Archive for March, 2005
Wise man say: When you have nothing of substance to post, post crap. At least it’ll give the impression that you’ve been thinking about your blog…
When St. Patricks day dawns, Markham (who seems to be new on the Irish blogging scene – apologies if you’re not) will be on his cold turkey quest to give up alcohol for one year. As a student in Dublin, I’m sure this will be no small feat. Personally I think it’s a great idea. Save a few quid and give your liver a fighting chance at the same time. I know it’s something I could never actually do myself, I might last 12 weeks at best; not the 12 months this courageous blogger is hoping for. Certainly one to keep an eye on. Good luck with it.
I’ve been rather lax with the posting over the last few days… Reason is I had to do another lap of the country starting Monday afternoon. Up to Galway, further up to Donegal, across to Dublin, down to Carlow and back to Cork. As a result I’m completely knackered. Beer is the prescribed medication however. I’ve got a specific subject on which to have a healthy rant, watch this space.
In a scene which strongly reminded me of the Father Ted “Lovely Horse” episode, ginger homosexual + 1 have been chosen to represent Ireland at the upcoming Eurovision song contest. Jade, a girl band who yesterday sounded very raw and out of sync/tune/their minds lost to ginger homosexual + 1 in what I can only presume was a hugely embarrasing episode. Imagine being beaten by a little leprechaun looking fecker (+ 1) whom were only armed with possibly the worst song I’ve ever been subjected to.
I watched the end of the first half of the show last night, I feared to watch the second lest I have to listen ginger homosexual + 1 again. Not that I have anything against ginger people, nor homosexuals for that matter. It’s just this guy and his sister that irk me majorly. He’s like “The Boy That Never Grew Up”. A nine year old in a suit. What are they even calling themselves? “The McCaul Midgets”? I dunno, something equally hilarious.
Does anyone else remember that episode of Father Ted? Indeed yes, the Eurovision must be getting too expensive for Ireland to host. Why else would we willingly enter such utter shite into the contest? Ahh for Monday and a mood of pure scathing bliss. Rant on you crazy diamond!
Update (10th March) – Quote of the season relating to this article heard on Ray D’Arcy show whilst driving toward Donegal. “Tis a fright to God that we have bosco on speed representing the country”. Laughed? I nearly seltzered myself.
In the latest in a long line of addictive webgames comes this utterly confusing Japanese romp. The idea, as far as I have gathered it, is similar to the penguin games of times gone by. Hit the object (in this case an innocent passer by) as far as you can along a line of people who will either help or hinder his progress. More of the same but it’s a lifesaver for anyone bored at work. My best so far is 2679.52m
After just checking my website email account for the first time in months, I find yet another comment from my new pal Sarah Ryan; of here and original article. In one of her ever sensible moods she writes;
Sarah Ryan is my name and I realised just this evening that i am on yere website. Could ye please make sure that this article is taken off yere site asap please as ye really don’t know the full and proper story about what happened and until ye do I would appreciate it if the article is removed-permission was never given to have it there in the first placa- I have never seen such a ridiculous website, what a joke and the people who post the comments are abviously preety desparate and boring. I will be checking this website daily to make sure that badly written article has been taken off. When ye know the facts, ye can post it back up.
Apparently now I need permission to include an item on my ridiculous website that recieved national coverage in a broadsheet newspaper. Go Free Speech! Always nice to have a new reader Sarah, I sincerely hope you have been checking the website daily as you said you would. I’ll be horribly depressed if you don’t. Given that at least a small percentage of your email was courteous I’m not going to be too harsh this time. I have a suggestion for you however. If you want this to go away, stop commenting on it. Every time you draw breath on the subject on this website I’m going to drag it all back up. Yes Sarah, I’m that petty.
a useful website for any potential $1m tippers – http://www.photobucks.com/
(side note: if you had not been so abusive and derogitory towards both me and my website I may have taken down the original article in a show of pity. That ship has well sailed now though)
After a load of texts, emails and carrier pigeons, a few minutes ago I finally got a message read out on todayfm. Good on ya Phil!
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s all a bit emotional..
What’s one more memory to be repressed among so many others? I had quite successfully gotten rid of this one into the darkest recesses of my brain until late yesterday afternoon driving home from Limerick I heard one of their now archaic songs being played on the radio. The memories all came flooding back. Memories of a more innocent time when I would have merely thought about strangling the offender, not recently where I would draw up an intricate plan and search the yellow pages for hit men.
Back in the day (the day in this case being summer of 1998) I worked in a library doing some very basic training on the use of the internet & email to anyone who might need it. See, very simple innocent times. Among my list of triumphs was a man in his 80’s who within the space of a few visits I had taken from being afraid of computers to actually setting up his own email address and sending messages to his relations overseas. Back when I was a good teacher. Back before I lost all tolerance for anyone that doesn’t understand my mile-a-minute spoken explanations of the way things work and how things should be.
There was one though. There’s always one. A Pakistani girl, no more than 13 or 14 at the time, who would visit the library a few times a week with her mother. While her mother would busy herself staring blankly into space for an hour or so, the little spawn of demon juice wanted to learn all about the internet. Or at least that’s what I first thought. I had heard stories from the senior librarian that “there is this one girl that comes in now and again… ahh, you’ll find out what I mean when you meet her”. The world according to Ace of Base. That was the one and only thing she ever wanted to know about or to view on the internet. Bearing in mind that I was actually there in a capacity of a teacher, after her third of fourth visit of say… fifty, I felt quite bewildered every time I’d see her walking in.
It was impossible to teach this girl. “You just have to click here and…” is what I’d find myself repeating ad nauseam. “Ace of Base” is practically the only thing I’d ever get in response. Every time we’d sit at the already aging PC I’d try to instill yet another tiny nugget of knowledge into what I could easily see was an already overcrowded brain. “This is Yahoo!”. “Ace of Base”. And so on, and so on. “Click this link and the page will load”. “Ace of Base”. I must have seen so many Ace of Base fan sites over that summer that I could have either sung their songs in my sleep or picked them all out from a police line up composed primarily of Ace of Base impersonators. She didn’t want a teacher nor to be taught how to use a computer. She wanted a butler. Someone to tackle the dangerous task of clicking a mouse button and typing the eleven characters needed to fill the hour long session with Swedish export. Ahh shit, it’s all flooding back now. The inane lyrics, the trivial details on every single aspect of each band member’s pseudo-existence. Just when I thought I had wiped the memory clear, 96FM brings it back to haunt me until I can manage to send it back where it came from. There’s going to have to be some pretty heavy drinking over the weekend to sort this one out. Damn you Ace of Base and damn you crazy Pakistani girl, wherever you are!
The meticulously designed Alex and me, Gordon Freeman.
I got a new PC. I rushed out to buy Half Life 2. All saw it was good.
After several weeks of airboating through swamps, driving around alien infested roads & towns, being shot at by those damn CP’s (and in return getting plenty of juicy headshots), beating off hoards of black headcrabs and fighting side by side with the most realistic characters I’ve ever seen in a game, I finally finished last night in a sweat of satisfaction.
The first game in a long time that I’ve bothered to finish. Finished without cheating once I might add; truly a first for me and FPS games. I thoroughly enjoyed all the frantic shooting, the puzzles and all the “ooh’s”, “aah’s” and “waaaaaaaah’s” I experienced through the course of playing. A dubious ending though, thankfully plenty of scope for Half Life 3. Lets hope they keep Alex (pictured above) as a permenant addition to any future Half Life episodes. It’s a Lara Croft thing; my 256mb graphics card made a great job of rendering her in every frame. Now to get back to real life… Curses!!