Our office printer. Genius! and here's me thinking I work with fools.
Happy Pluto Day+17, (I thought I set a reminder. I was wrong)
Take a moment to cast a sorrowful gaze heavenwards as we, once again, contemplate the great loss to our civilization that is the mistaken classification of Pluto as a planet.
Today I would like you to consider a far of race of super hot nymphomaniac aliens finding the Pioneer deep-space probe (golden plaque, naked folk; you know the one).
Incensed by lust at the sight of the inscribed gentleman’s barnet they blast off into space intent on finding our well coiffed planet and giving us a jolly good banging. But what’s this? the handy ‘return to sender’ printed graphs show a happy little nine-planet Solar System. No astral rumpy pumpy for us. Bad NASA.
In other Big Bang news the Large Hadron** Collider successfully collided some proton beams and didn’t kill us all. Well done science.
*Feel free to substitute the planets actual name for cheap LOLs… if you’re five years old... or me.
**too easy, anyway it’s been done (here)
Stereo! O.D. (allegedly)
RIP Corey Haim, and to think the last thing I saw you in was Crank 2.
Dear Jamie, Ken et al the rest of you doubting Thomases;
YOU DO GET SLAPPED BY THE BISHOP AS PART OF YOUR HOLY CONFIRMATION! HA!
check it out here third paragraph.
and you said I was abused.
you guys should pay more attention to what I say not all of it's CRAZY!
(ok the 'sport' i invented where we ski over moving cars with plastic bags tied to our feet covered in washingup liquid. that was crazy.)
dear rest of the internet, please ignore. drinking conversation gone awry.
i can RUN AGAIN!
admittedly the physio has me only starting out at 5 minutes, but it's running y'know.
Annoyingly, even though I'm flexing my cash and going private, I still have another 4 weeks to go before the knee specialist will see me. That's four and a half months after the injury! Goddamn it, I thought my newfound bourgeois status was supposed to take care of this sort of crap and i'd get cake.
but anywho WOOP FOR RUNNING!
One of my many New Year’s Resolutions Which I Swore Not To Disclose For Fear Of Public Failure was to learn to touch type. You might think since I got my first e-mail account in 1999 that I would have gotten this down by now but no, I still type with two fingers on each hand while hunched over, staring at the keyboard. But I have been spurred into action by, once again, having an entire paragraph written only to look up and find the godforsaken thing in ALL CAPS.
This morning I was sent a Unix Ninja by management to help sort out an application I have to support (I’m more of a Unix Kung Fu Panda). So it was that he found me on this site having a cartoon goat teach me the home keys in a heavy scouse accent. Naturally, with my headphones in, it took me a moment to realise he was behind me as I cursed and tried to figure which damn finger ‘J’ was under. Not many ways to come out of that one looking cool.
mv ~/redd/suppressed/crippling_shame.exe > ~/redd/streetcred
A pox upon fucking Goats everywhere.
In other news we’re going to Primavera. Actually what’s the hip parlance for this? I can’t afford to sound the fool lest the Unix Ninja finds out and tells all his frien… Ha! I'm totes safe. Anyway is it; Primavera? Primavera Sound? Los Grande Fiesta de Toda Mañana?[thanks google translator]
So yeah, the language could be a wee problem. The only conversational Spanish I do remember from my entire two lessons is ‘Habla Español?’, ‘ Si, un poco’ which is a downright lie. My approach to Spanish will be quite simple, I know about three phrases all of which, I figure, be vastly improved by the addition of a ‘de muerte’ accompanied by a dramatic eyebrow raise. E.g. ‘dos cerveza DE MUERTE, por favor’ see? Nobody would mess with such a dangerous character, I’ll get on grand.
Barcelona in May means Sun. Awesome, yes but if you’ve seen what I wore in Nice you might begin to see my conundrum. My wardrobe consists entirely of clothes to wear where it’s necessary to protect your precious body heat from the elements or clothes to wear while sweating on a bike or running about. What the hell do Irish people wear in such climates when you’re not arseing about on a beach? I’ll either melt or be arrested for lewd conduct.
Also a pub with a fire and a big fluffy dog
I met The Mother in town last night for coffee, she’d come in on a project to photograph strangers' faces. The strangers had mixed feelings about this. Before I met her on the corner of Georges Street I could see her from a mile off. It was easy to spot the disturbance in the flow of pedestrians as she bumped into, smiled at and then step into the path of the next person. (That and the crazy pixie jacket she insists on wearing.) Odd for a girl who grew up in the inner city but there you go I guess it’s just not like riding a bike.
After coffee I walked her back to Temple Bar and hooshed her on a straight line intercept course to the LUAS which would take her to the train which would take her back to the safety of Newbridge. I’m fairly certain she made it. There had been coffee, crêpes and well meaning lectures on why I should be studying for a masters. I needed a drink. Being Lent this now meant I had to go out. Jen appeared beside me and we proceeded to Brasserie 66 wherein we were massively underwhelmed by the food, somewhat whelmed by the wine and overcharged by the bill. Jen verbally punched the manager in the throat, the bill got sorted.
It was only seven o’clock, we were half cut and needed to hit more booze. Jen grabbed a Dublin-Bike, I scooted behind on my trusty racer and we wobbled our way down to Portobello and The Bernard Shaw. Some poor photographer was having an exhibition which, including the bar man, had an audience of three. We felt bad so pretended to browse in a serious manner before giving up and I sat back and watched the genius of Jen as, on the spot, she invented Lazy Pong!
Below are the transcribed notes from my diary
2 people lying prone side by side and not naked
Half a net
+ speed chess timers
Resist the Snuffle or
DIE Lose Points!
I’m sure you can fill in the gaps yourself.
Tonight, my gaff: Cakes Of Pan MMX! I’ve just downloaded Crank 2 and it's going to be amazing! But, wait there's more, most importantly of all
I HAVE A LENTEN RESOLUTION!
Unlike last year’s veganism, which started out difficult, sauntered into hard and ended in a galloping finish towards all out depression, this year I’m going to do something that will improve my life and more importantly The Lives of Everyone I Know.
I’m not going to drink at home, at all.
'Pff', 'eeeeeasy', *rolleyes* you say.
No. I heart drinking in a way that’s considered pathological in most civilized lands; not the quantity just my abundant love for alcohol. I like wine with my dinner, Vodka with everything and beer on a Sunday night after I’ve visited Family. Martinis to alleviate depression, Gin to cause it, Cider for fighting cars and Sake to feel fancy. And then there’s Rum, rum rum rum rum rum, all the other drinks in the press are like my good friends, some you see only rarely at large social gatherings who you secretly have mixed feelings about (I’m looking at you Absinthe) others live just down the road pop in for a chat and make you cakes. But Rum. Rum is your dog, the dog you wrestle and play tug of war with, the dog that you go for long walks in cold woods before coming home and ending up asleep on the couch with his head on your lap. (Also, apparently, the hangover from which leads you down long meandering sentences through poorly enlightened allegory. )
Remember I posted that I was getting no sleep on cause of all the nightmares? Yes? Know how I fixed that? Rum.
Got back pain? Rum. The TV boring, work not so exciting? You guessed it, RUM!
Anyway back to Lent. The basic idea is to be more social, if Jen and I want to get good and boozy we got to out, this should mean:
More Gigs: our gig going has dropped off the charts since Oyster Bay went on special in Dunnes.
More Friends: I don’t think I have enough conversation in me to have a one on one conversation without external stimuli so pub visits will need at least one other friend to provide witty witticisms. Guys you’ve been warned, I’m expecting your A-game.
Less Booze: Booze outside my flat is frightfully expensive, the only thing greater than my love of C2H5OH is my dead man’s grasp on my wallet.
Anyway that’s the plan, I’m constantly amazed at how I can take a simple concept and just keep adding words.
But first Tonight! Pancakes and Crank 2. 'Awesome', 'High Five', *moonwalk*.
I watched 'Drag Me To Hell' on Sunday
I have slept exactly 40 minutes, between screaming nightmares, since.
I have serious, serious issues with Goats.
I’ve been in hibernation, well that’s my excuse anyway. That and Facebook updates are so much easier to write, especially when I’m drunk. Also, as it turns out, quite easy for my boss to see (privacy options my hole) so I’m back here to scrawl on the back-left-foot that is livejournal of the giant-elephant-full-of-tubes that is the internet. (that’s right queen_of_six I’m sticking to this analogy no matter how clumsy, it’s mine and I like elephants). I’ll still update Facebook but more along the lines of ‘feeling awesomely customer-centric today’,’ blue sky thinking ahoy!’, ‘My manager is not getting enough high fives’ that sort of thing.
Seems pretty quiet here too, 90% of my friends page is lolcats. Nice. Less people = more room for me to shite-on without repercussions. So hey three people I know who still post, what are the haps? Anyway here’s my obligatory catch up.
( What I did in my Hibernation by redd, age 30.Collapse )
so now you know
Nice, in typical French-laid-back-cigarette-hanging-from-it's-lips style is, in fact, amazing. Obligatory pun aside it is easily the most comfortably fashionable city I've ever visited. I stepped off the airport bus wearing a pair of scruffy black jeans and some crappy faded t-shirt into a world of pastel shirts, sunglasses and perfume. My immediate urge was to FIT IN! buy some chinos, hop on a scooter and start smoking but I fought it!
this is the first thing that greets you at the Bus Station:
( and my response...Collapse )
Crete was... Crete was a package holiday y'know? Which meant the Crete part wasn't exactly relevant. It was nice; sun, sea, cheap booze but our town of Gouves only existed to facilitate tourism, you couldn't swing a cat without hitting an Irish Bar, Full English Breakfast or a Bratwurst (no euphemism implied).
The resort seemed to specialise in the elderly tourist which was fine by us. I just wanted to lie in the sun, hopefully turn a darker shade of alabaster, get horrendously drunk on the very very cheap wine and be passed out in bed by 11. How naïve we were. As always with such a large concentration of The Elderly there was, of course, DRAMA! ( I may be exagerating... a littleCollapse )
Tomorrow I fly to Crete with half the be-tracksuited ne’er do wells of Ireland. I’m going on a package holiday. The first I've ever booked. I realise this would make pretty much anyone who knows me wrinkle their nose and spit but I had reasons. Not great ones but reasons nonetheless. 1) over the past few months work basically stuck some feathers in my hair and rode me like a circus pony. I normally book all my own holidays, searching for good routes, finding decent and interesting places to stay and basically trying to stay away from my countrymen and women as much as is possible but that takes time, a whole lotta precious time. Time I ended up spending jumping through the proverbial flaming hoops while juggling with my hooves. 2) Have you been outside?
So when a few weeks ago I saw this incredibly cheap offer online I jumped at it.
If you care to find out a little bit more about exactly where I’ll be staying our very own stoner journalist, and actual friend of
spear_of_lugh!, Mark Hilliard wrote this lovely article last year. RIOTS!
I predict on this holiday that I will be annoyed by; my apartment, my neighbours, really buff people on the beach, young people, old people, people my age, the ‘All Day English Breakfast’, the price of everything, techno.
I will, however, be pleasantly tickled by; sweet sweet Retsina wine, how hot 25°C actually is, how many books I can monster through when I’m not being constantly distracted by LIFE, and swimming in a sea that isn’t trying to transform me into a eunuch with its icy talons.
Being a jammy bastard (who’s credit card limit has just been upped, Thank You Visa) two days after we return we’re off again, this time to Nice.
This one I did book myself, naturally enough we’re staying in the red-light district, which as sensibleken knows I have a penchant for doing.
If you’re feeling the hate for me right now, relax. Good things are happening to you too. The Office, Parks and Recreation and It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia are all back! Sunshine is for losers anyway.
‘Day Man 0oh ah ah ahhh, fighter of the Night Man ooh ah ah ahhhh…’
there must be something about my face that says to doctors, y'know what? this is a dude who'll appreciate a band-aid covered in cute elephants holding lollipops.
and they're RIGHT! who wouldn't? LOOK! they're holding the lollipops with their little trunks!
spot on doc, spot on.
This weekend I have received calls at various ungodly hours all along the lines of "NOW I'M AT FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE....LISTEN" followed by five minutes of noise. This is my mother, she is at Electric Picnic.
I mostly spent the weekend in pyjamas wrestling middle aged men.
it's JUST LIKE Freaky Friday.
I’ve decided to learn to bake. Two reasons why: a) through sheer bravado and brouhaha I seem to have talked myself into an Intercontinental Bake Off with nerdjunkie . Then I saw photos of her crazy cake skills and, frankly, I’m scared. b) the_jen has taken over the cooking this week and I need to be in charge of something!
Behold piggy-wig rise over Victoria Sponge!
Thank You Delia. What you don’t see, off screen, are the three beautifully baked Victoria Frisbees that preceded me actually going back and reading the chapter on Cake. Still now I know The Secret and I’m one recipe more awesome than I was a week ago. Take THAT past-me.
We celebrated in true style with Cocktails!
I’m basically Don and Betty Draper all rolled up into one, well except, y’know, minus the awesome jawline.