If you’ve met my friend Kyle, then you’ve probably heard one of his tales about ingesting dairy only to have it revolt against his body and win each and every battle. If you haven’t met Kyle, you should - listening to him recount in brutal detail stories involving the uprooting saplings and walking out of the woods with no socks after one of these ordeals is…priceless.

What brought this to mind was yet another article in this months’ Mental Floss titled “Milk vs. Lactose-Intolerant People”.

I personally can’t fathom the complications of a life with limited lactose intake. Growing up, the rule of the house was “milk with meals” and to this day, I have milk nearly every night with my dinner (and still hear my mothers voice, but that’s another story).

The article explains that 70% of adults worldwide are lactose intolerant, including approximately 30 to 50 million Americans. It explains that the disorder is caused by the body not producing enough Lactase, and that without it, “milk sugar just hangs out in the colon (unable to be broken down) and ferments (ew!)”. It also goes on to say that “human genes are actually only fit for digesting milk in the first few years of life. Our lactase-making ability stays high unil around the age of five, and then we’re supposed to move on to beer, Red Bull and whiskey”.

On the bright side, “sea-lion milk and that from the duck-billed platatpus won’t harm them in any way. They’re mammals whose milk is almost 100% lactose free.”

So they’ve got that going for them, which is nice.

This past Saturday was Turner Volunteer Day. Loads of employees turned out and I was with a group that went to Piedmont Park and with wheelbarrows and pitchforks, spread at least 3 or 4 dump trucks full of mulch throughout the Dog Park.

I’m thankful to my brothers for not cutting me any slack as a kid, and my parents for raising us in a place allowed us to learn the value of hard work and manual labor. All that snow shoveling paid off when it came to my abilities with a pitch fork this weekend.

Just the same, every muscle in my upper body aches. It hurt to shampoo my hair and get the funk of the cooked mulch off my skin. On the other hand, it was beyond rewarding, especially when Kim and I took Max (dog) for a walk from her place above the Vortex down to the doggie park and were able to see all the beautiful smiling little four legged guys and girls playing on the fresh turf.

Sunday was spent being productive on “me stuff”, not the least of which was reading my new issue of Mental Floss cover to cover. One of the great bits in the magazine this month was a story on the QWERTY keyboard, and it’s less popular but far friendlier competeitor - the Dvorak keyboard. With increasingly achy wrists, I’ve shot a request for one to my IT group. I’ll let you know how the switch goes.

I flipped the switch today at lunch from A/C to heat. I feel like I’m fighting a bug so I’m going to wuss out on the entry today.

Hopping on the bandwagon, my Audioscobbler profile.

When I was in NY a few weeks ago, I met up with Intern Nick, wandered Manhattan, had a subway adventure and then we wound up in Tribecca. I had the opportunity to meet and have dinner with some of his friends. Nice group of brilliant young guys. Today you get a shameless plug for a few of their sites:

College Humor and Busted Tees.

Go spend some of your not-so-hard earned cash with them.

BTW, my site and my mail are both spazzing out. I know. No need to point it out. 404’s or multiple copies of the same email are NOT MY FAULT. Blame it on free hosting and stolen data connectivity.

I know how fond you all are of a good quickie so here it is.

First shot from Jake’s Sunday night with MaryJac…the ice cream flavor is Tiramisu-su-sudio. I nearly peed giggling.

Second shot is my desperate attempt after-the-fact when reminded by Steve-O that I do, in fact, have a camera phone…attempting to capture all that is Tammy Faye Baker. Truly more terrifying in person than you can fathom.

Some pictures have been posted to match the entries from the trip. I’m taking the day off to putter and become reacclimated.

More tomorrow (including bad camera phone picture) about how Steve-O and I just saw Tammy Faye Baker at Moe’s on Ponce.

Life is like a box of chocolates…

Belvedre Castle was - as is in perfect harmony with the other sensory feasts - a sight to behold. A hunting lodge built on a lake with incredible gardens, wild fowl, and a working farm. The most impressive and curious feature was that of The Jealous Wall - mind games in the 1800’s. A wall built to look like the ruins of a castle, the wall was just that. A three story, three walled “eye sore” built by one of the brothers that owned the land in order to spoil the favorite view of the other brother — the one that built the amazing house. Said to be the earliest recorded such folly.

My last evening in Ireland was spent with the owners of the Mornington House, sitting in the drawing room in front of a buring hearth and chatting about geneology. We don’t know much about my grandmother other than that she changed her last name prior to wedding my grandfather. The woman of the house and I speculated at length about the possible reasons it may have been necessarry for her to have done so in the 1920’s. During my next visit, you can bet I’ll spend a good bit of time researching and finding the answer to that mystery.

That evening I had the best rest of my stay, with a massive bedroom and curtians that matched the wallpaper, heavy covers and the scent of the fire subtly embracing me.

I lay there a while trying to wind down and thinking about all the random bits I wanted to remember about my visit. The mixed format radio stations and their heavy rotation…and inexplicable fondness for Huey Lewis & The News (I’m not kidding). How my footwear betrayed me by loudly proclaiming my nationality. The steak sandwich I ordered in Tullamore (garlic mayo and sauteed onions) that really was a steak on a small loaf of bread. That the world needs more roundabouts and the charm of what was a major roadway 15 minutes ago being a single lane drive-on-the-sidewalk-to-make-room-through-the-village road.

That for the amount I spent on film and processing, I could have picked up a decent digital camera. A lesson I have half-learned a dozen times. (do the math)

That cigarettes come in packs of 10 or 20 and the warning labels that state SMOKING KILLS, far less subtle than our tiny-font Surgeon Generals warnings.

I never answered the looming question of what the red “L” on the 5×5 white square displayed in car windows signifies. That on a technology front “texting” is very popular - but does it mean email or texting as we know it (on a phone) or both - an interchangable word?

I woke up late the morning of departure and had time only for a speed shower and a light breakfast.

Warwick had set the dining room table impressively. Room for at least 12 with every plate and utensil you could possibly need. Fresh granola, cream, bread, figs and several other fruits I couldn’t identify. The butter was curled into ribbons that resembled small behives…no photos were taken and an artists rendering would border blasphemy. It was art and quite clearly a labor of love.

So here I sit, writing with pen to paper (for transribing later) waiting for my laundry to dry on a leaf riddled sidewalk in The ATL wondering how fall arrived so quickly.

One thing is clear to me after a week of chasing my heritage around an island of mysticism.

My father was the love of my life and I’ve never felt closer to him or missed him more.