Finding Big Jim Ryan

The Cliffs of Moher

I guess they would have called him "Big Jim".  From the pictures I've seen, he looks a lot like President William Howard Taft--you know, 'big-boned'.  

James Ryan was my great grandfather on my paternal grandmother's side.  I wish now that I had paid more attention when grandma Copper spoke of her father. I remember that he emigrated from the Killarney area of Ireland sometime in the mid eighteen-hundreds and became an entrepreneur in the small village of New Holland, Illinois.  He had a hardware store and also sold Banner Buggies in the days before Henry Ford's marvelous invention.  But, that's all I know.  When you're a kid it never occurs to you that your own family's history might be important and now I'm full of questions.

Ryan's Pub in Cobh (a relative? a discount?)

The "walls" are everywhere.  Here a workman toils in Cork.

We are wrapping up our first time visit  to the Emerald Isle and there is much that surprises me.  The beauty I expected; the diversity of the landscape and the people I did not.  It's amazing how critical the destiny and personality of a country are tied to both.   

The Irish people have overcome conquest, starvation, and a climate that gives new meaning to the adjective mercurial.  Some saw a better future in America.  My great grandfather was one of those hardy souls.  Now I want to know how he came to leave Killarney and why he chose central Illinois to start anew in the United States.  With the Internet at my disposal I aim to find out more as soon as I unpack.

"The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change and the realist adjusts his sails."  (unknown)

It seems that many Irish realists found a home in America.

Surfing cows?  Agriculture is Ireland's number one industry; tourism is second.

You Know IT When You See IT

Like a former supreme court justice who couldn't define pornography but "knew it when he saw it", I saw real talent last night and knew its name was EDIE FALCO.

The longtime star of the Sopranos and Nurse Jackie is lights out spectacular as Bananas Shaughnessy in John Guare's  "The House of Blue Leaves" at the Walter Kerr Theater on 48th Street in Manhattan.

In a sea of Broadway re-treads and remakes it is well worth a trip to New York just to see the kind of magic Ms. Falco is making six nights a week and twice on Tuesdays.  

Edie Falco (aka Mrs.. Tony Soprano)

Like so many plays mounted in the past few years, this production relies on big name stars to draw an initial audience.  Ben Stiller, Jennifer Jason Leigh and the aforementioned Edie Falco pretty much guarantee lots of press coverage and entertainment dollars from visitors bent on attending a Broadway show.  Add to the mix a play that was written in the 1960's and set during the Pope's visit to the U.S. in 1963 and you have a built in audience of reminiscing baby boomers and younger people with no recollection of the times.

House of Blue Leaves

Ben Stiller is adequate as Artie Shaughnessy, however he seems a bit young and not nearly enough of a loser to pull off the part as say a younger John Mahoney or a Jason Robards in his prime.  But, he's okay.  Dreadful doesn't begin to describe Jennifer Jason Lee's embarrassing  turn as Artie's side slice, Bunny Flingus.   To say she can't act diminishes the ability of some of the most broken down hambones at your local dinner theater.  The woman comes across as a poor understudy for TV's late great Lulu Roman of "Hee Haw" fame.  Or, just maybe, it may be more similar to a Minnie Pearl rendition of Ophelia in Shakespeare's Hamlet.  She is a classic example of fame taken to an altitude where talent cannot sustain expectations.  Sally Struthers wasn't available?

Edie Falco, in a very difficult role, has that rare gift of being so absolutely believable as Artie's schizophrenic wife that it is impossible to take your eyes off her as she consumes the stage with her character.  The audience is with her at all times and she reciprocates.  It is rare to see someone so good and so subtle totally take over a part.  It is an award winning performance.  A real artist is at work here.

If you are anywhere near New York, or will be soon, don't waste your money on the umpteenth revival of a bad musical or some movie that has been adapted for the stage.  Grab a ticket to see "The House of Blue Leaves" at the Walter Kerr before the always busy Edie Falco takes her gift to a new venue.  You'll thank me later.

Edie Falco and Ben Stiller

Studies: The Good, the Bad and the Cuddly

Good news for teenage boys!

Just in time for Springtime courtin' and sparkin' comes a brand new research report from Alvarado Hospital  right here in Mr. Copper's home town of San Diego.  Apparently, (drum roll), SEX IS GOOD FOR YOU!  Yep, according to Irwin Goldstein, a urologist and editor in chief of the Journal of Sexual Medicine, there is now evidence of benefits--beyond producing a baby--to whoopee.  "When you have good sex, there is a relaxation response...you lie there and life is great, " says the good doctor who is also the director of sexual medicine at Alvarado Hospital.  The research goes on to report that sex also increases oxytocin, known as the "cuddle hormone," which promotes bonding, reduces fear and stimulates endorphins, the body's natural painkillers, which is why sex can also bring temporary relief from back pain, migraines and other body aches.

OH DOCTOR!!

Where were you when I was seventeen??

This is pure gold when it comes to hormonal salesmanship for young men everywhere.  "It's not only fun, darlin', it's also GOOD for you."

So much for the good studies.

Leave it to the killjoys at the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health to rain on the good time freak parade.  These poindexters have recently concluded that if you own a convertible you should never drive it with the top down.  

WHAT????

Everyone should have a convertible!  And, the top should always be DOWN!  I will allow a brief period of "top up" for those of you residing in states north of Kansas during the months of January and February, but that's it.  How else can you look cool behind the wheel of your latest sled?  I have owned a ragtop ever since leaving home in 1966.  The first one was a dandy 1963 Ford Galaxie 500 XL that would occasionally start and frequently broke down, but damn I looked good driving it.  After all, it doesn't matter if you get there just as long as you look good doing it.  I have owned many delightful convertibles since that time but often bask in the memories of youthful indiscretions supported by that ever faithful 500XL.  

(Cue the Johnny Mathis music...up and under.)

Now, where was I?  Oh yes, the nerds at the NIOSH have concluded a study, (Hey! Knock it off with the studies!), that found noise levels in convertibles were above 85 decibels when the top was down and the car was traveling 55 mph or faster.  At 75 mph, the decibel level jumped to 89.9.   Researchers also noted that with the top down, convertibles expose occupants to "noise spikes" from horns, motorcycle mufflers and truck engines.

To all of this I say, "HUH?" and "Who cares!?"

If the noise bothers you, turn up the radio and always keep the speedometer above 85.

Pure sex 1963 style

Grab your coat!  We're firing up the old chick magnet for a trip to the drive-in.  There are some ladies who really need to take a look at this new study from Alvarado Hospital.

Moms Rule!

Dads don't really have a chance.  In the parent popularity poll dad always comes in a distant second to mom.  Face it, for most kids--okay boys--early childhood relations with the old man go something like this:

"This is for your own good!"

SPANK

"I told you never to  (insert latest infraction here)  and you knew it!"

SPANK

"Now you've made your mother cry." (translation: no num nums for daddy tonight.)

SPANK

SPANK

SPANK!

"Are we gonna have to send you to reform school??!!"

SPANK

"No TV or movies for you for a month."

SPANK

SPANK

"Don't give me that look!"

SPANK

"Go to your room and think about what you did.  Hey, wait a minute.  Get me a Falstaff, the White Sox are comin' on TV."

"You know this hurt me more than it hurt you."  

(For the record, I never bought that one.)

It's all part of that division of family chores.  Mom gets to tell you how great you are and dad is the cop on the beat who dishes out appropriate punishment for all those things you do that aren't so great.

Mom is the one who tells you you're wonderful and that, " Daddy is just a little gruff because of things happening at work."  She knows it's bullshit, but she tries to sell it anyway.

In a nutshell this is why Mother's Day happens in May and Father's Day is in June.   We spend all our money on mom and are assured that when his day rolls around dad will get just what he wants...

NOTHING.

Dad, when you ask him, never wants anything for Father's Day and that's the way it should be.  After all, what has he done besides make you behave? 

Okay, maybe he taught you how to fake contrition and sincerity; also how to get around mom.  But other than that?   Nada.

So, do your best to show mom a good time this Mother's Day and blow all your money on flowers, candy and other doodads.  (If you're still south of twelve years old you can probably get away with one of those macaroni art projects, but don't push it.)  Dad will be just fine with the usual lame-o non gift on his day.  Maybe a refill of Old Spice from the grocery store or, better yet, while you're up grab him a Falstaff.
The game will be on in a couple of minutes.

Crap like this makes mom rave about your genius

Dad sees this and knows you're an idiot.  Mom spends $100 on a frame.