Retro Computing

So we dusted off the old Mitsubishi apricot, last night, the third oldest appliance in the house, and turned it on for the first time in 5 years. No USB orifice so no chance of wireless, but we used the old telephone wire and managed to get it to hook up.
The cutest thing was the approach the machine took to getting started. Do ye all remember that screen that used to come up "Dialling attempt 1 of 5"? It was so sweet really, like Thomas the Tank Engine, this steadfast computer wasn't in any way confident that it would manage to carry us all the way on to the world wide web on the first attempt, but it wasn't going to give up after that, oh no ... it would try at least 5 times, and then presumably explode. So yeah - in the end it managed to get us "ON the Line" everything was the wrong size, gmail didn't work, but it got us there.

Back Up Schmack Up

So the computer broke last night at home, here's a sneaky post from elsewhere to inform you of the technical difficulties I'm experiencing.
All my pictures from the last few years, not to mention the only copy of my dodgy 2nd novel which has not been read by anyone (including myself), all possibly lost.
Himself to the rescue - off to the computer guru right now to try and get it all fixed up, fingers and toes and eyes and ears crossed everyone!

my foot - a hideously self centred post - you have been warned

Here it is, as pictured after midnight last night, on entering it's fourth decade of service, my right foot.

I mention this merely because, today is my birthday (oh stop, sshhh, I'm not fishing for you to say happy birthday, ok well maybe a little!) and on my ninth birthday I noticed that my feet were bigger than they had been when I was eight. It was the one and only time I noticed a difference in myself on my actual birthday. Eventually I turned out to grow slightly unusually small feet for the size of the rest of me, and I wonder if that was caused by some kind of paranoia caused by noticing them being so big that morning of my ninth anniversary on earth, some kind of mind controlling growth or some such. Creepy eh? Since then I check my feet on every single birthday to see if they're any bigger. Maybe it's a scientific thing - maybe feet do grow especially on the night before your ninth birthday, I don't know. They don't grow much when you turn thirty, that's all I can tell ya... but is there anything else I should watch out for oh learned old people on the world wide web?!?

New Beginnings

When our little “Shirley” passed on – an orange coloured goldfish, we were saddened, but most upset at the thought of “Laverne” – spending that time swimming around under her little floaty body. That’s why we now have 3 fish – so if one dies the other two can keep each other company while they grieve, and so there’ll always be a witness.*
Anyway, I’m trying the same approach at the moment with writing competitions, using failure notification or lack of winning notification as a kick to force me up and out to try again. The aim is to have 2 or 3 things on the go at any one time, so that if I lose one there’s still more to hope for, and the lost one acting as a spur forward might actually be kind of exciting, or not...

* We think shirley couldn’t work out how to use the holiday food, but I must admit to a very slight quiver of suspicion at how quickly “Laverne” seemed to get over it, how much she seemed to enjoy the extra space in the tank.

Photo Blast From the Past

10 years ago, in my bedroom, in a terraced house in Cork. My boyfriend is a dentistry student, which might explain the tooth paste on the mantlepiece. My bed is pushed up beside the blocked up chimney, so I can use the mantlepiece as a shelf. Fliers, posters, artwork, beermats, and college notes fight for space on the confused blue and yellow flowered wall paper. Brick phone at the end of the shelf, you never lose your phone in these days. I’m reaching for a cup of tea, which sits beside the two plastic alarm clocks. I’d bought one after giving mine away to a comedian who needed to get up for a train back to Dublin. The other was given to me by another comedian in repayment. I have my docks on in bed, no sheets, quilt wrapped around like a nest, I’m comfortable. A second cup of tea – probably belongs to the photographer. My jeans are too short, or my legs too long, there’s a gap of black socks. Off to Germany soon for a “many things” kinda summer, mostly fun, friendship, poverty, singsongs, lots of alcohol, sausages posted over from home.

An idea from Dominic Rivron’s blog – great idea, (pity the picture is so smudgy) – c’mon folks I’ve shown you mine, 200 words on a self from the past, told in the present tense. Go on – you know you want to...

Slippy Pole - the very latest

This is it - the sad scene, seen today at the slippiest pole in Dubland. First reported in this blog on 24th March, I updated you again on April 22nd when it had been named as a public emergency. I did not think I would have to update on this crisis again. The grass has grown so that, even in this very professionally taken close up shot, you can barely see the "caution slippery" sign that once fell victim to the slippiness of the pole. There is a path in behind the grass; I used to be able to see pedestrians on it. I'm worried that anyone who tries to walk along the path nowadays is being swallowed up by verge dwelling lions.

I will, of course, let you know if there are any developments.

One thing I never had when I was growing up

Here's a "chalk holder". You can buy them for a few quid. I had to hold my own chalk when I was young, and when I didn't have chalk I had to use the stuff that peels off the insides of some walls when they're broken up, and when no walls were being broken I had to use spit, or my imagination. But when I did have chalk(s) - the one advantage of not having a "chalk holder" was that I could switch colours almost instantaneously - instead of constantly having to reload my "chalk holder."

Ah happy days - any other useless things kids have nowadays that we're glad we don't have?

Ban the Ads

In Canada (did I mention I was in Canada? No? Well I was; as a matter of fact quite recently it was, why, only last week...) there was a big campaign on to boycott all puppy and kitten farms, an easy one to sign up to, I mean who wants to be presented with puppy steak in a restaurant? It'd be tiny (possibly in more ways than one).

I am starting an Ad boycott. Ironically in Can Ad a (see what I did there), they had very few ads. I mean no ads - when you were walking out of the plane and down to Customs/ passport control. No crappy catchphrases up on the walls speculating on what you're first text home will be, or what bank you should join, or worse - that your workplace should join. It was weirdly relaxing - I mean like - nothing foreign jumping through your brain, as you walk along, alone with your own thoughts, and your fellow travellers. It was cool. People aren't alone with their thoughts enough - I'm the world's worst to be always looking for diversion - see the length of the bloglist if you don't believe me (bet mine's longer than yours), but it is nice to sit and let yourself just float for awhile, leave your head alone to do it's own thing. It works better like that sometimes - just read Malcolm Gladwell's Blink, or Dorothea Brande's Becoming a Writer.

Anyway - Boycott all ads. Don't look at em - imagine you're a horse with Blinkers, say nay to the billboards, pretend those smiley feckers on the poles are all works of art or philosophers. Don't walk to the shops for coco pops just cos the monkey said you should. In fact don't buy anything at all in your weekly shop that you have seen an ad for. And most of all - drink Coca Cola (ok that's just a test - the last bit, to see if you've been paying attention though sadly there is such a beverage within my immediate vicinity and I probably now will sup it - Frailty thy name is woman!)

Blog winners

So here's me lovely award. Recieved with thanks from total feckin eejit - his link is over at the side - always worth a visit - and he has a decent music player in there as well! The award comes with certain terms and conditions as follows - so here they are

1. Post the award on your blog and link to the person who gave you the award.
2. List seven things you love. So...
1. Galway in sunshine on a bank holiday with kids having waterfights, and sipping wine in someone's back garden
2. When you get all the green lights
3. The Goldfishes - all three of them
4. The newly aquired husband - only one of them
5. Brilliant books
6. Crap books - cos they make me feel better about chances of publication
7. Friends, family, nice strangers, all of humankind

Finally,pass it on! List seven blogs you love and let those people know you’ve given them the award.Here are my Kreativ Blogger Award recipients!:

1: http://anghuianiar.blogspot.com/ An Ghuir Aniar - means west wind, and I'm not just giving him this because he's letting me use his laptop to write this, but because his is a very fine blog, and gives reason to try a bit at the aul Irish. Check him out.

2: http://domesticoubliette.blogspot.com Domestic Oubliette started her bloglife around the same time as me, so we're kinda the same age - hers is full of funny insights on life and the universe - well worth a visit

3: http://dramaqueen.blogspot.com Drama Queen is the queen of blogland and media mogul extraordinaire. Very entertaining posts.

4: http://huhtikuunnoita.blogspot.com/ Huhtikuunoita means Witch of April, her photography is great, and I love trying to figure out what it's on about

5: http://quotidian-photography.blogspot.com/ A cool photographer travelling in thailand - worth a look

6: http://theswisslounge.blogspot.com/ Swiss is pretty cool - always thought provoking

7: http://theblogsthejob.blogspot.com/ Uiscebot is always worth reading as well - a great writer, when he's not killing cute fluffy bunnies.

Copious amounts of smushiness - bucket may be necessary

How did it feel getting married? I hear you ask

Being terrified, shaking like mad walking up the church, dad at my side, calming me down by whispering "they're all looking at you"

The weirdness of seeing himself at the top of the aisle, after not seeing him since 8pm the previous night - felt like a life time.

The weirdness of not having a chance to talk really, or say hi properly, and him telling me he noticed the french manicure by holding up his hand during the first reading.

The bridesmaid after the service putting her heel through her dress, and it not mattering at all. The fashion show of all the friends and family walking out past us, shaking hands and hugging, and me saying "congratulations" to some of them cos it seemed like the thing to say - what everyone was saying.

The flower girl coming in the car with us back to the hotel, catching us having our first kiss since marriage, telling us we were allowed now, it was ok.

The feeling that we were lucky and blessed when the sun came out for every photograph.

The not eating dinner, and unholy terror when the gong went for speech time. The gush of smushiness on hearing all the nice things all the nice people had to say about me. The nearly crying as I returned the favour with an emotional few words.

The letting hair down dancing, singing a duet with himself, cheered on by the girls dressed as ABBA. The dancing to REM at the DJ bit, with my 97 year old grand aunt dancing away. (I have to switch to drinking bourbon - she's seriously amazing).

The other bridesmaid having a radiator "explode" on her dress, and it not mattering at all.

All the chats, feeling famous, and feeling such warmth and love etc etc.

The last bridesmaid leaving with her dress in perfect shape, and it not mattering at all. (I'm sure it has probably been covered in mud or set on fire by now)

Was it the best day of my life?

Nope - the best day was the one I met him.

Told ya it was smooshy... (hope you had the bucket handy)