Category Archives: Attempted Murder

Day Thirteen: Our Own Private Irishman

Danny, showing us a traditional boat. Read on.

Danny, showing us a traditional boat. Read on.

We had a second full day on the Dingle peninsula. I won’t lie, having done the Slea Head Drive the day before I sort of felt like we had taken a good sample of the place. I mean, you could spend a month ANYWHERE and not see the same thing twice if you were willing to dig deep enough, but on a time budget you have to draw lines. Still, I was curious. I had found a website online pretty much by chance for Danny Sheehy – he does no marketing and, in fact, asked me at one point how I had even heard of him to call. When I told him I found him via his site he honestly looked surprised. “Oh, that thing? Forgot I had it.” But I’m getting ahead of myself. I found the site for Danny and got in touch with him – he offers customized walks featuring “[a] poet, a farmer, an author, a fisherman… a man at home on sea or land;” him, in other words. I showed him to Lisa, and she said “sure, what the heck.”

We had a lot of great experiences on our honeymoon, but whenever we’ve been asked what topped our list, we both say “our day with Danny Sheehy.” Continue reading

Day Eleven, Part One: Regrets, I’ve Had a Few

The normal route.

The normal route.

Don’t let the title fool you, it was a good day; we just wish we had stretched it out. You’ll see. We made a slow start thanks to a misplaced itinerary and a recalcitrant internet cafe that deigned not to open. Ever. Unshaken, we finagled access via neighborly iPad, re-oriented ourselves to our plans, and wound our way out of town. Now, the drive to our next destination, Kenmare, required us to resolve a small decision tree. The accepted route, via google maps and the advice of the tourist center, would involve a slight bit of back-tracking to get to the major highway system, after which it would be a pleasant, speedy trip. Speedy but, you know… dull. Irish highways are a lot like American highways – put in the middle of nothing because that’s the cheap, flat land, and devoid of much to look at. If, on the other hand,  we were to  go south, we would enjoy the seaside view as we drive along. The road is “N” caliber, which is the same as the other highway we were being directed to.  Besides, Courtmacsherry is that way and will make an excellent cutesy photo-op. No no, much better to take the scenic route.


Doesn't look all that different, does it?

Doesn’t look all that different, does it?


/ˈsinɪk, ˈsɛnɪk/

adjective Also, sce·ni·cal.

1. having pleasing or beautiful scenery.
2. a scenic tour: to arrange scenics in advance.
See also: a means of attempting suicide in Ireland. Continue reading

Racquetball Report #4: TERRY TRIED TO KILL ME!!!11!one!!1

Artist's rendition of the recent John v. Terry racquetball match.

An artist tries to recreate the scene of the attack.

Thanks in large part to these racquetball blog posts, Terry (Lisa’s father) has expressed an interest in playing together when he came out to help with Lisa’s chemo recovery. “How nice,” thought I, “a little guy bonding with my quasi-kinda-father-in-law. Surely great strides in mutual understanding and respect will result from this adventure. Why, in the afterglow of the manly rites of physical contest, we might just come to see one another as family!”

History is rife with stories of fathers who disapprove of their daughters’ choice of mate. They’ve imprisoned the daughters, smothered them, had the men assassinated or transported to Australia… but never, NEVER, has a father tried to cause a fatal brain hemorrhage with a well-placed racquetball.


Continue reading