August 31, 2006

Today's 12 Point Agenda

Hello shoppers. It's me, Mom.

The wedding with the choir went so fantastically well that we are considering going into business together and charging other hapless couples a few grand for our musical bonanza. Seriously, we are that good. I have been thinking about taking up singing professionally for a while now, what with it being my only talent. All I need is a harpist who'll do what I say and we can make big bucks in the corrupt wedding industry. Meh. We all know that I am sitting by the phone waiting to hear about my last interview. They still haven't called. Somebody play a sad tune as the tears drip from my oversized eyes. That's right. I am made of plastic. I suppose you think that's funny. Well it's not. You may have realised this before me, I don't know, I'm not a scientist.

So, we went to visit my rich parents in their enormous house where we ate bars of gold and drank only pure oil. When we weren't stuffing our faces with precious elements we were folk dancing in the lashing rain in the front garden. If you could even call it a garden, it's barely half the size of Cork. It was great, except for the single beds and the emotional and physical abuse (they're still angry about the euro changeover). In a rare moment of weakness in the midst of the visit, they gave us a bushel of money (belated wedding gift! I like those!) which we used today to buy the biggest, most fabulous mahogany bed ever known to man, no exaggeration. We purchased the booty, along with two matching lockers and a mattress that even a nun would put out for, at a low low price from my friend's brother, who owns a furniture shop. At last! A comfortable bed! That doesn't scream when you move about on it! I have said too much.

What else did we do? We walked on the beach (twice in one month? soon we will be no more than common fishermen!) and ate in a Burger King "restaurant". We saw a couple of rubbish movies, You, Me and Dupree" (a gritty drama about a would-be cop gone crazy from shell-shock) and Harsh Times (a delightful romp about a crazy friend who moves in with a couple and causes mayhem!!) That was about it. We also drank some maple coffee that Teragram brought from Canada, and I contemplated making doughnuts. Contemplation is still in progress. Oh and we lost our very expensive digital camera. All in all a regular week.

My beer machine, which will yield many litres of free beer, arrives tomorrow! Soon I will have a reason to get up in the morning. Now, I have to go, because some people are coming over tomorrow night for dinner and I need to think up some clever phrases to say to them while they are here. These are the front runners:

1. Adults have much less bones than children, because they all grow into one big bone, probably because of milk.
2. Do not get too close to the swans, they can break a man's arm.
3. Thomas Edison was dyslexic and it didn't stop him inventing the runaway train.

neuro-praxis -- Style And Comfort For The Discriminating Crotch

August 23, 2006

What A Joy To Be

I have had a lovely afternoon in the local pub eating a delicious lunch, and then lounging in my cosy sitting room with my handsome companion, so you can expect a blog entry filled with vitriol and ranting and so on. Welcome.

I am so glad that I bagged a man before the age of texting. Yes folks, there was a time when none of us reading this had mobile phones. It was a time free of panic when we left the house without a portable telecommuting device. It was an age of innocence, before text-bullying and porn-pic texting. It was a time when there was no risk of sending a dirty text message meant for your husband to your friend Karen. But onto my gripe: there seems to be so much panic nowadays in new relationships about the meanings and timings of text messages. K and I used to say to each other, "I will ring you tomorrow." Then with the old-fashioned telephone (now known as the "landline") we would ring each other as promised, and then there would be no more contact until the next call, which was usually 24 hours later (or more). It was quite exciting, waiting for those calls. But now, it's all CANT WAIT 2 C U AGAIN THX 4 GR8 NITE LOL XXXX and YE ME 2 HAD LOTS OF FUN SLEEP WELL XOXOXOXOX and NITE NITE BABE SWEET DREAMS XXXXX and everyone's panicking if they don't get their replies within fifteen seconds. I have advice for you all of you Desperate Texters^TM. Your lovely cacks? Determinedly relax them. Take drugs if necessary. I may even have some left over from last night's Daft Punk gig. It was not K's cup of tea, nor his mug of hot chocolate, nor his bottle of Coke, but he dutifully danced and shouted and waved his fists about and generally made me proud. It rained a lot and the crowd was drunk and high and hyperactive. All in all, frightening and enjoyable. Like my marriage.

The night before was spent listening to Michael Knight and Mumblin' Deaf Ro in Bewley's (wonderful) theatre on Grafton Street. Frankly, we were blown away. K wrote a nice review here. He does them a little more justice than I can.

NEURONEWS

So I bought a micro-brewery to make home-made beer. I can't wait! Soon we will be almost entirely self-sufficient, weaving our own clothes and drinking out of jam jars. Then there will be no need for me to find a job. I can just grow all of our food and develop a wormery. It will be great. I will wear woollen jumpers and sit by a fire, keeping a diary made from recycled paper and eating a bag of seeds. Plus we will be locked out of our heads all the time.

Still no words, of rejection or encouragment, from Desirable Company^TM. Sigh. I am obviously not an exciting candidate. I spent a lot of time this afternoon on puclicjobs.ie searching for gainful employment that I am capable of and I found one, but the software for its application form was broken, so I couldn't apply for it. Is nature conspiring against me? Although it might be pushing it to consider technology part of the forces of nature.

I went to yet another wedding last Sunday, and the last one of the season is tomorrow. Hallelujah. If I have to listen to another couple declaring their eternal love for and commitment to one another I will...be very bored indeed. Ah I cannot lie. I cried during them all. I won't be crying tomorrow though. Why? Because I do not know the couple. What I do know is that one of them is English, and even though this is reason enough in itself to cry, it would be tears of a more bitter sort than previously. No, I am merely a servant of the wedding. It is my first professional gig. I am a solo soprano in a small assembled choir for the occasion, singing the (rather stunning) compositions of a friend of mine. Calling it my first professional gig is only undermined by the fact that we are not being paid a sausage. The couple getting wed did pay for food and drink at our last rehearsal on Thursday night but alas I had other things to do (at Bewleys) and did not stay for the festivities. I can't wait til it's all over.

neuro-praxis -- Nobody's Child

August 18, 2006

William, I'm Back

Well hello ladies. I must say you're all looking ravishing this evening. Although it is always possible that my binoculars lie.

I feel sick. My mother might say sick as a parrot, or sick as a dog, which it would seem are both interminably ill creatures. I couldn't put my finger exactly on what is wrong with me, but I am coughing and my entire body is protesting. It hurts. It is probably due to a complete lack of vitamins recently, or anything sustaining for that matter. I exist mostly on a diet of paint fumes, takeaway pizza and Gilmore Girls box sets. K is working away on the kitchen right now, while I languish under a blanket in our makeshift living area. We have just arrived home from Wexford, which I hear is quite nice. We spent a few days down there with a friend, going to the beach, eating a lot and generally doing very little while I felt a temperature descend. It was nice. I didn't sleep though. In many ways, I am like a four year old. Knock me out of my regular "routine" and I can't sleep or relax or be normal in anyway. I say "routine", by the way, because despite my intense need for structure, I have never once managed to establish a pattern of behaviour on a daily basis. Never. I sort of tumble through my days at varying speeds, snatching wildly at anything that looks good as I go. It's not a bad life. Well.

No word yet from potential employers. I am choosing to be thoroughly disheartened about this. I am losing what little hope I had. But thanks to so many of you who have mailed or commented or texted with good wishes. A very special thanks to Jimlad for his postal goodwill. Allow me the liberty of drawing your minds back to July 28th with a quote from my favourite person (me):

It's gone well in the short distance I have travelled with [potential new employers] so far, so if it's your way, say a little prayer for me. Or you could post a positive vibe, etc. Address: Dirty Cardboard Mansion, Somewhere in the Approximate West Dublin Region, Ireland.

And lo! Some of you, it would appear, were listening! I was indeed posted some positive vibes, as photographed below.

Best Piece Of Post Ever Received

"Splutter!" I shouted, "Why, this is madness!"

Thanks Jimlad, you made my day.

On another topic, as I am listening to Mumblin Deaf Ro's current album as I type, I thought it might be timely to remind you of his upcoming gig with Michael Knight on Thursday of this week at 8.30pm in Bewleys, €10.00 at the door. It will be worth it, and you might even get to meet me. I'll be the one in the cheerleading outfit near the front, mindlessly drunk and vomiting on the bass player.

I thought you might like to see a small number of pictures of the cardboard mansion and a few of us lashing into it with paintbrushes, so I took the liberty of setting up for myself a wee flickr account where you may drop in to view the exciting developments in my life. So, all voyeurs, go here. You even get to see what I stick on my fridge. The contents of the fridge, however, remain a dirty, dirty secret.

neuro-praxis -- Earned Millions In Software, Lost It At The Track

August 15, 2006

Calm Down Victor

It was only over a tasty dinner tonight with Zoomspouse that I realised that my attire during this morning's second (less stupid) interview with my potential employers actually consisted of some of their own merchandise. Oh yes, that's right. I did my interview in my jimjams.

I usually sleep in this particular company's tshirt because its delightful shade of blue matches my pyjama bottoms. I wonder, had I been wise enough to notice, would my interviewer have been amused to learn that I was promoting their company even while being interviewed. Hell, even while sleeping. This mysterious Unnamed Company now has at least six new virile men as customers solely because of my choice in bedclothes. They'd be absolute morons not to hire me. Actually I'm surprised they've gotten as far as they have without me. Losers. I don't know why I've bothered. Screw them, I'm sleeping naked tonight.

ANECDONTE

I forgot to tell you all (because I was painting the kitchen ALL THE TIME) that K and I were out driving on the N4 recently and when we stopped at the traffic lights, we noticed that the contents of the boot of the car in front of us were moving. That's because the contents were a dog, and a GOAT. Just, like, dogging and goating around, back there, in the boot, all like, together and shit. I was like whoah no way a dog and a goat that's like totally cool and K was like totally yeah and then he was like man I am so wasted and I was like me too let's get a burger and he was all oh no crap we've crashed and I was all like this sucks let's go home.

So, we had a painting party! Fifteen friends came over armed with brushes and rollers and chirpy attitudes and we lashed into the hall, stairs and landing, the front spare bedroom (one of the nine spare rooms) and the kitchen. We also spruced up the front of this kip with a coat on the hall door and on the windowsills. The kitchen has now been styled to look like the bridge on Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm very, very embarassed about it. I don't know how how it happened. You start sticking buttons, foam and pipecleaners on the sideboard and BOOM you're in space with a bald dude and a bunch of jumpsuits. What's worse than the Star Trek themed kitchen is the hand painted portrait of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that we were given as a gift. She's dressed as the virgin Mary in it. The guy who painted it is a pervert. Yes. So we are his only friends. We ate a lot of pizza and we drank a lot of paint. I mean Coke and beer. We listened to rubbish music and we sang along in a range of different keys. It was hard work and it was a lot of fun. A fat thank you to all who helped. And to all who didn't, well drink up now because there's no water where your soul's headed.

Neuro out. Bed beckons. In a creepy voice. Must obey.

neuro-praxis -- Making Awkward Sexual Advances, Not War

August 10, 2006

Hello, You Can Call Me A Tit

I was so stupid in my interview. I said stupid things, while pulling stupid faces. I was even wearing stupid clothes, but they didn't know that because I was on the phone. I am what might be called a Stupidhead. I am feeling red-faced and thick-tongued and inarticulate and stupid. I had to ask the (very nice) interviewer to repeat her questions numerous times, while I fumbled around in my head and my mouth for something impressive to say. Uck. All the while my biggest selling point is that I am a strong communicator (HA HA HA).

Well it obviously it didn't go quite as badly as I imagine, because there is another interview on Monday morning, but PLEASE GOD MAY I BE LESS STUPID DURING THIS ONE. I am having a friend who works in PR come over tomorrow to kick me up the arse with some What To Say lessons. If I fail the next round, we can blame her.

I AM SO EMBARASSED! When will this blush wear off? I have already discovered that the bleach, it does nothing. Over and out.

neuro-praxis -- Gets The Job (Done)

August 08, 2006

Dirty. Orange. Boring.

I am a little paint-stained. A little paint-stained what? A little paint-stained person! Although only a blind (wo)man could call me little. The paint is orange and the living room is almost finished. This is the problem with broadband! Always a-calling. I am on my lunch break, eating breakfast cereal, watching Eastenders, talking to you. This is Multimedia Neuro. I am quite excited at the prospect of having a living room that you can sit in, and maybe read a book in. There won't be a television in it, or much furniture, but there will definitely be an old stained suite of furniture that my sister in law gave me. Ugly, but comfortable. I am currently looking at an ad for Land of Leather and their clearance sale, which is allegedly bursting with bargains. They're offering me one leather couch for one sum of seven hundred euros. I am looking in my wallet and wondering if they will accept a handful of foreign coins, euro coppers (non-policing) and a bunch of Tesco vouchers. I am guessing what the answer will be.

It's so hard being white trash.

CAREER UPDATE

Second interview for Good Job^TM with Desirable Company^TM on Thursday Morning^TM. Wish me luck. And now: leisure time terminated, paint time resumed. Behave yourselves.

neuro-praxis -- Must She Live In These Concrete Ways

August 02, 2006

Warning: Shameless Plug

Have you heard of Mumblin' Deaf Ro? Probably not, you uncultured oafs. That is about to change. K and I have enjoyed a (cough) mild obsession with this Dublin musician's music for nigh on three years now, and having been reminded of just how great he is at a gig on Saturday night in the Wellington, I felt it was time for y'all to taste his genius.

Ro writes songs that are pure poetry. Humorous, smart, touching (not the inappropriate variety), memorable. I have been humming the tracks from his first album, Senor, My Friend (which you can buy here for a ridiculous €7 including shipping), since I laid hands on it many moons ago. There is a unique quality to Ro's music that I find genuinely moving. We liked him so much that we asked him to play at our wedding and, despite not knowing what kind of off-centre plums we might be, he dutifully obliged, and even offered to do it free. Talented and nice. I HATE that guy!

Go here to listen to three classic examples of Ro's superb songwriting. Here is what other Important People^TM have got to say about him.

"An idiosyncratic gem . . . cherish it. **** - The Irish Times

"This must be one of the least heralded Irish albums to come along in a while. But it abounds with so much wit, invention and humility that it is also one of the most likeable. Rarely has frustration been so sympathetically articulated." - The Slate

"One of the lost classics of Irish indie pop" - Mongrel Magazine

"Mumblin Deaf Ro spins yarns about obnoxious graduates, failed lovers and blindly optimistic boxers which manage to combine insights sweet, sad and (occasionally) sharp." - The Event Guide

"Filled with hilariously skewed and witty lyrics." - The Sunday Trubune

"It's refreshing to come across a songwriter who isn't afraid to throw a few amusing lyrics into the mix, and yet at the same time can melt your heart with the intensity and honesty of his words. Senor, My Friend is definitely something not to miss out on." - Eclectic Honey

"For me, even at this foetal stage, this record is destined to be one of the year's finest Irish releases. Mumblin' Deaf Ro's music is of remarkable feeling, imagination and honesty. It gushes pure talent." - Cluas.com

"A diamond in the in-tray" - Village Magazine

"A valuable lesson to us all." - RTE entertainment.ie

Ro's next gig is in Bewley's on Grafton Street on August 24th at 8pm. K and I had tickets for Radiohead that night but we've actually decided to see Ro instead. Why? Because Radiohead are just boring now. If anyone wants to buy some Radiohead tickets from me, by the way, pop me a mail. I am sure we can come up with an extortionate deal where I make a lot of money and you get to go see a completely un-tired, fresh and non-dull band.

So go to Bewley's. Seriously. What have you got to lose? It's not like you've got to mandatorily strip on entry and yodel for your supper. No. Really. You probably won't have to do that.

/end plug (temporarily)

neuro-praxis -- Honestly, I Am Not Ro