Seems to me.....

Vin

2003-09-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

It was Vin's confirmation day. He was a Catholic lad and having never made any significant decisions up to that stage in his life, he hadn't considered any alternatives of creed. As his mother decreed, Vin was a cardigan confirmee as opposed to a leather jacket confirmee. She repeatedly referred to the cardigan as "beautiful" and to Vin as "looking beautiful". Given that there were relations present he decided not to launch into a vitriolic verbal attack. He just smiled gormlessly.

The seven gifts of the Holy Spirit had a nice ring to them. Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel, Fortitude, Knowledge, Piety, Fear of God. Maybe the Holy Spirit would change him. The Holy Spirit could make him wise. The Holy Spirit could make him strong, not in a power driven way but in a cool Christian way where you could look feeble and undernourished but every little movement of your physique was profoundly cool - like a rock star. He foresaw the tongues of Holy and Spiritual fire giving him a hip rock star edge, but he didn't know what that was as he had no interest in rock and roll.

Vin didn't like confirmation day. Relatives showed up whom one only saw on an annual basis at best. There was awkwardness about acting one way with the cousins on your mother's side, with whom you were closer, and those on your father's side who were older and seemed more intimidating. It was hard to derive any pleasure from such a disconcerting predicament. When asked inane questions from older relatives about current height and curricular developments, Vin felt compelled to subvert all vestiges of his personality behind equally inane and monotone responses of "yeh". He had the smile of a good boy. The way he piled significant quantities of food into himself at high velocities made them think the puppy flesh was going to be a long-term fixture. A fat and good natured boy. That's all they really thought of him.

The Gack came in late and shouted the classroom into silence.

Jesus lads, don't be annoying me.
The boys raced through the Our Father straddling the thin line between efficiency and irreverence. The Our Father was Vin's favourite prayer. He always saved it until last at nighttime. It was the Lord's prayer, a Jesus original, so it must have been better than all the rest. Editorially he was never keen to drop prayers from the nighttime rota however if he felt that he sped through one too quickly, without reaching the minimum attention span requirement (which was nominal anyway) he was more likely to recite again the Our Father than the others. He had a fondness for the Hail Mary too, which was always said second last. Vin felt an affinity towards the Blessed Virgin. In his mind she was a woman of understanding and elegance. The Holy Spirit had clearly been kind to her.

On finishing The Lord's Prayer the boys blessed themselves, taking their lead from the half-hearted example of The Gack. The classroom was illuminated by the hot afternoon sun. Thirty boys packed into lid top desks. The place must have stank.

Vin didn't like maths. He looked at the dour text book with it's unimaginative dull brown cover. There were no illustrations to scribble on. There was no prospect of stumbling upon an illustration which had been brilliantly modified by a previous owner. Something witty like a drawing of Brian Boru with a speech bubble added in saying "Celtic brooches suck elephant dick". Such a discovery would precipitate spontaneous giddy laughter as well as due admiration. So simple yet so funny. Venn Diagram's couldn't compete.

A union B subset C.

[work through maths question]

Game Over

2003-09-05T06:27:00.000-07:00

It's a goddamn nightmare. Most people don't want to think about it. Death is kind of shitty in fairness. yYou ask someone are they afraid of dying they get all defensive, huh no! But you know they don't want to think about it. They don't want to face up to the reality. Tt's grim. And me too, I guess I'm kind of hoping for the second coming before I die. Wouldn't it make everything a whole lot easier, remove that big question mark? And then you try and imagine what it would be like if the second coming happened tomorrow. It is unimagineable. Just unimagineable.

The Last Hurrahs

2003-09-04T09:16:00.000-07:00

Just said my departure speech. Even though tomorrow is my last day they sprung it on me a day early. It went ok. No bridges burnt and a few laughs. Very nice send off from my boss. All good cheery stuff.

save the last dance for me

2003-09-04T01:36:00.000-07:00

Penultimate day in work. I will be leaving one day short of three years. Has it been good? Yes. Even though the first couple of years I worked in a shit department. Others left, I didn't. When it finally came to moving on from there I knew I would probably never have to work in a shittier place again. That experience toughened me up a bit. It sharpened my patience and my resolve. After that I have great belief in my diplomatic skills.

The last year has been great. I work with good people and we love our banter. They get me. They go for my humour unlike most of the retards in my previous department. It makes a big difference. I will say many goodbyes to many good people. I will do so sincerely but very few of them will be heartfelt. And then the next day I will get up and do something else. There are so many things to be done.

I'll be going home to my parents for a week before I fly out. The housekeeper is there on Tuesday and Wednesday so I'll have to find something to get me out of the house. She always has the radio blaring. I'll take some photos but that ain't gonna fill a day and a half.
On the rare occasion that she sees me she exclaims at the top of her voive, with her hands in the air "Well Holy God, is it yourself?!" That always makes me feel messianic!

2003-09-03T03:45:00.000-07:00

Tony thought about Sandy. At times his thoughts were lustful even slightly affectionate, but he never had any desire to share a conversation with her. Sandy had a great ass, a shit rack, a shrill voice and no brains. Unless it was for action he found her pretty hard to tolerate.

She had cheated on him one time. Back then he forgave her, they reconciled and continued to go out for another year. A whole year. Now he looked back on it as a complete waste. Whenever they went out his vigour waned because of her presence. Once he met her mother and her sister. Being in one room with all three was a trial.

Two things were most prominent in Tony's mind - that he had spent so much time with someone he didn't actually like and that he didn't instantly reject her for good when she admitted her infidelity to him. They were only kids, why take it so seriously - he had told himself. He didn't feel like that anymore. She was stupid. He had no enthusiasm for her. She was a stupid person, but she wasn't cracking up inside like most other girls he got close to. She was relatively solid in that regard. But most of all she completely accepted Tony. That's the reason he was with her at all.

He thought of a night when he could have cheated on her. He could have been with someone else who accepted him, who wasn't stupid, who was attractive and with whom the chemistry was on another level. He remained faithful to Sandy, or rather he remained faithful to what he thought he was. But now, two or three years later he realised that he was far from faithful to himself. What might have come of it? Probably nothing. But it would have been a better route to take. That night he made the wrong decision.

2003-09-02T11:05:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here listening to Fresno on my headphones, indulging myself in this fantastic world, delighting in my own existence. Just to see and to hear, these are delights. One day they will be gone. I love my life.

2003-09-01T02:56:00.000-07:00

I love the movies. I love the dark of the theatre and the luminance of the screen. I love buying a big packet of M&Ms and horsing them down my throat even before the trailers are over and drying the back of my gullet almost to the point of combustion and then washing it all down with a club orange in a single go, like finding an oasis after walking through the desert for a thousand days. I love coming out of the cinema and meeting the night air. From the blue hue of the screen and the world of make believe to the crispness of night that takes me home to dream. I love going to the movies in the daytime too, when I know it’s bright outside and I can delight for a time in the sanctuary of the theatre. It has been said that the art gallery is the modern day cathedral. Likewise the cinema, not to say that movie stars are our gods, but the cinema facilitates or rather concentrates the sense of beauty in the modern which one regards religiously; riding the last bus home is as vital to me as Tintern Abbey is to Wordsworth. Watching a movie holds in the spotlight that sense of wonder in the ordinary. I believe in movie magic. I love my life.

Saturday morning was bright and crisp (as was this morning). I awoke early and went out to fiddle around with my camera. Then I dropped my dvd player off to Davey (selling to his housemate Don Ron 100 Euro - bargain) then I moved out. Went into Trinity in the afternoon to watch rugby sevens and catch up for the last time with Trev. Same as ever. Went for a few pints and then to Tom’s house. Plenty of people bailed. I was wrecked and sat watching An American President and the Irish proms thing. I left and got a lovely chinese chicken sandwich from the service station en route to my sister’s place.

The service station and more prominently the dual-carriageway have been pivotal to the grounding of Dublin in my consciousness over the years and in that respect certain of my shortcomings are highlighted. On one level it shows how much of a floater I once was that I have allowed a motorway to become the epicentre of my environment. I have lived in the vicinity of that motorway for seven years in four different locations. It has been my route to college and subsequently my route to work. I have lived on that impersonal, monotonous expanse of concrete for so long and not until it was too late did I realise that it might have been worthwhile to trade up. That realisation also struck me this morning as I walked to work from my sister’s apartment. I walked through the affluent but vibrant suburb of Ballsbridge. I smelled coffee on my way. You don’t smell coffee on the side of a dual carriageway. Nonetheless, even if our children are ugly, we love them just the same. And out of pure familiarity and perhaps the desire to engage with whatever constitutes one’s environment I have affection for that concrete expanse.

Crossing a motorway can be a very intimidating experience. Should I be doing this? You feel as if you’re in a hostile world, it’s ok for motorists but as you stand waiting on the grassy verge between the lanes, with traffic carreering by you, you wonder if anyone else has stood here before? Am I some sort of pioneer explorer of this traffic verge? Similarily walking along the side of the dualler at night can be intimidating. It can be soulless and scary. You seek the haven of the service station with its comforting glow and the opportunity to communicate with some shop attendant.

What may once have seemed intimidating has come to be my staple. I love the glow of the Shell station but I also like the dusty rubbish on the roadside and the ability to cross quicker than anyone else because you know what way the lights are going to go.

I will encounter more roads in Australia and they will be even more soulless and impersonal. You see, I have fashioned a positive sense of experience gained from my relationship with that rolling mile of tarmacadam but without doubt I would have had greater riches elsewhere.

2003-08-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

I went to Kehoe's last night. It wasn't particularly good. The King was smashed and kept falling asleep on his barstool. A couple of times he picked his nose in his sleep. We were rolling around the place. Apart from that the rest of it was cumbersome. I feel the same about it as I did a year ago. As a wise dude once said, Life isn't one damn thing after another, it's the same damn thing over and over.

Given my imminent departure from these truly great people it was not impossible (but unlikely) that I would get caught up in a nostalgia where the things I once wanted to change subsequently became much more bearable once I had resigned myself to ending them. That didn't transpire. Even though I'm nearly done hanging out with these guys, I'm still primarily disaffected (sic??) by the lack of novelty in their company. I'm ready to go dudes.

I went to see Goodbye Lenin a couple of weeks ago. Super movie, especially the scene where the statue is being hauled out by the helicopter. Last night I was talking to a girl who grew up in East Berlin. The wall fell when she was nine. We inquired about Mocha Fix Gold coffee. Her old man was a soldier. He was on wall security even though he was pro west. They had relatives on the other side and it was always an event of huge excitement when a package bearing gifts was received from the west in the post.

My friend Kevin had a couple of hilarious quips the other night. His graceful analogy for "all talk and no action" is "Big hat, no cattle!". Also he exclaimed that the biggest threat to Irish agriculture these days is a postal strike. Sublime.

The folks were in the city yesterday to haul all my stuff home. Although it was raining the operation went smoothly. All I'm left with is a blanket and some clothes. I even gave them my pillows. I use a cushion off the sofa. I was only in bed for about four hours lastnight so it doesn't make a huge difference. Tonight's my last night in the house. I also bought a digital camera yesterday. Old Canon and extra memory for less the 200 Euros.

That rain was a sterling reminder of the shit winter which these poor sods are facing into. As I'm following summer through the hemispheres I get to skip all that. I love the sun. I love the light and the blue of the sky. It's profound. Mighty sun, I will follow you. -Ra.

2003-08-28T06:59:00.000-07:00

"Water. Great giver of life. Replenish me." - That's what I said to myself this morning as I slaked my thirst. I was hungover and feeling a bit ropey. My mouth was dry. The feeling of that cool clear water on the back of my throat gave me emancipation. I lay there a while, remaining patient with my headache. Many times before I have been in that situation and experience counts. You just have to wait and accept....and then eventually it passes.

I had a shower. I drew further plenitude from the sacred watering well that is the bathroom tap. Just the tenderest touch of the lips caressing the water flow. It was a beautiful morning.

In the shower I sang You'll Never Walk Alone. I wish I could sing. I'd give a million to be able. That song played out The Rose of Tralee on tv a couple of nights ago and it's still in my head.

Lastnight one of the bar girls in the bar I was at had a familiar face. I had seen her about three weeks ago in Messrs. McGuire. She was sitting at an adjacent table. Then a couple of weeks ago I saw her again outside Kehoes. There, I pointed her out to Dave saying that I remembered her from Messrs. Then I saw her last night in Ron Blacks, where she works as it turns out. Funny. She's from Zagreb.

On the way home I got chips and a qtr pounder as I hadn't eaten since lunchtime. I was walking home with the unopened bag of nourishment. Four girls who were as drunk as I was became quite animated on smelling the gentle waft of chip grease on the night air. I shared obligingly. The vultures plundered. Then they left my near chipless carcass to rot on the roadside. So long sucker!

2003-08-28T03:34:00.000-07:00

test

2003-08-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

Conceptually, a blog treads the thin line between laying it bare and just plain egotism. I think it's the medium of the internet that takes this form of communication back from being pure egotism. The format kind of allows you to get away with it. This is because it falls somewhere between the written word (on paper - be that handwritten or published) and the spoken word. People say things they don't mean all the time but it's more difficult to write something that you don't mean. It feels wrong because you're putting yourself on the record. Once written the words are no longer transitory. It's like they can now be used against you in a court of law.
A blog is a record for sure, but it's different than if you were to publish a book of your diary entries.
Access is free and easy for readers. Most third parties probably look at blogs as a distraction from the mundane excel spreadsheets that constitute the workday. It can be done at any time and pretty much discreetly. I think this is the reason why you can sort of get away with it, as I said earlier. For example, I think there is something self indulgent about publishing a list of your likes/dislikes. In a hard copy format such a proposition would possibly flounder. However in Netland where the consumer options are effectively infinite and a click away you can get away with it. I really like those lists.