Thursday, December 29, 2005

Civil partnerships in the United Kingdom

I'm a bit tardy, downright sloppy in fact, in not writing about this earlier, but you'd want to have been living under a rock not to know that same-sex civil partnerships have now come to pass in the United Kingdom.

I had first heard about this when I had visited the two Craigs out in Arundel a while back. They have since availed of this new piece of legislation and on Wednesday the 21st of this month, after a 20-year 'courtship', they have gone ahead and tied the knot. They are amongst the first of all of the gay couples in the Brighton area to do so, and I wish them the very best.

Nazinger, I beg your pardon, the recently elected Pope Benedict XVMCIIwhat-fucking-ever is, of course, timely in his announcements: He has recently come out and pronounced that no priest-in-waiting may enter a seminary if he has ever exhibited tendencies toward 'the intrinsic disorder' that is homosexuality, within 3 months prior to the proposed time of enrolement. In a particularly noxious twist, the Vatican has issued this 'in response' to the revelations of child sex abuse at the hands of American priests, thus reinforcing in some of the smaller minds amongst us the 'link' that exists between homosexuality and paedophilia.

Here we fucking go again. The Vatican quite simply refusing to grow up and acknowledge the diversity that exists outside of their enclave in Rome. What they don't seem to appreciate is that at ground level, quite a lot of priests are embarassed at the stream of rubbish that is flowing out of there. Some of the less rigid amongst them may find that their job is made increasingly difficult by the pronouncements of a loathsome little toad in Rome who just cannot appreciate that guys who dig other guys are simply never going to go away. Seriously, we've been around since before biblical times, and step by step, we're winning all of our battles as time goes on. Get the fuck over it. Some priests, such as this guy here, are already 'rebelling' by refusing to give assurance that they won't engage in same-sex relations with - oh, this takes my breath away - the man they are marrying. You couldn't make up such a ridiculous scenario.

More and more, the Vatican are digging their own graves with these edicts, and widening what is already a substantial divide between them and the commmon church-goer. With public coverage and acceptance being given to the gay community more and more, we are now more visible than ever, and it has now got to the point where almost every straight person in Western Society knows or is related to someone who warms to the idea of warming up someone of their own gender, and this is where the cardinals are shooting themselves in the foot. They are forcing people to take sides, and if you were presented with the choice between a friend or relative in real life, and some abstract figure who is claimed to be represented by someone such as Ratzinger, well, I know which option I would choose. Only the most simple-minded amongst the Right need to be given instruction on how to live their life in this way.

Incidentally, it's good to see that people like Debbie Gaston aren't allowing organised religion to get in the way of their religious beliefs.

As an aside, if there is such a higher power, why are some people so readily accepting of the theory that he would have someone like Benedict as his spokesman here on Earth? If I were The Almighty, I would have long ago handed his holiness his P45 and found someone a bit more personable. Perhaps it's down to iconography, and how people have more respect for inaccessible figureheads, but I might be overreaching...

Anyhow, the partnerships have come to pass, and some political commentators, along with some of my friends, hold that it won't be long before it happens in Ireland as well. We'll see about that, but the fact that it now exists in so many European countries is good for me at the moment.

Lastly, another absolute red rag of mine. A recent letter to the editor of the Irish Times:


Madam,

Why are commentators on homosexuality so reluctant to use the word "homosexuality"? Is it an example of the Sellafield/Windscale syndrome, whereby, to change the public perception of something, all that is required is to call it by a different name?

In his article on civil partnerships for homosexual couples (Opinion and Analysis, December 21st), Niall Crowley of the Equality Authority uses the phrase "gay, lesbian, or bisexual", or some variation on it, no less than 15 times, while eschewing the term "homosexual". He evinced a similar tendency in his article on December 6th responding to the Vatican document on homosexuality.

He gives the game away right at the end of the latest article, where he uses the term 'all forms of mutually supportive relationships - same sex or heterosexual' when it would have been easier to say 'homosexual or heterosexual'.

Lest I be accused of homophobia, while I agree with the Pope's recent pronouncements on homosexuality, I have met many homosexuals over the course of my life and have generally got on well with them. I experienced a brief homosexual phase myself, lasting about a month, when I was a teenager. Many of my favourite actors - Dirk Bogarde, Sir John Gielgud, Leonard Rossiter, Denholm Elliot inter alia - were homosexuals. One of my favourite films, Death in Venice, based on the book by Thomas Mann, is about a homoerotic attraction towards a beautiful young boy.

One of the important tenets of a democracy is freedom of speech, but I have noticed over the years that if one expresses an opinion contrary to the liberal beliefs espoused by most of those working in the media - who incidentally are not representative of the so-called "plain people of Ireland" - one is accused of being accused of being conservative or intolerant or worse. For instance, as Eamonnn Gavin (December 21st), any suggestion that the number of foreigners entering this country should be restricted is met with accusations of racism. Similarly, any expression of dissent about the propriety of homosexuality is met with accusations of homophobia.

Tendentious articles such as Niall Crowley's latest two contributions are extremely annoying because they are clearly written from a politically correct perspective, the chief characteristic of which is an inability or unwillingness to speak plainly.

Yours, etc.


Discounting this clown's issues with terminology and the all-too-typical attempt to justify himself in paragraph four - I'll get to them later - one concept that needs investigation in this context is that of political correctness.

Political correctness was, like many social phenomena described in detail in the media, something that never really took off. It's central premise, the neuturing of modern speech, especially was something that existed only in the minds of a select few. Terminology such as 'intellectually challenged', 'horizontally advantaged', and 'vertically challenged' most likely had a half-life of about 5 seconds, yet were touted by those in the public eye for quite some time after everyone else had sensibly begun to ignore them. In short, if it ever did exist, it really does not anymore, at least not in the form in which it was originally conceived.

Here is something else. Thanks to variety of social factors, racism, and to a lesser extent, homophobia, stopped becoming acceptable in everyday life some years back. I'm not a social commentator, I can't draw a line in the sand and say exactly where this happened, but it is now not considered good social grace to disparage someone on either of these grounds and offend anyone in mixed company, and society in general is all the better for it.

Somewhere along the line being gay, or at the very least being polysexual, became kind of hip. One reason may have been that it was a way of dissociating oneself from, or offending, the old guard, in whatever form that might have been. Another reason was that it still has a aspect of sexual experimentation to it, along with the attendant party scene, that has since been relegated to the margins in mainstream heterosexual society.

Assimilation eventually came about, and now we have come to today's situation. Racism and homophobia, seen as the preserve of the uneducated redneck who never left his home town and never saw much of the world, is now quite unfashionable. But it's still there, buried in the subconcious of people who, under different circumstances, would never have been that pushed about erasing it from within themselves before.

So now, when people want to give life to the small-minded little shit inside them without looking like the under-developed prat that they are, they need a scapegoat, and boy is the PC concept fast becoming the punchbag of modern times. They give voice to their opinions, but when those are met with protest, they say such sensitivities are borne out of a stifling form of political correctness, the implication being that most people think like them at some level and thus they are absolved. Another annoying term of excuse, with connotations of plain-speaking, is 'irreverance'.

Horseshit. Ignorance is ignorance, and while homophobia is a strong word to use in these circumstances, their comments point to the fact that they are still little boys at heart, who haven't really experienced enough of the world. It's a result of people trying to excuse themselves because they have had a certain sensibility foisted upon them that they are not ready for, at least not yet.

I've always thought that Liberal bashing is done by those who have just a little too much time on their hands, or need to get out more, but now I think of it as a odious form of self-absorption. If these people themselves found that their own rights were being infringed, their whinging would be coming out of every available news outlet, but because it's someone else, they feel free to take potshots. It's the spoiled little kid within each of them being given a voice.

There is no PC brigade. If a slur from a person in the vein mentioned above induces a negative reaction in someone else, that's because the person is being an ignoramus, not a 'plain speaker'. End of story.

This brings me to his support of the Pope. You cannot support someone who condemns gays outright, and yet suddenly immediately afterwards start bleating that you 'don't have a problem with gays'. It just doesn't wash. At all. Not with a figure like that.

Which leads me to the other two points. First, his justificaton in paragraph four. It reminds me of something...

Sometime back, I saw an episode of The Office on TV, which had Gareth, anticharismatic par excellence, talking about gays in the army. He was against it, on the grounds that they might be sexually distracted by the other men in uniform on the battlefield, but then quickly defended himself against accusations of homophobia by pointing out that he had loads of gay musicians in his record collection, such as George Michael and Freddie Mercury ("And", he points out, "They're all bummers"). It was a genius sketch, mainly because most of us, least of all me, know someone this retarded in real life. The parallels between this sketch and the guy above, is that as lines of reasoning go, it's MORONIC!

Last, the use of the term 'homosexual'. It is true that the article referred to in the letter above goes to some lengths to avoid using the term, but in order to help the reader understand why, a quick history lesson.

Once upon a time, not so long ago at all, the medical establishment regarded homosexuality as a disorder, and as such it merited listing in the bible of psychiatry, the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual). The term they used to describe it at that time? Yep, you guesssed it. That was where the definition first surfaced. The term 'heterosexual' enjoys nowhere near the same kind of dubious history. Even now I'm still not a fan of the homo term, it just sounds too clinical, as if the person in question is some kind of curiosity, and I've noticed at a superficial level, that it can indicate in the user a certain aversion to aspects of our lifestyle. But maybe I'm being too 'PC', and 'not representative of the plain-speaking people of Ireland'. Oh, and if you find gay men getting defensive when you disparage aspects of their community, it's probably because they have a sense of history and are sick of fighting their corner all the time. Conflict can do that to you sometimes.

So on that note, plain speakers, don't diss gays. Apart from anything else it's not cool, and it'll make you look like a twat and you won't get laid. And you've already got quite a lot of catching up to do in that department before you get to where we are.

Hah!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

King Kong Kickass!

Slight spoiler ahead...

After hauling myself out of bed this morning at the ungodly hour- well, ungodly by Christmas holiday standards - of twenty-past eight, I got a lift to Cork with my mother and hit the shops looking for my father's Christmas present. He (my father) has given up the subtle art of dropping hints like clangers about what he wants for Christmas, and this year has simply told us directly that he wants a rather obscure yet popular traditional Irish music CD this year. God forbid that it would be easy to find, and after searching specialist shops, Golden Discs, HMV, and Virgin records, I was still empty handed. I ended up getting one of the shops to order it in, and fingers crossed I'll have it on Thursday. Other than that, that's my Christmas shopping taken care of. Our family, thank God in heaven, have opted for a Christmas Kindle setup this year, and that suits my moth-infested wallet down to the ground.

Anyway, at about 11 O'Clock I got on a bus out to Mahon Point shopping centre. Two things about Mahon point: It has one of the best shopping centres for miles around in Cork, along with one of the best cinemas as well. The other thing is that it is in ...erm...Mahon.

I have yet to come across an area anywhere in Ireland that is as drab, grey, and utterly uninspiring as this place. Housing estates as far as the eye can see, that are serviced by a bus route that is really rather shit. Hell is not other people, it is not war, it is not Bray (thank you, Linus), it is Mahon. Add to this the thought that in my attempt to escape the rabble that infest the cinemas of the city centre, I may have jumped out of the Wok and into the furnace. Oh well...

So into the shopping centre I went, found that King Kong was about to start, nabbed an early bird ticket for only EUR2.50 (the munchies were 13 fucking euro, but that's something else) and settled down to enjoy.

You don't have to know your directors to know that this has come from the maker of the Lord of the Rings. The visuals are as striking as they come (as someone who doesn't handle heights very well, I squirmed at the shots of Kong on top of the building being attacked by aircraft, and the scenes with the overgrown insects were...*shudder*) but there is still a decent heart at the centre of the film, and there aren't many in the kind of directorial company kept by Jackson that can effectively combine the two. The sets of New York in the 1930s were spot on - at least to me - and the characters all gelled well together. Naomi Watts can scream with the best of them, and Adrien Brody, whom I last saw in The Jacket, is fast becoming one of my favourite 'character' actors ("That performance was effluent"). Jack Black's film director, well, headed for caricature, but there you go.

I also liked the 'Heart of Darkness' thread running through the background, and have a look at the chase scenes with the dinosaurs and reflect on how another director has been outclassed by Jackson. You know who I mean.

Anyway, it was sad at the end. The outcome was not what you would hope for, but one that you knew was coming. Not like Godzilla, for example, where you wanted the thing dead, nay, anyone involved in the making of the film dead, by the time the end had rolled around.

So there you have it. Denis heartily recommends. Go see. The only downside was that the shitness of the transport service was highlighted when I had to wait 40 minutes afterwards to get a bus back into the city.

But the best thing? The sum total of the viewing population during this film: Four. Me, and three elderly noiseless pensioners. Just the way I like it.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Back in Mallow...

Well, I'm home since Saturday evening, though it was a pure miracle I got here at all. The last few days in brief:

Friday: Go out for a meal, in a vain attempt to be sensible and avoid getting trashed. After meal, break off from group and go meet up with Phil and head for the Star Inn.

Can anyone see in advance how this night will end up? If you said 'ending up at Phil's boozing until the early hours', you'd be right. Talk about sabotaging myself.

The Star Inn was fun, though the owner was a bit stand-offish this time, toward the end. I don't care. I'll get around to him eventually. After that, The Bulldog. The novelty of going to this place still hasn't worn off: There's always someone new to chat up.

So why did I lock mouths with someone I had been with before, who's not really my type? Aaarrrggghhh!

Anyway it was fun, and when I fell into bed at 4am I had no idea of the day that lay ahead of me.

Saturday: Wake up with a horrible hangover (Taste of Phil's gin martinis still at the back of my throat. Never drinking them again!) and in an amazing feat of mind over matter, get my nausea-wracked ass out of bed to pack for the flight home. It is in the back of my head that the flight is at 7:10pm so I aim to be at the airport an hour beforehand.

I make it to the train station at 5:27pm. I see from the TV display that the train to Gatwick airport, which I must catch if I'm to get there in time, is at 5:34. I queue, with mounting hysteria, for my train ticket, and manage to board the train at 5:33 and 30 seconds. I settle and relax, thinking to myself how lucky I am, and that even though I haven't checked my flight details for quite a while, that I was right, that the flight is at 7:10pm.

Isn't it?

I get there at 6pm and lug my bags over to the screens that tell you the flight details. The entry of interest makes my blood run cold:

1810 - Cork - EZY878 - Check-in closed

For reasons that will forever remain unknown, mostly to myself, I had got the departure time wrong by one hour. One hour in the wrong direction. Why do I put myself through these ordeals? Why?

Depressed, and still hungover, I went over to the check-in desk. I mention that it is probably too late to check in, and the girl there confirms this. She mentions that I should go over to their Sales desk, so I do, with leaden heart. I speak to the guy there, he gets on the phone, and manages to get me on the flight list! It turns out that the flight has been delayed by one hour, so boarding is still a possibility. After checking in my bags, I head to the departure gate. Everyone else is seriously disgruntled at the delay, I am thanking the Lord above.

I get home, check my bank balance online, and as a consequence realise that most of time at home will revolve around studying, and nothing else. Oh well, at least I took care of all the essentials first this time, but there'll be no trip to Dublin this Christmas, or anywhere else for that matter. At least New Year's Eve will be in Dingle this year, which should be cool.

Yesterday and today, I vegged.

Other than that, buckets of college coursework await. Onward ho!

Saturday, December 10, 2005

After 12 years of waiting...

...I got the new Kate Bush album 'Aerial'.

I am not yet ready to pass comment on this milestone.

Aaarrrgghh! Again.

For some reason, the college network has disabled cookies at the server end, which means I can't change the settings back to what they were when I log in. The consequences? I can't log into blogger - the reason for lack of posts lately - and I can't order anything on my visa card as an online 'shopping cart' needs cookies enabled to be able to work properly.

In other news, I got entangled with the owner of the Star Inn in Brighon last night, although I ended up bringing someone else home at the end of the night. This latter guy had an interest in a third party as well, but that person wasn't too keen on our lack of specificity in the sex department (I don't really like categorisation) and opted not to come home with us as a result, so I had to make do with a standard me-and-one-other scenario. Oh well, I shouldn't complain.

Loads of work to do. No more men this side of Christmas. No alcohol either.

(Resolution lifespan: 1 hour)

Monday, November 28, 2005

An awkward moment is...

...when your mother hands you some plastic bag-wrapped toiletries she found in your room, and upon closer inspection, you see that it is two tubes of KY Jelly.

I only had one in that drawer at home though, the other one must belong to my sister. Too much information? Oh well...

The weekend with my parents over went pretty well, discounting the horrible hangover I had halfway through, and the uncomfortable bed I had made for myself with the sofa cushions laid out on the floor (My parents got my bed). I only got about 3 hours sleep last night. I only got about 2 the night before, but I didn't notice the lack of comfort so much that time as I was wasted. Thankfully the Sunday hangover didn't linger long enough to get in the way of having a Sunday roast at Dan's mother's place, which was very nice, though I had to fight to stay awake afterwards. Everyone else seemed to want to fight for me to stay awake then too. The abuse!

Now that I have some money coming to me, a sex trip to London is in order I feel. Outside of that, I am paying for all essentials for the coming months first, before I start spending money on other stuff. I have learned my lesson! A quiet christmas is for the best this year, I think. 3 more weeks (including this one) left in college.

More classes this afternoon. Unnhhh!

Friday, November 25, 2005

Thank God. THANK GOD!

My bank manager in Ireland has agreed to loan me another £1000! Oh joy and rapture! The perfect end to another hellish week of labs. Now I can have a life again, and pay the rent so I don't end up sleeping on the side of the road.

I'm pretty much done with microbe analysis now, thank fuck, but I have some computer thing on genetic engineering to do next week, and all of that is still Hebrew to me.

I say Hebrew instead of Greek, as having brushed with the former over the summer while testing Blackberry phones, Greek is positively a joy to behold compared to Hebrew. A new phrase of my invention shall be absorbed into the English language!

"Nah, mate. I don't get it. It's all Hebrew to me..."

Hmmm.

Parents tomorrow. Flat still looks like shit. Get on it Denis!

Monday, November 21, 2005

Aaaarrrrrggghhhh!!!

If I have to read about microbes of pharmaceutical importance such as Staphylococcus Aureus, Pseudomonas Aeruginosa, Escheria Coli and Salmonella one more time, I WILL KILL!

Aaarrrrrggghhhh!

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Trying new things...

After a hellish week of labs, independent reading, and more labs, I managed to round it off in a rather novel way.

Last night I called out to Arundel, a town about 30 miles outside Brighton, and met up with two chaps, both of whom were engaged to one another, both of whom, funnily enough, were called Craig. On top of that, they both had goatees.

One other thing they had in common last night was me.

It was rather a fun threesome, though I was a bit subdued this morning as I made my way to the train station to go back to Brighton. Maybe it's the workload I have to get through for the exams after Christmas. Maybe it's that I'm sick of poverty. Maybe drinking that bottle of red wine wasn't a good idea. Maybe...

Oh BLEH! I think I'm fit only for a day in front of the TV today, but I must at least try and do some study. That, and make a start on tidying up the flat. My parents are coming around next weekend.

Dum dee dum...

Friday, November 11, 2005

I'm a bit late with this, but...

Editor free after Kemp 'assault'

Sometime last week, Rebekah Wade, poisonous editor of arguably the most poisonous and shittest newspaper in the whole world, The Sun, was held for assaulting her husband, Ross Kemp, but was later released without charge.

It would perhaps be rather politically incorrect of me to say that he should have returned the favour by clattering her up and down the street. Just a little.

Sod it. He should have stabbed her in the head. The world would be a much better place without her.

I have always found Rebekah Wade a curious proposition. She's educated enough to carve out a career that would have more cerebral connotations (apparently she's studied in the Sorbonne), and by all accounts she has some ability in the socialite/networking arena. It would not be unreasonable, then, to expect to see her establish herself in the broadsheet sector, seeing as she wanted to be a journalist since she was 14. Her ambition is, to understate it somewhat, substantial.

Unfortunately it is not ambition of the intellectual bent, and this is where the rot sets in all over the place. I have yet to see an intelligent newspaper that outsells shit like the red tops, and it's a deeply depressing indictment of the critical faculties of the general public. The Sun has always been the worst of this lot though, and when I read some time back that Wade was coming back on board as its editor, the gist of the Irish Times article was that no-one really expected her to effect many changes. Satan's emissary himself, Rupert Murdoch, likes the page 3 girls apparently, and her argument that this little feature alienates a potentially lucrative audience - women - fell on deaf ears.

An argument based on economic considerations rather than female solidarity. See what I mean?

Anyway, around the time she was made editor my curiosity was piqued, and I decided some monitoring of the integrity of the paper was in order. I shouldn't have bothered. It's hard to know who is more contemptible, the careerist c*#%s who form most of the papers staff, or the readership on the ground. I would argue that enforced sterilisation of the latter would be a service to the human race in general, but I'd wager that the journalists who write their rubbish have as much contempt for their readers as anyone, seeing as securing an internship at one of the red-tops is apparently a very competitive business.

I'm not berating the Sun for its base level, it's the fact that it's so damn obvious about its leanings it might as well come with a siren attached, and STILL it shifts serious units all over the UK. For shame. For shame.

I'm not sure which aspects of Wade's reporting have irked me the most. The consequences of the Name and Shame campaign, overseen by her while she worked at the News of the World, were as much the fault of the TOTAL FUCKING MORONS participating in the riots that followed as anyone, and all tabloids go batshit fucking mental when it comes to paedophilia, so I would have to say that it was the Sun's coverage of the 'War on Terror' (oh, how I cringe to even use the phrase) that literally had me gaping in disbelief.

I remember the editorial of the paper in this regard in the run-up to the US devastation occupation of Iraq. Tony Blair was Bush's obvious ally while most EU countries were still humming and hawing about whether to get involved or not. The Sun, subtle as always in its approach, 'rated' each country out of ten according to how willing they were to commit to Bush's cause - I vaguely remember France enjoying a position near the bottom of the league table) - and I stood there wondering how on earth a newspaper could get away with being so obviously biased. It was like the Belgrano 'Gotcha' headline in its blatantness. The reason that the Sun pulls it off, of course, is that its readers are incapable of higher intellectual thought processes and its well the husband beater knows it. What gets me is the influence this paper has (why? why? why?) and how she wields it.

I must say, though, I derived a smug sense of satisfaction when I saw its bleating yesterday, after the terror bill was defeated.

Incidentally, a story about paedophilia I linked to a while ago was made all the worse for the two innocent nursery workers wrongly accused of this crime, by what was nothing more than a call for a witch hunt issued by the Sun in 1999. Guess who was deputy editor of the newspaper at that time? You have three, and the first two don't count. It makes you wonder how many lives the evil vengeful witch has ruined altogether.

So there you have it. Rebekah Wade knows that there are a great many thick turnips out there, and boy is she more than happy to capitalise on it by playing to them. More than anything else though, she draws attention to the fact that ambition doesn't necessarily mean being good at your job, it just means manoeuvring yourself into a position of influence and making buckets of money. There you have it folks, the former no longer can be equated with the latter in journalism, it seems. When the history books are rewritten about the 'War on Terror' in Iraq, she will most likely be remembered as the voice of evil in all the madness. Her assassination is all that can save us now.

In a similar vein, I saw Piers Morgan, ex-editor of the Mirror, present a show on TV during the week entitled 'Most Pointless Celebrities'. How rich was that?

Note: The above piece should be accepted in the vein of humour in which it was (just about) intended.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

A song

Now (and then) - Billy Corgan

Nice and atmospheric, this one. It's taken from his most recent release, The Future Embrace. Overall the Corgan has veered off in a more electronic synthy direction compared to the psychedelic rock-outs of his earlier stuff. It's not a million miles away from Ava Adore, by way of comparison. There's also a rather out-there cover of the Bee Gees 'To Love Somebody', a duet with Robert Smith, though the hairy one can hardly be heard at all.

He's not firing on all the cylinders that he used to when he was in the Smashing Pumpkins, and this album will take a bit of getting used to, but he still has flashes of the genius that, in my opinion, made him better than Kurt at the height of the early 90's alternative explosion. He also did a unique line in a curious sort of frontman anti-charisma, which was refreshingly different and served to scare off the casual everyman (I don't like sharing my bands with just anybody, you know).

I always thought the Pumpkins were at their best when they were doing slightly off-kilter alt. rock rather than writing rock anthems. Gish was uniformly great and possessed of Billy's greatest flash of all, Rhinoceros, and Siamese Dream kicked ass, but Pisces Iscariot...Wow. I remember hearing that when getting a lift to Limerick to visit my brother, and hearing it, I was in a trance for the whole journey. Soothe, Obscured, Blue, La Dolly Vita, Starla, just about everything on that was indie eccentricity brilliantly married with RAWK (man). Sometimes I think they should swap around their A-sides and their B-sides. And of course the Pumpkins had drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, who James Iha once referred to as the most gifted of all of them.

It got a little bombastic for them with Mellon Collie, what with drug overdoses and everything, but songs like Porcelina.. and Thru the Eyes of Ruby still showed that when they pushed out the boat, they were one of the most killer bands on the planet. Then came Ava Adore, cool once you had gotten used to it, with another classy highlight in the form of For Martha. Then came Machina.., which had some low points but still a very very high one in the form of Glass and the Ghost Children. And then came the split.

Then came Zwan, a project that still threw up some good songs in spite of what some Pumpkins fans will tell you, but they split acrimoniously as well. Bad feeling and fortune seems to follow Billy like a bad smell sometimes.

Now there is this offering, which has its moments, but I suspect it won't really do it for the indie kids, if they still exist. They seem to be a dying breed now. It just isn't the same as it was in my day anymore!

It's official. I have turned into my father.

Anyway, on billycorgan.com the shaven headed one has already announced that he wants his own band back. God only knows if they'll all ever be able to sit in the same room again, let alone play together, but if it results in a return to their heyday, I'm all for it.



In other news, the lab I was supposed to have today was replaced with a placement in a Pharmacy for three hours. All of the stuff I had to do under supervision was done and stamped in my logbook, so even though I'll have other visits to other clinics, I can now relax safe in the knowledge that the requirements for this aspect of the course have already been dealt with for the whole year. Woo hoo!

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

The weekend

..fair kicked ass. I visited London for the birthday party of Sarah. We ended up in the city centre at a club called uptight, which was like revisiting my early 20's with all the college rock they played. 2am saw Sarah, her flatmate James and I singing along to Donna Summer at the top of our voices. Getting home that night was character building, to say the least. Getting a taxi after clubs close in central London is harder to pull off than in Dublin, so we managed to squeeze onto a night bus along with what seemed like the rest of the population of suburban London for a rowdy journey home. And of course the train back to Brighton the next day was a delight.

I have also lately discovered a new love: Bloody Marys. Learn how to make them here!

Nothing much else. The college course has gone into overdrive. This week, I have a microbiology lab and a medicine design lab, the latter of which is in the same vein as the labs I did last year. Oh, I can't wait. Roll on the weekend.

Monday, October 24, 2005

More Michael Moore

New Michael Moore project gives drug companies a sick feeling.

I heard about this at a party on Friday night, and I must say I saw it coming a mile off. I'll be interested to see how he handles this, though the comment by Rachel Bloom about portrayals that aren't fair or balanced rings true to some extent. We all know that pharmaceutical companies have been guilty of some fairly substantial misdeeds, but a documentary that merely highlights these wrongs isn't going to cut it. Insight needs to be given into why these companies have never directly held up their hands and admitted their faults and mistakes.

While in this vein, I have applied for placements with two community pharmacy chains for next summer, Lloyds and Boots. I can posture in due course about how I'm above their philosophy, but for the moment I need experience and the guarantee of summer work. Hopefully these places won't stick me out in the middle of nowhere when the time comes around.

While I'm on the subject, the paycheque I got from my summer work has taken the heat off for the time being, but I can't afford to be complacent. In short? I need to start jobhunting again. YUK!

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

The last few days in brief

Last Friday I had a test (they don't waste time getting back into it around here), and I think it went OK.

That night, I met up with Phil and as is always the case when I meet him, there was debauchery. I heard that Schwartz, the bar I went to before, is closing down for renovations for quite some time. There were many encounters there this time, surprise surprise, though some of them were a bit clumsy thanks to my drunkeness. I ended up back at some guy's place for a while for some fun anyway, before heading home at about 4am.

Saturday saw me meet up with Danny for an all-day drinking session.

Sunday saw me go over to Danny and his girlfriend June's place for a nice roast dinner. I went straight there after doing my shopping at Asda, so I had to lug that home after the dinner, only to discover that the eggs I had bought had broken and flowed very nicely all over everything else. This is the second time this has happened. Reminder to self: Pack eggs separately from now on.

Yesterday saw me meet up with Phil again for drinks, food from an all-you-can-eat Chinese menu, and the cinema. A link was posted up recently by another blogger I know, pointing to a location where you can see the first nine minutes of 'Serenity' for free (as luck would have it, the opportunity has now passed). Once I had seen that, I was sucked in. It strikes me as a good idea for getting people to go and see a film, reel them in, and then watch them queue up to see it. In any case it was good, and I recommend.

After that, we went on a tour of Brighton's legendary cruising ground, the Bushes. I'm not sure if I'd venture down there myself though, it's very dark and secluded and there have been assaults down there before. I'll see. One rather memorable part of it was when we walked down a narrow pathway, passing a group of six people. Two of them were locked in an embrace that was, to say the least, rather passionate, and the other four were engaged in, wait for it, a foursome. I wouldn't have minded stopping to look, just out of curiosity to see how the hell one co-ordinates such an encounter from a mechanical point of view alone, but I thought better of it.

We finished up in a Mausoleum watching a jazz band at around midnight, which was a pretty cool way to round off everything.

After that we went back to Phil's for a short while to watch porn on a large plasma TV (the only way to do it, really), where a German guy with loads of tattoos had everything but the kitchen sink put up his arse. I think I need to research the long-term medical implications of this. It can't be good. That tattooed guy was hot, though.

Today I did nothing.

Not feeling renewed with energy today, so off home I go now.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Oh. My. God.

Does it get more moronic that this?

America, I weep for you.

WTF?!

Comfortably esconsed on the couch last night, I was flicking channels and noticed that 'Lost Highway' was on at about midnight. As I didn't have any classes today, I decided to settle down and get into it.

Everything in it was trademark Lynch, lots of foreboding music and weird flashes, and it was the first time I'd seen Bill Pullman in a role as edgy as the one he had in this. Unsurprisingly, Patricia Arquette's character was nutso.

I'd heard it was a bit of a headfuck though, and just as I thought, halfway through the film everything was turned on it's head, with Pullman's character suddenly being replaced by the one of Balthazar Getty, only for the latter to revert back to the former toward the end. This revelation won't spoil it for you, in fact it'll give you foresight that most people will need when taking on this thing.

Lynch pulled a stunt like this with Mulholland Drive as well. As soon as Naomi Watt's character looked into the cube thing, everthing went pear-tarte-tatin and the viewer was left going ".....errr.....", but at least that one happened towards the end, so you had a chance to enjoy a relatively linear plot up until then.

My take on that cube incident in Mulholland Drive was that Betty Elms was offered a glimpse into the future of her relationship with Rita, but that's not one on which I would stake my life by any means. As for the metamorphosis in Lost Highway, I would really need to see it again. People may have thought that Twin Peaks, Wild at Heart, and even Eraserhead were out there, but at least they made sense.

Still a good movie though. The saxophone playing kicked ass and the other stuff by David Bowie, Trent Reznor, and Billy Corgan's nifty 'Eye' was good too. But if anyone wants to enlighten me further on it, and indeed on Mulholland Drive as well, feel free.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

At last...

Well, I'm back in Brighton a week now, and as one would expect, it's been a return to form. Dublin was cool while it lasted, though I never got to see the play A View from the Bridge, with crazy fucking hot Meloni in the main role, as it was booked out for the entire run. That was my one disappointment, but I went to see Wolf Creek in the cinema, which kicked some horror butt.

Having got off the plane on Monday morning, I met the venerable Danny in a boozer at about 4pm and stayed out until about 4am the following morning. Registering the next morning at 9:30 in the college was a barrel of laughs, I can tell you. In the course of the 12-hour bender, I lost the microchip for the electricity meter Dan had given me (I've taken on his apartment for £55 a week! Happy days...), and so I had to put up with an apartment without a power supply for a few days until I got a new one in the post. I got around this by heading to north London to visit my brother for a while, only getting back yesterday, engulfed in the fog of a hangover. It was a good few days, just lying around drinking beer and eating food. I have also acquired a new addiction: a cop show called The Shield. I always felt that there was a glut of police dramas around, what with CSI and Law and Order, and God knows what else, but this one I like. The first two series were at my bro's pad, on DVD, and I ended up watching about 9 or 10 episodes in two days. My only regret there was that I didn't bring the rest of them back with me, but that's for another time.

Lectures start tomorrow at 9am. This year looks rather more taxing than the one that has gone before it, and the department still haven't lost their irritating habit of running one subject across 3 or more consecutive lecture hours, thus making sure you stop absorbing information after about an hour. Tomorrow is a full day of lectures, but only one subject is covered: Therapeutic Aspects of Neuroendocrinology and Pharmacokinetics. I imagine we'll all be hanging over the desks by lunchtime, and there'll still be another 3 hours to go. At least I'll be catching up with more people throughout the day.

In other news that no-one could ever see coming, and that has the potential to tip the earth on its axis, I must announce that I am broke again. My grant cheque had better have arrived while I was in London. As it is, it'll take 5 days to clear into my account when I lodge it. Oh, this is all sounding strangely familiar.

Also, I'm having a crisis of faith with this blog at the moment, and am not sure whether to continue with it, move it to livejournal (or somewhere where you can password-protect some entries), or end it altogether. I've decided to keep going for the moment, though the future feels precarious. We'll see...

Monday, September 19, 2005

Concert Photos

Well, just about every one of the photos I took at the two concerts I went to turned out shit. Even for Sonic Youth, where I was quite close to the stage, the disposable camera I had really just didn't seem up to the job. A bad workman and his tools? Oh well...

Nevertheless, dear reader, I have provided these pictures for you, so you can...er...wonder at their lack of brilliance. Oh piffle, I'm just sticking them up here because Sonic Youth are the coolest and I just want to put them on my blog.

Here is a small breakdown of what went on:

Sonic Youth on stage. Left to right, Lee Ranaldo, Jim O'Rourke, Kim Gordon, and Thurston Moore, with Steve Shelley at the back. Yes, I know you can hardly see them, but that's not the point.


Here is Thurston Moore and his antics (Climbing on fittings, walking down near crowd, messing with guitar to make some cool noise. Again, he is hardly visible, but try)



Here is a picture of the stage when the Chemical Brothers came on. They remained virtually hidden throughout the set, but the crowd didn't seem to mind.

In fact the only ones that came out halfway decent were the two pictures I took of the hot guy I met afterwards with his girlfriend.


Now onto the Pixies concert. I couldn't get anywhere near the stage, so gaze in awe at pictures of two of members on the screen. Kim Deal looks like a suburban mother! Frank Black is more portly than ever!

So yes, all in all not exactly Rolling Stone material, though better to have some document than none at all.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Memoirs, and not this one...

I went to a discussion meeting in Tallaght Library last night. Nuala O FaolĂ¡in and two of her sisters had been invited to discuss how each of their perceptions of growing up in the same family - and their resultant memoirs - differed from each other in outlook and content.

My curiosity stemmed from the fact that, apart from Nuala's memoir being in my top ten when it comes to reading lists, Nuala's sister Deirdre wrote a memoir that is by all accounts uplifting when compared to Nuala's essays in melancholia and anger.

I managed to bag a seat very near the front (someone who had reserved one hadn't shown up. Ha!) and settled down with one of the glasses of wine they were giving out. Eventually Dermot Bolger, South County Dublin's writer in residence, came up, said a few words and then introduced not just Nuala and Deirdre, but their other sister GrĂ¡inne as well.

It was interesting to see the three of them, especially Nuala, and when the main sister of interest spoke for the first time it was suddenly driven home that up until then, my own impression of her had only ever come from her words, and how hearing her for the first time, regional accent and all, made her appear more human.

This example could be extended to people in general. You are not always in control of the impression you make on people when you meet them in person, but when those people have nothing to go on but your writing, those little words can be a very powerful tool indeed.

I think I'm stating the extremely obvious here...

One of the first things that was put out there by N was how sometimes your individual voice can be disempowered within your own family, that they feel that because they know you better than anyone, they can think you are getting away with something when you make a public statement, because they believe they know you better than anyone else. Also referred to was the potential minefield writing a book about your family can prove to be, as you are writing about the people closest to you.

Then it moved over to the other two sisters, and I was struck by the fact that, while GrĂ¡inne's public persona was not entirely different to Nuala's, Deirdre's is a bit sunnier in disposition. One word she self-deprecatingly used to describe herself was 'simple', and once made the point that Nuala and GrĂ¡inne were possessed of more depth than she was. Perhaps she was selling herself short with her phraseology, but on the surface at least, she seemed less self-absorbed than the other two.

It wouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who has read either of the two memoirs that the discussion centred not just around the difference in perspectives, but around the parents of the three sisters. One method Dermot Bolger adopted was to read an account of an incident from Nuala's life from her memoir, and then read Deirdre's account of the same incident from the other memoir. It yielded some amusing results from time to time.

Then questions were taken from the audience. I racked my brains for something, feeling that I shouldn't waste the opportunity. I came up with two questions. The first one, did Nuala ever get to meet the woman who had experimented sexually with Nuala's mother in boarding school, an experimentation which eventually led to the expulsion of the latter from that school? The second one, did she place more weight of expectation on her mother, given that she focused more on that woman's failings as a parent, rather than her father's, in her book?

I hesitated (I'm not possessed of an innate ability to judge other people's boundaries) and was lost. Perhaps it was for the best, re-reading what it was I intended to ask her. One of the last comments that came was from a woman with a wavering voice. Just about maintaining her composure, she said that the discussion had a particular resonance with her as she had found her father to be an 'unimaginable bastard' and couldn't understand how her younger sister thought he was a wonderful man. It was compelling stuff. The whole evening was, really.

And in keeping with the tone, when I stepped out into the open air after the three sisters had understandably fled via the back exit, it was raining.

An interesting night though.


If you the reader hasn't read 'Are You Somebody?' by Nuala O' FaolĂ¡in, get on it. It's insightful, thoughtful, and very readable. It's probably one of the best books about modern Ireland and its problems in print right now, and it's one of my favourites at this moment in time.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

I drool, part II

I have discovered a new lust. It goes by the name of Chris Meloni.

I first saw this guy in Runaway Bride, a Julia Roberts and Richard Gere vehicle. There was nothing else on the telly that night - you must believe me - so I sat and watched it. I remember looking more than once at Monsieur Meloni, but didn't really think about him anymore after that. It was only when the film was repeated on some channel recently that I got another look at him, and it was then I resolved that I would google him at work the next day.

A quick search found that he is also one of the main stars of Law and Order: SVU and some other films I was vaguely aware of, but it was when I read more about his role in the prison drama 'Oz', the first question that came to mind was this.

Was I living under a fucking rock not to have known that this series had hot guy nudity, at a time when I was living in Dublin that had cable with a HBO channel?

I remember when Oz aired first I never really paid it much heed. Another example of life sometimes passing me by. Anyway, the series features lots of naked Chris, apparently, and he plays a gay character who has a liaison with another prisoner. I'm there. I never really cared for Law and Order: SVU and the sight of Senor Meloni in a suit doesn't really do it for me, but he sizzles as a convict, and with that I provide some examples. Click to enlarge, to enlarge like a .....*cough*....






Hot stuff. All pictures courtesy of christopher-meloni.com. To access real Chris nudity, click here and scroll down the page a bit. Then click on the numbers under his picture. Needless to say, it's not exactly work safe.

As it happens, a production of Arthur Miller's play A View from the Bridge is running in Dublin at the Gate Theatre, and guess who is playing one of the leading characters? Yup, it doth be Herr Meloni. I think I shall start making plans about being there also.

As an aside, the Hot Foreign Guy I was drooling over all year is a dead ringer for Chris. I think my taste in men is moving away from hair and more towards muscle.

As another aside, in the film Runaway Bride the story is that Roberts' character is dating Meloni's but dumps him for Gere's at the end. Was she fucking blind?

Another gig...

The Pixies played well last night, but I still preferred the gig where I saw them in the Phoenix Park for some reason. Lansdowne road is simply too big for a intimate gig. You feel (probably because you are) just one of several thousand. Yes, the Phoenix park is bigger than Lansdowne, but the fact that it's a park improves the experience. There are loads of places you can just throw yourself down to chill out in a park, but you don't get that feeling in a stadium. When you're on your own, as I was, the only thing to do is drink, really. That worked last Friday,but not last night, and it brings problems that I've previously referred to. However much of a journey it was to get anywhere near the moshpit, it was even harder to get out when you needed a piss break. I marvel at people who brought their pints right up there with them. They must have bladders of iron.

Another problem was that no matter how close I tried to get the stage, I was still WAY back. Our merry headliners looked like miniatures from where I was, a fact that only the screens could help with. On Friday I was able to get right up to the stage, so this impression suffered by comparison.

The Kings of Leon were supporting. They appear to have generated some fuss since they arrived on the music scene, but from last night's performance I can't really see why. They certainly don't do anything for me.

It wasn't all bad for me, just not as good as it could have been. The band itself were on top form, playing songs from every album, it was just difficult enough to get into it. This going to concerts alone lark, it's for the birds really. It never really bothered me until yesterday, but next time I'll make more of an effort to drag someone with me.

Anyway, the disposable camera has been used up, so pictures will follow soon enough.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Sonic Youth ROCKED!

So did the Chemical brothers, though they played a rather short set.

Friday evening saw me hotfoot out of work at 4pm, making a beeline for Marlay Park. I got to the front door of my building, dressed for warm weather, only to witness pouring rain outside.

Mercifully it abated, and stayed that way for the rest of the day.

I went to the venue alone, but met a guy and his girlfriend, got talking to them and hung out for a while. I had little interest in the first two bands (though they sounded good enough), I was really only there for New York's finest. So I loaded up on Budweiser (the main sponsor of the event. Bleh!) and got down. I forgot one thing. The cardinal rule of concert-going.

STOP DRINKING 45 MINUTES BEFORE YOUR FAVOURITE ACT OTHERWISE YOU HAVE TO RUN TO THE GENTS DURING THEIR SET.

I was down by the toilets when I heard a familiar-sounding wall of feedback, so I legged it to the front of the crowd, camera in hand. The first thing I noticed was how SY still look good, even though the average age of the band members must be close to fifty by now. Kim Gordon still looks cool at what must now be about fifty-two, though I'm still not sure about that dress. Lee Ranaldo, grey as a badger but there you go.

The way they played their set was to take about two songs from each album, going back as far as Evol. So basically we got treated to stuff like I love you Golden Blue (the opener), Schizophrenia, Pacific Coast Highway, Mote (during which Lee seemed to forget half the words), Drunken Butterfly, Pattern Recognition, Rain on Tin (closing), and other ones I don't remember right now.

Then I went off, drank some more, and came back for the Chemical Brothers. A good set, though a bit short. The crowd were mightily pissed off with this, and booed when the steward came on to signal the end of the gig. Of course at that stage I scoped out a hot guy, bounded up and asked if I could take a picture of him for that reason. He agreed, and his girlfriend seemed to take it pretty well.

All I have to do is wait for the pictures to come out and see if I knew what I was doing. The Pixies are headlining today at Lansdowne Road. Yay again!

Last night I went to the workshop about challenging internalised homophobia. It was fine, if a bit light, and I met some interesting people at it. Of course the two hours of workshop was followed by four hours of sociable drinking and now I'm sitting here wishing I had been sensible and gone home straight after.

It was the first time I'd been in a bar with topless male dancers doing their thing on the bar counter. I'm so out of the loop: there are about two gay bars after opening in Dublin since I went to Brighton and I never knew anything about them.

Now to get my head off the desk and do something...

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Homophobia and you:

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the woman who died when the EMTs stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn’t have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.

Repost this if you believe homophobia is wrong.
(The above from adamof on livejournal)

While on the subject, I'm booked into this workshop thing on Monday, for challenging internalised homophobia. I've seen that term bandied about quite a lot lately, and have a few opinions on it myself, so participating in it can't do any harm, except maybe fill me full of dread at the prospect of walking into a room full of strangers and then having to work in small groups with them.

Work is intense, but if I get out of here tomorrow early enough, I have the Chemical Brothers and Sonic Youth to look forward to in Marlay Park. Yay!

Friday, August 12, 2005

Money, money, money...

Things I have missed because I was in Mallow for two months without money:

Dublin Pride
Dublin Gay Film Festival
Brighton Pride

Not to mention the fact that I haven't been able to go to a gym since I came home, and am fast losing the gains I made throughout this last year as a result.

Now I hear that the social welfare office are not giving me as much as they should be for the time I wasn't working, so I am as broke as ever.

I'm getting quite sick of being constant poverty. Some of it is down to bad financial management skills and not living within my means, but when I take a step back and look at the whole thing, my means aren't that vast. Yet any of the interests I have that require money have been shelved, and it's not for the first time, and I'm getting pissed off with it. I've been under the shadow of debt of one kind or another for the past 8 years or so, and I am quite fucking fed up with it. Poverty is part and parcel of being a student, unfortunately it was also part of parcel of being an IT contractor in unstable employment, and the hype about Dublin should be believed: it is rip-off central.

I swear, I'm the first person to speak out against getting on the treadmill of the world, but while money is far from everything, it is even further from nothing. Ever since I left home at the age of 19, it has always been a problem for me. I've either had some and blown it too quickly, or not had enough to begin with. This is one of the reasons I picked a vocational course when I went back to college: I've spent my twenties struggling; I'll be damned if I'll do the same for my thirties as well. Reality has bitten a great big chunk out of my ass.

I still can't reconcile myself to a lifetime of working for a living in the way most people do though, but I reckon I'll have to play that one by ear.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Why I opted out of going to film school.

'Excessive literalism is fatal'.

It's the one indisputable sentence in the whole thing.

Honestly, do these critics think that half of the concepts they are criticising were even intended by James Cameron?

Note to critics: One of the prerequisites of enjoying a science-fiction/action flick is leaving your brain at the door. Lighten up.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Happy birthday blog.

Well, it's officially one year ago today that I started this thing, and it's a year that's definitely been eventful, relatively speaking.

I decided to have a quick look through all the entries to date and see what my efforts have been like so far:

Moans about work: 8 posts

Moans about money and being broke: 14 posts, and one post with positive aspects to it.

Nights out and the planning of them: 19 posts

Aftermath of those nights out (i.e. hangovers the next day): 15 posts

Review of music and film: 16 posts

Books: 3 posts

Moans about exams: 18 posts

Positive posts about exams/results: 5

Rants: 6 posts (mainly about hating football, gay rights, and free fees for students)

Current affairs: 8 posts (pope dying, US election results, same sex marriage, mainly)

Pictures of me: 3

Internet stuff: 2 posts

Big brother: 2 posts

Lie-ins: 1 post

Third level education in general: 2 posts

Things happening in my life in general: 25 posts approx.

Gym: 2 posts

Hot Foreign Guy in the above gym: 3 posts

Sex: 5 posts

My family (brother): 1 post

The above are approximate as I lost patience with this counting process as time went on. However, they would seem to corroborate the contention that my blog might have begun to follow a pattern lately. The last one is telling. Overall I'm pretty reluctant to post anything here about my family, in case they might stumble across it. They remain in blissful ignorance of all of this. At least, I hope they do, otherwise I'm dead.

Generally, I've always been slow to say things about people here that I wouldn't say to them in real life (a policy some bloggers I've read should follow), and once you've got something off your chest with someone, I really don't feel there's much point in offloading about it here afterwards. From that point of view, this blog will never become that much of a soap opera.

If blogging is a popularity contest, it looks like I'm not exactly winning everyone over, judging by the amount of comments I get on average - none, barring one or two guys who have passed through. There is also the fact that I'll never be able to put down absolutely everything I want to here for reasons I've outlined earlier. Still, something keeps me going. Quite a few blogs started out with no comments from anyone, and ultimately I've no idea how many people read this, so I reckon I'll keep it going for some more time. I think what I need to do is use this as less of a description of my day to day life, and more of a soapbox or facility for criticism. This may mean less posting, but hey.

There's an awful lot of rubbish out there, but I've always been able to take it or leave it. Pet hate? When people criticise other people's blogs and profiles from the safe distance of their own journal, or just gratuituous moaning in general, really. Cyberspace is big enough for everyone.

I started work today. The relief of being back in the city is substantial, and I've pretty much settled back into things. The only blot on the landscape being that I came back too late last night to see 'Bear Cub' in the cinema. It's almost a year since this came out. There's nothing for it. I'll just have to order the DVD. The uncut (ha!) version, of course.

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Done and dusted

What could have been a nightmare week actually finished up quite well.

I went to Dublin on Wednesday evening with the intention of looking for a place to live in for the two month period I'll be working there.

I woke up on the couch in a house I used to live in on Thursday morning, with a full day of walking and public transport ahead of me as I looked for a place. A place, to compound the difficulty, that would only need me for two months.

It was pouring rain outside. It didn't stop for two whole days.

Mercifully, the ad I had put on the internet yielded results. A man mailed me offering a room for the two months in a house that isn't that far from where I will be working, and I got sorted. After that, I got on with the business of meeting old friends and quickly and efficiently boozed the tax cheque I got down to almost nothing. Will I ever learn?

In other news, I went to see War of the Worlds. I had the Jeff wayne musical version thing when I was younger and was quite impressed by it. This was typical Spielberg, visually impressive with a rather linear storyline, and he didn't deviate much from the original plot. The 'violence, menace and peril' tag...er...isn't that supposed to be covered by the censorship rating? Anyway, I recommend, and contrary to what seems like popular opinion at the moment, Tom Cruise's presence in it doesn't make it unwatchable.

Another film I saw this week was Downfall. This has been out for quite some time, but I never got around to it while I was in Brighton. I should have had, as it was definitely one of the best war films I've seen in a long time. In all the Nazi-centred war films that I've seen up until now, Hitler has always been portrayed as a one-dimensional raving lunatic (War & Remembrance, anyone?). This one did a much better job, putting him across as...erm...a raving lunatic BUT one with human qualities. There are times in it when you would see him as a doddering and doting grandfather in years to come, in the way he deals with women and children, including those of the Nazi Youth. When one of his officers, Albert Speer, informs him that sometimes he deliberately acted contrary to the FĂ¼hrer's wishes, you almost felt sorry for the Nazi leader, not so much because of the betrayal involved, but because it was like holding up a mirror to Hitler's own deluded thinking. One other thing that was alluded to in the film was the fact that support for the Nazis from the german people themselves was never at 100%, something that never seems to be mentioned in intermediate level history textbooks. All in all, extremely considered in its treatment of an area that is often tramped over with great big jackboots. Go see.

I wonder though, how the admissions department of that Austrian art school felt as they saw WWII play out before them? In any case, I wouldn't mind getting my hands on a copy of Mein Kampf, just out of curiosity.

Friday saw me go for an eye test in Vision Express, and in spite of the fact that I told them to use the frames I already had for my new lenses, it still cost me 180 euros to get kitted out (including the insurance). Apparently, it 'costs' 70 euros alone to cut the lenses to fit the frames I already had. What's that sound? Oh, it's me getting boned in the ass. I also had a contact lens consultation, which I have to follow up with in the next week or two. I really want to make the switch to them, but when the optician put them in as a trial run that day, it felt like there was a group of wasps partying on my eyeball. Hopefully I'll get used to them.

Yesterday I got the lovely train back down to Mallow which was stuffed full to bursting with noisy knackers and me with a lingering and even more lovely hangover to make the experience that bit more special. What is it with people smoking joints on trains? Couldn't they at least use the toilet? Urrgghhh!

After that I went out in Mallow and met lots of people I hadn't seen in ages, what with the bank holiday and all, and ended up in the local nightclub. In there I saw a bouncer who used to teach me life-saving in the local swimming pool fifteen years ago, and who I remember as being rather hot in his day. Of course with all the alcohol I had he was duly informed of this in the course of the night, but he seemed more chuffed than anything else.

Getting the train back tomorrow. It'll feel like an escape. First up, 'Bear Cub', a film I tried unsuccessfully to see in Brighton before, is showing Monday coming in Dublin, so that's one thing I might pencil in. Overall I'm looking forward to getting back to civilisation.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Arrgh! Gmail gets stressed:

Click to enlarge


Well I thought it was funny.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Finally...

I got my transcript, and I got a 2.1! Yay me! That breakdown in full:


Quantitative Skills for Pharmacists:A
Pharmacology:A
Pharmacy Practice – Coursework:A
Pharmacy Practice – Exam:B
Chemistry I:B
Pharmaceutical Analysis:B
Chemistry II:C
Cell Biology and Biochemistry*:D

I also got my tax cheque this morning and it has been lodged. I've noticed that it can be a pain in the arse trying to get through to the revenue department, but once you do, they act quickly. All I have to do is wait for the money to clear, and partaayy!

*Eye-wateringly boring. No-one could ever hope to do well. That's my official defence anyway.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

More news, some good...

Having spent half of yesterday on the phone to the revenue office (most of it on hold), I found out that I overpaid tax to the tune of 900 yo-yos last year, so that's a fat cheque that's winging it's way to me. Ha ha.

Brighton Uni still haven't complied with some of the requests I made of them, including the forwarding of my transcript, and I don't think the angry letter I got from them this morning telling me I still owe them £250 is entirely unrelated to that. Trying to manage my bank account at the moment is like trying to stall the sinking of the Titanic. Oh fun and games.

There was an explosion in the main street in Mallow this afternoon, right across the street from me, and then lots of oohing and aahing from gawkers as a cloud of smoke rose up into the air. Firemen duly arrived on the scene, but it was lashing rain so I didn't stop to check them out. Hopefully no-one got hurt.

I've been officially promised a job for the months of August and September, so all is not lost on that front. I leave for Dublin on the 25th or so. It'll be about time.

...

...


Dammit, I'm bored!

Monday, July 11, 2005

Oh. My. God.

I passed everything! I'm through into second year!

Who de man? I de man!

I don't know how I actually got on in any of the individual subjects, I just checked on the website, and next to my name, those magic words: 'Proceed to level 2'.

Oh joy and rapture!

The only fly in the ointment is that there is no-one to go out and get drunk with, but my parents have offered to take me out for a drink tonight to celebrate.

Now, off I go out into the sun to get burnt.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

There is a light. Is it an oncoming train?

I found out yesterday that, as a mature student, I am entitled to unemployment benefit this summer at the usual rate of 130 euro a week. My sanity has started to make something of a recovery. Now I will be able to do things that normal people do, like go to the cinema, and top up my phone credit.

My results are out sometime at the start of next week. I'm not sure how I feel about this impending revelation. I have almost certainly failed Biology, and if the resit date coincides with or interferes with any of the concerts I want to go to in August, I will surely kill myself. Here's hoping...

The morning of the London bombs was one of the few where I was actually up early enough to hear about it happening on the radio. At least the people I know that are based there are OK.

My sister and I were having the discussion that morning, and one thing that came up was that if Al-Quida had struck just before the UK general election, it would have quite possibly scuppered Tony Blair's chances of getting back into power, just as what happened in Spain with the Madrid bombings. The then PM of Spain blamed ETA solely to distract attention away from the fact that he had led his country's armed forces into Iraq against the wishes of almost everyone in Spain, and now they were suffering the consequences.

I wonder though, if the relationship between participation in the Iraq war and suffering revenge at the hands of the terrorist organisation is that linear.

Monday, July 04, 2005

I'm still bored!

My boredom and frustration has reached a plateau. It hasn't got any worse in the last week, but that's not to understate how intense it is already. To top it all off, our VCR has given up the ghost, so I'm reduced to watching the four Irish channels for entertainment (Saw 'Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya sisterhood' last night. Gawd!)

My phone interview reaped rewards, but it turns out that that only means I'm over the first of three hurdles in the selection process, and it's for a permanent position, which is not what I'm really after (though anything will do at this stage). I'm e-mailing an average of 2 companies per day with regard to advertised positions, and so far none of them have had the courtesy to get back to me.

Two friends of my mother's are over from Holland for a while to stay, so at least that breaks up the monotony.

In other news, I've picked up a guitar again for the first time in nearly a year. I'm currently trying to nail the Cure's 'Just Like Heaven'. It's not going too badly. Before, I always set myself these trying practice sessions as my goal, with a view to learning as much as possible, whereas now I'm just learning songs that I like, as opposed to rambling chord changes, and it's turning out much better.

I still need a job though.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Progress, but at the other side of the world...

Canada: Same-sex marriage law passes 158-133

I'm not sure if I like how the cabinet ministers were forced to vote with the government, but in one way it sends out the message that denial of rights won't be tolerated.

All I have to do is wait for Ireland to follow suit, although I fear I may have to get myself cryogenically frozen for some time in order to witness that occasion. 3 countries down (including Belgium and the Netherlands), many many to go...

I have a job interview over the phone tomorrow. I'm crossing absolutely everything for this one.

Friday, June 24, 2005

I'm BORED!

It's 2 weeks since I got home, and the job that I was fairly sure I'd get has not materialised. This is not good. I need money. I am, at this moment in time, poorer than a church mouse.

A handsome (and rather hairy) couple from Brighton contacted me on gaydar, inviting me to join them in a ménage à trois, but I'm stuck here! I must say though, ever since I shaved my head, the number of propositions I've been getting on that site has increased exponentially. Fat lot of good it's doing me though, stuck in Mallow.

The novelty of sleeping in until lunchtime is starting to wear off (To be fair, I've had a lot of practice. Practice that extended over the whole of the college year), and I am now looking for anywhere in Ireland that needs a software tester at short notice. It transpires that some of my more preferred bands are playing in Dublin in the summer (The Pixies, Sonic Youth) and to go and see them, I need money.

As a consequence of my poverty, tonight will be spent at home. The Ice Storm is on TV at 12:30am. While it is a good film, it nearly drove me to suicide the first time I saw it, so maybe watching it again isn't such a good idea at this point in my life...

Oh, PUKE!

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Hmmmm...



Your Linguistic Profile:



45% General American English

30% Yankee

20% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern



Well, it's not as if I have anything else to write about. If anyone can enlighten me as to what these different types of English actually are, feel free...

Friday, June 17, 2005

Fear

...is lying awake at 3 in the morning, in an empty house (my parents have gone for a week) and suddenly hearing a high-pitched sound outside that strikes you as a cross between Freddy Krueger running his finger-knives over a metal surface and a small child crying out, realising that while your phone is next to your bed, it has run out of credit, and you are miles from town (our house is in the countryside).

I swear, if it's the neighbour's cat it's going to wake up some morning and find itself disembowelled and hanging from the clothes line quicker than you can say Whiskas.

My parents have gone to Vienna on holiday for the week. I resisted the temptation to throw wild parties/orgies, instead restricting myself to smoking in the house and leaving the washing up build up. The latter wasn't the greatest idea ever, given that every single cooking utensil in the kitchen now sits next to the sink, looking at me quizically, wondering when it is going to be washed up. There is almost an hours work there. Also, I forgot to water the basil plant, which now looks like it is in the throes of life-threatening dehydration. Get off your ass, Denis!

In an attempt to live up to the 'new irishness' of this blog's title, I've decided to learn Irish. I tried in school (or rather, my teachers tried to make me) but it didn't quite sink in. Going through the material I have now, I'm not surprised. The grammar is amongst the most pernickety I've ever seen in any language. But I'm fed up with coming across faux-Irish displays of national pride (usually, the smell of IRA sympathy is never far behind) and so I've decided to go one better and spend the summer learning my native tongue.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Not Guilty...

Well, Michael Jackson is free.

I have to say that I am happy with the outcome of the trial. The subject of child molestation is one that provokes knee-jerk reactions in intelligent people, legal process, and statutory law. The 1600s had the witch hunts, 1950s America had McCarthyism, and now we have this shit.

This reminds me of an article that I first read a few years ago here, which shows that when it comes to investigating child sex abuse, or anything that results in harm to children in general, common sense can quite literally go flying out the window. Someone said to me a while back that the mother of the child at the centre of all this deserves to be arrested more than Jackson if he was guilty, as she had basically prostituted out her child to him, and I agreed. MacCaulay Culkin, as a grown man not so prone to leading questions, seemed to be one of the few credible witnesses. I'm also reminded of the film L.I.E. (Long Island Expressway) that I saw back in early 2003, which showed that the 'victims' of child abuse sometimes aren't quite as vulnerable and helpless as people like to think they are, and quite often are fully aware of what is going on. Not that I'm in any way condoning that kind of predatory behaviour, but the film makes you realise that the issue is quite so black and white.

Michael Jackson is weird, most likely because of his upbringing. He is in obvious need of psychological treatment (and the surgeons who have operated on his face need to be struck off on the grounds of ethics), and his position as a parent is dubious, but this does not automatically mean he has pederastic tendencies. There's no denying that his relationship with children, and people in general at this point, is questionable, and the dangling of his baby over a balcony cast a shadow over his parenthood more than this case ever did, but people need to grasp that fact that outwardly unorthodox people really aren't statistically any more likely to have an inappropriate fondness for children than anyone else.

His star stopped shining a long time ago. The rot set in with the 1993 case, and never really disappeared until now. At the start of the trial, I thought that it was as well that it had come to this, so that it could at least then be sorted out one way or another.

The worst he can be accused of with regard to those children with whom he has come into contact is that he is an inappropriate role model and that his relationship with them has rather negative aspects to it, but the parents of these children knew that anyway, so how come they were allowed to spend so much time with him? If children need to be kept away from him, it is because some psychological adjustment of himself is in order.

And that stage invasion by Jarvis Cocker was a load of bollocks.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Blogging Billy

I've recently come across billycorgan.com on the net. In the main, it consists of a series of confessions written by the shaven-headed one for public consumption. It's pretty interesting in parts: How he lived in squalor in Florida with his 'starter' band, The Marked, how he was treated by his father, how some of his (sadder) fans reacted to his fame by staking out his house and by having sex with each other on his lawn, and most notably, how the inability to keep some decent perspective on his life wasn't altered by his commercial success. The writing doesn't do much to dispel the myth that Corgan was and is a pretty self-obsessed individual, but it makes for a substantial diversion.

It 's interesting to see that, in common with a lot of bands that are now revered, no-one saw his potential or gave two shits about him in the early days, but he persevered anyway. It makes you wonder if it pays for a band to be suspicious when they are all too easily lauded early in their career.

Anyway, for anyone interested in reading about life before starting a band, life while in a band, and life after splitting up a band, this is the thing. I reckon it'll get across what he wants to say in a way that his songs never will.

It even has interesting tips about how to lessen the squalidness of living in a leaky-roofed cockroach infested hole: Put buckets of water down so they collect the drops of water, and the cockroaches will somehow feel compelled to crawl into the buckets of water and drown themselves. Bet you didn't know that. I didn't.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

A new look for Denis

Control yourselves, ladies. Form an orderly queue, gentlemen.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Home sweet home...

... and esconced in my parents study typing this. I got a flight from Gatwick to Cork earlier this evening and have now settled back in.

Of course the day did not go without some substantial panic attacks along the way. Packing began at 1pm today, while battling a stinking hangover, and of course everything was successful only by the skin of my teeth (checking in 40 mins before departure is a little too close for my liking, especially with a raft of luggage, and without the dosh to cover the excess bagagge charge). There was also the row I had with one of my housemates, and to a lesser extent another one, over cleanup duty before I left. I never really liked this guy anyway, but now it's official. He is dead to me. How I didn't kill him this afternoon, I'll never know, and it's good that there's an ocean separating us now.

I gave some stuff to a friend of mine to keep over the summer, and now I suspect I gave him a few things that I had actually meant to take home with me. Aaaaarrrgggghhhh!

So, with first year of Pharmacy in Brighton down, what are my thoughts?

The accommodation served a very useful purpose, and could have been a lot worse, but I am glad I am out of there now. In spite of the fact that I am a student again for a while, living with the similar species grated quite a lot at times, and there are very few of the people in the house that I would choose to live with again, given the option. A professionals-filled house is that way forward in September, I reckon.

Brighton University itself leaves quite a bit to be desired. Very little of the atmosphere one would expect from a college, NO college bar (unbelievable, on its own), different departments scattered across the city, and big fat buildings completely bereft of architectural merit. Yet my gut feeling about the whole experience is quite positive. I suppose some things are more than just the sum of their parts. I suppose part of me is ruined by going to Trinity College when I was younger. Disregarding its reputation (overrated, really), it has one of the nicest college campuses by a wide country mile.

I have not completely shaken some of my more negative studying habits (the main one being hardly doing any studying at all) but I have improved, I feel. I discovered a previous unknown wellspring of discipline with regard to the gym, and have made some progress there. All I have to do is apply that to the college course, and I should get a first class honours next year.

I have drunk more in the past nine months that I have ever had in a similar previous period in my life, as anyone who reads this regularly has since worked out. This has been fun, but it has also cost a lot, and I am going to have to be much more frugal next year.

The Brighton University Gay society has a bias that is away from the bear scene, so I don't think it will prove fruitful for me in the long run, but I have met fun people there, and will keep in touch next year.

The course? I can see myself doing this in the long run to some degree, and while some of it has been quite hard, I've managed to overcome it, and the last two exams I finished on a positive note.

Hot Foreign Guy? I most likely will never see him again. *Sniff*

Last night was quite the epic of alcohol intake, and the drunken bonfire on the beach was cool, but I'm done now. The next three months will see me go on the wagon in an attempt to save money.

God, I still have to get used to my parents' 56k modem connection. Christ...

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Note from the trenches

Tuesday, biology. Borderline.

Thursday, Pharmacy Practice. Could have failed miserably, but a last minute cramfest saw me able to scrounge enough from various questions to hopefully pass.

Friday, Chemistry. A bastard of a paper. Borderline here too.

(Work ethic? It crash-landed in Antarctica some months back. Sinéad and I have made a pact that if we let everything slide again next year, we will shoot each other.)

Sleep Pattern: Turned on its head.

Personal hygiene: Unapproachable.

Diet: Refined sugar and caffeine intake headed for the stratosphere.

Aaaaaarrrrggghhhhh!!!

Only two more to go. Tuesday (the absolute worst of the lot) and Wednesday, and then I'm out of here.

The worst thing is that the ramping up of the exams coincided with Bear Pride, in London this year.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

What the FUCK?!

I have just come away from hearing the UK Top 40, and the crazy frog song is at number 1. Coldplay, the band on which everyone's hopes were pinned, had their new single debut at number 2. None of the DJs involved in presenting the shows I was listening to bothered to conceal their opinion of the outcome, and one of them, with a veneer of humour that was only barely there, said he wanted a recount.

It beggars belief that after all the musical movements that have come to pass in the last century, shit like this still sells by the bucketload. A related contest was run by one of the Brighton radio stations, to see what would be voted 5 worst novelty tunes ever. When the results were announced, a snippet of each was played. Amongst the songs were Do The Bartman, Chef's Chocolate Salty Balls, Bob the Builder, and at number one, the admittedly dire Teletubbies theme. Yet I was struck by the fact that no matter how bad they were, the crazy frog was worse. In fact, it made Do The Bartman sound like The Smashing Pumpkins. I'm not joking. I recently read a humour piece in the Friday Thing where the author suggested that the creator of this song should be locked in a room, and forced to listen to this song 24/7, non-stop for a year, and see how he likes it then, when he emerges completely and utterly deranged. I am in complete support.

I remember when Coldplay first appeared on the scene way back when. I remember thinking the same of them as I did of Travis and the Stereophonics: Solid, but completely and utterly unremarkable, and the singles from their first album didn't nothing to change that. I think their problem at that time was that there was still quite a few superior bands around at the same time who were at their peak, and Chris Martin's lot just weren't on a level sufficent enough to compete with them. Fast forward two years though, during which Radiohead disappear off out on a left-field limb and the Smashing Pumpkins split up, the band puts out A Rush Of Blood To The Head and Chris Martin gets it together with Gwyneth Paltrow. The former I have since discovered to be a surprisingly decent album, and the latter saw them get more publicity than their songs would have had on their own.

Now I think that there isn't much else out there in the way of mainstream rock music, and they sure are getting a fair bit of attention. There's quite a bit of excitement over the new album, and apparently they're set up for an interview with Steve Lamacq tomorrow. There's also a 'Coldplay day' on one of the radio stations tomorrow too. I didn't think I'd ever see the day when I would develop an interest in this lot, but I have.

Having said that, I still think genuine talent is a bit thin on the ground at the moment. I suppose that's what I get for growing up during the early 90's. Kurt Cobain was of the opinion that genuinely good, boundary-pushing bands only appear in cycles of 10 years. I think he was right, and if that's the case, we're due something good again. You'd bloody wonder what the point is though, when arse like Axel F is the most popular song in the country. My only hope is that we've hit the bottom, because then the only way is up. Fingers crossed...

Saturday, May 28, 2005

Baptism of Fire!

The weekend of May 12th was not the climax of my social life. Last night was!

Warning: What follows features descriptions of sexual encounters.

Last night I met up with a chap called Phil. We first met at one of the LGBT Brighton meetings, and he was the only one there, as far as I could see, who was acquainted with the bear scene in Brighton. We kept meaning to hook up so he could introduce me to all that, but life always seemed to get in the way. We met this week in college though, and plans were made to go out on Friday. So last night, even though I have my first exam on Tuesday coming (pray for me!), I met him in Kemptown, and my introduction began.

We started late, so we didn't have much time, but a quick drink was had in the Marine Tavern, and then we hit The Bulldog. I can't believe I put off going to this place for so long, it's class. Loads of hot n' hairy men everywhere, and a really good atmosphere. There's something so arousing about seeing two big burly hairy men mauling each other in a confined and sweaty space. It makes me want to jump right in there between the two of them. In there, I met the guy who inspired me to shave my head too. I had originally planned to go home early, but of course that went out the window after my second pint, and it was decided we would go to Schwarz bar. That was when my eyes were truly opened to what can go on in gay Brighton for the first time.

I got to the door. The bouncers took one look at me and told me I couldn't go in with the shirt I had on me, but provided a black t-shirt for me. I was surprised by this. It's a good way of accommodating people who can't, for whatever reason, manage the dress code. Then I went in, and my jaw went down.

First I had a quick look in the playroom. It's an area sectioned off by net curtains and oil drums. To get an idea of what goes on, click here. That's right, you guessed it, one big orgy of sharing and caring. I returned, figuring out in my head how I was going to get my first acquisition in there. Then my eyes alighted on the two men near the bar. One standing up with his pants open, the other on his knees in front of him, moving back and forward vigorously. I went to use the toilet at the back of the bar. I opened the door, only to encounter the same scenario again. I retreated, and headed for the slightly-less-cruisy toilets near the cloakroom.

After that, I resolved to participate in the proceedings. Into the play area I went, found myself a big cuddly dude, and got to work. While we were engaging each other, I felt a pair of hands lower down on me. I turned around and extended an inviting arm around the chap behind me. Then I looked down, and realised that the second party was actually the guy on his knees to one side of me. Whoops...

I also copped onto the fact that it pays to pay attention to the face of the guy you're entangled with, otherwise you run the risk of chatting him up again later in the night, not realising you've had him already.

The talent overall in there was fine (lots of big shaven-headed goateed guys in army gear and leather), and I felt a bit more integrated into the proceedings with my head shaved. Phil told me that as a general rule of thumb you have to dress a bit like the kind of man you are after, so once I have some money, it's off to buy khaki and leather, with a pair of doc martens enjoying a comeback as well. Am I embracing a new gayness? It certainly looks like it, especially since I've had more men in this one night than I've had for the rest of the year.

As the night went on, I got into the art of cruising, as chat-up lines are almost completely unnecessary. Most of the time, all that is required is eye contact. I finished off by advancing on a guy in the main bar area. He wanted me on my knees then and there, but I have my standards, so I led him back to the play area. As I went down, I put out my hands to get some balance, and it was then I found a condom on the floor. For some reason, I found this completely symbolic of the whole night. Once I was done with him, my eyes settled on a rather dapper guy in classic YMCA leather gear, but just as we were about to get acquainted, closing time descended, and security came in to usher us out.

I got my shirt back at the door, and headed out into the cool night for the walk home. I met two guys in my class on my way back. They asked me if I had a good time. I replied in the affirmative, and left it at that. I didn't hold back as much with two of my flatmates though, and one of them asked me if I gave or took. It's often been my experience that straight guys want to know this from a gay guy. Whyfuck?

It matters not. It's taken a while, but I have found what I came here for. Thanks Phil.