Archive for March, 2009

Can’t be that important so…

March 31, 2009

Terence McDanger on
on Feb 18th, 2009 at 12:26 pm:

I have a notebook that I bring practically everywhere with me in which I jot down my moments of inspiration, and I still think the stuff I’ve forgotten to write down is better than any of it. I do the whole write it down in the middle of the night nonsense as well, but am too lazy to switch on the light and so I write in the dark, all indecipherable the next day and not worth the bother in the first place.

It’s hilarious looking back at some of the shit you thought was actually witty and clever at the time. In the cold light of day, erm, alot of it doesn’t really pass muster. That’s if it’s legible at all of course.

Second point first – the Cold Light of Day…
…reminds me of that stoner experience where the stoner(s) realise(s) that all these fucking amazing revelations and ideas are never documented and always forgotten… then when they are documented, they turn out to be indecipherable nonsense or just plain shruggable.

The other, more significant point relates heavily to something I’ve studied in some depth – don’t judge me! – Freud.
The less said about what people think they know about Freud and certain elements of his work, the better, but he did unearth some very intriguing human psychological phenomena.

Like dreaming and slips of the tongue, the act of forgetting can be tied directly to a repressed or unconscious thought. And that means a significant one.

Okay, not necessarily always, but isn’t it so that when I fail to make note of a particularly creative idea and forget it, I later get the very stated impression that it was among the best of my ideas ever? The harder I try to recall it, the more it slips away.
Quite often such ideas can occur in the middle of the night, under the influence or at other times when the conscious mind is less alert and in control.
I referred once to Descartes’ method of nodding off beside a note-pad. Or was it Einstein? Or both?
Fact is, (one or both of) these clever lads made active use of the phenomena and came up with some pretty good shit by doing so.

They made the notes, and nonsense or not, one or two at least turned out to be extremely important indeed.


Howayeh? (Part I)

March 30, 2009

Ah, it’s yourself! How’s it going?

In Irish cultural etiquette it is imperitive that upon greeting someone you inquire immediately as to their well being.
It is far less necessary to offer an accurate reply or even respond with anything other than the same inquiry.
(You may also offer a grunt intoned as a question as an appropriate response.)

“Alright?” “Alright?”

Other English speaking cultures find our generic answers to the ‘howayeh’ hilarious.
“Can’t complain” is a direct descendant of our pessimistic outlook (it actually means “I could complain, a lot, but you wouldn’t listen anyway, so fuck ya”.)

Even more amusing is “Grand”.

“How’s things?”
“Ah, grand”
This typical response is usually announced quite flatly – completely opposite to its literal meaning, it actually usually denotes: “Ah, mind your own fucking business” and not a regal exclamation of wonderfulment.

Finally, the response “You know yourself” is probably the most fitting (that is if, and it’s a big ‘if’, one bothers to respond with an answer in the first place) since it incorporates both implied meanings:
“I’m doing as badly as you and I couldn’t be bothered listening to your shite so mind your own.”

There’s little that perplexes an Irish person more than a genuine answer to the throwaway greeting.
An Irishman will stand in utter bewilderment as his English counterpart rattles on about his sniffly nose and irksome knee and how he didn’t quite get a full sleep last night.
“Heh?”, he’ll tink t’imself and wonder whether he’s supposed to offer a similar rejoinder, and if he does, having opened the floodgates, will he ever be able to cease with the gushing forth of complaints and woes?!

More ‘howayeh’ phenomena to follow this week, stay tuned.

Friday Evening Appropriate Post #8 – Ever herd the likes of it?

March 27, 2009

This evening shall be spent with a friend of mine, listening to tunes, supping beverages and babysitting a big black dog.

Boru may be mistaken for the big black sheep killing animal who has been at work lately in the area and he could be shot… apparently.

So, while on the subject of sheep, here’s something to kick off the weekend nicely – shepherds, L.E.D.’s and hillside displays.

Dry Mouth, ‘Full Bladder’

March 27, 2009

I’ve been slowly and steadily building up to it but, aside from playing other people’s records and acting a dick, I haven’t performed in public in years.

I’m sure I’ll be fine (when and if…) since I do enjoy it, but I’m also sure I’ll get those oddest of performance anxiety symptoms.

[This could be researched and even a rational ‘beneficial’ physiological reason or two for them could be gleaned, but I’d much rather point out the oddity with a massive question mark as I am wont to do here.]

I recall fronting a band back in the day and the old leg twitch distracting me horribly from mumbling half remembered lines and fumbling with tricky chord sequences.
Even dj-ing sometimes, the old fingers spasm with the needle and send it screeching across records for the first half hour or so.

I sort of get that one, although it still makes little sense why the brain would fuck up the body with shivers just when it needs to be rock solid and skillfull.
What I really don’t understand is why the mouth and throat empty of all moisture and weirder still, that feeling of the need to wee.

I’d go, just before stepping on stage, and witness a pointless trickle – considering it had been all of seven minutes since the last effort, and approach the microphone with that tingling feeling once again.

Maybe next time I’ll just save it up and go all punk/metal on the crowd – literally.

Cool as FuNk

March 26, 2009

T’s ‘gicky’ bike. (The type of man-bike with a questionable cross-bar angle).
Brown leather jacket. (Over-worn, missing all but one button, quirky zip thing).
Pair of gloves. (Regular dark grey wool).
Pair of wrap around shades. (Ladies’, borrowed from a female friend).
Me. (Enough said).

It’s the gloves and glasses which set off the ensemble, and for some reason, in the cold air and beaming sunshine, I feel super-fucking-cool pedaling away about the city (bike constantly a-click-clack and its shiny blue bell dinging sporadically).

Time for a make-over.

On one level at least, a pure hunnerd percent d0rk who thinks he’s ‘da bomb’ is actually cool…

…in a way…


National Attitude

March 25, 2009

We are a nation of brooding pessimists, research finds

Ah, sure what the hell else would you expect, country going to shit as it is and all?


The Facebook Rule

March 24, 2009

The facebook rule is a double-edged sword, exquisite in its simplicity.
It’s ever so simple and solves (or resolves) two issues in one.

fbookFacebook sluts need not apply.

I did try to stay under the hundred quota and recently failed, but regardless, there are now at least a hundred people in the world who I know by name and would say hello to on the street.

For that is the single criterium.
Friend request comes in from Jimmy. One straight up question: Would I say hello to Jimmy on the street/would I be happy enough to pass by unseen or would I run and hide in a granny’s wheelie bag rather than be seen?

For those aquaintances who are in the grey area it resolves the issue entirely. Accept them and now you are obliged, minus awkwardness (and thankfully sidestepping the whole “so what’ve you been up to?” bullshit chit-chat thanks to status updates, facebook photo albums and general cyber-stalking) to greet them in public.


March 23, 2009

Got nothing for you to think about this Monday.

There was no Saturday quote and instead of being proavtive yesterday (well I did the whole ‘lunch with Mum thing’), that was taken care of on Friday night.
I made a ‘mix’ (it’s one turntable – no mixing, no edits) with young Red Leeroy and his Attic of Harolds in mind.

It’s here.

Watch out for Vince Price, scary bastard.

Friday Evening Appropriate Post #7 – Mixed Opportunity

March 20, 2009

If I’d had half a brain on me and played my cards right I’d be heading off on a flight to Cardiff about now.
Sure, it would be great to be following my national rugby team over to their greatest triumph frickin’ ever… but that would be only a bonus.

It would be a sweet icing on the cake indeed to rub it into all my Cardiff based buddies and ex-housemates in Dempsey’s Irish Bar tomorrow afternoon, but better still to head off with them and their ilk to Disco Nectar, which has been tempting me back to the mainland the past year or so, to hear some of this kind of ‘jazz’:

It’s bleedin’ typical that after you leave a place all your mates hook up with the type of people into the types of things you’re more into than them and more typical again that as you leave another coaxing influence to return fade beyond reach of decision, it turns out your country would be grand slamming their way to victory in that very city the very weekend you’d been considering.

Ah well. Maybe my couple of quiet home alone beers will turn into a full on booty shaking jack-fest…. featuring me… followed by… a text to “keep the boom boom ‘music’ down thanks” from the neighbour.


March 20, 2009

This morning marks two no-foot-down cycles to/from work (a journey of over 2.5 miles in city traffic) in row.
I should have leaped off the bike in the work car park, letting it trundle on ahead, with my arms raised, and dropped to my knees in a triumphant silent-roar.

Sorry bud, disqualified, your foot clearly touched the ground.

The more trivial the feat the more fulfilling in a way.

I guess because it’s not so important as to come back and bite you in the ass at a later date… or because it’s so insignificant it allows you to glean as much or little glory as you dare imagine up.

Three in a row tonight?… followed by a victory lap around the apartment building, hollering a squeal of victory over the cobblestones.