Archive for April, 2009

From Behind

April 16, 2009

Time to be overtly male ogly mannish verging on stalker perversion not really.

‘Blokes’ check ‘chicks’ out constantly. We know this.
And while footwear and gait are somewhere on my radar, as I am sure they are very much so for the ladies and their inexhaustable lists for check-outability, I would be somewhat unusual in that regard.

We know only too well, what men are looking for.

Did I say ‘for’? I meant ‘at‘. Of course.

My point is an aside but relevant because I’m not sure that the rule I’m about to state fully applies for women checking out men.

(…or even women checking out women.
It most probably definitely applies to men checking out men.)


When determining whether a woman is hot from behind, in 9/10 cases where it is supposed to be the case, it is indeed the case.

(I think that’s one of Boyle’s laws, no?)

[An NSFW related aside.
In locating an image for this post, done in work, I couldn’t very well  image search: “hot woman” “from behind”.
I went with ‘catwalk’. Image #3. Nail, head, clever bunny.]


Say it or not?

April 15, 2009

It’s always a tough one – especially if you’re not close to the person in question, to point out the spinach in the teeth, the dangling booger, the chewing gum on the arse, but in nine cases out of ten it appreciated.

Sorry girls? I think yiz have somethin’ on yizzr faces.

I would rarely comment to a stranger on any such intimate levels, unless, maybe already engaged in some kind of interaction. (I have told randomers their backpacks are open – that always goes down well).
And so it was, being served at a checkout the other day, I weighed up whether to say anything, decided to go for it and came across the other exception to the rule – no, not the one person who gets embarrassed and wishes you hadn’t said anything, but the one who makes you embarrassed and wish you hadn’t.

“Okay, that’ll be eleven forty seven.”
*digs in wallet*
“There’s twelve… and ’em…”
“I think you have some… ink?… some blue ink it looks like, on your nose?”
“Mmmm… actually, that appeared a couple of years ago, from the sun I think. I’m getting it removed soon.”
“Oh. Oh! Oh dear. I er. Crap. Em, sorry about that. I didn’t…”
“It’s fine.”
“Probably happens a lot?”
“Yeah, I feel more embarrassed for the people who point it out to be honest.”
“Mmmm… eh. Yes. ThanksbyeKthanks.” *mumble-while-fleeing*


April 14, 2009

I have never wanted to be a boss.
In fact I’ve always preferred being a menial monkey with little responsibility and bugger all career. The fewer people to answer to in my life gives more time and energy to the one boss that really matters – moi. (Eh, I mean creativity, man).

But lately I’ve been reconsidering.

Myself and RL have been bantering over mispronounced words and misused terms and I’ve been dramatising scenarios where I, as manager, purposely use them to wind up my staff and chortle inwardly at their reactions.

Yeh wha’ boss?

(Or should I say “minagining skenarios where I, is man-gener, purposefully use them…”?)

“I thought I axed you emplicitly to systemise this list of emelents from the mixellanious section and pacifically organzize them non-irregardless of perority!”

I also have a sneaking suspicion that acting just so would be a huge advantage in seeking such positions.

Career ladder, here I come!

Nice and Not Nice

April 13, 2009

‘Nice’ is a strange word.
Look at it.

n i c e. (Does that even spell ‘nice’?)

It’s overused; nondescript…

…but somehow wholly appropriate.


Here are some nice and not nice things:

Nice: My buddy FB created this (<–click).

Not nice:


Nice: It’s a Bank Holiday, so actually some of that should be green already. (Niiiiiice!)

Not nice: My alarm is set to wake me at 7AM of a weekday.

Nice: Pork chop for breakfast.

Holy Thursday (Batman!) evening appropriate post dedication #whatever

April 9, 2009

As I will be Eastering it up big style and may not post for the few days, and since Meadow inspired me, here are some nicely confusing requests to try out over the Easter weekend.
“I would like a cheeseburger. No cheese. Thanks.”

I said no cheese, bitch.

“Return ticket to Braystones please”

When’s the next steam train to Ballymun?

“Hello officer, I would like to turn myself in for a crime. I absolutely demand to be charged with theft. I stole three bags of burger bites when I was nine.”

Pig noises officer? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.
I happen to have the sniffles. *snnnnnnnorrrrrttt*


April 9, 2009

In honour of my hunderth post and being actually read and validated… (iloveyoukthanksbye)
…here’s a cheap, cheaty but cheerful post dragged out of the draft vaults:

My diligent workers seek out an old draft to post.

Validate Me!

It’s oh so validating and flattering to see the following (or similar) in the stats section:flatter

To be known, remembered and sought out.

I thanks youse greatly.

Number 2 Part II

April 8, 2009

Usually I adhere rather strictly to taboo on this subject, but I’ll keep it subtle.

“Jacket on. Keysmoneysmokesphone? – Check.
Random, less necessary, stuff in bag… on back? – Check.
Stomach churn? Chec… hang on a second!”


“Innards, what’s the deal? We just took care of this!”

Tick tock.

April 7, 2009

I heard that Einstein once explained his theory of relativity using the example of fifteen minutes love-making vs. fifteen seconds of placing one’s hand on a red hot cooker ring.

‘Fun’ (i.e. great sex) makes this happen.

Tuesday afternoon is dragging.

Saturday Afternoon Quote #The Third – Bartók

April 4, 2009

On Thursday night the boredom set in.

I’d washed up, cooked, eaten, rinsed… selected vinyls for the gig, been to the shops to replenish the liquid stores (milk, juice and beer)…
I was in no mood to be creative as such. I didn’t want to turn on any screens. I didn’t fancy reading.

What I wanted, I decided, was to leisurely absorb something new and different – something cultural and interesting.
What I’d have liked was for someone to sit there and enthusiastically ‘sell’ me an interest in something I’d hitherto not paid particular attention.
Some painting or photography… some music or other could be ideal.

“Hey, this is what I was saying – check out the [insert interesting facet/detail]”.

I cursed myself for supposing I wouldn’t have wanted to listen to the Bat for Lashes album I’d been recommended and not copied over for home listening pleasure earlier that day.

I stared at a few walls, and the floor for a moment. My eyes wandered over the stacks of records. I ‘pfff’ed to myself, knowing that I wouldn’t want to hear anything familiar and pondered on how I’d (already) listened to everything – all these hundreds of vinyls at least once.

That’s when I remembered Bartók.
white-spaceBack in Brizzle, Wrong and I would walk to Clifton Village of a Sunday afternoon. Sometimes ‘The Cider Pub’ would be open and we’d quaff the rocket fuel and stumble back to the house. Sometimes it would be shut and we’d duck into the second hand record shop.
One day I couldn’t find anything to tickle my fancy. Wrong handed me the Bartók. It stayed with me unplayed, just like the two Mahlers I already had, for the next five years.

And five years hence, a little too intimidated to snatch straight at Wrong’s recommendation [alliteration not intended], I try Mahler #1.

Fucking shit. Popular, accessible happy shit. Mahler #4. Same. Safe as houses, familiar as shoes and boring as this post so far.


To hell with it. I slipped Bartók out of the sleeve, placed it on the platter and deftly dropped the needle on its spinning outer groove [alliteration, again, unintended].


Blew my freaking mind.

Play this shit LOUD!

Here is the plot of A Csodálatos Mandarin (“The Miraculous Mandarin”) (which is what you better be listening to (LOUD), right now) from the sleevenotes:

This is the plot: In a shabby room in the slums, three thugs force a girl to lure men in from the street, to be robbed. A shabby old rake and a timid youth are found to have thin wallets, and thrown out. The third ‘guest’ is the eerie Mandarin. His impassivity frightens the girl, who tries to unfreeze him by dancing; but when he feverishly embraces her, she runs from him in terror. After a wild chase he catches her: the three thugs leap from their hiding-place, rob him of everything he has, and then wonder how to dispose of him. They successively smother him, stab him and hang him up, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the girl – it is impossible for him to die. Only when they cut him down and the girl takes him in her arms do his wounds start to bleed, and he dies.

– Leo Black

Play this shit even LOUDER!

Friday Evening Appropriate post #9 – SPRING BREAK!

April 3, 2009

It’s Spring. Forget cleaning, let’s go out and break our tiny minds on 80’s induced alcohol fuelled mayhem!
On Saturday night I will play records after these hairballs:

As mentioned to that person who sits at the ‘next seat over’ (but doesn’t comment on any blogs these days) when she inquired, I’ll be playing ‘Souly/disKoey/dancey/80’s’ (to juxtapose with their ‘corporate rock’ style you understand).

I’m rather fond of this tasty track, but can’t decide if I should ‘drop’ it like a H-bomb. Opinions welcome.