Sunday Afternoon, etc.
I stepped out the front door, and everything seems to be in sharp focus. There hasn't been any snow since Thursday and it is dry and overcast. Every shade of grey, green and brown seemed particularly clear. I decided to go to mass this morning. I crossed the road and saw a violent scene up ahead. There were several figures: short, I assumed that they were teenaged kids fighting. My next door neighbour past them, coming towards me, he noticed than, made no comment, but said 'hello' to me politely. It emerged, as I approached them, that they were not in fact teenagers, but four Eastern European men. Each had a moustache, and shallow set eyes, but none were bald, or even had grey hair. As I got closer, without seeming to stare I could see no recognisable emotion in the eyes of any of these men, even the man with the thickest moustache, who was the target of at least a headbutt and a punch. He was most vocal.
It reminded me of a bus trip with Dol. We were happy and it was a Sunday morning, probably about the same time. A bunch of loud obnoxious children in their early teens got on the bus at the end of the Quays. We both thought that they were speaking some Eastern language, until about twenty minutes in, we realized that it was in fact a particularly thick north Dublin drawl.
Anyhow, I was on my way to mass. For the first time in a few weeks. At the entrance to the Church I was confronted with various candidates for the North Kildare Bye-Election. A polite greeting from Labour candidate Paddy MacNamara. Another held a leaflet in my direction, but I did not acknowledge him. I entered the church and sat down on the bench closest to the main doors. The Catholic Church is what connects the town's past with it's present. Middle-aged people crowd into the building, to give praise to our lord. They, like many generations before them, give cold, judgmental looks to anyone over whom they think they may have moral superiority. I variously stood, sat and kneeled, with my mind only half on what was being said. It's much the same as it's always been; there are a few brown faces and a pleasant Glaswegian Curate, but that's really it. I sat there amongst these people, with my head down (as Christians we are taught to bow, we're not worthy, after all) and felt no warmth. I grew up without a sense of Community. Then came my favourite part, when we 'offer each other a sign of God's peace': the handshake. To my left was a short middle-aged woman who shook hands with me out of obligation. No pleasant smile. A cold and brief handshake. I am, after all, an unshaven young man wearing a suede jacket and loose fitting trousers. Unlike the Eastern European men I had encountered earlier I could register emotion in her eyes: no Christian warmth or neighbourly love, though.
Also a new section in BLTC:
ADRIAN RECOMMENDS:
*Maynard's Sours: for a real sugar hit
*Stina Nordenstam: the perfect antidote to the likes of Ani DiFranco and Alanis Morissette
The Soft Wall In My Cranium
It's Friday, which can mean only one thing: a mass exodus from the leafy grounds of NUI Maynooth. Upon approaching the gates of the old campus I was confronted with the hoardes of youngsters filled with the zest of youth ready to go out there and enjoy life with every fibre of their being. I don't ever remember being that young, nor can I remember ever having such enthusiasm. This leads me on nicely, to the subject of the previous three posts. A few weeks ago I was rooting through a pile of papers in my bedroom in order to find a notepad of some description, but instead found another treasure: a copy from my days in Primary School. It was for used for english excercises, although only the first few pages had actually been written on. Towards the end I found three stories that I had written. Although I can't be sure, I must've been between the ages of 6-8, when I had written these. I decided that they were the best thing ever, and that I should post them on the internet for all to see. Without any kind of explanation, of course. They go some way to demonstrating how my young mind worked. Most stream of consciousness-type writings end up sounding utterly contrived, whereas here I was trying to create a coherent story each time, but they just came out jumbled up and often not making any sense. If all of this contemplation is getting too much for you: here is a picture of some arseholes.
I actually tried to retain the original spelling mistakes, but I seem to have, inadvertently, added several new ones. Bwa ha!
My Aeroplane Story
I was in an aeroplane doing stunts. I did three loops. I went upside down. And I crashed. Before I crashed I jumped out with a parachuate. A bird dropped a worm on my head. I landed on a beach. I went swimming, I came out with a jelly-fish on my leg. I was told to go fishing in the sea I gave in the jelly-fish.
A Very Funny Story
I was cycling to the shop to buy milk for my mum when I saw a little man. He put his foot out and he triped me up I went flying off my bike into a tree. I looked out of the tree but he had disappeared. Come back you little elf I called but he did not come back. Well at least he had not taken the milk money. But he had taken it which I soon found out.
When I told my mum. She told me to make up a better reson to have lost the milk money. I came to that same place there was a trail of sticks. I came to a place with loads of elves. They were dancing around a fire. I squirted the fire with a water pistol. The elves tried to zap me but they missed. I jumped into the pond and I swam To the treeI climbed upI saw that it was everyone in my class playing a prank on me. the end p.s. I got them back.
The Story Of A Hero
I was cycling to school when I saw a gang of people throwing bombs at a building. I told the police about it. The came to the place where I saw the people.
The police followed the crooks to a cliff. I had seen another person in the car beside us. The person came to the cliff too. He was a hero. He tried to leap at the crook but the crook moved out of the way the hero fell off the cliff. I went to his funarel. As for the crook he was put in jail with his partners.
It's Wet, It's Cold And I Fell On My Bottom
Although it's not actually all that cold, when you consider the extreme cold in Afghanistan, or Yatusk. Why, the Irish climate is actually really mild. Similarly, it's not really particularly wet in Ireland when you consider what some must endure. However, that I fell on my bottom, there can be no disputing. I slipped and fell down the wet, icy steps of the Rye Hall PACR, and am now bruised and wet and a little bit embarassed. Also: it's Monday. Following on from the bestest weeked ever it's difficult to go back to the boring and mundane aspects of life with any amount of enthusiasm. I woke up today to find that it was snowing. It's not the kind of thing that spurs me out of bed, to be honest.
Sadly, I've become resigned to the fact that I will never make a programmer, but I've decided to throw myself into getting rich the easy way. Wish me luck!
Little Creatures
In many ways I don't feel that I've changed at all since I was a small child I only try to hide my naivete and fear and nervousness now. This is good. Only start to worry when you stop seeing the world like a child does. Children are completely open to new ideas because they are born knowing nothing. Nothing is beyond the imagination of a small child. Don't you wish you could believe in faeries and aliens and Santa Claus?
In other news I became somebody's uncle last night.
Okay Relax, And Assume The Position...
There's no point in even pointing out that St. Valentines Day is a cynical Hallmark holiday. Why bother? Everyone does. Get over it, it's hardly the greatest evil in our society. Mine was a strange one, incidentally. A Production Seminar which involved recording a demo with a Dublin based band. After two hours I had lost the will to live. The studio is not a fun place to be. Routing, sampling rates, degradation, overheads, SM57, clipping, floor tom, ProTools, blah. Why didn't I do finance? I wept tears of boredom. Tears that flowed like a great river sweeping away all in it's path. Then I wept some more. 'If you're lucky they'll just call you ga-ha-haaaay', apparantly, I don't know what that song was about. The band were admirable considering the fact that they were being stared at like labratory mice, by a bunch of MA students. Not the most romantic day of my life. I can at least take solice in the fact that there are many people out there who are much more unhappy than me. And I do.
Happy Valentines, Spuds!
BLTC -Now With Links
I don't care what THE MAN says. I says: 'links for all'!
Lunch
There was a new employee working the till at the canteen yesterday. Rather than barking a price at me and waiting impatiently for me to fork over the cash, as is the normal experience when paying for lunch, this woman was very polite, gave me a receipt and even gave me a plastic cup for my drink. It's little things like this that make the difference between a good day and a bad day.
Tuesday
I could hear waves of sound bouncing of the ceiling of the canteen today as I sat and had lunch today. A break from rountine, I usually sit alone and eat in SuperMacs. I couldn't really make out what anyone was saying due to the lack of acuity in my hearing. It reminded me of when I was told in my Jr. Cert. English class some years ago that extras in plays and movies traditionally say 'rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb' when they're supposed to be speaking but not really saying anything. Ah, Mr. B., how much you taught me (more on him later). Firm like mutton, etc. I've been wandering around today, too. Hence my positon as pedestrian, (ie not dancing in the strip club for money).
Also orthodontia, I should also mention. The metal holding my teeth in place, which wan't brought up before, but is probably the most important part of my life. Being the subject of orthodontic work is what some might deem a surreal experience. Lying on a slanted chair/table where a middle aged woman puts her hands and various tools and sprays and apparatuses in my mouth. While I am, of course, unable to speak, have little scope to move, and can only stare at the ceiling through the special yellow-tinted goggles.
Being unable to speak leads us along nicely to our final topic: I am retarded. The term 'retarded' is utterly politically incorrect when applied to people who have learning disabilities. So why couldn't it be safely applied to me? I have no such condition, beyond simply having inferior brainpower. I got a D in my Jr. Cert. English exam. Proof enough. Being a despondant fifteen year old the last thing I needed to hear from my English teacher as I got my results was how disappointing they were. none of my other teachers turned up to comment on any of my other results, which ranged from C-A. Rubbing salt in my teenage wounds. The bastard. Also, you should all go out and buy Brains by The Jimmy Cake. It will enrich your lives.
Bile-Filled Rant!
I had the pleasure of watching C4's Top 100 Pop Videos last night. Which was as big a farce as any of these shows have ever been. A bunch of vacuous idiots gushing about the costumes the Pet Shop Boys wore on their Go West video. They were quite impressive, to be fair, but I was actually MORE impressed when Devo wore those same costumes thirteen years beforehand. However, what really bothered me was the fact that Queen were voted into the number two spot with their video for Bohemian Rhapsody. Never in my life have I seen such a horrendous pile of wank. It's the most appalling video I've ever come across. At this point I should probably mention that I studied that particular song for two years as part of my Leaving Cert. Music, which only made me hate it all the more. To put my Leaving Cert. Higher Level Maths into action I've come up with a simple equation:
Heavy Metal * Progressive Rock * Opera = (Pile Of Wank)³
I honestly don't know how I could've enjoyed it less, perhaps if Princess Diana or Bill Hicks had been involved in some way. I don't mean to suggest that making bad music in some way makes you a bad person. Even though artists such as Queen and the Manic Street Preachers have in the past been willing to support regimes responsible for horrendous human rights vilations, so have preachy and supposedly moral acts such as Radiohead and REM. Apparantly the systematic racial violence perpetrated by the Israeli forces does not register with these musicians, who seem to be so vocal on other issues. Perhaps St. Freddie's unfortunate end was nothing more than karma in action. Perhaps Thom Yorke's testicles will rot off.
I AM THE GAY POPE!
Actually I'm being ironic. I'm neither gay, nor the pope.
Origin Theories
- As a result of radiation from the Irish sea, Adrian was transformed from a normal boy to a super-awkward, geeky, neurotic, blog writing wierdo, revered by the homeless insane as a shining example of an manhood. Those cray-zee cats love him.
- Adrian was found, as an infant, inside a moon rock in the winter of 1983. Being quite insistent that this be kept a secret, especially from the Reds, Uncle Sam placed the strange alien boy in the care of an Irish family. Unbeknown to the army sceintists, rays from the Earth's yellow sun imbuged Adrian with super human powers. He was able to reach levels of apathy and boredom never before thought possible.
- Adrian is really a Dutch spy sent to infiltrate the Irish education system and drain Kildare County Council of vital funds, through grant applications.
- Adrian is that OTHER BeeGee, that you don't hear about very often. The family are a little embarassed actually.
- Adrian fell asleep on the bus, and when he woke up he was in here.
Vacancy
BLTC has reached it's nadir, sadly. As such the management wish to recruit new staff writers. Anyone who wishes to apply can do so through the comment section, or through email. The duties would include pretending to be Adrian for 16 hours a day, and some light typing. Benefits will consist of free medical care in the case of mental illness induced by the working conditions. In the event that a suitable writer can't be found, I am assured that I will be replaced by a monkey chained to an ibook. He had a tendency to throw his own feces around the place, specifically AT me, but he has quite an elegant turn of phrase. Nevertheless, I would encourage all interested parties to apply for this post as soon as possible.
