More Song Lyrics

The last ones were all quite maudlin. Most of these are happier:

I saw this thing on ITV the other week,
Says if she plays with her hair she's probably keen.
She's playing with her her well regularly,
So I reckon I could well be in.

The Streets - Could Well Be In

In 999 they make a living from crime.
The house is always empty 'cos they're all doin' time.

Space - Neighbourhood

I tried to get away, but I couldn’t get far
'Cos the man with the tow-truck repossessed my car

Grandmaster Flash - The Message

Sunday morning, I'm waking up
Can't even focus on the coffee cup
Don't even know whose bed I'm in
Where do I stop, where do I begin?

The Chemical Brothers - Where Do I Begin

Nothing can compare
To when you roll the dice
And swear your love's for me.

Finlay Quaye - Dice

I took shelter from a shower
And I stepped into your arms
On a rainy night in Soho
The wind was whistling all its charms.

The Pogues - Rainy Night in Soho

A New Word

datemate - The friends of your girlfriend (or boyfriend - depending on your gender and/or lifestyle choice).

Titles I Would Use Were I Ever to Record an Album

As a teenager, I was in a band. This surprises a lot of people. Especially when they learn we were pretty good.

We did a few of our own songs, but a few of the members were more into doing cover songs well, so it died once we went to university. A few years back, we got together for a few gigs like my sister's 21st birthday party (a fantastic night).

Consequently, every so often a phrase or sentence crops up and I think "What a great name for our album!" I cannot remember all of the ones down through the years, but here is a selection:

1. A Wizz Behind a Wall (the album cover is the four of us standing behind a stone-wall in the countryside, with only our head and shoulders visible. It would never get past corporate and probably cause a media circus, but if done properly...)
2. Geeks are Gimps
3. Another Hour and We'll Have It Well Shook (not entirely mine)
   
4. Ah, Sure Tog Out Anyway (not entirely mine either)
5. Longford

Not all of them are funny, some of them probably make you scratch your head, but I like them all.

Miranda Hobbs

I am at home for the weekend, relaxing, talking to my parents and eating chocolate.

Being good Irish people, they have gone to Gallagher's, our local establishment for the purveyance of alcoholic beverages. Being a bad Irish male, I have not gone with them.

The Paramount Comedy channel was showing the last few episodes of Sex and the City. I am something of a fan and I watched it again.

Thus is prompted a reiteration of one of my most controversial opinions. Miranda Hobbs, played by Cynthia Nixon, is easily the most attractive of the four characters.

Based purely on looks, I will concede that Kristin Davis, who plays Charlotte Yorke, would be top. Fortunately, such things are not so single-dimensional. Attractiveness is derived from more than just physical features.

Miranda has the personality.

She is smart, successful, sexy, temperamental, cynical and vulnerable. It took her forever to acknowledge the obvious with Steve. She speaks her mind. She is not afraid to cause an argument if she believes it necessary. Her relationship with Steve is the most interesting of the couples.

"Heresy most vile!" I hear you cry. "Send forth for the pitch-forks, and wake up the Inquisitor. We got ourselves a live one!"

As a final, desperate act for self-preservation, I will ask of you a single boon. Watch the episode "The Post-It Always Sticks Twice."

She is easily the pick of the four.

Nip/Tuck

The second season of this excellent series is currently showing on TG4 here in Ireland.

It is an easy series to misjudge. My first impression was of a show high on style, low on intellect. A sun-kissed location, graphic depictions of operations performed by attractive people fond of sex, I initially dismissed it as more brainless American Sky One junk. It was a distraction to relieve boredom, an insubstantial way to pass an hour.

In reality, Nip/Tuck is enthralling, seductive, brutal, and resolutely unapologetic. Stylishly done, it is a series full of characters you cannot help but empathise with.

In the first season, a supporting character overdosed on pills rather than fight a relapse of breast cancer. It was the most powerful scene I have ever seen on television. I was stunned and the images were to continually reconjure in my mind for days afterwards.

This week, in the second season episode 'Oona Wentworth' another such scene occurred. The mind of another supporting character finally cracked with tragic consequences. Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger" was the background music. The man stared at himself in the mirror. Shorn of hope, wracked with guilt and fuelled with self-loathing, he attempted to remove his face.

Captivated but reviled, I felt numb. Breaking out of my shock-induced reverie, I wished more television was as uncompromising.

Song Lyrics I Like

By no means definitive, there will certainly be updates.

I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find.

The Shins - New Slang

See I reckon you're about an eight or a nine.
Maybe even nine-and-a-half in four beers time.
That blue Top Shop top you've got on IS nice.
Bit too much fake tan though, but yeah, you score high.

The Streets - You're Fit But You Know It

Stand by me, my apprentice.

The Streets - Turn the Page

And in the darkened underpass I thought,
My God, my chance has come at last.
But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.

The Smiths - There is a Light that Never Goes Out

Why should she be the one to decide
Whether its off or on or on or off or on?

The Streets - Don't Mug Yourself

It's supposed to be a funeral.
It's been a bad, bad day.

Gram Parsons - $1000 Wedding

This is the story of an angel who played poker with the devil
In the Garden of Eden before it all went pear-shaped.

Bell X1 - I'll See Your Heart and Raise Your Mine

Nicknames

Nicknames were very common when I was in Primary School. It is the rare person who calls me Michael. Most people call me Mick, and Micko by my family.

A number of blogs have articles entitled "Things I've Done You Probably Haven't."

Being the unspontaneous geek-type, my list would not be interesting. However, I find such a concept interesting.

Though now is not the time, I do have stories that are probably unique. I tend to get sucked into escapades with friends as they chase women. Some are quite entertaining.

Though not necessarily flattering, I have been called names that prove interesting in hindsight. Some are quite recent. Some are very old. These include:

1. BBC (Brain Box Cooney)


2. Mickey Mouse


3. Flossy


4. Granny's Blue Eyed Boy


5. Slimer


6. The Prince of Darkness


7. The Legend


8. The Boyfriend I Compare All Others Against


9. A Worshipper at the Shrine of Avarice


10. The Gay One in the Band


11. Richard Michael Gymnastics


12. The Son-in-Law I Always Wanted


13. The Cool Lecturer


14. The Ignorant Lecturer


15. Baggio


16. The Only Leader Singer in a Band to Never Pull

I am quite sure I have forgotten a few.

Language and the Canterbury Tales

I have scatter-brain tendencies. I leave things behind. Tragically, my books are no exception.

Foucault's Pendulum has proved to be a slow read. I brought it to work the other day. It is still there. Bereft and saddened, I picked up Chaucer's magnum opus.

And so was an earlier sin brought to the light. In Eason's on O'Connell Street, my true nature was revealed. In my willful ignorance, I had purchased the Big Girl's Blouse edition - a translation of the work into modern English.

To my shame, I initially considered the mistake serendipitous. In the shadow-laden recesses of my soul, I was relieved to have side-stepped a struggle against the tyrannical and unforgiving mires of Middle English.

What a fool I was!

Upon learning of my crime, the Language Police promptly confiscated the blasphemous work and replaced it with a copy less perilous to the soul.

And verily do I say that my eyes are now open.

Though I have yet to learn the meaning of the word 'eek', I can now see the One True Path. I have found my road to Damascus.

A Big Welcome!

I would like to take this opportunity to welcome all the fourth year students of the International Business and Languages class in the Dublin of Institute of Technology to my little corner of the Internet.

It appears one or two of my precocious students discovered the link on my webpage and proceeded to tell some of their friends.

I have no idea of your number, but you are all very welcome.

I hope your last-lecture celebration on Wednesday went well. You all seemed in good form in the Cornerstone. It was a shame I could not join you in the nightclub.

Feel free to post comments should you the urge seize you in a desperate attempt to avoid studying about Electronic Data Interchange (or indeed any other subject).

New Words

Over the last while, I have invented some new words. In some cases, this was due to necessity, other times serendipity.

I have described these words to two friends who have degrees in English. The TCD alumni thinks they are excellent. Unfortunately, the Oxford alumni was unimpressed, though I think that was an attempt to be controversial.

So, without further fanfare, here are my new words:

Anti-deliberately: Something that is not deliberate. Accidental, occuring by chance, as in

I didn't say it deliberately! The whole rant just seemed to flow out anti-deliberately.

predonym: Two words that occur together in predictive text in mobile phones. Common examples of predonyms are 'gone' and 'home' and 'smirnoff' and 'poisoned'.

girlfed: The concept of having to change all your plans at ludicrously short notice because your girlfriend has decided you two, as couple, need to do something.

Jim: Hey lads, where is Dennis, wasn't he supposed to be meeting us here twenty minutes ago?

John: Yeah, he was, but he can't come. But he was girlfed about an hour ago.

Home and Garden State

Garden State was shown recently as part of the Jameson Irish Film Festival. Being a fan of Scrubs, I was curious. Having briefly read a few good reviews on the web, I went to see it.

It is a very good film, well worth seeing. I would especially recommend it to people in their late twenties.

Garden State is not the point of this post however.

In one scene, the lead character talks about home. He quietly acknowledges that he no longer has one. The house he grew up in is no longer his home, merely a building full of memories.

That really hit me. I was experiencing something similar.

Just before the Christmas, my sister got engaged. Inevitably, there was a party in our local pub. I came down for it (my first trip to Longford for quite a few months) and as I looked around Gallagher's, I felt sad. I was a stranger in my own village.

Apart from some cousins, and one old friend, there was nobody I had any desire to talk to. This was not elitism, but detachment. I simply had nothing to say.

My college friends did not help. The Author and the Chameleon were meeting ladies that night in the Big Smoke. Sam proceed to inform me of a blind date I had the following Monday.

But that is another story for perhaps another post.

It was a very unusual feeling - one I never expected.

Make no mistake, I thoroughly enjoyed the party. My family are great and I never see enough of them. At one point, my two cousins (all of fourteen years of age) took pity on my single status and gave me some tips for pulling girls. It was brilliant.

On top of all this, my sister was betrothed, we were getting older, and I no longer had a place to call home.

Quite the evening.

Palm Reading

I consider myself to be something of a fascinated skeptic when it comes to the occult.

I am naturally curious about mysticism, superstition, religion, beliefs, ancient history, mythology and all that, but I am, and always will be, a scientist.

However, I do accept it has a place. There are a lot of holes in science, but I would not waste my money on clairvoyants and farscryers. Most of them are shams.

So when I girl I know read my palm last night at a party, I was initially amused. She was quite tipsy at the time but I quickly realised she was serious. It is a family gift, it seems.

Unfortunately for my ego, a lot of what she read proved to be uncomfortably accurate. This girl and I do not know each other well, having only met a few weeks ago. So I was taken aback by her reading - a relatively accurate of my personality and history.

I would hardly be called a convert - but it certainly came as a surprise to me.

It was a good party.

Smooth Selection on the Silver Screen

It has been a while since I posted last.

I was neither away nor silent. I have decided not to post unless I have something worth posting. That way I am not clogging my blog with inane musings of no interest to even myself, purely for the sake of volume.

Something strange happened last night.

I was visiting the Author, and he and his girlfriend were sitting on the bed attacking a crossword. Sitting on a couch, working on my laptop, I was listening to "New Slang" by the Shins over earphones.

I happened to glance over at the two playfully arguing over the crossword, hearing nothing but the song, and it was amazing.

It was like I was watching a scene in the cinema. All I could do was stare, fully conscious of the fact that I would weird them out should they notice.

I doubt this is significant for me, but it certainly bodes well for their relationship.

My Parents

My parents are hilarious.

Michael and Patricia no longer have the financial burden of two children in college. They now travel the world on a regular basis.

They go abroad so often these days that Padraic (who is engaged to my sister) suggested that they charter their own airplane. They average about 5 trips abroad a year, including weekends away.

Normally, my parents have an uncannily bad timing for phone calls. So much so, I feel guilty for cutting them off.

Once they go abroad, you hear nothing.

I received the following text from my mother this morning:

Well micko just arrived in syd opera house bridge etc what can i say brill time in melbourne brisbane sun great country 25 deg

Fantastic stuff.

That was a particularly long and descriptive message.

O Reciprocity, Where Art Thou?

[Note: This was originally a post for a mailing list I use to get in touch with some friends but I decided I would post it to this blog as well - note the names have been changed but will be used consistently from now on.]

In other news, I got my friend another girl on Saturday. Assuming quality wingmanning gives you a half-point, that puts me on 2.5 for nothing in our little commune in Glasnevin.

In fact, if we are to be honest, crap wingmanning should get you negatives and that would put him further behind.

Rather than be presumptive and give him a negative, I have decided to let the public decide.

Picture the scene (some of you will be aware of these events):

Our hero is talking to a girl on a night out and concocts a blatant but good-natured story (lie is such a harsh word) to win her favour.

He claims to have sung her praises to all of his friends and as a result, they all think she is great. Cunningly, he does not mention that such a thing was unnecessary as she has that rare combination of beauty and personality so they liked her already).

Incredibly for such an honest individual as our hero, she does not believe him.

Said female approaches the Author and the Chameleon, asking them as to the veracity of his tale.

Now, I will admit the two lads were coming in cold to this, and being deep in other conversations, it would be unjust to criticise their lack of improvisation.

HOWEVER, the golden rule of all sales, and I quote Glengarry Glen Ross here, is

"You don't say a word until you know what the pitch is."

Sounds good, but not much help if you don't know what the pitch is. After all, these lads were deep in their cups and blissfully unaware of their companion's need.

Fortunately, our hero was slightly ahead of the curve. Having predicted this problem, he stands behind the fair lady, nodding his head pointedly, deliberately, and (some might say) outrageously.

Unfortunately, the two lads decide it is much more effective to stare blankly at the girl for a second or two. Guidance from our hero is not sought. No pleading glances are thrown.

They then round off this virtuoso performance with a pair of synchronised "Wuuhh?"s.

The maiden promptly spins back to our stricken hero, berating him for his dishonesty with oaths entirely alien to one of such sheltered upbringing.

Yet virtue has its rewards, allowing our hero to make an impression, so all was not lost. In any case, a fairy-tale ending was impossible due to circumstances beyond our hero's control.

One thing about the whole sorry affair above has struck me as being strange.

When by himself, the Author can be usually relied upon to quickly invent some derogatory comment about our noble hero, thereby circumventing the problem. Evil and unhelpful, admittedly, but brilliant nonetheless.

This did not happen here. The Author was left floundering, with nary an ascerbic comment or ignominous truth to be heard.

While it was girlfriended-Author in this story, he still had not fully embraced Zen at this point, and so that cannot explain it.

It must have been something else that blunted his sharp and painful edge, some other circumstance surrounding this tragic event prevented the Author from his natural reflexive reactions kicking in.

Feel free to comment if you have any ideas.

Focault's Pendulum

I started reading this the other day and I have read about 70 pages so far.

I am very impressed. The big conspiracy elements are only being hinted at so far, there is a lot of foreshadowing.

I would not be surprised to learn that Neal Stephenson was influenced by Umberto Eco since there is a lot of side issues dealt with for a page or two which do not detract from the main story.

Stupid People

I have a long-runner love-hate relationship with stupid people.

On one hand, stupid people can be very useful.

Take, for example, the stupid people who queue up for the Savoy cinema.

These poor wretches stand in the cold for an hour outside Savoy 1 waiting for the latest blockbuster to start for privilege of sitting in the worst seats once they finally get inside the auditorium (i.e. the ones right up the back over to the side, or to the side right down the front).

Why do they do this?

Because they are stupid. Good stupid, to be more specific.

Unfortunately, there are also the bad stupid people.

Take, for example, the feckless cretins who queue on O'Connell Street at 0830 for one of the 16/A or 19/A buses to take them over to the Southside of Dublin.

These buses tend to pull up packed with people, but rather than allow those people to alight with some form of dignity, something else happens.

A body does not immediately emerge from the darkness, and the logic is painfully obvious.

Stupid Eyes: No target identified engaging in requested activity.
Stupid Brain: Commence primary objective.
Stupid Legs: Go! Go! Go!

However, what the stupid brain did not realise was that there was indeed people trying to get off, but were prevented from doing so immediately by large number of people in their way.

As a result, a few poor unfortunates had to push their way through the inevitable maul of people that congealed at the front door of the bus.

Meanwhile, the bus almost emptied through the side door, and this took a while, so the stupid people achieved no quick entrance onto the bus since they had to wait for the bus to empty anyway.

Arrogant? Perhaps. Correct? Absolutely.