Have you noticed the poll on the right side of this blog? Our intention is to find out what you think about various ideas for blog entries and changes to our photos on flickr or the main Bakker Bugle website.
Each poll will be open for about a week. It’s true that the internet is rife with foolish little polls, but we’ll give it a try anyway. So vote! It’s totally anonymous and really easy to do.
The turning of the leaves in Dublin and London seems to be less spectacular than in the US, but there’s no question that autumn is here. In London, we stopped to admire a particular kind of tree by Constitution Hill in Green Park.
It was similar to many trees in Dublin, and it also looked very much like a tree that Anita admired in Philadelphia last year. We were both drawn to the unusual bark of a tree near Independence Hall.
I think I know what kind of tree we saw: London plane trees. Given the apparent age of the tree in Philadelphia, however, it’s probably an American sycamore. They’re both remarkable trees, beyond their obvious beauty.
The London plane tree is a type of sycamore that was especially popular with Victorians in London. Given the smog over London at that time, it was one of the Victorian fads that made sense. Maybe it was the obvious choice for a city tree because all the others kept dying in the miserable environment.
The unique look of its trunk is due to the fact that the London plane tree sheds its bark. When the soot of London clogged the pores of these trees, the trees shed the old “skin” and revealed new bark with clear pores. (The photo on the right is the tree in Philadelphia, for the nit-pickers in the audience.)
Sycamores have distinctive fruit, of course. They have two more special features: their young leaves are hairy and their mature leaves are large and waxy. In suburban environments, these features seem like disadvantages, because the hairs aggravate allergies when they fall off in the spring. And the large leaves take forever to rot away.
But in polluted air, the springtime hairs trap airborne pollutants and keep them out of human lungs. The hairs fall to the ground when the leaves mature, escorting the particulates to the sewer system. Later in the year, the mature waxy leaves provide acres of surface area to collect dust and soot, and they rinse clean in the rain. In other words, the London plane tree is ideally suited for scrubbing the air of large-particulate pollution — the original London fog.
So, it’s not just another pretty tree.
I noticed that the photo featured on the sidebar of this blog gets dozens of visits, but the rest of the photos in the same set get about a quarter as many visits. Now, I hardly expect y’all to pore over our vacation photos — but some people might have misconceptions about how those photos are posted.
I post photos to flickr in sets, which are groups of photos arranged in a particular order (usually to tell a story). When you’re looking at a photo in Flickr, you can see the rest of its set by looking to the right, where you’ll find a control box entitled “This photo also belongs to:” and the name of the set. For example, the current new photo belongs to a set called “Dave the Quality Commenter Lead Mines Chimney of Carrickgollogan Ireland (Set)”.
The best way to see what sets are available is to click on the link below the featured photo — the words, “Bugle Photos”. (There’s a duplicate link a little further down the sidebar — the words “Bakker Flickr photos” under “Blogroll”.)
When you click on either of those links, you see a list of sets, with the newest sets first. This is the best starting place for looking at photos from the Bakker Bugle collection. If you’d like to explore the photos in other ways, read our longer guide to the photo collections from the Bugle website.
In order to keep our levels of service at the excellent levels that our customers expect, it has been decided that commenters to the Bakker Bugle Blog will be honored on a fortnightly basis. This decision is not related to the health of the Bugle brand, and it is not a reflection of the quality of comments provided by our comment-vendors. Our customers, investors, and stake-holders can continue to expect the quality that the Bugle name implies.
The Commenter of this Fortnight is Dave! In addition to his consistent series of comments, Dave applied knowledge from this blog in the world. Given the level of frivolity here, we are quite impressed. Dave also played a shadowy role in elevating the ranking of this blog, which befits the winner of a spy-themed trophy.
To celebrate Dave’s third win, the Bakker Bugle secured naming rights to one of the most prominent ruins in the Dublin area:
the Lead Mines Chimney in Carrickgollogan. The Chimney is near Stepaside and Enniskerry, two lovely towns just outside Dublin.
The Chimney is not as old as it appears, but it is extraordinary in ways that do not depend on age. The Chimney capped the longest brick-built flue in the world. The flue runs down the hill to the lead works in the Carrickgollogan valley. The flue looks like a low stone wall running west from the chimney. The Chimney is just one of the highlights of the B.B. B&B’s premium Walk in the Mountains.
As soon as the legal niceties are complete, this monument will be known as the Dave the Quality Commenter Ballycorus Lead Mines Chimney of Carrickgollogan Ireland, and any American corporations referring to the monument will use its full name. In the meantime, the authorities have kindly begun the brand-badging of the monument itself, as you can see here. (You can see more photos in the Flickr set devoted to Dave’s Chimney.)
We didn’t spray-paint “Dave” on that rock, of course. We found it that way when we explored the Chimney with Cindy, and we’ve been looking for an occasion to post it ever since.
I assume that only the most inquisitive American sports fans know that the 2007 Rugby World Cup is in its final stages. In fact, I’d guess that more Americans are familiar with Quad Rugby (aka murderball) than the US Rugby team. The venues for the quadrennial World Cup are mostly in France, with a few fixtures in Scotland and Wales. The US team lost all four of its pool matches, and thus didn’t get to compete in the knock-out stage.
The Irish were crazy about World Cup Rugby — especially Dublin and especially especially where we live. This appears to be part of a general disposition to support any national team with a fighting chance, which was intensified in our area by the residents’ experience with rugby as schoolchildren. As in the US, supporting a team includes scrutinizing its players and managers to an irrational extent.
Team Ireland were considered the sixth strongest team in the world prior to the World Cup. Advertisements from the team’s sponsors began appearing all over Dublin as the team played Namibia and Georgia. Ireland won both matches, but they didn’t look very good. Still, Ireland rugby jerseys became increasingly ubiquitous on the city’s streets. Opinions about the team and its coach, Eddie O’Sullivan, dominated the TV, the radio, and ordinary conversation. The next match was against France, the third best team (and admittedly on a different level of play).
Anita and I resolved to watch it at our local pub, the Pembroke. Neither of us understood the game’s rules, although we’d shared a bar with the University of Illinois’s rugby team during our undergrad years. But we wanted to participate in a national event. We arrived as the French national anthem was playing. (I found myself signing along automatically — oops.) When I write, “we arrived,” I mean that we walked right up to the area of the bar from which a TV was visible, and then hit a wall of human bodies. We had as much a chance as an American fly-half against a New Zealand fullback.
We walked to the back entrance, and found some space in the “outdoor” terrance. Most Irish pubs have outdoor spaces to accommodate smokers, and the Pembroke’s really pushes the definition of “outdoor.” Aside from the smoke, it was comfortable, and had a small TV in one corner. We made friends as Ireland played to a lackluster loss against France. (Our new friend is a story for another day.) Even to my novice eyes, Ireland looked badly outclassed. The radio the next day confirmed my observations.
Ireland were expected to win against Namibia and Georgia, and rack up enough points to survive the predicted losses to France and Argentina. Of the last two, Argentina were the most evenly matched with Ireland. After the loss to France, Ireland would have to beat Argentina resoundingly in order to continue to the knock-out round. It was possible, given Ireland’s performance before the World Cup began, but hardly if they continued their Cup performance.
One of the prominent ads portrayed the Ireland team pushing a famous Dublin pub to the Eiffel Tower. That pub, Doheny & Nesbitt’s, is in our neighbourhood. We’d stopped there several times. It had a reputation as the pub of choice for government-types, reporters, and generally upper-class Dubliners. So it made sense that it was the rugby pub of choice — not because it was well-suited to watching rugby, but because it catered to the type of people who support rugby. Still, it was amusing to see one of “our” pubs on billboards all over Dublin (and beyond).
So when the Argentina match fell on Doug’s last evening in Dublin, we proposed watching the match in Ireland’s premiere venue for rugby fans. It was just as crowded as the Pembroke was two weeks previous, but that’s part of the fun!
Our friend Kathryn secured a seat along one wall well before the match began, and Anita joined her. After Doug and I finished dinner, we walked to the pub. Doug’s height was helpful, because we watched the first half from doorways into the TV-equipped rooms. We watched the second half near the spot that Kathryn secured for us, with the emotions of the crowd literally pressing in on us.
They were not happy emotions. Ireland occasionally threatened to go ahead of Argentina on points, but never looked like they could control the game. The crowd was frustrated, but no more than a typical, partisan bunch of American professional football fans. On reflection, the people at the Pembroke were more into the game — maybe too many tourists (like us) had seen the billboards.
I wasn’t surprised when the vitrol hit the media, just as it would in the US. What shocked me was the number of fans who came to Dublin airport to welcome back the national team that had been Ireland’s obsession for months:
I continue to resist the urge to comment on this. All I can say, justifiably, is that I can’t wrap my mind around it and that it makes me feel sad, like I should have gone out there myself. Those of you who know me must understand that I feel compelled to explain this, and that I have to work hard to keep from filling the explanatory void with my favorite social theories. I’m rambling right now to keep myself from floating those theories in public. I’ll just leave the number there, and wonder what y’all think about it.
Give the corporatists in your neighborhood a real scare this Halloween! Make your very own James Connolly pumpkin this Halloween — an exclusive for Bugle readers.
It’s easy! Just follow these instructions, and you’ll have a Halloween decoration that shows off your socialist credentials and frightens away the local children. Candy is for the working class, not the scions of privilege and oppression!
The template in this post is for pumpkin-carving beginners. 
If you’d like a more advanced template, make your voice heard in the comments!
The photo in this post is for simulation purposes only. No pumpkins were harmed in the writing of this post. Thanks to Clearly Ambiguous for making the original photo available under a Creative Commons license, which expresses solidarity with all persons insofar as possible through the strained context of our crony-capitalist legal system. Clearly Ambiguous’s use of that license does not entail support for the content of this post in any way. So don’t open a file on Clearly Ambiguous, Mr. NSA!
A shocking wave of violence swept over our neighbourhood today. Fitzwilliam Square was quiet this afternoon, and I sat enjoying the sun on a bench overlooking the lawn. The air filled with an unfamiliar noise and something savage emerged from the trees behind me. A ball of ferocious activity flew overhead and landed in the center of the square.
The decisive moment of the fight occurred before the participants hit the ground. The fracas on the grass was brief. 
The predator won easily, despite its modest size. But its struggle was hardly over. As long as its prey lay in the open, it could not rest. It could not savor the bold kill in plain sight.
The predator’s ambitions led to an impressive melee but an ignominious result. Pulling and tugging, the bird could not carry the fat pigeon into the air. And it would not stoop to dragging the body away. So it stood, glaring at the unjust world that would place a noble bird in such a humiliating position.
I saw it. I believe that I am the only witness. I scared the killer as I left the square, and I’m not sure if I should regret adding further disgrace to its predicament.
We’re back home after a great trip to London. Here are a few snapshots of my mental states to give you an idea. You can expect more in the new few days.
Saturday night, walking through Soho, Chinatown, and Leicester Square: “Dublin is such a cow-town! There’s nothing like this, even in a small area of Dublin. It seems like a square mile of London is packed with all kinds of people.”
Sunday night, earlier than Saturday, walking down Edgware Road past dozens of Middle-Eastern shops, clubs and restaurants: “This is a genuinely cosmopolitan city. I’ve never seen anything like this. I’d like to walk this neighborhood again soon, but I’d really like to get to my hotel room soon.”
Monday midday, crossing the Thames: “It will be nice to get back to Dublin. We’ve done so much, and it will be good to be home.”
Our descent into Dublin Airport took us over the city, and for the first time, I recognized many roads, parks, and landmarks from the air. That made Dublin feel like home in a new sense. Chicago and Saint Louis are the only other cities that I know in that unusual way.
But I also love London even more than I did before. That place is amazing.
Hello, silly residents of North America, with your huge continental countries.
Anita and I will take an 80 minute flight to London early Saturday morning for a little trip abroad. We’re meeting Chris and Katie at Hyde Park tomorrow morning, to take in the best of British theatre and some respectable Premier League football (Portsmouth at Fulham), and to do anything else we care to do in the centre of the civilised world.
Advertisement: A side trip to London is a perfect complement to a stay at the B.B. B&B. Add a few days to your itinerary and experience the vibrant city of London! You may opt for a guided tour, or spend a few days on your own. Either way, the travel expenses are minimal, and the memories last a lifetime!
You can expect a full report when we return, because this is one of those rare occasions when we travel without either of our laptops. In the meantime, you might notice that there are many new photos on our flickr site. I haven’t finished the text for the Belfast series, but there are other new sets for you to enjoy.
Have a good weekend!
I have it, on good authority, that rich people hold galas to celebrate how great rich people are. We are parvenues, nothing more than envious bounders who bubble to the skim layer of the teeming masses. So we can, at best, emulate the men and women of quality who surround us.
Thus, we inaugurated our entry into the Square’s echelon with all the class and sophistication we could muster. We took Doug lawn bowling at night.
A few months ago, Laurie sent us abroad with an electrified version of our favorite backyard game, bocce (or, more accurately, boules). We left our regulation equipment in Lake County, in favor of 
her gift. And now we have the ideal site. Fitzwilliam Square is incredibly dark given that it is in the middle of the city. Its lawn is finely mowed and frequently rolled, and the lighter balls do not damage it.
In Dublin, several tennis clubs include grounds for lawn bowling, the British variation of boules, or pétanque. I can be absolutely sure that there is nothing like the Bugle Boules Club of Fitzwilliam Square. It presently consists of me, Anita, and Doug, but applications may be made in person at Bugle HQ.
We’ll have a brochure available shortly. Until then, please visit our gallery.
Also, have a look at the two sets of photos from Doug’s visit: Set One and Set Two.
Powered by WordPress
