AAF and I were playing football all day long in Yerba Buena Gardens* and needless to say we met a few characters. Among them was the vagabond poet/crazy homeless person/vietnam vet; James E. Harper. Now, James assured us that he was not begging and that he was in fact an artist who had fallen on hard times. I saw that he was a veteren and understood that America is one of those countries that offers little or no protection to people on the breadline so his story seemed plausible enough. I also knew that I had told him my name between 4 and 5 times in the five minutes we were talking to him and he still didn’t know it. Long story short, I bought his book of poems for $5, knowing full well that it was probably God awful. I also promised to look up his website, I’ve tried a few times but to no avail so if anyone out there knows anything it’d be a help.

I don’t read poetry, I don’t really like it that much, in fact, I think its becoming increasingly redundant. This may sound hypocritical from someone who has a ‘poetic injustices’ section(cough, shameless plug, shameless plug) and I fully appreciate that it may seem that way. But the truth is that, I’m not trying to make a living out of it, I don’t care if nobody reads my stuff, its more for me to write than to be read-I know that most people couldn’t give a flying fuck, and they’re probably right. All modern poetry is backed by music; bass loops and studio photography. Its not trendy to just think, you have to dance too. Anyway, thats neither here nor there. That paragraph should’ve been a single sentence: I don’t read much poetry.

As I don’t read poetry I wasn’t expecting to be blown away by James, and I wasn’t, its mostly shit-really terrible in some parts-but I kinda like it. He tends to drop and pick up rhymes almost at random, some of his ideas are really childish and none of it has been written after 1969! A lot of it is repetitive and stodgy, messy one liners and stuff that makes no sense. Whether by purpose or accident, its a perfect reflection of the life he lived-he stopped moving forward between ‘68 and ‘69. Came back from the war, got married and got homeless.

Shit isn’t it?

*a block south of market and a block east of Westfield

someone typed the following into a search engine and ended up here:

“kinga stuffs a wine bottle up her cunt”

Congrats to whatever uniquely perverted individual decided that this is something they want to see on a Wednesday evening, with a glass of wine and a box of kleenex. Not satisfied with the benefit of the doubt, that maybe you looked up a fat chav who completely misinterpreted the dual concepts of ‘national tv’ and (cough) ‘red wine’ by mistake, you decided to confirm our suspicions by looking it up twice! You sir, and its always a sir, make us all look bad.

I really wish I had more of a right to moral highground for which to clobber this mother into the ground, pity.

The garbage disposal has been acting up for the last few days. Normally I can fix most mechanical things, or at least get them up to a level where they can stagger long enough to do whatever job needs doing but this thing scared me. Having only been introduced to the concept of a ‘bin in the sink with massive spinning blades’ a month and a half ago I really did’t know how it works. I was also reluctant to really get my hands in there due to the aforementioned ‘massive spinning blades’ and rather ominous looking “1/3 horsepower” sticker on the front.

But then the Coy stuck her hand into it to pull out a spoon and I suddenly felt like I didn’t have a choice anymore*. On my hands and knees I did go and turned the blades manually(with an alan key, not my hands, I’m not a complete moron) until all the gick was cleared out(we found a full chicken breast in there), then I scratched my head, turned them some more and wondered why it still wasn’t working. Some blind fondling of its underside revealed a magical ‘reset’ button and everything was perfect again. I jumped for joy, the Coy cried in happiness and we danced-We danced in a fit of fantastical folly until all the world was disastrous meloncholly- I had realised how utterly dependent we’d become on this piece of genuinely unneccessary technology, and its deppressing.

Still, I’m glad the feckin thing is working again. Those dishes were piling up and someone had to do something about it…..

*although she does have enough kitchen related scars to make me not trust her on anything regarding safety.

Deirtear gur comh luadh is a dúnann doras amháin osclaíonn ceann eile agus ceapaim, sa chás seo, gurb í sin an fhíorainne. Anois, chaill mé amach ar an gcailín gan ainm-tá sise imithe is críochnaithe-ach nílaim ró-buartha faoi. A) táim ró-náirithe le labhairt léi ar aon nós B) bhí sí beagáinín leadránach nuair a labhair mé léi cheanna C) tá an seans imithe, mar sin is cuma faoina dhá pointe eile. ACH! Ach ach ach…i gcónaí osclaíonn doras eile suas agus tú ag iarraidh deireadh a chuir le gorta grá* den saghas a bhfuilim ag fullaingt faoi láithir.

Ar an gcéad dul síos, táim ag ceapadh go mbeidh cailín chara agam comh luadh is a fillaim thar nais chuig Baile Áithe Chliath. Fuair mé r-phost an deas an lá cheanna agus ceapaim go bhfuil na comharthaí luadh go maith. An príomhteachtaireacht sa téacs: “ná tusa dén dearmaid ormsa”. An t-aon rud a bhfuil orm a dhénamh ná gan praiseach a dhénamh den rud ar fad…….éasca le rá, tá a fhios is agam-i gcónaí dénaim praiseach milteanach de rudaí mar seo!

Bhueil, níl an méaid sin le réatiú ar feadh taimilín. Rinne mé dearmaid ghlan ach tá triúr cailín ag teacht amach le fanacht linn i gceann cúpla lá, ceann acu a bhfuileas i gcónaí, ar a laghad, leath-isteach le. Muna oibríonn sé amach léi bainfaigh mé greim as ceann dena chairde! ha ha…….ha….nó dáríre, sin an phleann…tá a fhios agam…..derifaigh mé chúpla Ar nAithir roimh a rachaidh mé a chodladh.

PS: Tá sé seo as gaeilge mar léigheann daoine i mo theach é agus d’fhéadtheach leo ’skuppers me plans’

*nó gnéas má tá tú ag iarraidh a bheith siniciúl

As of next week I shall be making gourmet sandwiches with my feet on a tightrope upside down above a pit of lions, I know, I thought they were only joking too!

The new Batman film is a big, heaving, rocket-powered-monster-truck-running-on-pure-awesome BEAST of a film! Go see it, just, go, simple, go, don’t waste time reading the rest of this post until after you’ve seen it, now, of ye go……….

……….fuckin’savage wasn’t it?

Just some of the noises you could hear coming from the 8 people crammed in close in our living room last night. Obviously, we were playing Mortal Kombat!

I hadn’t played Mortal Kombat since I was pre-pubescent and have only the fondest memories of the ridiculous amount of wanton over the top violence that the game encourages(it even encourages excessive use of exageratory adjectives!*). No really, youtube ‘Mortal Kombat Fatalities’-thats my childhood.

You learn a lot about people playing Mortal Kombat. For a start, while us lads can tell you how to steal your oponents soul, freeze him, ride him like a surfboard or(my own personal favourite) perform a ‘Teleknetic Toss’-its the girlies who have the Killer Instinct. Little sister keypad mashing is so effective that I’m now scared to play Banksy2, or even look her in the eye when the playstation is on-bitch is CrAzY! The Coy jumps about, yelps and is exhausted by the end of every game-nobody wants to beat her for fear that she’ll continue the fight back into the real world!

For all our suave special moves and piss-take commentry, I’ve never been so firmly put in my place. AAF and I were playing this morning, the Coy came over, we both ‘got bored and wanted to do something else’ within 30 seconds-its really embarrassing.

*that’d be ’describing words’

Jaysus…..that was some beating! 4 Leinster titles in 4 years-c’mon Dublin!!

…your playing rugby with a 6 pound tube of mince you bought in safeway for under $10.

My mate from home sent me a text saying ‘Yo, whats up?’…..I wrote back: “yer ma’s dick!”

I am sooo cool