Apparently, this is when I'm going to die. At the age of 76. From Cancer. I must remember to verify this when I draw my last breath.
Try it for yourself.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Lift off...
First exam, Maths (or to give the course its proper title, 'Quantitative Skills for Pharmacists') earlier this morning, and the feeling is good. To be fair, this module wouldn't tax anyone with an aptitude for the subject, and I'm expecting a high mark. Then off to the pharmaceutical analysis lab to collect our lab manuals for the next semester. Lots of gripping stuff like assays for sodium bicarbonate, aspirin, and ferrous fumarate (whatever the hell that is). I can't wait. God, I'm such a nerd.
Chemistry this day week. To be fair, this will tax anyone with even the most advanced knowledge of the subject. I'm dead.
Lastly, a little something that made me laugh. Right Click/Save Target As...
Chemistry this day week. To be fair, this will tax anyone with even the most advanced knowledge of the subject. I'm dead.
Lastly, a little something that made me laugh. Right Click/Save Target As...
Thursday, January 13, 2005
U-turn
Well, I had a presentation to give on Tuesday on skin rash, and all things considered, it went well. Then there followed two days drinking from which I am only recovering now. With the exams less than two weeks away, I've decided pubs are out until they are finished, and I'm attempting to give up smokes as well. From now on, alcohol is relegated to special occasions only. Let's see how long it lasts...
On video, I saw a Japanese film called Audition the other night, which was disturbing in a way that I haven't seen before, unless you like seing people being tortured relentlessly, such as by having pins stuck in their eyes. At some level, it could be thought of as thought-provoking, but it was just a bit too much for me.
I also saw Supersize Me, which was engaging enough, though similar to what another blogger said, if you don't know that fast food is bad for you, you really shouldn't be allowed out in public without adult supervision. Some of the points made were already known in anti-corporate activism circles, Morgan Spurlock just made them that bit more entertaining. And he hasn't been beaten too severely about the head with the ugly stick, which helps. I thought that it was a bit of a laugh that his girlfriend was quite subtle and restrained throughout the film right up until it came to describing their sex life (or lack of it), where all of a sudden, the floodgates were not so much thrown open, as blown to smithereens. But I liked. And when I have a boyfriend, I want him to be able to cook for me too.
Form an orderly queue there please, gentlemen...
On video, I saw a Japanese film called Audition the other night, which was disturbing in a way that I haven't seen before, unless you like seing people being tortured relentlessly, such as by having pins stuck in their eyes. At some level, it could be thought of as thought-provoking, but it was just a bit too much for me.
I also saw Supersize Me, which was engaging enough, though similar to what another blogger said, if you don't know that fast food is bad for you, you really shouldn't be allowed out in public without adult supervision. Some of the points made were already known in anti-corporate activism circles, Morgan Spurlock just made them that bit more entertaining. And he hasn't been beaten too severely about the head with the ugly stick, which helps. I thought that it was a bit of a laugh that his girlfriend was quite subtle and restrained throughout the film right up until it came to describing their sex life (or lack of it), where all of a sudden, the floodgates were not so much thrown open, as blown to smithereens. But I liked. And when I have a boyfriend, I want him to be able to cook for me too.
Form an orderly queue there please, gentlemen...
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
The best days of your life?
Well, back in the apartment in Brighton and now in the library, trying to re-engage myself with the college experience.
My last few days in Mallow finished up rather nicely, and I ended up going out for a few the night before the flight. Everything fine there, though I bumped into someone I knew in the club and, after spending some time catching up, she told me something that made me rather depressed.
When I was in secondary school, before I decided I dug men rather than girls, I had a girlfriend called Patricia. How we met was stuff straight from a matchmaking textbook: People who knew her also knew people that I knew, and before you know it, the match was made. This girl had a reputation around town for a being a bit eccentric, a mad genius if you will, so when the match was suggested to me, my curiosity was piqued and I agreed.
Patricia was pretty cool in her own way, and had interests that were also held by me (including The Cure, an essential pre-requisite in those days for us ever getting on together), but she had a disposition that was, to put it mildly, rather nervous. It was hardly surprising, as at that time she was a bit of an outsider, and had put up with quite a bit of bullying from the people with whom she went to school. I only fully saw this when she took me to her debs (the Irish equivalent of the American prom) and witnessed how some people in her class reacted to her. I still hold it against them, and I really don't think you'll find a bigger nest of vipers than a female single-sex school in this day and age. They really need to be phased out in favour in co-eds, but that's another story.
One of the rumours doing the rounds about her was that she was a lesbian. Her sister was, so that was all the proof that the silly 17 year olds in her school needed. I could never tell myself, but figured that if she was, she would eventually come out in her own time.
We broke up after a while, and I began my ill-fated first attempt at college, whereas she took a year off after getting her leaving cert to get her head together before heading off to college. She is, by all accounts, very talented at writing, and has the A in leaving cert honours English to prove it. I remember wondering about her shortly afterwards, and hoping that she'd succeed in whatever it was she went into. At the back of my mind, though, was the niggling doubt that she was carrying baggage from her schooldays that would impede her progress for quite some time, and it proved to be founded.
Last weekend in that club,talking to that girl, I was told she had been in and out of a psychiatric hospital near Mallow for quite some time. I attempted to ascertain if she had at least finished her degree (a light in the middle of the dark, so to speak) but the other person didn't know.
This sort of thing also happened with someone who was a few years ahead of me in school, and in spite of the fact that he got close to straight A's in his leaving cert, and a degree in computer science, he has since been unable to work owing to behavioural problems on his part. Again he was targeted by bullies in school. Coincidence?
There is Conor, an ex-classmate of mine, whose then rather poor social skills drew unwanted 'attention' on him. He left school with close to all A's as well, but floundered in university, only barely graduating when he should have aced it. He went onto have a massive nervous breakdown, and while I think he recovered eventually, he is now working in the civil service, in a job that I have no problem in saying is a waste of his ability.
And then there is Rob, brother of my previously-mentioned friend Kate, who was also a nervy guy who got bullied in primary school. He escaped it in secondary by joining the school rugby team (Christ, aren't packs of teenagers so predictable?) but it didn't fully leave him. He since went on to do rather a lot of ecstacy and then developed schizophrenia. While a connection is now established in the medical world between the two, I can't help but think that his life would a bit better now if it had been a bit better when he was younger. And it's not good now. He's after leaving for New York on a whim, and is currently there with very little money, and most likely even less of his faculties.
I'm sure there are other similar stories out there.
Myself, being gay and hating football even then, I had some idiots in school to deal with, but they didn't really represent a threat, and I emerged relatively intact. One of my consolations (and this may seem smug, but it's just fact) was that I knew that I was smarter than 90% of my class, and I derived some sense of satisfaction from the fact that quite a few of them had to resit their leaving cert because they didn't get the college offers they were looking for, while I did. It was mentioned by someone in another blog in the same context that the best revenge is a life well lived, but it could also be said that the best revenge is a success more substantial than theirs. But I've long since forgotten about them.
The one other substantial beef I have with my old school was that, apart from being shit at helping students score at a level that befitted their ability, its ethos sucked. The headmaster (my physics teacher) was an pig-ignorant bully who only valued you if you were on his rugby team, and his values filtered on down through a lot of the teachers in the school. The English teacher was the one I disliked the most after the principal, someone who never taught me anything while I was there and often would use a carefully placed smart remark to inspire the class to pick on one or two students (he openly referred to one of my friends as fat in class) and very nearly turned me off writing for life. Nearly.
All I can do is hope that the above pattern of harassment/depression is broken at some point, but I'm not going to hold my breath. Especially for that place.
All I can say is that schools need to stop being a microcosm of the animal kingdom, or there will be more ruined lives and quite possibly more disasters along the lines of Columbine.
Here's to Patricia. Get well soon, girl.
My last few days in Mallow finished up rather nicely, and I ended up going out for a few the night before the flight. Everything fine there, though I bumped into someone I knew in the club and, after spending some time catching up, she told me something that made me rather depressed.
When I was in secondary school, before I decided I dug men rather than girls, I had a girlfriend called Patricia. How we met was stuff straight from a matchmaking textbook: People who knew her also knew people that I knew, and before you know it, the match was made. This girl had a reputation around town for a being a bit eccentric, a mad genius if you will, so when the match was suggested to me, my curiosity was piqued and I agreed.
Patricia was pretty cool in her own way, and had interests that were also held by me (including The Cure, an essential pre-requisite in those days for us ever getting on together), but she had a disposition that was, to put it mildly, rather nervous. It was hardly surprising, as at that time she was a bit of an outsider, and had put up with quite a bit of bullying from the people with whom she went to school. I only fully saw this when she took me to her debs (the Irish equivalent of the American prom) and witnessed how some people in her class reacted to her. I still hold it against them, and I really don't think you'll find a bigger nest of vipers than a female single-sex school in this day and age. They really need to be phased out in favour in co-eds, but that's another story.
One of the rumours doing the rounds about her was that she was a lesbian. Her sister was, so that was all the proof that the silly 17 year olds in her school needed. I could never tell myself, but figured that if she was, she would eventually come out in her own time.
We broke up after a while, and I began my ill-fated first attempt at college, whereas she took a year off after getting her leaving cert to get her head together before heading off to college. She is, by all accounts, very talented at writing, and has the A in leaving cert honours English to prove it. I remember wondering about her shortly afterwards, and hoping that she'd succeed in whatever it was she went into. At the back of my mind, though, was the niggling doubt that she was carrying baggage from her schooldays that would impede her progress for quite some time, and it proved to be founded.
Last weekend in that club,talking to that girl, I was told she had been in and out of a psychiatric hospital near Mallow for quite some time. I attempted to ascertain if she had at least finished her degree (a light in the middle of the dark, so to speak) but the other person didn't know.
This sort of thing also happened with someone who was a few years ahead of me in school, and in spite of the fact that he got close to straight A's in his leaving cert, and a degree in computer science, he has since been unable to work owing to behavioural problems on his part. Again he was targeted by bullies in school. Coincidence?
There is Conor, an ex-classmate of mine, whose then rather poor social skills drew unwanted 'attention' on him. He left school with close to all A's as well, but floundered in university, only barely graduating when he should have aced it. He went onto have a massive nervous breakdown, and while I think he recovered eventually, he is now working in the civil service, in a job that I have no problem in saying is a waste of his ability.
And then there is Rob, brother of my previously-mentioned friend Kate, who was also a nervy guy who got bullied in primary school. He escaped it in secondary by joining the school rugby team (Christ, aren't packs of teenagers so predictable?) but it didn't fully leave him. He since went on to do rather a lot of ecstacy and then developed schizophrenia. While a connection is now established in the medical world between the two, I can't help but think that his life would a bit better now if it had been a bit better when he was younger. And it's not good now. He's after leaving for New York on a whim, and is currently there with very little money, and most likely even less of his faculties.
I'm sure there are other similar stories out there.
Myself, being gay and hating football even then, I had some idiots in school to deal with, but they didn't really represent a threat, and I emerged relatively intact. One of my consolations (and this may seem smug, but it's just fact) was that I knew that I was smarter than 90% of my class, and I derived some sense of satisfaction from the fact that quite a few of them had to resit their leaving cert because they didn't get the college offers they were looking for, while I did. It was mentioned by someone in another blog in the same context that the best revenge is a life well lived, but it could also be said that the best revenge is a success more substantial than theirs. But I've long since forgotten about them.
The one other substantial beef I have with my old school was that, apart from being shit at helping students score at a level that befitted their ability, its ethos sucked. The headmaster (my physics teacher) was an pig-ignorant bully who only valued you if you were on his rugby team, and his values filtered on down through a lot of the teachers in the school. The English teacher was the one I disliked the most after the principal, someone who never taught me anything while I was there and often would use a carefully placed smart remark to inspire the class to pick on one or two students (he openly referred to one of my friends as fat in class) and very nearly turned me off writing for life. Nearly.
All I can do is hope that the above pattern of harassment/depression is broken at some point, but I'm not going to hold my breath. Especially for that place.
All I can say is that schools need to stop being a microcosm of the animal kingdom, or there will be more ruined lives and quite possibly more disasters along the lines of Columbine.
Here's to Patricia. Get well soon, girl.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Au revoir 2004.
A hectic schedule this week.
Tuesday: Meal & drinks.
Wednesday: Brother's engagement party.
Thursday: Farewell Meal & drinks for Kate.
Friday: New Year's Eve (need I say more).
While Christmas itself in Mallow was a bit comme çi comme ça, new year's eve was definitely better. In a pub last night that had just the right atmosphere and right amount of people, and for the countdown, each table was given a bottle of champagne on the house! Nice one, Albert Lynches, I'll definitely be going back to ye next year.
Sometime after the countdown had finished and the back-slapping had begun, I was still struggling with the cork (it's not as easy as it looks in the Formula One events) but I finally got it off and then sprayed my table. Aaahhh yes. I forgot to check if it was Cristal or Chateau Neuf de Formaldehyde, but it did the job.
Kate, a long-term good friend of mine, is going travelling for a year. South Africa, New Zealand, and Australia are on her itinerary. I hadn't seen much of her in the last while, what with 'life getting in the way', as she would put it, but she will be missed, and I have a feeling her junket will last longer than a year. Twas good to see her on Thursday.
So with 2004 at an end, what are my thoughts?
I'm useless at definitive lists like these ones, so all I can say is 2004 saw the folllowing take place for me:
1. I ditched my 'career' in software testing, moved to another country, and commenced a new programme of study. Not bad for a day's work.
2. After a false start or two, I started weight training in the gym and am now starting to see gains slowly but surely appear.
3. I navigated my diet in a direction that was substantially healthier, and lost almost 10kgs.
4. I came out to my parents.
5. I bought a turntable so that I can build up a collection of vinyl. I never actually posted about this originally. The turntable is a little portable thing, but will suffice until I have money, years later. to buy an audiophile one. This first one is still my baby, though, and this is what it looks like.
The last two points need to be dealt with separately. When I worked in a company called IT Alliance from October 2000 to July 2002, music downloading software had reached the peak of its popularity, before sanctions against it limiting its functionality began to appear. During this time I was casually introducing myself to new artists on a daily basis and loving every minute of it. Now that's changed (Audiogalaxy, once by far the best of the lot, is now a shadow of its former self) and it's been a while since I've introduced myself to anyone. This was apparent at Oxegen, where there were plenty of bands who I knew of, but had never heard any of their songs. Examples? Kings of Leon, Keane, The Rapture, and the Libertines. It's time to get my ass in gear again, John Peel style. I haven't lost the habit of sticking with a band once I know I like them, but I could be more adventurous when it comes to discovering new stuff.
As an aside, I think the above point I made about introductions knocks the argument against music downloading on its ass: Once you get a taste for what a band sound like, you're more than likely going to go out and buy the CD to support them, which is what I've done to a large extent with Sonic Youth, whose back catalogue I explored on Audiogalaxy, but whose new releases I've since always bought. And I'm not the only one who follows that pattern.
So, no 'best of 2004' album list, because I simply don't know what came out this year. But I'll change that from now on.
Going back to Brighton on Monday. Not a great deal of study done, but it's better than nothing. Christmas itself? Not bad this year.
Tuesday: Meal & drinks.
Wednesday: Brother's engagement party.
Thursday: Farewell Meal & drinks for Kate.
Friday: New Year's Eve (need I say more).
While Christmas itself in Mallow was a bit comme çi comme ça, new year's eve was definitely better. In a pub last night that had just the right atmosphere and right amount of people, and for the countdown, each table was given a bottle of champagne on the house! Nice one, Albert Lynches, I'll definitely be going back to ye next year.
Sometime after the countdown had finished and the back-slapping had begun, I was still struggling with the cork (it's not as easy as it looks in the Formula One events) but I finally got it off and then sprayed my table. Aaahhh yes. I forgot to check if it was Cristal or Chateau Neuf de Formaldehyde, but it did the job.
Kate, a long-term good friend of mine, is going travelling for a year. South Africa, New Zealand, and Australia are on her itinerary. I hadn't seen much of her in the last while, what with 'life getting in the way', as she would put it, but she will be missed, and I have a feeling her junket will last longer than a year. Twas good to see her on Thursday.
So with 2004 at an end, what are my thoughts?
I'm useless at definitive lists like these ones, so all I can say is 2004 saw the folllowing take place for me:
1. I ditched my 'career' in software testing, moved to another country, and commenced a new programme of study. Not bad for a day's work.
2. After a false start or two, I started weight training in the gym and am now starting to see gains slowly but surely appear.
3. I navigated my diet in a direction that was substantially healthier, and lost almost 10kgs.
4. I came out to my parents.
5. I bought a turntable so that I can build up a collection of vinyl. I never actually posted about this originally. The turntable is a little portable thing, but will suffice until I have money, years later. to buy an audiophile one. This first one is still my baby, though, and this is what it looks like.
The last two points need to be dealt with separately. When I worked in a company called IT Alliance from October 2000 to July 2002, music downloading software had reached the peak of its popularity, before sanctions against it limiting its functionality began to appear. During this time I was casually introducing myself to new artists on a daily basis and loving every minute of it. Now that's changed (Audiogalaxy, once by far the best of the lot, is now a shadow of its former self) and it's been a while since I've introduced myself to anyone. This was apparent at Oxegen, where there were plenty of bands who I knew of, but had never heard any of their songs. Examples? Kings of Leon, Keane, The Rapture, and the Libertines. It's time to get my ass in gear again, John Peel style. I haven't lost the habit of sticking with a band once I know I like them, but I could be more adventurous when it comes to discovering new stuff.
As an aside, I think the above point I made about introductions knocks the argument against music downloading on its ass: Once you get a taste for what a band sound like, you're more than likely going to go out and buy the CD to support them, which is what I've done to a large extent with Sonic Youth, whose back catalogue I explored on Audiogalaxy, but whose new releases I've since always bought. And I'm not the only one who follows that pattern.
So, no 'best of 2004' album list, because I simply don't know what came out this year. But I'll change that from now on.
Going back to Brighton on Monday. Not a great deal of study done, but it's better than nothing. Christmas itself? Not bad this year.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Did I mention...
...that it snowed here this year? For the first time in years it has snowed in Cork, and on Christmas day too!
Tomorrow I build a snowman, if it hasn't all melted. But tonight, I go out...
Tomorrow I build a snowman, if it hasn't all melted. But tonight, I go out...
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Christmas Day...
Which was spent with my sister and her husband, along with my parents and the in-laws and so forth.
It's been a while since I woke up with a blinding hangover on Christmas morning, but I did it this year, and so another new year's resolution has been added to the long list:
If one must go out on Christmas Eve, one will return home at least one hour before serving stops.
Lovely dinner, though I didn't eat much of it. This tradition of feeling delicate on Christmas day was proudly nurtured by a group of us when we were younger, but I am now officially knocking it on the head.
When conversation turned to my brother's engagement, my parents didn't really say much, as they didn't when my sister announced hers years ago (my sister was insulted that my parents seemed to find the Late Late Show more interesting that night). Funny how some people handle things.
I can't wait to see how they handle things when I announce mine! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!
Bed early tonight...
It's been a while since I woke up with a blinding hangover on Christmas morning, but I did it this year, and so another new year's resolution has been added to the long list:
If one must go out on Christmas Eve, one will return home at least one hour before serving stops.
Lovely dinner, though I didn't eat much of it. This tradition of feeling delicate on Christmas day was proudly nurtured by a group of us when we were younger, but I am now officially knocking it on the head.
When conversation turned to my brother's engagement, my parents didn't really say much, as they didn't when my sister announced hers years ago (my sister was insulted that my parents seemed to find the Late Late Show more interesting that night). Funny how some people handle things.
I can't wait to see how they handle things when I announce mine! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!
Bed early tonight...
Merry Christmas, one and all!
Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all the readers of this blog.
I met my brother today. The one whom I had previously referred to as The One Whom I Would Like To Stuff In A Blender And Press Purée. He arrived with his girlfriend, a girl both he and I have known for years, and announced their engagement. I now have a new sister-in-law. Everyone took it well. The thing with my brother is that he is great for the grand gesture, but once upon a time wasn't so great for seeing it through. I don't think he'll have any problems seeing this through though, and I wish them both the best. The girl in question is well suited to him.
They have both managed to climb far enough up the career ladder and now seem to be making quite a lot of money (they recently bought a BMW between them). As long as my bro still doesn't carry baggage that, in spite of his less than stellar performance in middle education, he is now as 'good' as anyone, we'll get along fine. I know that it's something that was with him, and I would empathise if we got along better. Hopefully we will this year. Last year got quite ugly towards the end, but he's staying at his fiancée's house this year so everything should be OK. I know that we won't head out together to get rat-arsed anymore like we used to, but such is life. The problem is that once I used to put up with him, but one morning I woke up and found that I couldn't suffer fools any more. And he was the first to see this. Families, eh? Who knows how it'll turn out in the long run...
Christmas Eve was understated but not bad. Met my neighbours and caught up. The usual. Turkey and stuffing at my sister's house in 9 hours.
On that note, off to bed I go.
I met my brother today. The one whom I had previously referred to as The One Whom I Would Like To Stuff In A Blender And Press Purée. He arrived with his girlfriend, a girl both he and I have known for years, and announced their engagement. I now have a new sister-in-law. Everyone took it well. The thing with my brother is that he is great for the grand gesture, but once upon a time wasn't so great for seeing it through. I don't think he'll have any problems seeing this through though, and I wish them both the best. The girl in question is well suited to him.
They have both managed to climb far enough up the career ladder and now seem to be making quite a lot of money (they recently bought a BMW between them). As long as my bro still doesn't carry baggage that, in spite of his less than stellar performance in middle education, he is now as 'good' as anyone, we'll get along fine. I know that it's something that was with him, and I would empathise if we got along better. Hopefully we will this year. Last year got quite ugly towards the end, but he's staying at his fiancée's house this year so everything should be OK. I know that we won't head out together to get rat-arsed anymore like we used to, but such is life. The problem is that once I used to put up with him, but one morning I woke up and found that I couldn't suffer fools any more. And he was the first to see this. Families, eh? Who knows how it'll turn out in the long run...
Christmas Eve was understated but not bad. Met my neighbours and caught up. The usual. Turkey and stuffing at my sister's house in 9 hours.
On that note, off to bed I go.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Peter Jackson. Respect.
"Certainty of death? Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?"
I saw the final instalment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy on Tuesday night, and for me, it was the best of the three. It isn't often you see a project like that improve with each successive film, but it was accomplished there. It is quite often you see a production like that flounder in excess, but that was avoided here. Watching the credits roll at the end of it gave an insight into how epic the whole thing was, not just on screen, but behind the scenes as well. I was talking about this with a LOTR fan the other night, and we wondered how Jackson managed to move from something as understated as 'Heavenly creatures' (incidentally, a film I much liked) to the herculean task of interpreting J.R.R. Tolkien's books so effectively. As someone who nurses fantasies of writing/directing, am I jealous? Oh no. Noooooooooooo!
I remember when The Fellowship Of The Ring first came out, the expectations of just about everyone on the planet, to understate it somewhat, were stratospheric. Almost everyone I knew had read (or claimed to have read) the books as a child, and this was where I stood apart. When I was younger, I devoured books to the point where I was almost officially declared a hermit, but I never went near this epic. Whenever it came up in discussion, all the talk of elves, hobbits, and talking trees (whatever they're called) made it sound like Dungeons and Dragons committed to the printed page, and so I gave it a miss. It was only years later when people whose literary opinions I respected gave it praise, and certain English teachers recommending it as an aid to expanding the skills of creative writing, that I decided a rethink was in order. I still haven't undertaken the task of reading all three books yet, but soon my precious. Anyway, it is now widely acknowledged, as it always has been, that Jackson pulled it off. It is unlikely that anyone else could have done it as well, and for that, Mr. J is now pretty much up there in the Directors Hall of Fame. It's no less than he deserves.
When the first one came out, not having read the book, my logic at that time was that the only way around this lack of experience of the whole phenomenon was that I shouldn't go and see the films either. Go figure. But then, when I was unemployed for a rather lengthy spell during 2003 (I was in the IT sector after all), I got the first one out on DVD and watched it with great curiosity, curled up on the couch with a bucket of nachos, dips, ice-cream, popcorn, and liquorice allsorts while everyone else was at work. Small bloody wonder I was carrying so much extra weight in those days.
Anyway.
After seeing the first, I thought 'Right, that's a new interest for me, then' but the second one hadn't come out yet, and when I did get to see it, it was a crap copy from a print media company that one of the flatmates had provided. The one thing I do remember was how life-like the battle scenes were. NOT because of the wide-screen television, but owing to the fact that we were all smoking at the same time in a small and crowded room. Not surprisingly, I decided I would need to see it again.
When the Return of the King came out long after I had seen The Two Towers, I didn't go, for the sake of continuity. I decided I would watch them all quite close to one another to enjoy it fully. All this might sound pedantic, but I found that the way in which each film required your brain to be in 20 places at once no small challenge. So it was. Last week, after everyone else had fecked off home and left me, for the most part, alone in the college residence, I got the first two out again for the newly procured TV and video. I got the whole thing much more this time, and seeing the conclusion the other night polished it off beautifully. The battle scenes were epic, the characters well rounded, the soundtrack spot on, and the costumes...oh it was just VERY GOOD! And there is no character more cute, cuddly, endearing, and yet (at the end) dignified than Sean Astin's Sam. At least, for me.
As an aside, does a smirk play around anyone's mouth when they realise that the characters in this, essentially a fantasy tale, seemed to have more depth than some of those in 'Braveheart' and the rather faecal 'The Patriot', both of which were based on true stories? I know it did for me. Also, The Return of the King was most likely responsible for the Russell Crowe vehicle 'Master and Commander' not getting as much 'recognition' as it might have, which gave me a little frisson of delight, I must say.
So that's it. The reading of the books looms on the horizon. If there is an inner circle that I had always been unaware of, I am now inside it, and if there is a box set of the three already out, I'm buying it.
And lastly, a question for you. Of the two acceptance speeches from two directors who won 11 Oscars, Jackson and James Cameron for The Titanic, which one makes you roll your eyes and which one makes you think, 'That guy rocks!'?
Nuff said.
I saw the final instalment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy on Tuesday night, and for me, it was the best of the three. It isn't often you see a project like that improve with each successive film, but it was accomplished there. It is quite often you see a production like that flounder in excess, but that was avoided here. Watching the credits roll at the end of it gave an insight into how epic the whole thing was, not just on screen, but behind the scenes as well. I was talking about this with a LOTR fan the other night, and we wondered how Jackson managed to move from something as understated as 'Heavenly creatures' (incidentally, a film I much liked) to the herculean task of interpreting J.R.R. Tolkien's books so effectively. As someone who nurses fantasies of writing/directing, am I jealous? Oh no. Noooooooooooo!
I remember when The Fellowship Of The Ring first came out, the expectations of just about everyone on the planet, to understate it somewhat, were stratospheric. Almost everyone I knew had read (or claimed to have read) the books as a child, and this was where I stood apart. When I was younger, I devoured books to the point where I was almost officially declared a hermit, but I never went near this epic. Whenever it came up in discussion, all the talk of elves, hobbits, and talking trees (whatever they're called) made it sound like Dungeons and Dragons committed to the printed page, and so I gave it a miss. It was only years later when people whose literary opinions I respected gave it praise, and certain English teachers recommending it as an aid to expanding the skills of creative writing, that I decided a rethink was in order. I still haven't undertaken the task of reading all three books yet, but soon my precious. Anyway, it is now widely acknowledged, as it always has been, that Jackson pulled it off. It is unlikely that anyone else could have done it as well, and for that, Mr. J is now pretty much up there in the Directors Hall of Fame. It's no less than he deserves.
When the first one came out, not having read the book, my logic at that time was that the only way around this lack of experience of the whole phenomenon was that I shouldn't go and see the films either. Go figure. But then, when I was unemployed for a rather lengthy spell during 2003 (I was in the IT sector after all), I got the first one out on DVD and watched it with great curiosity, curled up on the couch with a bucket of nachos, dips, ice-cream, popcorn, and liquorice allsorts while everyone else was at work. Small bloody wonder I was carrying so much extra weight in those days.
Anyway.
After seeing the first, I thought 'Right, that's a new interest for me, then' but the second one hadn't come out yet, and when I did get to see it, it was a crap copy from a print media company that one of the flatmates had provided. The one thing I do remember was how life-like the battle scenes were. NOT because of the wide-screen television, but owing to the fact that we were all smoking at the same time in a small and crowded room. Not surprisingly, I decided I would need to see it again.
When the Return of the King came out long after I had seen The Two Towers, I didn't go, for the sake of continuity. I decided I would watch them all quite close to one another to enjoy it fully. All this might sound pedantic, but I found that the way in which each film required your brain to be in 20 places at once no small challenge. So it was. Last week, after everyone else had fecked off home and left me, for the most part, alone in the college residence, I got the first two out again for the newly procured TV and video. I got the whole thing much more this time, and seeing the conclusion the other night polished it off beautifully. The battle scenes were epic, the characters well rounded, the soundtrack spot on, and the costumes...oh it was just VERY GOOD! And there is no character more cute, cuddly, endearing, and yet (at the end) dignified than Sean Astin's Sam. At least, for me.
As an aside, does a smirk play around anyone's mouth when they realise that the characters in this, essentially a fantasy tale, seemed to have more depth than some of those in 'Braveheart' and the rather faecal 'The Patriot', both of which were based on true stories? I know it did for me. Also, The Return of the King was most likely responsible for the Russell Crowe vehicle 'Master and Commander' not getting as much 'recognition' as it might have, which gave me a little frisson of delight, I must say.
So that's it. The reading of the books looms on the horizon. If there is an inner circle that I had always been unaware of, I am now inside it, and if there is a box set of the three already out, I'm buying it.
And lastly, a question for you. Of the two acceptance speeches from two directors who won 11 Oscars, Jackson and James Cameron for The Titanic, which one makes you roll your eyes and which one makes you think, 'That guy rocks!'?
Nuff said.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Received in the mail...
"A Chara,
I am pleased to inform you that on the basis of information supplied, with regard to the prescribed income limits, you have qualified for the award of a Higher Education Grant.
...
Is mise le meas,
[etc. etc.]"
That wasn't the wind you just heard, it was a deep sigh of relief from me.
Thank God. Things are now a slightly less dark shade of grey. My liver is already on the black market (for all the good it'll do someone else), but at least I can hang onto my kidneys.
Now all they have to do is actually produce the sponduliks. And all I have to do is actually open one of the three books I brought home with me to study over Christmas.
Days till Christmas: 4
Days till Semester I exams begin: 35
I am pleased to inform you that on the basis of information supplied, with regard to the prescribed income limits, you have qualified for the award of a Higher Education Grant.
...
Is mise le meas,
[etc. etc.]"
That wasn't the wind you just heard, it was a deep sigh of relief from me.
Thank God. Things are now a slightly less dark shade of grey. My liver is already on the black market (for all the good it'll do someone else), but at least I can hang onto my kidneys.
Now all they have to do is actually produce the sponduliks. And all I have to do is actually open one of the three books I brought home with me to study over Christmas.
Days till Christmas: 4
Days till Semester I exams begin: 35
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Drunkeness in Dublin
Well, I'm back from two days of my booze heaven/hell (still haven't worked out which) and it was epic. On Thursday night I went along to the Christmas party of the old software company I used to work for before I moved to Brighton. I met up with friends and went down to the hotel where it was on, to meet up with everyone else. The party was noted for the fact that it involved the use of vouchers to obtain drinks. Everyone was issued with 6, which would lead one, not unreasonably, to understand that every person was entitled to 6 free drinks. However, these vouchers seemed to enjoy a curious phenomenon: No matter how many you used, you never seemed to run out.
Can anyone see where this is going?
As the night went on, one would be forgiven for thinking that I was trying to commit suicide by alcohol poisoning, but I've always seemed to have a problem making a glass of wine last more than a few minutes. And then there are those Fat Frogs. Damn them to the very blackest spot of hell.
Things of note:
1. It is generally accepted that you have one or two glasses of wine with a meal. Downing a glass (or two) with each course of a five course meal is not the most exemplary model of moderation.
2. It is possible to set up a roadblock for a mince pie on a table, using linen napkins. I have done it.
3. It is also possible to almost dislocate your dancing partner's shoulder by trying to execute an over-zealous twirl on her. I almost did that too.
4. More often than not, when you are talking to a husband-and-wife team and you tell the wife that you find her husband attractive in the presence of her husband, the wife will laugh, and while the guy sometimes laughs too, they can also squirm.
5. Being the nice, jovial and complimentary person that I am when I am hammered to the fiftieth power, I remember declaring my undying love for a man that I was not attached to ("Don't ever change, Cathal, you're just so hot the way you are!" Aaaaarrrrggghhhh!!!). I pray that the reason I can't remember doing it to anyone else is down to the fact that I actually didn't do it to anyone else.
6. I am never EVER drinking Fat Frogs again. EVER!
7. When a couple who are staying in the hotel invite you to join them in the residents bar, it is not a very good idea to try and gain this illicit entry at the same time as the fifty other invitees. You will most likely be met with a point-blank refusal.
8. When you try and gain said entry by pretending to be one of the aforementioned party, it doesn't help if they have a obviously foreign surname, and you are very obviously Irish. This is noteworthy for the fact that it actually wasn't attempted by me. Redemption is still a possibility.
9. A whole dining hall of tables with green pints of Fat Frogs on them lends a bizarrely patriotic feel to the proceedings. Could this alcoholic hybrid be the new Guiness? Roll on St. Patrick's day!
Oh, and there was also the taxi driver that drove us down to it. He spoke at length about his penchant for spiking with viagra the drinks of people who were 'giving him grief' in pubs. Go figure.
Having arose the next day at around 3pm, I began making arrangements to meet others. A rendezvous was organised with Joanne and we enjoyed our catch-up time. Nice meeting you J, hope the hangover isn't too bad tommorrow. Once that was finished, I met up with my old flatmates for some drinks. I swear, myself and Sinéad have always enjoyed conversations about sex, but last night we wouldn't have made it past a Cineclub censor. Thank God no-one heard us. I hope.
After, myself and one of the flatmates went to a late night supermarket to get food. There was a security guy inside, and I leaned over and, attempting to speak in hushed tones, said to my companion, "That security guy is hot". I mustn't have been as hushed as I would have liked though, as the following exchange took place:
Security guy: [loudly] "WHAT did you say?"
Me: "Er...nothing!"
SG: "Did you just insult me?"
Me: "No, actually it was a compliment!"
SG: "What did you say?!!"
Me (realising that this is not going away): "I said that you were hot!"
SG: "Harsh?!!"
Me: "HOT! H-O-T!"
SG: "Are you gay?"
Me: "Yes!"
[Cue much sniggering in the queue, both behind me and in front of me]
SG (calming down): "Well, it's not really my thing. I like girls!"
Me (in mock-dramatic fashion): "Fine!" (Pays for sandwich. Passes security guard. Stop and rub his face. He smiles. I leave, vowing to shut up in future when I am drunk, reminding myself that Dublin is NOT Brighton.)
Today was similarly lazy, and I said my goodbyes to all flatmates, and headed home. My only regret is that I didn't get to see as many people as I would have liked, but sin é. It was all good. I even managed to fit in a visit to the higher education grant office, and it looks as if things might finally be sorted. All the same, it ain't over til the fat lady sings, so I'm ringing them on monday to confirm.
I can't bring myself to check my bank balance after all this, though. I'm such an ostrich when it comes to these things.
Abstinence is looking more attractive by the day.
Can anyone see where this is going?
As the night went on, one would be forgiven for thinking that I was trying to commit suicide by alcohol poisoning, but I've always seemed to have a problem making a glass of wine last more than a few minutes. And then there are those Fat Frogs. Damn them to the very blackest spot of hell.
Things of note:
1. It is generally accepted that you have one or two glasses of wine with a meal. Downing a glass (or two) with each course of a five course meal is not the most exemplary model of moderation.
2. It is possible to set up a roadblock for a mince pie on a table, using linen napkins. I have done it.
3. It is also possible to almost dislocate your dancing partner's shoulder by trying to execute an over-zealous twirl on her. I almost did that too.
4. More often than not, when you are talking to a husband-and-wife team and you tell the wife that you find her husband attractive in the presence of her husband, the wife will laugh, and while the guy sometimes laughs too, they can also squirm.
5. Being the nice, jovial and complimentary person that I am when I am hammered to the fiftieth power, I remember declaring my undying love for a man that I was not attached to ("Don't ever change, Cathal, you're just so hot the way you are!" Aaaaarrrrggghhhh!!!). I pray that the reason I can't remember doing it to anyone else is down to the fact that I actually didn't do it to anyone else.
6. I am never EVER drinking Fat Frogs again. EVER!
7. When a couple who are staying in the hotel invite you to join them in the residents bar, it is not a very good idea to try and gain this illicit entry at the same time as the fifty other invitees. You will most likely be met with a point-blank refusal.
8. When you try and gain said entry by pretending to be one of the aforementioned party, it doesn't help if they have a obviously foreign surname, and you are very obviously Irish. This is noteworthy for the fact that it actually wasn't attempted by me. Redemption is still a possibility.
9. A whole dining hall of tables with green pints of Fat Frogs on them lends a bizarrely patriotic feel to the proceedings. Could this alcoholic hybrid be the new Guiness? Roll on St. Patrick's day!
Oh, and there was also the taxi driver that drove us down to it. He spoke at length about his penchant for spiking with viagra the drinks of people who were 'giving him grief' in pubs. Go figure.
Having arose the next day at around 3pm, I began making arrangements to meet others. A rendezvous was organised with Joanne and we enjoyed our catch-up time. Nice meeting you J, hope the hangover isn't too bad tommorrow. Once that was finished, I met up with my old flatmates for some drinks. I swear, myself and Sinéad have always enjoyed conversations about sex, but last night we wouldn't have made it past a Cineclub censor. Thank God no-one heard us. I hope.
After, myself and one of the flatmates went to a late night supermarket to get food. There was a security guy inside, and I leaned over and, attempting to speak in hushed tones, said to my companion, "That security guy is hot". I mustn't have been as hushed as I would have liked though, as the following exchange took place:
Security guy: [loudly] "WHAT did you say?"
Me: "Er...nothing!"
SG: "Did you just insult me?"
Me: "No, actually it was a compliment!"
SG: "What did you say?!!"
Me (realising that this is not going away): "I said that you were hot!"
SG: "Harsh?!!"
Me: "HOT! H-O-T!"
SG: "Are you gay?"
Me: "Yes!"
[Cue much sniggering in the queue, both behind me and in front of me]
SG (calming down): "Well, it's not really my thing. I like girls!"
Me (in mock-dramatic fashion): "Fine!" (Pays for sandwich. Passes security guard. Stop and rub his face. He smiles. I leave, vowing to shut up in future when I am drunk, reminding myself that Dublin is NOT Brighton.)
Today was similarly lazy, and I said my goodbyes to all flatmates, and headed home. My only regret is that I didn't get to see as many people as I would have liked, but sin é. It was all good. I even managed to fit in a visit to the higher education grant office, and it looks as if things might finally be sorted. All the same, it ain't over til the fat lady sings, so I'm ringing them on monday to confirm.
I can't bring myself to check my bank balance after all this, though. I'm such an ostrich when it comes to these things.
Abstinence is looking more attractive by the day.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Back home...
As usual, the journey wasn't without its surprises. Once again, the flight was delayed (Déja vu, anyone?) and we took off about an hour after the scheduled departure. I whiled away the free time in the bar, eventually making a crazed dash for the departure gate. Composure? Never heard of it...
Tomorrow (or should that be today?) I head to Dublin for the Christmas bash for the company I used to work for. There'll be plenty of faces that I shall look forward to seeing, and one or two which I shall not, but that's life. I almost got into a drunken brawl at it last year. Hopefully this year's will pass off peacefully.
I put a new commenting system (Haloscan) on this blog. Finally, it's working. It allows me to delete comments much more seamlessly than the existing system did (tried and tested already) and it also allows commentator bans based on IP addresses, which is what I need right now. Pest control, baby. The only problem is that it hides all previous comments entered under the old system, but then these oldies are recoverable. Of course, it has nothing to do with another blogger who executed a similar move a couple of days ago.
Originality, that's me.
Tomorrow (or should that be today?) I head to Dublin for the Christmas bash for the company I used to work for. There'll be plenty of faces that I shall look forward to seeing, and one or two which I shall not, but that's life. I almost got into a drunken brawl at it last year. Hopefully this year's will pass off peacefully.
I put a new commenting system (Haloscan) on this blog. Finally, it's working. It allows me to delete comments much more seamlessly than the existing system did (tried and tested already) and it also allows commentator bans based on IP addresses, which is what I need right now. Pest control, baby. The only problem is that it hides all previous comments entered under the old system, but then these oldies are recoverable. Of course, it has nothing to do with another blogger who executed a similar move a couple of days ago.
Originality, that's me.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Passed Biology!
Yeah, baby!
Yet here I am frantically working on two assignments that are due tommorrow. Some things will never change...
Yet here I am frantically working on two assignments that are due tommorrow. Some things will never change...
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Well, the fact that I got back from my big gay piss-up at about 3am this morning and didn't actually knock off to sleep for another while after that saw to it that today was just a model of productivity. Oh well, at least I made the gym, and for once it was almost deserted, so I didn't have to wait all night for benches and weights to become free.
I've been thinking about priorities in this whole area lately. I know that in order to commit to making physical gains in the gym I am going to have to knock this party habit on the head. I'd already mentioned that I was considering cutting down on alcohol, but this is at odds with the belief in the back of my mind that as I am in Brighton, I should be partying every minute God sends me.
The reality of all this was slammed home again to me this morning. I got a call from the Irish Higher Education grant authority (yes, my application is STILL FUCKING PENDING). A short summary of the story follows.
1. A while back, the authority told me they wanted a copy of my tax returns for the year 2003, in spite of the fact it will tell them NOTHING and prove NOTHING that they don't know already from the other documentation I have furnished.
2. I ring tax office and ask them to make a copy of the form and post it to me, so that I can send it onto the grant people (no, there are no communication lines between the two departments). They say 'no problem'.
3. A couple of weeks pass, and no sign of the copy of the form.
4. My parents got onto tax office last Friday and a man says he will send out the copy.
5. Grant crowd ring me this morning, saying they want the copy of the tax return. I explain that it should be on it's way.
6. Woman says fine, but she also needs a P60 for the year 2003.
7. My grip on the phone tightens, as I silently seethe through clenched teeth.
Because the year 2003 was a very haphard year employment wise (I switched contracts 4 times, and was on the dole for a spell), I don't have all the documentation that they want, even though they actually have PROOF that I am UNDER THE REQUIRED FUCKING INCOME LIMIT TO QUALIFY FOR A GRANT ALREADY. I am sick of explaining to people that as I don't have a p60, my tax return certificate will have to suffice as proof of my PAYE income. This should be fine, as the cert is sufficient proof (it is next to impossible to falsify PAYE information). Yet all I hear when I speak to these people is:
We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60
and all I see is:
Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape
*Deep deep breaths*
So there you have it. Nothing focuses one's priorities like a lack of money. No more pub. Much more gym. Hopefully much bigger pecs and biceps.
It should be OK. Abstinence will make me appreciate it when I go back to it. I think a year away from regular drinking will be good for me. I'm sick of looking in the mirror and wishing I had less of a gut. But there's no way I'll make this happen this side of Christmas. I'm not that deluded. But come the new year, there'll be a New Man In Town. Or I'll die trying.
But if I don't qualify for a grant, I don't know how in hell I'm going to progress beyond this year. I think a visit to the local politician is in order. Strings are going to have to yanked on. I have an ambition to realise.
I've been thinking about priorities in this whole area lately. I know that in order to commit to making physical gains in the gym I am going to have to knock this party habit on the head. I'd already mentioned that I was considering cutting down on alcohol, but this is at odds with the belief in the back of my mind that as I am in Brighton, I should be partying every minute God sends me.
The reality of all this was slammed home again to me this morning. I got a call from the Irish Higher Education grant authority (yes, my application is STILL FUCKING PENDING). A short summary of the story follows.
1. A while back, the authority told me they wanted a copy of my tax returns for the year 2003, in spite of the fact it will tell them NOTHING and prove NOTHING that they don't know already from the other documentation I have furnished.
2. I ring tax office and ask them to make a copy of the form and post it to me, so that I can send it onto the grant people (no, there are no communication lines between the two departments). They say 'no problem'.
3. A couple of weeks pass, and no sign of the copy of the form.
4. My parents got onto tax office last Friday and a man says he will send out the copy.
5. Grant crowd ring me this morning, saying they want the copy of the tax return. I explain that it should be on it's way.
6. Woman says fine, but she also needs a P60 for the year 2003.
7. My grip on the phone tightens, as I silently seethe through clenched teeth.
Because the year 2003 was a very haphard year employment wise (I switched contracts 4 times, and was on the dole for a spell), I don't have all the documentation that they want, even though they actually have PROOF that I am UNDER THE REQUIRED FUCKING INCOME LIMIT TO QUALIFY FOR A GRANT ALREADY. I am sick of explaining to people that as I don't have a p60, my tax return certificate will have to suffice as proof of my PAYE income. This should be fine, as the cert is sufficient proof (it is next to impossible to falsify PAYE information). Yet all I hear when I speak to these people is:
We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60
and all I see is:
Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape
*Deep deep breaths*
So there you have it. Nothing focuses one's priorities like a lack of money. No more pub. Much more gym. Hopefully much bigger pecs and biceps.
It should be OK. Abstinence will make me appreciate it when I go back to it. I think a year away from regular drinking will be good for me. I'm sick of looking in the mirror and wishing I had less of a gut. But there's no way I'll make this happen this side of Christmas. I'm not that deluded. But come the new year, there'll be a New Man In Town. Or I'll die trying.
But if I don't qualify for a grant, I don't know how in hell I'm going to progress beyond this year. I think a visit to the local politician is in order. Strings are going to have to yanked on. I have an ambition to realise.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
The last few days...
I had a big piece written here, and then the blogger crashed and lost it all. Don't you just love it when that happens? Aaarrrrgggghhhh....
I'm just back from the exursion to the Isle of Wight, Away with the Fairies. It was different, something new, and not outrageously expensive. The timetable for the weekend was comprehensive, so I'll give you some extracts.
Fri 1pm: Board mini-bus with hangover and begin journey. Jokes begin to be told on the bus, and they quickly slide into Carry On humour. I go to sleep in an attempt to shake off the excesses of the night before.
Fri 6pm: We all arrive at hostel at Isle of Wight. We are all introduced to each other. I meet one of the 'facilitators' and find him to be hot.
Fri 9pm: Go to the pub. Conversation revolves around anal fisting. We go down a storm with locals.
Fri 11:30pm: Get back to Hostel and play a game of Pink Knickers. This is a game where everyone sits on a seat, all around a person standing in the middle of the room. The person makes a 'question-statement', and if that applies to a number of the seated party, they must get up and then scramble to sit into one of the other chairs left vacant. The person who is left standing has to give the next Q-S. It all starts off very innocently, with questions such as:
'Anyone ever been to Sweden?'
and quickly degenerate into:
'Anyone had sex at a bus stop?' (Oh, the scramble of people for that one...)
'Anyone performed a 69er?' (Asked by me)
Saturday 11am: Do an exploration workshop. Find that the group as a whole don't look upon bisexuality favourably. This gives food for thought, as I always thought it was the ultimate way of someone saying 'I won't be labelled'.
Saturday 6pm: We make Christmas dinner for ourselves. My group gets assigned the duty of the main course. Pastry with a meat or vegetarian filling. Against all odds, we pull it off. The kitchen is left looking like a bomb hit it.
Saturday 9pm: Have a pub quiz. Our table engages in blatant cheating, and still we get the lowest score at the end.
Saturday 11pm: By now very drunk at hostel. We all head into a room and play a game of pass the parcel. I win the present, but in order to be presented with it, I have to submit to a 'task': Getting lube rubbed all over my stomach and then two people blowing raspberries on it. Oooh Matron!
Sunday 1:30pm. Begin journey home. We are divided into two groups for each of the two minibuses. On the way home, we are flashed by one of the girls on the other minibus, who displays her rather substantial tits.
Sunday 5pm. Arrive back at apartment.
All in all, it was good. I met gays and lezzers that I hadn't met before, and that can only be a good thing. There's ANOTHER booze up for us again on Tuesday. Mother of divinity...
The picture of unity that is our apartment have finally managed to organise a TV. It's about time, though I'm not 100% happy with the deal (wrangled by one of my flatmates), and I have to collect the money from everyone to pay for it, but hell, it's been nearly three months without one. This is not good for Denis Of The Movies. It'll have to do.
Chill time for the rest of the night. Let my system eliminate the rest of the red wine from itself...
I'm just back from the exursion to the Isle of Wight, Away with the Fairies. It was different, something new, and not outrageously expensive. The timetable for the weekend was comprehensive, so I'll give you some extracts.
Fri 1pm: Board mini-bus with hangover and begin journey. Jokes begin to be told on the bus, and they quickly slide into Carry On humour. I go to sleep in an attempt to shake off the excesses of the night before.
Fri 6pm: We all arrive at hostel at Isle of Wight. We are all introduced to each other. I meet one of the 'facilitators' and find him to be hot.
Fri 9pm: Go to the pub. Conversation revolves around anal fisting. We go down a storm with locals.
Fri 11:30pm: Get back to Hostel and play a game of Pink Knickers. This is a game where everyone sits on a seat, all around a person standing in the middle of the room. The person makes a 'question-statement', and if that applies to a number of the seated party, they must get up and then scramble to sit into one of the other chairs left vacant. The person who is left standing has to give the next Q-S. It all starts off very innocently, with questions such as:
'Anyone ever been to Sweden?'
and quickly degenerate into:
'Anyone had sex at a bus stop?' (Oh, the scramble of people for that one...)
'Anyone performed a 69er?' (Asked by me)
Saturday 11am: Do an exploration workshop. Find that the group as a whole don't look upon bisexuality favourably. This gives food for thought, as I always thought it was the ultimate way of someone saying 'I won't be labelled'.
Saturday 6pm: We make Christmas dinner for ourselves. My group gets assigned the duty of the main course. Pastry with a meat or vegetarian filling. Against all odds, we pull it off. The kitchen is left looking like a bomb hit it.
Saturday 9pm: Have a pub quiz. Our table engages in blatant cheating, and still we get the lowest score at the end.
Saturday 11pm: By now very drunk at hostel. We all head into a room and play a game of pass the parcel. I win the present, but in order to be presented with it, I have to submit to a 'task': Getting lube rubbed all over my stomach and then two people blowing raspberries on it. Oooh Matron!
Sunday 1:30pm. Begin journey home. We are divided into two groups for each of the two minibuses. On the way home, we are flashed by one of the girls on the other minibus, who displays her rather substantial tits.
Sunday 5pm. Arrive back at apartment.
All in all, it was good. I met gays and lezzers that I hadn't met before, and that can only be a good thing. There's ANOTHER booze up for us again on Tuesday. Mother of divinity...
The picture of unity that is our apartment have finally managed to organise a TV. It's about time, though I'm not 100% happy with the deal (wrangled by one of my flatmates), and I have to collect the money from everyone to pay for it, but hell, it's been nearly three months without one. This is not good for Denis Of The Movies. It'll have to do.
Chill time for the rest of the night. Let my system eliminate the rest of the red wine from itself...
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Strike two on gaydar last night
Damn, this guy was good. I think I should move away from this though, and try and meet people in nightclubs. The only thing is, the Brighton gay scene is guilty of capitalising on the pink pound phenomenon, and I'm broke. I'm still wrestling with the fucking pricks that populate the Irish higher education grant section, so I haven't got that yet. Wankers.
I still haven't got used to the fact that I don't have something to study for or something to hand in for a whole two weeks. Mmmmmm. Coasting. Did absolutely nothing today, apart from the weekly shopping in Sainsburys, which, as usual, consisted of me haring in ten minutes before closing time and running around frantically throwing everything in a basket.
I'm feeling kind of uninspired at the moment, so might operate a 'less is more' philosophy here for a few days. One thing I need to do is organise some new pictures for this though. Joanne, if you're reading this, I'll be requiring your services again over Christmas! Not as much costume changes this time, I promise :-)
I still haven't got used to the fact that I don't have something to study for or something to hand in for a whole two weeks. Mmmmmm. Coasting. Did absolutely nothing today, apart from the weekly shopping in Sainsburys, which, as usual, consisted of me haring in ten minutes before closing time and running around frantically throwing everything in a basket.
I'm feeling kind of uninspired at the moment, so might operate a 'less is more' philosophy here for a few days. One thing I need to do is organise some new pictures for this though. Joanne, if you're reading this, I'll be requiring your services again over Christmas! Not as much costume changes this time, I promise :-)
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Kate Bush, Gay Icon
Recently, having not ever looked around for blogs of others with the same interests as me, I clicked on one of those of mine to bring up the blogs of those with whom I had that interest in common. That of Kate Bush. Most of the blogs that appeared were pretty cool, a bit out there and different, a reflection of the screechy-voiced one, if you will. And where there were men, almost all of them were gay.
A while back when I was in Ireland and living with an American girl, she said that one night when she met a guy at a party and he told her he was a fan of Ms. Bush, her prompt response was 'Dude, you're a fag, aren't you?'. I didn't pay her much attention at the time (indeed, I didn't pay her much attention in general) but it looks like she had something.
It's about bloody time. Up until now, I thought almost all of my taste in music was devoutly 'straight' and couldn't have cared less for Barbara Streisand, Judy Garland, et al (is Streisand supposed to be a good singer? Really? She only ever succeeded in doing my head in...) but it's good to know we have an alternative out there. Also, I think La Bush would like it.
For the first time in weeks, I don't have an exam or assesment looming, and I don't have to work next Saturday. Chill time....
The outing to the Isle of Wight (Away with the Fairies) is Friday coming. I have to get a present for the Christmas kindle part of it, and I also have to bring an item of 'personal value', which I presume will be used in some sharing/exploration workshop. Hopefully this won't turn out to be too earnest.
A while back when I was in Ireland and living with an American girl, she said that one night when she met a guy at a party and he told her he was a fan of Ms. Bush, her prompt response was 'Dude, you're a fag, aren't you?'. I didn't pay her much attention at the time (indeed, I didn't pay her much attention in general) but it looks like she had something.
It's about bloody time. Up until now, I thought almost all of my taste in music was devoutly 'straight' and couldn't have cared less for Barbara Streisand, Judy Garland, et al (is Streisand supposed to be a good singer? Really? She only ever succeeded in doing my head in...) but it's good to know we have an alternative out there. Also, I think La Bush would like it.
For the first time in weeks, I don't have an exam or assesment looming, and I don't have to work next Saturday. Chill time....
The outing to the Isle of Wight (Away with the Fairies) is Friday coming. I have to get a present for the Christmas kindle part of it, and I also have to bring an item of 'personal value', which I presume will be used in some sharing/exploration workshop. Hopefully this won't turn out to be too earnest.
Friday, November 26, 2004
Recovery
Well, I am now rested and a some way restored. I managed to make it as far as 1:30, before realising that there was very real danger of me falling asleep right in front of the lecturer, and so I bolted out of the class. Thankfully, I was near the door. Hopefully the Boots teacher/practitioner won't remember me the next time he sees me.
Yesterday was a mixed day. Biology sucked. I underestimated this one and suspect I will suffer consequences. I'm in no hurry to find out the results. The test was divided into two consecutive sessions with the same paper for both. I was scheduled for the second. Just before the end of the first one, a girl in my class came out with the paper for the year before, explaining that the variation between the two was almost non-existent, and I should learn off the answers marked on it (this was also an MCQ). She left it with me, but unfortunately I have scruples when it comes to these things, and didn't take advantage of this opportunity. I fear my honesty will be rewarded with a less than stellar mark, but we'll see. At least it wasn't terribly important, and I can make up the marks later.
Then I met Danny after and we headed to the library. I finally solved the previously mentioned equation (Divide across by 'y', Denis, you utter plank!) with his help, and since we were technically ahead of our self-imposed schedule, we decided to hit the pub at around 6, with the intention of returning at about 9.
Big mistake.
By the end of the night, I was losing spectacularly at pool (difficult to make the balls go where you want them when you are trolleyed) and exhibiting almost sociopathic tendencies. My progress here now always follows a rock solid pattern.
a) Sobriety, social functionality.
b) Merriness, enhanced social functionality
c) Inebriation, complete withdrawal into private world, characterised by staring off into the distance, oblivious to what is going on around me.
The last one has become a defining characteristic, with some of my old friends calling this world 'DenisLand'. In one sense it's not bad, as it coincides with 'noxiousness and loudness' in most other people, but I find it very hard to engage socially when I've had quite a few, unless the other party is completely demanding my attention. I've been like this for years, and wonder how this habit came about. I've actually lost friends over it, though admittedly I look back now and think that considering who they were, I'm well rid of them.
I'm seriously thinking of giving up drink soon, or at the very least cutting it down to special occasions only. It's expensive, the following day is a write-off, and it's incompatible with my goals in the gym. The only thing is that it is very hard to get through seven days without having a drink in there somewhere. It's ingrained in me to let off steam at some stage (why, I'm not sure: It's not as if I'm suffering from work-related stress). Nevertheless, I'm almost thirty, and my liver is not as robust as it once was.
I shall have to give this some thought. That, and I have to stop kidding myself with this 'just the one' philosophy. I have never left a bar after just one. Ever.
Yesterday was a mixed day. Biology sucked. I underestimated this one and suspect I will suffer consequences. I'm in no hurry to find out the results. The test was divided into two consecutive sessions with the same paper for both. I was scheduled for the second. Just before the end of the first one, a girl in my class came out with the paper for the year before, explaining that the variation between the two was almost non-existent, and I should learn off the answers marked on it (this was also an MCQ). She left it with me, but unfortunately I have scruples when it comes to these things, and didn't take advantage of this opportunity. I fear my honesty will be rewarded with a less than stellar mark, but we'll see. At least it wasn't terribly important, and I can make up the marks later.
Then I met Danny after and we headed to the library. I finally solved the previously mentioned equation (Divide across by 'y', Denis, you utter plank!) with his help, and since we were technically ahead of our self-imposed schedule, we decided to hit the pub at around 6, with the intention of returning at about 9.
Big mistake.
By the end of the night, I was losing spectacularly at pool (difficult to make the balls go where you want them when you are trolleyed) and exhibiting almost sociopathic tendencies. My progress here now always follows a rock solid pattern.
a) Sobriety, social functionality.
b) Merriness, enhanced social functionality
c) Inebriation, complete withdrawal into private world, characterised by staring off into the distance, oblivious to what is going on around me.
The last one has become a defining characteristic, with some of my old friends calling this world 'DenisLand'. In one sense it's not bad, as it coincides with 'noxiousness and loudness' in most other people, but I find it very hard to engage socially when I've had quite a few, unless the other party is completely demanding my attention. I've been like this for years, and wonder how this habit came about. I've actually lost friends over it, though admittedly I look back now and think that considering who they were, I'm well rid of them.
I'm seriously thinking of giving up drink soon, or at the very least cutting it down to special occasions only. It's expensive, the following day is a write-off, and it's incompatible with my goals in the gym. The only thing is that it is very hard to get through seven days without having a drink in there somewhere. It's ingrained in me to let off steam at some stage (why, I'm not sure: It's not as if I'm suffering from work-related stress). Nevertheless, I'm almost thirty, and my liver is not as robust as it once was.
I shall have to give this some thought. That, and I have to stop kidding myself with this 'just the one' philosophy. I have never left a bar after just one. Ever.
This may sound like a broken record, but...
Oh my HEAD!
I am about to face into a day of lectures, having gone out on the beer last night. Nothing out of the ordinary there, I hear you say, but this is different.
I didn't go to sleep.
I am quite possibly still a little bit drunk.
Here's hoping I get through the day without making a complete mammary gland of myself.
More later...
I am about to face into a day of lectures, having gone out on the beer last night. Nothing out of the ordinary there, I hear you say, but this is different.
I didn't go to sleep.
I am quite possibly still a little bit drunk.
Here's hoping I get through the day without making a complete mammary gland of myself.
More later...
Monday, November 22, 2004
Banging my head on the table
Does anyone know how to linearize the equation y2=ax+by, where a and b are constants?
So far I have come up with y=(1/(y-b))*a*x but I don't think it's right as there's no intercept and x/y on the right can't be plotted readily.
Anyone?
Lingering and shitty hangover today, courtesy of Jack Daniels. Of course this is making the assimilation of the cell biology course material all the more lovely.
Beam me up scotty...
So far I have come up with y=(1/(y-b))*a*x but I don't think it's right as there's no intercept and x/y on the right can't be plotted readily.
Anyone?
Lingering and shitty hangover today, courtesy of Jack Daniels. Of course this is making the assimilation of the cell biology course material all the more lovely.
Beam me up scotty...
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