I had a slight need to take a leak before I left work this evening but I decided not to go at work, knowing that after the 20 minute walk home the piss I would take would be ultramega satisfying. You get your kicks where you can, don't you?
In other, less urine-related, news, this blog is three years old today. I really don't know how that happened. Like most things, I think I hopped on the bandwagon just as the whole thing had reached saturation point and was becoming terminally uncool. Once I finally succumb to Twitter you can be fairly sure that that's over, too. Twitter was just getting going back then, and quickly started to gobble commenters who had stuff to say and then the kind of bloggers who only did this as a means of chatting to folks they didn't know and saying 'check this motherfucking dog video out!' Which is good for everyone, I guess, though it's certainly changed the landscape a bit. Nevertheless, blogs are still usually the best place to read articulate and uncensored writing by people without a political or commercial agenda.
I didn't do this expecting to be read by anyone much, so the readers I have picked up are an unexpected bonus. Especially as blogging by its very nature is a reverse narrative, so it must often be unclear as to what the fuck I'm banging on about. And I must surely have exhausted the goodwill of just about every longer-term reader out there by repeatedly going on about how I met my wife through blogging and how much I love her.
Anyway, I wish I had more to say right now. But I don't, so I'll just peter out in much the same way way as my wedding speech by saying "Umm...thanks" with a crack in my voice, and sitting down.
Showing posts with label blogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogs. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
15
Once again, you've embarrassed me in front of real people
The thing about blogging is that there's every chance that once you've been doing it a while you may well end up meeting other bloggers and even get to know the blighters. The upside to this is that you might just make some new friends. The downside is that you now feel like you can't put up a post entitled 'cracking wanks I've had lately'. Which, given the face-achey dose of Nose AIDS I have at the moment, is about as much as I have to offer right now as I think I've already ruminated on the gibbering wonders of Deal or No Deal here.
Tell me, do other bloggers out there let real people read their blogs? Like, people they work with and non-blogging friends and stuff? My sister drops by pretty regularly, as does one of my cousins, but my brother just gave me a look that said "wow, you're far more of a spa than I thought" when he heard I was at this lark. People in work sometimes ask how I met my wife and I tell them it was through blogging. They then ask what the blog's called and I start this little dance of pretending I really don't want to tell them until they've asked a third or fourth time. It's a lot like Peter denying Jesus, really. If i tell them then they lose interest and say "Right, I'll check it out sometime", before realising that some of my posts are an awful lot longer than a Facebook update and that I might just be a little bit weirder than they thought. And then the whole thing never gets mentioned again. One colleague was quite happy to tell me that the whole concept is self-indulgent. It is. The irony was that she somehow felt that the novel she is working on, which will (as is inevitable) contain multiple lengthy fictionalised aspects of herself that she will one day hope to sell to people, isn't.
I dunno, the sooner we accept that we're all just confused souls pouring stuff out into the ether and hoping that one or two other confused souls get it, the better for all. And, furthermore, what does it tell us that Blogger's spell-check doesn't recognise 'bloggers'? 'Floggers', apparently, is fine.
Tell me, do other bloggers out there let real people read their blogs? Like, people they work with and non-blogging friends and stuff? My sister drops by pretty regularly, as does one of my cousins, but my brother just gave me a look that said "wow, you're far more of a spa than I thought" when he heard I was at this lark. People in work sometimes ask how I met my wife and I tell them it was through blogging. They then ask what the blog's called and I start this little dance of pretending I really don't want to tell them until they've asked a third or fourth time. It's a lot like Peter denying Jesus, really. If i tell them then they lose interest and say "Right, I'll check it out sometime", before realising that some of my posts are an awful lot longer than a Facebook update and that I might just be a little bit weirder than they thought. And then the whole thing never gets mentioned again. One colleague was quite happy to tell me that the whole concept is self-indulgent. It is. The irony was that she somehow felt that the novel she is working on, which will (as is inevitable) contain multiple lengthy fictionalised aspects of herself that she will one day hope to sell to people, isn't.
I dunno, the sooner we accept that we're all just confused souls pouring stuff out into the ether and hoping that one or two other confused souls get it, the better for all. And, furthermore, what does it tell us that Blogger's spell-check doesn't recognise 'bloggers'? 'Floggers', apparently, is fine.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
3
It's weeks like this when you feel like you really have to write something on your blog about Irish current affairs. I never quite know what to say. We know that we have been let down by our government, we know that life is about to get financially harder for just about everyone, we know that the next generation are likely to still be stifled by things the current administration has done.
We also know that there will be a general election before too long.
This should represent a simple opportunity to kick Fianna Fáil and the Greens out of government and, with any luck, reduce their political influence to that of a sparrow farting in the breeze. But you wouldn't know, not in Ireland. Or perhaps, with 17% of the polled electorate still saying that they would, even at what must surely be their lowest ever point, vote for Fianna fucking Fáil. Sure, throw in a bit of spin, some canny canvassing and some snazzy posters and they could probably have that figure up to 30% or higher within a month. And that, with the vagaries of the proportional representation system, could amount to them getting back into government. Just imagine it. A vote of confidence for their lies and their conniving and their startling incompetence. A slap on the back for their slavering alcoholism. And a mandate (a real one this time) for their four year plans and whatever other havoc they might like to wreak on the country.
A sentence you may hear a lot in the forthcoming weeks is "Ah, those politicians are all as bad as each other." People who say this fall into two categories:
1. Those whose unspoken follow-up sentence is "So I won't bother my hole voting or attempting to influence things in any way."
2. Those whose unspoken follow-up sentence is "So I'll carry on voting Fianna Fáil just like I've always done. Just like my parents and grandparents do."
The election, and the decisive change that this country needs, will be decided by how many of each category there are. And, sad to say, it won't much be influenced by what we read or write on blogs. There have been some excellent examples of articulate rage floating around the internet this week, in the usual places as well as interesting new blogs like Rise Like Lions! , but it is not going to be the blogosphere (or whatever other disgusting term you might have for it) where the decisive battles are fought for this election. It would be easy to gaze around and see like-minded souls everwhere; a critical mass of people who want this government to become one of those anomalies that history students will ponder in the future and think "How the fuck could people ever have put up with them?" I've been reading a wide range of blogs for three years now and I've never seen so much as one comment indicating any level of support for Fianna Fáil. Not one. But the average punter doesn't read blogs. Most of my friends don't, my family don't. Tonnes of twenty and thirty-somethings are still far more concerned with reality TV than reality. Without wishing to talk in very broad strokes, I don't think the elderly (the most committed of voting demographics) are checking in on Twenty Major's polemics with any great regulaity, either. Which means not many people are seeing stuff like this. Which means not enough people are seeing the important work that the likes of The Story are doing.
We can contnue to entertain ourselves in a kind of "No, I hate Fianna Fáil even more than you do!" kind of a way, but we might as well carry on being frivolous because it is surely only preaching to the choir. Standing outside your local polling centre hectoring every young apathete (I may have invented a word there) to get in and vote, and chiding "Don't do anything stupid, now, dear" to every OAP going in might prove to be a more effective tactic. Blogs will continue to provide a useful point of catharsis in these enraging times, but it might be foolhardy to expect much more.
I trust I can rely on your vote?
 |
| From the excellent Wheel Spinning Hamster Dead |
We also know that there will be a general election before too long.
This should represent a simple opportunity to kick Fianna Fáil and the Greens out of government and, with any luck, reduce their political influence to that of a sparrow farting in the breeze. But you wouldn't know, not in Ireland. Or perhaps, with 17% of the polled electorate still saying that they would, even at what must surely be their lowest ever point, vote for Fianna fucking Fáil. Sure, throw in a bit of spin, some canny canvassing and some snazzy posters and they could probably have that figure up to 30% or higher within a month. And that, with the vagaries of the proportional representation system, could amount to them getting back into government. Just imagine it. A vote of confidence for their lies and their conniving and their startling incompetence. A slap on the back for their slavering alcoholism. And a mandate (a real one this time) for their four year plans and whatever other havoc they might like to wreak on the country.
A sentence you may hear a lot in the forthcoming weeks is "Ah, those politicians are all as bad as each other." People who say this fall into two categories:
1. Those whose unspoken follow-up sentence is "So I won't bother my hole voting or attempting to influence things in any way."
2. Those whose unspoken follow-up sentence is "So I'll carry on voting Fianna Fáil just like I've always done. Just like my parents and grandparents do."
The election, and the decisive change that this country needs, will be decided by how many of each category there are. And, sad to say, it won't much be influenced by what we read or write on blogs. There have been some excellent examples of articulate rage floating around the internet this week, in the usual places as well as interesting new blogs like Rise Like Lions! , but it is not going to be the blogosphere (or whatever other disgusting term you might have for it) where the decisive battles are fought for this election. It would be easy to gaze around and see like-minded souls everwhere; a critical mass of people who want this government to become one of those anomalies that history students will ponder in the future and think "How the fuck could people ever have put up with them?" I've been reading a wide range of blogs for three years now and I've never seen so much as one comment indicating any level of support for Fianna Fáil. Not one. But the average punter doesn't read blogs. Most of my friends don't, my family don't. Tonnes of twenty and thirty-somethings are still far more concerned with reality TV than reality. Without wishing to talk in very broad strokes, I don't think the elderly (the most committed of voting demographics) are checking in on Twenty Major's polemics with any great regulaity, either. Which means not many people are seeing stuff like this. Which means not enough people are seeing the important work that the likes of The Story are doing.
We can contnue to entertain ourselves in a kind of "No, I hate Fianna Fáil even more than you do!" kind of a way, but we might as well carry on being frivolous because it is surely only preaching to the choir. Standing outside your local polling centre hectoring every young apathete (I may have invented a word there) to get in and vote, and chiding "Don't do anything stupid, now, dear" to every OAP going in might prove to be a more effective tactic. Blogs will continue to provide a useful point of catharsis in these enraging times, but it might be foolhardy to expect much more.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
26
On Being Read
Here's the thing: I think about you, my readers, probably far more than I care to admit. Late at night, quite often, when I wonder if I'd get to sleep faster if I told you about what's going on in my head. Even when all that's going on in my head is the horrendous feedback loop of wondering what's going on in my head. I wonder where and how you read me, and why. In an office, on the bus on your iPhone, in a college computer lab, on a rickety laptop on the couch as you growl with frustration at your slow connection (that's usually how I do it). Or as you watch football, as you drink, as you grin and grimace, as you pick your nose, as you go through someone else's blogroll out of sheer boredom. As you confusedly land here by googling song lyrics I've nicked for my post titles, as you follow someone else's twitter link and then stop and wonder if life isn't a mite too short to be on Twitter if this is where it brings you. And I'm fascinated by the very notion of being read in far-flung parts of the globe, and constantly wonder what it is that I might write that tickles someone's fancy in Laos just as it turns someone off in Laois. If some of you are just hoping that I'll pick another fight, or that I'll write a little more about love, as love happens to me.
I'll think of you, dear readers, even on Thursday as I get married to the loveliest creature I've ever encountered. Or at least in the immediate aftermath. And on Saturday, when we do it again more publicly. I'll think about how I'm marrying one of you; how we first recognised a kindred spirit through each other's words. How a few more of you will be there to celebrate with us as friends.
How I'll tell you all about it (and the job interview sandwiched on the Friday in between) when I have words that are good enough, if there are any. How good it is to have been read, then seen, then loved.
I'll think of you, dear readers, even on Thursday as I get married to the loveliest creature I've ever encountered. Or at least in the immediate aftermath. And on Saturday, when we do it again more publicly. I'll think about how I'm marrying one of you; how we first recognised a kindred spirit through each other's words. How a few more of you will be there to celebrate with us as friends.
How I'll tell you all about it (and the job interview sandwiched on the Friday in between) when I have words that are good enough, if there are any. How good it is to have been read, then seen, then loved.
 |
| Photo taken, like most good photos, by the wonderful Annie Atkins |
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
14
More tea, Gicker?
Click to make it big and hairy
Sometime last year Rosie's blog turned two, and the indolent wagon asked me to write a post for her to mark the occasion, as she couldn't be ringed. So I did. I asked her to return the favour for my second birthday and, clearly reluctant to write anything as fawning as I would've liked, she produced the above graph for me. Smart lady.
The geeky book blog she refers to is Slightly Read - a book blog I started working on a few weeks ago when I realised I that I kept feeling an odd urge to write book reviews here. I decided to stick them into their own grubby little corner instead, so as not to put my legions of readers off this place. Head over there and have a gander if that's your sort of thing, or just sit tight and wait for my next gibbering missive here instead.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
6
he did make some observations
Having a bonsai tree really is like having a child, a puppy or syphilis: you have to bring it fucking everywhere. And so it was that Stella joined Rosie and I on a week-long jaunt to the west of Ireland, where we indulged in our customary pastimes of walking a bit, grumbling at the rain, reading a bit, watching DVDs, gorging ourselves like sows with tapeworms and cooing at each other a lot. It was precisely like that Discover Ireland ad, especially the bit with the couple looking affluent and aroused in Westport. We also flew (yeah, flew) to Inis Mór like motherfucking rockstars. More about all that another time, perhaps.
I was planning on throwing in a few grumbles into this post of odds and ends, as it's been a while since I've used the 'gripes' tag. Then Holemaster shows up in my feed-reader with a worthy list.
To his complaints I add:
People who won't switch their headlights on before the sun sets. Try driving down the M50 in a driving rainstorm with the backwash from a truck obscuring everything and tell me you wouldn't notice the fucker in a silver Audi cutting in front of you just a split second sooner if they had their lights on.
Bohemian Rhapsody. Tonight I sat through all two and a half hours of Channel 4's unfathomably unfunny Comedy Gala. It climaxed, like a sixteen year-old jizzing his pants, with one-trick pony Lee Evans performing his one trick, sweatily, to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody. And I realised that that song, far from being the 'greatest song of the twentieth century' that it is so often feted as, is a bloated monstrosity of a yoke that should have been left alone to enjoy its Wayne's World based resurrection and then banned from public consumption. Think about it: you don't like it half as much as you've been told you do, do you?
Overuse of the word 'rant' on the internet. There is a tendency among bloggers to preface and/or conclude any strong statement of opinion with a caveat along the lines of "I hope you'll excuse this rant", or "Don't mind me, I'm just ranting". It seems almost apologetic - anticipating the fact that some fucker will come along and take offence at something you've said. If your 'rant' is in any way blog-related you can be absolutely certain that someone will take offence, and will probably read far more into your words than was ever there. It happens. if you have something to say that may cause a few snarks then write it, read over it, sleep on it if needs be, then if you stand by everything you say then publish the fucking thing and don't use dismissive words like 'rant' for your own thoughts unless that is truly how it reads, in which case delete it. Or call it a rant, by which you might as well type "I'm not sure I mean this at all, I'm just not thinking right now."
And now, to close on an upbeat note, two splendid blogs that have recently come to my attention: This Limbo and Conor Creighton. Both well worth a click and a bit of your time. And Jennie, for fuck's sake, if you haven't already been round there.
I was planning on throwing in a few grumbles into this post of odds and ends, as it's been a while since I've used the 'gripes' tag. Then Holemaster shows up in my feed-reader with a worthy list.
To his complaints I add:
People who won't switch their headlights on before the sun sets. Try driving down the M50 in a driving rainstorm with the backwash from a truck obscuring everything and tell me you wouldn't notice the fucker in a silver Audi cutting in front of you just a split second sooner if they had their lights on.
Bohemian Rhapsody. Tonight I sat through all two and a half hours of Channel 4's unfathomably unfunny Comedy Gala. It climaxed, like a sixteen year-old jizzing his pants, with one-trick pony Lee Evans performing his one trick, sweatily, to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody. And I realised that that song, far from being the 'greatest song of the twentieth century' that it is so often feted as, is a bloated monstrosity of a yoke that should have been left alone to enjoy its Wayne's World based resurrection and then banned from public consumption. Think about it: you don't like it half as much as you've been told you do, do you?
Overuse of the word 'rant' on the internet. There is a tendency among bloggers to preface and/or conclude any strong statement of opinion with a caveat along the lines of "I hope you'll excuse this rant", or "Don't mind me, I'm just ranting". It seems almost apologetic - anticipating the fact that some fucker will come along and take offence at something you've said. If your 'rant' is in any way blog-related you can be absolutely certain that someone will take offence, and will probably read far more into your words than was ever there. It happens. if you have something to say that may cause a few snarks then write it, read over it, sleep on it if needs be, then if you stand by everything you say then publish the fucking thing and don't use dismissive words like 'rant' for your own thoughts unless that is truly how it reads, in which case delete it. Or call it a rant, by which you might as well type "I'm not sure I mean this at all, I'm just not thinking right now."
And now, to close on an upbeat note, two splendid blogs that have recently come to my attention: This Limbo and Conor Creighton. Both well worth a click and a bit of your time. And Jennie, for fuck's sake, if you haven't already been round there.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
4
Strange news from another star
I don't check my Hotmail account very often any more. They have appallingly bad spam filters and Gmail is preferable in just about every way. I popped in for the first time in about a week last night and found this:
Get RickO'Shea to loose.
| From: | Curtis J (getcharlottetowin@gmail.com) |
Dear Andrew
Your country needs you. Well Charlotte Flood needs you.
Charlotte is competing in one of the annual awards in this years Entertainment.ie things. anyways.
She is close to but still second to Mr Rick O'Shea, you may know him.
I have already set up a number of people, both nationwide and overseas to vote for Miss Flood to win but we need to recruit more and more.
To help us you need to vote for Charlotte as much as possible!
I find if you lower the zoom on the browser (by hitting CTRL and '-' at the same time) you can vote quicker as there is less scrolling involved!
You are allowed vote 100 times in one go , it is tedious but we need all the votes we can get for good ol Chalotte. It resets after a few hours so if you use up all your votes try later that day and vote another 100 times.
I hope you will be as committed to this cause as we are.
Spread the word and get as many people as humanly possible to vote.
Have a nice day
Who the fuck is that guy? How did he get my email address, how the fuck does he know I know Rick O'Shea and why the fuck does he think I'd care enough to help him rig a poll? I'd rather listen to Peter Andre having an attack of the scutters than any of the tools who pollute the daytime airwaves, but that's neither here nor there. Rick O'Shea is, presumably, running one hell of a campaign himself as he's still way ahead in that particular category, as is his merry band of try-hards (Gimme has said all that needs to be said on that particular matter). Entertainment.ie, your poll is dodgier than a Zimbabwean election.
Now, Internet, I'm going to be away from you for a few days, holed up in a cottage in Mayo with nowt but a fire, a jigsaw puzzle and at least one scantily-clad lady for company. When I come back I wish to hear no more of this frippery. I wish for you to become once again the calm, measured forum for intelligent debate that you've always been up to now. Or at least ensure that Karen Koster claims her rightful crown as 'Best Xposé Presenter', yeah?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
9
On writing, Radiohead, Red's retirement and uh...mixtapes
Weird the way when you go to write a post after a fairly lengthy gap you automatically want to be all apologetic in tone, isn't it? (Though that might just be me). I'm not sorry at all, though, I've never understood why so many bloggers seem to feel this compunction to keep writing even when they know they've nothing to say.
I had this notion that unemployment might make me feel more creative in some way. I was about to say that it hasn't, but when you're as non-prolific as I am then I suppose one half-written short story, one fully-finished piece of crap and one three-quarters done post on an issue isn't that bad. The story will be entered into a competition if the end result turns out OK, the surreal piece of crap will be consigned to the bin, and the post should appear shortly.
As an aside, Radiohead have apparently said that they won't be releasing any more albums, but will release individuals songs, presumably as downloads. One such song has been released this week, it's called Harry Patch (In Memory Of), it's very good, and it's available for just one of those things the Brits like to call "pounds" right here.
Continuing the musical theme, I bought some new headphones the other week. They cost €25, which is not a lot when you consider how much they can be, but is more than I've ever spent on headphones before. And, listening to a bit of Nina Simone late one night, I got to thinking about how some songs really sound best when listened to in a quiet place, on your own, with headphones. It reminded me of my brother's complaint on the one and only occasion that he came to a music festival with me: "I think I prefer music in private. To that end, I've decided that the first ever mix-tape I plan on putting together will be made up of subtle little numbers that work best in a chilled out space on your own. It's almost an anti-festival mix, if you will (though I'm still all excited about the Picnic next month). I will send out a copy to absolutely anyone who would like one, regardless of where you live. so if you're interested in getting one just email me and I'll get right on it. My email is in my Blogger profile at the top right hand corner of the page.
And on that note, I'll finish by saying that I was sorry to see the retirement of the Queen of the Mix Tape last week. Red has been one of the good ones throughout the entire time I've been reading blogs and my feed-reader is going to miss her.
I had this notion that unemployment might make me feel more creative in some way. I was about to say that it hasn't, but when you're as non-prolific as I am then I suppose one half-written short story, one fully-finished piece of crap and one three-quarters done post on an issue isn't that bad. The story will be entered into a competition if the end result turns out OK, the surreal piece of crap will be consigned to the bin, and the post should appear shortly.
As an aside, Radiohead have apparently said that they won't be releasing any more albums, but will release individuals songs, presumably as downloads. One such song has been released this week, it's called Harry Patch (In Memory Of), it's very good, and it's available for just one of those things the Brits like to call "pounds" right here.
Continuing the musical theme, I bought some new headphones the other week. They cost €25, which is not a lot when you consider how much they can be, but is more than I've ever spent on headphones before. And, listening to a bit of Nina Simone late one night, I got to thinking about how some songs really sound best when listened to in a quiet place, on your own, with headphones. It reminded me of my brother's complaint on the one and only occasion that he came to a music festival with me: "I think I prefer music in private. To that end, I've decided that the first ever mix-tape I plan on putting together will be made up of subtle little numbers that work best in a chilled out space on your own. It's almost an anti-festival mix, if you will (though I'm still all excited about the Picnic next month). I will send out a copy to absolutely anyone who would like one, regardless of where you live. so if you're interested in getting one just email me and I'll get right on it. My email is in my Blogger profile at the top right hand corner of the page.
And on that note, I'll finish by saying that I was sorry to see the retirement of the Queen of the Mix Tape last week. Red has been one of the good ones throughout the entire time I've been reading blogs and my feed-reader is going to miss her.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
19
It was all fairy cakes and Club Orange around here, you missed out
So, a year ago today I sat down, largely on a whim, and wrote this post. And from that moment on I have been a blogger. Bloggers, to my mind, were largely the people spoken of in tones of both hushed confusion and utter derision by the print media. They were the people who made me laugh by saying what everyone else was thinking, but had previously had no outlet to do so. It was somewhat disconcerting to find out that it really was that easy to join this club, who had previously sounded a little like the Freemasons to me. I had, as I so succinctly put it then, no fucking clue what I was doing. But people responded to me anyway, so I kept on trucking. A year on and this stream of precisely 180 posts seems to have been the catalyst for a huge amount of change in my life. I wasn't intending on meeting anyone through this stuff, let alone making friends whose writing I genuinely respect and enjoy. Let alone falling in love with someone.
But it's great because it means that, though I've contemplated killing this whole thing stone dead on many a dark night I'll always be incredibly glad that I started it. It means that I look at virtually everything in the world around me and wonder whether I might have anything worthwhile to say about it. It means that, for better or worse, I can picture a good few of the people who read this blog and try to work out whether they might enjoy what I've put up.
Mostly, it means that I can enjoy the monstrous ego trip that is tied up so tightly with the notion of people enjoying what I've written - whoever they are. I've been called a couple of names I didn't deserve in response to things I've written, but I've been told a hell of a lot of nice things I didn't deserve too. Recently, I've happened upon a concept called 'standards'. That is to say, the idea that I might be selective and careful in what I write, rather than just spilling everything out onto the screen. The lady and I were talking recently about how frustrating a band The Flaming Lips are, as they produce beautiful songs and utter tosh in equal measure - a fact that can't have fully escaped them. I mused that perhaps they simply like to throw everything they do out there for public consumption, and let time be the judge of how good it is. My approach to blogging was similar for a while, as summed up in a quote from one of those lazy diary posts I put up ages ago: "Do not worry about the foolishness and banality of what you write; let Time take care of it."
Time has shown me so far that some of the posts I thought were shite are now worth reading, and that others I was quite proud of at the time are awful offal. And Time has taught me that I am embarrassed by those ones so, for now at least, I am adopting a policy of greater selectiveness.
Which, in turn, is making me reluctant to say anything at all most of the time. Still, in a world where Twitter is bringing us every vague thought and bowel movement that ever occurred to anyone, it's a policy that makes me. A friend - a friend who doesn't read or know about my blog- told me only a few minutes ago to me that I am a secretive, private man. I am far from this, I am a man who is happy to reveal coruscatingly personal details about my life to anyone who'll listen. But only sometimes.
Welcome to the next year of Chancing My Arm and thanks for choosing to read here, it mollifies me beyond belief.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
16
Now she's a little boy in Spain, playing pianos filled with flames
It's been a while now since I've been tagged with any kind of a meme. Normally anyone who does do this to me deserves to be kicked up the hole with a pair of size 15 hobnails. But when the man who tags you is Blazing, one of the true gentlemen of the blogosphere, it'd be rude not to.
The rules of this particular meme are:
1) Put the link of the person who tagged you on your blog.
2) Write the rules.
3) Mention 6 things or habits of no real importance about you.
4) Tag 6 persons adding their links directly.
5) Alert the persons that you tagged them.
I'm inclined to think that my blog is already all too full of information of no real importance about me, but I'll fire away anyway with some tasty nuggets y'all may not be aware of.
1. I once bumped into former US secretary of State Madeleine Albright outside Dino's Takeaway in Athboy, Co. Meath. We had an illuminating chat about the impact of leopards upon coastal erosion. Minimal, apparently.
2. I auditioned for one of the leading roles in Ang Lee's Lust, Caution. I was turned down for being "excessively lustful, not cautious enough." Yeah, Ang, and The Hulk sucked.
3. When I leave the house with either no boxers or no socks on I like to imagine I'm a pornstar.
4. When I'm playing Football Manager I occasionally fantasise that my peripheral, squad rotation players are slightly attracted to me. But only in a way they can't quite comprehend.
5. I have a paralysing fear of starfish.
6. I devoted the entirety of the middle seventeen years of my life to perfecting the formula for barbeque sauce flavoured candyfloss.
7. I believe 7 to be an infinitely superior number to 6. You know the way there's 7 days in a week? I came up with that.
Now, the shitty part: Tagging.
1. Darren. Because he needs to stop pretending he works for Empire magazine and get back to his own blog.
2. Meadow. Because she's new enough to this game to probably never have been tagged before. And why worry about jobs when there are memes to be done.
3. Radge. Because it will annoy him but he could make it very funny.
4. Colm. For precisely the same reason.
5. Uncle Dick. The possibilities are endless.
6.Green of Eye. Because she might use nice pictures to illustrate it.
The option to tell me to go fuck myself remains, as ever, a viable and appealing option.
The rules of this particular meme are:
1) Put the link of the person who tagged you on your blog.
2) Write the rules.
3) Mention 6 things or habits of no real importance about you.
4) Tag 6 persons adding their links directly.
5) Alert the persons that you tagged them.
I'm inclined to think that my blog is already all too full of information of no real importance about me, but I'll fire away anyway with some tasty nuggets y'all may not be aware of.
1. I once bumped into former US secretary of State Madeleine Albright outside Dino's Takeaway in Athboy, Co. Meath. We had an illuminating chat about the impact of leopards upon coastal erosion. Minimal, apparently.
2. I auditioned for one of the leading roles in Ang Lee's Lust, Caution. I was turned down for being "excessively lustful, not cautious enough." Yeah, Ang, and The Hulk sucked.
3. When I leave the house with either no boxers or no socks on I like to imagine I'm a pornstar.
4. When I'm playing Football Manager I occasionally fantasise that my peripheral, squad rotation players are slightly attracted to me. But only in a way they can't quite comprehend.
5. I have a paralysing fear of starfish.
6. I devoted the entirety of the middle seventeen years of my life to perfecting the formula for barbeque sauce flavoured candyfloss.
7. I believe 7 to be an infinitely superior number to 6. You know the way there's 7 days in a week? I came up with that.
Now, the shitty part: Tagging.
1. Darren. Because he needs to stop pretending he works for Empire magazine and get back to his own blog.
2. Meadow. Because she's new enough to this game to probably never have been tagged before. And why worry about jobs when there are memes to be done.
3. Radge. Because it will annoy him but he could make it very funny.
4. Colm. For precisely the same reason.
5. Uncle Dick. The possibilities are endless.
6.Green of Eye. Because she might use nice pictures to illustrate it.
The option to tell me to go fuck myself remains, as ever, a viable and appealing option.
Monday, April 13, 2009
4
Fibreglass Links
Buckfast and cider on Sunday makes Andrew want to cry on Monday.
Right, after that awful, whinging last post about how shit everything on the internet is, I thought I might as well link to a few of the things out there in the last few days that I do really like:
Meadow is a newish blogger some of you may not have read. if she was a footballer people would be saying she's "bang in form right now" and suchlike. We need more bloggers who take the time to properly tell a story, whether fictional or true. I particularly like her three-parter, 'Sam'.
It being Easter and all, here's your own personal Lego Jesus.
Colm is offering to send anyone who wants one a postcard with a specially composed short story, just for you. He's a talented bastard, is Colm, so inundate the fucker with requests.
David Mitchell, he of Peep Show and QI fame, writes a blog for the Guardian that is always highly readable, and often pretty bloody funny too.
Slaminsky's postcard.
Fuck you, bunny.
Right, after that awful, whinging last post about how shit everything on the internet is, I thought I might as well link to a few of the things out there in the last few days that I do really like:
Meadow is a newish blogger some of you may not have read. if she was a footballer people would be saying she's "bang in form right now" and suchlike. We need more bloggers who take the time to properly tell a story, whether fictional or true. I particularly like her three-parter, 'Sam'.
It being Easter and all, here's your own personal Lego Jesus.
Colm is offering to send anyone who wants one a postcard with a specially composed short story, just for you. He's a talented bastard, is Colm, so inundate the fucker with requests.
David Mitchell, he of Peep Show and QI fame, writes a blog for the Guardian that is always highly readable, and often pretty bloody funny too.
Slaminsky's postcard.
Fuck you, bunny.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
10
Not quite enough monkeys
After being on something of an impromptu country break for the last few days I sit awake now, late at night, catching up on the many things that I might or might not have been reading over the last week or so, had I been online at all.
And I despair at so much of it, I really do. The vacuous nonsense that accumulates over a six day period is truly terrifying.
Not because I think I'm above it, but because I realise how much time and ever-crumbling brain space must be stolen from me every single day by this mulch.
And I despair at so much of it, I really do. The vacuous nonsense that accumulates over a six day period is truly terrifying.
Not because I think I'm above it, but because I realise how much time and ever-crumbling brain space must be stolen from me every single day by this mulch.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
26
italics for emphasis
It has come to my attention here at Chancing My Arm Towers that there is a growing fondness for classing the readers of any particular blog as one distinct group, easily referred to by some humorous plural noun. It works beautifully for summarily dismissing any large number of people.
Bock's readers are Bockolytes (but not, I repeat not, minions). Twenty, being special, gets to have both Bootboys and Lapdogs. Gimme's readers are, I dunno, Dickheads, probably.
So now I have come to the realisation that you, my dear readers, you who unerringly read my every utterance with nary a moment of doubt in your mind, you, too, deserve a collective title to properly indicate your full uniformity of thought and venom. You have earned this right through your regular attendance, haphazard commenting, and steadfast, unswerving agreement with everything I say. Because you only read my blog, right?
But what to call you? The Chancing My Army? Too obvious. Andrew's Arseholes? No, no, no. Should I call you Legion, for you are many? Hmmm...you're not that many. From today and forever more I christen you Andrew's Elite Death Squadron of Crack Robot Warriors in Pursuit of the Upholding of Truth, Justice, Righteousness, Global Hegemony and All-Round Superbness and Excellence. It was only one of a number of submissions from a think-tank (oh, how I love a good think-tank) consisting of Kofi Annan, Former Taoiseach Albert Reynolds, Dale Winton and Senator George Mitchell. I chose it for its concise expression of all that I stand for.
You will, of course, all be given ranks within AEDSCRWPUTJRGHARSE (for short). Expressions of your warm admiration in comments will not help you gain a favourable commanding position in AEDSCRWPUTJRGHARSE, as I know you all already harbour such thoughts toward me (I really must thank you for those, I use them to heat my manservant's quarters at night). But I am now ready to reveal that you, Bloglines subscriber in New Delhi (yes, you, I see you there), shall be awarded the rank of Starboard Admiral. And you, mystery reader in Fethard, Co. Tipperary whom I contemplated popping in for a cup of tea, slice of brack and an old chinwag with in on my way down to Cork a few months ago, you can be Wing Commander (I don't know which wing yet).
And you all, from now on, shall be expected, nay, ordered to excoriate, eviscerate and email any other bloggers whose opinion differ from those stipulated in the contract you all signed up to when you agreed to read this blog. And, naturally, write nasty posts about them on your own inferior blogs, should you have them. But only, only on my command. Heel!
Bock's readers are Bockolytes (but not, I repeat not, minions). Twenty, being special, gets to have both Bootboys and Lapdogs. Gimme's readers are, I dunno, Dickheads, probably.
So now I have come to the realisation that you, my dear readers, you who unerringly read my every utterance with nary a moment of doubt in your mind, you, too, deserve a collective title to properly indicate your full uniformity of thought and venom. You have earned this right through your regular attendance, haphazard commenting, and steadfast, unswerving agreement with everything I say. Because you only read my blog, right?
But what to call you? The Chancing My Army? Too obvious. Andrew's Arseholes? No, no, no. Should I call you Legion, for you are many? Hmmm...you're not that many. From today and forever more I christen you Andrew's Elite Death Squadron of Crack Robot Warriors in Pursuit of the Upholding of Truth, Justice, Righteousness, Global Hegemony and All-Round Superbness and Excellence. It was only one of a number of submissions from a think-tank (oh, how I love a good think-tank) consisting of Kofi Annan, Former Taoiseach Albert Reynolds, Dale Winton and Senator George Mitchell. I chose it for its concise expression of all that I stand for.
You will, of course, all be given ranks within AEDSCRWPUTJRGHARSE (for short). Expressions of your warm admiration in comments will not help you gain a favourable commanding position in AEDSCRWPUTJRGHARSE, as I know you all already harbour such thoughts toward me (I really must thank you for those, I use them to heat my manservant's quarters at night). But I am now ready to reveal that you, Bloglines subscriber in New Delhi (yes, you, I see you there), shall be awarded the rank of Starboard Admiral. And you, mystery reader in Fethard, Co. Tipperary whom I contemplated popping in for a cup of tea, slice of brack and an old chinwag with in on my way down to Cork a few months ago, you can be Wing Commander (I don't know which wing yet).
And you all, from now on, shall be expected, nay, ordered to excoriate, eviscerate and email any other bloggers whose opinion differ from those stipulated in the contract you all signed up to when you agreed to read this blog. And, naturally, write nasty posts about them on your own inferior blogs, should you have them. But only, only on my command. Heel!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
27
Pulls out two guns and shoots at the pretty, pretty view
I'm not really sure how I feel about awards in any form, celebrating supposed excellence in any field. I'm certainly not too sure how I feel about ones for blogging.
So, although I graciously thank whoever nominated me for a couple of them, I'm alarmed to see the growing number of people using these.
Yes, very exciting to see your name on a list, but until a little more whittling down has been done, this is the truth of it:
Taken from this bollix and designed by this bitch.
Folks, just keep it in your pants until the shortlists at least.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
7
I detest this kind of post
You know the way when you log into Google Reader there's a bit at the side that recommends blogs you might like to subscribe to? Well, tonight it's recommending that I subscribe to Chancing My Arm. I feel ridiculously tickled by this. I'm not sure if it's the momentary thrill of seeing my blog name up on screen when I didn't type it, or simply the notion that Google's magical software that selects these things decided that, based on my reading habits, I might like me.
Or will they just throw any old shite at you?
Or will they just throw any old shite at you?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
6
Fibreglass Links
Would you?
NaRocRoc's magical date.
Gimme with a good fucking point.
Jonathan Woss's twitter ejaculations
Sarah tells you what you should do
I'm not sure what Radge is on about, but I think I like it.
MJ's brand new wedding blog. It's OK, she's not Bridezilla.
NaRocRoc's magical date.
Gimme with a good fucking point.
Jonathan Woss's twitter ejaculations
Sarah tells you what you should do
I'm not sure what Radge is on about, but I think I like it.
MJ's brand new wedding blog. It's OK, she's not Bridezilla.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
13
Rock 'n' Rhiannon
Well, you may have enjoyed her adventures in America, you may have suffered through her misadventures in love, you may enjoy her carefully constructed observations on all kinds of things in life. But the Google chat I've just had with everyone's favourite Welshie, Annie Rhiannon , as she lolled around Rosie's flat watching daytime TV exposes her as the true ditz that she is. And reveals far more about my secret rock n' roll past than you ever wished to know.
annie.rhiannon: have you ever played bass in a band?
me: No
that's an odd question!
annie.rhiannon: yeah I know
because I told my friend that I have a crush on a guy because who used to play bass in a band and she said...
"Oh for GOODNESS sake Annie, EVERY boy once played bass in a band, it is the easiest instrument in the world, even I have once played bass in a band. Go on, ask the next boy you see if he ever played bass in a band."
me: ha
if I'd ever been in a band i would've played bass
or maybe tried to sing, but that would have had most unfortunate results
annie.rhiannon: I actually once played bass in a band myself
me: really?
annie.rhiannon: come to think of it
yes, i blogged about it so it must be true
me: heh, what were you called?
annie.rhiannon: http://annierhiannon.blogspot.com/search?q=bass
"dynamite", embarrassingly I don;t remember the name of the other band
me: nice post
i had one with my sister when i was seven
i was fucking brilliant at playing the tennis racquet
annie.rhiannon: hee
me: our song was called 'Wet and Hot', because it had been a sunny day, but rained a bit
annie.rhiannon: haha that is hilarious you have to blog about it
I'm actually "lolling"
me: we couldn't understand why our mum didn't like us singing about being wet and hot
my brother was supposed to be the drummer
but he was three, and less interested in getting on top of the Pops than we were
annie.rhiannon: haha
me: My mum got very embarrassed when i ran running into my sister ( who was trying to take a pee at the time) and shouted "Wet and Hot just got into the top ten!!"
if it had gone straight in at number one that would've been unrealistic
annie.rhiannon: haha
now i am lolling my pants
me: it kinda ended there, i think
we tried to lay it down in the studio but i felt that the bass was really taking away from my vocals
annie.rhiannon: "Wet and Hot"
hahaha
me: If i blog about it i'll probably just be really lazy and cut and paste this
with your consent, obviously
annie.rhiannon: of course
but are you going to put my HAHAHAHAs in?
probably not a good idea
me: Not as articulate as you'd like to come across?
annie.rhiannon: not exactly
me: Just cos you're all good and proper at blogging...
I'm never gonna win an award, join me in my quest for mediocrity
yeah, the HAHAHAs are going in
i'm blowing you out of the water, Rhiannon
annie.rhiannon: hee, I look forward to it
I'm hitting "refresh" impatiently
annie.rhiannon: have you ever played bass in a band?
me: No
that's an odd question!
annie.rhiannon: yeah I know
because I told my friend that I have a crush on a guy because who used to play bass in a band and she said...
"Oh for GOODNESS sake Annie, EVERY boy once played bass in a band, it is the easiest instrument in the world, even I have once played bass in a band. Go on, ask the next boy you see if he ever played bass in a band."
me: ha
if I'd ever been in a band i would've played bass
or maybe tried to sing, but that would have had most unfortunate results
annie.rhiannon: I actually once played bass in a band myself
me: really?
annie.rhiannon: come to think of it
yes, i blogged about it so it must be true
me: heh, what were you called?
annie.rhiannon: http://annierhiannon.blogspot.com/search?q=bass
"dynamite", embarrassingly I don;t remember the name of the other band
me: nice post
i had one with my sister when i was seven
i was fucking brilliant at playing the tennis racquet
annie.rhiannon: hee
me: our song was called 'Wet and Hot', because it had been a sunny day, but rained a bit
annie.rhiannon: haha that is hilarious you have to blog about it
I'm actually "lolling"
me: we couldn't understand why our mum didn't like us singing about being wet and hot
my brother was supposed to be the drummer
but he was three, and less interested in getting on top of the Pops than we were
annie.rhiannon: haha
me: My mum got very embarrassed when i ran running into my sister ( who was trying to take a pee at the time) and shouted "Wet and Hot just got into the top ten!!"
if it had gone straight in at number one that would've been unrealistic
annie.rhiannon: haha
now i am lolling my pants
me: it kinda ended there, i think
we tried to lay it down in the studio but i felt that the bass was really taking away from my vocals
annie.rhiannon: "Wet and Hot"
hahaha
me: If i blog about it i'll probably just be really lazy and cut and paste this
with your consent, obviously
annie.rhiannon: of course
but are you going to put my HAHAHAHAs in?
probably not a good idea
me: Not as articulate as you'd like to come across?
annie.rhiannon: not exactly
me: Just cos you're all good and proper at blogging...
I'm never gonna win an award, join me in my quest for mediocrity
yeah, the HAHAHAs are going in
i'm blowing you out of the water, Rhiannon
annie.rhiannon: hee, I look forward to it
I'm hitting "refresh" impatiently
Saturday, November 1, 2008
3
Musings
Ugh.
Sorry, that header had to go. I was going for 'child-like and simple' but ended up just 'simple child'. Which, I think you'll agree, is a very different thing. I'll make a sexy new one soon enough but for now I'll just go with stark and minimal. My gnomic little blog descriptions are back too, whch must come as a relief to everyone.
OK, I'm still kinda sick here so don't have a lot to say. I've vowed to myself enough times not to just write posts for the sake of them, but actually thinking and composing shit takes time and effort. Not my strong points. I'm mentally composing something about my week at home doing fuck all as I get ravaged by tonsilitis but if i ever get that finished and onto something alittle more transferable than my cranium then it's going here, not here. Incidentally, I believe the deadline has been extended for a week or something, so if it sounds like the sort of thing that you could enter into, then why not?
I just saw on MTV a few minutes ago that Dido has a new album coming out. I, for one, am salivating at the prospect of this. There's new tracks on that link and everything! Apparently, she's been "experimenting". Mmmmm.
Right, this Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand thing. Seriously, what the fuck? It's laughable that the whole thing only really blew up a couple of weeks after the calls were broadcast, once the the shitesheets got hold of it. It must have taken some superb investigative journalism to have dug up a story about a broadcast on national British radio. Strikes me that Russell Brand was only doing the kind of thing that he's always done. Wossy should probably have known better but just wanted to seem cool in front of his friend Wussell. I had a friend called Wussell once. He stole two of my Top Twumps so I punched him in the ovawies. Twue story.
Point is, two jobs lost and one hefty and expensive suspension seem massively excessive to me.
Yes, they've made their point that there's a line that shouldn't be crossed but still no-one really knows where that line is. All anyone's learnt is that when rival stations take a story and inflate it to saturation point and stir up a load of uptight morons to complain about a show they would never have considered listening to, then heads do roll. I find it a sad precedent for broadcasting and freedom of speech in general.
As for Manuel's grand-daughter, expect to see that little slapper using this to get herself on the cover of Nuts and Zoo magazines within weeks. "Exposed like never before!!!", no doubt. And accompanied by a heartfelt interview about what a toll the whole affair has taken on her dignity. Which excites me almost as much as the new Dido album.
Oh yeah, the US election. I think it was around the time of Dubya's re-election in 2004 that I vowed to myself never to visit the USA until it proved again, in some way, that it contained a significant base of intelligent life. Naturally, that strong and principled stance would've been abandoned in a milisecond if something like really cheap flights or a terrorist plot to blow up the Budweiser factory had materialised. This now looks like it may not be necessary, however, and that has got to be good news for all. Of course, if they do decide they want McCain to reign over them, the people of America will have to accept that the average life expectancy for males in their country would suggest that the world would have to make do with Sarah Palin as its most powerful figure for a couple of years.
And on that bombshell, I'm off to eat Millionaire's Squares and see what calamities befall my beloved Arsenal this week. Bonne weekend.
Wait, I forgot to say that if you haven't checked out the Irish Sentinel yet, do so now. What's wrong with you people?
Sorry, that header had to go. I was going for 'child-like and simple' but ended up just 'simple child'. Which, I think you'll agree, is a very different thing. I'll make a sexy new one soon enough but for now I'll just go with stark and minimal. My gnomic little blog descriptions are back too, whch must come as a relief to everyone.
OK, I'm still kinda sick here so don't have a lot to say. I've vowed to myself enough times not to just write posts for the sake of them, but actually thinking and composing shit takes time and effort. Not my strong points. I'm mentally composing something about my week at home doing fuck all as I get ravaged by tonsilitis but if i ever get that finished and onto something alittle more transferable than my cranium then it's going here, not here. Incidentally, I believe the deadline has been extended for a week or something, so if it sounds like the sort of thing that you could enter into, then why not?
I just saw on MTV a few minutes ago that Dido has a new album coming out. I, for one, am salivating at the prospect of this. There's new tracks on that link and everything! Apparently, she's been "experimenting". Mmmmm.
Right, this Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand thing. Seriously, what the fuck? It's laughable that the whole thing only really blew up a couple of weeks after the calls were broadcast, once the the shitesheets got hold of it. It must have taken some superb investigative journalism to have dug up a story about a broadcast on national British radio. Strikes me that Russell Brand was only doing the kind of thing that he's always done. Wossy should probably have known better but just wanted to seem cool in front of his friend Wussell. I had a friend called Wussell once. He stole two of my Top Twumps so I punched him in the ovawies. Twue story.
Point is, two jobs lost and one hefty and expensive suspension seem massively excessive to me.
Yes, they've made their point that there's a line that shouldn't be crossed but still no-one really knows where that line is. All anyone's learnt is that when rival stations take a story and inflate it to saturation point and stir up a load of uptight morons to complain about a show they would never have considered listening to, then heads do roll. I find it a sad precedent for broadcasting and freedom of speech in general.
As for Manuel's grand-daughter, expect to see that little slapper using this to get herself on the cover of Nuts and Zoo magazines within weeks. "Exposed like never before!!!", no doubt. And accompanied by a heartfelt interview about what a toll the whole affair has taken on her dignity. Which excites me almost as much as the new Dido album.
Oh yeah, the US election. I think it was around the time of Dubya's re-election in 2004 that I vowed to myself never to visit the USA until it proved again, in some way, that it contained a significant base of intelligent life. Naturally, that strong and principled stance would've been abandoned in a milisecond if something like really cheap flights or a terrorist plot to blow up the Budweiser factory had materialised. This now looks like it may not be necessary, however, and that has got to be good news for all. Of course, if they do decide they want McCain to reign over them, the people of America will have to accept that the average life expectancy for males in their country would suggest that the world would have to make do with Sarah Palin as its most powerful figure for a couple of years.
And on that bombshell, I'm off to eat Millionaire's Squares and see what calamities befall my beloved Arsenal this week. Bonne weekend.
Wait, I forgot to say that if you haven't checked out the Irish Sentinel yet, do so now. What's wrong with you people?
Sunday, October 12, 2008
3
Fibreglass Links/Sunday soliloquy
Christ, my blog looks like a child has vomited on it. That's where Saturday idling brought me and i have yet to have the inclination to clean it up.
Anyway, it appears to have been a week of marriage talk. First Darren was on about it, while Grannymar soon responded in her own very elegant way. Then i discovered that the Anti-Room folks were on the topic too. Of course, I did it way before either of them (and by checking up on it I've just seen two comments I had never read before. This is how on top of things I am. Sorry John and Morgor). And finally, at a par-tay on Friday Ms. Invisible Toast announced her engagement. It's an unusual situation but she's an unusual lady, and I know that all her friends wish her every happiness.
Sinful Origami Paper is the best new blog i've read in long time. I'm not linking to any one particular post because there's only a few so far and they're all very much worth reading.
Little Miss talks about inspiration. This is not a particularly new post but it is worth reading.
My dear cousin tampers with the classics, with promising results. Let her know what you think.
Fans attending England's match against Kazakhstan yesterday were forbidden to wear the 'mankini', striking a devastating blow against humour. England ended up winning 5-1, which was probably far more offensive to the Kazakhs than a few lads wearing neon dental floss over their rectums.
Oh, and after my whining post about my birthday, the card arrived from the chiropractor after all. Bastards.
Anyway, it appears to have been a week of marriage talk. First Darren was on about it, while Grannymar soon responded in her own very elegant way. Then i discovered that the Anti-Room folks were on the topic too. Of course, I did it way before either of them (and by checking up on it I've just seen two comments I had never read before. This is how on top of things I am. Sorry John and Morgor). And finally, at a par-tay on Friday Ms. Invisible Toast announced her engagement. It's an unusual situation but she's an unusual lady, and I know that all her friends wish her every happiness.
Sinful Origami Paper is the best new blog i've read in long time. I'm not linking to any one particular post because there's only a few so far and they're all very much worth reading.
Little Miss talks about inspiration. This is not a particularly new post but it is worth reading.
My dear cousin tampers with the classics, with promising results. Let her know what you think.
Fans attending England's match against Kazakhstan yesterday were forbidden to wear the 'mankini', striking a devastating blow against humour. England ended up winning 5-1, which was probably far more offensive to the Kazakhs than a few lads wearing neon dental floss over their rectums.
Oh, and after my whining post about my birthday, the card arrived from the chiropractor after all. Bastards.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
15
Snoop, Shaving, Bill Murray
Aided once again by the less-pervy-than-you-might-imagine Tony Fenton, last night threw an awful lot of bloggers together through the medium of hip-hop. I could link to them all but it takes fucking ages and shit and my throat really hurts today. The well-being of my throat is directly related to how much effort I put into blogging. Hence, feck all posts lately. Anyway, by the time I've finished writing this other people will probably have put their own takes on the evening up, with far more effect than I could manage. And they mostly had cameras. (There seems to have been a proliferation of shots of me looking pensive, which is interesting, given that my mind is rarely on anything loftier than Wham bars and why Chickatees taste so good when you eat then on a Saturday afternoon). Sadly, Snoop Dogg was truly muthafuckin' awful (muthafucka) so we went back to the pub and bonded over the more traditional medium of alcohol.
Fenton, Green Ink and Lottie all have lovely beards, and I was made to feel quite inferior for looking rather clean-cut. See, I have an excuse though: I had an interview on Monday for a grant that would cover my college fees for the year. I was inevitably interviewed by old people. Old people still tend to have very judgmental minds about hirsute faces, so I figured it best to reveal my baby-face, and smile a lot. I spent the entire interview convinced they could see right through me, that the blood on my collar would betray my face as one that is not accustomed to regular scrapings. But, word has reached me (officially confirmed by a call today at lunchtime) that I've been awarded the grant. You obviously can fool some of the people some of the time. So I'm calling it the 'five-grand shave'; at least until I can come up with something a little wittier.
Anyway, despite the general suckiness of Snoop a great night was had by all. I think.
Well, I had a great night and you're all rides, especially Darragh. The lovely Annie (the non-Welsh version has put her thoughts on the evening here. Given her continuous camera duels with the over-enthusiastic Fenton I expect a fairly epic post from everyone's favourite new blogger Green Of Eye, Little Miss will no doubt give us a slightly surreal take on the evening if she ever has the energy to be up late blogging again, and I expect the Bluebirds to be funny and to fully rip me to shreds for being an awful patronising bollocks for a while. Darren should be too busy masterminding our bloke-blogger (only) Bill Murray appreciation night to write anything.
No Broken Flowers allowed, apparently.
Fenton, Green Ink and Lottie all have lovely beards, and I was made to feel quite inferior for looking rather clean-cut. See, I have an excuse though: I had an interview on Monday for a grant that would cover my college fees for the year. I was inevitably interviewed by old people. Old people still tend to have very judgmental minds about hirsute faces, so I figured it best to reveal my baby-face, and smile a lot. I spent the entire interview convinced they could see right through me, that the blood on my collar would betray my face as one that is not accustomed to regular scrapings. But, word has reached me (officially confirmed by a call today at lunchtime) that I've been awarded the grant. You obviously can fool some of the people some of the time. So I'm calling it the 'five-grand shave'; at least until I can come up with something a little wittier.
Anyway, despite the general suckiness of Snoop a great night was had by all. I think.
Well, I had a great night and you're all rides, especially Darragh. The lovely Annie (the non-Welsh version has put her thoughts on the evening here. Given her continuous camera duels with the over-enthusiastic Fenton I expect a fairly epic post from everyone's favourite new blogger Green Of Eye, Little Miss will no doubt give us a slightly surreal take on the evening if she ever has the energy to be up late blogging again, and I expect the Bluebirds to be funny and to fully rip me to shreds for being an awful patronising bollocks for a while. Darren should be too busy masterminding our bloke-blogger (only) Bill Murray appreciation night to write anything.
No Broken Flowers allowed, apparently.
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