Captain’s Log-Day 1-The Scotch Tapes.

Traveling with a Lisa Gags order.

After my plane last night had a mechanical issue, I arrived 3 1/2 hours late to be greeted by Lisa Murphy Gags, who was already way into her cups of O’ban Starbucks. As I’d been up exactly 24 hours as we arrived at the hotel, I didn’t realize that the cabbie didn’t hand me back my credit card. However, he kindly returned my card to the hotel. It’s like Harry Potter magic! We began touring today as hapless zombies seeing all the cool buildings in old town Edinburgh deciding that they were all the Hogwarts Campus or Edinburgh University rather than bothering in our exhaustion to look up the correct names giving our short-sighted selves a rather kilted view of the city. Tomorrow, we will exercise greater diligence in our learning. To add to it, no matter what these Scots are saying, it all sounds like they are offering me marshmallows shaped like pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, and green clovers. We went to the Christmas Markets; which had rides, about 700 food and Craft kiosks, and 1 Hannukah kiosk. It turns out that its owner was a wandering Jewish merchant who thought he heard that Scots liked to haggle, only to find out they like haggis.

After the terrific markets, we grabbed a drink at the famed Balmoral Hotel where they held these 400 bottles of Scotch in captivity. I believe this caused William Wallace to say, “they may take away our Scotch, but they’ll never take away our freedom.” Free the single malts will be Lisa’s battle cry for the trip. I have to get to sleep now as I’ve been up for 37 hours and my 18-hour bra isn’t holding up causing one Scot to try and use my double Ds for a bagpipe.

Captain’s Log-Day 2. The Scotch Tapes.

Traveling with a Lisa Gags order.

Traveling with a Lisa Gags Order-We woke up late and missed most of the 5 hours of daylight turning us into mole people by dinner. In the rain, Lisa thought that she looked like Mary Poppins, but with her umbrella blowing up in the wind, she more resembled Mary Poppin-pills. We walked the Royal Mile seeing lots of church’s called Kirks in Scotland (or Captain in Vulcan), the Bank of Scotland, St. Giles Cathedral, several boarding schools with priggish headmasters, and Holyrood Palace; which is the Queen’s digs in Scotland which were under repair, so we couldn’t get in. I wonder if Liz’s corgis did a number not on the royal wee wee pads thwarting our visit? After dark (known in the States as early afternoon), Lisa wanted to go to the plaid light district to see the hookers in the windows. What tartans these women are! By the time we got to Edinburgh Castle, the guards saw us and, despite Lisa’s Mediterranean looks; must’ve thought we were Vikings storming the castle, as they closed the solid doors in our faces.

Soaked, we returned to our hotel where Lisa left her wet crimson wool coat on the bed. After an extremely meat filled dinner in a South African Restaurant (a totally Krugerandom place to eat), we went back to our hotel to discover that Lady McLisa’s coat had left red stains on the duvet. As she scrubbed and scrubbed at the stains to no avail, she repeatedly said, “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!” before saying, “What’s done is done!” Sure, she won’t have her Marriott/Starwood Platinum Status turned to tin like mine.

Captain’s Log-Day 3. The Scotch Tapes.

Traveling with a Lisa Gags order.

As Edinburgh is only a 45 minute train ride from Glasgow, we Glaswent there for the day. We took Scotrain sans Scott Twomey. Glasgow is considered more the real Scotland, but we prefer more of the Epicot representation that Edinburgh affords us tourists. I should’ve known after taking the Scottish SATs, as one of the analogies was Edinburgh is to Sean Connery as Glasgow is to Timothy Dalton. We were neither shaken nor stirred by Glasgow.

We started in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum just in time to walk through with a rambunctious school tour of 7 year old gingers. Unfortunately, after an hour in any museum, I pretty much revert to a 7 year old ginger. Being in a museum is still life. We saw the University if Glasgow, which Hogwarts is modeled after. Although Leftist Lisa believes that Uber is causing medallion owning cabbies to kill themselves, we succumbed to requesting an Uber after waiting for a black car to no avail. We next headed to the Glasgow Cathedral where Mary Queen of Scots is buried. Turns out she married her cousin, who was killed a year later, only to then marry his murderer. That sounds like an episode of Jerry MacSpringer. Shakespeare missed a bestseller on that one. Behind the cathedral is the Necropolis; which is not a goth disco, as we thought, but is 47 acres of dead entombed Scots. We passed on the shortdead cookies offered in a mausoleum. We moved onto the Merchant District with shops and restaurants which must compulsory serve haggis and blood snausages. With a diet rich in organ meat, no wonder there’s 47 acres of dead people! We went to two more Christmas markets; which just like NY Street Fairs, all have the same street meat and junk to buy except you pay in pounds.

Tomorrow, we head to the countryside to the Highlands. I believe we are stopping at Glengarry and Glenross site of a historic battle fought with a set of steak knives.

Captain’s Log-Day 4. The Scotch Tapes.

Traveling with a Lisa Gags Order

Today, we took an excursion on a deluxe motorcoach aka bus into the Highlands up to Loch Ness. I was a little put off when the driver kept asking us if we wanted to look under his kilt to see his Loch Ness Monster. Not only did we refrain, but we are now joining the #wee-too movement. We actually started the day bright and early in Rob Roy country (Lisa is a more of a wine drinker though). Rob Roy, a sheep herder, was the Scottish Robin Hood. The term blackmail came from how he operated his shepherding business. No, he didn’t make charcoal etchings of Farmer MacDougal in a compromising position with Lambchop, but it was the practice of extorting protection for property (herds) from the rustlers; who actually worked for him anyway. Essentially, today’s mafia-owned garbage services owe Rob Roy a little taste of their action. Scotch guarding wasn’t just for upholstery back then. As the bus crisscrossed on its way to the Highlands, we seemed to be traveling in a pattern, which turned out to be argyle. We went through many actual set locations of the Harry Potter movies, which included Hagrid’s Enchanted Forest and the steam railroad; which serves as the Hogwart’s Express. As I haven’t read the books, I didn’t know the places, but did see many of the locales from my favorite book, “Green Eggs and Ham” spying a house, a mouse, a box sans fox, a car, a tree, the dark, in the rain, and a train. From there, we saw the castle from Monty Python’s, “Life of Brian,” where I sustained just a flesh wound.

Entering into the Highlands, our heavily accented tour guide explained that even warring factions had to provide hospitality to one another due to a tightly adhered to code, as the climate is so intemperate and food so scarce. Then, he went on a rant about Glen Campbell, who was apparently the worst guest ever in the Highlands, when he stayed with the MacDonalds. I couldn’t imagine what Glen could’ve done short of keeping the Witchita Lineman still on the line. It turns out that the tour guide was talking about the Clan Campbell, not Glen, who after the clan took the MacDonald’s hospitality killed them all the next morning. Far beats my worst houseguest, who log-jammed the downstairs bathroom during a party one time. We went to the majestic mountains of Glencoe where we had a light lunch of Scottish Broth and bread. The bread was so hard and crusty that we developed Loch Jaw.

Before debussing (it’s like deplaning, but low budget), our guide asked us if we believed in Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster. Of the 37 of us, I was 1 of 5 of the believers. Hell, last year in Iceland, I believed in the Northern Lights and didn’t see them either. We took an hour cruise on Loch Ness; but didn’t see Nessie fluke; which was much like the boredom of doing a whale watch. Bigfoot and I had a good laugh about that. Our boat’s captain sang quite a few sea shanties, of which Lisa was amazed that I knew many of the words. I guess my non-specific Ancestry.com 6-8% British/Irish/Scottish heritage supplied me instinctively with the lyrics, as I knew to take the high road and not the low road to get to Scotland before ye! Back to Edinburgh as I’m Loched out.

Captain’s Log-Day 5. The Scotch Tapes.

Traveling with a Lisa Gags order

Today, we started and ended our day with macabre fully understanding the humours of the body by nightfall. We began the day in the Surgeon’s Hall Museum, as Edinburgh has one of the oldest Universities and was on the forefront of moving us from leeches and poultices towards semi-modern medicine practices with just a wee bit of bloodletting. In the 1500s, surgeon’s were part of the barber’s guild with podiatrists being part of the blacksmith guild. So back in the day, you could get a twofer, when someone’s cart ran over your leg by having your leg removed, while getting a bit off the top, as well. Hence the word barbaric! Whether a surgeon drilled a hole in your head, amputated any number of appendages or drained you of your body fluids, anesthesia had not been invented, which makes Johnny Walker the first Dr. Kevorkian. Universal precautions against infection included the surgeon wearing a tweed or cashmere overcoat. Harris Tweed scrubs likely ensured that if you lived through the surgery, you’d hope that dry cleaning’s mysterious martinizing process would save you from dying from a fabric swatch infection. Jonathan Lister created his namesake sanitizer saving mankind lives back then versus saving us from the blown up bathrooms of today. We headed upstairs to see the vast surgical specimens of the day. ‘Twas a veritable Jeffrey Dahmer all-you-can-eat buffet with jars of organs, limbs, and tumors. No wonder Fergus’s Haggis stand outside the museum went out of business. We saw many scoliotic skeletons; which were offered with or without rickets including one woman who’s spine could’ve monogrammed Shirley’s shirts and with her legs fused almost together. Calling all the single ladies, all the singles ladies, she died giving birth to her 2nd child proving there’s a lid for every knot. We stopped at the gift shop where Lisa brought some gangrenous toes for stocking stuffers for the kids. Quake will be getting an Innkeeper’s femur for a special Christmas gift.

We headed to Rose St., which has shops and Edinburgh’s pub crawl. If you had a pint in each place, you’d become a keg. We walked around the University of Edinburgh breathing in the academia with a hint of vomit just like at US Universities. We went to the highest rated restaurant in Edinburgh, the Devil’s Advocate, where I had soup with haggis made as a vegetarian option with vegetarian haggis. I think they probably messed up in the kitchen and just told me it was veggie lung, as it came from a sheep who was vegan. Regardless, it was excellent meaning that my pallet now has good lung capacity.

Finally, we closed out the trip at Mary King’s Close. How apropos, we closed at the close! The close is now an underground city, as the city center was built upon a 12 story building. The poor would live 12 to a 10×14 room with about a 5’ 6” ceiling with no light and all would share a bucket (not of chicken), but of shitting. The bucket could only be emptied 2x a day by the youngest child into the close or street. Cows were kept inside, so the British wouldn’t steal their cattle quadrupling the twice daily alley deposits. It almost makes United Airlines veal class look attractive. If I had to live in those conditions, I’d head to the surgeon for a proper drilling of my brain. Of course the unsanitary conditions led the unlucky inhabitants to either succumb to the Black Plague or the Bubonic Plague. If you ever find yourself reading a yelp review of plagues, the recommendations are in favor of the Bubonic Plague; which when you drain the lesions and you’d have a 50% survival rate versus the Black Death with a scant 5% survival of literally coughing your guts up. Either way, we could only give 3 stars to each plague, as the service and atmosphere both scored low. Finally, we learned that doctors believing in the bodies humours would test for diabetes by sipping some of the patient’s urine to taste for sugar. That’s why the Patron Saint of Physicians is Abbott Labs Test Strips. To think that today’s doctors bitch about putting records in an Electronic Medical Record. After a final walk past the Castle, we stuck a fork in Scotland with Lisa taking a connecting flight home and me taking a direct flight as I’ll get to the US before she!

Captain’s Log-Day 1. Bridgegate II.

Searching for Chris Christy.

Well, It’s now 930p and I’ve been stuck in the Bronx not moving much since 4pm with no end in sight. I have to pee so badly that I saw a woman get into the backseat of her RAV4 and come out with a bucket, dump her pee, and get back in the driver’s seat heading nowhere. Now, I’m certainly going to order the RAV4 for my next company car. I think my kidneys have gone the way of my vestigial tail at this point. At about Fordham Rd, I emulated a cartoon character, as a particularly juicy-looking Puerto Rican girl kept turning into an empanada, as I’m so hungry. I think Trump is going to start chucking paper towels at us in the next hour. Who says you can’t get parking in NYC? I’m parked on the Deagan. I’m about to start streaming Netflix from the driver’s seat. I’m obviously in the wrong lane, as the center lane is cruising at the speed of Parkinson’s shuffle. Again, I’m envious. I almost ran out of gas and would’ve given up my swollen kidneys for a gallon, but got into the station on time. I’ve befriended a soccer ball; which I named Consuela. I’m passing the time with her until she can get home to her volleyball-husband, Wilson. I’m hoping that the airlift plans start soon. I hope this clears up soon, as I’m driving behind a minivan with a custom license plate that reads Donner. I heard the youngest boy point to my leg and call that he gets the drumstick. In all the years I’ve lived here, I have never seen traffic this bad. I may end up the Bronx long enough to apply for Medicaid. Let’s hope this log doesn’t go into day 2.

Captain’s Log-Day 2. Bridgegate II.

Searching for Chris Christy.

Well, as I approach my 10th hour stuck, we have clearly moved into a new day. Oh wait, I haven’t moved anywhere. Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink or figure out renal excretion. I’ve taken up residence on the Cross Bronx Expressway and am becoming quite cross. Coincidentally, I’ve had my legs crossed for @ least 9 hours before giving in. I started taking stock of things in my car @ around 11p. I McGyvered a toilet in my back seat by emptying a tissue box into an old purse and crawled into the back seat to cop a squat in my VW Pissat. Fortunately, I had Clorox wipes and Febreeze to make the experience feel like home sweet homeless. I panicked for the 1st time yesterday around 11:15p, when I couldn’t get my window back up for about 20 minutes. While I was warm and could have brought in my new jammies or work out pants that I left in the trunk from my last trip to Costco, I still envisioned that I would get sucked out the window a la the old Airport movie. Dinner rations came down to a linty star mint (circa 2009) retrieved from the cup holder. I will never malign that pedestrian candy again. Watch out smartees, I’m coming for you. I’ve now been in the Bronx so long that I’m now K2-Karen from the block. Sadly, it’s an overheated engine block.

For all the friends and AZ peeps checking in on me, thanks for keeping me alert and distracted. I think that when I get home, I will not leave the house for a long time. I will post on here when I get home, so everyone knows I’m home, dry, and fed. Happy driving to all and to all a good night!

Captain’s Log-Day 1. The Cuban Missus Crisis.

Traveling with the Ancient.

Anchor’s Aweigh, as we set sail for a short 4-day cruise to Havana, Hu-Nah-Nah! We boarded and went upstairs to the buffet, which they harshly renamed “the Bay of Pigs” as we ate our way to Cuba. As I didn’t have my sisters join as our plus 2, I’m forced to take my mother to the show featuring the music of Celine Dion. During the Latvian Idol winner’s rendition of “ My heart will go on”, I almost wished we were in the North Sea careening towards an iceberg. As we are on the same ship that Mr. Golden Underwear and I took from Lisbon to London, I saw many of the same staff. Our former waiter received a promotion which brings his pay up to 8 pairs of cow lips and a bowl of rice and he gets to sleep all the way on the bottom of the laundry shoot on the soiled towels. Our fellow travelers are diverse, as in there are Jews who live in Florida and Jews who haven’t yet moved to Florida. It’s not boding well for the Chef’s big order of Cuban sandwiches. We will wake up in Havana. Hasta manana! Marie Principe Werner, we will see how much espanol I’ve retained. As long as mi casa es su casa, es all bueno.

Captain’s Log-Day 2. The Cuban Missus Crisis.

Traveling with the Ancient.

We are inFidels in Cuba. We spent today exploring. There was an hour looking for my Mom’s fish earrings that were never packed, another hour exploring the cabin for my Mom’s watch, not to mention the panicked return back to customs searching for my Mom’s sunglasses; which were found when she explored the space under her hat on her head. For future travelers, I wouldn’t suggest the Havana Lost and Found Tour. It takes me back to our family cruise to Bermuda, where my parents were convinced that the tiny Filipino room steward was stealing my Dad’s sans-a-belt shorts, only to find them at home upon their return.

As for our real sightseeing, my Mom has held up better from the 1950s then has Havana. The sidewalks and streets have the broken pavement that is known in poor communist countries as Leningrade. We hailed a 1952 Chevy; which had leprosy, as its doorknobs kept falling off. The cabdriver kept having to reach into the front seat to let us out of the cab; a move he dubbed Cuba Libre. We were lucky to not toss our rice and beans.

After dropping my Mom back on the ship, I ventured out to some of Hemingway’s old haunts along the Plaza Vieja. The shopping is far more Che than Chic and certainly not going to start a rebellion. Also more Guevara shirts than Guayberra shirts. For a bunch of communists, they will still barter, so you can usually get a Marx down. I asked this lady if I could take her picture, after agreeing, she and her friend tried to shake me down for some pesos. I tried to convince her that I was taking this shot for the people. She was a total Cohibitch!

Captain’s Log-Day 3. The Cuban Missus Crisis.

Traveling with the Ancient.

Today, we went on a 5 1/2 hour tour of Havana in a 1952 Chevy Deluxe. The Deluxe features are in the league of a hamburger deluxe, as the extra amenities were about as deluxe as lettuce and tomato in the aforementioned burgers. We saw a great deal in our Castro Convertible, as we Thelma and Louised it through Old Havana, Calle del Reyes, Revolution Plaza, and the Hotel de Nacional. If you need to take a piss-o, you better have a peso. After you take a piss-o, you better have another peso; if you care to wipe-o. Cuba Libre, my dripping ass-o! Forget the Cuban Missile Crisis, Che Guevara actually started the revolution after some strong Cuban coffee and eating some Ropa that got too viejo. At the Hotel de Nacional, we channeled our best Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano, except we had quite a problem with the demands of omerta, especially the Godmother.

Tonight, we are back on the ship, as my mother wanted to be at the big White Night. Unlike on that family cruise for my parents 50 Anniversary cruise, where my Mom obliviously made family shirts; which read “Kaplan Kruise Krewe” (KKK), this White Party only referred to all-White attire not the all-White attendees doing the white man’s overbite, while boogying to “Play that Funky Music White Boy”. Did we learn nothing today from the Afro-Cuban dancers at the Santeria temple? Better a dance move than an animal sacrifice. Right now, I’m listening to a Gay Jewish guy from Long Island perform “My girl”. I think he’s referring to his cleaning lady. Even my Mom just called Uncle on this, so I will make my rapido exit until Manana.