Fair Marley

Fair City was a disaster tonight - well not quite - but they played it wrong or accidentally played the second half first and then had to go back and play the first half, and my poor brain was all confused.

In addition to that I watched Marley & Me last night - cute puppy - no story - i almost hoped the dog would die the first time he got sick - sorry anyone who hasn't seen it, actually I'm not sorry, you didn't put yourself through it and now you never have to. The dog dies in the end.

And I wasn't crying it was a bit of fluff in my eye, that's all.

I'm off to read some Kafka, or is it Cathy Kelly - yerrah whichever comes first.

She Arose

She arose,
Pulling herself up on the counter by the soft chairs,
eyes tight with concentration, eyes dark, dark clothes.
Like a shark breaking shining water - teeth grimace like jaws.

She holds the counter bravely,
hands clamped tight on wood,
as the whole nightclub rocks and buffets in the storm of the music,
the rushing wind of lights,
A while later -

- she loses her grip,
slips off the ship
body limp, she hits the steps up to the soft chairs -
but, softly padded, she's protected, and rolls like a baby on the ground,
No bouncers around,
no friend to phone.

No one wants to help or get involved
"Help"
she shouts, then
"Fuck off"
when they try.

She kneels up, then stands, then hours later somehow leaves,
bouncing off the walls, as she flies,
another mystery left unsolved.
How we can end up so alone.
So totally alone.

Brideshead visited

So - my head has officially turned into a brideshead as evidenced by the following psycho bridal dream, which entertained me in the early hours of yesterday morning...

Part I

I'm at the church with mam and all the dresses on hangers - mine & bridesmaids etc, holy communions are on, and I'm due at the hairdresser in 5. Guests are already in the church, cos they saw the white dresses and thought we were starting early. We run out to car park, and car is blocked in because of all the arrivals. There's no taxis to be hailed because of a protest about the economy or the weather that's going up the road.

Part II

We finally get a taxi - driven by a friendly girl, so friendly that she pulls in so she can better concentrate on our chat, after 10 mins we ask her was she stopped for any particular reason - "Oh you're in a hurry?" she asks coolly and pulls out. Then stops 3 estates away from our place so we've to walk back to the house. She comes walking home with us.

Part III

At the house we realise we left the necklace I was gonna wear in the car, the taxi driver girl refuses to go back for it, I'm crying - begging my Dad to "make her go back and get it" etc etc.

Part IV

My aunt arrives with the mass booklets, she's putting them together for us. She has inserted a weird Devil worshipping ceremony in the middle, tells us it's the priests idea and there's a cake that goes with it, part of the ceremony (I blame Dom Oub for that bit). Everyone is trying to convince us to go for it - "Just try the cake and you'll love it"

Weird eh? My first ever time dreaming of my wedding day too! Am sure twill be nothing like that at all - you always dream the opposite - or something?

The one thing I've learned...

....this weekend is that my friends are talented tiara makers, as you can see from the above, and that life saver tablets do not agree with me, but do prevent hangovers because of the slowing down effect they have on my drinking, and that you cannot judge a drink by it's appearance alone, and that I'm a natural Belly Dancer - particularly when it comes to the camel move (of course I couldn't be good at everything - so that explains the Bollywood), and that the word daisy comes from the words day and eye - from the cute way they open up in the sun and close at night - and that I never want to go to a nightclub without pink fluffy wings on my back, they just add so much to the outfit, and that a dip in the atlantic is sometimes hampered by an icecream headache in the arch of your foot for good reason, and that banna beach will always always make me feel hideously good for all the good memories and crazy natural beauty of the place, and that I'm ridiculously lucky to know some amazing people, and get to spend time with them.

HENS!!!

So meself and 15 or so of my favourite girls are off to try and make the lonely Banna Strand a little less lonesome for the weekend. I've got the sunglasses packed, but the optimism hasn't quite stretched to sun cream... will pack a raincoat too. Going to swim in the atlantic for the last time as a singleton, or might just wade to be truthful - either way it should be fun - but don't expect anything sensible or otherwise to show up on this page till next wednesday earliest...

And by the way - I know I've used that photo before - but it actually suits this post, and repetition is comforting after all... repetition is comforting after all...

A Pokey Post

How do you wake up Lady Ga Ga?

Poke her face

How do you get Pika chu on to the bus?

Poke him on

Now, I'm not endorsing violence or anything, but I've been trying hard all day (since recalling the above 2 little gems on the 6.25 am Ryansbus to Engerland) to think of a third poke related joke... But my head is simply not working. I'm going to go and pack for my hen weekend, and hope that you clever people out there in the ether will think of something to complete the trio...

I was looking for a blog and then I found a blog...

So - here's my current favourite international blog, think it's finland based, I'm informed that it's called Witch of April, the photos are nice - the writing is foreign, tho' not quite squiggly,,, we'll see

http://huhtikuunnoita.blogspot.com/

Still Slippy

For those of you who lie awake at night, worrying about such things... a brief update on the slippiest pole in Dublin, first reported in this blog on 24th March.

Almost one month on and the situation is not much better. In fact, it can only be described as .... WORSE.

The surrounding area is also slippy now, so much so that the lawnmowers couldn't get near it, as you can see above, it's out of control, hopelessly overgrown, and the whole street has been cordoned off by Gardaí.

Brian has declared a state of emergency in the region.

More Recession Beating Tips for Writers

1. Write on old Chip bags, the aroma is wonderfully evocative and inspiring, and the raw materials are freely available outside any pub or nightclub on weekend nights.

2. Burn any useless writing for warmth - (this is a more important one for the winter time, but hey I have australian readers, she wishes, it's topical enough) - the high fat content of the paper will help the fire to burn bright and last for hours, perfect for cosy evenings in - trying to write something not totally useless.

3. Instead of having actual hobbies and interests, imagine them, and then write about them - thereby eliminating costly investments in ski gear and the like, and giving you hours of inspiration. Not to mention it's far safer.

4. If you have to have a day job try to have one in the food industry - preferably in research and development, so that you get paid to research international customs and cuisines, and importantly you are also paid to eat things... so no need to be the starving artist

5. Never pay for entertainment - Volunteer instead - you will have hours of fun, usually in well heated venues, sometimes with free coffee, always with interesting characters.

If there are any I've missed out on - please feel free to add them to the comment box

New Way to Win Writing Competitions

Here's a new approach to try in order to win those pesky writing competitions where there's a fee involved - directly stolen off a guy I once heard of who used this method to win the lotto, in his own way, I think you'll find it most satisfying and cost effective.

Next time you see a writing competition that you really really want to enter:

Step 1: Go ahead and write the story/ poem whatever - to the required length - on the required subject etc etc.

Step 2: Next put the entry into a drawer and forget about it.

Step 3: Before the closing date for the competition - ensure you place the fee for entry into a clean jam jar. - No cheating - if it would have had to be a bank draft ensure you include the extra cost for that. If you like include the cost of the stamps.

Step 4: Once the winner is announced - have a read of their entry - if it's better than yours congratulate yourself on winning the cost of entry back... (because you never sent the entry in)

You now have two choices - either take the entry fee back out of the jar, and celebrate accordingly, or let it build up over the year and award yourself an arts bursary - probably the week before Christmas.

If everyone did this, we'd soon see the demise of these evil organisations taking all our money and distracting us with promises of glamour and celebrity, and we can all get on with writing what needs to be written from the heart....

(Or at least if I've convinced a few of ye not to enter I'll have better luck next time!!!)

Insecure Starlets

Well... As promised, a full and frank report of my debut bollywood experience. Turns out that the bollywood starlet was so insecure, and worried that she might not be the absolutely best best dancer, that they had to shove me down the back of the crowd, far away with the old men, and the women who were really just out to do a bit of shopping and happened to join in. Yeah,,, actually the old men were mostly better than me too... I mean, I just can't perform on the spot like that, I'm not some kind of robot that can be just switched on, I'm not some performing seal...

So - the truth - I was crap, I was worse than crap, and the really frustrating thing? My crapness seemed to increase the closer the camera got to me, like when it was a mile up the street, which was most of the time, I was brilliant - giving it socks, doing all the moves perfect. When they set up a little steadycam right next to me, with some colourdy flowers for it to peek through, attempting to catch my brilliance as if it was really Moore Street on a Sunny Dublin Sunday, a lá David Attenborough, of course that was the one time, out of the 20 odds times we did the routine, that was the time I patted my stomach and rubbed my head instead of the other way around. Ok - me doing the thing all wrong didn't just happen the once, it probably really happened more like - eh - every time.

It was kinda disheartening the more they took people from the back who could actually do it properly, promoting them up the ranks to better locations. I mean, I tried to rally the guys, saying they were just giving us more space, making sure they could see us all, head to toe, but we all knew the truth, our bit of the street is going straight onto the cutting room floor, straight down there, a waste of celluloid or whatever it is.

Conclusion: I can only dance like no one's watching, when no one is really watching. But no regrets, that's me one step closer to finding out the one thing I am amazingly brilliantly genius at... and it wasn't a bad way to spend a Sunday morning.

Has Anyone ever tasted...

Asafoetida

Look it up on Wikipedia - it's variously described as Devil's Dung, Stinking Gum, and Food of the Gods, (presumably because no one else would eat it)

I don't know - It's a crazy world out there.

My Big Break

Now I've never even seen the "secret" film, or read the "secret" books, but I hear it's something about thinking about something and therefore attracting it into your life, anyway - FACT - Last week I announced my Republic of Loose tribute concert (I'm still deliberating on the results of the related competition by the way, so you're still not too late to enter), and FACT - I will be technically "working" with them this Sunday.

My big Bollywood break, they're (well a couple of them are) doing the music for it, (probably because they heard I was getting involved)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcRn-WX7rCI&rel=0 - this is the dance by the way - v complicated - visit culch.ie for the contact details if you wanna get involved.

I've the bruises on my elbow from the couple of times I've tried to do it, narrow doorways, very hard to be co-ordinated and dashingly beautiful at the same time though, very very hard.

I will no doubt let you know how it goes, if you care to know...

Favourite International Blog???

Please ignore the picture - it's just with today being "International be cruel to a bunny day", I couldn't help myself - see Uiscebot, Domestic Oubliette & Smaller than life for more details.

What I really want to know is... Did you ever wish you had friends in far flung interesting places? Ever want to explore the details of someone else's life, without actually knowing anything about them, but kind of cyberstalking but not in a creepy way? I've decided to try and find a blogger in a very far away land - well not sure about that bit - someone with very squiggly writing or different keyboards anyway, and once I find that special one - I intend to adopt them... You will find a link on my side bar to their blog, and I will be leaving them encouraging comments from time to time, and hopefully they'll do the same back. It'll be like an experiment in cross cultural understanding and barrier bamboozlement. I just need to find the right blog to follow.... Here's my front runner at the moment

http://naemshuke2.blogspot.com/

I have absolutely no idea what language it's in, or where it's from, but the cakes and parties look good, although they're not that frequent at the aul blogging, so it'd be better to find someone more regular I think.

If you've found an interesting one, in a language I can't read - I'd like to hear about it please....

Thanking you in advance for helping to bring about world peace and harmony.

Just a thought

Who does Joe Duffy (our national radio agony uncle) call when he wants to complain about the state of the hospitals, or the fact that he got knocked down?

Tis like the question asked of Superman - "you got me, but who's got you?"

Poor Joe - not man but Giant, not human but Dancer... it's hard being the one people go to in times of need (I'd imagine)

Bóthair, cailín, áthas, bainne

The aul Irish. We're having a mini seachtain na gaeilge here this week, since himself is having an agallaimh (think that's how it's spelled) as gaeilge later in the week. Speaking in Irish as much as we can. Have to admit it's an interesting experience. Have discovered it's difficult to argue in a language you have little grasp of, and it's almost like meeting the person you're talking to for the first time again. You have to make that much more effort to understand and to be understood. Have to be creative in deciding how to get something across - happy easter became "happy East her", and so on. It leaves less room for being bitchy too, since you have to spend that bit more time thinking about what you're going to say, so you end up actually processing the thoughts a bit more before they get out, so while it's slower, it's slightly more peaceful too, relaxing.

Since we live in Dubland (and I'm sorry if I'm being a big wedding bore here), we're not obliged to go on one of those Premarriage courses, possibly because Dublin people are so good at getting on, but this talking another language thing, I think that it too might save a few marriages, so if you're on the rocks out there, give it a lash, you can thank me later.

Try something new

To the Left.

Everything you own in a box to the left.

Let today be the first day you ever typed your name with every keystroke being just one key too far to the left. Therefore my name ends up being "buNG" because of the shift key being hit in the middle of it all. Not sure what the point of that exercise is... but sure if you wanted to read something with a point to it all you'd be somewhere more serious than this.

hiB, UKWWN, gwkwb, oT, xikn, aquaa, and reuib, I bet you won't be able to resist trying that out!! (she says, imagining she has a lot more readers than there actually are in truth).

Enjoy a fluffy Eggstatic easter sWunday everybody.

Missing Goldy Dress

No wardrobe is complete without 3 gold dresses in my opinion, (at least 2 of which should be bought cheap in a second hand shop) it's like 3 little pigs, 3 blind mice, 3 goldfish, some things just don't work in pairs. So it was with some horror in my dig around for the alternatives to my actual wedding dress that I discovered one of my treasured goldy dresses is missing. The other two are pictured above, but if I'd had the third it'd be so much better, a trio of glitter that'd have the magpies circling, as it was the crows didn't even take a second look.

Anyway as it turns out I don't need em now, the real dress is in, ye can all stop fretting and worrying. Tried it on this morning, and it's not leapord skin, nor is it horrible. Turns out I had some taste last August, as I did the August 5 years before that, when first I spied himself at the bar in Whelan's. So the mild panic is over, I don't need to resort to an alternative - but if I did which would you have voted for? Answer left or right in the comments....

Know your Onions

It's a song by the Shins "Know your Onions", but it's also a very important life lesson; as evidenced by my mistake last summer. We took a notion, myself and Mr VtB, to go a gardenin. We dug the flowerbeds to death, pulling out all the weeds, loosening the muck, and as I thought clearing out those darned weird onions that I kept finding everywhere. Twas only this spring when I saw the first lovely daff's peeking up from the front garden - (which luckily escaped our green fingered escapades) that I realised my mistake. However - Nature is amazing, and these brave little fellar's grew straight out of the wheelbarrow of loose leaves and detritus that just hadn't quite made it into the compost bin. Know your onions - sage advice indeed. Know your sage too - goes lovely with the onions.

All Interested in Politics - no really

It's good - for my momentous 100th post, to have a serious topic I think.

Went to see Ganley v's Rabbitte last night, on the topic of Lisbon. The kids were all there from the colleges, clutching financial times', there were plenty of people who generate newsprint, there was a man in the uniform suit and tie with his heartbeat visible in the tick of his crossed leg while he fiddled with his name tag, there was a swashbuckling cross between the creepy country squire from the fast show, and the host of the Crystal maze, whose hands did very convincing imitations of those last seen in the Godfather movies.
Harry McGee was the chairman, and a very entertaining one he was. I was sitting right behind G, and the mind games started when R got up and crossed over to the podium on our side of the room, rather than using his own side, which had a dodgy mike. Mind games contined with G asking Harry in a commanding tone "How much time have I got?" just when he knew the chairman was about to tip the glass and quietly remind him there was one minute to go in the peroration (new word I learned just then)
G was more up for the debate than R, by a long shot, I had a good view of the notes he was scribbling when R was kicking off, wild scribbles with lots of exclamation marks, terrible handwriting. R seemed tired, when asked to speak up he apologised that he'd been working on other things this week, and his main tactic seemed to be to try and hold onto the ball as long as possible, giving slow, lazy answers to most questions. By the end of it he'd even lost that much interest and gave short lazy answers instead. So that was dissappointing.
G in true hollywood style attempted to drop a clanger. Theatrically describing his dinner last december with Alexandra Vondra, preying on our love of spy movies, when AV told him that the Irish politicians told the Czechs they'd like the Czechs to agree with Lisbon, even though Ireland had said no. He said they were trying to isolate us from the rest of Europe, our very own politicians. A lady who sounded like she'd never usually say such things shouted up "He's only a headbanger anyway" and it did rile the audience a little, but petered out embarrassingly, and to me was the least credible and least interesting part of his whole argument. The audience had some entertaining exchanges among themselves too, like when someone shouted "IT'S A LIE" before G had finished a particular sentance, he was answered with a "WHAT'S A LIE? CAN YOU READ HIS MIND CAN YA?" As far as I know, no blows were exchanged.
Most people paid no heed to R's own clanger - where he was asked by Harry whether a certain argument of his was dishonest, his reply was "Not only is it dishonest, but I reiterate it strongly and with great conviction...." No one seemed to notice, all assuming it was a slip of the tongue, but I think I saw a little glint in his eye - a little honesty slipped in there, for the laugh, to see if anyone copped it, like when you're a teenager and you tell your folks sarcastically "Oh I'm just going out to get rat arsed drunk and probably puke my guts up" - UCG were taping it, they can produce the evidence if it's ever needed.
In the end G looked like the smarter and more interested person, but I do feel like he didn't really have a debate. R's strongest point was that we've been getting more than our fair share and we've to keep doing that - which sounds logical, but also kind of squeamishly immoral and not that nice... I don't know enough to urge you to vote either way, I know you should go see them for yourself, or something...

Do ya Like Tooosdays?

For my upcoming tribute concert to "Republic of Loose" I have 2 songs already prepared.
"I like Muesli" and "I like Toosdays"
They work particularly well on the lines -
What kinda muesli do ya like - do ya like country muesli do ya like lifeforce, do ya like crunchy, do ya like .....etc etc till you get to the line "I like em all with hot sauce and alcohol"
&
I am doin Toosday now

For the Chance to win a Chance to join me on stage for the gala opening number - please submit your idea for the best alternative lyrics to a Republic of Loose song now. Go on... you know you want to

Visit
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNBKaPcHFWM

for inspiration

Mild Panic

I like Dresses, I like Weddings, ipso facto I'm bound to like my "Wedding Dress" amn't I?

Well - I'm not sure, because the nice people in the shop won't let me have it, they keep telling me it's on the way, then the next day they don't answer their phones, or emails.... it was ordered so long ago that I now forget what it was like anyway - so they could probably give me anything at all at this stage, except a leopard print dress, I'm fairly sure it's not leopard print.

I think they think I'm not excited enough about the wedding, (a theory that perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned to them in my latest email to them) and want to give me that extra frission of will it/ won't it ever arrive in time to be refitted and resized to my new svelte figure (I have lost weight since moving job as the new canteen doesn't have croissants, or chips, or anything at all actually). I have a back up plan of course - but not sure whether my "bought by weight" goldy dress will work alright without the customary jeans I usually wear under it ... arrah feck it - twill be grand

Umberella Ella Eile hey heh eh?

"Stand in there you'll be drownded" the claw like hand pulls me in tight to the raincoat, in a panic a car lashes past, the puddle - as predicted - splashes maniacally. I think for a second she only pulled me to her to protect herself. I'm soaked anyway, socks so wet they'll never be dry again.

I want to jump into the puddle, want it to turn out to be a manhole, a wormhole carrying me to a parallel universe. I'm bored standing under the shop cover, sick of the shower, watching the drips.

Water has been around forever, it must be bored too - fall on the street - run into gutter - into the sea and up again, or fall into river, into a tap, loada crap BORING. I spell it out in my head B-O-R-I-N-G. A lady passes with a brolly - with one spoke all bent, a broken spiders leg, like a spoke's gone out of the bike, she's gone in a second.

I want to do singing in the rain, but Granny's Claw is unrelenting, holds on tight, keeping me close to turnipy smells and thinking she's keeping me dry.

Disclaimer: This is a fictional piece inspired by an umbrella at "group" today, my real granny is lovely and doesn't have claw hands, nor does she smell of turnips.

Plastic Bag

The plastic bag almost ruins my hour and a half away from it all. Sitting on the boardwalk, getting a years worth of vitamin D on my hands and face, along it sidles beside me on the bench, sneaky, from a distance, gentle puff by gentle sunny puff of warm breeze encourages it up to me, until it's almost bumped into me, until people will think I own it, I'm with it. But I'm not. I am saved by the idea of pushing it's edges into the cracks on the bench, far enough away from me that I could get up and leave without it, with no shame, and no fear that it would take off into the river and start strangling ducks, enrobe itself around the floating beercans or the tennis ball, no fear that someone would think I left it there. Of course I bring it with me when I leave. Dutifully drop it into the public bin, just seconds behind the man who deposits an empty cider can - he walks on in front of me, two of us dutiful public spirited folk bobbing along the wooden path, warm in the sun, he steps undramatically, matter of factly, around the the large public flower box to have a pee. I don't follow him there, but continue on my journey...