So we finally made it to Dublin. It was as I had often read about it: grey, disheveled and worn, but friendly and lively nonetheless. The buildings are grimy, even some of the ones that you know were built during the most recent boom (then bust) years.The streets and sidewalks are packed with all sorts of people, from the addicted to the posh to the tourist to the student. 

In the midst of the rough mayhem there are several quiet, peaceful parks, where one can find room and air to breathe, think, and relax.

My favorite, I think, is the park in Merrion Square, a relatively quiet, secluded spot taking up several blocks in front of some fancy old town homes, not far from Trinity College. While the town homes are now for law firms and other professional businesses, they used to be houses for living, and a number of important artists and writers have called Merrion Square home.

One of these was Oscar Wilde, and the park houses a monument which features the writer lounging languidly on a large boulder, a beautiful female nude kneeling before him atop a stone cube with many of his most famous sayings inscribed in it. But Oscar's eyes are not on the lovely young lass. His eyes are on the fine, young male torso just to his left.

Wilde was, of course, homosexual, and combined with his larger-than-life personality, scathing wit, and preference for younger men from good society families, this led to his persecution and ultimate demise. So this particular tableau seems a fitting tribute, as it sets a rather subversive tone in this otherwise very proper park (in fact, Merrion Square and its park were first reviled by native Dubliners, as it was so properly British).

We hung around awhile, reading the quotes. My favorite is pictured at the beginning of this post. Another one is, "A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing," and let's not forget, "youth is wasted on the young." I don't think it is a stretch to say that Wilde and his sayings represent the Irish spirit well: simultaneously humble and grandiose, hopeful, and insistent on finding fun in life despite sometimes great odds.

Eventually we decided to walk around the rest of the park, which is ringed and cris-crossed by paths. As expected, we walked by adorable small hordes of children, playing in their little short pants. We saw workers enjoying a late lunch and Asian tourists taking in the view of the lovely square. All things one would expect - a normal stroll through a pretty Dublin park.

But then we came upon a couple having what I can only describe as vigorous sex, and not in the bushes but in front of the bushes, on the lawn and in broad daylight, the sun bouncing a reflection off of the gentleman's behind as it pumped away furiously.

It was 2:30 in the afternoon. They were both naked from the waist down. I am sure there were grass stains, on the knees of the young man, of course, but almost certainly in places the young lady would probably not have imagined possible.

I had seen more than I wanted to, yet my eyes were locked and I couldn't look away. It took Marissa's telling me, "Jesus, Matty, don't stare" to finally turn my head and close my gaping mouth.

We walked on, in the kind of shock that causes everyone to talk at once, rapidly theorizing the whys and hows and whos of what we had just witnessed. We concluded that we really just didn't have answers. We also couldn't decide if we thought Wilde would have approved. The man did say both "everything in moderation, including moderation" and "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." I have to say, either of those could apply in this case.

In the end, while I think he would have dismissed it as tacky - I mean, naked from the waist down? Either get completely naked or stay clothed and just make it work - he would nonetheless have given at least a tacit consent. If one can't behave badly in the springtime in a park in Dublin near a statue of Oscar Wilde, when can one?