A month without alcohol

I got home at 6am this morning and I couldn’t get to sleep even then because the bastard sun was unapologetically showing up the inadequacie of my paper-thin-see-through curtains. I feel awful, but in a good way. Good because I know it was worth it. Because it was my last night out in Dublins fair city before going off and doing America(literally, hopefully…). Because there were hugs to be given, secret handshakes and backwards inverted super high fives. Because I had to sit at the back of the bus, hammered, with Growler banging out ‘Hill 16 is Dublin only’ one last time. Because we had to try and get the whole nightlink singing ‘Call me Al’ one last time. Because I had to stumble in my back door at dawn and break off lumps of cheese with my bare hands whilst sitting cross legged on the kitchen floor-one last time. Because I had to explain to my mam why I’m so eager to wash my clothes-one last time. Because for all of its chronic repetitiveness and bullshit I might actually miss this shithole. Because, even if I will miss it, I have to get out of here as every extra day pushes me closer to complete insanity(I passed the brink a while back). Because there are a thousand other reasons for whatever point I was trying to make.

Basically, I’ve tied up as many loose ends as I could. I’ve got nearly mostly all of my shit sorted and come Monday I’m gone for 3 full months and I cannot wait-I CANNOT WAIT-to get off this fucking Island. Thank you very much I’m off to enjoy the rest of my hangover.

Got the new album, its savage. Why am I not suprised? Because its da motherfuckin’loose!!
Republic of Loose Volume IV, I was gonna go through the album track by track talking about how deadly it is but I’m not bothered and I wouldn’t do it justice.
I won’t lie, the first track had me worried for just a second and the steady song veers dangerously close to soft R’n'B territory but when they start kicking they really kick. The sound has gotten much bigger too, this is about as close to perfect as an album can get without loosing its bite.
The Loose once again show themselves to be the only half decent band coming out of Dublin with a pair of balls to match some serious talent. Bring the Loose, bring the funk, make some love

Chiggidy check this out

I officially take back all  most of some of the bad things I’ve said about Wax(spybar). First off, it is no longer so full of pill heads that you can’t have a good time(see ‘Wax on Wax off’). I concede that I was hasty in my judgment and possibly a little harsh. I had a fantastic time last Wednesday and I wasn’t even drinking(much), I only downed those bottles of prazky because I can’t dance with two free hands(no, really) and the tequila? Ah sure I bought those as a birthday present, and it’d be rude to make her drink them alone…..the pints in Major Toms?  Well, someone had to buy a real drink or else they’d think we were sneaking in vodka and kick us out. What about-fuck off!!

Anyways, the music in that place is pretty consistant, constant and loud. I like big dirty bass drums, low end rumblings and high end madness. In other words, I like clubs to play ‘dance music’ instead of their usual ‘chart shite’ and in this sense you can’t really touch Wax. Its big and fast and loud, perfectly suited to when you’re drunk and horny and sweaty.

 Another thing I noticed was that its no longer full of really pretentious Indy kids with bad haircuts, eye-liner and a tragi-poetic facial expressions. No, they’ve replaced the chronic posers with something else-something much worse, more hideous than I could ever have imagined it to be. They’ve replaced the chronic posers with the people who don’t have the balls to pull it off. They’re ‘the other guys’. Now that Wax is no longer the underground Indy wankathon that it once was, now that its ’so mainstream and like totally different’, its filled up with the type of people who show up just as the parties over. I’m talking about the type of people who started listening to punk after it was dumped on their musical radar by Sid Vicous’death and began trying to enter a scene that was already over. I other words-weiners, spas, fools and tools.

Is that a bit harsh and unfair? Yes, completely ignorant and judgemental too, but its my blog so piss off I’m on a roll here.

2 incidents summed up the impression I got of the crowd

 Diamond and I were standing in the que moaning about having to go to Wax and what a shit night we were expecting when three lads joined the que behind us-they all had guitars.(yes, that is a full stop) 

I was doing my funky thing(oh and it is very funky) on the dancefloor when this girl walked up to me and asked if she could try on my ‘cool’ hat. Naturally, being a gentleman, I obliged. She then handed me a camera and asked me to take a photo.  Naturally, being a gentleman, I obliged. She then grabbed her boyfriend from nowhere and posed waiting for the flash.  Naturally, being a gentleman, I obliged. Then she took a photo of me and fucked off without another word. The whole incident was bizzarre-I acted like a gentleman!

Sorry, reliving that passage has just confused me. I’ve lost my train of thought and am now deeply confused. Good night

The first paragraph is for the benefit of those who might not be familiar with the bizzarre world of Gaelic football which places a team like London in the Western division despite the fact that London, by virtue of being in England, is clearly a little further to the East. Things get even weirder when you realise they have to go North for hurling. Either way its just to put their calibre of team in context. Also, even if this is in Italics, I can’t help but feel its become the new first paragraph.

London are shit at Gaelic-fact. Indeed, they’re so shit that certain people within the GAA and Media have called for their removal from the Connaght Championship(where they haven’t won a game since 1977). Last time out they lost by 16 points to Sligo(0-7 to 2-17). To reiterate my point: London are shite. There, context given.

The fact that London are so shit is one of the reasons why a Seán Moran interview with their manager Noel Dunning(Irish Times, May 27th 2008 ) is so funny. Everyone loves a trier, and this man is a serious trier. For optimism alone he deserves a medal.

Noel Dunning defends Londons participation in the Connaght Championship:

“Not once did I hear any manager complain about having to play us”-guess why

Noel Dunning on the death of the Celtic Tiger:

“Obviously if the tide of emigration turns with the way things are going (our) player base will get stronger”

In fairness to the man though, he’s yet to say anything untrue and they did come within a point of Roscommon four years ago which is a damn side better than anything New York have achieved….ever. He’s also right when he says teams like New York and London have to be kept on, give them time to grow indigenous talent and things could get really interesting. Fuck it, they want to play-let them play, let them fight, let them be underdogs and let them cause an upset!! Why? Because thats what sport is all about.

What was the highpoint of last years championship? It wasn’t Kerry lifting the All-Ireland title (again). No, it was a certain silver haired Sligo man running half the pitch and putting a goal past the ‘clear favourites’  Galway to lift the Connaght title after years of consistant underachievment. So let London throw their hat into the ring, worst case scenario is that they win and the GAA have to pay for their flights(which aint gonna happen, the GAA are tighter than a fat mans underwear at christmas)

Also, Dublin really are gonna do it this year. I know because there are no omens, which is an omen. Gerrup te fuck!

Until recently I had a massive maine of wavy red hair, it was savage. I would often stand on windy Mountain tops in my ‘warrior poet’ stance and impress tourists with my ‘deeply spiritual celtic soul’. But, alas, time waits for no man and it got too long for the Irish ’summer’ so I decided to get a trim before shipping off to Americaland. Knowing that I was a real hairdressers wet dream I decided to go to the barbers(not least because I find anything in excess of 14e a haircut personally offensive-and of course a deep rooted homophobic prejudice, fucking Greeks!*). Of course, having not been to a barbers in nearly two years and more used to just getting a classic ‘blade 4 on the side 5 on top’ anyway, I forgot that when you ask for a trim all they hear is ‘I want to look like a spa’.

And voila, I now look like a ginger cross between Michael Ballack and Patrick Swayze. To put that in perspective, I went from CúChullain to ‘Timmy who likes croquet’ in under half an hour. Its a bit like that yoke on top of Oscar Wildes forehead, a skinned and delapitated cat. Put more simply, my head has assumed the rotundety of a basketball with none of the bounce. If I had a step people would call it retro, I don’t, so they call it retarded.

Needless to say, the mother loves it. As far as she’s concerned its the best haircut I’ve had since it became my decision. She loves it so much, but its awful, and I’m getting it shaved and she’s not happy. As far as she’s concerned I’m only one step away from wearing a rugby jersey and beige khakis to college-a neutered son-a dream come true. Well, she thinks it’d be a dream come true. For a woman who tries so hard to dress my bro and I she has a remarkably low opinion of men who ‘look like they were dressed by their mothers’. The most consistant offender is the young guy who does the weather on RTE, she can’t let him go without at least on “god, doesn’t he look like a fierce aul mammies boy”.

Either way she’s acting all pissed off at me. Fuck it, its my head and I look like an eejit so I’m shaving it off. I look good with a shaved head, mean, but good.

P.S.

A mate did console me by pointing out, correctly, that I don’t look as bad as this guy

 http://www.stripersonline.com/surftalk/attachment.php?attachmentid=83716&d=1196819755

or this muppet

 http://www.joy2day.com/fashion-and-showbiz/men-corner/hair-styles/medium/images/Men’s%20medium%20hair%20style%20with%20long%20sidepart%20bangs,%20black.jpg

*see Fr. Teds factual documentary on racism, apparently the Greeks invented gayness**

**If you’ve come this far you need to be told I’m joking

I decided to watch the Champions League final with my brother  in our local(which is ironically nowhere near where we live but we know all the staff and customers so it may as well be local). I woke up on Thursday morning with only the fondest memories. I recalled a genuinely serine uneventful night, we had a few pints watched the match, hung out with the lonely Columbian and went home(bar one unfortunate incident involving the bro, an angry taxi driver and a 100e fine).

Needless to say, this recollection of events is completely inaccurate! What really happened was far from peaceful. Firstly, we squeezed in 2 pints a half for the game and extra time and (amazingly) penalties. Then, swept up in the furore of a united win, we went to the bar-on a mission. Apparently we stood at the bar for about 15 minutes and had somewhere between 5 and 10 shots of tequila each. Then we started beating the shit into one another* before stumbling into the street and nearly getting hit by a bus. Concerned bar staff dragged us back in where we had some more to drink before falling asleep upstairs, me lying flat on my back with my mouth wide open and him face flat buried in a table(apparently, there are pictures). We were then rudely awakened and told to go home at about 2am-another classic family outing.

*as we’re both emotionally paralysed this is about an expressive a form of affection we can muster. It happens with shocking regularity but is always done with a smile(no really, it is)

I went in to the bank today to ask a simple question and take appropriate action on the response. The question was, how long will it take to process a credit card application if I apply today? An hour and a half later having filled out a form and been assured that it was all gravy(baby) I get a call saying that I need to go back in and present ID and a proof of my address because they can’t trust their own records despite my banking with them for 6+ fucking years!

I wouldn’t mind had I not had to wait half an hour as the sole member of the que because some aul lad was stood at the front talking about how his shoe laces were given to him by Michael Collins at the Battle of the fucking Boyne. He was in the Southern Division, just North of Donegal(or Bobbledop land as it was called back then)-senile muppet.

Then the aul biddy at the counter actually talked down to me, like a child. I’m 20 and I have fashionable stubble to prove it!! She actually said ‘now, you have to be very careful, this is a big responsibility’ eh….fuck off now, ya cunt! I wouldn’t mind as even a cursory glance over my credit history will tell you that I cannot be trusted with any sum of money in excess of a nightlink home after ‘the witching hour’ but because she was so busy talking down to me she couldn’t log into her computer and see for herself. In fact, she was on the phone to the banks technical support helpline for the whole time she was dealing with me. Choice phrases include: “right, so I type in my password” and “no, I’m on the computer”

Not only that but the second the Parish Priest walked in her knees went weak and I got completely ignored. Not to mention the few minutes after he left spent repeating “oh he’s great isn’t he”. Jesus knows someone needs to get laid.

For all the lack of respect I got as a (more often than not) overdraft interest paying customer, I mean, they make their money off the financial retardation of people like me. She should’ve been begging me to get a credit card or at the very least done her job right. I won’t be able to get down there until Friday which means my card will arrive after I leave for america.

Unfortuneately I can’t really switch banks because their rivals are still looking for a certain ‘Crua MacGrieran’ who has the same address and telephone number as me-I thought I was being so smart- but it just goes to show what happens when you sign people up in a pub and offer them free tickets to the Loose for doing so. And so the legacy of freshers week haunts me still, not half as bad as AAF though. He signed up with me at the same time in a similar state and ended up 600e in debt within 2 months-2 years later and he still hasn’t paid it off.

Banks are shit, I’m gonna reopen my post office account-where’s me confermation moneys?

My mate just sent me a link to this opening in America. Aparently you can get paid 5-8 grand over the course of the summer to canvas for the democrats, they’re actually advertising it as a summer job. I don’t really know that much about american politics but for 5-8 grand I’d canvas for the BNP!! Plus San Fran would be a pretty sympathetic city as far as the softies democrats are concerned making it impossibly hard to get sacked. And lets be honest here, I’d vote for black JFK(senator for deadly, Barack Obama) anyday in any constituency(even DL Rats). Also, the republicans seem to be evil-or at least naughty-so its good to be on the other team*.

On account of the fact that I’m bored shitless I might just send them a CV citing my employment history as a chugger, irish charm and occasional political commentry. Don’t think I’ll mention the site though-too many drug references.

In summary, YES WE CAN!!!

*though its a well known fact that nobody pays better than the devil and you can be certain that they have a similar gig goiing on

Try to guess what recent event in my life inspired this ditty

overcooked it again

I’ve gotten very serious of late

not delireous with hate or

condemned by some terrible fate but

reacting, wretching and regretting
whatever foul remedy to sensibility
I had drunkenly perscribed me.

.

Not being a doctor has left my head

like an anchored helicopter:

under unecessary strain, visibly struggling

And my body internal like a volcano come external:

strange rumblings, foul smell and a fall in the immediate local population

I’m not passing judgment but papa Rua is reading the instruction manual for the fridge, I think a nervous breakdown is iminent.