Lord, it's July! Third Edition, 2009.

It's July yet again. Let the franchise continue! I think this time I'm actually frightened because I can remember typing last year's edition quite well as if it was quite recent. It was mostly bullshit about nothing much. Just to keep the flow of this whole July post thing I'll mention to regulars.

In relation to the weather, it's been quite nice recently. There was a glorious week of sunshine a few weeks ago, during which I was lucky enough to have three or four days off work. It's been humid and heavy the last few days and walking around (and home from) work has been a challenge. Sticky clothes and annoying top button closed (as uniform rules dictate).

I haven't got much further in the Chris Rea collection. I listened to the Irish & Celtic Blues CD and that's as far as I've advanced. Fair play to him. In general, musically, I've became obsessed with Tom Waits and am currently making my way through his discography chronologically.

I mentioned Elizabeth Bishop last year and how I was thinking of her poems as I folded cheap tacky t-shirts in Penneys. May I introduce her latest masterwork (literary works transcend death).

Books and films and things of that sort next. I'm reading stuff by Paul Auster nowadays. I like the storytelling style. "Mr. Vertigo" and "Moon Palace". I recently read "The Reluctant Fundamentalist" and I enjoyed that.

Working in a cinema helps for the film end of things. I've watched "Wolverine", "Fifty Dead Men Walking", "Year One", "Drag Me to Hell", "Gran Torino", "Role Models" half of "The Last House on the Left", "Star Trek" etc. I've bought loads of DVDs too in the last while. It's just to have something to do. Something to do at one in the morning when I know I won't be able to sleep. "The Illusionist", "Little Miss Sunshine", "Jarhead" etc. They're at least an hour and a half of brain entertainment, distraction sometimes.

I don't think there's anything else of wild interest about the coming month. (Public Enemies is out now.) August, yeah sure. Seems that this is a mildly short oh my God it's the seventh month of the year post. But, whatcha gonna do? Mais, sin é pour une bliain eile. Bye.

Urban Wasteland

Broken Frisbees
Ice-cream sticks
Unvalidated car park tickets
Empty John Player Blue packs
Take-away bags
Budweiser cans
Leaking batteries
Marrowfat peas
Used teabags
McCabe's Pharmacy receipts
Assorted cigarette butts
Hangers from Zara
Car fresheners
Mouldy Pat the Baker bread
Insomnia coffee cups
Toilet Duck containers
Durex wrappers
Evian water bottles
Wet grass
Political posters
Crowded post office
Out-of-tune radio
Torn curtains
Red traffic lights
Rusty bus stops
Quick 'n' easy dinners
Cracked mugs
Shopping centre vouchers
Scratched CDs
New-age parenting
The RTÉ Guide
Out-of-date pretzels
30cent Dublin Bus refunds
Yesterday's Evening Herald
Best-selling Fiction
Weight Watchers tuna
Bouncers in black
Short Breaks brochures
Self-tanning cream
Blank looks
Pedigree dog shit
Disposable products
Digital camera flashes
Microsoft PowerPoint
Richard & Judy's Book Club

What are ya like? Mickey!

It been ages since I've put anything here. Don't really know what to say. It's been a tumultuous few months. About a month ago I made a list of the things that made up my life. It's written on a bit of paper on my desk, I think, That's ALL THE WAY in the next room so I'll try to just remember what's on it. (I added one or two to the list as I went along.)

Tom Waits. (Obsessed slightly. Deadly stuff. Romeo Is Bleeding [hey man!]).
Drinking. (To the bottom of a few bottles.)
Noelia. (Amazing, beautiful girl.)
Feeling totally shit. (Many reasons.)
Feeling pretty good. (Going out, doing stuff, Noelia.)
Pick & Mix. (Fuck sake.)
Benson & Hedges. (Been smoking a bit.)

Whenever I try to think about what I want to do with myself/my life etc. I get really miserable and sort of break down. It's bollix. I don't really know if the term fits right but, I get depressed.

I have my parents worried about how much I drink and, now, about my mental stability. I just laid it out one night. Feeling like shit for a considerable time. I kept using the word "miserable".

So, as far as further education goes (the large trigger in all of this), I don't think I can do it. Looking at qualifax.ie only made me feel worse worse worse.

Rory is still the man. Fair play to Double Vision, a Rory tribute band that played in The Mezz the other night.

Well done in general. Dunno to what. People, perhaps.

Rewinding post-production preview.

Confused? Good. I just read the post entitled Isn't DCU bleedin' deadly!? that I wrote in September 2007. Awh, now enthusiastic I sounded! I was even thinking of buying the hooded jumper with the university logo. Just made me laugh and cry a little inside. Just has me thinking.

Tom Waits

Amazing.

Tired?

God, I'm tired. My eyes are heavy and my legs are wrecked. I was going to use banjaxed there but I don't think there's anything wrong with them apart form over-use.

I'm also tired of the same-old-same-old bollix too. I'm sick of walking through parts of this town to get home or to get somewhere. The walk to and from work, the walk home from the pub. I'm getting tired of it.

I'm tired of being drunk and thinking things are shit. I'm tired of getting home, sitting down and having to think about it all. At least when I'm walking I can distract myself and think of anything else (like focusing on walking and not slipping on the ice). I hate going to bed and, the second my head hits the pillow, thinking uncontrollably about how I can't do things or things I don't have.

I'm also tired of working on the pick 'n' mix section in work. I work in a cinema (just throw that in there to make it comprehensible). Since late November. But that's irrelevant.

Apathy

Maybe that's the word I want and maybe it isn't.

There a member of the mildly immediate family that isn't in the best of ways presently. Used to play a greater part in my life and in the family life of mine. It was all when I saw smaller of course. A good bit smaller.

So now, there's not much input at all and there hasn't been for a while. Not anyone's fault. I can blame distance for a nanosecond but even those that are close to us (in terms in metres) can also seem to not give a rat's bollix.

At some level, I would imagine that it would effect (or is it affect?) me. I mean the health/ well-being of this relative. Apparently not. I have things of my own to worry of course that can pile up, but surely I'd have that niggling worry about it when I think about it. Nope.

Things that haven't got a direct influence or something our lives- do they really matter? That seems and is a stupid thing to type. Well, it's just the phrasing that's shite.

People (mammys have a tendency to do this) can really get into stories and shock events in the news that are tragic. Example: The McCann Saga. Oh, it must be desperate for the family. Yes. it's terrible but it doesn't affect me so I don't "feel" it. Strangely enough a story about a tidal wave killing seventy-four people off Cuba won't get that response but news of a cancer victim in Fairview will. Anyway...

I'm sure most people are of the "if it doesn't involve me or the ones I love I don't care" type. Well, maybe that's going a bit far. But, most people won't get hung up on a story that has no relevance to them. No sleep lost. Sure, these things are terrible but they won't linger in the conscience. Know what I mean?

So, I don't know. For me, there's other things that fill my head daily than the relative. I also don't know if it's a good thing. Surely I should have some concern...

Working in the home.

These recent fucked up dreams I've been having really put a new spin on the idea of working from home or whatever these new people say these days with their phrases and all their talk. Anyway...

In work, I've been in the tills. You know, blipping things and taking people's money in exchange for the shit the shop sells. This is fine, I don't mind doing it. There's an odd bit of banter to be had with the customers. Also working directly with the aul' money is grand, gives the job a bit of respectability. God love us all.

But, the last few nights I've had dreams that I'm still at work at the counter blipping away and dealing with customers. A few times I've propped myself up on my elbow in bed to make it look like I'm awake. Bizarre. One night I was getting up at about five in the morning to nip to the toilet but for some reason I felt that I had to wait for someone to enter their laser card PIN before I could get up. Last night was the worst. I kept turning to face these "customers" and then looking at the clock and thinking NO, THIS ISN'T REAL and turn to face the wall only to find myself facing out again a few minutes later. Also, everyone kept buying pillows. Or in real terms I kept clutching MY pillow. Fucked up.

It's scary how concerned I am during these experiences. I don't want the customers to think I'm asleep. But, then I look at the clock and decide they're not there. I'm in bed, amn't I?

I'm probably be in the till again this evening and I'll be haunted by bar codes and laser cards again tonight. Should I be calling Doctor Phil? Ha.

Oh, obsessions.

I'm now obsessed with The Beatles yet again. Bought the aul' album that's affectionately known as the "white album". Fair play to them. Things had gone a bit funny with the relations within the band and in respect to the band, but whopper music still. I don't think there's any songwriting collaborations on the album, just each to their own. Well done to all the compositions, even the Starkey one. Ha.

Also a bit obsessed with Muse these days. From having none of their albums, I now only need "Origins of Symmetry" or whatever it's called. I'm liking "Apocalypse Please" from "Absolution". Ledge.

The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles

Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse

Well done.

This is not important.

This blog is quite shite.
There's not much on it.
It doesn't serve much of a purpose.
Virtually nobody reads it.
I'm not completely open when posting.
I hold back.
I write vague opinions on it and then take them back.
I don't write posts very often.
I complain a lot here.
It isn't even that well written.
The idea of blogging confuses me.
I like my new shoes.

Little update

Waay, here I am to do what I said I'd do. That is to say how things went in Berlin. But first...

I never mentioned anything about our planned trip to Glendalough. I said that I was looking forward to it. I was right to feel that way. It was a raging success (not without the initial perceived failure that is). The hostel booking in Glendalough was utterly fucked up and after much option hunting we ended up in Rathdrum which (as you can see from the fabulous map that I've taken from somewhere) is south of Glendalough. It was grand craic altogether and fair play to all involved.



Berlin is a grand city. With the aid of a book that was also used by my uncle when he was in Berlin and a small, not very detailed map that we got from a bus tour we made our way around the place. I was particularly taken (even beforehand) with the street between the Brandenburg Gate and the Victory column. It's called 17th July Street or something like that. Again, particularly impressed by the Vicory Column itself. Monuments to territorial and/or national wars is something Ireland just doesn't have, for reasons that are obvious. So, well done to Germans and well done to Berliners and a world without walls. In all fairness that'd be shit though. Maybe without particular walls but that wouldn't sell stuff like posters and general souvenirs. But I'm not head of marketing for dicoverberlin.de or anything. Nice one.

Rory is the MAN!

I'm just paying tribute to a legend, Rory Gallagher.



And while I'm at it, isn't she (Rachel Weisz) mad hot?!

Strange feeling

Today for the first time in a while I used the phrase "it'll be great". It was in reference to going to Glendalough on Monday. I think... I'm .....looking forward to it! Oh, wow. What a world!

I'm off work now for two weeks too and I'm going to ask to go back to just two late nights (preferably no Wednesdays), Saturdays and Sundays (the four hour gig). So, that would make things fit very well for several different reasons. Well done.

I was described as "coming out of my shell" in work today. I was saying "gee" in various different contexts. The manager of department six (men's) didn't think that I would use such language. Shock! So, fair play. So glad to get out of the place this evening.

Actually not feeling that bad tonight. All the things that were in the way have a way to get out if the way. Just have to get them to move. MICKEY. Doesn't seem too bad. It's probably the time off work that I'm fucking delighted about. I've been in four full days now. It's GEE. Of course, this feeling good could just be temporary. We'll see. But Glendalough!

So, fair play to all. may you have something to look forward to.

(I ended that in the style of Angelaboration, ending with a wish/prayer sorta thing. Link in the left column to her blog.)

They really do get in the way...

It's a load of gee. Many are the things that get in the way. Time, space, effort, sense, sanity, sobriety, fear, lack of initiative etc. etc. If I was adventurous, that would be handy.

There's things that I tell myself I could if I was ____ (fill in the blank with the appropriate adjective). As I'm pissing or doing some other activity that gives one the chance to whistle and/or let one's mind drift to other pressing or not so pressing things, I think about these amazing possibilities. I think I'm too sensible sometimes. But, I'm also too much of a short-sighted eejit. Or do I look too far ahead?

It's a pity that I can only imagine myself saying something meaningful when drunk. Or managing to see what I really think. Or letting go a bit. In many ways. Or maybe just one.

So, summer is still in existence. Feckage. I have two weeks off work starting from Sunday. I dunno if it's a blessing or a curse. Of course I would rather be at home than be in my place of employment. I want this that and the other, but at this time and not at that time. Just a moany, picky geebag. It would seem that way anyway. From my perspective right now. I hate looking at things like this and seeing it differently every three seconds.

[just a memory: that story I had back in first year. I made a presentation in powerpoint. Dave added to it. I thought it went shit so I deleted the whole thing. I thought it was a bit deal at the time. Clearly, it wasn't.]

I never had a Playstation. Rob had a PS2 and we used to every now and again. I vaguely remember playing Tekken Tag. I used be going to Mass on Sunday morning and Rob would be up watching some deadly film or playing some deadly game on the Playstation. I sort of resented it. But I went anyway like a good little Catholic boy. Mickey.

Just imagine working full-time... It'd be cock. Talking about health insurance and why you don't get tax back because you started working the first week of the new tax year. These would be the daily topics of conversation that one would engage in over lunch. Talking about bills and that sort of thing is bearable because it makes sense.

But, I'm being an arsehole and not talking in the presence of others. Talk about gee. Just a silly post for nothing really. Anyway, I'm gong home. I'll finish The Diary of a Nobody. What will I read next? Most interesting choice of the week? Possibly. Well done. Thanks for the compliments. Goodnight.

Things get in the way, don't they just?!

I could complain for a while now about things getting in the way, as the title suggests, but I'll put that somewhere else (a personal journal). I find it easier to write as I think than to type as I think. Maybe it's because I have a thing that whatever I put in a Word document or on this thing here has to be "good". I can always use the back-space. There's no such thing on a pen. Unless you scribble something out. I don't like doing that. Unless it's complete and utter shite that proves that one is a total mickey-fiddler, a fiddler of the mickey. Plus, I like the way I write and I would probably be destroying some fine-looking "y"s or maybe a lovely "r". (Sometimes I do my "r"s like my aunt, especially if it's at the end of a word. Which is interesting because she took a great interesting in my learning to read and write was I was but a youngfla.)

I was in London from Monday last through to Thursday. Having a web of family living there, my parents have been going to London for years. My Da's uncle and his wife lived in Catford. They were both wonderful people but, God rest them, they've both since died. Their children are still in London and we still go to visit. London is a strange place for me. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Since I've been going there since I was a child, you'd think I'd know the city a bit. NOPE. I didn't need to; I just followed my Mammy & Daddy. I suppose if I was now to try to learn the way around the place, I'd just start at the river banks and follow it along, marking what's where. If I was daring, had a sense of sport, I'd go live there for a while. Or if I had an alternative motive, something to bring me there...

I managed (somehow) not to purchase any CDs or books while in London. I made the point in an earlier post that I buy a number of items while in the area of the pound Sterling. I had £60. I bought food, drink and transport. Fair enough. What else does one need I suppose?

At the moment I'm reading a short book entitled "The Diary of a Nobody". If by chance you come across it read it. Well done.

Haven't really been posting at all these days. Nothing really to be saying or willing to be saying, perhaps. I sense a detective novel arising. Just a quick note of congratulations to Incubus. I put Morning View on my mp3 before I went to London and rediscovered that it's legend. Nice one lads. So, that's it for now. I'll be going to Berlin soon enough. [Actually on another little rant about things: Isn't is shit realising how far away some things are? I don't just mean in terms of space, but of time too. Like, ah shite, that's a month away! Gee. Y'kno the way.] I'll report back on the ways things go in Berlin. Nice one.

Lord, it's July! Second Edition, 2008.

Well, well, ask me for a half a peanut and a cup of warm freshly squeezed grapefruit juice. It's July again. The 2007 edition of "Lord, It's July!" talked about the weather, the Irish Independent, Chris Rea and music in general.

So, I'll start with the weather this time. It's fuck. The sun's splitting the stones in other parts of the world and here it rains. Accuse me of (just singing 'bout places) giving out for the sake of it, but that's what I'm doing. Having the chance to sit in the sun and read isn't asking much. But, it seems it is.

I don't read the Irish Independent anymore. It's a load of mickey. I'll now look at the headlines on The Irish Times as I pass through Dunnes or wherever the hell I am just to have a gawk. The weekend edition is legend too. €2 for enough paper to wipe your arse 1,748 times. That's value. It makes me look posh in work on Saturdays when I do buy it. I'm sure they think I'm posh anyway. But reading the Weekend Review section of The Irish Times in the canteen when the other tables are covered by The Mirror and The Star sure puts the icing on the posh black forest gateau cake. Actually, would that be good- putting icing on a black forest gateau? It'd probably ruin it. But that's slightly irrelevant. Well, it would make my little deviation from the standard idiom make little or no sense, ach ní cuma liom!

Chris Rea is next on the list. We went to the concert in the National Stadium on the ninth of April. It was great. Played a two-hour set firstly as The Delmonts and secondly as The Fabulous Hofner Bluenotes. It's great to just create a fifties band and "reunite" them. Stroke of genius. They released a three CD & two LP set in one of those Earbooks. It's amazing. More new material. Just an update on how I'm getting on with regard to Blue Guitars. I've listened to eight of them at this stage. I love CD 7, Blues Ballads. "If I Ever Get Over You," great song.

Music in general. I'm listening to more Rufus Wainwright (like right now "Go Or Go Ahead" from Want One) and Rory Gallagher (what a surprise!). I bought the BBC Session Rory albums there the other day in HMV in the Blancherstown Centre along with Blueprint ('twas a two for €15 thing). I'm liking the debut album from Rufus ('twas a birthday present from Dave).

A.O.B.

I'm still reading John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath". Steinbeck won't let anything happen without telling you about it, how it happens and its details. Each character isn't just given a face, but well-described features are in turn assigned to them. That preacher is an interesting fellow and Tom too. It'll probably take me another two weeks to finish it, knowing how I read.

Two of Elizabeth Bishop's poems came to mind in the last twenty-four hours. Last night I was thinking about "Questions of Travel". With all the talk of travel/going places/going somewhere to see things, it came to mind. As I was reading "The Grapes of Wrath" on the bus home this evening, the line "His jeans and shirt were thick and shiny with old grease..." made me think of... I'm sure you can guess by now... or can you? "Filling Station" of course. I just thought of her standing there in front of the character and exclaiming that he was "dirty". But Lizzy, eh, SO? SO? SO?

Tetris is terrible if you get addicted to it and play it before you go to bed. It'll fill your head and you'll visualize a game of it in your head and make up scenarios and try to get out of them to the best of your ability. They're dangerous things those little blocks. Be careful.

I was kindly given a lend of eight DVDs recently, essential film viewing as it were. "The Departed," "Donnie Darko," "Momento," "The Prestige," "Fight Club," "Brick," "American History X" and "Catch Me If You Can". Fair play to all them, they're grand.

So...? Well, that's it for year of "lord, It's July". And it's goodnight from him and it's goodnight from me. Well? Goodnight then. Shove off, you cokface git.

Workin'

I've never mentioned my current employment on this blog. I wrote about my last job in Swords & District Credit Union. I worked there from August 2007 until September 2007. I was on the books until April this year when I asked for the P45 and all that sort of business.

I did this because I got a new job. I work in a Penny's (operated by Primark) outlet in Dublin. A family acquaintance is a manager in the shop and it was suggested that I leave in a C.V., which I did and soon enough I had an interview and a job (in that order, obviously, that's how it works as I'm sure you're all aware).

The tasks involved in the job include recovery (the great euphemism translating to cleaning up after messy customers), filling out the shelves/rails/other stock-holding apparatus, helping with deliveries marking-down the price of stock, generally helping customers with sizes etc. and moving stuff around.

I started on the eighteenth of April, 2008. It was my Ma's birthday and we were out in the Cock Tavern beforehand for dinner. So, that was grand. I was to be in by half-six, but I got the time wrong! Watta mistaka ta make! (Saying of a character in 'Allo, 'Allo for those that aren't familiar with it.) So, a great start, an hour late. What makes this amazing is the reaction of the manager when I arrived: "Y'eejit!" Grand.

There's no radio in the shop, so the only thing to listen to is the conversations of the customers. It usually consists of mothers telling their children to shut the fuck up or not to be running away. There's the odd couple of auld fella that comes in and give out about young people. Nothing outstanding, but you get a laugh every now and again. So, for immediate entertainment, it's up to yourself. I sing quietly away to myself. At one stage I was singing that same verse of "One Man Guy" for about an hour. So, that happens. Singing unfortunately doesn't always fill the gap of discontented, unoccupied mind. Pretend conversations fill some time too. That sounds desperate sad but I've always done that and I doubt that I'm the only person that does it either.

It can seem to be a lonely job at times. You're tidying a table of a set of rails and there's nobody in the direct vicinity to chat to so you have an internal chat. There are other staff around and sometimes I wish that I could be put somewhere else in the shop where I could at least talk to someone. But then I think, even if I was near enough to someone else to speak to them, would I speak to them? Answer/Freagra: Probably not. So there's a paradox or a contradiction or a geebag situation for you. It's probably closest to a geebag situation, then second closest to a paradox and not really close to a contradiction at all.

I have a bit of a what-am-I-going-to-talk-to-this-person-about attitude. Which is sort of shit. I can remember walking across to my friend's house years ago (maybe six or seven years ago) and trying to think of things to talk about. I've never really thought about this sort of thing until reasonably recently, so I don't know if this is a common frame of mind or not. It seems that it would impede one's conversational skills, anyway.

So, as I work, I talk and sing to myself. I must seem like a slightly posh, introverted weirdo. Which, I suppose, is fine by me, if that is the case. There's worse things that you could portray yourself as. A complete wankbag, drug-dealer would be one.

That's it for tonight. I'd like to thank my production team, my researchers and Colin. Goodnight.

The Story of the Master of Sellotape

At the moment he's unemployed. He's looking for work at offices around the country. He'll refill all empty sellotape-holder things when they're empty. When the price of sellotape fell during the recession of office goods in the '90s, the Master of Sellotape bought sellotape, a hell of a lot of sellotape and single-handedly saved several plcs on the stock exchange. Unfortunately for our hero, after all this buying up of cheap sellotape, stocks and shares he now has no money. He lives in an alleyway in Tulsa with 1,200 boxes of Sellotape (TM) and other imitation sticky-tape.

He still feels that there is a gap in the market for his service after ten years into this enterprise project. At one stage he even hired a marketeer, not realising that they're actually demons in disguise. Could you imagine a world with sellotape? If not, call the Master of Sellotape! is the slogan the prick created. The Master still had to give him $100 worth of sellotape for it. The Master is still currently living in the Tulsa area with some fat guy with a green shirt. Who'd have thought it?

But why, of all things, would a man have an obsession with sellotape and work so hard for the global markets?

Originally from Kinnegad, the Master of Sellotape had it rough growing up. The patriarchal society put pressure on the boys to be tough and dominant. Their genetic make-up would make them do this anyway but societal pressures also existed and didn't help either. Our hero was no good at sports and had a stammer. Clearly, he was going nowhere in the hierarchy of boys in Kinnegad.

Sellotape hadn't been long invented when Master of Sellotape was in fifth class. The sellotape-ball was all the rage that particular year (similar to other fads like yo-yos or pogs) and the boys would have spent their pocket-money on rolls of sellotape in the local family shop.

Sellotape-balls were highly entertaining for the hard, high-ranking boys. For the runts of the boys, they were devastating in all respects. They met barrage after barrage of sellotape-balls each morning and afternoon. They didn't hurt very much but it was a kind of social torture. In Master of Sellotape's class, only one boy got it worse than he did. This boy's name was Georgie Porgie. Nobody ever seemed to like Georgie. By most accounts, he's now in Russia campaigning relentlessly for a Russian nuclear assault against the United States of America and The Kinnegad GAA club.

For Georgie, the sellotape-ball treatment was only one of the many ways that he was shunned by the town. And then there's those other things which, for several reasons, we won't mention.

In the case of Master of Sellotape, the sellotape-ball incidents had a deep affect in his mind. He still respected the other boys for their clear hunting ability. Therefore, he placed the blame on their weapon of choice. He blamed the sellotape-ball for his misfortune in social circumstances. This may sound bizarre, but within the confines of the world of fiction, it's one-hundred percent true.

The Master of Sellotape spent his teenage years researching sellotape (know your enemy), quietly saving money from working in O'Neills public house and building up his strength and stamina on the town racetrack.

In the year of the sellotape market recession, he had enough resources to go to Wall Street. Economics classes came in handy at this point, although he couldn't really remember any particular class that he hadn't fallen asleep in within twenty minutes.

The story continued from ther euntil he hitched a ride from a trucker to Tulsa after a dard night's drinking.

So, that's the early life of the purely fictional man that they call the Master of Sellotape. Coincidentally enough a young, Irish adult has named a blog "Master of Sellotape". It's unknown if the blog is named after our hero. There's no mention of sellotape . "It's just a silly name," according to the blog. http://cheapsellotape.blogspot.com/.

Roll Call

-ÓMhaoldomhnaigh, L.
-Anseo.

So, what have you been up to these days? Loada mickey, really. I fucked up the college thing and, in general, can't do it. Well, that's if you look at one way. In a different way, you could say I have suppressed emotions until they've found other outlets, from which to pour. These outlets would involve bad concentration, low self-esteem among others. Depending on what sort of person you are and your way of viewing things, you'll follow either, not both, of the preceding explanations.

Either way, I didn't complete/do any given assignments or exams and therefore didn't do semester two of year one. I now have an extenuating circumstances form and all that. Still not out of the dark yet though.

So, apart from that, what's been going on? Not very much, I have to say. But, maybe there has and I'm just too blind or cynical to see it. We had Simone over from Tortona for just over a week. 'Twas grand time we had. Highlight of the visit: getting chips in Burdock's up opposite Christchurch, trying to get to St. Pat's Cathedral, getting lost in Dublin 8 and ending up in a pub on Patrick's street with Simone talking to the Italian barmaid. Maybe watching the snooker in the Millennium (Peacock's Steakhouse) that first Sunday he was here could be a contender too. That night we went out to Donabate was good too. I mentioned that in a previous post, I'm almost sure. So, good times had in all fairness.

Any good nights out anywhere? Few. It was Tim's birthday recently and he had a bash in Whelan's. I presumably had nothing else to do so I fecked over that far. Had few scoops as you do. Unfortunately the big-ass speakers were a little much for me. Not quite the fave thing in an establishment. Oh well, live and let live. Always someone to talk to on the Nitelink (mickey spelling, bleedin' DB). Two young ones. I mentioned to one of them that we'd seen Dr. Garret Fitzgerald on Grafton Street eating ice-cream (an amazing image!) and it turned out that her family is a big Fine Gael hub with great respect for Fitzie and all former FG Taoisigh. True story.

We were up Cock there on Saturday for a drink. Grand craic. Dropped into Lamb for a bit too. There was a group of people in the corner and a few of them were having Erdinger. So, I thought I'd try one. Something I won't be repeating. Apart from being a bit expensive, it's a bit like Carlsberg and quite fizzy. Oh well. These things must be tried once.

I was up in Eamon Doran's on Monday night. The Groove were playing (fair dues to the lads). Bit of support, you know the way. A whole €3.50 in for the night. Rip-off Ireland they say. Anyway, speaking of tasting different beers, Monday was another such night. Firstly, I had a Fosters which was okay. It was cheaper and tasted cheaper. For some reason it had the mild taste of popcorn. Next, I had a bad pint of Miller. On an earlier occasion (another previous night in Cock) I found that Miller tastes like M&Ms and whiskey. Finally, I tried a Becks. This, we agreed, tasted like Green and Blacks milk chocolate. What is it with beers tasting like chocolate?! Good times, good times.

This evening we (myself and my parents) were up in The Helix. For my Da's birthday we bought him three (hmmm, who will you bring?) tickets to Sebastian Barry's "The Pride of Parnell Street". An amazing idea for a present, tickets to a play that I was probably going to go to anyway. I've read Barry's novels "The Whereabouts of Eneas McNulty" (1998), "Annie Dunne" (2002) and "A Long Long Way" (2005). Haven't gone near his poetry, though. Not my sphere I think. The play was, at one stage, being staged in The Tivoli on Francis Street (the street I went down, instead of Patrick Street, which led to us getting lost that day) but I missed it that time. So, when I saw that it was going to be in a The Helix I thought nice one. Janet and Joe tell their side of their broken marriage and their own experiences in interwoven monologues that are both hilarious and heart-breaking in their simplicity and also in their complexity. Enjoyable evening of theatre, an hour and a half of unbroken Dubliners telling their story. Nice one, I will say again.

The hell-hound adventure that is the Leaving Certificate will painfully inflict itself upon sixth-year students across the Republic of Ireland (and that other weird place that does it too, wherever it is) very soon. I'll have a little memory time now. Nothing about the actual exams obviously; mainly because I can't really remember much about them. But I can remember the morning of the results. Finn, Dave and I had been drinking in Finn's house the night before which was good fun. Got home about three in the morning or something. In the morning, myself and Dave went down to the school at a ridiculous hour. We weren't first there, but we were maybe third and fourth. After receiving a handshake from the principal and a good gawk at our nice bit of paper, we headed up for Miller's of Main Street! We bought the day's papers (The Irish Times and Irish Independent) to look at all the nice statistics and all that while we had a lovely bit of breakfast in Miller's. So, that was a grand time. I didn't feel too amazing about my own results but it was grand that morning. We went back up to my house then and probably had more coffee and a chat and the like. Then of course all the bloody text messages from people started to flow... So, good luck to all you unfortunate people that have to pass temporarily though the fourth layer of hell and endure the exams. Nothing will make you feel any better about it. Unless you actually feel confident in yourself. If you are like this, you're either a complete prick or the child of the top dog in the Examinations Commission.

Now that I have time on my hands for recreational purposes, I've been reading. Wow. Sweeping statement. Over the last while I've read "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" and "Annie Dunne". At the moment, I'm almost finished "Falling Sideways" by Tom Holt. A bit confusing, but I suppose these comic fantasy novels are meant to be so. I bought in Hodges Figgis for €4.50 just because the blurb sounded about bonkers. It's not something that I'd usually read but there's nothing wrong with a bit of a change. I bought Flann O'Brien's "At Swim-Two-Birds" in Eason on O'Connell Street there two weeks ago because they had 25% off Penguin Classics. So, I might read that next. Well done to books. I also have a Patrick Kavanagh book that I may read too. If I like "Swim-Two-Birds", I'll try some more Flann O'Brien, maybe "The Third Policeman".

I had a listen to Robben Ford & the Blue Line earlier. I bought the album, "Handful Of Blues", in London a few years ago in Virgin, I think. For a while I didn't want to listen to it because I had listened to it when I was sick at one stage. So, it was connected to sickness. It's a good album though. Must put it somewhere that I'll notice it a bit more often. I've always managed to buy several CDs whenever I'm somewhere that uses the pound sterling. Most times that I've been in Northern Ireland, I've bought CDs. The same goes for being in London staying with Mary or being on holiday in Scotland. When we were in Edinburgh I bought six CDs, as far as I remember. Whatever it is about bits of paper with Lizzy on them and my desire to trade them for compact discs containing music.

"I ofen looked up at the sky an' assed meself the question - what is the moon, what is the stars?"

And with those words of wisdom I shall feck off for now. Ah, a darlin' night, a daaaarlin' night.

Oh, Mickey!

Oh, why do you kayp all your stars in from your studio on Mick Collins' Avenue. You'll pass Aidan's secondary school and DCU on your left. You'll also pass two auld ones with the Evening Herald on Thursdays. Wouldn't that have to be the way? Murphy's Law in motion and that other law about those fuckin' electrons getting onto buses. Then there's six by ten to the twenty-three. Or, as they might say on the other side of the Atlantic, to the root twenty-three. I'm not even sure if that's what they say, but it's slightly different. I'm just trying to increase the readability of this thing. More universal, more accepting, more open, more understanding, more considerate, more MICKEY.

News just in: old civil servants are dying by the minute. For an update, here's some boring snob who has a Trinners degree in law, or something, and seems to know what's going on.
-Yes, thank you, Anne. I actually studied in UCD but at this moment that's hardly relevant. Although, speaking of my degree days, if Maria is watching I wonder if she'd give me a call. I haven't seen you in ages, darling...
-Oh, I'm sorry, we're out of time for that report. It's a pity that he fucked up his debut here at RTÉ, but maybe he's lucky and Maria is watching. Maria, if you are indeed watching, that guy's mobile number will be displayed at the end of this bulletin.

Cigarettes and chocolate milk. Coffee and sitting around listening to Chris Rea. I seem pretty happy sitting around on me arse doing fuck all. Exercising little or no brain bits. Perfectly happy being a nothing really. Somehow I'm not drawn to do anything. I'm not reading anything because I didn't want to get into some fiction or other that would distract attention from academic writings- that I'm also not reading. Yay. Lose all around.

Next we'll have news from around the country from our regional reporters.
Mary (North-West Cavan Correspondant)
-Nothing really to report today. It's all been rather quiet. I hear Mrs. Kavanagh is pregnant, though. Apart from that, it's all mickey.

Joe (South-East Tipperary)
-There was great craic agus spraoi to be had last night in John Johnston's bar in the annual floor-stomping barnyard dancing competition. The judges are still trying to decide on the winner. They've been in the back-room of the bar for thirteen straight hours. We're all here waiting anxiously on the judgement. (Ye havin' a pint, Joe?!) As you can see, it's tense here. Ay, I will. Joe, RTÉ News, Johnston's Bar.

-We've now realised that absolutely nobody is watching this news broadcast anymore. By our figures, everybody is now watching the Papal episode of Ten Years Younger on TV3. I hope your pancreas gets exploded by the devil.

-And...Cut. Good job, Anne. You really told those viewers what you thought. I know we're the national broadcaster thing and all, but something needed to be said.

-Yeah, thanks, Jerry. You going down pub?

-No, I'm an alcoholic. I thought I told you before. Obviously not. Oh well. There's some scandal for you. I haven't had a drink in eight months. I'm doing it for the kids. They're smart for their age. The little bollixes used to hide me Jemmie bottles when I really needed them. But, then I found their secret hiding place. This will give you a laugh. They used hide it under the dog!

-Okay, Jerry. Very good. You're not coming then. I'll have to ask Ryan. Shit.

And so, the individual battles (battle coke) raged on within the walls of RTÉ, Donnybrock, Dublin Four. Eventually through Americanisation (or Americanization as it would be when the process was complete), national public broadcasting came straight in to Irish homes from California. Howth Road would be renamed Sunset Boulevard. The North Circular Road would be renamed CBS Avenue. The army barracks around the city of Dublin would be renamed George Clooney Barracks (formerly McKee Barracks), Mary-Kate & Ashley Barracks (formerly Cathal Brugha Barracks) and Ronald McDonald Barracks (formerly Collins Barracks). Ronald McDonald Barracks would later house artefacts connected with an amazing archaeological find on the site of the McDonalds outlet on Hollywood Row (formerly Phisboro Road).

At that moment, if it is reached, it is believed that the spirit of deValera will rise from the Ronald Reagan Memorial Cemetery (formerly Glasnevin Cemetery) and unleash a reign of terror not unlike that of Robespierre. For it is written, in the Book of Sorrow, "Not Een May Rhepablic".

This belief is widely critiqued by, pretty much, everybody apart from a few auld Fianna Fáil fellas in west Clare. They occasionally get the train up to Dublin (which would soon be renamed New Tulsa) and rally outside Leinster House. Nobody takes any notice. There's only four of them. The Gardaí don't even bother that they don't have a permit to do what they're doing. It was believed that they'd die there, at the gates. They would eventually die in Stoneybatter after getting lost coming out of Ronald McDonald Barracks to see the displays.

So, alas, the City Borough of New Tulsa suffered the same fate that other European cities did. Paris was no more by 2024. Dusseldorf was Mississippi by 2053. The list goes on and on. The slow erosion of Europe by US influence would be complete by 2075. Then the wars began. But that's for another night, kids. Off to bed with you. Sleep well.