Blogs for Frank Scoblete | Frank Scoblete

The Search for the Great Snowy Owl

All the birders (birders are bird watchers but “birder” sounds stronger and classier than bird watcher) were at Jones Beach West Field #2, tromping through the sand and the dunes with one harried lady scolding us: “Do not walk on the grass on the dunes!” We were not listening; instead we tromped all over the grass which was unavoidable since it was under our feet.

The grass is not like the grass on your lawn or on a golf course. Each stalk is about a foot or two high and every couple of inches there it was. You couldn’t help but step on the grass. But this lady, protecting our planet as she had a “Protect Our Planet” shirt on, was adamant. Everyone smiled at her benignly and she finally gave up the fight and stepped on the grass too.

Birders were all over the place – on the dunes, the beach, near the parking lot. Wherever you looked, there was a birder or groups of birders in their birding clothes with binoculars pointed wherever they thought they would see the creature we had all come to Jones Beach to see, the great Snowy Owl.

My group is from the South Shore Audubon Society and we were hunting for that great Snowy Owl also known as Bubo scandiacus. (Bubba scandiacus, if you are from the south.) We hungered to see it as these owls are tough to spot around our area since they hang out in the Arctic, which is a long drive from Long Island, New York. In the fall they migrate to the south. I guess these birds are the real snow birds, not to be confused with NY senior citizens who spend three months in Florida every winter.

Now, birding is not a precise activity. The leaders of our group saw the Snowy Owl just a few days earlier and some photographed it. So, everyone excitedly looked here, there and everywhere to catch a glimpse of this magnificent owl. Alas, after an hour and twenty minutes of climbing, walking and binoculing, Mr. Owl didn’t make an appearance. I have printed a great one from Claire Reilly, a pro photographer, who photographed the bird several days later on Jones Beach.

That night, after our day’s disappointment, my wife the Beautiful AP and I watched a documentary titled Wild Arctic and one beautiful sequence had a fabulous video of this fabulous bird. In the birding world, this sighting doesn’t count. We can’t put it on the list we’re not keeping (see article “The Pelican Brief”). But the documentary was great to watch.

snowyowl

Photo by Claire Reilly

[Read my new book Confessions of a Wayward Catholic!]

Bad Teachers

***They lit his tie on fire as he napped in class; they threw his desk and bookshelves out the window. The students did things such as this for 30 years. This teacher had tenure. His very first year of teaching saw the kids throw his overcoat out the window; put glue on his desk drawers, and cause him befuddlement when they asked questions he couldn’t answer. He kept sending kids to the administrators. Nothing helped. He never got any better. He stunk on his first day of teaching before tenure and he stunk on his last day of teaching with tenure. He stunk every day in between.

***She would take attendance and as she called the kid’s name, the kid would say “present” or “yo” or “here” and then get up and leave the class. She never noticed that but when she looked up there might have been 10 kids remaining out of 30. She had tenure. She’d been teaching for 20 years.

***Everyday, he would cry when he came into the teacher’s room. He’d complain that the kids were torturing him. Indeed, they were. He’d been teaching for two years. He did not have tenure yet. He had graduated from Columbia’s school of education.

***She screamed and yelled at her students every day; every damn day. You could hear her on the second floor although she taught on the third floor. She’d been teaching five years. She had tenure. She yelled from the second day of her first year on the job and never stopped.

***She’d been at the job for 32 years. She only taught honors classes. She couldn’t teach non-academic classes because the kids ate her alive. She couldn’t teach academic classes because those kids ate her alive. So to save her sanity, she was only given honors classes. They ate her alive because many of these kids were disdainful of her intellect. But they ate her alive without throwing stuff at her or throwing stuff (or her) out the window. She won Teacher of Excellence in some New York State competition.

The above are just some examples of bad teachers. Without exception they all had tenure. That one exception – the crier – received tenure after his third year. My understanding is that he became a principal. He was on his way to the top! For all I know he could be a superintendent of schools now.

The unknowledgeable in educational matters, meaning non-teachers, would think that those “old” pros had merely lost the ability to teach or just got bored and allowed the kids to run rampant.

Not so.

Teachers who were bad before tenure were bad after tenure. So I ask you this? How the hell did these bad teachers get tenure? You had good teachers before tenure who became great teachers after tenure, yes, that is true, because they gradually learned the secrets of success – but they were good to start with. The bad stayed bad. No bad teacher in my wealth of experience ever became a good teacher.

There was only one exception to my tenure rule (Scobe’s rule: bad stays bad) and that was one teacher at my high school who was a brilliant man, loved by students, who went stock-raving mad after 25 years of teaching. The teaching didn’t drive him mad; his divorce from his wife did; it sent him over the edge. He started taking everything out on his students. His classes became rants. He was fired after he poured ketchup and mustard on a student’s head after the student said something he didn’t like in the cafeteria. The student got drenched then beat up the teacher. The student was not thrown out of school; in fact he was a hero to some students for pounding the living shit out of this poor guy. The teacher was a nerdy type; not much of a fighter. Still the teacher was fired.

A second tenured teacher halfway through his 37^th year – he was still a good teacher now mind you – reached out and grabbed a girl’s breasts while teaching his lesson. “These are nice,” he said squeezing them. He disappeared 10 minutes later and was never seen again. But he left when he was still a good teacher – although obviously something snapped inside his head (whichever head you think that was).

I have no idea why teachers who didn’t have it, got it – tenure I mean. I just don’t really recall teachers going from good to bad after tenure. The great teachers – and I did know some great teachers at Lawrence High School – never just became “okay.” They were great before tenure and great after tenure.

I am not a cheerleader for public education but I can say tenure is necessary – otherwise I would never have had a teaching career. You see, when I was a new teacher I was fired from my first job. I didn’t even finish my second year after having (dare I say this) a somewhat physical altercation with my principal. He thought I was a good teacher but he couldn’t stand me because I was – and this is the truth – an arrogant bastard. I also taught stuff he didn’t think I should teach. Even when he told me not to teach it; I taught it. As I said, I was arrogant and, yes, I know this now – I was stupid.

On my second job at Lawrence High School, once again I alienated some administrators who had the ear of some Board of Education members. My science fiction club did a comic book “Lawrenceman” that teachers and kids liked but that the administration hated. I made everyone who joined my club a “president” (they had to pay for the position) so it would look good on their college transcripts. We didn’t hide this fact. I had giant signs all over the school telling students to join and become the president. In fact, some of the major colleges wrote me little notes telling me how much fun it was to see a teacher enjoying his career and to keep sending them my presidents. I even allowed teachers, custodians, and secretaries to become members but they could only pay to be vice-presidents.

I barely squeaked by to get tenure – and if I didn’t get tenure at Lawrence, I would never get another teaching job. I’d be blackballed.

You see, before I was hired at Lawrence I went on six interviews and as soon as I told the principal the fact that I had been fired – I never hid that – I didn’t get the job. At Lawrence, four people became my strong supporters after I taught a sample lesson: Greg Monahan, chairman; Edwin Krawitz, principal; Lenore Israel, great teacher; Gabe Uhlar, great teacher and also the kids of the class I taught. The school – and the students – took a chance on me, and thanks to them I actually had a career.

Still, I only got tenure by one vote. Over my career tenure protected me.

Tenure protected other controversial teachers too. We had teachers who were socialists; ultra-conservatives, libertarians, religious nut cases, but all damn good in a classroom. Our school thrived because of these people; it certainly didn’t thrive because of the bad teachers. These were great teachers – before and after tenure – but some of them were outspoken; they were fighters. Certainly, those bad teachers never had to worry about being fired; but the firebrands did. Tenure protected them. It protected me. And it gave students great teachers from which to learn.

Bottom line, I whole-heartedly believe in tenure but, come on, teachers have three years to show their stuff – their teaching stuff – and if they just don’t have it then they shouldn’t get tenure.

Tenure is great because it is a method of protecting those who should be protected; but it is a disgrace to give someone tenure who is not now and will never be a competent teacher.

[Read my new book Confessions of a Wayward Catholic!]

Crazy You Ain’t

First the quotes:

“Oh, we were so crazy in college!”

“What a nutty bunch of people we are!”

“Don’t get me started because I am so crazy.”

“We girls are so crazy when we get together!”

“We guys are so crazy, yahoo!”

“Get us all together, baby, and it is crazy time!”

I am sure you have all heard people — maybe even yourself — proclaim how crazy you are or were or continue to be. Or when you were younger or in school or last week you shouted to the rooftops or to waiters or bartenders or waitresses: “We are so crazy.”

Everyone who proclaims they are crazy is like everyone else who proclaims they are crazy. They aren’t crazy. They are just typical. No different than all the others saying, “Oh, we are so crazy.” You are not crazy. Take it down a notch.

Really crazy people — and I have met really crazy people — usually don’t delight in calling themselves crazy to impress others who can see clearly that these truly crazy folks are really crazy, I mean really, really crazy. It’s not, “Oh, we girls are partying tonight, aren’t we so crazy!” Truly crazy people say (usually to some voice in their head or some emotion welling up in their tortured hearts), “That dirty prick, I am going to hurt him!” Or, “Let me punch myself in the face because Daddy didn’t love me.”

The really crazy don’t usually share their craziness with waiters, “Oh, I am so crazy, I just killed five people at my bible class! Aren’t you impressed?”

So stop being the type who proclaims craziness as some good quality for which others will be impressed. You aren’t crazy; you are just going out to dinner; you are just going out for a few drinks; you are just enjoying a party. You are not crazy. You are not slitting someone’s throat from ear to ear.

[Read my new book Confessions of a Wayward Catholic!]

The Poor versus the Rich

Let’s talk liberal and conservative. The liberal believes the conservative is on the side of big business, the corporations and the wealthy. The basic liberal attitude I’ve been reading on Facebook postulates that the conservatives wish to have a truly dual society — wealthy businessmen and women, big corporations paying low wages, no unions, etc.

I am not so sure this is correct. If I were a rich business owner or the head of a monstrous corporation wouldn’t I want people to have money so they can buy the things I produce? It would seem stupid to want the money exclusively in the hands of the rich because then all those products and services would crumble.

Doesn’t poverty help the liberal more than the conservative? If you can make sure a significant percentage of society is living on entitlements and that is how they “earn” their money to spend on goods and services, doesn’t the liberal have control over those people? Don’t these “poor” folks become a huge voting block because they want the money the liberal doles out?

So as I see it, at least for this article’s musings, the liberal is far better off with a lot of poor people and the conservatives are far better off with fewer poor people.

I’ll get to the “war on women,” the “science versus religion,” and the “gay marriage” issues in the future.

Right now the bottom line is this: Who benefits more from poverty and low wages? The Left or the Right?

G-d is not God’s Name

Pious Jews will rarely write the word God for fear of violating the First Commandment of not taking the Lord’s name in vain. Instead they will write the word as G-d, figuring this is not calling upon God but merely referring to Him without using His name. Even some Christians have started using the G-d to express their piety as well.

Sad to say this but God is not God’s name. YHWH (English pronunciation Yahweh) is God’s name (some religions use the word Jehovah as God’s name). Using that name in vain is a violation of the First Commandment. The use of the word God is merely the use of a title, although using a capital “G” means the God of the bible as opposed to the gods of Greece, Rome and other cultures.

So pious Jews and pious Christians have taken their piety a little too far, which tends to be a problem in most religions – the overly pious keep making things increasingly more extreme for others in the group. Before you know it such religions might be using G–, or –d, or — to say God. Then they might substitute *** for the dashes and who knows how far it will go? If you don’t want to say Yahweh or Jehovah that’s fine but referring to Him as G-d is mistaken and misplaced piety.

So why that First Commandment in the first place? It is quite simple really. When you say Yahweh’s name, He must hear you. You have gotten His attention. If you are wasting His time that is a serious thing for that is a vain use of name calling, a vain use of His attention, and a vanity on the speaker’s part.

Think of it this way: If I call your name in a crowded area, you will hear it. If I call out Mary or Jane or some name that is not your name chances are you will ignore it or not hear it. You respond to your name. God responds to His name.

Even writing His with a capital “H” is showing that we are dealing with the God of the bible but “His” is not His name.

So I recommend dropping the dash and looking for other ways to show piety.

[Read my new book Confessions of a Wayward Catholic.]

Mr. Negativity

He was tall; he was overweight; he had a ponytail as many men who are losing their hair do. I guess the philosophy is to grow the most hair where you have hair and take away the fact that you have the least hair where you have the least hair. You can control the most hair but the least is problematic.

Maybe he was 50-years old; maybe more, maybe less.

The great dice controller Jerry “Stickman” and I were in Atlantic City for a week. We like to play early in the mornings when a few, a couple or one or no players are at the tables. Mondays and Tuesdays are the best days to get the type of table we like.

This day that man was at the end of the table. There were two other players at the table.

“Mr. Negativity,” said Stickman to me.

“He doesn’t seem happy,” I said. He did indeed have a sour look on his face.

He cashed in for one thousand dollars, not an overwhelmingly large sum yet he proceeded to make green ($25) and black ($100) bets — most of them on Crazy Crapper propositions with exceedingly high house edges.

He went through his money fast enough. In fact, he took out another thousand dollars having run out of money rather quickly.

I was up next to get the dice. I was standing at my normal spot, SL1 (next to the left arm of the stick man) and I put up my Pass Line bet.

“Who’s rolling?” he asked the dealer.

“Frank,” said the dealer. The dealer nodded at me.

I established my point, a 6

“Hard eight for one hundred dollars,” he said.

He glared at me. That was weird. Why would the guy glare at me when he was betting on me?

I took the dice; set them in my 3-V, aimed, swung my right arm slowly and released. The dice hit the wall then settled a few inches away.

“Eight! Eight the hard way!” said the dealer.

“Let it ride,” growled Mr. Negativity. He now had $1,000 on the hard 8. A win would mean a whopping $10,000 in his pocket.

“I took the dice; set them, aimed, swung my arm, released the dice. They flew slowly through the air, bounced on the layout, hit the back wall and died.

“Eight! Another hard way eight!” said the dealer.

“Down on my hard eight,” snickered Mr. Negativity. His upper lip curled somewhat.

The dealer pushed $10,000 in orange chips to him; he scowled at me and walked away.

“Pleasant guy,” said Stickman. “Glad he left. Man is he Mr. Negativity.”

Later that morning, after a delicious and relaxed breakfast, Stickman and I checked out the craps tables. Mr. Negativity was at the end of the table with two “reserved” signs on either side of him. He was betting big money now – probably based on his 10 thousand jackpot of the early morning.

When he saw me he snarled; I swear, he snarled. He threw a few times; hit some of the Crazy Crapper bets he was on, sevened out, took his chips and stormed off the table.

“At what point does Mr. Negativity lose his money?” asked Stickman.

“Late this afternoon,” I laughed.

“I say tomorrow morning he’ll be cashing in for a thousand,” said Stickman. “What a rotten attitude he brings to the table.”

We didn’t see Mr. Negativity the rest of the week. I am guessing this guy is an addicted gambler and one who enjoys the awe other players show him when he bets huge amounts.

Mr. Negativity was a sad and angry man. There was no joy whatsoever in his play.

Frank Scoblete’s new books are “I Am a Dice Controller: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Craps”; “Confessions of a Wayward Catholic” and “I Am a Card Counter: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Blackjack.” All available from Amazon.com, Kindle, Barnes and Noble, and at bookstores. Visit Frank’s web site at www.frankscoblete.com.

Times, They are a Changin’

If you told me 10 or more years ago that I would become a birder (as in a bird watcher) I would have said you were nuts. Only maniacs want to go out into the forest or parks or bays to look at birds. Seriously now, look at birds? Insane.

But now I am ambling through some of the most beautiful parks and bays on Long Island with dozens of birders, and with my wife the Beautiful AP—and I am a truly happy man, a truly happy birder.

I never knew we had such beauty on Long Island. It’s as if I’ve moved to a whole new locale. In a way, I have. I am now one of those nutty birders out there with my binoculars and my special birding hat and when I see one of these beauties (even ugly birds are beautiful) I get a real charge.

I’ll admit in those long-gone years of my birding disdain I figured incorrectly that all birders were deranged. They must be wackos of the wackiest way to do what they did, so I thought. Having met them, most are smart, interesting and committed people – although one or two or a few are indeed out of their minds. Still, isn’t that true of most groups – a few maniacs interspersed with smart, interesting and committed people?

We go out birding on Sundays at 9 a.m. We’ve been to Francis J. Levy Park, Hempstead Lake State Park, Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, Jones Beach West End, Mill Pond Park, Massapequa Preserve, Point Lookout Town Park and Lido Preserve, and indeed more are on the upcoming schedule. The Beautiful AP and I are even contemplating going to Costa Rica on a birding expedition.

I’ve seen all sorts of birds on these walks; colorful songbirds, wading birds and a variety of those awesome predators of the skies—hawks! One was sitting atop of a tree munching (this is indelicate) on another bird. An amazing sight! This was at Jones Beach West End.

I do not know the names of all the birds I’ve seen. Yes, there are birders who are experts and they identify the birds and easily describe their behaviors, calls, plumage changes and migratory patterns. I listen and try to learn, but I am a slow learner in this field.

Sundays have become “date days” for the Beautiful AP and me. We go birding then go out for a romantic lunch. Yes, a decade or more ago, I would have called this a cheap date. But times have changed. Now with my wife at my side, I happily clad myself in garb laden with pockets and strap on a water bottle and binoculars over that, to tread through mud and bush to spy on winged creatures—and I am ever surprised by what I see.

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(My new book is Confessions of a Wayward Catholic!)

Not by Bread Alone

Look, I don’t hate bread. It’s the staff of life but most people don’t use staffs anymore and certainly one does not need a staff in a restaurant or bread before the meal. That no-bread-before-a-meal goes from dining out in a diner or going to the fanciest gourmet rooms.

But I may be alone in this because bread is almost universally served before diners even get to eat the real meal. And, my Lord of Hosts, people devour the bread as if it is the Eucharistic overload!

Come on, you can buy most of these loaves in any decent bakery and they certainly do not cost the ingredients and the artistry of the restaurant’s chef in the making of them.

Let us say you go to a gourmet restaurant and the price of an entrée is $30-$50, plus add an appetizer and a salad and maybe dessert; but you gobble down slices of bread and gobs of butter and/or oil before this great repast? Aren’t you just dulling your appetite and taking up room in your stomach with relatively inexpensive drivel as opposed to the sumptuous meal the chef is making especially for you?

What a waste!

Last night did me in at Uva Rossa, my favorite Malverne village restaurant. A couple seated at the table adjacent to me ate three loaves — three whole loaves! — of the Italian bread before the meal. They only ate one-third of their meals. Uva Rossa has great food but the bread is, well, just bread.

My grandchildren are bread freaks and my daughter-in-law and my son only allow them one to two slices. If allowed I think the two of them would wander the restaurant looking to steal bread from other people’s tables. Along with giant mounds of butter.

So here is my proposition: Eat the meal first. If at the end of it you feel the need for some bread, fine, eat some. By doing this you have experienced what you came to the restaurant for — some good food made by a professional chef. You can also tell the waiters that they can bring bread when you ask for it but not before. That will stop your reflex to eat some.

Remember: It is not by bread alone that man exists. Take that saying to heart.

[My new book is Confessions of a Wayward Catholic! Available on Amazon.com, Kindle and at bookstores.]

The United Kingdom

THE UNITED KINGDOM TOUR

“In thunder, lightning and in rain!” chanted Shakespeare’s three bearded, baleful witches in his masterful play “The Tragedy of Macbeth.”

Those lines and those horrifying characters were a part of the opening scene of the play. The witches’ intent was to lure Macbeth into thoughts of murdering the rightful monarch King Duncan, which Macbeth eventually did — the murderous thoughts and the actual killing. Obviously it didn’t turn out well for Macbeth or his wife Lady Macbeth since the play has “tragedy” in the title. That means the lead character dies. No spoiler there therefore.

Actually the witches could have just taken a vacation in Miami because if my experience of Scotland is any indication sooner or later Macbeth, Duncan, Lady Macbeth and all the Scottish characters in the play (plus the audience if the play were performed in Scotland) would have drowned. That’s how much it rained on our 17-day trip around the United Kingdom — and why it is called the “united anything” beats me. Ireland is its own country. Okay, so Northern Ireland isn’t but they aren’t a happy lot there. Scotland is taking a vote soon to leave the “united kingdom.” I know nothing about Wales except I met a lovely couple from there — Irish refugees fleeing the high taxes in Ireland.

Here is something fascinating to note: In Ireland and Scotland, many citizens referred to the American Revolution as an important moment in history — for them! I mean they just came out with it, just like that (snap your fingers), unsolicited, when they found out I was from the United States. “Your revolution paved the way,” one woman said.

The American Revolution is indeed a powerful emotional symbol for many in the United Kingdom. Truly, this is a marvel. Why? Because you almost never hear Americans talk about our “revolution” except when it comes to designer wear. Indeed in universities throughout our country the architects of our revolution are looked upon with disdain. Many professors and their lemming-like students refer to our founders as “dead white men” as if this appellation is a curse leveled on us by the bearded witches of our own past.

There were four of us on this journey; my wife the Beautiful AP and our friends Jerry “Stickman” and his sainted wife Tres (someday I will explain why she is “sainted”). Jerry and Tres have visited over 71 countries now. They have visited all 50 states. They are the adults of the travel world while AP and I are infants.

I spent so many days in casinos in the past 25 years, in the beginning mostly from economic necessity, that now I feel like a bull stomping down the streets of Pamplona. I am free! I don’t need to do the heavy casino lifting anymore. Our kids are grown men in their 30’s; our house is paid off; I have enough money (I hope) to last me till my last breath and my writing is going along just fine (thank you) so the advantage-play casino life has faded for me. I want to see the United States (38 states so far) and the world.

“Nothing is but what is not,” spoke Macbeth; a quote that fits both Ireland and Scotland. Beautiful greenery, scenery, great rolling country sides along with clouds, winds and rains almost every day of our trip to the hills, the dales and the shores. When the sun peeked out for a minute or two the temperatures soared by about seven degrees. Sadly the sun did not stay out for long.

We started our trip in London on May 31, spending four days there. Believe it or not (in fact, I couldn’t believe it) Jerry and Tres had never been to London so the Beautiful AP and I were the tour guides.

We toured Westminster Abbey. Mind blowing — next trip I take four full days and really read and see everything. On my two trips to Westminster Abbey I saw the graves or memorials of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, DH Lawrence, Lord Byron, Keats, Shelley, David Livingstone, Dryden, Faraday, Haden, William Blake, Churchill, Sir Isaac Newton, Longfellow, Noel Coward, Laurence Olivier, Tennyson, Alexander Pope, Charles Dickens, Lowell, Milton, A.E. Housman, Henry James, Thackeray, Dylan Thomas, Oscar Wilde, Wordsworth and most amazingly Charles Darwin, he of evolution fame. Oh, yes, there were notable English Kings and Queens, Princes, Princesses, Lords and Ladies, Prime Ministers, knights, Earls and religious leaders.

In London even if there for a day, go see Churchill’s underground War Room. We also visited the Tower of London (a must see — with tour guides who are not tour guides but military men in the service of the Queen and these folks actually live there), St. Paul’s Cathedral (a must see) and we rode the giant London Eye (a monstrous Ferris Wheel) with amazing views of all of London.

We had delicious Pub lunches, great dinners; the best of which at an Indian restaurant Millbank Spice in a not-so-great neighborhood. Walking back to our hotel, we saw a guy bleeding from a small scalp wound as he sprawled drunkenly on the sidewalk while his blitzed “buddy” staggered around and begged for money. I also discovered that in this city of “no guns” there had been 125 murders using guns. But don’t worry you anti-gun people, only the criminals have guns in London.

At the end of this article I will give you the ratings that each of us gave the various things we did; the places we saw and the restaurants where we ate.

ANCHORS AWAY

Our cruise would be on the Ruby Princess and would encompass 12 days. Those of you who have been on these cruise tours know that what you see are brushstrokes of the places and countries visited. You don’t get to spend all that much time in any given place. It is the hors-d’oeuvres as opposed to a full meal.

On Wednesday, June 4 we left London and headed first to Stonehenge, where giant stones had been placed in a circle with other giant stones placed on top of some of those giant stones. We were not allowed to get close as folks did in the past. On this windswept (hurricane-like winds!) horribly wet day we trudged around the stones, our umbrellas turning inside out with every step since the winds came from every direction. Not pleasant.

Nobody really knows the meaning of the stones. It is possible that they represent some religious and/or sacrificial design. Or they may simply be primitive people saying, “Og, let us put one big stone on top of the other for the hell of it.” Some of the tourists were convinced they came from another world. I wonder if that other world is as wet as this particular place. I did buy an umbrella, a hooded sweatshirt and a shot glass in the gift shop.

Then to Southampton where the Ruby Princess waited. That ship was huge! It could house over 3,000 guests and had 1,200 crew members. It was as tall as a skyscraper and far longer than three football fields.

AP and I went on only one cruise before this, to Alaska, and it was not overwhelming. The scenery of Alaska was great, in fact at times it was overwhelming. But the shore excursions were mostly in towns that really don’t exist and are opened in the summer for the cruises. One town was almost nothing but dozens of jewelry shops. In short, no one lives there all year.

We had one amazing experience in Alaska, seeing a whale and her calf within three feet of our boat; you could reach out and touch it; and in one town we learned all about prostitution for the miners. Indeed, one woman in the 1800’s charged $1,000 a trick! The Beautiful AP and I commented that this woman must have been amazing. Then we saw a picture of her. One of the ugliest women ever; Guinness Book of World Records ugly. Burly, scowly, scary; she was more the monster under the bed than a woman you’d want in bed. Maybe the miners paid her not to have sex with them.

AP disliked the Alaska cruise quite a bit so I figured she’s dislike this one too. Thankfully that didn’t happen. All the sights we saw in England, Ireland and Scotland were real; they didn’t just exist for tourists. Some were actually amazing and overwhelming. Others were, well, disgusting.

The mini-suite we had was composed of two rooms with a real bathroom. A real bathroom means a real tub and a real shower. In our Alaskan trip we only had a balcony room and the shower could fit your leg and perhaps an arm. There was no bathtub. If you are going to cruise I recommend the mini-suite because it actually feels like a real hotel room.

Jerry, Tres, the Beautiful AP and I enjoyed sitting on the balcony, looking at the ocean and the land zipping by if we were close to shore. A fine bottle of wine, great conversations – as close to perfect as you can get. It was worth working like a dog since I was 12 to now be able to enjoy this.

Our first stop was Guernsey, a beautiful island owned by the Queen (I think that means it is not a part of the United Kingdom but is a part of the Queen’s “whatever”) that had been occupied by the Germans in World War II.

Okay, what follows is our individual ratings of the places we saw and the tours on which we went with some comments at times from me. The ratings go from F to A+.

May 31 to June 4, 2014 LONDON

WESTMINSTER ABBEY
Jerry: A
Tres: A+
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

BIG BEN
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

THE LONDON EYE
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A-
Scobe: A

THE TOWER OF LONDON
Jerry: B+
Tres: A
AP: A-
Scobe: B+

THE SERVANT OF THE QUEEN (Tour Officer)
Jerry: A+
Tres: A+
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

PRIME MERIDIAN

This was Jerry’s thing. The longitude equals zero here. My opinion? You walk up a long hill to see a golden line and then you wait on que to take a picture. There is a museum but it was closed when we went there.

Jerry: A
Tres: C
AP: B
Scobe: D

SHARD RESTAURANT

This is the new “in” place in London. It is an 87-story skyscraper that resembles a shard of glass. We went for lunch at the restaurant but we couldn’t get in because Jerry was wearing white sneakers. Then we went to dinner there that night. The view was amazing bu the meal and services were second rate.

Jerry: D
Tres: D
AP: C-
Scobe: D+

BOAT RIDE ON THE THAMES
Jerry: A-
Tres: B+
AP: B+
Scobe: A-

TRAFALGAR SQUARE
Jerry: C
Tres: A
AP: A-
Scobe: A-

BOYDS RESTAURANT
Jerry: B
Tres: B+
AP: A-
Scobe: A-

ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL
Jerry: A-
Tres: A+
AP: A+
Scobe: A

LES MISERABLES

I’ve seen this show three times. This was the best of the productions. Magnificent!

Jerry: A
Tres: A+
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

RED LION PUB
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A-
Scobe: B+

BLACKFRIAR

The tables were so small they looked more like Frisbees. The meal was so-so but we did get to see a couple sitting at the Frisbee next to us who went on a half hour orgy of foreplay. Drool was on their chins. They left at separate times so Jerry figured they were having an affair.

Jerry: A-
Tres: B
AP: B+
Scobe: C

THE SECRET LONDON WALKING TOUR
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A-
Scobe: B+

DOUBLETREE WESTMINSTER HOTEL
Jerry: A
Tres: A+
AP: A
Scobe: A+

DOUBLETREE RESTAURANT
Jerry: B
Tres: B+
AP: B+
Scobe: B+

MILLBANK SPICE (Indian restaurant)
Jerry: A+
Tres: A+
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

CHURCHILL’S WAR ROOM
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

June 5, 2014: GUERNSEY

TOUR GUIDE
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

NAZI OCCUPATION MUSEUM
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A+
Scobe: A-

(It depressed me seeing all the Nazi stuff and realizing these poor Guernsey folks were crushed under the boot of the monsters. The minus in my rating came from the mustiness of the place.)

UNDERGROUND NAZI HOSPITAL
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: B

(This place is nothing but huge, damp, wet underground tunnels that the Nazis built to cure their sick and injured. Almost no one survived a stay in these tunnels. You came in with a cold and died from pneumonia. Awful, awful place.)

THE ISLAND OF GUERNSEY
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

(Just beautiful even though the roads are so narrow that you have to sometimes drive on the sidewalks! Wonderful cliffs with the waves crashing on the rocks.)

June 6, 2014: CORK IRELAND

Rain, rain and more rain and then heavy rain in the realm of Noah’s flood. I kept looking around for Russell Crowe but I think he’s Australian.

KINSALE

Little waterside town. The Cathedral was closed so we went to a small café for breakfast (our second breakfast of the day — the motto on a cruise is “I eat therefore I am”). The name of the café was Mother Hubbard’s. We met a couple of older Irishmen there. We had a pleasant conversation and then we paid the bill. Jerry wound up paying twice as much as I did. He was shafted.

Jerry: C
Tres: A-
AP: A-
Scobe: B

BLARNEY CASTLE AND GROUNDS
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

Amazing grounds even though the rain was so heavy you tromped through tiny lakes. Beautiful (wet) estate; (wet) flowering gardens; (wet) small streams getting bigger by the second and a lake that seemed ready to break its banks. Just magnificent and did I mention wet?

AP, Jerry and Tres made their way to the top to kiss the Blarney Stone. I can’t walk those curving steps because of a horrible event in my childhood.

Now the Blarney Stone is supposed to give shy people the gift of gab. You crawl under the stone and then you kiss it. Hundreds of thousands of lips have kissed that stone. Lips with herpes; lips with pus dripping from them; lips with leprosy; lips with syphilis; lips that are bleeding; lips that…you get the picture. Thankfully the Beautiful AP only pretended to kiss the stone. Nevertheless I have been slyly checking to see if anything sprouts or cracks on her lips.

PRINCESS CRUISES SUPPLIED LUNCH
Jerry: B
Tres: C
AP: D
Scobe: C

We had a bad waitress. I told her I couldn’t eat mushrooms and she came back with mushrooms all over my chicken. When I reminded her of this she said, “Oh, yeah, right.” And left the plate! I called over the manager and told him I couldn’t eat mushrooms but I didn’t blame the waitress.

The cruise folks hired an Irish singer whose speaker system was so loud you could hear his heart beating; it was like being at a wedding. You could not hear anyone at your table speak. They did bring in two young ladies to do Irish step-dancing. They were good. The singer was louder as the day wore on. By the end of the meal it was unanimous that if we could put him to death we would.

THE SINGER
Jerry: C
Tres: D
AP: C-
Scobe: D

June 7, 2014: DUBLIN

The Irish like to drink. The Irish like to fight. The pub is as sacred as the church to them. Yes, stereotypes. And we in enlightened America know that all stereotypes are false.

But here is what I found — the damn stereotype might be true. Don’t just take it from me. The Irish men I talked to all agreed that they loved to drink; loved to hang out in pubs and loved a good fight now and then.

We toured Dublin, a city I totally disliked, a city with 1,000 pubs, a city with vomit trails in alleys and on sidewalks. A city that was like a dirty, crummy, crumbling neighborhood in Manhattan that tourists are told to skip.

Something else I noticed, a huge number of men seemed to have broken noses from (I guess fights in the past.). You could see those squashed noses flat against their faces, just like boxers’ noses that have been broken in fights. Dare I repeat el stereotypo here? (Look I am just telling you what I was told and what I saw.)

We visited St Patrick’s Cathedral — a truly dirty, coal begrimed house of worship for people not afraid of black lung disease. Either that or God must be very busy performing miracles in this Cathedral so worshippers don’t kick the bucket during services.

ST.PATRICK’S CATHEDRAL
Jerry: B
Tres: A
AP: B
Scobe: C-

CITY DRIVE TOUR (Jerry and Tres):
Jerry: A-
Tres: B+

DUBLIN CASTLE (AP and Scobe)
AP: A-
Scobe: B+

CAFÉ: LE PETIT PARISIEN
AP: A
Scobe: A

June 8, 2014, BELFAST

Northern Ireland, seat of “the troubles” for centuries. Catholics versus Protestants. Our tour guide Billy (an amazing tour guide; funny, witty, knowledgeable) said, “It got so bad that Jews were asked if they were Protestant Jews or Catholic Jews.”

This was a nicer city than Dublin but still it just didn’t have “it” as a city. Also, fewer broken noses than Dublin but there were still some. Not as much vomit either, although we did see some blood in an alleyway. “Ah,” said Billy. “Another broken nose!”

TOUR GUIDE BILLY
Jerry: A+
Tres: A+
AP: A+
Scobe A+

CITY HALL TOUR
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

CITY WALK
Jerry: B+
Tres: B
AP: B+
Scobe: B

PUB VISIT
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: B+
Scobe B+
(I saved one of our fellow tourists from standing in a puddle of vomit outside the Pub.)

THE CITY OF BELFAST
Jerry: B+
Tres: B+
AP: B+
Scobe: C

June 9, 2014, GLASGOW SCOTLAND

Okay, bottom line — rain. We did a hop-on, hop-off bus tour but it rained so much that most of the tour took place indoors although I foolishly tried to brave out the rain on the open air top of the bus. How do you spell S-T-U-P-I-D?

CATHEDRAL NECROPOLIS
(This is the “city of the dead” as there are tombs in the church, just outside the church and a cemetery on the hill next to the church.)
Jerry: B
Tres: C+
AP: B+
Scobe: C

ON AND OFF BUS TOUR
Jerry: B
Tres: B-
AP: B-
Scobe: C

CAFÉ SOURCE
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

THE CITY OF GLASGOW
Jerry: A
Tres: C+
AP: C+
Scobe: B-

June 11, 2014 ORKNEY ISLANDS

SKARA BRAE

This is what I love, ancient ruins. These are 5,000 years old. That’s three thousand years before Christ. This is a must see for anyone who has even the slightest imagination. You are looking at Neolithic life.

Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A+

THE STONES

These stones are pre-Stonehenge and we were able to walk around them. Our guide told us that many theories have been proposed to explain what these stones mean. He then said, “For all we know these were a part of a huge barbecue pit.”

Jerry: B
Tres: B-
AP: B
Scobe: B+

KIRKWALL
Jerry: A
Tres: B+
AP: A-
Scobe: A-

June 12, 2014, INVERGORDON

Jerry and Tres went on a boat tour of Loch Ness and we wound up meeting them on the shores of that lake. Loch (Lake) Ness is a big lake and I could see how a monster could live there. I doubt that one does since it would need a whole bunch more to be able to keep reproducing. But it was fun to see and I also picked up four stones for my grandchildren from “the lake where the monster is.” I gave each of them one and I kept two for myself. I divided based on body weight.

BOAT TOUR
Jerry: A
Tres: A

CULLODEN MOOR
Jerry: A
Tres: A

URQUHART CASTLE
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: A

CAWDOR CASTLE
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

LOCH NESS
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A-
Scobe: A+

TOUR OF INVERNESS
Jerry: A
Tres: A
AP: A
Scobe: B

June 13, 2014, EDINBURGH (pronounced Edinboro)

This city blew AP and me away! It is magnificent with structures that are old and mind boggling. It has a huge castle on top of a high hill that also served as a city behind walls. We spent about three hours there (in rain of course) and barely got to see everything there was to see. Jerry and Tres went on a city bus tour; AP and I toured on our own. We did see them at the castle.

EDINBURGH CASTLE
Jerry: A-
Tres: B+
AP: A-
Scobe: A+

MARY KINGS’ CLOSE
Cities are built on top of cities. This is an underground city and fascinating to see.

AP: A
Scobe: A

CITY TOUR
Jerry: A
Tres: A

HOWIE’S CAFÉ
AP: A
Scobe: A

CITY OF EDINBURGH
Jerry: A-
Tres: A
AP: A+
Scobe: A+

On June 15, 2014 Jerry and Tres went to Paris. It was a three hour bus ride to Paris and a three hour bus ride back. You got to spend about four hours in the city. AP and I decided to have a relaxing day of swimming, eating and playing trivia with the few remaining passengers.

Jerry and Tres both gave Paris an A+. But they did get to meet a snotty French waiter who lived up to the “snotty-French-waiter” stereotype.

I never did get to see if the Scottish actually live up to their reputation of being cheap. So I can’t say of that stereotype has any truth to it. We didn’t see many men in kilts with the exception of those who were entertainers. The people were quite friendly and I had no problem with their accents. (They had no problem with my Brooklynese either.)

Of course, a cruise (as I said earlier) merely brushstrokes the places you visit. Of all the places we saw, Edinburgh and Orkney Island were the mind blowers (and, naturally, London as well).

And what of the Ruby Princess? A great ship with great entertainment, a great mini-suite, and our two favorite waiters Elvis (yes, his real name is Elvis) and his assistant Adrian. I also liked the head waiter who made sure that I was mushroom free!

All in all, a wonderful trip.

[Read my new book Confessions of a Wayward Catholic.]