might just feel grouchy and fatalistic. But not today. So, am I adhering to Possibility One or Possibility Two? I guess I would have to say that yeah, things went so smoothly and things happened to fall into place for most of the weekend. Yeah, maybe it was just bad luck that my car broke down, but it could have been worse. All in all, I'm here today, Dear Prudence is up and running again, and I will have money again on Friday. Not a bad weekend afterall.

We've Got Nothin' to Be Guilty Of

We all have them, but by virtue of the name they're those things that we secretly love but feel guilty (and maybe downright embarrassed) about loving. So, I'm going to stand up and admit to some of my guilty pleasures:

1. TV-and the multitude of shows I watch, most I'm not embarrassed to admit (CSI), but some that I blush about-One Tree Hill, General Hospital, Peoples Court, reality shows (Survivor, American Idol, Rock Star INXS-this one's not embarrassing), Trading Spaces, Little House on the Prairie
2. Abba & The Bee Gees
3. Florida State Seminole football (this never used to be something to be guilty of, but recently... what else can I say? albeit there is still hope this season)
4. V.C. Andrews books-trashy novels
5. People magazine-do I really care about these people? and celebrity gossip in general
6. fast food
7. cupcakes-not necessarily the product, but the process-stump eaten first & then icing (especially if they were bought at Publix)
8. Color Bubbles & Krystal Burgers (I still can't say them without giggling)
9. my attraction to Keith Richards (WHY? Somebody please tell me)
10. eating a whole bag of hershey kisses in one sitting (for breakfast).

I'm sure there are more, but those are what I will admit to for now. I challenge you to confess yours!

Killarney, Bunratty and Points Between

The saga continues....

Day 6: Our adventures are coming close to an end. I just adored Kinsale, but it's time to move on to Killarney. It was absolutely beautiful driving up the southwestern coast. We stop in Timoleague Abbey for a photo opp. Proving that this tour is a hands on experience, Michael stops the bus at one point to show us peat. Its a substance that forms from decaying peat moss and other vegetation. It is abudant in marshy areas, and is illegal to remove evidently. Peat is used as a heating fuel and to dry barley for whiskey. We then go through Roscaberry with the little scholars waving at our tour bus on the way to school through the most narrow street. Then we stop in Bantry at a quaint flea market. Then off the Kenmare for lunch. It's time to lose the inlaws and so we go off our own. Guinness for lunch (wistful look)! We eat at an Italian themed restaurant where I get a pizza-I'm missing American food at this point. There's a nice fireplace that keeps us warm, although I have to say the weather has been absolutely beautiful & not too cold. Then back on the bus for the drive to Killarney. There are so many sheep in Ireland, dotting the hilltops and those little stone fences. The story about the sheep is they all have spray paint markings near their rear ends. Evidently this is to mark them, so you know whose sheep is whose, as well as which ones are ready to mate. We stop at Moll's Gap and Ladies View for more photo opps. The lakes of Killarney are beautiful. We finally arrive at our hotel and get our obligatory nap. Dinner is good-Guinness stew. There's a big blob of something in the soup. I wonder what it is. I ask the waitress and am told that it's a dumpling-made of bread. My father in law insists that his is a potato. We try to explain that according to the waitress it's a dumpling, but to no avail-he doesn't know what we got, but he's got a potato. Charging pints to your room at the hotel is very dangerous, but we continue this practice anyway. We go with some other tour group members to the pub next door-Murphy's maybe. We watch a rugby match-boy are they aggressive. We part ways with the group and go to O'Connors-every pub is named a proper Irish name. Then off the Mustang Sally's where we realize that this town is overrun with rich tourists. You'd think at Mustang Sally's you'd hear some good tunes, but not so. Brittney Spears is evidently very popular with the youths. So after finishing our pints we're off & back to the hotel bar where we've had more luck. The rest of the tour group has a big table so we proceed to drink some more. The massage therapist from Texas is flirting with some Irish boys. This causes her boyfriend to befriend some Irish lasses and drama ensues. A few of us in our drunken stupor try to smooth things over between them. All in all a fun night, but we head back to the room. We hear drunk people passing by in the alley outside our room all night-this is a party town-we just weren't invited.


Day 7: Today's trip is to the Dingle (tee hee) Penisula. Luckily it's a crystal clear day so we should get some breathtaking views. The bus trudges along the cliffs and coast. It really is beautiful here. We see the ancient bee hives and all the signs are written in both Gaelic & English. This area is a hold out & most of the people still speak Gaelic. We see Tori Amos' house and the owner of the Steelers has a house here too. There are beautiful golf courses. I'm not a golfer, but I wouldn't mind playing here. At the tip of the penisula is the Blasket Island where we're treated to film on the historical significance of this island. I have to admit I nodded off a couple times during it, too much beer & too little sleep. But the gist of the story is that this Island stayed pretty much isolated from the rest of Ireland and no one on the island could read or write. Nonetheless they had rich tradition of storytelling, which gave birth to some great literary works once writers got wind of the place and went there to record the stories. The ended up evacuating the island in the 1960s maybe because of the push for education of youth and the death of a young boy who could have survived had medical care been available. Although this island is not far from the mainland, the waters could be very treacherous which prevented travel to the mainland at times. We stop for lunch in Inch. We pass by a little beach where there is an entire school of dolphin playing.Then back to Killarney. My husband is pooped & wants a nap. I want to ride in the horse drawn carriages in the front of our hotel. He naps, my inlaws and me take a carriage ride to the Ross Castle. Get the obligatory pictures, snap, snap. Then back to hotel in time for dinner. The carriage driver had recommended a pub, but for the life of me I can't remember the name. We look for it but with no success. So back to the hotel bar. Boston boy flirts with me at the bar. My husband's a little jealous, that's cute. Boston Boy says that he's going to try to make it to Kinsale, after I highly recommended it. He asks about the Dingle penisula. Him & his friends flew into Limerick and he warns that it's not that great there. You see, I don't get flirted with much these days so it boosted me up a bit. Call it a night very early. It's catching up with me. Try to watch some TV but end up falling asleep early. We only have one more day left on the tour and my ankles have swollen to the size of elephant legs. Water retention from drinking too much beer I suppose.

The last day: Leave Killarney for the Cliffs of Moher. We have to take a ferry across the Shannon. We stop along the way for Michael the Tour guide to show us the thatch roof of a little house. He pulls the bus over and explains how they thatch the roofs. Just then in the upstairs window we see a man, then we see a .... a....a butt? Did that man just moon us? Judging from the laughter on the bus, my eyes were not deceiving me- he did shoot us a moon! Alrighty then.We finally arrive at the Cliffs of Moher and they are breathtaking too. There are some daredevils who sit and walk on the very edge of these cliffs. There are disclaimers everywhere because evidently some people have taken a tumble off the edge and have met an untimely end. You won't catch me on the edge. We finally end up the day in Bunratty where we need to rest for the Bunratty Castle dinner we have tonight. We have to dress up for this one and enter the castle. You're supposed to pretend that you're in medieval times and get to drink honeymeade- yum yum. They tell us the story of honeymeade & it's relation to honeymoon. Something about drinking it made your wedding night not as uncomfortable as it could be. Once we are seated we get soup (remember it's pureed in Ireland) and bread, then come ribs and chicken (no forks are given mind you), and all you can drink red wine is in vats on the tables-nice change of pace. Then we're treated to a little show filled with traditional songs. The master of ceremonies looks just like Gil Chesterton (you would only know this character if you watched Frasier) and is dressed in traditional garb along with all the wenches. Miami guy gets locked in the dungeon for being a bad wittle boy (and it's his birthday). They acknowledge the old man in our group who evidently received a purple heart in WWII and they sing "Danny Boy" for him leaving not a dry eye at our table. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was because it was the end of the tour, but this moment was so touching because it encapsulated the entire trip into that one small moment in time. After the dinner I try to swipe one of the pottery chalices, but there's some guy eyeing me and I really don't want to be arrested on my final night so I put it back on the table. We end the night in Durty Nelly's. It's a blow out! There's a bachelor party going on in the next room and some guy playing piano and singing songs. Somehow (blame it on the beer) I end up in drunken sing along fashion belting out U2's "One." There's some old guy who invites me on his lap and I have been told that he is dying and has months to live so what's a girl to do but to grant a dying man a final wish to have a girl sit on his lap. He talks to me, but I have no idea what he's saying. I just nod my head in agreement. There's a good possibility that the dying man story might have been a ruse just to get a little action. Oh well! I rejoin our tour group and my mother in law is snapping pictures. She has this retarded camera with a battery problem so sometimes her pictures don't snap. You can always tell when it's not going to work because the lens extends out but then retreats back in. So imagine our childish giggles exclaiming "IT's IN, NOW IT's OUT" as the lens goes in & out, in & out. I guess you had to be there but it was so funny I almost peed my pants. (Not to digress but I have this embarrasing bladder control problem when I get to laughing too hard, it's gotten worse after going through child birth.) So Durty Nelly's has last call because it's Sunday and time to close way to early. The fiddler from the musicians at Bunratty Castle is there trying to quietly enjoy a beer still dressed in his garb. As we leave Michael the tour guide, who tried very hard throughout the tour to separate himself from our group's revelry is not holding back anymore. He is hugging and putting his arms around the girls as we walk back to the hotel. We have a few more pints. I get hit on by another boy-an Irish boy this time. I tell him my husband is right over there, but he doesn't care. Fortunately my husband isn't a Neandrathal so he doesn't care either. The Boston boy and his group of Boston friends has evidently followed our tour group because they're here playing cards. We don't want this night to ever end, but they don't have a resident's bar in this hotel. Travel warning: Don't stay at the Bunratty Hotel, they are not near as hospitable as The Trident in Kinsale-I highly recommend it! The hotel manager here is a real wank & won't allow us to buy any more pints despite my begging & whining. Stupid drunk American Girl, he's thinking. Can you blame a girl for not wanting the party to end? But like all good things it must....so it's time to catch some zzzzzs for our flight back home. We're leaving at some ungodly time. God, I want a hamburger!

Wilde On Part 2

Ok, maybe you could care less about my travels. Regardless, I have continued my travel diary-Rick Steves eat your heart out:

Day 4: At breakfast we get fussed at by the Pregnant girl because we kept her husband out too late. We didn't restrain nor encourage him in any way, honey! And he didn't accompany us on the fence scaling adventure, so what can I say? Nevertheless, we're off on the bus again, after a hearty breakfast of eggs & sausage that is a different color brown than the sausage we get back in the States. I love sausage (stop snickering & get your mind out of the gutter) but I was really regretting eating that sausage as our bus ambled out of Dublin & through the Irish countryside. It might be that I'm riding in the back of the bus (where there is more room to spread out mind you), or it could be the many pints I drank last night, or maybe it's the lack of sleep. Whatever it is my stomach is not doing so good this morning. We finally stop at a little store to stretch & use the can (Let me tell you folks bathrooms in Ireland are really cold). I find a banana, I think that might help to put something in my stomach besides greasy sausage. I also buy a Coke. I am addicted to Coca-Cola, but the Coke tastes different. After reading the ingredients I figure out why. Coke in the states is made with Carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup and/or sucrose, caramel color, phosphoric acid, natural flavors, and caffeine(my friend, my friend). However the ingredient list on this coke doesn't look the same. I think I have blocked it out of my memory but I can't remember what sweetens cokes in Ireland, but it was something to do with vegetables. It just doesn't taste the same. Nonetheless, I feel a little better after munching the banana. We're off again and I sleep a little too. Michael the tour guide is lulling me to sleep with his voice and the flutey music over the speakers. We stop at Rock of Cashel and get the tour and have lunch. We have Shepherd's Pie and the most luscious lemon meringue pie I have ever tasted. We're off again towards County Cork. The drive is spectatular! We drive over the Galtymore mountain range and it's breathtaking. I don't know how Michael maneuvers the bus around these winding roads & no joke I saw over the cliffs the carcasses of many little cars that didn't quite make it. I enjoy the view between naps, but as we get closer to our destination of Kinsale I'm wishing I didn't eat that Shepherd's Pie. It keeps repeatin' on me. We stop again at Cobh which is a port town and incidentally one of the last stops the Titantic made before it's doomed voyage. There's a little museum, but the most interesting thing we find in this town is the rainbow over the harbor. Is there a pot o'gold anywhere? As we board the bus again, I'm hoping we get there soon or I'm gonna need a barf bag. When I'm right about at the point that I think I'm going to toss my cookies we pull into the hotel lot in Kinsale. Check in & get another nap. Dinner is great in this very nice restaurant overlooking the ocean. Kinsale is known for their cuisine. And this place is my most favorite place we visited. After dinner we get entertainment. Two members of the Irish Weavers play a fun set in the hotel bar downstairs. The gravedigger's wife leads us all in song as her uncle owns a Irish club in Cape Cod so she knows them all. There's the unicorn song that gets us all up and doing the hand movements. I guess it's the Irish version of the YMCA. Good thing I have drank plenty of pints because otherwise I'd feel real stupid. The old man gets up and dances a jig. He is a little frisky thing! After the music is over we all move to the upstairs bar and proceed to drink a whole lot more. The son of the Curmugeon exclaims that "We're gonna kick it up a notch!" which is a promise he never really followed through. I'm beginning to think my husband and I are the only party animals after all. As the party starts to end, my husband and I are still not ready to turn in. We set the tone in Dublin with our Fag in the Crag escapade, so we have to keep it up with a new challenge. There's a statue of a fisherman outside our hotel that I snap a drunk picture of my husband sitting on his lap, but it doesn't have the same effect as scaling a fence and bruising up your shins and lounging with Oscar and his sparkly purple pants. This is a sleepy town after midnight, so we head off to bed. We got a full day ahead of us.

Day 5: After breakfast we get a little history lesson about Kinsale. Their big historic claim to fame, if you will, is when the Spanish Armada sailed into port but was turned away in defeat. We learned about the strategic fortresses, yada yada. Then we get a little walking tour of Kinsale. I think I could live here. Later in the day we get to to go to the Blarney Castle. Yeah, every Irish tour group goes there & gets an opportunity to kiss the Blarney stone to get the gift of gab. So we climb up the winding passage ways because it's the tourist thing to do. Besides, I could use a little help with my communication skills. Not that I don't have stuff to say, but I'm not the most outgoing type and it takes me time to process and articulate. I'm the one that thinks of the right thing to say about 3 days later (Shut Up Becky!), so I'm kissing that dang stone. The gravedigger won't go up because he's very tall and is claustrophobic in the narrow passageways. We make it up there and I want a picture of me kissing the stone-yeah I know it's cheesy. My huband goes & I snap a perfect picture. My mother in law does it too & we get the picture. But for some reason my picture doesn't turn out-not that it's that becoming of a pose. I laid on my back and turned upside down and kissed some mossy rock that has been smooched by everyone and his brother and I don't have the picture to prove it. Lucky for me they sell pictures, so my father in law orders it for me to be delivered in 6-8 weeks. We get accosted by an "Irish poet" who is handing out his poems & sketches for a small donation. I'm not the guilty type, so we don't give him a euro, or portion thereof. Visit the Blarney Woolen Mills to shop for souveneirs. We have lunch, another turkey sandwhich with butter, not half bad again. Then back on the bus to the tour of the Kinsale brewery. I liked this one and learned a lot about the brewing techniques. The guy giving the tour is leaving the company & I tell my husband he should apply for his job. I could live here. We get to sample brews in the Brewery bar and really like the Kinsale stout. They export it over here, but only to a pub in Cincinatti, or somewhere in Ohio. We nap, dine, and are ready for another night of debauchery. We visit the Hole-in-the-Wall but its early and dead in there except for the cats prowling and napping. We then go to the cheesiest Karoake bar that all the younguns must go to. So we leave and hit the Spanish Armada, which is basically a snooker table and a few seats and seedy rooms upstairs. We shoot some snooker and have a pint and then finally hit the Seanachai. There's a guy at the bar who looks like Jerry Garcia, but he's giving us the evil eye. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I hate walking into unfamiliar establishments because there's always the moment of what do I do? do I seat myself? why is everyone staring at me? Regardless we find the coolest little booth that is tucked away so it feels like our own little alcove. I like this place. Finally the rest of our tour group ends up there and fill our booth. The Jerry look alike smiles at the real estate agent daughter, so he must not be as mean as we had assumed. Finally as things wind down & last call occurs-they close their pubs early in Ireland-12:00 on weekends and 11:00 on weeknights-not what we expected. We head back to the hotel because we know they have a residents bar. What this means is the guests of the hotel can drink for as long as they desire. The bartender is this really nice chap named Kirk. He's from Washington state, and is married to a Brazilian woman who has an Irish passport (go figure) so they live in Kinsale. We chat with some locals who just finished rescuing a wayward boat. They belong to the Irish equivalent of the Coast Guard. They're very interesting folks. They tell us lots of stories about Van Morrison and his beauty queen girlfriend and a limousine and think they're interrupting a romantic evening for my husband and me. We tell them no, we like meeting folks. We apologize on behalf of our country's invasion of Iraq. They understand that most travelers are not self-centered egocentric Americans and quiz us on the Electoral College. Sidenote: Did you know that Ireland's president is a woman? We still are not ready to call it a night & remember that the hotel has a hot tub, but it closed at 8:00. My husband convinces Kirk the bartender (which wasn't that hard to do) to let us in the hot tub because he's got the key. He eventually agrees after we promise not to tell a soul, at least not until we are well on the road to our next destination. My husband slips him 10 Euro for the trouble and the rest of the story I cannot elaborate on. I just hope they didn't have security cameras in there.

This concludes this leg of the trip. It will be time to move on to Killarney tomorrow-more windy roads. I'm staying away from the sausage.

Wilde about the Emerald Isle Part One

Preface: I took a trip to Ireland last year. So even though what you're about to read is a little old (and maybe not as fresh in my memory) I have wanted to put my thoughts, feelings, and experiences about this trip into something more tangible. Things to remember: This was pretty much an all expenses paid trip courtesy of my generous and loving in-laws (despite their foilbles & idiosynchroncies, but hey who doesn't have those). So we went on a tour, a Pub & Folk tour to be exact. My inlaws have travelled to the Emerald Isle every year for the last 6 years or so with the intent of taking each of their kids and they fortunate spouses/significant others. So my husband & my turn was last year & since they had been on several tours they decided to take us on the Pub & Folk tour because, well... my husband and I are lushes. No, not really, but we do like our beer so a Pub tour was the natural choice. According to my inlaws (just in case you might think about a tour of Ireland) it was the coolest tour with the lowest average age. I guess a Pub tour attracted a certain kind of person. You know, the type that can throw back a few beers & party a bit. So that sets up our (mis)adventures on the Emerald Isle.

Cast of characters
Mostly couples, representing a cross section of the US of A. All in all a laid back group that was there for the party.

The 80-something year couple from Florida. They were feisty. Our first introduction to them was in the hotel hallway as they were arguing back & forth.

Mother & daughter realtors from Minnesota (Daughter was sweet on the tour guide-that is married tour guide)

Gravedigger & his wife from Cape Cod. (sidenote: I had never met a gravedigger before and you'd think one would be morbid & staunchy. Not so, they were a blast!

Couple from New Yawk. They were a blast too. Husband was truck driver.

The family from Massachusets-Father(a real curmudgeon) and Mother, Daughter(Barbie look a like) & her husband (cradlerobber-I thought he was her father at first), Son & Son's fiancee (who was real sweet & gave me the scoop on the family dynamics)

Young unmarried couple-lived in Texas, not married & may not still be together today. They had plenty of friction. They were the one of the youngest couple-mid 20s.

Couple-from Philly. Wife (poor thing) was a pregnant at the time so she tightened the reins on Husband's escapades from the beginning-more on that later

The 2 swinger couples from California. (They weren't really swingers-I don't think, but they looked the part)

The young couple from Miami. Another pregnant girl, but she allowed her husband to have his fun (under her watchful eye).

The inlaws and us

All lead by Micheal our knowledgable tour guide who knew how to navigate those windy Irish roads, lull us to sleep with his Irish broque, and entertain us with jokes, tales, and historical facts.

Travelog:
Day 1 (Sunday)-Got up at crack of dawn to catch the 5:30 am (there's a 5:30 am??) flight to Altanta. Mind you our connecting flight to Dublin wasn't leaving until 7:30 pm. Oh to spend the day in Hartsfield. Evidently my mother in law didn't think I was dressed appropriately for the flight. We received very generous buddy passes from her brother's wife who works for the airlines, so I guess you were supposed to dress to impress. Mind you, I was wearing nice slacks, top & blazer. Hey, I'm a professional during the day and I know how to dress appropriately. This is the 21st century, so dressing up doesn't only entail dresses & hose. I think mom-in-law might have been envious of my prospective comfort. Arrive at Hartsfield and find couches to camp out on for the entire day. Oh, oh! My husband forgot his heavy coat. Call his sister in Northern GA-under the insistence of his Mom- who is coming to airport to visit with us to find a coat & bring. Lord, she found at a flea market the biggest, bulkiest, most Carolina blue coat you could find. Do you remember the coat that George Castanza wore in Seinfeld that he has to give to the liquor store guy because he breaks the wine? Imagine that coat in Carolina blue, but wait it's reversible it can also be Duke blue if you turn it inside out. My husband isn't a wimp when it comes to the cold, so under protest he doesn't wear the coat any time during the trip. As the day drags on, we finally hit the airport bar and down a couple of Guinness stouts in anticipation of the trip. Make it on the flight, but not only that, make it on first class! Greeted with glass of champagne & hot towel. I can get used to flying this way. In our little first class kit, we get soft comfy booties for our feet, eye patches in case we want to sleep. lotion, toothpaste/toothbrush, tissue, and earphones for the movies. Sleep, eat, drink, watch movies, eat & drink some more. The meal is mutton-ick!

Day 2 (Monday)-Arrive in Dublin after the longest wait at Shannon. Got terrible jet lag. Get taxi to hotel in Dublin, check in & crash. After a nice nap to refresh us from jet lag proceed downstairs to meet our tour guide & group. Although we were introduced (not formally) to old couple in the hallway before getting on the bus. We get a nice quick tour of parts of Dublin and top it off with visit to Jameson Distillery. Ok, we have some controversy over the pronounciation of Jameson-Its pronounced Jam i son. Not Jame is son and certainly not Joh ma son. (My in laws know everything about Ireland, do you know they puree their soups????) learn how they make whiskey. Educational moment: The reason that Irish whiskey is so smoooooth is because they triple distill-To be sure, to be sure, to be sure. My husband volunteers for whiskey tasting and receives a diploma for mastering the art. After the bus brings us back to hotel we are on our own for the night. Have a pint at Slattery's down the road. Back to Kitty O'Shea's-the hotel bar-for more pints with the Gravedigger & his wife. Then off to dinner. My in laws met a couple who live in Dublin on their very first trip to Ireland. That time they didn't make it on the flight (the disadvantage of buddy passes-you fly stand by) and George & Linda offer to help them get there in time for their tour by finding a flight to England & then to Ireland. They invited them into their home, fed them & are now good friends. That is one thing I will say about the Irish-they are very hospitable & endearing. So George & Linda come to hotel & we have dinner in the hotel restaurant. Remember this; When you have a snooty French waiter don't mention airline food. he will look down his nose at you. Eat & crash because you're still suffering from jet lag.

Day 3 (Tuesday)- Up early for the infamous Full Irish Breakfast, mind you its eggs & this really gross sausage, and lots of pudding, but not the Jello pudding kind. Leave on a more extensive bus tour of Dublin. We see Phoenix Park where Pope John Paul gave mass to 1 million. We see Kilmainham Gaol, an old jail that held many Irish political prisoners. Even children were held there for stealing food to feed themselves during the famine. It's been used in a few movies. We see all the other sites from the window of our tour bus, Temple Bar, Grafton shopping district, St. Paticks Cathedral, Trinity College where they house the Book of Kells. The statue of Oscar Wilde lounging on a rock in the corner of some park-better known as the Fag in the Crag. Then we hit the Guinness Storehouse. Skip the tour, frankly I don't care how they make the black gold, I want a pint at the top of the building with a lovely view of Dublin. Lie in wait for a table & grab it. Collect the coasters that depict the 6 steps to pouring the perfect Guinness (something that some American bartenders need to take heed). Enjoy the view. Get a shamrock on the head of our pint-talented! Leave after spending too many Euros in the gift shop, we need t-shirts, magnets, postcards,pint glasses. Get dropped off in Grafton to browse the shopping district, carrying all of our touristy Guinness bags. Have a pint in Temple Bar. Eat a sandwich, they like butter on their sandwiches which wasn't half bad.Trudge around with in laws. I want to visit the Writer's Museum, but we can't seem to find it. I want to get apicture of the Fag in the Crag but we can't find it. We think it's in St. Stephen's Green. We visit all four corners of the the park and still can't find it. My father in law thinks it must be on the next corner (who taught him Geometry, I don't think it's in this park). I wouldn't have minded the walking if I wasn't lugging 25 pounds of Guinness merchandise. Finally make it back to hotel after several stops at pubs for pints to refuel. We have dinner at Abbey Tavern-Corned Beef & Cabbage. Awesome Irish coffee and then entertainment. We're the trailblazers & order pints which quickly catches on to some in our group. I told you we liked our beer. We get in trouble because everyone waiting on the bus to leave but my inlaws & us are visiting with the previously mentioned George & Linda who have come by to visit again. They know the owner of the tavern and we're in the cozy basement enjoying the Craik (sp?) translation: talk, not drugs. We're not ready for bed, but the in laws are. We plant a spot at the bar of Kitty O'Shea's and proceed to drink many pints. Guy from Philly joins us (wife is in bed-she's pregnant) along w/realtor mother & daughter and couple for Texas. Bar closes much to the delight of the snooty french bartender, and my Husband and I are not ready to call it a night. Escape the hotel and begin our quest to find the Fag in the Crag. We find it, but the gates are locked & I can't get a good picture from this vantage point. What else to do, except climb the fence and snap away. I got the bruises & the pics to prove it! After we told my inlaws the next day of our escapade we were chastised for the possibility of getting arrested for trespassing.

This ends our first installment of our adventures in Dublin. We got an early morning departure for Kinsale, after the full Irish breakfast of course.

To be continued.....

Commute

I have been very spoiled for the last 5 years with my commute to work. Sure I’ve heard and sympathized with my co-workers tribulations & frustrations with their daily commutes to & from work. But I was happy in my own little world driving the 12-15 minute (depending on the lights & idiots) commute from work to home. Somehow though there were times when I wish I had a drive that was long enough to listen to some tunes & clear my head.

Nonetheless the short commute days are now over. My husband & I finally took the plunge into home ownership, which prompted us to buy something a little further out in the country and thus increased my commute by about 30 minutes. We got more bang for our buck this way, and we love the fresh air & tranquility of country life anyway.

Boo hoo, you say (especially if you’re faced with those infamous 2 hour commutes that DC or NY commuters suffer day in and day out). Hey, but I’m not complaining. Although one day last week was one of those days that every time I was on a roll down the country road I met up with another slow poke soccer mom in a mini van (or Subaru-the “new” minivan) stubbornly choosing to treat the speed limit as a suggestion, not the usual speed limit plus 10 mph philosophy that I adhere to. But my husband gently reminded me when I got home bitching that at least I wasn’t stuck in the parking lot that was I-40 that day. So I’m not going to complain. In fact I love my commute. I take mostly country roads, which offer many sites to name a few:

Lots of farms with cute names like Pitty Pat Farm and the Flying W Ranch

Tasteless lawn art: lots of lighthouses (mind you we’re about 2 1/2 hours from the coast but its NC and we love our lighthouses), gnomes, bird baths, pin wheels, even those little black jockeys holding a lantern (what’s up with those?)

Horse, cows, and goats Oh my! And peacocks-yes I have seen peacocks frolicking about.

The classic red barns, silos, an old historic (i.e. run-down & inhabitable) church and little country graveyard-probably from the 1800s is my guess

Rolling hills & winding roads that feel just fine with my wide track steering (Thank you Pontiac -you make driving fun)

And those little church signs that always offer some words of wisdom. It has caused me to wonder who comes up with those little sayings (Just like who makes up those little fortunes in Chinese cookies??) Sometimes these messages are preachy, sometimes they’re inspirational, sometimes they’re cutesy. Proving that even churchies like puns and word play.

Here’s some examples of those sayings:

The earth changes but God and his Word stand sure (editorial comment: his Word or your interpretation of his Word?)

Once you’ve tasted the bread of life you’ll want to share it. (I’ve tasted Catholic communion wafer, and I wouldn’t want to share, but yeah I know this is a figurative expression)

Get this one:

Even fish stay out of trouble when they keep their mouth shut. (translation: Shut up and fly right?? Sure, I partly agree that you have to put on your listening ears every once it awhile, but to tell you’re congregation to keep their traps shut and trust the opinions and beliefs we feed you. Is that what they call faith?)

Or the not as heavy handed examples: (not from the Baptist churches)

People don’t care what you know until they know that you care (Awwww!)

Or

Enjoy today while you can because one day it will be a long time ago.

I like that last one. I have to admit that I’m a nostalgic person. When I look back at the past I usually remember the good and forget the bad. Sometimes this is not good because it causes me to long for the past and try to recapture how it felt to live in that moment. However, it’s true that one day I’m going to be looking back at today and have the same longing. So, hello Today! It’s nice to meet ya’.


So while some of you take the subway, Metro, train, ferry, or those unlucky ones who traverse the interstates & busy roads commuting to & fro I’ll be thinking of you as I coast down the country road cursing the bastard that pulled out in front of me (especially the classic move you’ll experience in the country- pull up to stop sign with a rolling stop, stop, pause, just long enough for me to approach, and then pull out just when my 60 mph Grand Am is barreling down your arse)!

On the Radio

I love my radio station.

Wait a minute….radio station?
Does anyone even listen to the radio any more?

What with the proliferation of ipods, itunes, burn your own cd mixes, satellite radio, XM streaming, etc it is unlikely that there is still an audience for the old FM waves. I guess those of you who don’t have ipods or cd players (or cassette-file that in the dinosaur age along w/8 tracks) in your cars may still scan the dial for the best song or the least talk. You’ve got to admit it’s slim pickins’ out there. Some program manager, or worse yet some corporate conglomerate like Clear Channel, seems to think they know what Joe (or Jane hey I’m equal opportunity) Q. Public wants to listen to. Yes, yes, yes we want to hear the same song, by the same artist, in some cases in the same order day in and day out. It’s nauseating!

First I have to give a rundown of my life experience with radio. Some of my best memories are driving in the backseat of our family car listening to the tunes of the time. Luckily my dad had excellent & eclectic taste in music (Thank you dad for the Beatles & the Doors when I was just a tot) so our radio dial was usually set to a decent station- back in day when radio stations weren’t so compartmentalized and categorized. You’ve now got classic rock, oldies, country, pop, hip hop, soft rock (or variety as they like to call it) stations across your FM dial. I’ve got to admit I like some classic rock, Hey, I even like some county (not the Nashville factory “let’s get a great songwriter but have some image driven performer record it and call it their own” country) I’m talking Johnny (they got money but they don’t got Cash), Hank (not Jr.), and Willie (c’mon IRS/DEA leave the guy alone). I like some oldies too-but c’mon not the same old tired songs that are played over and over again. There's gotta be some new oldies out there. Anyway, it’s funny how many of the songs from the 1970’s can bring me back to that backseat-arguing with my sister or brother about being on my side or asking my parents for the umpteenth time “are we there yet? (I know that joke is as tired and old as the Freebird jokes that are often heard at music concerts). I kid, though, those songs bring me back to a special place that isn’t as complicated and scary as things become when you grow up.

Another memory I have with radio was a childhood friend whose mother was the general manager of an AM station. What? Yes, there are still AM stations but they have been relegated to talk radio (Rush is right! Ok, Al Franken is forgiven) or worse yet some bible thumping preacher whose voice tells us to “repent or die sinner” over the AM airwaves. If you haven’t listened to this, you should. Just to scare the crap out of you.

Anyway it’s circa 1981 and AM must still have an audience because Kay’s Mom is General Manager and never home. So, needless to say I’m spending the night at Kay’s again and we’re getting into mischief because there is no adult supervision. I have to admit if her mother were there we probably wouldn’t have been supervised much better. She was (at time I thought) the coolest mom. She drove a little Spider convertible, she had blonde hair, she was single, and she let Kay do whatever she wanted. It was under the influence of Kay (I’m a good girl with a very bad streak) that I was pushed into the depths of delinquency-minor depths by today’s standards mind you. Prank calls to strip clubs inquiring about job opportunities and unsuspecting phone answerers in my best accent“Is Pablo there? He made baby and gave me number? Please give me Pablo!” (I’m a very good actress I would have some of those unsuspecting prank call victims almost in tears). Finding her mother’s porn mags and vibrator under her bedroom mattress and giggling like schoolgirls-wait we were school girls. Eating cake batter instead of dinner. Jumping on Karen’s waterbed. Pretending our stick pretzels were cigarettes. (The real butts were still to come, but that’s another story)

But I digress, AM radio station W%&*# got rid of some of their vinyl record albums and I got my pick. Donnie & Marie, Maria Muldair, Judy Collins, Oh, the Queens of AM! (Yes, I know I mentioned Donnie in there with those queens) W%&*# let us record an advertising spot. It was around Christmas time and they sped up our voices to sound like elves-my 15 seconds of fame-I was on the radio. Going to Octoberfest as a special radio station guest. We were special. My friendship w/Kay eventually ended much to my parents delight. I think the final straw was when we stupidly gave one of prank call victims my home number and ended up getting calls from Tom and Tim twin high school football players. I was grounded. Or it might have been when Kay stole walkie talkies from the fat girl who we pretended to be friends with because she had a cool loft in her room and lots of stuff. We were mean.

Moving on though my next radio themed memory is where I’ll eventually turn full circle to why I love my radio station. WFIT-the college radio station for the Florida Institute of Technology. What would a bunch of geeky college tech students know about cool music you might ask? Well I’ll tell you-someone knew something. I know there are still college radio stations out there that offer better playlists than your mainstream stations, but to be honest they tend to be a little too eclectic. But WFIT had the goods. That’s where I heard Rock Lobster before the B-52’s came out with Love Shack (that infamous wedding song that is second to the conga line, the chicken dance, the hokey pokey) The Smiths, the Cure, New Order, OMD, the Psychedelic Furs. Good ole 80s alternative rock. Don’t’ they call it adult alternative now? Am I an adult now? 80s music gets a bad rap because we only think of Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, Flock of Seagulls, Duran Duran when we think of 80s music or one hit wonders like Wang Chung (although they are getting to Hit Me Baby One More Time). Oh but there was so much more that that decade has to offer. There was even some rebellious stuff-Minor Threat, Black Flag, Motorhead- that FIT played. We waited every Saturday for Andy’s 2:00 afternoon show. He played the Andy Griffith whistle theme before the show and strangely enough my best friend ended up dating him years later. Who would have thought? Doug Dazzle was another DJ who would spin the vinyl for us late at night. I actually ended up serving him in a downtown restaurant years later when I was waitressing. Funny thing was that he was a mailman during the day.

As times change, so do musical tastes I suppose. As I became disillusioned with the music I had grown to love, I branched out to other bands. I guess you can call me an old deadhead now. Not the 1960s, 1970s or even 1980s Deadhead. I didn’t see them until 1989 and believe me I made up for lost time by following them to every venue the east coast or Midwest had to offer. I saw cities like Chicago, St. Louis, Louisville, Columbus, Indianapolis (ok not all of them were exciting, except for the little Motel 6 near the Merita outlet bakery that smelled so good in the morning with all that cheap bread available for the pickins) Don’t forget New York City and Long Island too! I might never have traveled to some of these places if not for the good ole Grateful Dead. Strike that, I would have made it to Chicago and New York most likely. Anyway, that started me on another musical adventure that I really cherish. After the Grateful Dead ended with the death of Papa Jerry I did broaden my tastes. I like “jambands” but also dig jazz, bluegrass, blues, roots and any combination thereof. But most of that music is not what I grew up with. It’s not necessarily the “soundtrack of my childhood”. So this brings me to why I love my radio station.

The River used to be an oldies station, and not a very good one at that. They have potential to play some great stuff, but relegated their playlist to safe music- ad naseum. Even during their request lunch hour they refused to play anything too obscure that might not appease the masses-even if it is a Beatles song.

Me: I’d like to request Should’ve Know Better? editorial note: mind you it's not Revolution #9 which would violate the law of Radioland
DJ (in best sounding DJ voice): Wouldn’t you rather hear "I Wanna Hold Your Hand? "
Me: No! I heard that earlier today, and the day before that, and the day before that, etc.. What’s an all request hour if you’re not going to take my request?

Then one day as I was flipping through the stations (I do have a cassette player (yes I need a new car) and a portable CD player in my car, but I have to admit I am not that decisive and hate to have to pick something out sometimes, especially in the morning) the station format was now gospel. Hmmm…interesting switch. Then the next day it was the River-where all musical streams diverge and flow towards the ocean that is music. Pleasant surpise.

I have to admit I don’t love everything the River plays. Not into John Mayer (they play "Your Body is a Wonderland" a little too much), or Hoobastank, Bare Naked Ladies and some of those other "hip" artists/groups. But I love my radio station for the deep cuts-obscure songs from bands I only heard WFIT play.

They love REM, they love the Cure. But instead of hearing "Orange Crush" or "Just Like Heaven" ( I do like those songs, don't get me wrong) I get to hear "Driver" 8 or "Catepillar."

I love my radio station because they play the Stones and Van Morrison. But instead of hearing "Brown Sugar" or "Brown Eyed Girl" for the umpteenth time I might hear "Tumbling Dice" or "Moonshine Whiskey"(ok, I made that one up, I haven’t heard them play that one yet but they have played " Jackie Wilson Said" -which incidentally I have heard on numerous occasions playing over supermarket speakers so it must be popular)

So, for those of you who are brave enough to surf the radio waves these days you just might find a river that will take you where you want to go. I recently was on vacation in the Delaware/Maryland shore and found a radio station called The River. Only they played Foreigner instead of New Order. Sadly, I have to mention that after browsing the website (which tells you the artist & song and other cool links to discographies & bios-not chattering DJ to provide that service) that The River is operated by Clear Channel-the anti-Christ of radio communications. So I’m now torn. All that I thought Clear Channel stood for-the play lists, the categorization, the stupid DJ banter-has been shaken by the River. I guess they are tapping into a market and giving them what they want -until it becomes unfashionable or un-hip, or worse yet unprofitable. Until then I will float along the river remembering those carefree days of youth when radio was pretty much the main outlet for music. Is it good that we have so many choices? Some would say yes, others might be skeptical, while some others would emphatically say NO!.The important lesson for me is to choose wisely, I guess?