neuro's:blog

In Honour of Betamaxnomates

Betamaxnomates is LEAVING ME. Well, not just me: everyone. He is going to Japan: the land of such terrible movies as Lost in Translation (BILE) and Gin Gwai (The Eye) (actually quite good, that wan). Betamaxnomates, because I love you, I have compiled facts for you because as mother never says, fore-warned is fore-armed. And your forearms are quite long.

All of the below is not not not not untrue.

Did you know...?

Most rural Japanese villages have no proper ground to walk on – the marshy substance on which they must tread resembles the floor of a cheap funfair Spook-House. To help them traverse, Japanese farmers wear multiple lacrosse racquets sellotaped to their bare feet. This tradition has not been completely lost, and in large cities it is not uncommon to see people with similar attire navigating their way through the crowds – particularly amongst people who work in the coffee-pot development industry, which was born out of farming. Although the ground in major cities has been solidified, these people (usually children of farmers) continue to wear the lacrosse racquets to honour their mother and father. To not do this would be punishable by death.

The Japanese have very poor eyesight. This is useful for when you want to trick them: for example offering what appears to be money to homeless Japanese people from a slight distance, which upon examination turns out to be Koka noodle wrappers. You can tell that their eyesight is bad because of how their face is set in a permanent squint. (Unknown statistic: almost 85% of all Japanese people are homeless.)

No Japanese person can read text unless it is written in the speech bubble of a Manga cartoon character. This is why there are no libraries in Japan – only comic book stores. Also there are no universities in Japan. The Japanese think that learning "attracts evil spirits". If you want a deaf person to understand you in Japan, you have to draw cartoons of both of you with your verbal statements coming from speech bubbles of the cartoon of yourself. If you are bad at art consequently no deaf Japanese person will engage you in conversation. The deaf population in Japan (approximately 25% of all people) are among the finest artists in the world, with paintings done using only soy sauce in all major national museums dating back almost ten thousand years.

The Japanese will not place any two round objects close together – two oranges for example – because of the similarity in shape to a pair of breasts. Breasts are considered offensive in Japanese culture and as such none of the women have any. They use their mind power to stop them growing during puberty. Similarly the carrot is considered offensive, but men do not eliminate their penises with mind-power as they are unable to.

You will need to bring a plentiful supply of underwear to Japan as it is impossible to buy new underwear in any of the shops – only soiled underwear is for sale. And don't try to get around this – if you employ a seamstress to make you some new pants, she will insist on using soiled fabric, or may give you a pair of her own (being caught wearing completely new pants in Japan results in imprisonment and a fine up to 81661550 Yen which is approximately half a million Euros; also the seamstress's implication in the crime would mean she gets her face surgically removed – symbolic of having stuck her nose into a foul situation).

All Japanese people have two stomachs – one for processing soba noodles, one for tofu. Some of the poorest Japanese people only have one stomach, rice farmers for example, but Amnesty International is fighting for their rights in this regard. Any food that is not noodles or tofu is digested not in the stomachs but in the throat region where the nutrients are immediately absorbed into the bloodstream.

Dental surgery is strictly outlawed in Japan because appointments with the dentist cut into the working day. A dental appointment will only be allowed if it is on Christmas day (although the vast majority of Japanese people are secular, with some Buddhism, Christmas day is their only national holiday) and if you have worked an average of 140 hours per week in the preceding year. This one-minute appointment is likely to cost within the region of 1660000 Yen (around 10,000 Euros). As a result of this strict rule, only 1% of the population receive any form of dental care so most Japanese people have very blackened and rotten mouths (toothpaste, dental floss and mouthwash are also outlawed for the same time-wasting reasons).

There will be more: oh yes. There will be more.

neuro-praxis -- racist today, gone tomorrow

Bear With Me

I'm experimenting! (May involve illegal drugs and immoral sexual practices.)

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)

Getting Jiggy With Stiggy Wiggy

This is an emergency update! We went out to our parked car on the main street of Maynooth and found that the hubcap was gone. Robbed! "This is terrible," we said to each other, "Now we will always be known as the people with three hubcaps. How humiliating!" Then we said to each other, in unison, in fact, "We are so poor, how will we ever afford a new hubcap?" Then we cursed our employers for not paying us enough money to pay for new hubcaps. Then we cursed the insurance company for not covering us for hubcap theft.

But lo! The story does not end with cursing. That filthy robber had a conscience! They left, I kid you not, five euros on the ground beside the wheel. Surely, with the value of our car, this would buy twenty fine hubcaps! We took our five euros and went to the finest restaurant in the village and ate like kings, for a week, until we exploded and died, like the naked fat geezer in Se7en.

Then we went to see Mission Impossible III in the cimena and it was a boomy delight to behold. Now it is time for breakfast! I love it when a plan comes together.

neuro-praxis -- Laying Down The Reggae Beat in the Background

Karma Police

Well would you look at this! Three neuro entries in a month! You must think all your birthdays have come at once! Well, they haven't. And while we're at it, don't ever forget that one day you will die. And so will EVERYONE you love. Ooh who's in a bad mood then? the camp ones among you are limp-wristedly saying. I think the answer is obvious. ME. Why? Because I've been given a new entry for Neuro's Big Book of Rejections. UCD don't want me. They've only offered places to students with their undergrads from UCD. Also they said they were upset about my poem and the photograph of me was disturbing. Then they said I have literacy problems and I would be a liability in the class. They included half a pound of raw minced beef in the envelope. They wrote a poem about me that went like this:

Dear neuro-praxis,

Fin.

Today has been a bit of a kick in the nuts, I can tell you. There is no solution. I need a path. Perhaps you, my friends, might scrabble together, clear the leaves and lay some concrete slabs for me to walk on, going in a particular direction. I shall expect this path to be laid by Friday at the very latest.

neuro-praxis -- Not A Potential Sexy Librarian

Didn't you hear?

The rather famously read Potato gave me editing rights to his blog.

Go!

One Day There Will Be A Knock On The Door And It Will Be Me. Love, Travis.

Environmentalists (environMENTALISTS) say that if you burn plastic it will release toxic gases that may make you very sick. This is what I say to them: do not nay say me in my pursuits of happiness. And a happy new year to you too.

I'm currently watching Taxi Driver. The geeks will have gotten that already by my absurdly long post title. Although I have even studied the direction of this movie at college, tonight is the first time I've seen it. Wow. It's like American psycho crossed with Tellytubbies crossed with Natural Born Killers. No, it's not like that at all. It's more like setting shoe polish on fire and inhaling the delicious scent. No, it's not like that - that's just a scene I saw a few moments ago. The soundtrack is something like the kind of thing you'd hear on that strange eighties show about private eyes Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd - Moonlighting - remember that? That was a weird show. I can't really remember anything about it, although I do remember eating sausages and chips one night while watching it. That was the basic sustenance of my childhood. And they weren't even cooked. That's how neglected I was. And my lunch at school every day was usually nothing more than crumpled up pages from women's magazines that mother robbed from the doctor's surgery waiting room. I can still taste the ink.

Still, it wasn't all bad; you could use the pages to build big collages of happy scenes between mummies and daddies that didn't hit each other and throw glass bottles.

I noted sadly with Zoomy tonight that despite my best efforts I never once got even close to tipsy this holiday season. I have lost my taste for alcohol! I was never a big drinker, but from time to time there is nothing I like more than an evening of multiple beers or wines and perhaps a lot of singing. Although there was jollity I don't believe I ever finished more than one drink. It is an oddity. It just didn't taste nice to me. I wonder if there might be a therapy group to help me overcome this drinking problem.

Tomorrow is my last day of freedom before returning to the chains of my office. I mean truly, my job could be so much worse, so much tremedously more worse, or worser as I liked to say in my illiterate days, but still, I have no heart in it and that makes it difficult. I am an ARTISTE, you know? I am so WASTED in my field. The previous sentence could be the dialogue of a knacker drinking farmer, couldn't it? Anyway, all my talent (whatever talent that may be [undiscovered as it is]) is being strangled, slowly, with a 6 inch square of thin plastic (cut from a sandwich bag), which, when burned, makes me feel happy.

I need help. Maybe 2006 is the year to seek it.

neuro-praxis -- This Is Her Show And This Is Her Website

Your Changes Have Been Saved

Alright alright alright! Enough of this avoiding the internet nonsense. Although it may or may not be true that I have reclaimed my life by no longer spending thirty two hours a day online, I have returned, at the nagging, CONSISTENT nagging, of my adoring fans, who adore me. That's what gives me my self worth. That I am adored. So thank goodness they adore me! Or I'd be in an awful state, crying all the time, possibly cutting myself and what have you. That's all the rage. The cutting. With little Bic blades, five for a euro! In my day we just wrote sad poems and songs of lost love, all to suspectly similar tunes formed with the three chords we could play on the guitar. Nobody was slicing themselves up, except for horrid accidents while chopping up melons. We used to have a little sob, when we were sad, a little moan on the old telephone. Maybe we would eat a couple of Moro bars, maybe if we were very rebellious or poor, we'd down half a can of cheap lager, throw the other three away and talk about being really drunk. But now? Now with the cutting and the bleeding and the anorexia. Well, it's all a bit much isn't it? And all because they don't have the security blanket that is a little den of suckling, adoring fans. Who adore me, with all the adoration their bursting little hearts can muster. You gotta ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky punk?

Oh, oh it's not luck. It's charm, charisma, and having all your limbs.

WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING

I don't know. WORKING. Work is crap, I hate having a job. I prefer sleeping in, watching the Simpsons, discussing the world's problems with a frozen pizza and a nice glass of cheap wine (frozen pizzas are better at adult conversation than their unenvironmentally friendly packaging would imply!)... all that good stuff. SATURDAYS. Now, that's what it's all about. Sundays less so; they come with churchy responsibilities (not bad, but a little work-related) and family obligations (well, it's better than having little bits of your calf muscles freeze-burned off).

My housemates are still off the continent. Unsurprising really: they've gone for the year. Somehow, though, I always expect them to come swanning in the door, smelling of fresh turf and scones like they used to... note: this memory may be false

I got a hand-written letter from M in India today, wahoo! Hand written letters are marvellous. Wonderfully more personal than emails. She even included recipes from an Indian newspaper...I would be lying if I said I wasn't seduced by the exoticnessity of it all. Not that I despise technology, no, I like my induction coils and my, er, wires, and what have you, just fine, so I do. I plan to write back, and I might include a handful of King crisps in the envelope. Mags is notorious for her love of King crisps. And you can't get them in Magical Indialand, no!

The point is: things are in a continual state of change. For example, tomorrow I am taking two Korean teenagers out for a DAY OF FUN in the city, and none of us understands why! But it's happening because LIFE IS CHANGING and YOU HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING! AND TAKING THE ACID!

What else has changed? I have been a social flower, having lots of guests and little parties and watching films. A History Of Violence was good, it was about a man with a history of violence. I've also been most terribly holy, enjoying a women's prayer gathering with three of my delightfully wise ladyfriends. You can come, if you have a womb. Or used to have one. We don't discriminate against those who have taken their wombs out, even if they have used the newly-extracted womb for moneymaking purposes.

TONIGHT OUR WEATHER WILL BE MOSTLY DRY AND MILD

Says somebody on tv; I have no reason to disbelieve her. My husbandry unit is working, as usual, earning a buck or two so that we can have omlettes made from Fabergé eggs every morning, in the style we are accustomed to. Meanwhile I am watching Neighbours which K would never approve of, but how can I resist? Izzy is spinning a web of lies on a parallel with none other. Bar of course Judas.

TV3 NEWS IS LIKE BEING AT THE DISCO! DANCE, YA BASTID!

So Daniel Craig is the new James Bond. Well that should be just like all the others. Good thing I like ham. Bond movies are so hammy they go all the way around the ham-o-meter to being entertaining again. I shall, of course, however, be waiting until the new movies get shown on tv. Speaking of Bond, I once saw Pierce Brosnan in a shopping centre. I left him alone though, crowds of celebrity-loving dolts were surrounding him like a pungent odour. Poor man. Seeing Pierce was the closest I've ever come to marrying a rich actor, which used to be my ambition. If I'm honest, it still is.

Here is a confession that many, including Zoomtard and Stig, will be both excited and gratified about. I enjoyed watching the Ireland Switzerland match the other night, even if the performances were frightful and the score appalling. I am actually sad that we lost. My emotions have come into line with those of a common garden football hooligan. This is a sad day. Before you know it, I will be wearing nothing but football jerseys to work, vomiting in the streets and trashing shop windows angrily when my team inevitably fails.

Nonsense and tripe, that's what this journal entry is. But it's for you, and it's free, and it's thanks to the Meat Advisory Board.

neuro-praxis -- Does A Mighty British Accent

On The Pope

As according to Zoomie:

"I don't want to waste this chance by waffling on about Karol's worldly achievements. There will be many journalists and reporters and historians dissecting his role in the downfall of Communism and lots of people will assess his prodigious gifts. Maybe Irish blogland's philosopher-in-hiding, Neuro will tell us about his dramatic and moral philosophical works."

No, I won't be doing that. I studied Karol Wojtyla in college - his dramas, his philosophy and his personal biography, and I developed a deep admiration for the man just in time before he popped his clogs. However, I won't be regaling you all with tales of his wonder because it is meaningless now. He stood up for what he believed was right and, although we wouldn't have seen eye to all on all issues theological, he exceeded all expectations of a single human person, achieving more than anyone I can think of in the last hundred years, bar maybe Martin Luther King.

Now. My brain-dead, hackneyed and clichéd generalities aside, onto the specifics.

According to the Gerry Ryan radio show this morning, the pope's face appeared on a cape in a hairdresser's in Nenagh to a minister of the eucharist who was having her roots done.

I believe that the fun starts here. What I want to know is - what will happen to the pope's blog? Screw the future of the church - where will I get my internet spiritual guidance now?

neuro-praxis -- Deep As The Salad Bowl

NO BABIES

Just kidding. Or am I?

Announcement

Tori Amos is playing Vicar Street on May 30th.

AND I HAVE TICKETS

So should you. Quicksmart.

My Scream Got Lost In A Paper Cup

So I'm thinking about ordering a takeaway pizza, and paying for it with my credit card. There is something about sitting around all day doing nothing that makes me loathe cooking. COOKERY THOU ART A BASTARD. Or maybe it is just that I loathe cooking only for myself. And all my family are away doing *stuff*. By family of course I do mean husband and housemates, but having been rejected by my real family on account of my being a spider, they shall have to act as surrogates. Not that I'm asking any of them to give birth to me. Man, I've been there and done that and it was obviously so traumatising that I can't even remember it.

So it snowed here. I tried to take some photographs of the beautiful tree in my garden but the useless battery on my very expensive camera ran out, and I can't find the charger. One of my friends who is unlucky enough to live in Navan, was completely snowed in today, having had two feet of snow in the night. Err, what country is this again? I'm not liking these extremes we're starting to experience. It makes me worry that an inch of ice will melt in Antarctica and flood all of Europe. AND I HAVE NO BOAT. Perhaps I should think about investing in a boat, although I've already gots debts with the credit union up the yin yang and they're unlikely to indulge any more of my suspicious loan requests. I was lucky enough that all I got was a few raised eyebrows when I asked for the four grand for the face lift. I hope they don't find out I spent that on chocolate!

I have been listening to the very beautiful and slightly frightening Tori Amos all day. There is a certain palatable insanity about her music. Well, less about her music and more about the way that she sings; she sort of sounds like a half-crazed animal. I honestly envy that. No matter what I do I seem to sound like a choirgirl. Maybe I need to get roughed up a little, you know - live in the wild, or the bronx or something for a bit.

I got twenty five bucks and a cracker, do you think it's enough to get us there?

I don't know, Tori, I just don't know.

neuro-praxis -- Getting That Peetsah

Ode to Anne Doyle

An Experiment in Rhyme inspired by seeing our own RTE's Anne Doyle (I thought she was dead too!!) glaring at me from inside her car on Monday night at the traffic lights on the way to Mount Merrion. She did not seem to appreciate the notes we scribbled and stuck on the window for her to read. They were a bit rude. She also did not like it when we licked the window.

Anne:

I longed for your fame from afar
When I saw you last night in your car...
I can't hear your voice
From inside your Rolls Royce --
My hero! Celebrity! Star!

Your newsreading skills may astound...
And with age you have not gained a pound!
You eat nowt but fags
And collect Prada bags
And your nip/tuck physician is sound.

Oh Anne, when will you notice ME?
I'm as charming and cool as can be!
I have dyed my hair white
Since our encounter that night
So our connection can deepen, you see.

I know all your secrets, you know
(that you make up the news as you go),
But that's ok by me...
All I want from TV
Is to escape from the hell that I sow.

Anne, you're the queen of the land:
News-Bearer-Extraordinaire-Bland!
You can keep your bad news,
And your snake Gucci shoes,
And your skin...so aggressively tanned.

*click click click*

THE END

The Grass Is Always Greener

Twelve Things That Is Definitively Better Than Incessant Studying As What Is According To Me:

1. Forcing down platefuls of unbuttered cold mashed potato, which you will then in desperation discreetly spoon into the coal bucket by the fireplace.
2. Stepping in dog shit just before that crucial job interview, wafting you in the ever-impressive eau de la poo.
3. Spending three hours watching repeats of Julian Simmons on UTV doing his weather routine and saluting five year olds on their birthdays.
4. Accidentally ramming a pin up under your fingernail. In we go - a good half inch!
5. Going on a particularly fast ride at Funderland operated by the dude whose brother is his father, and finding when it stops that there is a large gully of phlegm in your hand. And it ain't yours.
6. Chewing tinfoil and/or sucking on cotton wool.
7. Instead of being taken to Disneyworld by your parents, being taken to a burnt out warehouse, and then them saying, "Oh, I guess Disneyworld burnt down".
8. Your best friend having a tattoo of a spider web done on your face while you sleep.
9. Your creepy next door neighbour taping you from behind his curtains while in the throes of passion, and then posting copies of the video to your parents, grandparents and friends with a signed note from you about how you want to let them into every aspect of your life from now on.
10. Being accused of murder.
11. Having heaps of plastic surgery done only to find out that the surgeon was a quack and now you're designed to look like Pikachu. And he's skipped off to Mexico with your 30,000 big ones.
12. Incontinence.

Yup.

In Many Ways, My J.M. Coetzee Thesis is a BASTARD FISHY.

I am all about the symbolism right now, oh yes I am. I handed in my thesis. I prefer to say it in the words of Joel Vietch:

I love to eat a fishy
It's a little bit of class
Eat a little fishy
Shit the bastard out me ass!

NEUROMATHS

Oh yes I handed that bastard in. I did not sleep (sleep is for soft-headed types and I have a noggin full of concrete, yes CONCRETE, for which I could win a prestigious award, bitch) but I did hand in that large flutherbucker with a dramatic flourish. As I was scribbling my details onto an essay cover sheet, the anticipation of posting it in the letterbox got the better of my friend Karen who tried to mount me, but that's a story for another day. It also may be true that I could have been heard to cheer loudly in the department corridor at that very moment. I was not alone: there were at least fifteen of us crammed into one small space, leaping over frantic bodies in an effort to get to the stapler, which, incidentally, was MINE and FULL OF STAPLES, thank God.

Due to intense concentration my finely stapled and firmly rejected fish essay, I have not washed in a long time. In the same way that my brain has blocked out the disturbing scenes of The Passion of the Christ, I seem to have forgotten how to wash myself: the tangled hair thing is a particular stumbling block.

So now I go: there are PARTIES AHOY. Yes there are. (But not them dirty ones.)

Summary, Analysis or Argument?

My husband's aunt insisted the other night that German people have two stomachs, and no: she wasn't speaking figuratively. She has an obese German friend who has the appetite of twelve horses and who has informed her that she's got two stomachs and well, Bon is pretty sure it's true, having seen how much Alfreda can pack away.

I wish I had two stomachs - think of the possibilities!

As the year is coming to a close, I shall fill out one of those "year appraisal thingies" for your perusal. As I have no originality of my own, somebody else's will have to suffice.

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
Got married. Went to Africa. Won an Olympic Gold Medal. Ate meat.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
New Years Resolution's are for the weak in the head. I made none. And that's the way I want to keep it, beatch.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes, I now have two nephews and a family of attic mice.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
I didn't do it.

5. What countries did you visit?
Africa, England and France. And chocolate.

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
A double first class honours degree in Philosophy and English literature and a dog, whom I will name Baby Jesus.

7. What date from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
September 24th, my wedding day, because I got to ride around in a really cool car for fifteen minutes.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I stole a really nice watch from a Jeweller's on Talbot Street and got away with it for almost four days.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Crashing that jeep through the side of the house, oops.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I took a wee trip down the stairs and the odd beating from K. HA HA HA (help me)

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A little Asian boy.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My church family's. The little Asian boy's.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
YOURS.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Damn wedding!

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
I got this book of free coupons for HMV!!!!

16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
Nobody Does It Better - Carly Simon.
The Dog Song - Nelly McKay

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: happier or sadder?
Strap me to a torpedo cos I'm happy as a filthy monkey on E.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Puking my ring up.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Looking for staples.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Christmas isn't currency, stupid.

With my husband and my brother and my mammy and my daddy.

21. How will you be spending New Years?
At a CHURCH PARTY where we will drink orange pop and play WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE and not touch in case we give each other AIDS.

22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
Hey baby, I've been loved up for six years now.

23. How many one-night stands?
At least 25. They call me the "tart" round these parts.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Television is from the devil. If I had to choose, it would be that one cartoon show where the superhero went round bunking paedos off, deadly.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Ah shut up. No.

26. What was the best book you read?
Gosh darn it, I read a whole damn lot. Possibly "Candida Albicans" by Leon Chaitow - wow. Touching, inspirational, yeasty.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Nellie McKay. I am in love with her. Plus guests.

28. What did you want and got?
I bagged me a rich one! And a car. And herpes.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
The Station Agent probberly?Also Fisting Firemen Nine (I haven't yet seen one through eight).

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Sniff. Nothing much. Just visited Nelson Mandela's cell on Robyn Island. Sniff. And had a brie with schnook fish and champagne fresh from the vineyard...

32. What one thing that would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
My own cow for uber-fresh dairy goodness in the mornings.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
BLING! Lots and lots of gold and jewels and PVC.

34. What kept you sane?
THE LORD HIMSELF. Also my therapist. Also my Buttercup doll; she listens to me.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Oooh. Particularly? Hrm. Oooh. You're throwing out the tough questions here. Hrm. Oooh. Jake Gillenhall? Nelly McKay? Eminem? Santa?

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The whole electronic voting hulabaloo, but then, I was living with Captain Democracy.

37. Who did you miss?
The cast of Dawson's Creek. Bye bye, my friends, bye bye. /me waves sadly

38. Who was the best new person you met?
Lordy, I sure meeted a lot of new people. Some favourites of the new ones: Deborah, Deirdre, Aisling, Ger, Jason, Marianne K, Ciarán, Andrew, Mariana, Sorcha, Clare, Esther, Silke...

These people mean nothing to you. NOTHING TO YOU I SAY. Like how I name-dropped there?

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004.
Why don't YOU tell me one?

Um.

I have learned to stop saying, "When X happens, THEN I will be happy". I am living my life. I am grabbing it by the proverbial goulies, jiggling them about, and enjoying everything as much as possible. Life is all about relationships, really, innit?

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

No guilt in life,
No fear in death;
This is the power of Christ in me.

I Has "Come In" for a Bit of Criticism It Would Seem, Aye

This is not an uncommon thing. Y'see, if you appear to have any kind of opinions, or if you're extroverted in any way, "people" imagine that they can criticise you freely and you and you won't feel it, because you've obviously got skin thicker than your da's pointy-toe leather boots from 1967. DING.

Well, all I can say is: OWIE.

The criticism is this:

"Apparently", I have used too many CAPITAL LETTERS and too much "nonsense talk" in my recent journal entries.

I am currently nursing my new emotional wounds with a small glass of lukewarm milk and fifteen minutes on the internet before I go to college. I have composed an email outlining my distress to my psychologist and she'll be designing a program of treatment starting tonight. If I don't deal with this now, I could face a lifetime greviously scarred by these spite-filled words.

I would never EVER EVER criticise any aspect K's pile of shite journal, honestly.

Nah, I'm kidding. : ) He's right; I have been abusing my journal wielding power. It's quite modernist though, isn't it... all the nonsense talk helps me to relieve stress from my course. What stress?!? you Arts-haters are shouting. I, however, have no need to dignify your rude question with a response, bastards.

JK -JK!!!!!!!!!111112loll

We've started shouting "JK!" at each other in the house these days. It's usually followed by a few "OMG!"s or "ROFL BTW!"s. Amazingly, it never stops being funny.

Well, not to me.

I hate to bore you with my musical tastes as journal writers are wont to do, so I won't. I shall make you a recommendation though: Treasure, by the Cocteau Twins...a recent discovery from Adrian's record collection. THANKS AIDO. I'm saying his name because he hasn't discovered the internet yet...he's a composer or something. Also, when you're movie-going, see Saved and Inside I'm Dancing, rollicking comedies about Christian fundamentalism and sexually promiscuous cripples. (Might I add here that I wouldn't have been exempt from fancying the pants off the sexy quadriplegic in the latter movie.) I'm not being ironic - they're both hilarious. Besides, I don't understand irony because I'm a Christian fundamentalist.

In Other News

Again, second entry of the day. I am working my brain at college like a lunatic - is this why my "CREATIVE OVERFLOW" is "OVERFLOWING" with extra journalling at the moment?

I have a hive on my face - too much sugar perhaps? - and I apologised to that arrogant young man today. He now has a name. We had a long and amicable philosophical debate centred on the nature of time. He accepted my apology with grace, and for his part, tried to assure me that underneath all that arrogance is a very humble young man, nay, a humble puppy of some kind, dancing about with a red sponge ball amidst heaps of toilet paper. Unconvincing, but I like him despite myself. I wait with anticipation to see how he speaks to the lecturer in the next seminar.

The hive is asserting its presence as I type but I will not gratify it with scratches.

On scratch talk, I have discovered a new evil; spiral bound notepads. The one in my shoulder bag bites my hand every time I stick it in to retrieve something. I may render it unemployed and go in search of a glue-bound notebook. TAKE IT WIRY McSCRATCHY.

My excellent staple study-buddy, D, who is just learning to drive, gave me a lift home today. It's always a bit of an adventure driving with D, you never know what she's going to do next. Turning at a junction is somewhat of a stressful affair - she makes me feel as though getting home is a survival task. I love it. She makes me feel like I have ACHIEVED. OH YES. I MADE IT HOME, DESPITE THE TRIALS.

It is Friday night - time to let the old probervial hair down (although as I am bald as a coot this may pose difficulties HA HA GOTCHA I DO HAVE HAIR) and put the books and laptop aweh. FIRMLY AWEH. For tomorrow I arise at le crack of dawn to write a dull essay on The Wasteland which I expect to take a solid twelve hours work.

I'm just not into that.

There Are Some Things That Money Can't Buy

For example: POVERTY

OH WHAT A CONUNDRUM

Although you could pay people to rob your belongings, etc.

Well I suppose I owe you bastards some kind of account of my weekend. I spent it in Kilkenny College, sleeping in dusty fifty year old beds that little boys have been masturbating in for generations, and singing in a worship band. Sounds gay. In many ways, how it sounds is how it is. In other ways, I had an intensely great weekend where I was reminded very powerfully of God's great majesty.

What in the name of Jack Black's cacks is a Christian conference, I can veritably hear you shouting into your modem, in the vain hope that I will hear and reply.

Well, I may not hear you shouting down the modem but I can read minds.

At Christian conferences, usually some particular kind of demographic of Christians get together for fellowship, community, fun, worship, teaching, study and SLEEP DEPRIVATION. I slept about 8 hours in total over the four nights. This particular demographic was that of the members of this island's Christian Unions. There were about four hundred of us there, from just about every college/uni/IT in the country. Cool.

So...you attend seminars on a particular subject that arouses your interest, and addition to this, you attend main session with the group as a whole. You sing a lot of worship songs (which, to the believer, is something touched by the Divine), you meet a lot of new people, you drink a lot of coffee, and, if you are a ball of stress like me, you escape to the pub as often as possible with a small number of other like-minded folks for hot whiskeys and pints of Guinness and BIG ARGUMENTS ON POLITICS.

I normally hate conferences...they're so inorganic. This one, however, was the exception to the rule. I have been softened. I am suitably abashed for my pre-conference rantings.

I had the added bonus, this year, of being the spouse of one of the organisers. SPECIAL TREATMENT GALORE. I swanned about in a fashion appropriate to my status.

So that is THAT.

This week has been a blur of self-pity as I have tried to keep up with my studies and catch up on the lost sleep. God I'm tired. That's what I shouted in lectures today. GOD I'M TIRED.

Today has been a positively argumentative day. RAGING SELF RIGHTEOUS NEURO AHOY.

Firstly, a very arrogant young man in my philosophy class who gets his kicks from humiliating old priests with Parkinsons disease, steered our lecture off on an irrelevant tangent that was simply designed to upset the lecturer and challenge him on a purely personal level: I lost the rag a bit and pointed out the redunant nature of his argument and the irrelevancies of his repeated interruption. Shortly, thereafter, he left the lecture, proving my point that he only comes along to disrupt things, and when he is not speaking, he is not interested.

Later, I bumped into an old philosophy tutor of mine today, and went with him to his office to get back a book I'd lent him, where we managed to somehow entangle ourselves in a three hour theological debate on the doctrinal differences between Catholicism and Protestantism. The man is a giant and it was very intimidating, but what stood to me was my superior knowledge of the bible, which helped somewhat. He on the other hand can speak French, German, Latin and Greek fluently. : ( Anyway we reached no conclusions and have agreed to do the same again soon.

Then, after this, I went for dinner with my husband, our two housemates and another friend, and then onto the pub, where a huge republican/unionist debate arose. Fascinating, but GOLLY GOSH HARD WORK.

It is nice to have people in your life who keep you on your toes. I like to think that this may help to prevent the onset of Alzheimer's disease, although the very fact that I am worrying at all about Alzheimer's at my age is probably something to worry about in and of itself. They say tomatoes can help. I eat a lot of tomatoes. Although never with bread, they make the bread soggy as hell. Beetroot, another close vegetable friend of mine, also commits this heinous bread-crime. I could eat a whole jar of beetroot, purple vinegar, glass and all, if I had to.

Speaking of eating strange things, M (lovely housemate) offered me a sum of money to drink a concoction I had absent-mindedly mixed together at our table during the debate. It contained alot of sugar, coke and bits of nuts. I drank every drop AND PROUD. I'm richer now. Are you richer? No. So don't judge me.

World politics: Bush is still King of the World. You know it, I know it, no need to talk about what this means. As for us, we shall trundle on as usual, bitching about Americans, supping our Pepsi and wearing our Nikes, HURRAH. DEEP MAN, DEEP.

As you may have noticed, I got my links working on the left. Click them, they are my sponsors. HA HA HA. No, click them so they can have traffic. Traffic is good, except when sitting in it on the way to college. Then it's bad, as bad as Mr. Bush, and what kind of a mess are we in then? A SOGGY MESS, MADE PROBABLY BY BEETROOT SANDWICHES WITH TOMATO SAUCE.

Bed time came and went long ago.

Watch me as I crawl away.