Years ago, my sister, brother-in-law, Rhonda, and I left Boston and drove south for an hour to get a taste of our historical heritage by seeing the one and only Plymouth Rock. Once near the fabulous site, a foofaraw gathered around fancy smancy columns surrounding what must have been the greatest tourist attraction ever. Visiting Plymouth Rock was like the Peanuts Halloween special. After all of the excitement and anticipation of trick-or-treating, Charlie Brown
opened his bag and said, "I got a rock." I know how he felt. I don't know why I expected
Plymouth Rock to be anything different from the million of other stones
on the ground just because someone chiseled a year on
it. Sorry, but my recommendation is to save your gasoline.
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| Here is a photo from some tourist site since a picture wasn't worth the film. |
Years later, I was lucky enough to visit another famous rock, the Blarney Stone in Ireland. Legend says that if one kisses this giant rock, one will be given the gift of gab. As you know, I need that; however, I didn't kiss the Blarney stone. The night before heading to Cork, I overheard a conversation between a few locals in a pub. These youths laughed hysterically about how they and their young friends loved to visit the Blarney stone late at night. The stunt consisted of breaking onto the grounds, scaling the walls of the Castle, and pissing on the Blarney Stone before the puckering tourists arrived. You kissed it, didn't you? Ha! Now you have something to gab about.
Since visiting these two tourist attractions didn't work as planned, I've got to check out some more famous rocks. How about the Rosetta Stone? Maybe I could visit the Rock of Gibraltar? Who wants to go with me? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
