Desktop Analysis

How do we learn about somebody? We can listen to what they say or what is said about them. We can look at their appearance and attire. These obsevations will tell us something about the person. But I've thought of something else reasonably interesting. By noting the objects on one's workbench or desk, it seems possible to see what somebody is up to recently also can highlight preoccupations and aspects of that person's daily life.

I'll give you an example. Obviously I don't know what's on anybody else's desk (apart from schoolbooks) because I don't really take heed. So, the only example I can give is my own desk.

Although there are (too) many schholbooks on my desk, I'm going to leave them out, because they go without saying. So currently there are many items on my desk. They include:
"Collected Poems" Patrick Kavanagh (collected and edited by Antoinnette Quinn),
"The Literacy Works of Patrick Pearse" (Collected and edited by Séamus ÓBuachalla),
a box of sweets, a clock, "From the Cradle"-Eric Clapton, mp3 players, a C.D. player, my wallet, my keys, a dictionary, a Gidgeon's New Testament and a badge with "18" on it. There is also a Garfield teddy, a candy cane, some ribbon and a can of deodorant.

These are all normal (banal?) items to me. But to some big phycho-analysist, they could be be very interesting altogether. I doubt. But it was fun making the list. Try it yourself. After a normal day, have a look at the things that you've been using. If you have a desk, realise what you're spending your time doing at the desk. We study and work at a desk, but not just for school, but yourself too. Give it a go.

If you want to try this in someone else's house, try not to make it so obvious. I doubt they'd like you going through their stuff for no reason!

I'm an adult now.

As I've pointed out in the title, I'm now an adult. One would wonder who let me get such a title. I suppose God did. Well, I'm 18 now and I'm all growed up, so I am. (I'm aware I put "growed" in the last sentence, I did it on purpose. Just in case you didn't get that already. I'm trying to be funny.) Speaking of that, I'm of the belief that as one gets older, one's sense of humour simply disappears. I'm not saying that I'm not funny anymore. Then again, I'm not saying that I'm funny now either. But, as a person goes through the stages of life, the ability to be funny, or to think of a funny comment on the spot dimishes, and one relies on stupid, un-funny puns more and more. But that has nothing to with the original intent of this post. I'm losing my focus and going off the point on a nice tangent. What's the perpendicular distance formula again? Sorry, that's another tangent. Gotta stop having tangents. Chords are ok, but not tangents...

Anyway, they've made me an adult. But they also made Bono a Knight, so I wouldn't trust them. I'm not trying to imply that the Brits are the ones responsible for making me an adult. But, it happened anyway. So now, according to law, I've fallen into some responsibilities and privileges. I'm allowed to vote and drink, legally. Which is wonderful, isn't it? Well, if I'm on the bleedin' register. As for the gargle, this Leaving Cert is still to do done. Maybe it's not wise just yet. Yes, I'm very boring, but that's me I suppose. Sure we'll see how it goes.

Another handy thing I can do now is get a nice 10-year passport for all the travelling and gargling needs. I had a temporary one. I think it's out of date at this stage. It's deadly because it's green. Only thing is that it gets dodgey looks from passport control officers abroad. It's Dermot Ahern's fault, it's not mine! It's also his property apparently. He's not getting it back the prick. Who does he think he is? Knob. Anyway, I'll get a purple one even though it's a crapper colour. Sure I suppose it doesn't really matter what bleedin' colour it is, once it does its job.

Well, I'm pretty much finished now. The world surely hasn't benefited from my turn of age. But at least it's no worse either. Phew. It seems that I'll make a career for myself in politics according ot my classmates. So, I've lots to look forward to. I think I'll go and throw myself in the canal and save myself the bother. Nah, not my style. So, in conclusion...I don't have one. Bye.

Nothing to type...see how much I can drag out.

Well, it's Sunday morning. As the title says, I've nothing to say, and therefore even less to type. I'd like to thank AJ Edwards, from Illinois somewhere, for her kind words. I bet she'd like Capel Street. I didn't think that post was very "twirdy," but it got branded so. Although, at this stage, I'm not sure if the word "twirdy" is an adjective or a proper noun, my (nick?)name. I've never really had a nickname. Hmmm...Twirdy. Note the capital letter there. Whichever works best in a situation.

The most exciting thing I did today was probably changing guitar strings. The D'addario stings are pretty because they've got the different coloured ends. They're all new and clean and crisp with tone. Next on the exciting list might be going to Mass. I don't usually go to the Vigil Mass of a Saturday, but it was somebody's brother's month mind Mass, so we went to see the people. Next would be eating din-dins. Yum. Last is chemistry study coz it's shit. Free radical shite.

So, now I'm kicking it back up here, listening to The Frames. Their newest album is a bit shite, so I'm listening to "Burn The Maps" instead because it's all quite deadly. It's a tell your friends album if they're stupid enough not to know about it already. I saw them in the Olympia Theatre two years ago? I can't really remember. They were fuckin deadly. Glen told his stories, as he does, they played a good gig. Actually speaking of the Olympia, Incubus are coming to the Olympia, or maybe they've come and come and gone already. Oh well. Their new est album is rather interesting. Quite a change in direction for them as far as I can see. They've made lotsa those turns already. There's a big difference between "S.C.I.E.N.C.E." and "Make Yourself" for example. Well, there's a considerable difference between the work on each of the albums. They don't sit still. I suppsoe that's a good thing. Rolling stone gathers no moss, but let's not go down the Bob Dylan road tonight. I might need to make that reference elsewhere.

Today felt a bit like a Sunday. It now feels like a Sunday. The main reason for this might be that it now is a Sunday. But I mean taht it feels like it should be mid-Sunday now. Maybe it's because I stayed in bed until 12 this morning. It's more likely to be because I went to Mass earlier. The ticking clock in my head is out of order. Not my body clock. Only aging women care about that. Until that word happens. The meno....moving on.

Now, isn't that something? I had nothing to say, but I made stuff that I could say. Glorious waffle. I suppose that 's what this thing is for. Now it's time for me to say goodbye. Goodbye. Goodnight ladies. Goodnight.
Slán go foill.

Places in Dublin that I like Part Four (Capel Street)

Let me tell you now folks, despite what the others might say, Capel Street is a great part of town. They will tell you that it's horrible and that they don't like it. But that's only because they're posh Brits. The small, somewhat pokey, street gives the Dubliner (or visitors too I suppose) a nice quaint, old-fashioned sort of feeling and the atmosphere of the street compliments this.

I've always seen the street as a place you go when you want something practical, and no, I'm not talking about the filthy shops. It's got all the hardware shops. It's handy-man heaven, and again, I'm not talking about the dirty shops. It's got all the fitting shops, such as knobs and knockers, not the dirty ones, and similar outlets with similar stock. I f you need a particular type of handles for your door or wardrobe, well, you'll find it on Capel Street somewhere. That huge place is there too, Lenihans or something like that. It's a big hardware shop with everything. Finn's (ex-) friend from Rush says that they sell JCBs and the like from their yard at the back, but we've learned not to trust his every word. But it may be possible that they do.

When I was young, we always used to go into the Ilac centre. We used to go up Parnell Street to the old "Peat's" and go down to Arnott's occasionally. But we'd always end up on Capel Street for one reason or another. I have a few memories of being there and it being dark, so it was obviously the last place we went to on our day in town. With all our links with Scouting, we were frequently in and out of the Scout shop there. We'd be replacing lost waggles or buying new neckerchieves or my Mam would buy badges for her little beavers, awh. The campling shops were up on Capel Street too. So, if we wanted camping stuff of any description, we'd head up that direction. I remember getting me first pair of combats up on Capel Street. It was Hallowe'en 199_. Whatever year it was. I think I also got a toy set of tools that day in addition to my deadly trousers, so I mustn't have been very old. I thought I surely was the bee's knees. I could go to war against the Brits or just do some light DIY with my plastic hammer and monkey wrentch.

Goodwin's is a deadly little music shop there on Capel Street. Come on to Capel Street from Mary Street and it's just there on the left on the opposite side of the road. Wonderful little place. They've got some great guitars in there. They've got Martin's and some lovely Fenders. There's one particular Strat that they had, and have recently sold, and I was drooling as a result of seeing it. Finn will probably remember the one I mean. They had the Tele equivalent too. The Strat was gorgeous. It was one of those with the button on the tone knob, not the dirty one, so that you can get different pickup combinations. I think they call it the S-1 System, correct me if I'm wrong. Goodwin's also stocks loads of music books. They've got some nice little ones filled with Irish tunes. I think I'll pick one up some day, and I'll give them a lash on me auld banjo. On one the days I was in Goodwin's with Finn, I think 'twas the day Finn bought a kazoo, I was having a pick of a nice acoustic there, when some nice fella came over and said that he was happy to hear that I was playing "Hideaway" by Freddie King. He was really nice, and I was quite content with myself altogether.

The auld ones on Capel Street are an integral part of the street. They sell their raspberries and their strawberries from the prams for €2 a bag or whatever they charge. Although I've never bought from the auld ones, it's still good to hear them calling for custom. "Ras-be-rees, two fohr a YOUUU-row!!" You get the idea.

Ms. Brick and her annoying antics.

I first heard that I'd have Ms. Brick for English from Niamh, who told me near the end of third year. I hardly knew Bricky, thankfully, how happy I was then, and I didn't know it. We had her for Religion class maybe twice when Holy Healy was out, probably at a funeral. I knew she didn't like bold word and always shouted big words at the class. Mr. Halpin was out one day for woodwork, which happened regularly in third year now that I think about it. Anyway, Ms. Brick took the class in the TG room, room twenty something, down by Garro's room. I was curious about the potential leaving cert teacher sitting in front of me. I asked her was she going to be our new English teacher. I'm not sure if we knew that Scano was retiring at that stage. Bricky got very worked up about this. Not Scano retiring, her teaching my class! I was later to learn that she gets easily worked up over everything. But, she kept asking me where I had heard about it, which I didn't disclose to her. I keep my sources to myself. Bricky if you're reading this, Niamh is an alias. This seemed to point towards the truth in Niamh's prophecy. It came true and the gates of hell in English opened and the newly formed 5A1 were dragged through.

We had numerous problems in English almost right from the start. Some cannot be blamed on Bricky. The English course for Leaving is very long and tough, and that's not her fault. But it is her fault for telling us that fact 20,000 times every week! "I don't write the course." Or, the famous, "the bar is set, I didn't set the standard," or something to that effect. We started with the poetry of Yeats, I think. BuuhhhUuHHH! That fella is annoying. We started with "The Lake Isle of Inishfree." Nice poem I think many people will agree. Bricky covered Yeats in a decent manner. Patrick Kavanagh was done over a shorter time and possibly effort! At least back then we read through the notes in class. Those notes were good-ish. They were funny because they had so many mistakes, including spelling mistakes, punctuation and general sentence structure. All we did was have them read out, but it was better than what we did in sixth year. At least we didn't have to take notes and cover the pages with scribbles. "This is important," she'd say, "take this down," and then she'd call out about 10 lines of text, which we were to fit into 2cm X 2cm of space. After Kavanagh, poetry went downhill and a hell of a lot faster. Two poems in one class became the norm. "Ok, today we're going to do Prufrock and The Great Hunger all in 26 minutes." Exaggeration may have featured there just a little bit. But she certainly pushed the accelerator hard with both feet/ Maybe, that's what was needed, I don't know, but compared to other classed, we did almost twice as many poets. In Dominican's, they're studying five poets, while we did seven. Niamh's class, again the alias, did four. Why did we do seven? The milk is spilt now, no point in complaining.

Bricky has completely lost the head a few times. It's quite funny sometimes. There yesterday, she pulled a mickey-fit, big-time. Most people hadn't got the work done. It was the first bit of work after the mocks and nobody bothered to do it, apart from Zidalee, Louise and Yombo. As I like to put that, because the people she banks on didn't have the works done, she pulls a fit. As far as I can remember, it's happened before. If twenty people have no work, but either David or I have work in, it's ok. It's a strange way she works. Anyway, the fits are really all the same, they all include threats of dropping to the ordinary class and doing "ordinary level English"!! Nothing new ever comes out. Do ordinary level, I didn't write the course, I didn't set the standard. That sounds familiar? It should, it's stuck in all of our minds.

At some stage in fifth year, we had had enough. After tension building up, and THAT Macbeth test on "themes" that happened to be about something else, can't remember now. Adam kicked up a fuss over that, fair play dó. Anyway, eventually, we got sick of it really. So, we tried to sort it out a bit. Classes had a heavy, uncomfortable atmospere for about a week, and it was only worsened when things got nasty. An open floored debate, aka a riot, broke out one day which most people talking, but, unfortunately, no real points were being made and no solutions or alternatives were being suggested. At one stage, Dave and I decided we'd try to give the debate/riot some shape. But, she went ballistic at us, so I said, "Fuck da anyway."

We thought we were making a first step at fixing Bricky in life skills with Garrigan one day. Pointless class really, but it proved useful that day. He was asking us the usual, "how are things going?" sort of stuff. I can't remember who started it, but somebody said that English was particularly difficult. Then the ball started rollin', and it kept rollin'. Garrigan listened, as he does, and fair play to him, he had a meeting with Dave and meself after school one of the days. Apparently, life skills class wasn't the proper stage on which we should have aired our views, but, that was irrelevant now. He asked us what was going on in that we found annoying. As far as I remember, he then went and spoke to his superior, Derek McGarrigle, about the situation. Obviously, it wasn't going to go any further after that, we knew that. Bricky already had Derek in to the class and he waffled on about work and how Bricky was wonderful. So, it was end of the line really. Garrigan, the voice of the students, came back to us with no results. But we respect him for giving us the time. Derek talked ot us one of the days too. He waffled on again, saying how Bricky has seventy-four master degrees and is aiming to beat the record of phDs achieved in twenty minutes. (It's set at 5 by some Chinese fella.) End of the road for the revolutionary 5A1 class. Or so it seemed.

Bricky then took a turn. Now whether it was a good turn or a bad turn, I can't say. She seemed to think it was great altogether. But, our opinion didn't quite match that. I thought it wasn't any better but it could have worse. But I'd imagine the rest of the class thought that she'd got completely to hell, with no chance of return. She changed the class, so that she read notes aloud, and we wrote down what she was dictating. So, I suppose in a way, chance of discussion fell to zero and the Mussolini like dictatorship stood firm once again. The power of students was trampled. We showed disapproval, and nothing was done to improve our situation. If Derek was running for Leinster House, his student constituents would think twice about giving him their number one.

Teachers teach us, as it says in their job description. But they also give us work, collect it, correct it and give it back to us. Ms. Brick has done all of these (she's especially good at the first one) but, this process is very slow with the Leaving Certs. Let me give you an example. In mid January, Ms. Brick gave back a Macbeth test from...wait for it...mid October! Yes, three months later, I get a "corrected" test handed back to me. That's probably the worst example of material not returned that I have, but the others aren't far behind. On the side of correcting, we don't think her correcting is particularly precise or good either. Recently, she has found a great way to get out of correcting essays. For the last week, we've been writing two paragraphs of an essay a night. This part of the method I like, it's not all dumped on us in last class on Friday. But, about three people read out their paragraphs on Monday and Tuesday. She read sample essays yesterday (Wednesday) and today (Thursday), this is the best, we had our essays completed. We read each others essays. We read each others essays, what a way of dodging correcting them. Wow. One could almost congratulate her on that idea. We'll learn from one and other. That's a load of bollocks, well, in my own humble opinion. Our mock papers were sent out to be corrected, at a price of €7.50 for each of the two papers. Why? We want an outside viewer to correct our work? Not likely. Who suggested that they be corrected outside? Ehh, oh yeah, Bricky. Couldn't be arsed, don't know how? You choose.

I started this post back in March sometime. I added bits to it since then too. It's now 1 May. Although all this shit is very funny, ridiculous and even monstrous at times, recently I've came to the conclusion that I must let it go. At this late stage in the year, I really, nobody really has the time to complain very much. Especially about the state of teachers. Unless there's something very wrong. Bricky is re-reading her notes again for the last time. And instead of moaning, I think the attitude that should be adopted should be "right, I'm gonna listen and get the most out of this, even if it's not perfect." Many I've been enlightened by some divine force that decided that we should give her a break, that she's trying. But, in any case that's how it's worked out. I don't expect Bricky to do anything else mad or even slightly cuckoo after this time. I think I can finally call this the end paragraph. It's surely been a roller coaster ride of a two year course of English classes with Ms. Brick. Some classes descended into absurdity. But on the other hand, I wrote some interesting essays during some of the English classes. All of my essays somehow ended up to be Ireland-glorifying propaganda that dismissed any ideas that modern Ireland was good thing. Strange, but let's you see how I was thinking during the year. Well, that's it really. Goodbye now, take care, and in the words of herself, "BWWOOOOOOOHH!!!" (1,771 words in total)