In my world, Christmastime means one thing – less than 3 months until the New Haven St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I’ve already begun preparations – practicing my reel steps, shopping for uncomfortable sweaters, and learning how to say “The priests are eating eggs” in Gaeilge (thanks, Rosetta Stone).

Then last Thursday morning I opened up The New Haven Register (while eating a breakfast of eggs with my priest friends) and learned that the New Haven police department is planning a St. Patrick’s Day “crackdown.” For as long as I can remember, public drinking laws have been “unofficially” suspended on Parade Day, but Chief James Lewis says this year will be different. As St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland (even though post-glacial Ireland never had snakes), Chief Lewis is hoping to drive the drunks out of New Haven.

So when hundreds of thousands of people converge downtown March 14, there will be no U-Haul trucks with kegs or wagons filled with cases of beer allowed. Officers will be instructed to tell cooler-toting people to return them to their cars, Lewis said.

As for spectators who still insist on drinking, “There will be tickets written that day,” Lewis warned.

Personally, I always thought the reason that the police didn’t enforce public drinking laws on Parade Day was because they couldn’t. How can you enforce “no public drinking” when the public drinkers outnumber police officers 50 to 1? (Statistic completely made up.) What say you? What do you think of the “Great St. Patrick’s Day Parade Crackdown of 2010″?

In lieu of it being the end of a very ‘interesting’ decade, I shall wish to speak on that later.  In the meantime I’d like to take a personal moment and share some of my thoughts regarding the past year.

This year, in large part, has been a defining period in my life.  Thematically I’d label it as a ‘Year of Friendship’.  The older you get the more you realize how much relationships help to shape your life, and how much they teach you in the process.  The body of Christ is truly a remarkable entity, filled with every flavour of human.  Some friends make me laugh to the point of nausea, others make me cry.  There are some friends that encourage me into deeper levels, others drive me up to shallow waters.  In all of these things, I am made to be a better person – hopefully.

This year I burned out like Jaleel White.  It was glorious.  My esophagus was burning with the acid induced by a continual feeling of being out of control.  Though I’m pretty sure it had more to do with the three cases of Coke Chris Dragos and I would polished off weekly during the month of March.  I’m not God.  In July I had to return home, if at all to rediscover why I left.  It seems humorous that during a season of eternal sunshine and warmth, I should feel so cold and finite.  Death was my closest friend.  Fixation turned into obsession and I made love to her every night.  In this sadistic turmoil I found myself in the abyss.  The pride that so seamlessly held me together dissolved to the heat of my sin.  Christ found me here, pleading for His touch, gasping for air both physical and spiritual.  Relentlessly I shunned his promises, his hope.  But as the last vestiges of my empire were overrun by the enemy, I relinquished my temporal power to the unmovable mover.  Funny how the Enemy works against himself, it’s only when we’re pushed so far into that darkness do we truly recognize the full extent of our Saviour’s glory and light.

Just as all nights dwindle at the eruption of dawn, so too did my endless twilight scudder away in the face of divine light.  The monster within withdrew and I was taken from the abyss.  Hell means nothing to the one who overcame it.  The transfiguration of the soul is a continual process often met with challenge and opposition.  Even as the anxiety has passed and life brightens with new opportunities on the horizon, I do not rely nearly enough on word of God.  Christ above me, Christ below me, Christ beside me, Christ inside me, Christ is everywhere.  Though the prince of the Air may rattle my faith, he has gained nothing if he reduces me to acceptance that Christ is all I have left in the world.

2009 will be a year to remember.  May I live up to the purpose for which God placed it.

Halloween Parade
The party of horror is celebrated October 31st each year,
this parade goes thru the Greenwich Village and it’s one of the
most creative, with thousands of people wearing their masks and
costumes looking for trick or treat! You can actually participate in
the parade if you show up early!
The Show goes down of Sixth Avenue until 23th street

Thanksgiving parade

Celebrated the 3rd Thursday of November the Macy’s Thanksgiving day
parade features it’s world wide famous huge cartoon characters
balloons, dancers and music.
The route has changed this year but it always finish at Macy’s,
34th And Broadway, this is due to the amount of people that
gathers for this event, sometimes its practicably impossible to
see the people marching in parts or the way. 

Gay Pride Parade
Celebrate equality in the city that gave birth to the LGBT movement in the world
and prepare to party NYC’s style !! With events all around The Greenwich Village,
Chelsea and around.
The march initiated in remembrance of what is known as the Stonewall riots in
the 70’s where the fight back for equality rights started.

St. Patrick’s Day
Irish immigrants in NYC started this parade as back as 1766 and it’s now
one of the most organized parades with a populous 150.000 souls
marching along 5th Av with epicenter in the St. Patrick’s Church.
Wearing something green and getting to the bone in Jameson and
Guinness its part of the tradition!

Chinese new Year

This festivity is celebrated all around the world and in NYC’s for a whole 2 weeks,
Chinatown its a party! Celebrated according to the Lunar calendar this event is in
January or February.
Dragons, firecrackers, money givers and musical parades are mixed with the smell
of food cooking down in the street. Each year there are theatrical plays, concerts
, parades, food stalls and everything is chaotic, such as if it was in Beijing.

In 2007 I climbed Croagh Patrick.  The very mountain that St. Patrick climbed.  The picture in my blog heading is from that climb.  This is the mountain that St. Patrick climbed and fasted on for forty days in the 400’s.  There are many things that people attribute to this climb, this fast, and this mountain.  One being this is where he banished the snakes from Ireland.

Climbing the mountain is a pilgrimage.  We’ve heard stories of the elderly men and women who do it in their bare feet.  Tough people those Irish.   When David and I went it was an overcast, somewhat chilly day.  Though we worked up a good sweat very quickly.  By the time we climbed in to the clouds we couldn’t tell the difference between our sweat and the water we picked up from the clouds.  It mixed together and literally dripped from our hair.    We had the entire mountain to ourselves.  It was stunning.  Being cloudy didn’t bother me.  Being windy didn’t bother me.  It seemed to add life to the mountain.  I kept thinking how different it must have been for the Bishop himself.  We had a “path”, though it was fairly rough, I am sure it was still better than in his day.  I had a pack with tissues, water, food.  He didn’t eat for forty days.  He went to pray and become a better man.  I went to climb where he climbed, and conquer a physical activity.

When we got to the top the clouds were heavy and cloaking.  There is a picture of David pointing to a white wall of cloud.  We are at the top, and the church is barely visible like a ghost, maybe I should say spirit.  Interesting, the church was locked.  The climb was intense.  We hauled ourselves up there quickly.  More so we wouldn’t cool off from the sweat and get chilled.  We were a long way from warming up.  When we stepped up from the last barrier between us and the wind I nearly lost my breath.  One from just being there and two from the strength of the wind that day.

The Path

Loving Ireland and her patron saint Patrick made this journey  incredible enough.  But now I am reading “St. Patrick His Confession and Other Works”.  I am ready to go back and climb that mountain.  I am so intrigued by what the man says.  By what the man believes.  So many times we read books or watch movies and lose ourselves in the fiction of it.  I read this and can put myself on the mountain where he went to strengthen his faith.  I can go where he was.  See what he saw, altered as it may be from centuries of change, it is still the place he was.  I am fascinated by Ireland, the oldness of it, the very history of it still living today in it’s buildings, it’s traditions, her people.  I can lose myself in the realness of it.

The Beauty

The day we climbed that mountain I felt it belonged to us.  In an emotional way, not a proprietary way.  I felt so powerful that day even as the very breath of me struggled.  It was the first time I had ever “climbed” a mountain.  By mountains standards maybe it is not large, or tall, but being the first time in thin air, I was surprised by it.  But it was all there for us.  We didn’t have to share any part of it with anyone.  Maybe that’s a shame, maybe it’s better when you have thousands on the mountain with you.  I say that to be considerate.  I truly believe we had a better experience having her to ourselves.  But since I don’t have the experience of being there with thousands of others, I can’t compare.  I do know I cherish that day, that climb.  It being and belonging to only us for that moment.

As I read more of St. Patrick the man, the man before the saint, I feel a little closer having stood in his house so to speak.  That being Ireland, and his mountain.  It’s amazing that he climbed the mountain and spent forty days humbling himself.  I haven’t the courage or dignity to spend forty minutes humbling myself.  I’ll keep reading his works, because right now his words are giving me a picture of a man.  Human, like me.  Who did great things for his world.  This inspires me.  Maybe the next time I climb his mountain it won’t be to conquer anything.  Or work up a sweat.  Maybe I will have learned a little more about myself so my next climb will be a pilgrimage.  Not a workout.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the workout that day.  I love a good workout any day.  And how I feel now about that climb is priceless.  I was there.  I loved it.  Ireland.  St. Patrick.  David.  My faith.  My life.  All of it.  It will be all of this again, and so much more.  I’ll even take my little green book with me.  I would love to read his words, on that mountain, in the wind.  Think of the life I’ll feel on the mountain that day.   Real words, by a real man, who had drive, vision, faith, and who changed a world.  And I could stand right there where he stood.

Shivers.

To: jimmyboyd@hotmail.com

From: tommieconnor@yahoo.com

Subject: New Songs

Jimmy,

Your voice and my lyrics are a winning combination and “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” is finally the big hit we knew it would be.

I’ve written a few more songs that I think might be even bigger.  Attached please find the lyrics to: “Cupid Slept Over Again Last Saturday,” “I’ve Got Pictures of Daddy and Saint Patrick Wrestling,” and “Mommy, Why Isn’t the Easter Bunny Wearing Any Pants?”

My first official performance as a bard is this weekend.  I’m quite excited about it.  This performance qualifies as bardism because I will be playing the harp, dancing and sharing the very human and inspiring story of St. Patrick.  This all with the purpose of providing a unique artistic spiritual experience.  At the moment however I am a wreck.

This week I have barely been making it to the gym, my diet has gone down more than my grandmother’s tits and I’m staying up until 9 am.  I also am feeling the joyful feelings of inadequacy that come with not being able to pay my own bills.  Which gets me in a “negative” state where I want to walk up to anybody who lives on the upper east side and declare they are a greedy asshole who should invest and spend more money (since clearly I have no money) to get the economy moving.

This, I’m well aware, is all erroneous thinking, but it still is how I feel today.  So, I have to take a big forgiveness pill and tell myself over and over again “I forgive myself unconditionally, I forgive myself unconditionally, I forgive myself unconditionally” and “why is the smell of my roommate’s latest excursion to the toilet wafting all the way down the hall into my room?”

Do you ever just get so angry it feels like there’s never enough money?  Yes I know all about gratitude and I wholeheartedly agree that it works wonders.  However.  Don’t you still have times where you think, why the fuck don’t I have any money?!?!  Well, I have woken up to the fact that most people (including the very wealthy) are all thinking that right now.  We’re all walking around with big WTF’s stamped on our wallets.  I’m gonna write a song about that.  I probably already have.  Anyway, we need some catharsis and a re-direction towards prosperous thinking.

I was reminded though that I don’t have it that bad when, after hooking up with this guy I had an extraordinarily odd date with, I walk past his doorman and I hear him saying “Yeah, I make $6.90/hour.  It’s not bad, but I think I can do more.”  OMG.  I’m such a shit.  I make at least four times that an hour.  I also work a lot harder with my job than he does, however, I still make a lot more money than he does.  And on top of that as I’m walking on my way home I take a breath and actually notice how fucking amazing central park looks with the changing leaves, the rising sun and the soft spooge-like dew all over the ground.  Yes, it’s not all that bad and besides, my financial situation IS improving.  I’m paying off my debt.  That shit’s gonna be gone in two years.  Take a breath.  And any remaining frustration is funneled into a tube to my motivation fuel tank (hence the blogging at 7:30 in the morning).

For me, that’s one of the best ways to get on track. I use my frustration to get what I really want.  When I have to deal with some bullshit or another at work, a little voice inside me says “you are not doing this forever, don’t think about fixing them, think about fixing yourself and using that to achieve your dreams…”  Well, it doesn’t make you feel vindicated, but it, ultimately, the more you do it, honestly makes you happier.  And I’d rather be happy than right sometimes.  You know?  Yeah, that asshole may have ripped you off, but if you let him keep you down his damage has just spread much farther.  Don’t let the Nothing (from the Neverending Story) spread!!  Damage control and refocus.  I do it again and again.  Hrrm….

Well, this performance this weekend is a bit of Godsend, however I ain’t getting paid squat.  No one in this is and sometimes, for me, when I’m doing shit for free I say to myself, “the idea is to move ahead here Russell…. If you’re performing for free, you’re clearly not doing anything that’s worth much….”  I let it go and say forget it because it’s not all true, but I think you can sympathize with my feelings of career stagnation.

That said, this is my first outing as a bard!  I wrote this cool script about St. Patrick after reading “How the Irish Saved Civilization”.  He details how the scribes and monks of the Christian arrival in Ireland (led in the beginning by Patrick) brought literacy and learning to Ireland.  Not only was that obviously a good thing, they did so just as books and libraries were being destroyed in the Roman Empire as it fell to the Goths and Vandals.  The Irish in turn saved thousands of texts from being lost.  So, I put together this six minute performance mixing this compelling tale with Irish dance, music and harp fierceness.  I’m delighted.

We’re doing it at the Catholic church, which is very meaningful to me as my place to debut my new work.  However, I’ve had some very odd flashbacks to when I was raised Catholic, which fortunately is no longer an upsetting memory.  I understand where the Catholic church is coming from and I forgive them for getting lots of stuff wrong (especially the whole gays are gonna burn in hell thing).

In one particular instance though I had such a relief that I was no longer under those chains of fearful obedience.  Right after we finished rehearsing my friend Heidi was talking to this woman who was coming in to teach a dance class.  Heidi told me she was gonna head to a pub and have a drink and I was like “cool, have a good time, I’m not going to go because I don’t want to get wasted tonight.”  Then this woman turns to me and says “drunkenness is a sin.”  And I’m like “so is being a self-righteous bitch”.  For Christ’s sake.  I mean really.  A sin?  What the fuck is a sin, people?   Think about it. The only things I would consider sins in this world is the lack of respect people have for their Godness that is within them and in others (which usually stems from the former).  Drinking Bailey’s on the rocks in a sports bar at ten o’clock on a Thursday until you’re three sheets to the wind is not a sin.  It’s desperation.  j/k.

Anyway, I’m having fun with the crazy Jesus people and am always delighted to see that we have more in common than not.  And Saturday I transform on stage to fierce bard.  Woohoo!

Daniel my brother you are older than me
Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won’t heal
Your eyes have died but you see more than I
Daniel you’re a star in the face of the sky

Elton John sang these lyrics with melodic conviction through our truck’s fuzzy radio reception this morning.  I was late (again) for chapel, yet when this song buzzed in I felt myself relax and begin to sing along.  (Singing when alone is about the only opportunity I get for singing nowadays [living with introverts has its challenges...]).  Since I cut teeth on KDWB AM 630 radio, I suppose I’ve heard Elton’s Daniel hundreds of times since its early 1970’s release–it runs deep in my psyche, yet I’m not sure I’ve ever actually listened to the words of this verse.  So go figure, while racing to go adore, I hear them as if for the first time. 

Although I know many Daniels (and some very cool Daniels at that),  Daniel from the Old Testament flashed before my mind’s eye.  Need some help?  Well, he is most well known for his dip in the lion’s den found in the Old Testament book of Daniel.  The story goes something like this:  Daniel refuses to bow before any king ordained gods and openly worships God instead, so he is thrown into a pit of hungry lions, lions whose mouths are closed by God.  Daniel lives, God gets the glory-oh yeah!  This is only one story, though: Daniel, time and time again throughout his life, chose unswerving trust in God and time and time again, God rescued, honored, lifted Daniel (even after years in a prison for something he didn’t do).  God gives Daniel the gifts of interpreting dreams and prophecy that prove to be invaluable for the people of his day as well as the people of our day.  He stands tall before God and, as Elton sings, he is my brother.

My brother…my brother…in Christ he is my brother…even though his “eyes have died” and he sees “more than I”, he is my brother.  Singing happily in a Mercury Mountaineer I wondered: have I been so dense all these years of struggling with earthly family issues that I’ve not seen the Family I’m part of?  Have I really never realized deeply who I’m eternally kin with?  Do I see Moses, Daniel, Ruth, Elijah, Mary, Jesus, Paul, St Patrick, Teresa of Avila, Padre Pio and Mother Teresa as my Brothers and Sisters?  Do I dare to ponder that these departed souls root me on and want nothing but the best for me just like my biological brother does?  Could it be that they check in to see how I’m doing like my brother and I do with each other?  Do they show up, stick close and pray hard when heartache visits, like many siblings do for each other?  Do they feel my pain, “the pain of scars that won’t heal”? 

Wow!  Have I been blind!  The Apostle Paul in the New Testament states over and over that followers of Jesus are Brothers and Sisters in Christ, yet I haven’t REALLY taken that in.  I need to sit with this a bit and ingest:  I have Family (not just a cloud of witnesses, like Hebrews 12 says) who, although physically dead, are real and present and trying to help me walk by faith with God.  They stand in His brilliance and undoubtedly pray for me as I try to hang with the Big Guy……………………Oh my gosh, even when I feel alone, I’m not alone, none of us are.  And with them we’re safe for they never betray, abandon, neglect or belittle…they’re life-givers, they’re fellow siblings of faith who are free of the sin nature that we on earth struggle with, yet they know all about that struggle.  They get it and “see more than I”.  They’re safe souls we can trust, they’re like Brothers and Sisters in the flesh but oh so much more, for they perpetually live in the holy Presence of God. 

It’s not just me and Jesus, it is me and a sea of supportive Siblings too.  As I reach for God, maybe they help extend my arms.  As I weep for others, maybe they weep with me.  As I stumble in faith, maybe they’re Ones who get beneath and lift until sure footing is found… 

Surely, each is a shining, holy ”star in the face of the sky” that I’m only just beginning to see…

Holy Well:  OS Grid Reference – C 366 198

Folklore

To be found between the two outer embankments on the southern side of the legendary Grianan of Aileach, this — one of many St. Patrick’s Wells in Ireland — is typically attributed with healing properties.  It was described in Henry Morris’ (1938) survey (amongst others) as being the place where, in the 5th century when St. Patrick came here, Prince Eoghan was baptised and thereafter turned his back on the heathen gods of his ancestors for this new christian cult which was just growing at that time. (‘Eoghan,’ pronounced owen)  Thereafter other people were baptised by the waters from here, which in ancient days would have been the water supplies for those at the Grianan.

Henry Swan (1938) told that in previous times there once grew a legendary tree by this well, into which pilgrims inserted pins and other artefacts as offerings and to make wishes to the spirit of the waters. A similar thing (with the same underlying mythic structure) occurred at the tree and holy well of Loch Maree.

Up until quite recently, the well was very overgrown and in a condition that Rear Admiral Pascual o’ Dogherty called “disgusting.”  He called for renovation work and action to bring this ancient site back into good health, and thankfully, as a result of the man’s proclamations, St. Patrick’s Well here has been brought back into a good state of life.  Excellent stuff mate!

References:

Lacy, Brian, Archaeological Survey of County Donegal, DCC: Lifford 1983.
Morris, Henry, ‘The Holy Wells of Inishowen,’ in H.P. Swan’s Book of Inishowen, Buncrana 1938.
o’ Muirgheasa, Enri, ‘The Holy Wells of Donegal,’ in Béaloideas 6:2, 1936.
Swan, Harry Percival, The Book of Inishowen, William Doherty: Buncrana 1938.

© Paul Bennett, The Northern Antiquarian

In episodul doi al reportajului din Dublin, am descoperit urmele remizelor Irlandei cu Italia pe afise inramate pe ziduri de toalete, incercand sa descifrez gesticulatiile portretului robot al jucatorului peninsular, si anticipand duelurile cu Franta, inaintea carora selectionerul Raymond Domenech a stiut exact ce vrea sa spuna cand s-a referit la “verzi” drept “Angleterre bis”.

(Episodul I il gasiti acum cateva postari, cu o saptamana inainte: <Capitan si spectatori impuscati in 1916 pe “Croker”, gazda barajului Irlanda – Franta>)

In zona central vestica a Dublinului, portile fabricii Guinness, avand drept simbol harpa, se deschid puhoiului de turisti descinsi la muzeul pe 6 etaje, cu un restaurant panoramic Gravity pe vechea cladire

Cateva simboluri sunt sacre pentru irlandezi. Saint Patrick, patronul lor spiritual. Verdele trifoi. Harpa. Jameson, whiskey cu e, si Guinness, berea neagra. Si nu in ultimul rand hurlingul si Gaelic football, pastorite de Gaelic Athletic Association.

Statuia lui James Joyce, autor al lui Ulysses ori Dublinezi, este la un sfert de ora de mers pe jos de arena Croke Park, unde Irlanda va primi sambata pe Franta

Dar oricat de popular a ramas traditionalul joc cu crosa in randul maselor, cand vine vorba sa-si improspateze recunoasterea sportiva internationala Republica Irlanda apeleaza mai ales la fotbal. Iar explozia demografica generata de acel succes la penaltyuri cu Daniel Timofte ghicit de Pat Bonner, in chiar prima aparitie a Insulei de Smarald pe scena mondiala, a fost inceputul veritabilei povesti de dragoste a “verzilor” cu balonul rotund. Imbratisat de pustani de la Sligo pana la Cork si din Limerick la Dublin. Nu doar capitala e nebuna dupa fotbal.

Prin centru, agentii de turism au expuse in vitrina nu numai tipice descinderi in Goa, ci si pachete de o noapte cazare, transbordare cu feribotul si bilete de meci la – se putea oare altfel!? – Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea si Arsenal. Excursii fotbalistice de pe-o insula pe alta, la fisticul din Premier League. 20 martie, Man Utd – Liverpool, 499 euro.

Oferte turistice cu nemiluita pentru fani irlandezi dornici de jocuri ale fruntaselor din Premier League...

Pe colt, in pub, n-ai unde sa arunci un ac si doar numele sponsorilor delimiteaza taberele rosii ale razboiului de peste Marea Irlandei. Carlsberg respectiv AIG. E pasiune incrancenata, e larma. Iar Torres si Ngog fac sa curga berea. Nu daneza ci neagra, irlandeza. Putin conta ca in cele doua garnituri figura un unic “verde”, John O’Shea, numarul 22 la United.

Indemnul imensei fabrici de bere de la St. James’ Gate e “sa ridici paharul pentru Arthur”. Arthur Guinness, pionierul acestui brand mondial. In pub, rosiii cu Liverpool au inaltat un pint iar pe pult am ochit un ziar de sport deschis la pagina cu rezultate, completata cu o consistenta rubrica mentionand evolutia pana si a celui mai nestiut fotbalist irlandez pentru cel mai obscur club englez. Si-atunci de ce pachete turistice doar la cele patru “mari”!?

Explicatia am gasit-o la toaleta. Pentru ca “verzilor” le place sa se bata de la egal la egal doar cu cei mai tari. Ardeau Anglia la primul lor turneu final, Euro ’88, cu golul lui Ray Houghton din primul sfert de ora, acelasi mijlocas al lui Liverpool repetand scenariul si contra Italiei, la New York, in ’94, peste ani si tinand in sah Germania, pe taram asiatic. Doar ca generatiile ’90 si 2002 n-au mai avut urmas…

Croke Park, cu tribuna I Michael Hogan si peluza "Dealul 16", vazute din gura tunelului de acces Muhammad Ali, pe unde vor iesi O'Shea si Henry...

La care Football Association of Ireland a incercat marea cu degetul, investindu-l pe regretatul Sir Bobby Robson drept tutore al noului selectioner, recordmanul de aparitii in “verde” Steve Staunton. N-a mers dar federalii au insistat sa apeleze la experienta.

Cand catedrala St. Patrick’s se darapana peste simbolul religios al celtilor, sambure al catolicismului lor, atunci baronetul parlamentar Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness a intins o mana de ajutor dintre butoaie de bere, lacasul sfant reconsolidandu-se. In fotbalul modern, FAI a cautat salvarea peste mari si tari, in persoana unui nins Giovanni Trapattoni.

La intrarea in Catedrala St. Patrick, cel mai important lacas sfant al catolicilor irlandezi, e statuia restauratorului Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness, membru al familiei nobiliare ce a dat lumii celebra marca de bere

Care uns italian a lecturat aceeasi rubrica reunind toti potentialii selectionabili si a cotrobait dupa sange proaspat prin toate ungherele fotbalului insular. Rasplata? Un 1-1 acasa la campioana mondiala. La Bari. Grupa inca se juca…

Atat curaj au prins insularii lui Trap, incat pisoarele barurilor au afisat campania de publicitate la www.soccerrepublic.ie sub titlul “Italian Gestures Explained”. O figurina squadra azzurra, brunet cu barbison, gesticuland expresiv… Arbitre, esti plecat de-acasa!? Ori… Ce rau am facut? O, Doamne! Dar nu se poate!!! Chiar nu vezi!? Degetul la tampla. Mainile rasfirate. Sau in semnul rugaciunii. Ori degetele stranse manunchi. Degetul la ochi… Posturi rastalmacite dedesubt in cel mai pur umor negru irlandez. Asadar “verzii” erau suficient de increzatori pentru a-i lua in balon pe campionii lumii.

O pagina web de fotbal si-a facut reclama pe timpul preliminariilor cu afise in toalete ale puburilor luand la misto gesticulatia tipica fotbalistilor latini. In colimator au fost italienii, cu care Irlanda lui... Trap a facut 1-1 si 2-2

Iar in retur, pe Croke Park din Dublin, un sfant modern, Sean St. Ledger, trecut de la ilustra Preston la sclipitoarea Middlesbrough, facea 2-1 in minutul 87. Gilardino a frant imediat visul, amutind “Croker”, dar recrutii lui Trap tot s-au calificat la baraj.

Dupa campioana Italia, vicecampioana Franta. O aliata geopolitica de secole. Dar Irlanda vrea acum sa rescrie istoria, cu destinatia Africa de Sud. Si “verzii” sunt si mai intaratati, de Domenech, pe care l-a scapat ca “L’Irlande, c’est l’Angleterre bis”. Cu totii au inteles ca selectionerul francez s-ar fi referit la irlandezi ca la niste rude sarace ale Angliei. Pana ce a venit un filolog sa limpezeasca apele, clarificand ca, in nonsalanta sa, Raymond a folosit bis cu gandul la “echivalent”. Adica o alta trupa de Premier League, Irlanda, aidoma Angliei…

Oare chiar la acest bis s-a referit Domenech? Ei bine, in generatiile trecute, “verzii” aliniau alde Irwin si Keane, de la Man United, sau Staunton, Babb si Houghton, de la Liverpool. Acum, Trap are nu neaparat un titular la United, O’Shea. Atat din “careul celor mari”. Atunci, pe Giants din NY, Italia era batuta de Irlanda capitanului Townsend, abia plecat de la Chelsea la Villa. Iar Lung era eliminat de O’Leary, fundasul lui Arsenal. 

Acum? In lot, trei si cate doi de la recent promovatele Hull, Stoke si Wolves, alti doi de la Coventry si Reading, plus baieti de la Scunthorpe, Preston ori Boro. Iar perechea lui Hibernian vine din Scotia. Angleterre? E drept, Kevin Kilbane, fie si de la codasa Hull, ar putea ajunge la doar o selectie distanta de recordmanul Staunton, ca de altfel si portarul Given. 101. Doar cei doi, laolalta cu Robbie Keane si Damien Duff, sunt liantul cu precedenta generatie de mondial. Dar tocmai bisul cu gandul mai degraba la “ruda saraca” decat la “echivalent” s-ar putea sa devina regretul francezului. Italianul ii pregateste ceva demn de postat pe faianta toaletei. Thierry implorand sfintii.

Va curge oare Guinnessul sambata seara la Dublin? Sau daca nu, dupa returul parizian de miercuri 18 noiembrie? Sticlele din diverse... generatii te intampina la intrarea in muzeul fabricii de bere din St. James' Gate

I found this in an old text file, I don’t remember where I got it but it’s pretty cool. Go ahead and check it out.

Peace
Simranjeet Singh
Talk to me ->

Human World

The women of the Tiwi tribe in the South Pacific are married at birth.

When Albert Einstein died, his final words died with him. The nurse at his side didn’t understand German.

St Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was not Irish.

The lance ceased to be an official battle weapon in the British Army in 1927.

St. John was the only one of the 12 Apostles to die a natural death.

Many sailors used to wear gold earrings so that they could afford a proper burial when they died.

Some very Orthodox Jew refuse to speak Hebrew, believing it to be a language reserved only for the Prophets.

A South African monkey was once awarded a medal and promoted to the rank of corporal during World War I.

Born 4 January 1838, General Tom Thumb’s growth slowed at the age of 6 months, at 5 years he was signed to the circus by P.T. Barnum, and at adulthood reached a height of only 1 metre.

Because they had no proper rubbish disposal system, the streets of ancient Mesopotamia became literally knee-deep in rubbish.

The Toltecs, Seventh-century native Mexicans, went into battle with wooden swords so as not to kill their enemies.

China banned the pigtail in 1911 as it was seen as a symbol of feudalism.

The Amayra guides of Bolivia are said to be able to keep pace with a trotting horse for a distance of 100 kilometres.

Sliced bread was patented by a jeweller, Otto Rohwedder, in 1928. He had been working on it for 16 years, having started in 1912.

Before it was stopped by the British, it was the not uncommon for women in some areas of India to choose to be burnt alive on their husband’s funeral pyre.

Ivan the terrible claimed to have ‘deflowered thousands of virgins and butchered a similar number of resulting offspring’.

Before the Second World War, it was considered a sacrilege to even touch an Emperor of Japan.

An American aircraft in Vietnam shot itself down with one of its own missiles.

The Anglo-Saxons believed Friday to be such an unlucky day that they ritually slaughtered any child unfortunate enough to be born on that day.

During the eighteenth century, laws had to be brought in to curb the seemingly insatiable appetite for gin amongst the poor. Their annual intake was as much as five million gallons.

Ancient drinkers warded off the devil by clinking their cups

The Nobel Prize resulted form a late change in the will of Alfred Nobel, who did not want to be remembered after his death as a propagator of violence – he invented dynamite.

The cost of the first pay-toilets installed in England was tuppence.

Pogonophobia is the fear of beards.

In 1647 the English Parliament abolished Christmas.

Mao Rse-Tang, the first chairman of the Chinese Communist Party, was born 26 December 1893. Before his rise to power, he occupied the humble position of Assistant Librarian at the University of Peking.

Coffee is the second largest item of international commerce in the world. The largest is petrol.

King George III was declared violently insane in 1811, 9 years before he died.

In Ancient Peru, when a woman found an ‘ugly’ potato, it was the custom for her to push it into the face of the nearest man.

For Roman Catholics, 5 January is St Simeon Stylites’ Day. He was a fifth-century hermit who showed his devotion to God by spending literally years sitting on top of a huge flagpole.

When George I became King of England in 1714, his wife did not become Queen. He placed her under house arrest for 32 years.

The richest 10 per cent of the French people are approximately fifty times better off than the poorest 10 per cent.

Henry VII was the only British King to be crowned on the field of battle

During World War One, the future Pope John XXIII was a sergeant in the Italian Army.

Richard II died aged 33 in 1400. A hole was left in the side of his tomb so people could touch his royal head, but 376 years later some took advantage of this and stole his jawbone.

The magic word “Abracadabra” was originally intended for the specific purpose of curing hay fever.

The Puritans forbade the singing of Christmas Carols, judging them to be out of keeping with the true spirit of Christmas.

Albert Einstein was once offered the Presidency of Israel. He declined saying he had no head for problems.

Uri Geller, the professional psychic was born on December 20 1946. As to the origin of his alleged powers, Mr Geller maintains that they come from the distant planet of Hoova.

Ralph and Carolyn Cummins had 5 children between 1952 and 1966, all were born on the 20 February.

John D. Rockefeller gave away over US$ 500,000,000 during his lifetime.

Only 1 child in 20 are born on the day predicted by the doctor.

In the 1970’s, the Rhode Island Legislature in the US entertained a proposal that there be a $2 tax on every act of sexual intercourse in the State.

Widows in equatorial Africa actually wear sackcloth and ashes when attending a funeral.

The ‘Hundred Years War’ lasted 116 years.

The British did not release the body of Napoleon Bonaparte to the French until twenty days after his death.

Admiral Lord Nelson was less than 1.6 metres tall.

John Glenn, the American who first orbited the Earth, was showered with 3,529 tonnes of ticker tape when he got back.

Native American Indians used to name their children after the first thing they saw as they left their tepees subsequent to the birth. Hence such strange names as Sitting Bull and Running Water.

Catherine the First of Russia, made a rule that no man was allowed to get drunk at one of her parties before nine o’clock.

Queen Elizabeth I passed a law which forced everyone except for the rich to wear a flat cap on Sundays.

In 1969 the shares of the Australian company ‘Poseidon’ were worth $1, one year later they were worth $280 each.

Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover the onset of baldness.

Ernest Bevin, Minister of Labour during World War II, left school at the age of eleven.

At the age of 12, Martin Luther King became so depressed he tried committing suicide twice, by jumping out of his bedroom window.

It is illegal to be a prostitute in Siena, Italy, if your name is Mary.

The Turk’s consider it considered unlucky to step on a piece of bread.

The authorities do not allow tourists to take pictures of Pygmies in Zambia.

The Dutch in general prefer their french fries with mayonnaise.

Upon the death of F.D. Roosevelt, Harry S Truman became the President of America on 12 April 1945. The initial S in the middle of his name doesn’t in fact mean anything. Both his grandfathers had names beginning with ‘S’, and so Truman’s mother didn’t want to disappoint either of them.

Sir Isaac Newton was obsessed with the occult and the supernatural.

One of Queen Victoria’s wedding gifts was a 3 metre diameter, half tonne cheese.

Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, never phoned his wife or his mother, they were both deaf.

It was considered unfashionable for Venetian women, during the Renaissance to have anything but silvery-blonde hair.

Queen Victoria was one of the first women ever to use chloroform to combat pain during childbirth.

Peter the Great had the head of his wife’s lover cut off and put into a jar of preserving alcohol, which he then ordered to be placed by her bed.

The car manufacturer Henry Ford was awarded Hitler’s Grand Cross of the Supreme Order of the German Eagle. Henry Ford was the inventor of the assembly line, and Hitler used this knowledge of the assembly line to speed up production, and to create better and interchangeable products.

Atilla the Hun is thought to have been a dwarf.

The warriors tribes of Ethiopia used to hang the testicles of those they killed in battle on the ends of their spears.

On 15 April 1912 the SS Titanic sunk on her maiden voyage and over 1,500 people died. Fourteen years earlier a novel was published by Morgan Robertson which seemed to foretell the disaster. The book described a ship the same size as the Titanic which crashes into an iceberg on its maiden voyage on a misty April night. The name of Robertson’s fictional ship was the Titan.

There are over 200 religious denominations in the United States.

Eau de Cologne was originally marketed as a way of protecting yourself against the plague.

Charles the Simple was the grandson of Charles the Bald, both were rulers of France.

Theodor Herzi, the Zionist leader who was born on May 2 1860, once had the astonishing idea of converting Jews to Christianity as a way of combating anti-Semitism.

The women of an African tribe make themselves more attractive by permanently scaring their faces.

Augustus II, the Elector of Saxony and King of Poland seemed to have a prodigious sexual appetite, and fathered hundreds of illegitimate children during his lifetime.

Some moral purists in the Middle Ages believed that women’s ears ought to be covered up because the Virgin May had conceived a child through them.

Hindus don’t like dying in bed, they prefer to die beside a river.

While at Havard University, Edward Kennedy was suspended for cheating on a Spanish exam.

It is a criminal offence to drive around in a dirty car in Russia.

The Emperor Caligula once decided to go to war with the Roman God of the sea, Poseidon, and ordered his soldiers to throw their spears into the water at random.

The Ecuadorian poet, José Olmedo, has a statue in his honour in his home country. But, unable to commission a sculptor, due to limited funds, the government brought a second-hand statue .. Of the English poet Lord Byron.

In 1726, at only 7 years old, Charles Sauson inherited the post of official executioner.

Sir Winston Churchill rationed himself to 15 cigars a day.

On 7 January 1904 the distress call ‘CQD’ was introduced. ‘CQ’ stood for ‘Seek You’ and ‘D’ for ‘Danger’. This lasted only until 1906 when it was replaced with ‘SOS’.

Though it is forbidden by the Government, many Indians still adhere to the caste system which says that it is a defilement for even the shadow of a person from a lowly caste to fall on a Brahman ( a member of the highest priestly caste).

In parts of Malaya, the women keep harems of men.

The childrens’ nursery rhyme ‘Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses’ actually refers to the Black Death which killed about 30 million people in the fourteenth-century.

The word ‘denim’ comes from ‘de Nimes’, Nimes being the town the fabric was originally produced.

During the reign of Elizabeth I, there was a tax put on men’s beards.

Idi Amin, one of the most ruthless tyrants in the world, before coming to power, served in the British Army.

Some Eskimos have been known to use refrigerators to keep their food from freezing.

It is illegal to play tennis in the streets of Cambridge.

Custer was the youngest General in US history, he was promoted at the age of 23.

It costs more to send someone to reform school than it does to send them to Eton.

The American pilot Charles Lindbergh received the Service Cross of the German Eagle form Hermann Goering in 1938.

The active ingredient in Chinese Bird’s nest soup is saliva.

Marie Currie, who twice won the Nobel Prize, and discovered radium, was not allowed to become a member of the prestigious French Academy because she was a woman.

It was quite common for the men of Ancient Greece to exercise in public .. naked.

John Paul Getty, once the richest man in the world, had a payphone in his mansion.

Iceland is the world’s oldest functioning democracy.

Adolf Eichmann (responsible for countless Jewish deaths during World war II), was originally a travelling salesman for the Vacuum Oil Co. of Austria.

The national flag of Italy was designed by Napoleon Bonaparte.

The Matami Tribe of West Africa play a version of football, the only difference being that they use a human skull instead of a more normal ball.

John Winthrop introduced the fork to the American dinner table for the first time on 25 June 1630.

Elizabeth Blackwell, born in Bristol, England on 3 February 1821, was the first woman in America to gain an M.D. degree.

Abraham Lincoln was shot with a Derringer.

The great Russian leader, Lenin died 21 January 1924, suffering from a degenerative brain disorder. At the time of his death his brain was a quarter of its normal size.

When shipped to the US, the London bridge ( thought by the new owner to be the more famous Tower Bridge ) was classified by US customs to be a ‘large antique’.

Sir Winston Churchill was born in a ladies’ cloakroom after his mother went into labour during a dance at Blenheim Palace.

In 1849, David Atchison became President of the United States for just one day, and he spent most of the day sleeping.

Between the two World War’s, France was controlled by forty different governments.

The ‘Crystal Palace’ at the Great Exhibition of 1851, contained 92 900 square metres of glass.

It was the custom in Ancient Rome for the men to place their right hand on their testicles when taking an oath. The modern term ‘testimony’ is derived from this tradition.

Sir Winston Churchill’s mother was descended from a Red Indian.

The study of stupidity is called ‘monology’.

Hindu men believe(d) it to be unluckily to marry a third time. They could avoid misfortune by marring a tree first. The tree ( his third wife ) was then burnt, freeing him to marry again.

More money is spent each year on alcohol and cigarettes than on Life insurance.

In 1911 3 men were hung for the murder of Sir Edmund Berry at Greenbury Hill, their last names were Green, Berry , and Hill.

A firm in Britain sold fall-out shelters for pets.

During the seventeen century , the Sultan of Turkey ordered his entire harem of women drowned, and replace with a new one.

Lady Astor once told Winston Churchill ‘if you were my husband, I would poison your coffee’. His reply …’ if you were my wife, I would drink it ! ‘.

There are no clocks in Las Vegas casinos.

The Great Pyramid of Giza consists of 2,300,000 blocks each weighing 2.5 tons.

On 9 February 1942, soap rationing began in Britain.

Paul Revere was a dentist.

The Budget speech on April 17 1956 saw the introduction of Premium Savings Bonds into Britain. The machine which picks the winning numbers is called “Ernie”, an abbreviation, which stands for’ electronic random number indicator equipment’.

Chop-suey is not a native Chinese dish, it was created in California by Chinese immigrants.

The Russian mystic, Rasputin, was the victim of a series of murder attempts on this day in 1916. The assassins poisoned, shot and stabbed him in quick succession, but they found they were unable to finish him off. Rasputin finally succumbed to the ice-cold waters of a river.

Bonnie Prince Charlie, the leader of the Jacobite rebellion to depose of George II of England, was born 31 December 1720. Considered a great Scottish hero, he spent his final years as a drunkard in Rome.

The Liberal Prime Minister, William Gladstone, was born of the 29th December 1809. Apparently, as a result of his strong Puritan impulses, Gladstone kept a selection of whips in his cellar with which he regularly chastised himself.

A parthenophobic has a fear of virgins.

South American gauchos were known to put raw steak under their saddles before starting a day’s riding, in order to tenderise the meat.

There are 240 white dots in a Pacman arcade game.

In 1939 the US political party ‘The American Nazi Party’ had 200,000 members.

King Solomon of Israel had about 700 wives as well as hundreds of mistresses.

Urine was once used to wash clothes.

North American Indian, Sitting Bull, died on 15 December 1890. His bones were laid to rest in North Dakota, but a business group wanted him moved to a ‘more natural’ site in South Dakota. Their campaign was rejected so they stole the bones, and they now reside in Sitting Bull Park, South Dakota.

St Nicholas, the original Father Christmas, is the patron saint of thieves, virgins and communist Russia.

Dublin is home of the Fairy Investigation Society.

Fourteen million people were killed in World War I, twenty million died in a flu epidemic in the years that followed.

People in Siberia often buy milk frozen on a stick.

Princess Ann was the only competitor at the 1976 Montreal Olympics that did not have to undergo a sex test.

Ethelred the Unready, King of England in the Tenth-century, spent his wedding night in bed with his wife and his mother-in-law.

Coffins which are due for cremation are usually made with plastic handles.

Blackbird, who was the chief of Omaha Indians, was buried sitting on his favourite horse.

The two highest IQ’s ever recorded (on a standard test) both belong to women.

The Tory Prime Minister, Benjamin Disreali, was born 21 December 1804. He was noted for his oratory and had a number of memorable exchanges in the House with his great rival William Gladstone. Asked what the difference between a calamity and a misfortune was Disreali replied: ‘If Gladstone fell into the Thames it would be a misfortune, but if someone pulled him out again, it would be a calamity’.

The Imperial Throne of Japan has been occupied by the same family for the last thirteen hundred years.

In the seventeenth-century a Boston man was sentenced to two hours in the stocks for obscene behaviour, his crime, kissing his wife in a public place on a Sunday.

President Kaunda of Zambia once threatened to resign if his fellow countrymen didn’t stop drinking so much alcohol.

Due to staggering inflation in the 1920’s, 4,000,000,000,000,000,000 German marks were worth 1 US dollar.

Gorgias of Epirus was born during preparation of his mothers funeral.

The city of New York contains a district called ‘Hell’s Kitchen’.

The city of Hiroshima left the Industrial Promotion Centre standing as a monument the atomic bombing.

During the Medieval Crusades, transporting bodies off the battlefield for burial was a major problem, this was solved by carrying a huge cauldron into the Holy wars, boiling down the bodies, and taking only the bones with them.

A ten-gallon hat holds three-quarters of a gallon.

George Washington grew marijuana in his garden.

Mike writes:

Last night wasn’t the best class we’ve had this fall.  I wasn’t on my best game and the kids, as Susan said, “had ants in their pants.” They weren’t bad or misbehaved. We just had trouble getting engaged. That’s life. Some days you get the bear, and some days the bear gets you.

Content-wise, we backed up and covered the chapter we missed last week (Chapter 2 in the text book.)

We started by talking again about the importance of participating in the Church community, and not just sitting on the sidelines and watching. The text showed pictures of people participating in the mass.

We began a soft introduction to the concept of the sacraments. The key concept was that the sacraments are a means of receiving God’s grace. In the course of discussion, we elaborated on two concepts.

When the text mentioned “grace,” I asked the class if they knew what that was. I received blank stares. So we backed up a little and talked about love and people who loved them. We asked the students about times they felt they were receiving their parents’ love more than others. They came up with occasions like when their parents care for them, hug them, fix their favorite meal, do things with them, and so on.  We described “grace” as God’s love for them, and the sacraments as an occasion for them to receive and feel God’s love.

The text emphasized the Holy Trinity, which brought up a whole additional concept foreign to most of the students. Beyond the basics of the Sign of the Cross, no one could really describe the concept of God and the Holy Trinity. We asked, “So how can God be one being but three persons?” One student very astutely answered, “Because he is GOD!” Using that as a springboard, we talked about the nature of God and the Trinity with three concepts.

1. It is beyond our abilities as humans to totally understand the full nature of God. And, yes, God can be one being and three persons because he is, well, God.

2. We told that because of that we could not provide them with a totally accurate description of the nature of the Trinity, but there two examples that may approach the truth. The first was St. Patrick’s description of the Trinity as being like a shamrock with one stem but three leaves.

3. We also asked the students to think about some of the various roles they have in life. They came up with concepts like son, daughter, grandchild, friend, student, soccer player, Scout, band member and others. They are one person, but they have various identities depending on what they may be doing or who they are with. We compared this to God. When we think of God as the Creator, that is the Father. When we think of God as the Savior, that is Jesus, the son. And when we think of God as the source of continuing love and grace, that is God the Holy Spirit.

We finished off with a five minute “quiz bowl,” to reinforce some of the lessons. For whatever it is worth, the students’ retention is really excellent. Something is sticking. There is hope! Back next week.

So it’s October, and logically, the time for a celebration of Oktoberfest. In my area the best celebrations happen in Kitchener-Waterloo, where the sausages sizzle and the beer flows like, well, beer. I was thinking about it this morning, what a great way to celebrate fall, getting drunk and eating sausages.

And then another thought came into my head, unbidden, as they usually do.

“But what about the Gays? Where do they celebrate Oktoberfest?”

You see, one thing I’ve noticed is that whenever there is a cultural gathering the Gay Contingent (for the sake of brevity I’ll call them the GC from now on) generally try to have a little section of the parade / festival / event / rodeo–whatever, dedicated to them.

I first saw this at a St. Patrick’s Day parade a few years ago. It wasn’t enough to be Irish, but the GC wanted a Queer Irish marching group (“We’re here! We’re Queer! We’re Irish”). I was a little puzzled, becaue the other groups weren’t promoting their sexual orientation while marching, they were promoting their Irishness.

The same kind of thing happened at Caribana this year, when the GC felt that too much attention was being given to the heteros via the graphic depictions of sexual activity exhibited during the parade dances. They did actually want more gay representation. So apparently it wasn’t a festival about being black, or Caribean, or just having fun, it too was about sexual orientation.

I wonder if, at the Pride parade, there was also infighting over whose float exhibited the most “Gay-ness”. Could it be that the lesbians weren’t being gay enough, because they were more like butch lumberjacks? “How can they be gay when they like girls?” is a question I’m sure was pondered in many a secluded drinking hole. I’m sure I’m mistaken in this last supposition, as among themselves, even the GC couldn’t stoop to saying things like “I’m gayer than you are!”

But then why, to return to my original question, had there been no brou-ha-ha over gay recognition at Oktoberfest?

Why had there been no lisping radio interview saying, “Ve are proud to be German Gays, and ve deserve to enjoy the sausage also.”

And then it hit me–Large drunk men in leather booty-shorts with feathered hats, slapping themselves on their legs which were sheathed in long white socks! That is Oktoberfest! The GC could never hope to upstage that! How could they possibly show up there and demand that the organizers provide them a soap box when–well, it would make no difference!

Prosit!!

(And before anyone starts sending me hatemail about being homophobic or German-phobic or any other phobic, don’t bother. My mind goes where it will and sometimes it spills out here in what may possibly be a vain attempt at humour. If you were offended, you probably should have stopped reading after the third paragraph.)

Fun Trivia:

• Ireland:

“Bram Stoker was working as a civil servant in Dublin when he wrote ‘Dracula’ in 1897. The main character was based on an old pub lout named Drac O’La who was notorious for sneaking around the room sipping peoples’ beers when they weren’t looking.”

“Ballygally Castle in County Antrim, is allegedly one of the most haunted places in the country. Lady Isobel Shaw, whose husband built the castle in 1625, reportedly did not pay off her student loans, and the castle still receives mysterious harrassing phone calls to this day.”

“It was once popular in Ireland to pin sprigs of shamrocks on your coat on Saint Patrick’s Day in remembrance of his using shamrock leaves to illustrate the idea of the holy trinity. At the end of the day, one would ‘drown the shamrock’ by putting a few shamrocks into a glass and covering them with whiskey. Thus the saying ‘In Ireland, EVERY day is St. Patrick’s Day!’.”

“The national symbol of Ireland is the Celtic harp, not the shamrock. The harp is less popular, though, because it’s hard to find a glass big enough to drown one in.”

“Unlike the Scottish bagpipes, the Irish uilleann pipes do not have a pipe going directly to the mouth. However, there IS usually a straw going directly to a pint of Guinness, so sometimes it can be hard to tell.”

“An odd Irish birthday tradition is to lift the birthday child upside down and give his head a few gentle bumps on the floor for good luck. The number of bumps should allegedly correspond to the child’s age plus one. For adults, the bumps are replaced with whiskey shots and fistfights.”

“The original Guinness Brewery in Dublin has a 9,000 year lease on its property. Legend has it that when the lease expires, God will descend from heaven to punish the wicked of Ireland with eternal sobriety.” It’s humor. Yes, I know drunkenness is a sin.

“One of the most popular radio shows in rural Ireland is still the weekly broadcast of local obituaries, since people with thundering hangovers keep hoping to hear their names.”

• Q & A:

“When blaming Bush for the country’s problems no longer works, who will Obama blame next?”

Highlight to view: “The Jews.“

“On land, the number one risk of mauling comes from pit bulls. What’s the number one risk of mauling at sea?”

Highlight to view: “Pit bulls riding dolphins.“

“When Obama closes Gitmo, what does he plan to do with all the terrorists there?”

Highlight to view: “Make them respected professors in Chicago.“

“Koalas only eat eucalyptus leaves. If they can’t find any eucalyptus leaves, what do they eat?”

Highlight to view: “People’s faces.“

“Koalas only eat eucalyptus leaves. If they can’t find any eucalyptus leaves, what do they eat?”

Highlight to view: “Nothing. I just said that they only eat eucalyptus leaves. Stupid.“

• Horrible Pun:

“What do you call a portable version of Osama bin Laden’s hiding place?”

Highlight to view: “Pocket-stan.“

Click here for beautiful rosary beads.

It would seem that our Catholic friends are given to a great deal of repetition in prayer. Some of the poor creatures say, “Hail, Mary!” as often and as fast as they can.

None of us prays the Holy Rosary with the attention that it deserves.

BUT:

Isn’t it better to say the Our Father, the Sacred Name of Jesus, and the holy name of Mary many times? I mean, as opposed to not doing that?

…The Rosary is a bottomless mystery that can only be understood from within. The Holy Father’s words at St. Patrick’s Cathedral are especially applicable to the recitation of the Rosary:

Stained glass windows flood the interior [of the church] with mystic light. From the outside, those windows are dark, heavy, even dreary. But once one enters the church, they suddenly come alive; reflecting the light passing through them, they reveal all their splendor.

Many writers – here in America we can think of Nathaniel Hawthorne – have used the image of stained glass to illustrate the mystery of the Church herself.

It is only from the inside, from the experience of faith and ecclesial life, that we see the Church as she truly is: flooded with grace, resplendent in beauty, adorned by the manifold gifts of the Spirit.

…Yesterday was the 59th anniversary of the foundation of the Missionaries of Charity!

While I’m on a kick of famous person grave sites, this is St. Patrick’s grave in Downpatrick, Northern Ireland!

On the great vigil of Easter in 433, which was also March 25th, Feast of the Annunciation, St. Patrick determined to meet the Celtic chieftains and High King Leoghaire  on their own ground at Tara by and challenge their superstitious and idolatrous druidism.  The pagans were prepared for the messenger of Christ, as their demoniac prophets had divined his presence.au

St. Patrick made his presence known opposite Tara on the summit of the hill of Slane where he kindled the Easter fire.  The druid priests responded by appealing to Leoghaire:  ”O King, live for ever. This fire, which has been lighted in defiance of the royal edict, will blaze for ever in this land unless it be this very night extinguished.”  By order of the king the druids were sent to the hill of Slane to put out Patrick’s fire and slay him, but by miraculous intervention, both the fire and the saint were protected from all harm, much to the consternation of the pagans.

In the morning the saint accompanied by his Christian band formed the Easter procession and proceeded from the fire on the hill of Slane to the Tara.  St. Patrick was arrayed in full episcopal attire.  As he approached the stronghold of Satan, the druid priests made use of their black incantations to cover all the land in darkness, but at his prayers this wile was undone and the sun shown gloriously in the Easter Day.  In the light the druid high priest was then raised off the ground into the heights only to be brought down again by divine power and dashed on the rocks below.

In this way St. Patrick defeated paganism in Ireland and proved to all the cheiftans the truth of the Catholic religion.  Through his great faith and his willingness to risk his life before the minions of Satan, the Saint one the admiration of the King and obtained from him permission to spread the true faith throughout the realm.

Life is always a struggle between light and darkness. It is the story of mankind.  It is the story of Ireland and it is the news of the week:

God bless Dana Rosemary Scallon, a modern day Joan of Arc, who in the past was not afraid of being attacked by the Irish bishops in defense of the right to life.  Read her largely unheeded exhortation to the Irish people:

This is no longer about the politics of right and left, it is about right and wrong. I can no longer stay silent about the wilful betrayal of Ireland’s Constitution.

BTW, the preamble of that constitution reads thus:

In the Name of the Most Holy Trinity, from Whom is all authority and to Whom, as our final end, all actions both of men and States must be referred,

We, the people of Éire,

Humbly acknowledging all our obligations to our Divine Lord, Jesus Christ, Who sustained our fathers through centuries of trial,

Gratefully remembering their heroic and unremitting struggle to regain the rightful independence of our Nation,

And seeking to promote the common good, with due observance of Prudence, Justice and Charity, so that the dignity and freedom of the individual may be assured, true social order attained, the unity of our country restored, and concord established with other nations,

Do hereby adopt, enact, and give to ourselves this Constitution.

In effect, the Lisbon Treaty offers no protection to the unborn and largely eliminates Ireland’s judicial sovereignty.

What about “acknowledging all our obligations to our Divine Lord, Jesus Christ”?

Pray for Ireland.  Ask St. Patrick to bring light into the darkness and exorcise the Great Snake from the Emerald Isle.

L’ex Chief Constable della PSNI Sir Hugh Orde otterrà il risarcimento danni per false accuse rilasciate dal Sunday World nel 2007

In una causa quasi senza precedenti Sir Hugh Orde, Chief Constable uscente della PSNI, ha vinto una causa per diffamazione che avuto origine nel 2007 quando il Sunday World lo accusò di aver usato denaro pubblico per portare con se il figlio neglio Stati Uniti, in occasione dei festeggiamenti di St. Patrick.
Paul Tweed, avvocato difensore di Orde, ha dichiarato che il suo cliente è “estremamente deluso e frustrato che il Sunday World abbia impiegato più di due anni per scusarsi di accuse che in primo luogo non avrebbero mai dovuto essere pubblicate”.
“Non solo è stato il giornalista ad aver affermato in due occasioni antecedenti la pubblicazione che le accuse erano completamente prive di fondamento, ma il giornalista in questione era se stesso nella lista di viaggio per gli USA del nostro cliente e avrebbe dovuto essere ben consapevole che il figlio del nostro cliente non aveva nemmeno viaggiato con lui”.
Oltre al risarcimento danni e delle spese legali, Orde ha anche ricevuto pubbliche scuse dinnanzi alla High Court di Belfast.
“L’imputato, Sunday Newspapers Ltd, riconosce che non vi è stata alcuna disonestà o irregolarità da parte di Sir Hugh Orde, in relazione a qualsiasi aspetto delle sue spese in qualità di Chief Constable della Psni”.
Ovvio il compiacimento manifestato da Orde e dal suo team legale.

Traduci l’articolo…


Orde wins damages in libel case (BBC News Northern Ireland)
Sir Hugh Orde is to receive substantial libel damages over false newspaper allegations that he spent public money to fly his son to the United States.
The former PSNI chief constable sued the Sunday World over an article it published in May 2007.
The undisclosed settlement is believed to be one of the biggest of its kind ever reached in Northern Ireland.
Lawyers for the paper’s publishers also issued an apology to Sir Hugh at the High Court in Belfast.
The Sunday World erroneously claimed that he used PSNI funds to take his son with him when he travelled to the US to attend St Patrick’s Day functions in Washington.
Sir Hugh’s lawyer Paul Tweed said his client was “extremely disappointed and frustrated that it has taken more than two years for the Sunday World to apologise for allegations that should never have been published in the first place”.
“Not only was the journalist told on two occasions prior to publication that the allegations were completely without foundation, but the journalist concerned was himself in the USA reporting on our client’s trip and ought to have been well aware that our client’s son had not even travelled with him,” he added.
As part of the settlement, which also included Sir Hugh’s legal costs, a barrister acting for Sunday Newspapers Ltd apologised for “any upset and embarrassment” caused by the article.
“The defendant, Sunday Newspapers Ltd, acknowledges that there was absolutely no dishonesty or impropriety on the part of Sir Hugh Orde in relation to any aspect of his expenses in his position as Chief Constable of PSNI.
Sir Hugh, who left the Police Service of Northern Ireland last month to become president of the Association of Chief Police Officers was said by his lawyer to be very satisfied with the “complete and categoric vindication of his reputation”.

My latest Presseurop blog.

Less than two weeks to go before Ireland votes on the Lisbon Treaty, the Irish press is awash with Yes editorials. With little left to be said beyond sleep-inducing reassurances as how the fraught text will not compromise national taxation, anti-abortion laws and the continued presence of an “Irish” commissioner in Brussels, the tone is inevitably taking a shrill turn. Not without some light entertainment value. Leading the attack is columnist Kevin Myers, who declares that he would rather be governed “by a parcel of fork-tongued Euro-reptiles” than our home-grown “inept and unrepentant thieves”. Given the state of the Irish economy, Myers might be right in condemning the narrow assumption that Irishmen best serve Irish interests, but until reptiles have faces, people will always prefer to be led by their own species, even if it means ruin. Being recognizable, they’re still accountable, or would at least seem so.

On the No side, Vincent Browne’s GBH job on the treaty has been a gift to the No camp which continues to claim that the treaty will compromise our neutrality. Browne points out that a single European foreign policy would have had Ireland involved “up to the gills” in the 2003 Gulf War. This sounds fair enough, until you remember that Ireland in all its little fishness was complicit in the Gulf War anyway. Our so-called neutrality never prevented US warplanes from refuelling at Shannon airport, nor, as it’s suspected, serving as stopovers for extraordinary rendition flights. Until we live in a society that isn’t dominated by war and spoliation, Ireland will always be swimming alongside great sharks. Its neutrality has always been a fiction. Read on…

The conditions on the evening of Tuesday 15 September were much like the first six evenings I had spent in the Ciudad de Mexico. Rain was falling fast and continually deriding my packing decisions which focused largely on shorts and t-shirts. As we turned off the main road in to the Bosque Tlalpan, a vast forested area peppered with small, town like communities, I knew I was seeing a side to the city that I had not yet experienced. The streets became narrow and cobbled. Either side were colonial buildings, darkly silver from the afternoon rains. The sky flashed shades of purple as the daily electrical storm rumbled on over the hills surrounding the south of the city.

We came to a stop outside a beautiful apartment belonging to a friend of Julio (my host and childhood friend). Gathered inside were a group of young Mexicans, most of whom I had met before. Immediately the tequila bottle was produced, large shot glassed filled and quickly drained, for September 15 is the day that Mexico celebrates its independence from Spanish rule. The day itself is more symbolic than anything, as independence was not actually won formally for many more years. What did happen on the night of 15 September 1810 was that Miguel Hidalgo, a priest who became a pivotal player in the struggle for independence, ordered that the church bells be rung and his congregation gather in the town square in front of the church. There he addressed them and gave a battle cry which coincided with the beginning of the insurgency. The battle cry is believed to have included such niceties as “meurte a los Espagnoles”.

Thus, at 11pm we walked to the town square through an alleyway, or what had become an alleyway due to the many street vendors selling tacos, tomales, dried fruits with chilli, and a whole host of other things I will better be able to describe to you in a few months.

The square was packed with people, and I’m guessing by the fact that I towered over most of them, that nearly all were Mexican. They were already singing along with heaps of Mexican gusto to the mariachi band performing on the stage constructed next to the town hall. I always experience a slight feeling of envy when I am present at a celebration not my own. The crowd cheered and sang word for word with the band; they screamed for songs I could never have known, they became ecstatic at proclamations I could not understand. However the feeling was short lived when I realized that just wailing along was an equally entertaining alternative. The energy of this congregation, much of it coming from Julio, meant it was impossible not to be swept up in the moment.

The lead mariachi moved aside and onto the stage burst three women in traditionally lurid dresses frilled like particularly beautiful yet deadly jelly fish. They were accompanied by three men dressed in black with their heads cocked such that the large black sombreros de mariachi obscured their faces. The trumpets sounded and they sprang to life, dancing traditional Mexican dances. This was what I can only describe as the beginning of a parade of picture book Mexican displays. Next we were treated to pelea de gallos or cock fighting to you and me. Julio’s brother leaned over and whispered in my ear ‘one of them will die’, a prospect I was not to thrilled about if you want to know the truth. However, the gods were smiling on those roosters and they merely ruffled each other’s feathers before making a graceful exit stage right. Having said that, I can not vouch for the continued safety of said birds.

After a display of lasso technique, the lights went out and a tumult of drums began. We could not see the marching band as they were in the cloister like area of the town hall which was screened off from the square. However, we could follow the proceedings on a big screen. The band leader was carrying the Mexican flag, which was headed for the illuminated balcony directly above us.

The people fell into a feverish silence, feet shuffled as everyone tried to get a better view of the balcony, above which was the bell which would be rung as Hidalgo had instructed 199 years ago. A minute passed; the drums beat insistently, my heart began to beat impatiently. Then the brass end of the flagpole emerged tentatively form the balcony, followed by the green, white, and red of the flag. “Viva Mexico” was shouted by the compere as the bell began to ring and the people exploded into a response of ‘VIVA MEXICO” before falling into a joyous rapture. Various battle cries were thrown into the crowd to which we responded “viva Mexico” with a fist punched decisively in the air. Three more vivas before the most passionate rending of a national anthem I have ever heard. These few thousand Mexicans put a 70,000 strong Twickenham crowd of mumblers to shame.

The experience was strangely emotional for me; this was nationalism as I have never experienced. Although I am proud of being British, as I suspect many are, it is almost a pride that dare not speak its name. Regardless of my personal feelings on the matter, there are no celebrations back home where anyone would dare shout “Long Live Britannia” – it would be unthinkable. St. George’s day comes and goes every year without note in England.  The only serious national celebration in the UK is St. Paddy’s day sponsored by Guinness, although that is about as patriotic (in its non-Irish franchises) as the burrito is Mexican.

There are many reasons for this phenomenon of course; empire guilt, the association of nationalism with the extremism and racism of the far right, Britain’s burgeoning multiculturalism, and possibly plain old British reserve. Yet I can not help feeling that it would be wonderful to be able to congregate and party like Mexicans because we are British. Naturally such a development would have to be organic – no one is going to party because Gordon Brown gives us a Britain Day. Additionally we would have to be careful to avoid the American brand of patriotism whereby saying “God Bless America” almost as frequently as “have a nice day”, makes foreigners nauseous, and its citizens forget they live in a country stuffed to bursting with inequality and contradictions. But it would be nice. That’s all I’m saying.

The freshest part of the fiesta was when the flags of around 10 other nations were brought on to the stage. The compere shouted something about the glory of other countries of the world before welcoming to the front of the stage the Mexican flag. This is guilt free nationalism – we love the rest of the world, but mostly we love ourselves, our history and our culture. As we roared in appreciation the heavens opened. Enormous drops of rain closed the ceremony and we retreated to the comfort of the next bottle of tequila.

Many of you, well the dozen or so of you who were here when we launched the erstwhile Indefinite Article (if you want to read about the ugliness with The Indefinite Particle you can click here), will remember our fantastically famous and successful Olympic Training Regimen.

The Inquisitive Reader: What are you offering this time?  More lessons on how to smoke cigarettes? 

TDIA: No, no, no.  This time we will going into partnership with  The Instituto De Mascotas Jorobadas in Cadiz to help players prepare for the trauma of photo ops with out-of-work actors wearing stifling leopard suits.

The Inquisitive Reader: That’s it?

TDIA: Well, that and how to put up with the continuous noise of annoying plastic horns.

The Inquisitive Reader: I see.  And how do you propose to do this?

TDIA: Intensive  Patrick’s Day festival exposure in Dublin next year.

The Inquisitive Reader: And the trumpets?

TDIA: Have you ever been to Dublin for Patrick’s Day?

The Inquisitive Reader: I have not.

TDIA: I rest my case.

Who am I Lord, or what is my calling, that you have appeared to me in such divine power. So that I may praise you ceaselessly and magnify your name wherever I may be. And this not merely in good times, but also in distress.  So that whatever may come my way, whether good or bad, I may accept it calmly, and always give thanks to God, who has ever shown me how I should believe in him unfailing without end.

Adapted from The Confession of St. Patrick translated by John Skinner

Hillfort:  OS Grid Reference – C 366 198

Also Known as:

• Grianan Ailighe
• Grianan of Ailech
• National Monument 140
  

Archaeology & History

Attributed by Michael Dames (1996) and others before him as the abode of the Dagda and the house of the sun, this huge monument was recorded in the Irish Annals as being destroyed in 1101 AD following a great battle.  A site of mythic importance to the very early Irish Kings and Queens, and used by the shamans of the tribes, The Grianan is a place of of legendary importance to folklorists, historians and archaeologists alike and has been widely described over the last 150 years.  Although the site you see today was hugely reconstructed between the years 1874 and 1878, it’s still impressive and, wrote George Petrie (1840), commands,

“one of the most extensive and beautifully varied panoramic prospects to be found in Ireland”!

Used over very long periods of time, the archaeologist Brian Lacy (1983) described the Grianan, on the whole, as,

“a restored ‘cashel’*, centrally placed within a series of three enclosing earthen banks; the site of an approaching ‘ancient road’; and a holy well.”

Early ground-plan of the Grianon

Lacy’s description in the Donegal Inventory is considerable and culls from the various surveys and reports done in the past.  First surveyed by George Petrie in 1835, the internal body of the stone-built site is roughly circular and measures around 25 yards across, with a singular entrance on its eastern (sunrise) side. A stone ’seat’ is at the end of the internal passage.  At the centre of the huge ‘room’, Petrie recorded traces of a rectangular stone structure that he thought might have been the remnants of some old chapel built sometime in the 18th century.

More than 25 yards outside of the primary stone building is another surrounding embankment, oval in shape, low to the ground and with another singular entrance to the east — though this entrance is not in line with that of the main structure.  At a further distance out from this embankment are the remains of another two oval ‘enclosures’, though the the remains of the outermost one is considerably more fragmented.

Although the replenished ‘fort’ dates from the Iron Age, early remains here are thought to have been of Bronze Age origin.  A ‘tumulus’, now gone, being one such find here.

Folklore

There is much legend here.  The creation myth narrated by Scott (1938) tells that it was,

“built originally by the Daghda, the celebrated king of the Tuatha de Danann, who planned and fought the battle of the second or northern Magh Tuireadh against the Formorians. The fort was erected around the grave of his son Aeah (or Hugh) who had been killed through jealousy by Corgenn, a Connacht chieftain.”

From similar legendary sources, it is told that,

“the time to which the first building of Aileach may be referred, according to the chronology of the Four Masters, would be about seveteen hundred years before the christian era.  There are strong grounds for believing that the Grianan as a ‘royal’ seat was known to Ptolemy, the Greek geographer, who wrote in AD 120.  In his map of Ireland he marks a place, Regia…which corresponds fairly well with its situation.”

By the outer banking on the south-side of the fortress is the remains of a much-denuded spring of water, the old water supply for this place.  It gained the reputation of being a holy well, dedicated to St. Patrick.

…the be continued…

References:

Dames, Michael, Mythic Ireland, Thames & Hudson: London 1996.
Harbison, Peter, Guide to the National Monuments in the Republic of Ireland, Gill & MacMillan: Dublin 1982.
Lacy, Brian, Archaeological Survey of County Donegal, DCC: Lifford 1983.
Petrie, George, ‘The Castle of Donegal,’ in Irish Penny Journal, 1,  1840.
Scott, Samuel, ‘Grianan of Aileach,’ in H.P. Swan’s Book of Inishowen, Buncrana 1938.
Swan, Harry Percival, The Book of Inishowen, William Doherty: Buncrana 1938.

Links:

1. Guarding the Grianan – the WordPress Word
2. Grianan of Aileagh – Stone House of the Sun

* Cashels are “monuments similar in type to earthen ringforts, but enclosed by walls of drystone construction.”

© Paul Bennett, The Northern Antiquarian