The Day That Was Yesterday

Yesterday was quite a day, as you tell from Premium T.'s blog here. Her son -- age 23 -- is well; the diagosis, mercifully, has been downgraded from a mild heart attack to a spasm. From what T. tells me, that's essentially an angina. Moreover, there's no damage to his heart and the cardio doc seems certain that it was a function of recently prescribed meds, which to me sounds like there's little danger of a recurrence. Reilly's spirits are fine -- better than mine would be under the circumstances. He's adamant that we not return to Seattle...

I'm a substitute for another guy...

We were able to take in some of the spectacular scenery of Achill Island's incomparable Atlantic Coast Drive and Minaun Heights:

Five Westport Pubs

These five pubs serve the Westport quay, a waterfront of about five blocks. The Helm ("hellum") and The Quays sit at the north and south ends, while the Asgard, the Harbour Master, and the Tower (above) cluster in the center.

My neighbor Pat Fadden and his friend Mick play at the Tower on Sunday nights, performing everything from Irish trad songs and instrumentals to "Sweet Caroline." The Tower fills up at around 11 p.m. as people join together for one last pint (or two or three) before the work week begins. They join in on favorites and often take a turn themselves. It is -- as my father said of another pub -- exactly like what you think it would be like...

Yesterday, I introduced my brother to a pub owner I know:

"I'm sorry for your troubles...He laughs because he knows I speak the truth..."

Ridin' On The Back Roads

The fun thing about backroading in Ireland is that all you have to do is take a few random turns to wind up somewhere like here: All by yourselves (except for the sheep) in the pastoral splendor. Two words of warning, though:

1. Fill up with gas before you go. Otherwise, you could come to "Road Closed -- Danger Flooding" sign on the other side of the town you planned on filling up in. When you're 30 kilometers from Crossmolina and the needle dances on E, it's harder to enjoy the beauty.
2. Bring a map with place names in both English and Irish. Because you might find yourself in a Gaeltacht area with road signs in Irish only, which means that you have blunder out in the fashion you blundered in. Which is a considerably more difficult challenge.

But, with any luck, you also end up taking a pint at Healy Hotel directly across from Lough Conn, complete with wedding party.

In my secret life...

Sarah Palin Blows Up The Republican Party...Again

As everyone knows by now, the Gift That Keeps On Giving has quit her job before the first term was up. At least that's what the media say: It's hard to tell from the rambling, barely coherent "speech" she gave, festooned as it was with belabored metaphors, exclamation point, all caps, and at least one technique of emphasis hitherto unknown to the study of rhetoric ("...*((Gotta put First Things First))*...".

From beginning to end, Palin's Last Ramble inadvertently laid out one reason after another why she should not be president of the Wasilla PTA, much less of the United States.

She derided quitters, then quit.

She talked about serving the state as a "humbling responsibility," then abdicated her responsibility.

She talked about a good point guard being able to handle a full court press, then took her ball and walked off the court.

She talked about shielding her family, then used them as her excuse for resigning.

She extolled our "bold and selfless troops" who wouldn't "give up," then gave up.

She claimed to love her job and Alaska, then quoted a banal refrigerator magnet saying.

She said that her choice was to "take a stand", then retreated.

She said that she didn't want to "disappoint anyone" with her decision, then threw her supporters under the bus by resigning without warning.

She urged Alaskans to consider entering politics, then ducked out because she couldn't stand the mildest of political pressure.

She quoted Douglas MacArthur to the effect that she was advancing in another direction. She might have taken notice of another MacArthur saying: "Americans never quit"...

We'll see her again, no doubt with her own show on Fox "News"...

The right-wing blogosphere ties itself in knots rationalizing Palin's resignation as smart politics here and here.

Paul Begala vivisects the speech here. Couldn't someone, anyone -- a speechwriter, Levi Johnston, a random Alaskan -- have vetted it for idiocy? I admit that there wouldn't have been much left, but still...

Bill writes:

If you can't stand the heat of being governor of Alaska, I don't see how you can hope to convince people that you could take the heat of being President of the United States.

Her spokeswoman was on CNN this evening trying to say that she's showing great leadership because all the ethics complaints were wasting time. I don't remember FDR stepping away when the Great Depression was devastating the nation, and I don't remember Lincoln stepping away when the country was torn apart by slavery...

More pictures and reports from Ireland soon. In the meantime, Happy Birthday America!

Yesterday

Yesterday, T. rescued a bird.

Yesterday, we had a real gully washer of a rainstorm: Thunder, lightning, and raindrops this size of bowling balls coming down harder than than a jackhammer. The lightning was something else, though.

Yesterday, we had dinner at an excellent restaurant called Sage. Everything from the decor to the food was meticulous. Don't let anyone tell you that there are no good restaurants in Ireland, not with servings like this:

Aubergine parmesan

Homemade ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta and served with a creamy butter sauce

Fried potato wedges (of course)

Vanilla ice cream and biscotti with a shot of espresso

Another espresso

Not only that, we took advantage of a custom here called the Early Bird Special, which in this case offered the first three plus the espresso for a reasonable fixed price...

Don't miss Clifton's writeup of Talib Kweli's "Talk To You (Little Darlin')" here at Just A Song...

Here's a man who really does support the troops...

Oklahoma!...

Pamela...

Peace...

Sarah Palin supports the troops and respects the flag. (Thanks to Just my little piece of the world.):



Friday's Choice: Keith Jarrett plays "Danny Boy":

A Walk In The Woods

Who knows what evil lurks...

The woods aren't for me.

My home town in South Texas did not have a drainage and sewage system. When it rained, water sat and stagnated in great puddles until the heat of the sun evaporated it. Until that happened, each pool functioned as a veritable Garden of Eden for breeding mosquitoes. Now, Gulf Coast mosquitoes are big. When I say big, I mean quarter-inch long s.o.b.s who attack like Stukas. Sometimes, the best way to kill one was to let it gorge itself for a few second before slapping. This usually left a bloody mess. Warding them off kept my arms in motion like a Dutch windmill, and it was no fun at all.

Not only that, flying insects like me. Whenever I'm in their neighborhood, a cumulus cloud-sized swarm seeks me out and finds me within minutes. Yesterday during our walk in the Brackloon Woods, T. admitted that she had never seen quite as impressive a swarm of bugs flying around a single human head, so many Messerschmitts beleaguering a wounded B-17 Flying Fortress. (Confidential to Bob: Some of them Messerschmitts was Fokkers!)

Meanwhile, I'm flailing desperately lest the hexapodine vampires drain every last drop of Irish-Texan blood from me. So, what started as an innocent walk in some lovely, dark, deep glades of the woods wound up as a primal death clash between me and the devilish little bastards, stimulated by the repressed memory of the mosquito molestation I suffered growing up.

It looks so innocent.

Not that it wasn't good exercise. Once I figured out that the faster I walked the sooner I escaped, I hustled out of there faster than, well, a newly-bred mosquito from a Kingsville puddle looking for live game. Only in this case the goal was a lunch of mussels and Guiness at the Sheebeen. The mussels were so fresh that barnacles adhered to their shells. Sweet and tender doesn't begin to describe them, especially when washed down with a pint of mother's milk (the Guinness). What started out as a near-death experience developed into a total life experience. Living can be that way, sometimes...

Viva La Quinta Brigada!...

Blogging in Ireland while listening to John Carty is a good thing. Here he is:

Carrowholly Evening

I took these pictures from the patio of our house and from a point to the southwest. The house shown is on a small island at the end of a short causeway. We walked five minutes across the causeway the other night just as the tide came in; on the way back, the water was ankle deep in some places. I'm guessing that the house is cut off from the mainland at high tide.