30 January, 2008

Never happen...

I see over on That's Ireland that Michael Nugent has put forth the case for a secular constitution, right about... here. I'm sure on reading this, most reasonable Irish people will be shocked to discover that we have a constitution, much less one that declares Jesus Christ (pictured, centre) Divine Lord over all us Micks.

Now, being an agnostic-atheist, I'm all for a secular constitution. But it's never going to happen. It's not that the majority of Irish are fervently religious, but rather that we're fervently lazy and whingy. And you can already hear the tired old responses; "Why are we shelling out cash on a bleedin' referendum to amend the constitution when they haven't even built the Bertie-Bowl yet?"

Jaysus, I hate this country.

(Picture courtesy of the excellent Why, That's Delightful.)

Bleedin' Tea-Leaf!!

For those who don't know, I live in a house. I live in a house that I share with other people. This house does not belong to us. It is the property of a landlady. We pay her money so that we may stay in her house. This arrangement seems to me tantamount to extortion and I am often tempted to report her to the gardaí. But such is the way of things.
Our landlady is mad by the way. And not in the "aw she's mad, you'll lover her" way or the wacky/zany/kerr-azy sense. I mean she's mentally unhinged. Check with John of Gods. 

Anyways, my housemates are as follows: 
Sean O'Dea, obnoxious bank official
Stinky Magee (real name), supposed journalist for free event guide
Laura McAllister, blond Kiwi pharmacist

A couple of days ago, Laura got a phone call from someone purporting to be a valuer who had been asked to perform a valuation of our house. What's this about, we all thought. Is our landlady selling the place up from beneath us and donating the proceeds to Uri Geller? Laura called her to find out.
"Piss off!" was the only answer forthcoming. 
So the valuer guy comes over on Tuesday night while I'm out. I come home round 11 to find Stinky Magee raising a ruckus.
"That estate agent fucker stole my Garbage Pail Kids collection!" he says.
"He was a valuer," says O'Dea.
"Why the hell would he come over just to steal your lousy Garbage Pail cards, you mentaller?" I counter. "Sure isn't he earning a mint doing his day-job?" I don't know that he is, but I'd say it's a safe bet.
"It was a crime of opportunity!" says Stinky Magee.
"Me arse," says O'Dea.
So, just to be on the safe side, I go up to the room and check all my stuff is still there. And what do you know, my iPod is missing. "Some bastard's after taking me iPod!" I shout down the stairs.
"You see? That guy was a bleedin' tea leaf!" replies Stinky Magee.

More news on this as it happens...

28 January, 2008

A funny thing happened on the way to the blog...

About a week ago, I was walking across town for a meeting on Leeson Street to set up a contingency site for work. It was late in the afternoon on a mid-January day and approaching dusk. I decided to cut through St. Stephen's Green to get away from the noise of the traffic for a while and made my way across to the opposite corner of the park. Probably due to the late hour of the day and the cold weather, the park was virtually deserted.
As I walked across the central floral garden of the park, I noticed the decline in sound coming from the busy streets nearby, the constant thrum still present, but evidently baffled somewhat by the trees. The relative silence coupled with the growing dark gave me a feeling of unease.
It was then that I noticed a lone figure walking towards me, a woman. Not wearing my glasses, the stranger was upon me before I could make out her features, but I could see enough to register a sudden look of recognition.
"Declan, how are ya?"
My face must have betrayed some degree of surprise and embarrassment; she followed her greeting with, "It's Tara, from AIB."
I stammered a response. "Uh, I'm really sorry... I know we must have met, um, Tara... but I'm afraid I don't remember..."
"What do you mean," she replied, "we worked in the bank together for three years! You're Declan Dolan. We sat next to each other... don't you remember?"
"Look, I'm sorry," I said, "but it's been a while, I haven't worked there since I was in my twenties and i just don't remember you. I hope you're not offended..." 
A sly smile crossed the girl's face, as though she expected me to declare the whole thing a joke.
"What do you mean, since your twenties? You're two months younger than I am, Declan!" She laughed, thinking she'd caught me in a simple logical trap.
"I'm sorry, miss," I replied, "but maybe you've got me mixed up with someone else. I'm thirty-five."
She made as if to laugh once more, then took another look at my slight paunch, receding hairline, the lines in my face. Behind her eyes, the words "He could well be thirty-five" were visible as if her skull were made of glass.
"Look," I said, "I have to go, but it was nice talking to you." As I turned to walk away I saw the unease growing on her face. As I hurried away, I looked back a single time to see her standing there, feet rooted, a look of confusion and fear on her face.

And I thought to myself, "Ha haa, sucker!!" She was always soooo stupid.

Grand Opening (Three Drink Minimum)

I'm sitting there with yer man in the same café in town; trendy place with a novelty name, Caffeine and Busy-boots or something. I'm drinking tea. He has a glass of water in front of him, he says he doesn't drink anything hot, but I reckon he's just tight.
"So all I want you to do," he says, "is write down the stuff that happens to you."
"Like in a diary?"
"If you like. Or just take notes." He drains his glass of tap water. "Whatever."
"And you want this why?"
"I told you, I want to adapt it into some kind of narrative and make lots of money out of it."
"I know, but why me?"
"Because you're an average schlub."
"What's a schlub?"
"It's like a schmoe," he says.
"What's a schmoe?"
"A schmoe is... sort of like a schmuck, I think. Except more average."
"How about a blog?"
"No, a schlub is nothing like a blog," he says.
"No, how about if I write the stuff into a blog?"
"No, that's a woeful idea. Besides, anyone can read it then. The exclusivity is completely shot."
"Okay, not a blog," I say.

But feck it, I'm doing a blog.