So I'm a pretty heavy-duty Twitter user, and in the past two weeks it's really started paying off for me. Not only have I really begun to interact with some amazing 20-something bloggers, but I follow some really cool celebs and, best of all, some cool comedians. Twitter is a great way to vent, to try and make your friends laugh, or two circulate rumours that beloved celebrities are dead ("What? Eminem and Johnny Depp? ...Oh wait, they're fine.")
In the last 10 days, I've had two amazing Twitter experiences.
First of all, when Esquire Magazine (UK) whom I follow @esquireuk were looking for suggestions from readers for home-remedies to combat the cold. I tweeted back with my suggestion (gargle salt water for the throat, take a shot of tabasco for the sinuses, then mix warm water w/ honey, lemon and ginger) and forgot about it.
Days later, when they published the results on their webpage, guess who came in at number 1!
I mean, yeah, it's only a little retweet, and it's not even attributed to me, but fuck it, it was so cool!
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Then, today, I was looking through my Tweet-feed when British funny-lady Sarah Millican (@SarahMillican75) tweeted her followers to offer them free tickets for her last ever radio show on Wednesday night. I replied back and within minutes she told me my name was on the guest list.
So yeah, it gets derided all the time, I sometimes drunk tweet celebs and it's probably endemic of some massive shift towards a society of antisocial weirdos who publish every minute thought, but fuck me, it can be fun!
x
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
What my work is like. (with a RANT!!)
I'm currently sitting at my desk for the first time in weeks. It's clean and tidy.
I realised today that I haven't really explained what I do since I started work. So here we go.
What I do at the office where I go to do work.
At the office where I go to do work the work could be described as a wee bit simples. I work for a construction recruitment firm as a 'database co-cordinator' in their offices in London Bridge.
"Finally," I hear you shout, "He's found a job where he can combine his love of construction with his love of data!", because as you all know, I know LOADS about construction. Yep...loooooooads.
I have NO IDEA what the company does or how they make money.
My particular role?
Well, people who are looking for jobs upload their CVs onto online job-boards (like Monster, Total Jobs, HookerListings etc) and type in key words that describe their skills (e.g. sales negotiating, business management, anilingus etc) and wait.
Then, I go through the boards looking for a certain job (eg, ass-licking sales negotiator) review the potential candidates CVs and then enter their details into the system. In other words I'm a professional copy-and-paste-er. Schweet.
There're some pretty cool characters in the place too. I mean 'cool' is a loose term as only a few of the people fit that CV description. 'People' might be a better word to use for the rest.
The People I Work With in the Office Where I Go to do Work (AKA) The Database Team (AKA) The Losers.
So there's my boss:
BigMan - he's, well a BIG man. A gargantuan man, a four-wheel man. He spends all his time talking about films, and we spent most of Wednesday quoting huge tracts of StarWars at each other. He's very Catholic, and has spent years dissecting spaghetti westerns to unravel the catholic thematic strands. He is a big guy with a big heart, and genuinely seems to care about his little loser minions.
CheekyGuy - He's a Cockney with a heart of gold, a real goldbrick with a disarmingly cheekiy demeanour. CG is one of my immediate colleagues, so he spends most of his time showing me the ropes. Think Michael Caine as Alfie. He's been with the office for about a year and will soon become a Consultant. This will Wraith him unfortunately.
Aspergers Guy - AG is the office junior and when he's not doing his odd wee involuntary things (thanks to his severe Aspergers) he likes to quote huge tracts of the films Heat, The Shawshank Redemption and Goodfellas. He also does the best impression of Peter Griffin I've ever seen. He spent five minutes on my first day doing a Morgan Freeman voice over Shawshank-style, making a joke about how the rest of the team would have me gang-raped "I wish I could tell you Conor put up a fight....". I'm sure you can imagine, I'm incredibly fond of him, he's a really great bloke.
Polish Tank Commander - PTC is one of the few girls in the office and we're all afraid of her. She has the same job title as me, but we all do what she says. I think I've managed to Blarney my way through her cold suspicion so that now only a vague distrust lingers. She's really nice though, just terrifying.
Prohibitively Mean Secretary - PMS is someone who I cannot like. She is a very pretty girl, and she spends all the time she can flirting, but she is very very mean. For example, she'll say things to lower your confidence when she can (ie, "so wow, you took a long time finding a job, didn't you?") and smile sweetly. However, when there's no-one to talk to she'll chat to anyone she can. She's VERY aware of how (meh) pretty she is, and backstabs everyone. She flirts with a guy til someone cooler comes along then completely ignores them. I don't like her much because she has no soul, she doesn't like me because I'm smarter than her (don't mean to sound arrogant, but she says some fucking stupid things) and I'm not attracted to her.
Lovely Secretary - LS is a wee tike of a thing with a wee mouse voice. She's a 21 ex-drama-student who is in charge of front-of-office stuff so we never see her apart from when we're going in and out, but she's nice, and gave me an orange on my first day. She's like Elmo.
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Most of the other people in the office are nice. Most of them are young guys, like me, but who work as recrutiment consultants. I can't fault them for the job they do because I know how hard it is for a 20-something young guy to find work and carve a place in the world. I like them individually because they are mostly very nice guys, and they made me feel really welcome. They are however, en masse, the biggest bunch of yuppies I've ever met.
They are...
The Consultants.
The phrase 'money motivated' is bandied around a lot, so are the words 'target' and 'success'. Some of them are unmitigated arseholes. They call each other 'son' and try to out-Alpha each other, like frat-boys drink Nattie Lite and thinking they're seasoned party monstes. When we go for drinks, they are mysoginistic and and leer at women. They attempt to chat-up girls by talking about 'earning potential' and the need to 'proactively kick-start your own success'.
They strut around the office, spouting off maxims like Gordon Gecko's aborted love-child about how business is a metaphor for life struggle, and how only a cut-throat high-power win-all strategy will conquer.
Most think They are Esquire man-of-the-year business players, an ubermensch evolution of some Nietzschean wet-dream about tall Aryan farmhands with bayonets for penises, fucking and stabbing the lesser ranks before crushing their skulls under a relentless Panzer-track of progress and capitalism.
PMS likes this, of course she does. The phoney power-trip that permeates their side of the office turns her on as these young guys walk around stoned from the fumes of Their own bullshit. I wince as They strut past on their Blackberrys, shouting abuse down the phone, and I wipe the frost-layer of cold sweat off my thank-fucking-Zeus that I am a shit-munching pleb.
They are the maggots that spawned in the bloated corpse of Thatcher's 1980's red-braced, brandy-drinking, Porsche-driving apocalypse of regeneration. They represent the very worst that humanity has to offer, not individually, but as a group.
They are what is wrong.
My team, the ones mentioned above (except PMS) are not like that. We are the Betas...thank fuck. We will never be cool, never be sexy and never get a promotion. We are the bottom of the barrel.
Phew.
So, if you're reading this blog and I ever start talking about how money is simply the be-all and end-all, please send me anthrax in the post and tell me it's cocaine. If I become a consultant I'll probably become a coke-addled wanker. So send me powder and let it kill me.
Now it's Sunday night, and I'm just about to go to bed. I'm going to get back into training tomorrow morning I think, so I'm going to go for a run when I get up, it should be fun. Tomorrow I'm gonna work hard, come home and write.
I can't wait.
x
(have a nice week)
I realised today that I haven't really explained what I do since I started work. So here we go.
What I do at the office where I go to do work.
At the office where I go to do work the work could be described as a wee bit simples. I work for a construction recruitment firm as a 'database co-cordinator' in their offices in London Bridge.
"Finally," I hear you shout, "He's found a job where he can combine his love of construction with his love of data!", because as you all know, I know LOADS about construction. Yep...loooooooads.
I have NO IDEA what the company does or how they make money.
My particular role?
Well, people who are looking for jobs upload their CVs onto online job-boards (like Monster, Total Jobs, HookerListings etc) and type in key words that describe their skills (e.g. sales negotiating, business management, anilingus etc) and wait.
Then, I go through the boards looking for a certain job (eg, ass-licking sales negotiator) review the potential candidates CVs and then enter their details into the system. In other words I'm a professional copy-and-paste-er. Schweet.
There're some pretty cool characters in the place too. I mean 'cool' is a loose term as only a few of the people fit that CV description. 'People' might be a better word to use for the rest.
The People I Work With in the Office Where I Go to do Work (AKA) The Database Team (AKA) The Losers.
So there's my boss:
BigMan - he's, well a BIG man. A gargantuan man, a four-wheel man. He spends all his time talking about films, and we spent most of Wednesday quoting huge tracts of StarWars at each other. He's very Catholic, and has spent years dissecting spaghetti westerns to unravel the catholic thematic strands. He is a big guy with a big heart, and genuinely seems to care about his little loser minions.
CheekyGuy - He's a Cockney with a heart of gold, a real goldbrick with a disarmingly cheekiy demeanour. CG is one of my immediate colleagues, so he spends most of his time showing me the ropes. Think Michael Caine as Alfie. He's been with the office for about a year and will soon become a Consultant. This will Wraith him unfortunately.
Aspergers Guy - AG is the office junior and when he's not doing his odd wee involuntary things (thanks to his severe Aspergers) he likes to quote huge tracts of the films Heat, The Shawshank Redemption and Goodfellas. He also does the best impression of Peter Griffin I've ever seen. He spent five minutes on my first day doing a Morgan Freeman voice over Shawshank-style, making a joke about how the rest of the team would have me gang-raped "I wish I could tell you Conor put up a fight....". I'm sure you can imagine, I'm incredibly fond of him, he's a really great bloke.
Polish Tank Commander - PTC is one of the few girls in the office and we're all afraid of her. She has the same job title as me, but we all do what she says. I think I've managed to Blarney my way through her cold suspicion so that now only a vague distrust lingers. She's really nice though, just terrifying.
Prohibitively Mean Secretary - PMS is someone who I cannot like. She is a very pretty girl, and she spends all the time she can flirting, but she is very very mean. For example, she'll say things to lower your confidence when she can (ie, "so wow, you took a long time finding a job, didn't you?") and smile sweetly. However, when there's no-one to talk to she'll chat to anyone she can. She's VERY aware of how (meh) pretty she is, and backstabs everyone. She flirts with a guy til someone cooler comes along then completely ignores them. I don't like her much because she has no soul, she doesn't like me because I'm smarter than her (don't mean to sound arrogant, but she says some fucking stupid things) and I'm not attracted to her.
Lovely Secretary - LS is a wee tike of a thing with a wee mouse voice. She's a 21 ex-drama-student who is in charge of front-of-office stuff so we never see her apart from when we're going in and out, but she's nice, and gave me an orange on my first day. She's like Elmo.
-----
----
---
--
-
Most of the other people in the office are nice. Most of them are young guys, like me, but who work as recrutiment consultants. I can't fault them for the job they do because I know how hard it is for a 20-something young guy to find work and carve a place in the world. I like them individually because they are mostly very nice guys, and they made me feel really welcome. They are however, en masse, the biggest bunch of yuppies I've ever met.
They are...
The Consultants.
The phrase 'money motivated' is bandied around a lot, so are the words 'target' and 'success'. Some of them are unmitigated arseholes. They call each other 'son' and try to out-Alpha each other, like frat-boys drink Nattie Lite and thinking they're seasoned party monstes. When we go for drinks, they are mysoginistic and and leer at women. They attempt to chat-up girls by talking about 'earning potential' and the need to 'proactively kick-start your own success'.
They strut around the office, spouting off maxims like Gordon Gecko's aborted love-child about how business is a metaphor for life struggle, and how only a cut-throat high-power win-all strategy will conquer.
Most think They are Esquire man-of-the-year business players, an ubermensch evolution of some Nietzschean wet-dream about tall Aryan farmhands with bayonets for penises, fucking and stabbing the lesser ranks before crushing their skulls under a relentless Panzer-track of progress and capitalism.
PMS likes this, of course she does. The phoney power-trip that permeates their side of the office turns her on as these young guys walk around stoned from the fumes of Their own bullshit. I wince as They strut past on their Blackberrys, shouting abuse down the phone, and I wipe the frost-layer of cold sweat off my thank-fucking-Zeus that I am a shit-munching pleb.
They are the maggots that spawned in the bloated corpse of Thatcher's 1980's red-braced, brandy-drinking, Porsche-driving apocalypse of regeneration. They represent the very worst that humanity has to offer, not individually, but as a group.
They are what is wrong.
My team, the ones mentioned above (except PMS) are not like that. We are the Betas...thank fuck. We will never be cool, never be sexy and never get a promotion. We are the bottom of the barrel.
Phew.
So, if you're reading this blog and I ever start talking about how money is simply the be-all and end-all, please send me anthrax in the post and tell me it's cocaine. If I become a consultant I'll probably become a coke-addled wanker. So send me powder and let it kill me.
Now it's Sunday night, and I'm just about to go to bed. I'm going to get back into training tomorrow morning I think, so I'm going to go for a run when I get up, it should be fun. Tomorrow I'm gonna work hard, come home and write.
I can't wait.
x
(have a nice week)
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
What a week...
Well, it's been a bit of an hectic one, this past seven days, and I for once feel justified in taking such an absence from my wee blogín. The previous video shows what happens when I drink coffee.
I get a wee bit hyper.
I've been hyper quite a lot this week.
So on Wednesday, I suited up again, brushed my hair (AND my teeth) and made for the middle of nowhere, North-of-London satellite of Harrow. WootHollaWootBuzz.
I had an appointment with an AGENCY who were VERY EXCITED to meet me and talk about possible jobs I might be able to finaegle from their haunted boxes of employment (computers) and earn some money to keep my massive heroin habit going and pay the families of those prostitutes I accidentally killed during 'the misunderstanding'. I arrived, fresh faced and bright-eyed (due to the cold) and when the young (NB. a very generous adjective to use there) lady who met me in the reception rushed forward, arm outstretched in greeting, I instantly noticed that she had put her jacket on incorrectly and was immediately distracted.
She seems to have missed her should when she put the blazer on, but only on one side. She looked like someone who had (very narrowly) failed an exam on how to put on a jacket. Dubious suspicion arose.
(Also, my first thought was 'Wow, maybe she's a hunchback, I can rub it for luck!' but that's not PC so don't tell anyone plzz)
I was taken (let's call her...) Jessica's desk, where I promptly knee-capped myself on her Hobbit sized furniture, and she started going through my CV. As we talked about how massively underqualified I was, I got the sneaking suspicion that maybe she WASN'T VERY EXCITED at all, as she seemed to know a disproportionately small amount about my employment history for the sentiments she had previously explained. Soon afterwards, I was given an admin skills exam (95% MOTHER-BITCHES, YEEEEHAAAAAAWWWWW!!! *fires pistols in the air*) with an audience of the other meno-youthful job sorceresses - who all giggled at my red braces - and then...
Nothing.
All that and all she could say was 'We'll keep your details on file'.
Not cool.
Okay, so then, when i was on the way home, my phone rings and one of the million (215) jobs I applied for gets back to me and asks me to come in. Unfortunately the guy at the temping agency couldn't tell the difference between 'Full-time Job' and 'Three Day Temp Position' and just...well...lied. I know, in this day and age. I lasted a day.
So I came back from THAT and
*angel chorus*
I get offered a full-time job.
Not only a full time job, but the full time job I had interviewed for an hour before I made that uber-hyper vlog post last Tuesday. They liked the braces.
So I'm jobbed. Sweet.
With that I took the weekend to heart. I had a five hour vid-chat with a really good friend (Mei Mei) during which time I drank two bottles of wine and spent a great deal of time showing off my ghetto speak -which is atrocious- and having one of the best nights in a looooooooooong time. THEN on Sunday, I met my first blog-friend in RL. SoFloBoJo is a very cool person, and we chatted for seven hours over LOTS of Guinness and Whiskey in a cool little pub in Maida Vale. It was a really cool day and made me eager to meet other London bloggers in the flesh. Although I could probably not drink the same amount again for some time.
Anyway, I hereby resolve to not whine about my job again, or ever foul up this once-beautiful blog with such mediocre shite again (Boohoo, I'm broke etc) for as long as possible.
So, yay, thank fuck.
I get a wee bit hyper.
I've been hyper quite a lot this week.
So on Wednesday, I suited up again, brushed my hair (AND my teeth) and made for the middle of nowhere, North-of-London satellite of Harrow. WootHollaWootBuzz.
I had an appointment with an AGENCY who were VERY EXCITED to meet me and talk about possible jobs I might be able to finaegle from their haunted boxes of employment (computers) and earn some money to keep my massive heroin habit going and pay the families of those prostitutes I accidentally killed during 'the misunderstanding'. I arrived, fresh faced and bright-eyed (due to the cold) and when the young (NB. a very generous adjective to use there) lady who met me in the reception rushed forward, arm outstretched in greeting, I instantly noticed that she had put her jacket on incorrectly and was immediately distracted.
She seems to have missed her should when she put the blazer on, but only on one side. She looked like someone who had (very narrowly) failed an exam on how to put on a jacket. Dubious suspicion arose.
(Also, my first thought was 'Wow, maybe she's a hunchback, I can rub it for luck!' but that's not PC so don't tell anyone plzz)
I was taken (let's call her...) Jessica's desk, where I promptly knee-capped myself on her Hobbit sized furniture, and she started going through my CV. As we talked about how massively underqualified I was, I got the sneaking suspicion that maybe she WASN'T VERY EXCITED at all, as she seemed to know a disproportionately small amount about my employment history for the sentiments she had previously explained. Soon afterwards, I was given an admin skills exam (95% MOTHER-BITCHES, YEEEEHAAAAAAWWWWW!!! *fires pistols in the air*) with an audience of the other meno-youthful job sorceresses - who all giggled at my red braces - and then...
Nothing.
All that and all she could say was 'We'll keep your details on file'.
Not cool.
Okay, so then, when i was on the way home, my phone rings and one of the million (215) jobs I applied for gets back to me and asks me to come in. Unfortunately the guy at the temping agency couldn't tell the difference between 'Full-time Job' and 'Three Day Temp Position' and just...well...lied. I know, in this day and age. I lasted a day.
So I came back from THAT and
*angel chorus*
I get offered a full-time job.
Not only a full time job, but the full time job I had interviewed for an hour before I made that uber-hyper vlog post last Tuesday. They liked the braces.
So I'm jobbed. Sweet.
With that I took the weekend to heart. I had a five hour vid-chat with a really good friend (Mei Mei) during which time I drank two bottles of wine and spent a great deal of time showing off my ghetto speak -which is atrocious- and having one of the best nights in a looooooooooong time. THEN on Sunday, I met my first blog-friend in RL. SoFloBoJo is a very cool person, and we chatted for seven hours over LOTS of Guinness and Whiskey in a cool little pub in Maida Vale. It was a really cool day and made me eager to meet other London bloggers in the flesh. Although I could probably not drink the same amount again for some time.
Anyway, I hereby resolve to not whine about my job again, or ever foul up this once-beautiful blog with such mediocre shite again (Boohoo, I'm broke etc) for as long as possible.
So, yay, thank fuck.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
You are my sunshiiiiiiiine
So I've had far too much coffee today, and I'm just back from a job interview. Here's what maaaaad insomnia mixed with maaaaaas caffeine addiction looks like. All while dressed in a suit. Huzzah!
You are my sunshine from Conor Darrall on Vimeo.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
New Acronym
Okay, so I'm really starting to like creating acronyms. This is an addition to the LOL/LMFAO/ROFL/ROFLMFAO/ROFLwafflemcLOLcopter tradition.
Caused by this:
That's right, an Irish culchie rapper. Cooool
Ladies and gentlemen, this video almost made me SMUL.
SMUL?
Shit My Undies Laughing.
Disgusting? Yes. Warranted? Definitely.
ps- I love the comments, especially the 'China's Worst Rapper' one.
Caused by this:
That's right, an Irish culchie rapper. Cooool
Ladies and gentlemen, this video almost made me SMUL.
SMUL?
Shit My Undies Laughing.
Disgusting? Yes. Warranted? Definitely.
ps- I love the comments, especially the 'China's Worst Rapper' one.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Oh no! (a rant of sorts)
Right, remember when I did my Alice in Wonderland tumble down the rabbit hole?
You do? Oh joy.
Well, apart from the group of beautiful women who saw me fall, a sax player (who was busking in the Station) was kind enough to stop mid-tune to laugh. He was playing one of the greatest tunes ever...
(yeah, so I might have cheapened my ire by using a video with a walrus, but the tune is still amazing, right?)
Unfortunately...
When dickheads are given 'Club Anthems for Idiots'
Literally everything about this video is wrong:
1) Good song destroyed
2) Using the same 8 notes on loop as a dance music hook and a fucking awful drum/bass rhythm
3) Smug cunt in an hotel smiling at his own ability to tie his fucking shoelaces without soiling himself.
4) Dancing sluts
5) Obligatory lesbian kissing
6) Autotune (non-ironic)
7) 'Crazy' party-scene and 'Whacky' hotel antics.
The original song is about the rat race in pre-Thatcherite London, written during a time where there was a huge gap developing between the lower and middle-classes. It chronicles several characters attempts to reach their desired lives, including the narrator, a busker at Baker Street Tube Station, and not be swallowed by the city. It's an indictment on the sort of selfish soulessness that led to the excesses of the 80's and the dark side of life in London. It's an excellent song from an excellent song-writer. It is not suitable for some smug plate of dead skin and his necrophilic euro-skanks!
Fuck sake, sorry Gerry Rafferty...
Rant over.
You do? Oh joy.
Well, apart from the group of beautiful women who saw me fall, a sax player (who was busking in the Station) was kind enough to stop mid-tune to laugh. He was playing one of the greatest tunes ever...
(yeah, so I might have cheapened my ire by using a video with a walrus, but the tune is still amazing, right?)
Unfortunately...
When dickheads are given 'Club Anthems for Idiots'
Literally everything about this video is wrong:
1) Good song destroyed
2) Using the same 8 notes on loop as a dance music hook and a fucking awful drum/bass rhythm
3) Smug cunt in an hotel smiling at his own ability to tie his fucking shoelaces without soiling himself.
4) Dancing sluts
5) Obligatory lesbian kissing
6) Autotune (non-ironic)
7) 'Crazy' party-scene and 'Whacky' hotel antics.
The original song is about the rat race in pre-Thatcherite London, written during a time where there was a huge gap developing between the lower and middle-classes. It chronicles several characters attempts to reach their desired lives, including the narrator, a busker at Baker Street Tube Station, and not be swallowed by the city. It's an indictment on the sort of selfish soulessness that led to the excesses of the 80's and the dark side of life in London. It's an excellent song from an excellent song-writer. It is not suitable for some smug plate of dead skin and his necrophilic euro-skanks!
Fuck sake, sorry Gerry Rafferty...
Rant over.
I got a (slightly feminine) award!!
Aloha!
Hope you're all well. I've been given an award by my Irish-mob lovely Spanky! Apparently my blog is over the top, which is good? Anyway, I'm going to take it as a compliment and name a few blogs that I love.
Thanks a million Spankster! Her blog is excellent, and a little crazy, go check it out!
So, there are some tasks to complete before I can accept this lovely award! Huzzah!
part 1: answer questions:
Hope you're all well. I've been given an award by my Irish-mob lovely Spanky! Apparently my blog is over the top, which is good? Anyway, I'm going to take it as a compliment and name a few blogs that I love.
Thanks a million Spankster! Her blog is excellent, and a little crazy, go check it out!
So, there are some tasks to complete before I can accept this lovely award! Huzzah!
part 1: answer questions:
1. Where is your cell phone? resting on my beergut (my Guinness baby, Arthur)
2. Your hair? Dark Brown
3. Your mother? insane/intelligent/Irish mother syndrome
4. Your father? brave/firefighter/handsome
5. Your favorite food? one guess....(the answer is pizza)
6. Your dream last night? didn't sleep but had a crazy doze-dream about a land where people lived on different levels connected by slides, who passed the time walking around all the time, stepping on coins. The coins went into the feet and would be picked out later, as the main source of income. The world was therefore heavily populated by wishing wells. Bit odd.
2. Your hair? Dark Brown
3. Your mother? insane/intelligent/Irish mother syndrome
4. Your father? brave/firefighter/handsome
5. Your favorite food? one guess....(the answer is pizza)
6. Your dream last night? didn't sleep but had a crazy doze-dream about a land where people lived on different levels connected by slides, who passed the time walking around all the time, stepping on coins. The coins went into the feet and would be picked out later, as the main source of income. The world was therefore heavily populated by wishing wells. Bit odd.
7. Your favorite drink? Coke or Red Wine or Whiskey (Jamesons)
8. Your dream/goal? A successful writing career
9. What room are you in? Grandma's living room
10. Your hobby? blogging, writing, smoking my pipe
11. Your fear? many, claustrophobia being one of the biggie
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? qualified lawyer with a published book or produced screenplay
13. Where were you last night? Grandma's living room
14. Something you aren't? narrow-minded
15. Muffins? aye...if only for the bluffin'
16. Wish list item? a car (a Mini Cooper S or an Alvis TE 21)
17. Where did you grow up? Derry, Ireland
18. Last thing you did? drank a cup of tea.
19. What are you wearing? multicoloured socks, jeans, brown canvas belt, blue and white boxers, navy long-sleeve t-shirt, white shirt, aura of awesomeness.
20. Your TV? don't own one
21. Your pets? had a wee terrier called Holly when growing up RIP, and now we all love my aunt's wolf mutt, Bran.
22. Your friends? I have many 'friends'. Some are fake and full of shit and say they're my friends, but they're the bits of dead skin who get designated Facebook Cunts eventually and who I feel nothing for. I'm very very lucky for having the sincere friends I do. They are my second family, and I love them dearly, and they don't judge me, which is the most important thing.
23. Your life? Dull and unfulfilling at the moment, but usually a crazy misadventure that I love
24. Your mood? Antsy, cooped-up and frustrated, but eternally hopeful
25. Missing someone? not really, i don't really do homesick or lonely, just once in a blue moon. I miss my big bro Ruairí and his girlfriend Hannah, but I know he's happy in Vietnam so I'm okay. I always miss my wee bro Shane, and my adorable little sister, but we chat all the time so it's okay
26. Vehicle? Nope
27. Something you're not wearing? Assless leather chaps
28. Your favorite store? Probably one of my obscure bookshops/coffee shops somewhere, I'm not sure.
29. Your favorite color? green or blue
30. When was the last time you laughed? all the time
31. Last time you cried? I tear up all the time, prob about half an hour ago reading Letters of Note, especially this one
32. Your best friend? Ruairí ÓMaolain, Sara Lynn, Sparky (the flatmate) and any of the Derry boys.
33. One place that I go over and over? The Black Lion pub in Kilburn
34. One person who emails me regularly? The Novelista Barista (one of 'The Irish Mob')
35. Favorite place to eat? In the bath.
part 2: pass the award on..
Okay, first of all, here is an award for.....
Laurie at 'Girls are Smarter then You'. It's true, they are
Jenn-Boll at You'll Grow to Love Me. That may or not be true, but she is a very funny madam, with her rampant drug abuse, her work for CIA, and her naked antics at Tufts. We're getting married at some point.
Kerstin B at 'Trouble. Thinks.' - a lovely artistic soul who makes me laugh, think and (sometimes) scares me a little. She's awesome.
Stephen K. This fella's a guy like me. A write-addict insomniac law-guy who lives in London (we actually live comparatively close together) he is a great guy. He's a lot more idealistic than I am, and is a refreshing cynicism-buster if ever there was one. If you read my blog, you should read his too, if only cos it's better :)
Ashley @ Germato. I love this blog, but I'm not exactly sure why. Anyone who describes themselves as 'Living like they were dying' is the sort of phosphorous individual whom I can call a friend.
and finally:
SARA! That's right, Lopez from 8th Continent Soy Milk. This internet-savvy social-media goddess will undoubtedly capture your heart with her boundless happiness, cool cooking vids, her Meow mix personal serenades (which I formally ask permission to publish) and her coooool job. She's moving to cali from ohio in 12 days, so go show some love and luck. She's a darling.
Enjoy your award, winners! x
in words of Spanky:
Sunday, January 3, 2010
How to designate a Decade.
First of all, HAPPY NEW YEAR everyone!
As I've already said, 2009 was a horrible (almost) completely awful year, and I'm rather glad to see the end of it. To you all, I open my arms in beatific serenity and embrace you with an ocean of love as we leave the Noughties and enter....
Wait a minute, what are we gonna call the next Decade?
Some people have come up with suggestions
-the 'Tenties'
-the 'Juvies' (apparently you go to Juvie after you're 'noughtie')
-the Pubies/Zitties (stupid fuckers came up with this)
-the 'Teens'
Now, the 'Teens' is probably the best bet for what we'll call it, but where does that leave 2010-12? We can't call those years the 'Preteens' or the 'Mileys Cyruses' can we? That would be a bit odd.
I believe that I may have found a solution.
Right, so hopefully most of you will agree with me that the Noughties was a pile of shite. I mean:
-9/11
-All the crazy (some of them illegal *cough*Iraq*cough*) wars that followed and are still fucking the world royally up,
-The climate of fear (Thanks, Fox News, you fucking bits of dead skin)
-The dotcom busts,
-Tony Blair/George W. Bush (or Georny Blairsh)
-Windows Vista,
-US comedies (for the most part, they're awful)
-British reality TV and Film (for the most part, they're fucking awful: the Brits should stick to comedy and the Yanks to film...simple)
-Simon Cowell and his evil empire of no-talent mediocrity.
-The Recession (FTR - another ConnyBoy invention)
etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc ad nauseum
To call the next 10 years 'the Teens' would undermine the awful shittiness of the last 10. A teenager is a miserable, awkward mess, just like 2000-2009. The next 10 years is the chance we have to mature a bit, right?
So, we're in a period of transition. Let's take a leaf out of the book of J.R.R Tolkien.
When Tolkien came up with the Hobbit for his children, he envisaged his hairy-footed little fellas as having a life-span as longer than us humans. The time that a Hobbit matures and comes into his own is called his Tweens. The Tweens were a time when the Hobbits could fuck about and slowly come to maturity, the time in between childhood and adulthood (see what he did there?)
Now, I know that a 'tweener' is synonymous with a preteen in the US, but we should take the word back!
So,, we've had the crazy immaturity of the Noughties, and now, as we're getting all redemptive and shit, I think we should call the next ten years...
Ahem...
THE TWEENS!
What do y'all reckon?
ps - a wee update on what I'm up to. I'm in my Granny's house in Chatham (in Kent) eating. She's a feeder. We're watching the first night of Celebrity Big Brother, it's going to be fucking awful. There's stupid, jesus-freak Stephen Baldwin, there's some vacuous slutty nonentity, Jordan's current piece-of-shit boyfriend, Stephanie Beachem, Lady Sovereign and thong-obsessed talent-vaccuum Sisqo. More top-notch celebs to come then o_O
My granny just said 'That Stephen Bolton's a bit of a odd'un'. Classic.
Happy New Years everyone.
xx
As I've already said, 2009 was a horrible (almost) completely awful year, and I'm rather glad to see the end of it. To you all, I open my arms in beatific serenity and embrace you with an ocean of love as we leave the Noughties and enter....
Wait a minute, what are we gonna call the next Decade?
Some people have come up with suggestions
-the 'Tenties'
-the 'Juvies' (apparently you go to Juvie after you're 'noughtie')
-the Pubies/Zitties (stupid fuckers came up with this)
-the 'Teens'
Now, the 'Teens' is probably the best bet for what we'll call it, but where does that leave 2010-12? We can't call those years the 'Preteens' or the 'Mileys Cyruses' can we? That would be a bit odd.
I believe that I may have found a solution.
Right, so hopefully most of you will agree with me that the Noughties was a pile of shite. I mean:
-9/11
-All the crazy (some of them illegal *cough*Iraq*cough*) wars that followed and are still fucking the world royally up,
-The climate of fear (Thanks, Fox News, you fucking bits of dead skin)
-The dotcom busts,
-Tony Blair/George W. Bush (or Georny Blairsh)
-Windows Vista,
-US comedies (for the most part, they're awful)
-British reality TV and Film (for the most part, they're fucking awful: the Brits should stick to comedy and the Yanks to film...simple)
-Simon Cowell and his evil empire of no-talent mediocrity.
-The Recession (FTR - another ConnyBoy invention)
etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc ad nauseum
To call the next 10 years 'the Teens' would undermine the awful shittiness of the last 10. A teenager is a miserable, awkward mess, just like 2000-2009. The next 10 years is the chance we have to mature a bit, right?
So, we're in a period of transition. Let's take a leaf out of the book of J.R.R Tolkien.
When Tolkien came up with the Hobbit for his children, he envisaged his hairy-footed little fellas as having a life-span as longer than us humans. The time that a Hobbit matures and comes into his own is called his Tweens. The Tweens were a time when the Hobbits could fuck about and slowly come to maturity, the time in between childhood and adulthood (see what he did there?)
Now, I know that a 'tweener' is synonymous with a preteen in the US, but we should take the word back!
So,, we've had the crazy immaturity of the Noughties, and now, as we're getting all redemptive and shit, I think we should call the next ten years...
Ahem...
THE TWEENS!
What do y'all reckon?
ps - a wee update on what I'm up to. I'm in my Granny's house in Chatham (in Kent) eating. She's a feeder. We're watching the first night of Celebrity Big Brother, it's going to be fucking awful. There's stupid, jesus-freak Stephen Baldwin, there's some vacuous slutty nonentity, Jordan's current piece-of-shit boyfriend, Stephanie Beachem, Lady Sovereign and thong-obsessed talent-vaccuum Sisqo. More top-notch celebs to come then o_O
My granny just said 'That Stephen Bolton's a bit of a odd'un'. Classic.
Happy New Years everyone.
xx
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