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.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
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/.
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/.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
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.
-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.
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.
Monday, April 14, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Micko Goes Wine-Shopping
Micko and Janet had been married five years. Micko thought that it would be nice to have Maria, their two-year-old daughter, spend the night in the babysitter's house and have a dinner party with their friends. For the duration of the week preceding the day, the seventeenth of August, Micko was making the preparations such as asking Philo & Bridie, Baz & Liz and his brother, Jimmy, over for the dinner. He did some secret shopping and bought a lovely piece of lamb with helpful instruction from the butcher.
The morning of their anniversary, Micko woke up before Janet and made her toast and tea and brought in to her in bed.
"Happy anniversary," said Micko.
"Ah, Jay! Tanks, Micko. Happy anniversary."
Janet was delighted as Micko told her of the evening that he had planned.
They cleaned up the dining-room and the living-room for their guests and put on the lamb. Remembering the tips from the butcher, Micko put the meat in on a low heat early in the afternoon. They both had a nice afternoon together as they prepared the vegetables and tidied the house.
As the arranged time for the guests to arrive approached, Micko remembered the last thing that he had to do. He needed to nip down to the off-license for some wine.
"The veggies are almost done now. Baz and Liz'll be here in 'bout ten minutes. I'm goin' down offo to get some wine. Back in ten," said Micko as he kissed Janet.
Micko was feeling in top form. He was having a pleasant day. He was happily married for five years to his darling wife. The dinner party was going to be great and Janet would be happy to see their friends and would be over the moon about it all. Yes, the day was good.
"Hmmm, what about this wine?" said Micko aloud as he drove to the local off-license in Finglas. He held the door open for an auld fella coming out with a six-pack of Bulmers under his arm. As he walked over to the vast wall of the wine section, he stared at the tapestry of bottles with their colourful labels and foreign words.
"Can I help you, sir?" came a voice from behind.
"Eh, yeah... I'm havin' a bi' of a do an' I'm lookin' for some wine," replied Micko.
"Well, this wine is on special this week. It comes from the smallest vineyard in all of Bordeaux and is made by the Montesemont family who have been producing well-respected wines since the early twentieth century. It is full-bodied, smooth at first with an mild aftertaste of elderberries."
Micko's head hurt. What was this young one on about?
"Eh, righ'. How much is it?"
"This week it's €14.99 which is amazing value for such a wine."
A perplexed look appeared across Micko's face.
"That's a bit much innit?"
Suddenly the off license staff member realised what she was dealing with and sighed.
"Well, on the other hand, on your left is a cheap muck that we import from Slovakia. It's made by child slave labour and that's why it's only €3.99. It's complete piss but comes with a complimentary roll of Polo mints,"she sorrowfully continued.
"Hmmm, yeah alright'. I'll have four bottles of tha'. Tanks."
"I'm here to help," she said as she hung her head.
Micko bought the wine and a six pack of Dutch Gold and drove home. Baz & Liz had arrived and were in the living-room saying how deadly everything looked. Philo & Bridie arrived ten minutes later and Jimmie, and usual, was a little late. The dinner went perfectly and the conversation was overflowing. They all got locked on the cheap piss and thought it was wonderful.
Baz & Liz fell asleep on the couch at half-two. Jimmie went home because he only lived on the next road. Philo & Bridie ended up under the kitchen table while Micko and Janet went to bed sloshed and happily five years married.
The morning of their anniversary, Micko woke up before Janet and made her toast and tea and brought in to her in bed.
"Happy anniversary," said Micko.
"Ah, Jay! Tanks, Micko. Happy anniversary."
Janet was delighted as Micko told her of the evening that he had planned.
They cleaned up the dining-room and the living-room for their guests and put on the lamb. Remembering the tips from the butcher, Micko put the meat in on a low heat early in the afternoon. They both had a nice afternoon together as they prepared the vegetables and tidied the house.
As the arranged time for the guests to arrive approached, Micko remembered the last thing that he had to do. He needed to nip down to the off-license for some wine.
"The veggies are almost done now. Baz and Liz'll be here in 'bout ten minutes. I'm goin' down offo to get some wine. Back in ten," said Micko as he kissed Janet.
Micko was feeling in top form. He was having a pleasant day. He was happily married for five years to his darling wife. The dinner party was going to be great and Janet would be happy to see their friends and would be over the moon about it all. Yes, the day was good.
"Hmmm, what about this wine?" said Micko aloud as he drove to the local off-license in Finglas. He held the door open for an auld fella coming out with a six-pack of Bulmers under his arm. As he walked over to the vast wall of the wine section, he stared at the tapestry of bottles with their colourful labels and foreign words.
"Can I help you, sir?" came a voice from behind.
"Eh, yeah... I'm havin' a bi' of a do an' I'm lookin' for some wine," replied Micko.
"Well, this wine is on special this week. It comes from the smallest vineyard in all of Bordeaux and is made by the Montesemont family who have been producing well-respected wines since the early twentieth century. It is full-bodied, smooth at first with an mild aftertaste of elderberries."
Micko's head hurt. What was this young one on about?
"Eh, righ'. How much is it?"
"This week it's €14.99 which is amazing value for such a wine."
A perplexed look appeared across Micko's face.
"That's a bit much innit?"
Suddenly the off license staff member realised what she was dealing with and sighed.
"Well, on the other hand, on your left is a cheap muck that we import from Slovakia. It's made by child slave labour and that's why it's only €3.99. It's complete piss but comes with a complimentary roll of Polo mints,"she sorrowfully continued.
"Hmmm, yeah alright'. I'll have four bottles of tha'. Tanks."
"I'm here to help," she said as she hung her head.
Micko bought the wine and a six pack of Dutch Gold and drove home. Baz & Liz had arrived and were in the living-room saying how deadly everything looked. Philo & Bridie arrived ten minutes later and Jimmie, and usual, was a little late. The dinner went perfectly and the conversation was overflowing. They all got locked on the cheap piss and thought it was wonderful.
Baz & Liz fell asleep on the couch at half-two. Jimmie went home because he only lived on the next road. Philo & Bridie ended up under the kitchen table while Micko and Janet went to bed sloshed and happily five years married.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Bits Agus Bobs Agus Mickí
Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps: How We're Different and What to Do About It (Paperback). Paperback form it was and I thought that it was important to mention that it is. Read it there last night and the night before. Interesting read. Fair play to the sexes for being different and bollix to political correctness.
PR-STV is great craic, isn't it? I haven't really used it yet but for the laugh it'll be grand.
Off goes Bertie today telling everybody he's going for real in May. First Tony across the water, then the "Rev." "Dr." Ian across the border and now Mr. Tee-shock down here sa phoblacht. Is there no political stability in the place? Everyone is either too bored, too old or too weighed down to continue yielding supreme executive power. The office in the State with the most prestige will be filled by bluh-blah-blah-blah. Sorry Taoiseach, what was that about pensions?
Moonlight and love songs in ragtime! Step into that small confessional.
There's the lads as they kick it back in Bruges (Brew-guh or Brew-je [as in Je in French], whatever your having yourself) after killing people.
Fuckin' ledge auld film for the laugh and the Dubs factor. Rufus makes a guest appearance as a midget dancing on Abbey Street while doing cocaine. Colin Farrell then karate chops him and gets sang at about the impending race-war. "Who's next?" as Ton Lehrer might say.
Coffee may now be on the cards. Maxwell House, of course, is shit and should be avoided at all costs unless you're a fire(wo)man or in the Defense Forces. The Red is MUCK and the blue one isn't much better. Nescafé is good most of the time, depending on the jar that's bought. There's the chunky granules and they're nice (with water, obviously). That other Nescafé stuff, smooth and silky or some such shite, is nice too. Mmmm, instant coffee.
Goodnight, ladies etc.
PR-STV is great craic, isn't it? I haven't really used it yet but for the laugh it'll be grand.
Off goes Bertie today telling everybody he's going for real in May. First Tony across the water, then the "Rev." "Dr." Ian across the border and now Mr. Tee-shock down here sa phoblacht. Is there no political stability in the place? Everyone is either too bored, too old or too weighed down to continue yielding supreme executive power. The office in the State with the most prestige will be filled by bluh-blah-blah-blah. Sorry Taoiseach, what was that about pensions?
Moonlight and love songs in ragtime! Step into that small confessional.
There's the lads as they kick it back in Bruges (Brew-guh or Brew-je [as in Je in French], whatever your having yourself) after killing people.
Fuckin' ledge auld film for the laugh and the Dubs factor. Rufus makes a guest appearance as a midget dancing on Abbey Street while doing cocaine. Colin Farrell then karate chops him and gets sang at about the impending race-war. "Who's next?" as Ton Lehrer might say.
Coffee may now be on the cards. Maxwell House, of course, is shit and should be avoided at all costs unless you're a fire(wo)man or in the Defense Forces. The Red is MUCK and the blue one isn't much better. Nescafé is good most of the time, depending on the jar that's bought. There's the chunky granules and they're nice (with water, obviously). That other Nescafé stuff, smooth and silky or some such shite, is nice too. Mmmm, instant coffee.
Goodnight, ladies etc.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Go on, indulge a little
My, my, it's almost three weeks since I put even a word on this dreadful thing. I must rectify the situation. This is me currently rectifying the situation. As usual, I have nothing to say and it doesn't feel too good.
But I can say that passion fruit is great. Even the smell is divine. Have one as soon as you can. Sit in the sun, smell it and then eat it. It'll give you an oddly summer feeling and it'll be nice for a second. Which is a hard thing to do these days, I'd imagine. With all the fuss, anxiety, stress and bother of general living, nobody gets to have a simple pleasure. Although, it's very easy to just buy some nice chocolate and go for a stroll to ease up. Nothing beats the Cock (Tavern) of a Thursday or Sunday night either for a wind-down. Buy the paper and a Zumo smoothie or juice and sit in a park somewhere (St. Stephen's Green for example) and have a read at one's leisure. Have a nice big cup of coffee at home with a favourite CD playing. I don't know what this is; is it a list of ways to relax from me? Just came out.
Tonight I watched many videos on youtube (videos with music not of some 14-year-old from Wisconsin jumping from a moving truck or similarly stupid videos that one so easily finds) of Rory, EC, Leadbelly and others. It was grand craic altogether.
I was in college today for the first time in about two weeks. There's an essay due next Tuesday for CM135 Analysing Media Content. It's about image analysis, both semiotic and ideological. Sounds mickey and, to me, it is. It's not what I''m about at all. But, in all fairness, is any of the stuff I'm doing "me"?
Last semester I enjoyed most things, especially the Language, Culture and International Communication lectures. Identity and Belonging threw some values up in the air for me, fine, that needed doing. This semester, I picked some modules I don't like and/or are making little sense. Introduction to Intercultural Studies is an example of the latter. I don't particularly like the aforementioned Analysing Media Content. Looking for implied value systems within a picture/image/photograph/digital representation? That's not the sort of thing that I like!
Introduction to Modern Ireland is a module about Irish politics. When I picked that module, I didn't even look at the bloody outline or the code. If I did, I would've seen LG (Law and Government) on it and thought, euh! Maybe. It's full of Erasmus students that are from far-flung places and not so far-flung (towns mythologies) places. The essay for this will be very hard.
Understanding Social Change is a good module. Dr. O'Brien missed two classes and not many people seem to like him. I think he's grand, but that an elephant (pardon the poor use of Groucho Marx quote thing). Like all the essays for all modules, picking something to research and write about is the difficult things. Do about Nordyland? Sunningdale and Good Friday? Dunno. The lectures that I liked was the Nordyland one because it was just like a history lesson and I liked that. Another lecture in Introduction to Modern Ireland was like a history lesson too and I also liked that. Is there something in that? Should I be somewhere studying history instead of all this Contemporary Culture and Society business? Ah, questions galore it is.
Study of Language 2 is good like last semester. There's going to be a test in class though, which I don't like the sound of. Most of all these worries stem from one thing. Obviously that one thing is the fact that I've done fuck all this semester. Waay. Intercultural Studies might make a little more sense if I read the suggested readings. Although, I did give it a bash and it went terribly. I was on the bus though.
This college bollix seems so mickey. And that made me sound like a sobbing little Yank wank. I'm not prepared to do any work so therefore it's someone else's fault. I presume that's a textbook case of not bothering one's bollix. It's great that the number of people going to third-level has tripled (I think that's right, it was in an The Irish Times article on Tuesday) and that fees are no more. But is college for everyone? Is DCU or UCD or TCD or NUI the right place for a slightly intelligent, slightly middle-class 18-year-old who can get over 300 points in the Leaving Certificate? Is there some pressure for sixth year students to go to college? (EDW.) I don't think academic life is for all even though it is accessible by all (supposedly).
I am sceptical of my own place in DCU sometimes. (Again, I'm probably a textbook example of some unsure, whiny teenager.) The essays due, the exams to be sat and other assignments to be done will take some doing on my part. It's even difficult to know to do them on, with no module exempt. If I was a really bad worrier, I'd be fucked because it can look impossible. I don't know if I'll pass these modules. Then get reading you say! Good idea. "Am I bovvered though?"
To leave on a nicer note than that I hope you all enjoyed St. Patrick's Day whatever you were up to. Isn't great to be born on the island of Ireland!?
But I can say that passion fruit is great. Even the smell is divine. Have one as soon as you can. Sit in the sun, smell it and then eat it. It'll give you an oddly summer feeling and it'll be nice for a second. Which is a hard thing to do these days, I'd imagine. With all the fuss, anxiety, stress and bother of general living, nobody gets to have a simple pleasure. Although, it's very easy to just buy some nice chocolate and go for a stroll to ease up. Nothing beats the Cock (Tavern) of a Thursday or Sunday night either for a wind-down. Buy the paper and a Zumo smoothie or juice and sit in a park somewhere (St. Stephen's Green for example) and have a read at one's leisure. Have a nice big cup of coffee at home with a favourite CD playing. I don't know what this is; is it a list of ways to relax from me? Just came out.
Tonight I watched many videos on youtube (videos with music not of some 14-year-old from Wisconsin jumping from a moving truck or similarly stupid videos that one so easily finds) of Rory, EC, Leadbelly and others. It was grand craic altogether.
I was in college today for the first time in about two weeks. There's an essay due next Tuesday for CM135 Analysing Media Content. It's about image analysis, both semiotic and ideological. Sounds mickey and, to me, it is. It's not what I''m about at all. But, in all fairness, is any of the stuff I'm doing "me"?
Last semester I enjoyed most things, especially the Language, Culture and International Communication lectures. Identity and Belonging threw some values up in the air for me, fine, that needed doing. This semester, I picked some modules I don't like and/or are making little sense. Introduction to Intercultural Studies is an example of the latter. I don't particularly like the aforementioned Analysing Media Content. Looking for implied value systems within a picture/image/photograph/digital representation? That's not the sort of thing that I like!
Introduction to Modern Ireland is a module about Irish politics. When I picked that module, I didn't even look at the bloody outline or the code. If I did, I would've seen LG (Law and Government) on it and thought, euh! Maybe. It's full of Erasmus students that are from far-flung places and not so far-flung (towns mythologies) places. The essay for this will be very hard.
Understanding Social Change is a good module. Dr. O'Brien missed two classes and not many people seem to like him. I think he's grand, but that an elephant (pardon the poor use of Groucho Marx quote thing). Like all the essays for all modules, picking something to research and write about is the difficult things. Do about Nordyland? Sunningdale and Good Friday? Dunno. The lectures that I liked was the Nordyland one because it was just like a history lesson and I liked that. Another lecture in Introduction to Modern Ireland was like a history lesson too and I also liked that. Is there something in that? Should I be somewhere studying history instead of all this Contemporary Culture and Society business? Ah, questions galore it is.
Study of Language 2 is good like last semester. There's going to be a test in class though, which I don't like the sound of. Most of all these worries stem from one thing. Obviously that one thing is the fact that I've done fuck all this semester. Waay. Intercultural Studies might make a little more sense if I read the suggested readings. Although, I did give it a bash and it went terribly. I was on the bus though.
This college bollix seems so mickey. And that made me sound like a sobbing little Yank wank. I'm not prepared to do any work so therefore it's someone else's fault. I presume that's a textbook case of not bothering one's bollix. It's great that the number of people going to third-level has tripled (I think that's right, it was in an The Irish Times article on Tuesday) and that fees are no more. But is college for everyone? Is DCU or UCD or TCD or NUI the right place for a slightly intelligent, slightly middle-class 18-year-old who can get over 300 points in the Leaving Certificate? Is there some pressure for sixth year students to go to college? (EDW.) I don't think academic life is for all even though it is accessible by all (supposedly).
I am sceptical of my own place in DCU sometimes. (Again, I'm probably a textbook example of some unsure, whiny teenager.) The essays due, the exams to be sat and other assignments to be done will take some doing on my part. It's even difficult to know to do them on, with no module exempt. If I was a really bad worrier, I'd be fucked because it can look impossible. I don't know if I'll pass these modules. Then get reading you say! Good idea. "Am I bovvered though?"
To leave on a nicer note than that I hope you all enjoyed St. Patrick's Day whatever you were up to. Isn't great to be born on the island of Ireland!?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Draft Messages
There's a few messages in the drafts folder of my phone. If I think of something that's either funny or memorable, or just notable, I save it there for future reference. Well, that's the background information on this and now the real post will begin and the like. Please take your seats.
"In the total song of life, the dissonant, cacophonous elements have to be accepted, transcended and absorbed into the dominant melody."
This particular quote/sentence was brought to my attention by a nun, of all people. The ex-head nun at the home in New Jersey of my great-aunt (a nun) had it in her head that I was somewhat intelligent when we were NJ in 2004. She printed this out on a green page for me. It's of interest and a nice little thing to be able to recite during the hardships of tedious conversations.
Ooh! Sorry, I thought I had something musical there but it was only a headache.
I have little idea where that came from or anything. Silly.
Zip, zip, mick up yer cocky. Self-explanatory.
Don't mess with me. I'm a Jew.
I don't know if this would sound funnier if it read "I'm a Catholic." Or maybe Baptist...
"Tall women surround me now and a gentleman passing us by. Who did we meet? A pretty young Communist of all people! She wore red and cleaned tables with efficiency and 'y'alright?'"
Dave and I were in the Cock one evening. Obviously some young one stood up from the next table and looked reasonably tall. I had only listened to Black Velvet Band earlier that day, hence the next bit. Well done.
Memo to self: auld ones must like the Evening Herald in the early afternoon. Isn't revamp a stupid word?
I was on my way into a lecture recently (it was probably last Thursday) and I passed two auld ones coming onto Shanowen Avenue, each with a copy of (presumably) that day's Evening Herald. It was only about half one in the day. It was as if it was a microcosm of society. The sight just made an impression on me. Or was it that I wanted something to do as I waited for the little green man to tell me it was safe to cross the road?
John B. Keane You're on for Next Sunday.
Somehow a short story that we read during the junior cycle of education came into my mind today. Some fella was wandering about a graveyard and the spirits asked him to play a game of hurling with them. At the end they said he was on for the following week too. Was he dead? Oh, oh! I think it was written by Mr. Keane. I could be wrong. It's a guess at the title too. Something like that. All my classmates will probably remember this short story on prompting the memory. The dreaded Scano classes. Lord bless us and save us.
Saving things as text messages is a great way to record things on the go. Things to do or write about or read or look up. I have a list of books, films and songs there too. Life: A User's Guide is one one the list. Unfortunately, I haven't came across it of yet, even in Hodges Figgis. Shock!
The other day I was knocking around the DCU library after lectures and stumbled across the fiction fiction. Before that point in time, I was unaware of its existence. Non-academic books that I would actually want to read. I saw a few names and I thought, oooh, I want to read that. I took out my phone and saved a few authors' names, which includes Roddy Doyle (I want to read something written by him, possible The Snapper) and Flann O'Brien (there's a brand new edition of The Third Policeman there that cried out READ ME).
The daily functions of the mobile telephone extends further until it's part and parcel and mickey of all people, not that it's not a neccesary piece of equipment to survive already. Giz yer foe-win.
"In the total song of life, the dissonant, cacophonous elements have to be accepted, transcended and absorbed into the dominant melody."
This particular quote/sentence was brought to my attention by a nun, of all people. The ex-head nun at the home in New Jersey of my great-aunt (a nun) had it in her head that I was somewhat intelligent when we were NJ in 2004. She printed this out on a green page for me. It's of interest and a nice little thing to be able to recite during the hardships of tedious conversations.
Ooh! Sorry, I thought I had something musical there but it was only a headache.
I have little idea where that came from or anything. Silly.
Zip, zip, mick up yer cocky. Self-explanatory.
Don't mess with me. I'm a Jew.
I don't know if this would sound funnier if it read "I'm a Catholic." Or maybe Baptist...
"Tall women surround me now and a gentleman passing us by. Who did we meet? A pretty young Communist of all people! She wore red and cleaned tables with efficiency and 'y'alright?'"
Dave and I were in the Cock one evening. Obviously some young one stood up from the next table and looked reasonably tall. I had only listened to Black Velvet Band earlier that day, hence the next bit. Well done.
Memo to self: auld ones must like the Evening Herald in the early afternoon. Isn't revamp a stupid word?
I was on my way into a lecture recently (it was probably last Thursday) and I passed two auld ones coming onto Shanowen Avenue, each with a copy of (presumably) that day's Evening Herald. It was only about half one in the day. It was as if it was a microcosm of society. The sight just made an impression on me. Or was it that I wanted something to do as I waited for the little green man to tell me it was safe to cross the road?
John B. Keane You're on for Next Sunday.
Somehow a short story that we read during the junior cycle of education came into my mind today. Some fella was wandering about a graveyard and the spirits asked him to play a game of hurling with them. At the end they said he was on for the following week too. Was he dead? Oh, oh! I think it was written by Mr. Keane. I could be wrong. It's a guess at the title too. Something like that. All my classmates will probably remember this short story on prompting the memory. The dreaded Scano classes. Lord bless us and save us.
Saving things as text messages is a great way to record things on the go. Things to do or write about or read or look up. I have a list of books, films and songs there too. Life: A User's Guide is one one the list. Unfortunately, I haven't came across it of yet, even in Hodges Figgis. Shock!
The other day I was knocking around the DCU library after lectures and stumbled across the fiction fiction. Before that point in time, I was unaware of its existence. Non-academic books that I would actually want to read. I saw a few names and I thought, oooh, I want to read that. I took out my phone and saved a few authors' names, which includes Roddy Doyle (I want to read something written by him, possible The Snapper) and Flann O'Brien (there's a brand new edition of The Third Policeman there that cried out READ ME).
The daily functions of the mobile telephone extends further until it's part and parcel and mickey of all people, not that it's not a neccesary piece of equipment to survive already. Giz yer foe-win.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Dublin
"Fort of the Dane,
Garrison of the Saxon,
Augustan capital
Of a Gaelic nation"
-Louis MacNeice
I had a lovely day knocking around town the other day, Monday 11th February. Ma decided that she wanted to go up to the War Memorial Gardens , so off we went. It was a fine day with a warm sun that would remind any sober soul of a Summer's day. We got the bus into town and walked up the quays and into the gardens. They're great. Grand for a walk. There was a few people walking about in the good weather. And why not?
So, after a gander about the War Memorial Gardens, we went in the direction of the Wellington Monument up the Phoenix Park. I hadn't been at it since I was a young fella. We had a seat upon the steps of the 62m obelisk. The Spire is almost twice the height of it at 120m. I'd have never thought that by looking at it.
I had another sight worth seeing in mind. The Patrick Kavangh statue sits quietly and proudly on the bank of Dublin's Grand Canal. I was meant to pay a visit to Paddy last Summer but I never got around to it. So, fair play ot Kavanagh for sitting there perpetually, watching the ducks drift by (in twos and threes) and having to sit beside Antoinette Quinn's daughter as she waits for her boyfriend coming out of one of the nearby offices for lunch.
I hope you like my amazing photos. I took them with my phone. I'll put up another few tomorrow too from the Sony digital camera we have. Maybe I'll have another installment of photos of other places in Dublin that I've meant to go to for ages and never have. That might be nice. Anyway, must dash, I have a lecture in the morning at ten o'clock. Good luck to all involved.
Garrison of the Saxon,
Augustan capital
Of a Gaelic nation"
-Louis MacNeice
I had a lovely day knocking around town the other day, Monday 11th February. Ma decided that she wanted to go up to the War Memorial Gardens , so off we went. It was a fine day with a warm sun that would remind any sober soul of a Summer's day. We got the bus into town and walked up the quays and into the gardens. They're great. Grand for a walk. There was a few people walking about in the good weather. And why not?
So, after a gander about the War Memorial Gardens, we went in the direction of the Wellington Monument up the Phoenix Park. I hadn't been at it since I was a young fella. We had a seat upon the steps of the 62m obelisk. The Spire is almost twice the height of it at 120m. I'd have never thought that by looking at it.
I had another sight worth seeing in mind. The Patrick Kavangh statue sits quietly and proudly on the bank of Dublin's Grand Canal. I was meant to pay a visit to Paddy last Summer but I never got around to it. So, fair play ot Kavanagh for sitting there perpetually, watching the ducks drift by (in twos and threes) and having to sit beside Antoinette Quinn's daughter as she waits for her boyfriend coming out of one of the nearby offices for lunch.
I hope you like my amazing photos. I took them with my phone. I'll put up another few tomorrow too from the Sony digital camera we have. Maybe I'll have another installment of photos of other places in Dublin that I've meant to go to for ages and never have. That might be nice. Anyway, must dash, I have a lecture in the morning at ten o'clock. Good luck to all involved.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Negligence
Poor blog, I haven't posted here for quite a while. It's been over two weeks now. Well, I haven't been doing much. I had things for college on the tenth and the eleventh of this month. The LG116 Introduction to Politics assignment was available from the ninth and had to be submitted the next day. The 3,000 word essay for LC110 Language, Culture and International Communication was due on the eleventh. I did shit on that one (not to mention LG116). I think I can expect about 20%. (For the chemistry LC mock exam I tried to predicted my result by using the spare time I had at the end, which was about an hour, to count up the things I got right. I predicted high forties. I got mid forties. Well done me. No worries though, chemistry was my best result for the real thing!) So, hopefully I'll pass these modules and all that.
After that, not much has been going on. I've been getting up late, eating breakfast, watching episodes of either Fawlty Towers or 'Allo 'Allo. I've then been doing a selection of things, many of which start with nothing and end with being in the pub.
Last Saturday night/Sunday morning (19th-20th Jan.) was of considerable interest. Clark (mah man) had dropped me a text asking if I'd fancy a drink that evening. Sure, no harm sez I. We met at about nine outside the Cock Tavern as usual. Unfortunately, it was rather full inside with nowhere to sit down. So, for a change, we tried the Lamb across the road. Clark had no ID and Mr. Doorman was having none of it. So, back to the Cock we went. Still no seats or anything. Out again. Somehow, I had a moment of inspiration and asked Clark had he ever been to the Lord Mayor's. From that decision came a good night. We had a few pints (Heineken) in the Mayor's until about twelve. Then, as arranged earlier, we went to get a 3-in-1 down the street. Oh, it was delish and utterly amazing. Chinese of that sort is made for the slightly drunk.
Again, on an impulse, we decide to head back to Clark's house. What a walk, what a 3-in-1! In the time spent there, we discovered the new combo drink of Jameson Irish whiskey and orange juice from Dunnes Stores (or wherever). Credit goes to Clark, but I did wholeheartedly agree on its lovely taste. I also found out that Eddie Vedder wrote the soundtrack for that film about the guy who went off and died after giving all his money away.
I started for home at about half four, maybe. I met some people along the way and had a chat. I did my good deed for the day (so early too) and made it home tired and satisfied (sounds a bit filthy). I fell asleep without bothering to take off my shirt. Oh what a rain that would be (have you realised that I use lots of brackets?).
Recently, don't ask me when, I saw the film I Am Legend in Movies @ Swords. What a shit name for a cinema. Bloody Dundrum heads too. Anyway, I went along with Lorna because she fancies William of the Smiths. I liked it. Nice and odd. If I was bothered (which I doubt I'll ever be) I should rent the other two films made about the book. I can't see that happening but I saw that film, one down two to go. Last night we watched Saw. It, again, was nice and odd. Recommended watching film. As I mentioned above, I've been watching the DVDs of TV comedy classics. I was given the Fawlty Towers box-set for Christmas. Nothing else needs to be said. Everyone just knows how deadly it is. "I speeka Eengalish. I lern eet from a buuck." 'Allo 'Allo is great too. Technically it was my Da that received the present of the first and second series on DVD but myself and my Ma have been indulging, working our way through the episodes.
I'm currently reading "Jude: Level 1" by Julian Gough. It's a comic novel about the poor orphan Jude and the messes he gets into trying find his true love. I'm enjoying it so far (page seventy-nine in brackets no comma required). There's capital letters everywhere and I can't help thinking that it's a code or I'm missing some great acronym, pun or something along those lines. Oh well, even if I am, it's very good.
I have lots of music to listen to too. I bought Look Alive, the DVD and CD thing that Incubus released recently. It's got live concert footage of songs from Light Grenades along with the odd oldies too, including Aqueous Transmission which I'm looking forward to looking at. The CD has lots of new songs which I believe are mostly written by Mike. La La La Zoom Zoom Zoom is interesting, I had a listen earlier. But, I'll listen to more tomorrow.
I suppose the greatest thing since sliced bread or the greatest thing of the month is the turmoil seen today on the stock markets. Sorry, wrong thing. I will soon be in Tromso, Norway. My Ma recently became mildly obsessed with the idea of seeing the aurora with her own two eyes. I, immediately, wasn't too pushed with the idea. I had this idea in my head that I'd like to see the phenomenon later in my own life. I had been saying that I'd like to see it for a year or two before all of this and I presume that was the idea I had, the later in life experience. But, nonetheless, I'll be going to Tromso, to see the city with the hope of witnessing the sight. It's not guaranteed, so I'm not building any hopes. I'm saying that we're going to Tromso instead of saying we're going to see the Northern Lights. We're (we being myself, my parents, Lorna and Catherine) off for three days and will be cold. We'll see how it goes.
It's almost two o'clock in the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-third of January 2008. Wow. For now, I'm glad I've put something here to fill some space. It's all worthwhile. Recently, I've been posting stuff on Bramblog for the laugh. I started off writing the Story of Ben meaning for it to be for Bramblog but it just got too long and didn't fit the criteria for the blog. It ended up on my other blog (Notebook) which is linked to in the left column.
I'm leaving you with the words of Einstein.
After that, not much has been going on. I've been getting up late, eating breakfast, watching episodes of either Fawlty Towers or 'Allo 'Allo. I've then been doing a selection of things, many of which start with nothing and end with being in the pub.
Last Saturday night/Sunday morning (19th-20th Jan.) was of considerable interest. Clark (mah man) had dropped me a text asking if I'd fancy a drink that evening. Sure, no harm sez I. We met at about nine outside the Cock Tavern as usual. Unfortunately, it was rather full inside with nowhere to sit down. So, for a change, we tried the Lamb across the road. Clark had no ID and Mr. Doorman was having none of it. So, back to the Cock we went. Still no seats or anything. Out again. Somehow, I had a moment of inspiration and asked Clark had he ever been to the Lord Mayor's. From that decision came a good night. We had a few pints (Heineken) in the Mayor's until about twelve. Then, as arranged earlier, we went to get a 3-in-1 down the street. Oh, it was delish and utterly amazing. Chinese of that sort is made for the slightly drunk.
Again, on an impulse, we decide to head back to Clark's house. What a walk, what a 3-in-1! In the time spent there, we discovered the new combo drink of Jameson Irish whiskey and orange juice from Dunnes Stores (or wherever). Credit goes to Clark, but I did wholeheartedly agree on its lovely taste. I also found out that Eddie Vedder wrote the soundtrack for that film about the guy who went off and died after giving all his money away.
I started for home at about half four, maybe. I met some people along the way and had a chat. I did my good deed for the day (so early too) and made it home tired and satisfied (sounds a bit filthy). I fell asleep without bothering to take off my shirt. Oh what a rain that would be (have you realised that I use lots of brackets?).
Recently, don't ask me when, I saw the film I Am Legend in Movies @ Swords. What a shit name for a cinema. Bloody Dundrum heads too. Anyway, I went along with Lorna because she fancies William of the Smiths. I liked it. Nice and odd. If I was bothered (which I doubt I'll ever be) I should rent the other two films made about the book. I can't see that happening but I saw that film, one down two to go. Last night we watched Saw. It, again, was nice and odd. Recommended watching film. As I mentioned above, I've been watching the DVDs of TV comedy classics. I was given the Fawlty Towers box-set for Christmas. Nothing else needs to be said. Everyone just knows how deadly it is. "I speeka Eengalish. I lern eet from a buuck." 'Allo 'Allo is great too. Technically it was my Da that received the present of the first and second series on DVD but myself and my Ma have been indulging, working our way through the episodes.
I'm currently reading "Jude: Level 1" by Julian Gough. It's a comic novel about the poor orphan Jude and the messes he gets into trying find his true love. I'm enjoying it so far (page seventy-nine in brackets no comma required). There's capital letters everywhere and I can't help thinking that it's a code or I'm missing some great acronym, pun or something along those lines. Oh well, even if I am, it's very good.
I have lots of music to listen to too. I bought Look Alive, the DVD and CD thing that Incubus released recently. It's got live concert footage of songs from Light Grenades along with the odd oldies too, including Aqueous Transmission which I'm looking forward to looking at. The CD has lots of new songs which I believe are mostly written by Mike. La La La Zoom Zoom Zoom is interesting, I had a listen earlier. But, I'll listen to more tomorrow.
I suppose the greatest thing since sliced bread or the greatest thing of the month is the turmoil seen today on the stock markets. Sorry, wrong thing. I will soon be in Tromso, Norway. My Ma recently became mildly obsessed with the idea of seeing the aurora with her own two eyes. I, immediately, wasn't too pushed with the idea. I had this idea in my head that I'd like to see the phenomenon later in my own life. I had been saying that I'd like to see it for a year or two before all of this and I presume that was the idea I had, the later in life experience. But, nonetheless, I'll be going to Tromso, to see the city with the hope of witnessing the sight. It's not guaranteed, so I'm not building any hopes. I'm saying that we're going to Tromso instead of saying we're going to see the Northern Lights. We're (we being myself, my parents, Lorna and Catherine) off for three days and will be cold. We'll see how it goes.
It's almost two o'clock in the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-third of January 2008. Wow. For now, I'm glad I've put something here to fill some space. It's all worthwhile. Recently, I've been posting stuff on Bramblog for the laugh. I started off writing the Story of Ben meaning for it to be for Bramblog but it just got too long and didn't fit the criteria for the blog. It ended up on my other blog (Notebook) which is linked to in the left column.
I'm leaving you with the words of Einstein.
The hardest thing in the world to understand is the income tax.Apparently I've to put Copyright: Kevin Harris 1995 so that I can put it here. S'all good. Fair play to all. Nighty now.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Wake up & smell the cold coffee
It's a terrible thing. Last night I was in Dave's until about four, if I can recall events in even a mildly accurate manner. I got in, locked up and read for a while. I was reading The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. It's one of his short stories that I enjoyed when I was younger and I wanted to read it again. It's aimed for the younger folk, but it's a grand story. It was about half five when I got under the covers for some kip. So off I dazed into that annoying thoughtland that prohibits me from actually sleeping. I was tired so I don't think it took that long to get through passport control from Thoughtland into Nodland.
My parents were going somewhere this morning and they came into my room, waking me up, and told me they were going out. They must have been going to the Pavloovians because they took some of my vouchers. I have no idea what time this happened at. Nevertheless, it didn't make me get up and about. The next thing I realise is my phone vibrating on the other side of my pillow. It was Dave calling me. The time? Twenty minutes past two.
Two and a half hours later it was dark. How crap. My day begins and soon it's dark. Not much of a day, you might say. I agree. What's equally as bad is that tomorrow will probably be no better. Well, unless I go to bed reasonably early tonight, which would be difficult. I doubt I'll be tired until at least three o'clock.
While I'm on this subject, have a look at the Yahoo image search for yawn. See if you notice anything.
Good luck now.
My parents were going somewhere this morning and they came into my room, waking me up, and told me they were going out. They must have been going to the Pavloovians because they took some of my vouchers. I have no idea what time this happened at. Nevertheless, it didn't make me get up and about. The next thing I realise is my phone vibrating on the other side of my pillow. It was Dave calling me. The time? Twenty minutes past two.
Two and a half hours later it was dark. How crap. My day begins and soon it's dark. Not much of a day, you might say. I agree. What's equally as bad is that tomorrow will probably be no better. Well, unless I go to bed reasonably early tonight, which would be difficult. I doubt I'll be tired until at least three o'clock.
While I'm on this subject, have a look at the Yahoo image search for yawn. See if you notice anything.
Good luck now.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Great words
"The only man I shall take from the number, an whose name strangely stirs me now, is the brave, the gallant, the glorious and upright Éamonn Ceannt." (Father Augustine on Éamonn Ceannt)
"Yes. He was an angel - an angel. He was a fantastic, beautiful person. A wonderful human being. He was one of the most wonderful men I ever met in my life. I can say that honestly and openly. He was a gentleman as in the words gentle man, you know." (Mark Feltham on Rory Gallagher)
Sources
Supreme Sacrifice: The Story of Éamonn Ceannt 1881-1916, William Henry.
http://users.tkk.fi/~khagelbe/rory/articles/feltham5.html
An interview (September 13, 1998) with Mark Feltham, conducted by Shiv Cariappa. The interview appeared in the Rory fanzine Stagestruck, issue No. 5, edited by Dino McGartland.
"Yes. He was an angel - an angel. He was a fantastic, beautiful person. A wonderful human being. He was one of the most wonderful men I ever met in my life. I can say that honestly and openly. He was a gentleman as in the words gentle man, you know." (Mark Feltham on Rory Gallagher)
Sources
Supreme Sacrifice: The Story of Éamonn Ceannt 1881-1916, William Henry.
http://users.tkk.fi/~khagelbe/rory/articles/feltham5.html
An interview (September 13, 1998) with Mark Feltham, conducted by Shiv Cariappa. The interview appeared in the Rory fanzine Stagestruck, issue No. 5, edited by Dino McGartland.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Hey mister, can you spare some time?
Come one, come all (into 1984) to view my notebook. I contains essay-like things, that are really nothing like essays but moderately long posts. Same person, same sort of style, same world view, same bat-channel (blogger, that is).
Do be clicking here.
The blog stared out as the failed "Master of Limericks" and has mutated into another place for me to type. "Yay" says all involved. "Fuck off and do something worthwhile" say all others. Thanks.
Do be clicking here.
The blog stared out as the failed "Master of Limericks" and has mutated into another place for me to type. "Yay" says all involved. "Fuck off and do something worthwhile" say all others. Thanks.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
An advertisement on the behalf of BramBlog
Come one, come all yeh (faithful) to The Chronocomsimplohyetocamstothermohygrobaranebramulator Chronicle, for the fun to be had by all of the family, including dirty ould aunts.
The sheer amazing qualities of the blog are aimed at absolutely everybody regardless of age, creed, mickey size, radio station preference, race, bra size, bank affiliations, style, level of Jewishness, D. Norris factors or any other identity marker that you may hold. Although, if you're a fascist, we may block you, just to prove a point, that being, can't you see, mickey, that radical politics is just testosterone-driven.
The Chono...ulator is a separate entity, it is neither Church nor State nor Mickey. It is the epiphany of the NGO craze, just like those silly girls with those shaggin' eskimo boots.
Thank you. Mickey. God bless and read BramBlog.
http://thebram.blogspot.com/
The sheer amazing qualities of the blog are aimed at absolutely everybody regardless of age, creed, mickey size, radio station preference, race, bra size, bank affiliations, style, level of Jewishness, D. Norris factors or any other identity marker that you may hold. Although, if you're a fascist, we may block you, just to prove a point, that being, can't you see, mickey, that radical politics is just testosterone-driven.
The Chono...ulator is a separate entity, it is neither Church nor State nor Mickey. It is the epiphany of the NGO craze, just like those silly girls with those shaggin' eskimo boots.
Thank you. Mickey. God bless and read BramBlog.
http://thebram.blogspot.com/
Monday, December 17, 2007
Plea for reverence
Dear Mass-going people,
I don't think I'm asking for much. When entering a church, attending Mass or otherwise, please turn off your mobile phone. I was at half-seven Mass this evening and I heard two phones with incoming calls with two silly ring tones.
If I have my phone with me, before I go into the church, I put it on "silent" and then I turn it off. I put it on silent just in case I've any alarms that could sound even if the phone is off.
I hope you agree that a certain amount of reverence is to be shown in a church, before the tabernacle. As it is a place of worship I wouldn't want to disturb others by having my phone start ringing. So, again, I ask, please turn off your phone before entering a church.
Yours sincerely,
Liam.
I don't think I'm asking for much. When entering a church, attending Mass or otherwise, please turn off your mobile phone. I was at half-seven Mass this evening and I heard two phones with incoming calls with two silly ring tones.
If I have my phone with me, before I go into the church, I put it on "silent" and then I turn it off. I put it on silent just in case I've any alarms that could sound even if the phone is off.
I hope you agree that a certain amount of reverence is to be shown in a church, before the tabernacle. As it is a place of worship I wouldn't want to disturb others by having my phone start ringing. So, again, I ask, please turn off your phone before entering a church.
Yours sincerely,
Liam.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Cock Tavern
The licenced premises at the address of 31, Main Street Swords, Co. Dublin, has became the regular local for us, to a certain extent. We used to go a little more when Dave wasn't as bogged down having to go to Rathmines and Chatham Row most days of the week.
But, we were there on Thursdays night after the St. Finian's annual awards night. Mr. O'Shea was given Student of the Year, the school's highest and most prestigious award. Apart from a stupid bit of paper for being a prefect and for being involved in the production of the yearbook, I, along with Mr. G. Scott and MS. Y. Rahman were awarded with "Positive Contribution" award. So, whatever, at least they recognised that we're deadly! Ha. A €10 voucher for the Pavillions S.C. came with it, so, fair play.
Anyway, we went Cock afterwards. 'Twas myself, Dave, Lee-Anne and Maria. So, good times, just having a laugh and all. Unfortunately, the two girls live in Donabate and had to catch the bus home early. I'm not by any means saying that it's unfortunate that they live in Donabate, there's nothing wrong with the area at all, in fact, it's lovely. I mean to say that it was unfortunate that they had to go. I just want to have that clear, in case someone would get offended.
So, the girls head off and we had asked Clark to come down, so we stuck around. A while before Clark arrived, a woman asked could she sit at the table where myself and Dave were. Ah yeah, sure. So, as things happen, we started yapping away and soon the fella arrives too from the bar. They hadn't been let into Wright's and had come down to the Cock. I can't remember their names, but she was from Raheny and he was from Blackrock. They're now living in Lusk with their little baby, Suzanna, or something like that. They were very nice and all that. Yer man bought a round of drinks for us, so fair dues and fair play is due to him. This grand couple seemed, to me, to be in their late 20s maybe, which leads nicely into the next paragraph.
Some folk don't appreciate the Cock. A certain Mr. X, upon the mention of the Cock, referred to its clientele as middle-aged men watching the football. Mr. Y commented that he only ever saw scumbags coming out of it and also passed comment on the elder customers. I don't care who else is in a pub when I'm there with mates. I'm there to my friends, not the other people, regardless of what age they are. I suppose I can understand if you want to go out on the pull, but if you're just out with friends, it doesn't matter.
The grub in the Cock is great too. There's deadly combo plates with chips and chicken wings/chicken goujons and there's some other choice too. The steaks are good too. Good and filling. You'll get a good pint more importantly.
The ways of referring to The Cock Tavern are numerous. So, ya pullin' a Cock? Cockin' up your beaver? Stallin' it Cock? That's only a few that have come to mind, but you can imagine what come out with, ya know, being smart people.
So, fair play to the Cock.
But, we were there on Thursdays night after the St. Finian's annual awards night. Mr. O'Shea was given Student of the Year, the school's highest and most prestigious award. Apart from a stupid bit of paper for being a prefect and for being involved in the production of the yearbook, I, along with Mr. G. Scott and MS. Y. Rahman were awarded with "Positive Contribution" award. So, whatever, at least they recognised that we're deadly! Ha. A €10 voucher for the Pavillions S.C. came with it, so, fair play.
Anyway, we went Cock afterwards. 'Twas myself, Dave, Lee-Anne and Maria. So, good times, just having a laugh and all. Unfortunately, the two girls live in Donabate and had to catch the bus home early. I'm not by any means saying that it's unfortunate that they live in Donabate, there's nothing wrong with the area at all, in fact, it's lovely. I mean to say that it was unfortunate that they had to go. I just want to have that clear, in case someone would get offended.
So, the girls head off and we had asked Clark to come down, so we stuck around. A while before Clark arrived, a woman asked could she sit at the table where myself and Dave were. Ah yeah, sure. So, as things happen, we started yapping away and soon the fella arrives too from the bar. They hadn't been let into Wright's and had come down to the Cock. I can't remember their names, but she was from Raheny and he was from Blackrock. They're now living in Lusk with their little baby, Suzanna, or something like that. They were very nice and all that. Yer man bought a round of drinks for us, so fair dues and fair play is due to him. This grand couple seemed, to me, to be in their late 20s maybe, which leads nicely into the next paragraph.
Some folk don't appreciate the Cock. A certain Mr. X, upon the mention of the Cock, referred to its clientele as middle-aged men watching the football. Mr. Y commented that he only ever saw scumbags coming out of it and also passed comment on the elder customers. I don't care who else is in a pub when I'm there with mates. I'm there to my friends, not the other people, regardless of what age they are. I suppose I can understand if you want to go out on the pull, but if you're just out with friends, it doesn't matter.
The grub in the Cock is great too. There's deadly combo plates with chips and chicken wings/chicken goujons and there's some other choice too. The steaks are good too. Good and filling. You'll get a good pint more importantly.
The ways of referring to The Cock Tavern are numerous. So, ya pullin' a Cock? Cockin' up your beaver? Stallin' it Cock? That's only a few that have come to mind, but you can imagine what come out with, ya know, being smart people.
So, fair play to the Cock.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Identity & Belonging
At this particular point in history, I'm almost finished the module named "Identity & Belonging." Awh. On this very night, I finished the assessment, which I outlined quickly in my post College Things Going On.
I worked with Claire for the first part, picking a topic and writing the questionnaire. We had some good discussions. All respect to her, Claire wrote the questionnaire. I then forgot about it for a while. I wrote up the report of working as a team with some posh words scattered in it. I'm happy enough with that, as far as one can be. Again, I conveniently forgot about it for another while. I was beginning to feel bogged down on Saturday last (through all the fault of my own) with the interview and essay left. On Sunday afternoon, I sussed out my interviewee and planned to meet that evening. So, I got that out of the way. I then spent an hour transcribing half of the interview. I did the other half the following night, Monday. It's been said that a start, even a shit start, is a start and it's important to just get something down and get into the writing frame of mind. I gave the essay a good bash that night too, with that in mind. I indeed got started and did about half, however rubbish it seemed.
Tuesday came with little desire to stir from bed. But, I had class at 10am in HG03. Vera showed us a video about Amish kids and the choice they have to make, to join the church or not. Anyway (that was relevant because it was I&B class), afterwards, I went to the library and got a computer downstairs immediately. Fantastic. I did a little more of the essay, using Moodle and lecture slides and other things. I thought I'd try to do essay for CM107, but I concentrated on HSS100. I had intended to, at least, start reading for CM107, but the lads went off to the cafeteria for grub and how can one resist a break from back-breaking labour?
After the last lecture of the day, I ventured back to the library to do the intended reading. I wanted to stay an hour. I met Greg and Kerrie just inside the gate. So, I wasn't going to be rude and not stop to say hello and unintentionally talk for about half an hour. I did get upstairs and I did read about four pages of "A Sociology of Ireland." I had to bring it back then (I had it out on a 24 hour loan since Monday evening) and thankfully I found another copy. I took the other copy out tonight, not that I've used it, but I will tomorrow morning (if my planned early rise works) and after LC150 class in the afternoon.
That last paragraph was a deviant one with nothing to do with I&B. Later yesterday evening (for it is now Wednesday) I began working, slaving on the essay at hand. I changed some things around, adding stuff, taking stuff away. So, it's in a finished state at this time. but, I may delete a particular paragraph, of no more than forty words. It's a little skimpy. I added in headings as a last minute edit. I'm sure if I'll keep them; I think I will. Now, all that's to be done is to print the cover page thing and all my work and present it to Dr. Sheridan on Thursday, during class I presume.
Thursday will be the last HSS100 class ever. I've enjoyed the module. It was the core module and it worth ten credits, where everything else is worth five. Its broad range of issues and the many disciplines used to look at them has made it deadly. The guest lecturers and their lectures (on immigration, trade unionism and multicultural Spain) also gave a little variety and their studies were relevant and interesting. So, fair play to HSS100 and so say all of us, probably.
I worked with Claire for the first part, picking a topic and writing the questionnaire. We had some good discussions. All respect to her, Claire wrote the questionnaire. I then forgot about it for a while. I wrote up the report of working as a team with some posh words scattered in it. I'm happy enough with that, as far as one can be. Again, I conveniently forgot about it for another while. I was beginning to feel bogged down on Saturday last (through all the fault of my own) with the interview and essay left. On Sunday afternoon, I sussed out my interviewee and planned to meet that evening. So, I got that out of the way. I then spent an hour transcribing half of the interview. I did the other half the following night, Monday. It's been said that a start, even a shit start, is a start and it's important to just get something down and get into the writing frame of mind. I gave the essay a good bash that night too, with that in mind. I indeed got started and did about half, however rubbish it seemed.
Tuesday came with little desire to stir from bed. But, I had class at 10am in HG03. Vera showed us a video about Amish kids and the choice they have to make, to join the church or not. Anyway (that was relevant because it was I&B class), afterwards, I went to the library and got a computer downstairs immediately. Fantastic. I did a little more of the essay, using Moodle and lecture slides and other things. I thought I'd try to do essay for CM107, but I concentrated on HSS100. I had intended to, at least, start reading for CM107, but the lads went off to the cafeteria for grub and how can one resist a break from back-breaking labour?
After the last lecture of the day, I ventured back to the library to do the intended reading. I wanted to stay an hour. I met Greg and Kerrie just inside the gate. So, I wasn't going to be rude and not stop to say hello and unintentionally talk for about half an hour. I did get upstairs and I did read about four pages of "A Sociology of Ireland." I had to bring it back then (I had it out on a 24 hour loan since Monday evening) and thankfully I found another copy. I took the other copy out tonight, not that I've used it, but I will tomorrow morning (if my planned early rise works) and after LC150 class in the afternoon.
That last paragraph was a deviant one with nothing to do with I&B. Later yesterday evening (for it is now Wednesday) I began working, slaving on the essay at hand. I changed some things around, adding stuff, taking stuff away. So, it's in a finished state at this time. but, I may delete a particular paragraph, of no more than forty words. It's a little skimpy. I added in headings as a last minute edit. I'm sure if I'll keep them; I think I will. Now, all that's to be done is to print the cover page thing and all my work and present it to Dr. Sheridan on Thursday, during class I presume.
Thursday will be the last HSS100 class ever. I've enjoyed the module. It was the core module and it worth ten credits, where everything else is worth five. Its broad range of issues and the many disciplines used to look at them has made it deadly. The guest lecturers and their lectures (on immigration, trade unionism and multicultural Spain) also gave a little variety and their studies were relevant and interesting. So, fair play to HSS100 and so say all of us, probably.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
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