The worst day of my life

I didn't scream. I was in too much pain to expend my energy on a scream. My face was contorted with pain and confusion. I listened out for a snap, the lottery was out on which limb would go first; both my legs and my arms were being bent into angles that would make a contortionist wince. And the pain. It was unbearable. I fought against it as best I could but it was an odd battle; I was completely alone.

Maybe fifteen years have passed since that night. There have actually been a few contenders in the meantime but its still right up there as the worst night of my life. I was ill. It'd been a year of sick certs and all kinds of medication. But those doctors are players of games. They're not really sure what they're doing and the game is pretending they do. I was a guinea pig in jeans. Every dose of meds had a side effect. Some were almost worse than the malady they purported to remedy. One cursed you with blurred vision, stripping you of books and TV, so leaving you with nothing but thoughts, a cruel joke really.

Another pill was supposed to release you from this blurry world but in exchange for this gift you must carry some more baggage; restlessness. I say restlessness, like I say stingy when referring to a bottle of vinegar poured over a gaping gash. It was a sickening restlesness. When you sat you had to stand and when you stood you had to walk and when you walked you wanted to sit again and when you sat again you'd just rock back and forth. You've seen it haven't you? That crazy armchair dance.

They placed another domino on the table, this time an injection, to try and counteract the restlessness. But this one had a side-effect too. They don't tell you that though. They don't want to scare you. As it only happens to rare individuals. I was such a winner. The dominoes were set in motion. I was home alone when the last one fell. I was in the attic which I'd converted to a music making den. My hand was the first to go, it started to bend forward at the wrist and I couldn't bend it back, then my whole arm twisted backward. My other arm had gone around my back and was doing its best to break itself. All my limbs started twisting and contorting. The battle began. I had to use all my strenght to stop my limbs from breaking themselves. It all happened so quickly. I'd collapsed onto the bed in a fight with myself.

After the initial shock, I dragged myself off the bed and somehow got down two flights of stairs, which isn't easy when you're busy trying to break all the bones you use to navigate a stairwell. I'd got to the phone and tried to hold the receiver in the nook of my elbow while dialing 999. I tried to ask for an ambulance but instead roared with pain. The receiver bounced onto the ground then dangled in the air as I collapsed beneath it. I could hear a lady on the other end. She could hear me too but eventually tired of the shouting and hung up.

After maybe ten minutes it began to let up. And then in no time at all the demon left me as quickly as it entered. My oldest (now very estranged) brother (that's another story), who for some reason was back living at home, came in the front door. I told him what had happened. The gears in his head ground to a halt. DOES NOT COMPUTE said eyes and he laughed as if I'd just told him a funny story.

I went back up to the batcave in the attic and tried to gather myself. Then my hand started twisting again. It was almost like it shaped itself into a snake-head, looked at me and said WE'RE BAA-ACK. Knowing what was in the post I didn't waste a second. I shouted IT'S STARTING AGAIN through the square hole in the floor. He ran up the stairs and was faced with the shocking image of Christie Brown's long lost brother writhing around the floor - then he followed instructions that I forced through gritted teeth.

Ten minutes later, the family doctor arrived, and I was never happier to see a large syringe come out of a bag. He performed his exorcism and the release was sweet. The next day, I changed medication again. A month later I decided to stop medication forever. Another month later, I eased myself back into the working world and society at large by assembling mobile phones at a local factory. Since the day I fought myself it's been onwards and upwards. Much better than I could have imagined back then. But when it comes to medication I'm still a skeptical old fucker. Remember kids, always read the label!

Do you like to chat?

I have a confession. I'm an avid internet user but I despise chat. Am I alone? I dropped into Facebook a while ago and a chat window popped up. "WASSUP Dude?!" said a guy I used to work with but don't know from Adam. "Gaaaaah!!" said I, in my head like. I wish Faceache had given me some warning so I could have turned off the chat option straight away. Which I did. Right after saying WASSUP!? or something.

Admittedly like many I was briefly addicted to mIRC 12 or so years ago, and ran up some scary dial-up bills. But the insane thrill of chatting to someone from a different country quickly turned into an inane trill. When the giddiness wore off, all that was left was mundane chatter and people slapping each other with trouts, which was then the equivalent of being bitten by a vampire, except back then then you actually typed *Braines slaps VirtualGurl72 with a trout*. (Note: To be properly affiliated with the old school, you have to mention that you used to have to type lots of stuff to produce an action achieved by just clicking a mouse in this modern age). The attraction of slapping someone with a trout made about as much sense then, as virtual vampires do now. I have to admit, the Top Chat Quotes of All Time mostly gleaned from mIRC is well worth a gander now and then for some geek humour.

When ICQ was all the rage, I gave it a whirl but hated it, and uninstalled it quicker than you can say "Oh, I SEEK YOU! I get it!". I briefly tried Instant Messenger some time after, thinking for some reason that it may be less annoying. It's not just that I'm above the inane chatter in my lofty towers of deep thought. It's those windows popping up all over the place when I'm trying to do something else of great importance. A disturbing attempt at doing a comedy sketch for example.

I'll do my best to avoid the usual sexual stereotyping in saying this - but I am actually pretty useless at multitasking - and even more so when I've no control over the amount of windows popping up all over the place. I really don't like lots of little windows. Not sure why. Maybe it was that brief stint in San Quentin. I also fret over chat etiquette much more than is necessary, which in itself is very distracting. "Can I close that window now?", "How long do I have to wait?" "Do I say goodbye first?". Nerve-shattering dilemmas I'm sure you'll all agree.

When Gmail chat came along, I tried again. My list of contacts who were using chat was small enough so all was well with the world. People chatted to me with purpose. When the purpose had been purported, the chat was ended. Neat. But then the chit chatters began to emerge."Yo John, what's the story?"... "Well, I was working but I'll be spending the next ten minutes wondering exactly how soon I can close this window." (Apologies if you actually understand what the word purported means. I only looked it up after I abused it.)

I suppose a part of this is the fact that I'm not that good at chit chat in real life. I love a good old chin wag - and have friends I'll happily listen to for hours. But bored hairdressers fill me with dread. And bumping into a co-worker I barely know on a long commute fills me with utter terror. An hour of small talk!!? I actually shivered just now. I also have a relative who, without fail, starts every conversation with "What's the story?". I'm never sure which story to tell. No - not good at the chit chat.

Myself and the missus have tried turning on chat now and then rather than sharing 40 emails to sort out some domesticalities, and profess our undying love of course. But we both get bombarded with chit chatters and run screaming, vowing never to turn chat on again, ever. It's a bit like vowing never to drink wine then beer (in that order) - but not a fraction of the fun.

And the jury's still out on Twitter. Ok it's not live chat but it can get a bit chatty from what I've seen. Although none of it is directly to me, so that's ok. It's an odd sort of chatter. Like having a pint and listening in on the next table. A happy medium in both senses of the phrase. Maybe. I'm still trying to get into the swing of it.

By the way, I'm not talking about YOU in all of this. No no no. You and I had meaningful conversations. It was all those other guys firing up too many windows with the chit chat.

Living the life

I was going to do a quick post about a couple of blogs I've been really enjoying lately and it kind of turned into something else. Though I still want to give a mention to Photoshop disasters. I've been reading it for a few months now and I still love to see that there's a new post in my reader. You wouldn't have thought there'd be enough material to warrant a photoshop disasters site, but as there is it's a great idea and the accompanying text makes me laugh every time too.

The other blog I wanted to mention is Darragh Doyle's This is What I do. l find it intriguing. He's like some kind of blogging superhero. You never know what is next escapade is going to be; Tracking down people in web videos to see if they really are horrendous, accosting comedians for an off the cuff interview, or just getting to know various people on the streets of Dublin.

Darragh's energy and passion for living life and writing about it keep reminding me of the [the.path]. Anyone remember [the.path]? You still out there Kev? [the.path] was a free Dublin zine, mostly handed out at clubs and record shops. There was a piece on the online version that struck a chord with me and I've often thought back to it. I know a girl who shed a tear while reading it. I've tried to find it over the years and today I finally succeeded. I found it on the good ole way back machine, in the 2001 archive for thumped.com. Have a look around. Here's the piece I was looking for. Deep breath... and go....

 

[I love...] lasagna - having sex first thing in the morning - watching the clouds phase in and out on a sunny day, making it cold and then warm again - getting the fightlink home and striking up a conversation with strangers - listening to wanky jazz on a sunday afternoon with a shitload of papers and supplements fired around the kitchen table - the singing of a glass as you run your fingers around the rim - the local green - destroying abandoned cars - walking up the railway lines on a saturday evening - eating coleslaw with my hands - the end of the acid - the way the bass kicks in and turns my spine to jelly at 1.30am - train journeys - the smiles on my friends faces - travelling around - crossing the liffey - sitting in abra for hours and cleaning my rings with the handwipes - walking under the westlink bridge in the middle of the night - sliding on ice streaks in runners with flat soles - reading - having sex first thing in the afternoon - walking down supposed dangerous laneways and streets - the smell off my fingers after chopping garlic - the sweet sound of escaping gas as the sixth dutch gold can is opened - dutch gold, god bless our brewing cousins in the netherlands - sleeping on the floor of a strangers house - not knowing exactly what day it is when i’m unemployed - being unemployed when the weather is beautiful - shaded lightbulbs - having a double bed duvet on a single bed - the way that pizza burns the roof of my mouth when it comes straight out of the oven - the scream of the baby behind me on the bus - getting nettle stings - climbing trees - the observation tower in smithfield - low grade graffiti on lamps, shop shutters and buses - getting crossbars off the phillips head screwdriver down gardiner street, and breaking the lights at summerhill and sean macdermott street - listening to filthy techno in a small flat on camden street at 9am on a saturday morning, drinking wine from the spar - knowing where different numbered dublin buses go to - kebabs - scoring with the girl standing next to me in the queue for the kebab - not knowing exactly where i am - walking for hours - the mosque in clonskeagh - playing football on the road with kids ten years younger than me - writing confusing graffiti - the terminus of any bus - the rustle of the leaves at night - writing letters to people i havent seen in years - swimming my chips in vinegar - bumping into people - paved streets - the way traffic lights switch colour and don’t have any effect when the streets are closed to cars and crowded with people - the way fireworks make me laugh uncontrollably and make my eyes water - the M50 - the airport - early houses - talking with barflies in early houses - trying to find out the literal translation of peoples names in irish - friendly dogs - getting photographs back from the chemist, six months after you first took them - sneaking into stephens green at night - cycling along shouting abuse at people queuing for arsehole pubs - the way wilma makes toasted cheese sandwiches - the way i get involuntary twitches and tingles at the base of my back when a girl whispers anything in my ear - being in a car going over a speed ramp at 40mph - the view from the smithfield tower - the horse market - the roundabout in ballymun - finding out the history of street names - the roundabout at the M50/navan road junction - letting a watermelon drop from a height and seeing it burst - putting a tomato in the microwave - handing out freesheets outside tacky chart nightclubs - doing the rounds of record shops on a saturday afternoon - the shatter of a back windscreen - climbing into boarded up houses - staying in bed all day to have sex - losing count of how many orgasms she’s had - turning down the heat at the end of a shower to freezing cold - the noise of two snooker balls clacking off each other - exchanging glances with people opposite you on the train - that second glance from someone you liked passing by you on grafton street - christchurch bells on new years eve - slopes - curves - ellipses - ovals - sine wave graphs - stone buildings - talking shit with builders - taking sick days off work, and getting paid for them - pirate radio stations - envelope seals that taste nice - dimmer switches - the hiss and crack from the stylus as it connects with the vinyl - old childhood toys - candles lit during electricity blackouts - cracked mirrors - hot presses filled with warm towels - getting locked with my dad - getting locked with my grandad - the noise a computer gives off when a mobile phone signal comes near it - tia maria mixed with milk and ice - eating a lemon - bonfires - the ordinance survey of ireland map book of dublin - cushions strewn around the floor - having pillow fights, and then having sex afterwards - playing chess for extended periods of time - plush heavy sofas - oranges - mandarins - strawberries - peaches - pears - emmental cheese - heavy stolen cutlery - sandwich toasters encrusted with crap after post-usage non-cleaning - beef burgundy - going to bed naked - going to bed naked, after a shower, with clean sheets on the bed - sleeping for 16 hours - eating dry pasta very slowly - the almost inaudible pop from the speakers as the amp is turned on - the way wheels appear like they are going backwards when a car is travelling fast - the doppler effect - the drone of a lawnmower - the smack of wood on willow - streetlights in stoneybatter - buzzing off kids on shoplifting sprees on a sunday afternoon - sitting on the back seat on the upstairs deck of the bus - the smell of skin after lying in the sunshine - freshly cut grass - snowfights - sitting on an old piece of carpet on the local green at 5am watching the sun come up, fucked off my head - fireflies - red hot poker plants in bloom - sitting around the botanical gardens in glasnevin with cold cans of dutch gold bought from the nearby off-license - having mess fights with your friends - playing chasing - making up new games to play with a football - making huts next to the canal - sitting in the IFSC circle of seats at 3am after the funnel - gossiping with mothers on the road about the state of the world - the smell of petrol - ringing wilma at night - leaving obscure garbled messages for shanahap from the toilet - the repetitive beat of the street crossing beeper - crossing the road when you shouldn’t - sitting outside porno shops and laughing at the people coming out - going into porno shops - doing ‘genies’ with matchboxes - the way my ankles click when i walk - weekend country excursions - climbing hills - walking through woods next to a river at midnight - fondling - caressing - tasting - touching - arousing - tickling - sucking - kissing - waking up and doing it all again - eating in bed - eating out in bed - eating out - flaking out - freaking out - making out - making up - cracking up - cracking eggshells - cracks in a glass pane - stepping to avoid the cracks in the pavement - shaving peoples heads - the digitised tweak of a voice on a bad 087 line - falling asleep on benches - arm wrestling - knacker drinking in o’connell street - buzzing off gardai while walking around on a sunday morning while looking for an open pub - making up fake histories to tourists - the whirr of an old line printer - digging out splinters - the woman who dances in the middle of o’connell street (where have you gone?) - religious nutcakes with megaphones - klaxon horns at raves - dreadlocks - happy cycling - puking after bad food - running around the black church backwards three times - rummaging in skips - jumping off walls onto mattresses - trampolines - tom tay - edenmore aok - the sticky floor of the savoy cinema - trams and the noises they make - hearing through the wall the adolescents next door having onset-puberty-driven rows with their parents - playing hide and seek - waking up in the sun with drool on your arm - doyles shop in blanchardstown (rest in peace) - free reading in easons - using the records and decks in hmv to hone my ‘scratching’ skills - calling for people at 4am - the blessington street basin - the lingering imprint of a kiss on my cheek - giving people presents for no reason - having curry for breakfast - silver birches - maple syrup straight from the trees - cycling on kids bikes - sheets of lightning flaring up the night sky - sitting on balconies of flat blocks and watching the people go by - the sheer size of dunsink dump - handbrake turns - the ring of car alarms everywhere after a flash hail storm - the way you can almost feel the sky go heavy before it rains - playing football ankle deep in mud - doing amateur diy work around the house - jumping into an outdoor swimming pool on a hot day - taking polaroids of each other - swapping tapes - getting tax back - watching an old factory get demolished with explosives - giving it loads - standing next to the speaker stack all night and then waking up the next day with a high pitched ringing tone in your ears - bullshitting to taxi drivers about what you do for a living - making up incidents you saw on buses before to the bus driver - pretending to talk in your sleep on the bus, making obscene sexual remarks - painting the kerbs weird colours - vapour trails of perfume - the flow of a warm breeze in my hair - seeing old neighbours around and talking shit with them - sending birthday cards - making websites - going to trad nights - drinking in shithole pubs - imagining the world in different colours - learning a new language - talking in slang - basements - attics - conservatories - hearing sandra’s voice again on the phone - drunken tekken marathons with my friends - hanging about in arcades all day.

Your number's up mate

I remember exactly where I was on 9/11; waiting to get an 84 to D2 to pick up my P45. I was 30 years old wearing 9 carat gold, looking forward to playing some 4 to the floor on my 1210s 24/7. There was a guy in the seat in front of me with his walkman set to 1 louder. 808 State's remix of UB40's 1 in 10 blasted back towards me. I moved to the back of the bus and tried to read my book, Catch 22. But I couldn't concentrate. I had to do a number 2. I looked out the window but couldn't see much. The window was clean, but my eyes were beginning to fail me. I'd been to the optician last week but his eye machine was 1/2 broken; he told me I had a 50/50 chance of 20/20 vision. I remember that day well, the optician was on level 42 but the elevator was out of service and there were 39 steps on every floor! I had to run all the way as my holiday started that day. I was going on a cruise to sail the 7 seas for 40 days and 40 nights, and then back again. Yep, around the world in 80 days.

The driver was doing 90 down the N11 in a 60 zone. I thought I could feel the bus slipping a bit, it was an icy day. Just as I was trying to convince myself that he knew what he was doing, the bus went into a big skid and did a 360, knocking some guy on a honda 50 a whole 9 yards into a girl on a 3 wheeler. 10 white knuckles gripped the seat in front of me. I no longer needed to do a number 2. I ran down the stairs. The driver was on his walkie talkie "One two. One two. This is car 54. We got a 10-42. And I'm injured. They got me bad. I repeat we've got a 10-42........ 10-20 Good buddy Roger that......... hey I heard that Jimmy you 2 faced prick, 2 fast 2 furious me arse... could have happened to anyone... ".

The downstairs of the bus was full of unhappy campers, 1/2 of them thrown from their seats and sprawled on the floor. There were 12 Angry men, 2 fat ladies, 3 men and a baby. All screaming at the driver, who was the image of Desmond Tutu. He got out of his box and held his palms up towards the passengers trying to calm them. "Please forgive me" he said "and lest we not forget Luke 22:14, Set your spirit free, it's the only way to be. I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha". A rivulet of blood appeared on his forehead, trickled quickly down his face and he collapsed. "He's gone to 7th heaven" muttered one of the ladies. "On Cloud 9 if you ask me" said one of the men. I got my mobile out and rang 999, heard a satanic voice and realised I had my phone up-side-down. I rang again and got put on hold. I couldn't believe it. I had to listen to Beethoven's 9th symphony on an emergency line. And some 90210 ritch bitch was yelling into her mobile "I SAID I WAS, LIKE, IN A CRASH!". I told her to shut up and knelt beside the driver to feel his pulse, the fat lady was right. I closed his eyes and muttered under my breath, "Your number's up mate, your number's up".

Cassette changer

Does anything strike you as odd about selling a toy like this in 2008?

I went for a walk at lunch and ended up rooting through the ice cream fridge in the local garage, fine day that's in it. The rack of toys over the fridge caught my eye. This Cassette changer is a tape that transforms into a dinosaur. "4 to collect!". Was only two quid so I bought it just to see the expression on the little lad's face.

I've got a surprise
Oh what is it!? What is it!?
Here
Eh what is it? what is it?
Well it starts off as a cassette...
A what?
A tape
A what?
Look over there!
Hey look, a T-Rex!
Ooooh A T-rex! Where's the cat set gone?

Next week I'm getting the floppy disk that turns into pterodactyl.

Pottering through butterflies

I found myself with a day off midweek that I didn't really need in the end, but I took it anyway. It just seemed too complicated to unbook it! So I got to potter around town. I can never decide what to do with precious moments like that (if you don't have children, you won't be able to relish just how precious they are - those moments, not the rug rats).

I remembered an announcement that the Dublin Improv Movement were looking for secret agents to turn up with some travel money and that sounded like a great adventure. But when I checked it was Thursday morning (anyone know what happened there?). Very dissapointed I resumed my pottering. Walking along Grafton street, I tried to figure out why people gave money to a woman who did nothing but paint herself gold. But at least the Spanish Goatboy with the wooden mouth wasn't around, that thing gives me the creep. I don't know if it's rooted in some Spanish folklore or what - but it should never have been allowed off the Ramblas. Please don't feed it silver. He might just go away forever.

The sun was shining, so a I bought a book and went to Stephen's Green. That's what has me halfway through a gazullion different books and to the end of none. A woman and her mother sat on the bench beside me to feed a Twix to the pigeons. One of them surprised me by perching on my shoe! I asked her to get off...and stop creating diabetic monster-pigeons.

I had a hankering to see some Art but Kilmainham was too far without car. I pottered around the Original Print gallery and then onto the Temple Bar Gallery. Niamh O'Malley's a situation, a situation, and a story was on show. I tripped over the first A situation, didn't know what to make of the Second but liked A Story. The first piece (A situation) doesn't work in the sunlight, it's a clouded image with coloured slides projected onto it. I'm sure it was great on the opening night but they need to black out the windows or move it into one of the back rooms. A story is a simple but elegantly executed allegory of butterflies and time.

From one butterfly to another, I went to see The diving bell and the Butterfly (Butterflies have to be the most common metaphors in art). It's a wonderful film, but unlike some reviews would have you believe, I did not leap from the IFI imbibed with the zest for life. I just fancied some soup. (Cafe Café Irie spoiled the run of things by not having any butterfly soup but their replacement was still yum). I found the camerawork in The Diving Bell as fascinating as the story though. They seemed to use the same kind of tilt-shift method that can be used to make fake-model photos. Like the ones I did here. In the The Diving Bell, the effect you get is a realisticly claustrophobic first-person view.

I accidentally typed castrophobic there at first. I think Freud is trying to tell me something. The family jewels will be well-guarded this weekend.

You scumbag, you maggot!

Time is rife for something that's been rambling around my head for a very long time. I don't really do topical posts - but I do like a good rant and this one happens to be topical. So here it is; I've had a problem with the word scumbag for quite a while. To me a scumbag is the lowest of the low, scum of the earth, like someone who'd stab someone in the head with a screwdriver! But in the last few years people all around me have been using scumbag for anyone with a thick Dublin accent or who dresses in a certain way.

Ever since I stopped working in factories, got myself a (very late) third level education and a decent job I've felt like some kind of spy. I'm constantly shocked by people around me referring to people they know nothing about as scumbags or knackers. "Did they they really just say that in front of me!? they must think I'm one of them! I'm not! I've been in groups of people, smugly referring to some group of scumbags and I'm there thinking "I know lots of the people you're talking about and they're more honest, clever, and witty than you'll ever be".

Quite often people who I really wouldn't expect it from really surprise me with the stuff they come out with. "I wouldn't go near that shop/pub/park/beach. Full of scumbags!" You mean people who weren't as privileged to get as good an education as you? You snobby fuck?! I once heard a friend of a friend of a friend telling some story in a pub which was interjected with "Who's that knacker comedian again? Brendan O'Carroll! Yeah that's him...." No one batted an eye lid. I winced.

And let's be clear here. I do despise actual scum. I've absolutely no time for hard men, or people smoking on buses, or bullying, or vandalism, or violence, or racism or anything like that. But I've also little time for people who judge people they know nothing about other than their accent or clothes.

And another thing - I've often found when I'm in trouble and relying on the kindness of strangers, these are the folk that couldn't be more helpful. Like the time I broke down at traffic lights. While several respectable members of society sat there beeping at me, it was a gang of lads in tracksuits that suggested pushing me across the road out of the way, and then did so.

There. Done. Said. Chest cleared. Ignore at will. Normal service resumed. I guess this post will be just as popular as that time I mentioned being thouroughly bored by the constant anti-englishness over here. But that was a public forum, so I suppose I was being a bit preachy. At least this is my own soapbox, which I'll now get down from.

Digital Media Awards

Congratulations to The Missus for winning 'best in blogging' at the Digital Media Awards. We almost didn't even go. Couldn't afford neither tux nor tickets. But we were afforded free tickets at the last minute, and found a tux I could borrow. Then to her shock and horror she actually won the award. The look on her face was priceless.

But all that isn't the point of this post. And none of the above is going to stop me from saying what I've been meaning to say since I heard of these awards; their website is a disgrace. Most of this is from memory.

• Flash is very badly and unnecessarily used in places
• The overall UI is terrible
• The navigation is all over the place and inconsistent
• They commit several web design mortal sins, resizing images in the code (thus making them pixelated) and underlining text that isn't a link.

The reason all that is from memory, is that ever since the awards the site has been inaccessible. A flash movie loads and stays at 8% or doesn't load at all. Sure there are plenty of bad web sites out there, but someone calling themselves the Digital Media Awards really should have got professionals to build their site.

Views from above

How come you hear people going on about everyday views, like the view of Killiney bay from the dart, yet no one ever talks about the absolutely amazing views you often see from a plane. I sometimes think everyone tries to be too grown up. You hear kids on planes going "Wow - look at all the clouds!" while the all-so-grown-up folk snort and tut at their unsophisticated excitement. Planks.

I'm currently botched up in a hotel room for one week only, in the middle of not very much in Sunnyvale California. The eagerly awaited peace and quiet isn't all it was cracked up to be. Aaaaaanywaaaaay... on the flight over, passing above Greenland, I saw the most breathtaking views I've ever seen. Miles and miles and miles of snow covered mountains, seas full of icebergs, and lands covered in pure undriven snow, for as far as you could see. I spent ages gazing out the window trying to spot a polar bear. Which was ridicilous. As it would have been the size of a teeny weeny freckle from that height. A teeny weeny white freckle on white snow. Didn't stop me from looking. Especially when the alternative was a movie as dull as 'Shoot Em up'.

I've had a look for other people's photos and here's what I found. Needless to say a photo of an amazing view captures about as much as a movie of a book. But if you look at them very closely, you might just see a polar bear standing on a block of ice eating a mint.

Dissection of a favourite web video

I got sent this clip years ago, pre-youtube. I downloaded it and watched it again and again. There's something strangely addictive about it. I think its got less to do with the surprise of a buttoned-up choir boy being able to dance like that, and more to do with the power of that infectious bassline. The whole clip reminds me of a really good house night and those perfect moments where no one can resist the urge to smile and wiggle their ass to some ass-shaking bass.

Now that it's doing the rounds on youtube, I noticed in the comments that someone has ID'd the track. I've been humming that for years wondering what it was. Go Web 2.0! It's Hollywood Swinging by Kool & the Gang

Like most follow-ups to accidental internet fame, Jon Arons (aka "The Trombone Guy") fails miserably in his attemempts here to include any of the elements from the Steve Harvey show. There's no crowd interaction, he *doesn't* look like a straight up card-carrying christian, there's no crowd interaction, and there's no kick ass track. Actually there's nothing but Jon Arons looking way too cool for cats.

---

Having said all that (and all that being a lot more than I intended to say!), Trombone guy isn't a patch on my favourite web video ever, Robotboy dance...

I've since watched LOADS of David Elsewhere Bernal videos. And I've got Elsewhere's Detours DVD. And there are some amazing clips on both but none of them give me the goosepimples that RobotBoy dance does, even after hundreds of viewings.

Next week, the man, the legend... Jesus, and just why he chose to appear on a dog's arse...

Teabagging

I'm very proud to discover that I'm top of the list on google.ie for the phrase teabagging.

Had a look around to see could I find anything amusing myself. The Wikipedia entry is tame enough but it's alightly amusing to see it recommended as relatively safe sex on teenwire.

And members of an american wrestling team were charged with a hazing (a rookie initiation) involving mass teabagging!

RANT: Services in Ireland

I'm so sick of the service you get in this country. Yesterday we were in the Blanchardstown Petshop Superstore looking for an aquarium. That's what junior wants from the Ho Ho Ho guy. We were waiting for someone to talk us through our options, standing there with our body language blasting out WE NEED HELP, but we just got ignored by all the teenage staff. The place is ran by teenagers! After a good few minutes I gave up and asked one of them if he could come over and answer some questions. No response, he just skulks over as if I'd just told him he had to stop playing with his friends and come in and do his homework. Here's the conversation...

Me: "So we're thinking of an aquarium about the size of this one but there's no price on it, how much is it?"

Spotty: "Well it depends if you want a cold water tank or a warm water tank."

Me: "What's the difference?"

Spotty: "The cold water tank is for cold water, the warm water tank is for warm water."

I swear that's exactly what he said. We both just stared at him, deciding whether to just walk out or maybe grab him by the ear and see if there was a superior nearby who's older than sixteen (there wasn't). But Spotty cracked before I did and explained that you could only put goldfish in cold water and tropical fish in warm water. We had to drag everything else out of him. It felt like we were asking him where he'd been all night, and what time do you call this!?

Who the duck runs this place? Why do they only have moody teenagers working there? Why is nearly every experience in a retail outlet in Ireland similar to this one? It's the same in the dreadful B&Q, Woodies* and Tescos. (And we all know what the likes of Eircom and NTL are like). What happened to treating customers like customers? Oh Christ, that's it. I'm officially old. I've just had a birthday that made me closer to 40 than 30 and a gear has shifted already. Seriously though, I'm really sick of this kind of service. The rare occasions where I've come across good service really stick out a mile these days:

• Aston formal wear.Ok the site is very dated but the service isn't. This is where I hired a suit when I got married and the guy who runs the place really knows how to treat a customer. Excellent service all round.
• Blacknight are definitely the most headache free and value for money web hosting company in Ireland but their customer care is really excellent too. Any problem or query I ever have is always dealt with instantly. I always get people who I do sites for to use blacknight. I have nothing else to do with the company honest!
• www.computerbits.ie . I ordered a firewire card from computerbits earlier this year, and there was no sign of it after a couple of weeks. Then a guy rang me to tell me it had been discontinued but he'd try other places. Then he kept kept me up to date by email and a couple of phone calls and eventually gave up on his supplier and offered me a better model for the same price. I paid €40 and the one I got was worth €85. Bargain!
• The people on the tills in Marks and Spencers deserve a nod just for acknowledging your presence, rather than craning around you to tell Tracey what Sharon did to Trevor last night.

So the moral of the story is, keep it up! It doesn't go unnoticed. As for the other guys, I reckon your days are numbered. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow but soon and for the rest of your life every single type of service will be rated online, so you better start sending your teenagers to how to treat a customer school.

*An exception to the case in Woodies is one really friendly helpful guy who funnily enough happens to be in a Rabodirect ad. The guy with the beard:

Update

I can't believe I forgot something that I definitely meant to include in this post. Someone who really deserves a big up is Allie who runs the Alpha school of driving. I had Allie for a few lessons and he goes through everything. For example he'll show you exactly how to reverse around a corner, step-by-step. And was over the moon when I passed, first time, thanks to him.

Compare this to the lesson I got from the Irish School of Motoring while Allie was on holiday. It was supposed to be a pre-test but she didn't go through anything under the bonnet, even though I asked if I needed to know this. After my dismal two attempts at reversing around a corner, said we better give up on that one. And she spent the first 10 minutes texting her friend, not paying any attention to my driving! Overall, she didn't go through half of the stuff that I needed to know. Luckily Allie gave me his own pre-test as soon as he got back from hols and I definitely wouldn't have passed without that lesson. Highly recommended. Ring Allie on: 0879860170.

Alive and kicking

Fi beat me to it but after a very long time trying to get to this point, we have a baby with a heart beat. I took this video with my phone, and the sending directly to youtube from phone thing worked for once. So I might chuck a load up now. Videos that is. We're delighted that it seems to have passed the usual abnormality tests, but a few seconds into the video you can see quite clearly that it's actually an alien baby.

Accident on O'Connell street

Bit shaken today. I was walking up O'Connell street this morning on the way to the LUAS, walking in the middle as always to avoid the crowds and the paper pushers. Just past the Spire I see this big truck coming up on the path. I was thinking what's he up to? he's going to hit that sign post if he doesn't slow down. Then when I saw he had no intention of slowing down, and was about ten feet away from me, I jumped out of the way. For a second I thought he has to stop, there's a sign post there! And there was guy just in front of the sign post! I don't know where I looked just then, I just got out of the way as quickly as possible and then when I looked back, the truck was still going, knocking down everything in its path, and then it stopped at the big christmas tree.

I looked around to see where the other guy had ran to. He hadn't! Jesus! He was lying twenty feet away in the trail of the carnage looking a bit mangled. His clothes were half ripped off him, and he was very still. I don't think he ever saw the truck. I think he might have been looking at a phone or an i-pod or something. Shit! I felt terrible. If I'd been thinking a bit quicker, I might just have been able to grab him out of the way. The poor kid, might have been about twenty. A cop arrived very quickly and the kid started groaning horribly. Sounded horrible but was probably a good sign.

Another guy jumped up to the truck to check out the driver. The driver said he just blacked out. Still a bit shaken and upset, I gave my number to the cops, and got some hot sweet tea before coming into work. Can't stop thinking about that poor guy. Really hope he comes out of it ok.

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Update #1

This was just put up on RTE: http://www.rte.ie/news/2007/1112/rta2.html?rss

Lorry accident at the Spire

Monday, 12 November 2007 09:23

A lorry ended up on the central meridian close to the Spire on Dublin's O'Connell Street.

Gardaí are attending the incident, which has caused traffic disruption on O'Connell St, northbound.

There are no reports of any injuries.

No reported injuries? That's odd.

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Update #2

Same RTE link now says:

Boy injured in O'Connell St accident

Monday, 12 November 2007 11:22

A 16-year-old boy has been seriously injured after being struck by a truck which mounted the centre median close to the Spire on O'Connell Street in Dublin.

He was taken to the Mater Hospital after the collision, which occurred at around 8.20am..

Northbound traffic on O'Connell Street in Dublin is down to just one lane. The remaining lane, which is the bus lane, is open to all traffic.

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Update #3 12:40

Just got a phonecall from Garda. The guy that got hit was talking in the hospital. He's got two broken legs and a broken pelvis and will be in the operating theatre for the day but it sounds like he's going to be ok. Eventually. Phew.

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Update #4

Some friends told me there are photos on Flickr. It's a small world alright; turns out both of the people who took these pics (Redmum and Eoghan MCabe) have blogs that I occasionally read. Redmum's O'Connell street Photos. Eoghan McCabe's O'Connell street photo.

Also someone from The Star rang me after lunch. At least I'll get such a small mention that they won't be able to do some bad punning with my name. Right. Think I'll leave it at that with the updates on this thing. Feel like I'm milking this for the sake of blogginess now while that poor chap is in the Mater (out my window) in agony.

Corky

I grew up with a guy called Corky, who was named after a weird deformity that made his left leg spiral around like a corkscrew. He walked with the strangest limp you'll ever see, his left leg kind of twirled downwards as he put weight on it and then un-twirled as he dragged his foot behind. Corky was a great laugh when we were younger and he rarely let his disability get in the way of playing football tennis, climbing trees or doing knick knocks, though The Jogger never seemed to administer his trademark kick-up-the-arse quite as hard on Corky as he did me.

As he got older his good nature began to strain to the jaunts of the other lads on the street. He grew to despise the nickname that he had at one stage even called himself. And he grew to despise his twisted leg. He grew to despise everyone, including himself and including me. He swore revenge on the lads who slagged him most, and the more he swelled with bile, the less we saw of each other. He started to see more of his older cousin, Mushroom, a nasty individual with a propensity to torturing helpless animals and an evil grin to show how much he enjoyed it.

Ronan Doyle, the biggest bully on the street, wasn't thwarted by Corky's dark accomplice. If anything it spurned him on. He used to get cans of spray-paint and draw caricatures of Corky everywhere - with that corkscrew limb exaggerated more than ever. Corky and Mushroom disappeared for a whole summer one year, just as we were all coming through the harder side of our teens. Doyler showed early signs of maturity, and began to cringe at the site of his own graffiti. He did everything he could to get rid of it, even painting a wall or two, and by the end of the summer as Corky returned, tensions had eased.

We all grew up and left Shankill one by one. Every Christmas you'd see the same old faces in the local, Byrnes. It turned out Corky never left Shankill, and neither did the bile leave him. Still, I always had one pint with Corky. Old time's sake is as good a sake as any. Last Christmas was unbearable though. Never a more miserable pint have I shared with any man. He just thrived in telling me how much he hated everyone in the pub, one by one, he slagged off the old boys, and saving the best for last he literally spat out nothing but depravity at the sight of Ronan Doyle. I wiped his splashes from my face and left him there, seething. He hardly noticed me leave and continued to spew bile at the vacant stool I left behind.

Then, on Christmas morning word had spread. Ronan Doyle had been found dead somewhere between the pub and his Ma's house. A terrible wound was left in his chest, a mushy hole of torn flesh. I felt the blood drain from my face at the thought of it. Before we went our separate ways, those many summers ago, sitting on top of our favourite tree watching the darts go by, Corky often described how he'd love to get a corkscrew and tear out Ronan Doyle's heart. And that he did. I knew it was him. But no one else seemed to know. The thought chilled me to the bone. I had to do something. I couldn't handle the idea of going to the cops with this mad idea straight out of some horror movie. I decided to go see his family. Or at least what was left of it, a pisshead dad who I caught leaving the house, as pissed as ever. I explained everything frantically, my embarrassment of the whole thing shadowed by his drunkenness. He didn't want to know. He believed me but he didn't care!

I went back to Corky's house. I could hear sobbing coming down from his bedroom window. The front door was open. I entered the house where I'd spent many of my pre-teen years. I shouted his name but he didn't seem to hear. I went upstairs and straight to his room but before I had a chance to open the door, it swung open. And there was Mushroom. A somehow darker version of Mushroom, all innocence, whatever little of it there ever was, completely washed away, his evil grin titanic on his shriveled face. Then, in a Flash he raised his hand. For a split second I thought he had a corkscrew but it was far worse. A big kitchen knife cut the air and made for my face. I somehow managed to grab his arm. I can't describe the terror I felt. I actually tried to scream and nothing came out. My vocal cords had completely abandoned me even though my arms managed to wrestle on in autopilot. I eventually managed to stutter, I heard voices in the street below, and as I felt the anger within me strengthen the power of my voice I shouted. And the words that majestically parted my lips were "Happy Halloween!".

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I actually did know a guy called Corky growing up but the rest is bollix! There was nothing wrong with his leg or anything else but I did wake up screaming last night at the end of a long and realistic nightmare where he tried to kill me with a kitchen knife! Thought it'd make a good halloween yarn!

The Persistence of Memory

A few years ago I got sick of having a terrible memory. I've since nailed it down to a slighlty bizarre portion of bad memory in that I can't for the life of me remember proper nouns. So I can't remember names of pubs, shops, roads, restaurants, people etc. However, like most people I'm better with faces, much better though, I could see a bloke walk by in the street and remember that he was two people ahead of me, in a queue in a chipper, in Dun Laoighre, eight years ago. So I have a good visual memory and when I came across a book called Master Your Memory by Tony Buzan, I scanned the back cover and saw that it had a system to improve your memory through your visual memory. So you could remember long numbers as images in a story for example. But it didn't really make any sense without it's precursor Use your memory. So I bought that and spent every morning on the bus to work practising the techniques in both. And they are fairly amazing techniques. Definitely a step above your average self help book.

The first thing I memorised, just for practise, was Pi to 500 decimal places. The second half of Master Your Memory contains lists of trivia to memorize so I went to work on them.

• All the countries of the world - including their capitals and currency
• The periodic table - including atomic number, atomic weights etc
• 100 most frequently used words in Spanish
• 100 Painters - including a famous work, its location, the artist's lifespan, nationality and school of art

For the list of painters, I tracked down all the paintings on the web to make it a bit easier, and then discovered that the a lot of the data isn't that well researched on any of the lists. When I reviewed the book on Amazon, I slated the content (while praising the system) for not researching any of the material properly even in it's later editions. And Tony Buzan is definitely not short on pennies.

So, after quite a bit of waffle, the main point of this post is that list of paintings - if you're looking for all the paintings in this list like I did, or just want to have a look through 100 famous paintings, here's my list of 100 Artists, thoroughly researched, and backed up by a few books I've read over the years. And more importantly, there's an image to go with each painting. There were a few cases where I couldn't find the famous work that Tony Buzan chose, the fact that they were so hard to find was testamant in itself that they weren't the most relevant works. In a couple of other cases I chose a different painting anyway just because it seemed much more relevant - but in most cases, I stuck to the original list as much as possible - apart from correcting all the mistakes, which were mostly dates and locations of paintings.

By the way, after years of this 'Brain Training' I still have a terrible memory! It didn't do a thing to improve my day to day memory. Arsebags! Still an amusing way to pass the time at the bus stop though as you have to keep going through these lists in your head. Specially if you have a head like a sieve, like I do.

100 Artists - 100 paintings

Escape

On my brief trip between Luas seat and office chair this morn I felt myself brimming with happiness and excitement. My head was fizzing with thoughts of foreign lands and strange new exciting people. And the adventure was afoot! What the fuck is wrong with me thought I? I know it's Friday but I'm walking through a grey industrial estate. I should be Les Miserables.

Then it dawned on me these thoughts were just a hangover from the book I was absorbed in en route, Shantaram. Wow! Powerful stuff this reading business. Haven't read a novel in ages. Non-fiction has been floating my boat for some time. Welcome back my old friends, Fantasy and Escape. I've missed you. But then I got to the canteen and had to stand behind some idiot for a whole minute as she stirred her coffee cup in that exact place where I needed to place my cup and scald my teabag. Argh! How stupid is that. Can't you see I'm standing beside you with this cup for a reason? Wipe that stupid smile off your face , and get the fuck already! The swirling aromas of Bombay and dark eyes of mysterious girls flitted away and Grumpy Old Young Man was back with a thump.

Embra Fringe 2007

I went over to Edinburgh for the weekend. That's my third long weekend in a row, yeehaw. Don't know how I'll cope with a 5 day week next week. Have wanted to go over to the fringe for ages and ended up going at the last minute(ish). Had a fantastic time, think I'd much prefer this than a music festival these days. I forgot what a beautiful place Edinburgh is too.

Only booked tickets for two events and left everything else to randomness. The first was Limmy's Show, www.limmy.com has been one of my favourite sites for years. His silly, but slightly obscure videos and playthings appeal to my mentality. He got the show solely on the popularity of his site and hasn't done stand up or anything before. It's a brilliant show - a mixture of recorded videos and live one-man skits. All the material was brand new, no reference to the site at all, though I was tempted to whisper Requiem or shout Gies yer jaicket myself.

The other highlight of the weekend and the only other thing we pre-booked (you get what you pay for) was Fuerzabruta which was absolutely fantastic. It's like a big a club, staged in a circus, featuring large-scale physical theatre, including overhead syncronised swimming in a ee-through pool, and treadmill stages with people running for their lives. Lasted about an hour and my mouth was wide open for a lot of it. The show would work great in a big club but that would lose some of the audience, everyone should see this. Here's some video I took:

Got ticket's for a few things at the 1/2 price hut. First show of the weekend was VHS 2 – Planet of the Tapes. Now I hate all things digital. Well maybe not all things but just things that used to be on tape, which is erm tapes and videos. So I loved the fact that a movie nerd pretty much dedicated a whole show to how crap DVDs are... mostly stand-up with a few pre-recorded videos.

Pappy's fun club was a bunch of students you wanted to slap the smugness out of. Actually maybe only one of them, the rest were likable enough. Show started off pretty crap but it turned out that the first half was mostly just building blocks for the second - and when they got to the bit where they swapped themselves with audience members and dissapeared while the audience members repeated earlier skits - well that was fairly hilarious.

Jesus I'm feeling really lazy now - not sure I'd intended to review the whole weekend, so here's quick roundup: Shaun Hughes was the biggest show we went to - was good but just a pretty normal standup nothing ground breaking. Had great fun at Maxwell's Fullmooners but by the time Ed Byrne was on I was awake about 22 hours and nodded off. Luckily I was up in a balcony and wasn't caught snoozing. Apparently he totally redeemed hismelf of a few years of carphone warehouse ads. The other late nighter - I couldn't tell you who played but everyone was pissed down the basement of a pub. Was really up close and personal - I shared an intimate moment with one comedian and an audience member as he showed us a clip of him teabagging a mate who was asleep. Whole night was great fun altough I think the biggest difference between Sean Hughes and this lot was several pints and a few whiskies. Always helps.

My generous host Nessa:

Some street entertainment:

One of the fringe areas at night:

Rest of photos.

Stockholm

What a great place Stockholm is. There's no big wow factor but you start to notice small things. No traffic. Kids free everywhere. Everybody very polite, not to mention brown-skinned, blue eyed and blonde. Get this, in Sweden, a couple can take up to 13 months off work between them, with the state paying 80% of the wages. And a lot of companies will pay all expenses for adoption! Not that we experienced this over the weekend. A father gets two 'Daddy months' off work. That's it I'm moving to Sweden and having three children a year. I'm hoping polygamy is also encouraged.

Didn't do too much tourist stuff although we did go to skansen. Basically it's a big park full of stuff, open air museams, a zoo, play areas, farms etc. Mostly we hung around some of the great public spaces in Sweden.

The first night we just needed to pop across the road to a lovely lake, where we lay in the grass and sipped some cans, with a Jazz band in the corner, people playing frisbee and some Swedish block game, while black bunnies fluffily hopped around! Didn't know there was such a thing as wild black rabbits. Stumbled upon this place on the right after Skansen and just lazed around in beanbags listening to deep house for hours.

There's some funny licensing laws in Sweden that meant we had to go to an off-license before a particular time on a particular day and buy all our drink for the weekend. I got a bit carried away and got lured by lots of strange coloured bottles with sickly sweet liquids. As you can imagine we drank the whole lot on the first night and ended up doing lots of silly dancing. But when the girls insisted on ABBA, I took a running jump through the window and ended up sitting on a branch overhanging the lake, which surprisingly didn't end in disaster. I swear if we were on the tenth floor rather then the first I still would have jumped. I've grown to appreciate the fact that ABBA have some very intricate arrangements and are quite talented and all that - but I still hate them!

Rest of the photos here (but I still have to upload some more)

A dolphin obituary

You know when a famous person dies and and there's an outpouring of grief and respect, the odd RIP email here and there. Well there's another 6 Billion of us, and growing, so who cares? It's a much greater loss when a whole species disappears. It's just insane. By a mere stroke of luck this little planet has managed to invoke life, many strange and beautiful forms of life. Yet some just pop out of existence forever. Very sad day when that happens. Slightly sadder when it's such a unique creature as the baiji, a freshwater dolphin anomalous to the Yangtze river. This is the first aquatic mammal species to become extinct since either the Japanese Sea Lion or Caribbean Monk Seal, both of which became extinct in the 1950s. Baiji's have been in existence for 25 Billion years and now they're gone.

Fucking humans. I can think of quite a few I'd rather see go before a whole species.

Mannequin

This post would probably be more at home on homebug - but I'll take the conch on this one - every morning I walk by Clerys on O'Connel street and wonder WTF are they thinking!? D'you ever see a big company do something very wrong and you can't figure out why no one has told them yet? Or even more likely is that every body knows the blunder yet some middle-mismanagement or office politico prevents it from happening. So here's the thing; they gutted the inside of the shop and got the decoraters in. Grand. Paid a small fortune no doubt. Yet Jo-walking-by-Soap wouldn't know any different because their shop windows look like they're still being decorated by the same dusty old window dresser for the last 30 years. They need to take a walk up Grafton street or rent a copy of Mannequin!

I spy with my little eye an opportunity to BIG UP one of my favourite dead artists, Giorgio de Chirico. He had a thing for mannequins you see. De Chirico is one of the few surreal artists who managed to capture the essence of dreams. People say that about Dali but his paintings were way too polished and detailed to vaguely resemble any dream. Chirico was a big influence to Dali, as well as Max Ernst, and Magritte to name a few, and some of them directly copied his Metaphysical style. Every time I see that tower from the LUAS, (somewhere between Windy Arbour and Cowper ), I'm reminded of his Nostalgia of the Infinite (below) even though they're nothing alike. Actually I think every time I see a tower I'm reminded of it.

Paddy's Day on April Fools

So you've heard about this dilemma that the Catholic church are facing? It's a clash of dates between between an early Easter bunny day and Paddy's day (2008). The next available day for Pat was April 1st, but they've decided that isn't suitable either. If you ask me, April Fools day is spot on. I don't know why we celebrate a man who was one of the first missionaries to come over to us fine pagans, and infect us with such heavy-handed Christianity. He was one of the first bishops in a church that continues to interfere with our lives in these seemingly dark dark ages.

I know I hold some unpopular views, and this collection of thoughts is right up there; I've never been very patriotic, it's all just random birth. The weight that some people give to that random event is beyond me but the more I think about Paddy's day, the more I think how much of a farce the whole thing is. There's such an anti-English attitude in this country because the ruling classes of England invaded our country many moons ago, yet when an Englishman comes over and tells us what to believe, what do we do? We make it our official day to celebrate being Irish!

I'll take my day off work thank's very much, but personally I won't be celebrating Patrick's day. I'm sure junior will get to enjoy the parade. Just like he'll get an Easter egg and Christmas presents. Until he's old enough to decide for himself, I won't be spoiling the better things that come with all this religious mumbo jumbo, by forcing my beliefs on him, unlike the children of the brainwashed who continue to brainwash their own, in billions all over the world.

Fat or pregnant?

Ever play the fat or pregnant game? A young woman stepped onto the Luas this morn, and looked around for an empty seat with a bit more hunger than your average Daniel Dayer. So I glanced at her tummy, hmmm neither fat nor pregnant, back to the book. An exasperated sigh made me look up again. Was she or wasn't she? I couldn't decide. She was wearing one of those currently fashionable tops that just don't help the cause at all. Not quite maternity wear but similar enough to confuse me further. You have to be careful in situations as dangerous as these, offer your seat to a woman that's not quite old enough, or fat but not pregnant and her laser eyes will weld you to your seat. But there was something in her eyes that made me think there was something in her tummy, so I played the safe bet and got up without saying a word to her. Others glanced at the seat, she growled, they wimpered, she sat.

Maybe pregnant ladies should wear a sticker that says "Baby not bulge", or "Bun in the oven, not in the mouth". But then I'd have to wear a sticker that says "My feet get very sore when I stand for more than a minute, and keep getting sorer, I really should look into it again but I did go to a doctor last year and she told me to walk around on my tippy toes for ten minutes every day. But I actually think she was drunk and taking the piss.

Bunnies!

Two of my favorite things share a common theme - bunnies! Donnie Darko and a book by Bill Drummond called 45. Ok, they're called Echo and the Bunnymen, so the link to Donnie Darko is pretty obvious. But another subtle link is that in 45, Drummond (who managed the Bunnymen), becomes obsessed with the album cover for Crocodiles, because by pure coincidence, the tree in the background looks like a big bunny; but no-one else he shows it too can see it.

45 is an absolute gem, it's autobiographical, but it's more like a random diary of highly amusing events between his last book, 33, which he wrote when he was 33, and 45 which he wrote at... well done! Blue Peter badge for you. If you can see the connection here, you'll expect another book at 75. 45 is full of boyish quests, poignant observations, and personal superstitions.

For some odd reason I've always had a lot more time for personal, made-up superstitions than I have for established ones (horoscopes, broken mirrors, god etc). One example of Drummond's hokery pokery is his story about drawing a magical ley line across a UK map, somehow guided by the magnetic poles and somthing to do with Elvis, then making his way along this line by foot, while concocting his own soup, in various locations, for anyone who's happy to eat it.

Anyway, chatting in work this morning, we were trying to remember the first track in the original Donnie Darko, and of course it's The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen (a couple of minutes in, in the clip above). Of course because I saw this version first, I think it's a much better opening track, than the one used for the editors cut (Never tear us apart by INXS) and almost as good as the school scene with Head over Heels by Tears for Fears. I can watch that scene over and over, it's better than any music video, I'll refrain from adding 'ever'. These are the kind of films I love, where each scene can stand