across the pond with a fridge

fair warning...

2006-05-09T17:43:00.000-04:00

during my christmas break in ireland a few months ago i learned that an uncle of mine, who felt it necessary to relocate to singapore about 10 years ago, would be visiting ireland himself this coming july, the 8th to be exact...along with his kenyan wife, 10 year old son and 1 year old triplets...(diverse and fertile family no?) i haven't seen any of them for nearly 6 years now, a combination of bad timing and circumstance ever since i moved to the big banana.

i was also informed that my buddy, paddy, of the dodgy stag-do-location fame, was gettin married on july 11. right there i had 2 solid reasons for a home visit in july.
fly in on friday the 8th after work, see the family...go to the wedding on the 11th...wake from the guinness induced coma sometime round friday and fly back on sunday the 16th, ready for work on the monday...

i mark this up on the calender that hangs in the front office at work...a sort of shrine to doctor's appointments, dentists, holidays and so on that some of us utilize for the purposes of informing our collegues of our future absences. i mark july 8th to 16th on the calender as my summer time off...i do this on january 9.

time goes by and i learn that one of the owners of the company is getting married in july...and the word goes out that time off for anyone other than him in july has been withdrawn...sort of like a chain gang member having his weekend furlough revoked cause he didn't scrub the john well enough.

now i thought 6 months was fair warning for my time off but the boss calmly informs me the other day that "august would be better".

"but i have a wedding and relatives to see in july".

pause......staring contest............pause................

"august would be better" and he just walks off!.........dick. (i ain't missing no irish wedding by the way:)

irony is strong on a trans-atlantic flight...

2006-05-02T16:42:00.000-04:00

so i'm high-tailing it back across the pond for the aforementioned stag do this past weekend and i can't help but second look a guy in business class as i walk through to the cheapseats. it was one of those moments when you are convinced you know who it is but for the goddam life of you the name won't come to mind.

i take my seat but can't shake off the bug of trying to work out who this dude was...i'm kinda bad like that. so i start flicking through the mental catalogue, movies, tv shows, real life...and finally it comes to me. the dude is an actor in a show i've never even seen; scrubs. john c mcginley is sitting in business class heading to northern ireland for some reason or other. no big deal right?

well, the irony comes into play after the flight. i always feel like a ball of grime after flying for 5 or 6 hours...touching public stuff yada yada. so i head to wash up in the airport bathroom before our bags come out and who is in there already straining the spuds, only mr mcginley. again, nothing interesting. but i found it ironic that a dude who acts in a famous show called scrubs just zips up the weapon and heads out the door without a quick hand wring under the hot water. scrubs? doesn't scrub?

and for my next act...antisemitism...

2006-04-23T12:48:00.000-04:00

so dwarf cruise not only succeeded in raising the interests of hunters and psychologists alike with his rave about eating his newborn's fresh placenta, he has now ruffled the feathers of a much more opinionated group; jews.

according to cnn and of course they are always right...'suri', the named picked by south park fearing cruise and former dawson creekonite katie holmes for their new daughter may mean pretty things like 'rose' in nubian and 'sun' in sanskrit but neither of those highly used tongues are very popular in modern day america. instead, hebrew is of slightly greater relevence in the states today and apparently suri in this language means a fairly blunt 'get out of here'.

now you can take your pick of contenders for the group they are pointing their directive toward. jewish folk as a whole is a bit obvious, maybe all religions other than scientology should get out of here...or critics of mission impossible 3...or gay bashers, because i can feel the heat from cruise over here...or maybe even holmes's parents who have got to be less than happy that their pretty, smart daughter has been brainwashed by mr homoerotic mc topgunner.

"an incredible development here mitch! r kelly, john travolta and tom cruise have all come out of the closet!"......classic line:)

tom cruise appears to be a cannibal...

2006-04-18T18:34:00.000-04:00

i haven't seen the article but apparently the latest madness to come from the camp of dwarf cruise is that he is going to eat his own child's placenta; according to gq magazine he says...

"i'm gonna eat the placenta, too. i thought that would be good. very nutritious. i'm going to eat the cord and the placenta right there."

well fuck me pink, what does this cat have to do to get arrested? this is the same guy who lectured brooke shields about using post-partum antidepressants...seriously, does he think that chowing down on bits of baby is going to keep things cool after that brainwashed idiot holmes pops her cork?...is he going to offer it around to the staff on hand for the birth?

"here, midwifey chick...have a bite of cord, its delicious." beams the toothy operating theton vii

no argument...

2006-04-06T22:19:00.000-04:00

reading cnn's report today about the great rudy giuliani's testament during the piece of garbage that is zacarias moussaoui's trial really gets me heated about the whole death penalty issue.

i'm really interested to see if any sane person can argue against wiping this slimeball off the face of the planet in a heartbeat. he not only was supposed to have flown a fifth plane into the white house on 9/11 and knew of the other four...he now sits in court laughing or feigning boredom.

giuliani described seeing the second plane crashing into the south tower (an event i watched myself from a half mile away on a rooftop), he described watching a couple holding hands as they jumped out of a window and fell a thousand feet to their deaths and finally described the towers falling and the debris as a "nuclear cloud going through the streets".

moussaoui, the lowest, most vile, disgusting piece of scum to ever enter a us court smiles in response...has no remorse, no regret. he should be dragged out by rabid dogs and lowered slowly into a bacon slicer....

there is no argument in the world against killing him immediately....he has no right to life. he is a sane, calculating member of a team that mass murdered thousands of americans.

i don't care what nutty liberals we have in this town. don't even bother trying to formulate a reason not to dispose of this trash.

the exile's plight...

2006-04-04T17:45:00.000-04:00

dominating the front pages of the irish papers here in the us and indeed those of many other publications directed at the respective groups of immigrants who reside in this country is of course the debate about immigration reform that is currently banging around the halls of the senate. there approximately 12 million undocumented, illegal, out-of-status, whatever you want to call them, people living and working in the states today. 40,000 of which are said to be irish born.

a bill proposed by senator's john mc cain and ted kennedy brings new hope to the irish who have all but lost faith in ever becoming legal in america. simple things taken for granted by many of us have been systematically made impossible for the undocumented in the years following september 11 2001 - driver's licenses, medical insurance and the biggest problem of all, travelling home to ireland and getting back into the states again.

the irish lobby for immigration reform is currently working hard to promote and educate people about the irish exile's plight in america...a successful and hugely well attended rally in washington d.c. was just one of many such events organised to highlight the lissue.

please take the time to read more about this ongoing issue.

westchester business journal: shadow workers

cnn: mc cain report the irish voice

cnn: immigration debate high stakes at the polls

the irish echo: senate surprise

traffic tickets me arse...

2006-04-03T20:59:00.000-04:00

so today while traversing the not-so-friendly length of 125th st in manhattan i was happily blathering away on the old dog and bone and, while catching up on some weekend scandal, i happened to see a pig car coming in the opposite direction. now, at the time i didn't think much of it; sure, i'm not supposed to be on the phone but surely they're not gonna bother a working man going about his business? sure enough, at the next red light the bastards pull up beside the old truck and direct the aforementioned working man to the side of the road.

"why you on de phone?" came the grammatically perfect question.

"because i forgot i couldn't use it in the city" came the disinterested reply.

now, bad enough was the fact i was late getting back to a job, i get ten fucking tickets a week already and i should really have a god damn hands free kit (thats more than one fact but let it slide people) but adding to my woes was the location of this incident, right on 125th st and 5th ave. for anyone not privvy to the geographical/racial variations of this fine town just let it be known that the white boy getting the ticket was definitely something worth having a look and a laugh at.

"look at dat white boy drivin that big ole bronco...who he think he is? OJ?"
"go on officuh. strip search his white ass...i wanna see dat"

something like that it went...

no points on the license this time, just a $90 wallet lightener but i will have to try and pick my traffic infringement areas a bit better for the next round...

a month to plan scandal...

2006-03-29T17:50:00.000-05:00

a few weeks ago i had a lengthy rant about a stag do (americans read 'bachelor party) for a friend of mine at the end of april. at the time i was pretty well pissed off at the fact that a blustery island off the coast of donegal was the chosen place for this event...aranmore island to be exact.

now, with the weekend only a month away i am starting to genuinely worry that it is going to suck some proverbial ass. i have been trying to come up with some ideas to at least liven the thing up a bit...can you believe it would cost E1000 to transport some scanky dublin stripper up for the night?...niether could i.

i thought of a few t-shirts for the lads...kinda dorkish i know but they might be something to take our minds off the old farmer in the corner with the sheep dog under his chair and some 1964 dirt in his ears. or a few blow up dolls seeing as real women could be a serious problem on this scabby outcrop of europe...

there are shady rumours of a 22 strong party from sligo on a hen weekend (americans read bachelorette weekend)...but no concrete evidence and the chance of a juke box stocked with only joe dolan, the corrs and u2 is really gettin me shaky...this may go down as the worst stag do in history. don't get me wrong, i love a good 'lad's night out' but a stag do is something of historical notoriety and failure to pay homage to it with sacrifices of naked breasts, top shelf boozing and a groom unconscious with an alarm clock tied to his head on the 618am to mallow is just wrong.

any ideas to make this island a bit more stag do worthy?

i called this one...

2006-03-27T22:00:00.000-05:00

its a short one for now but i stand vindicated in my belief that scarlett johansson is one of the finest creatures to ever walk the face of this planet...if the cover of vanity fair a few weeks ago didn't confirm it; then the fact she just topped the definitive top 100 sexiest women poll in fhm magazine should.

this most natural of looking, full-bodied, 'real woman' is truly the embodiment of all that is pure and feminine....bravo!

sexiest woman in the world

v for...america?

2006-03-20T18:16:00.000-05:00

to follow on from a book review - granted it has been a while since that post, st. paddy's day and all, you know how it is - i feel the need to jot a bit down about my latest movie venture. since i saw king kong about eighty seven years ago there hasn't been one movie worth watching in eons. such complete ming like firewall, 16 blocks and the movie that destroyed my good opinion of james franco (he will win an oscar one day though), annapolis..has dribbled onto our movie screens for months now, nothing but crap.

as a result, last night i headed into v for vendetta with little or no expectations. i left however, with the feeling that the wachowski brothers are members of an elite, very elite, group of writers and producers capable of putting together a movie that challenges their viewers into actual thought.

the fact that the movie is a parable of the present is too obvious to be anything other than intentional. some may argue the story as pure fantasy or perhaps a gentle "watch out, this might happen to you"...for me there are too many comparisons, if exaggerated, to the world we live in to be ignored.

hugo weaving plays v. a delightfully, inadequately explained character that remains behind a smiling mask depicting guy fakes for the entire film, conjuring up a character with body movement and voice. saving eve hammond (natalie portman) from rape at the hands of government henchmen sets us on a year long mission to topple a totalitarian state put in place in britain after the demise of a greedy america from a rampant virus. the british chancellor (john hurt) controls britain through a system of total fear and suppression - media propaganda, false stories, loyal underlings and of course the old favorite, murder.

strong visuals and tantalizingly familiar scenarios really get one wondering; the twisting of simple news stories is very thought provoking and through the shocking methods used by v to politicize eve it could be asked is the movie itself an effort to stir the hearts of a pathetically lethargic and ignorant youth in today's world...especially in america, a country fast becoming an islam-hating, gay-bashing epitome of vendetta's britain.

portman wavers a little with her english accent but her overall role is the heart of the movie, she has quickly established herself as one of the finest actors under 30 today. her time in exile at the hands of an unknown tormenter is especially important as are her gradual realization of v's motives and reasons for calculated death. the final scene, while of course pleasing to any true irishman, is a poignant symbol, not only in evey's world but in our own...the sex pistol's "anarchy in the uk" should have come blaring in to herald the credits...what would it be like to bring down a government of suppression and manipulation...true liberation and equality in anarchy.

though maybe one that will be more a cult movie for the outsiders in society i recommend this one for anyone who has a clue about current affairs in america today...its powerful, imaginative, exciting and engrossing...gets my vote. democracy?

self made man?...

2006-03-08T21:01:00.000-05:00

one of the good things about driving hundreds of miles around the five boroughs each week (i'm not a delivery boy btw) is that i get to listen to the howard stern show, just about the only celebrity personality i have had any respect for these days. i must look like a nut job in the mornings; sitting in traffic laughing my ass off at what is simply the best entertainment available on tv or radio these days. (sirius or howardstern for more:)

this morning i listened in on a great interview with one norah vincent, lesbian and author of a newly released book "self made man". the book apparently chronicles vincent's experiences as she lived as a man for several months. dressed like a man, spoke like a man and acted like a man. she even pasted tiny hairs to her face to achieve a 'five o'clock' shadow. now the fact that she did this, and did so successfully, is not what i found interesting. what made the interview so good was the unique opinions of an attractive woman who can accurately describe what it is to be a man....here's a brief summary of what she had to say.

(1) according to vincent (and every man in the world) men are funnier than women. funnier to be around, when with each other and generally much more humorous. note: women, lighten up...farting and crapping IS funny.

(2) vincent now sympathizes with men and their tough battle in trying to date women. having completed multiple dates as a man; she now realizes that even average looking girls place themselves on an almost unassailable pedestal. men are placed at the bottom of the scum ladder at the commencement of dating and that us poor bastards must try, through laborious and quite often humiliating effort, to impress the lady into further dates, something akin to peacocks and funky tails.

(3) she stated that one of the hardest conditions she had to maintain to achieve the allusion of being male was learning to be quiet more often. vincent argued that men only speak or converse when something merits the effort. women, she said, just never shut up and will continue spewing garbage without ever realizing it, or stopping it.

(4) vincent had a 'third-date' rule which meant that she admitted being a woman to her date on date number three...to avoid any messy revelations at a later time. however, on no fewer than three occasions, vincent's female dates said that they didn't care and would like to continue dating and on one occasion they went on to have sex together. this, despite the closet dweller's protestation that she would never consider being with woman despite her lack of success with men. vincent deduced that many women will openly refute any interest in a homosexual liaison when its likelihood is remote but if the opportunity lands unexpectedly in their lap, they'll snap it up.

(5) its harder to be a man than a woman in terms of facing probable violence. she gave the example of a cute girl telling a cab driver to 'go fuck himself' and her having no fear of repercussions....a guy is gonna face a beating in a similar situation.

anyway, the reports go on. its nothing groudbreaking but to hear male views from a female's experience is refreshing. personally. i'm gettin the book, but i do have to say...it could make a man think...what are we to do if the so called "fairer" sex now appears to be unfunny, yappy, pretentious, closet gay and cab driver terrorists...

hold on, i knew all that already...women; you're NOT all that.

but you do have boobs.

norah vincent online

l. ron hubbard rocks...

2006-03-06T18:07:00.000-05:00

if anyone has a spare hour in the next few days they should sit down and have a butcher's hook at a fantastic article in rolling stone#995. janet reitman goes into marvellous depth in a candid and revealing investigation into the quack 'religion' of scientology.

now, when i say l.ron hubbard, the founder of scientology, rocks, i mean it more in the sense of the man's ability to lie, deceive and bluff his way to a fortune, than in any heroic or philanthropic way. for a man to start, what is now, a multi billion dollar 'religion' with cook stories about a galactic warlord named xenu who rounded up 13.5 trillion beings, 75 million years ago and dumped them into the volcanoes on earth is simply ingenius. to be revered to the point where each scientology church keeps an office furnished and ready for his return, 20 years after his death is astounding don't you think? he was hooked on painkillers and psychiatric drugs and finally died from pancreatitis and a stroke in 1986......the official church line on his death?? "he dropped his healthy body and moved on to another dimension"...fucking classic!!

if anyone here in the big banana is interested in having a peep into this lunatic ensemble you can visit the manhattan church on w46th st...but be prepared to be hounded for months by the fools inside who will pester you, according to reitman, for $4000 for an initial 'life repair' and 'purif'. a purif being some weird ritual to do with vitamin pills and a sauna.

seriously, you should read the article, there is simply too much amazing material for me to regale you with. i believe reitman intended to be impartial and as fair as possible but, through no fault of her's, every single fact laid out portrays the whole idea of scientology as completely insane. from the hundreds of thousands of dollars it takes to progress through its 'levels of enlightment, to the sickening shows of wealth in the churches and retreats it has....the whole cuckoo madness is about money.

and then you have "operation celebrity", a move started in 1955 to enlist famous members to spread the idiocy. and this operation has been successful it appears....scientology now boasts such well known names and certified nutjobs as john travolta (who claims scientology propelled his career...and not grease), kirsty alley (who quite frankly can't have anything to thank scientology for) and of course tom cruise, the most easily hated dwarf on the planet. short-arse cruise is apparently shit-hot in the scientology world, having achieved the highest level of enlightment "operating thetan viii"...apparently, such a freak as an otviii can possess telekinesis, can leave their physical body at will and travel to other times and dimensions. fun huh?

and i'm not just picking on scientology. all organised religion is insane to me. however, as goddam cuckoo as scientology is...it hasn't been the reason for any wars or deaths yet, least not any i know of....christianity, judaism, islam....they've all resulted in millions of deaths it can't be denied. but there is time yet, a scientology crusade could be iminent...travolta and cruise charging in on white horses to convert the unenlightened.....though cruise's steed would most definitely be a shetland...watch out folks!

Rolling Stone: Inside Scientology

redneck month for irish wanderer...

2006-03-05T13:17:00.000-05:00

the month of march for the irish is synonymous with st. paddy's day...green beer (though i've never laid eyes on the stuff), mass produced leprechaun hats and beards, singing, marching and plenty of craic in general.

however, my own march is shaping up as a real southern affair. and not the south of ireland at that. a huge fan of classic rock, southern classic rock in particular, i have a full line up in the next two weeks...i have my lynyrd skynyrd for next sunday...the day before the band is inducted to the classic rock hall of fame...i then have tickets for the outlaws who are playing at bb king's bar & grill on march 18th and i'll no doubt scalp myself some allman brothers tickets in the next couple of days for the beacon theatre...

while i'll enjoy the concerts this month it has me thinking again just how much i would love to have lived in the '60s and '70s. between led zep, the who, the stones, the beatles, rory gallagher, peter frampton, pink floyd, the eagles....i mean seriously, combine going to all those concerts with LSD, a sexual revolution and flaired trousers and it must have been one hell of a party...

granted that would now leave me about 60 years old, with a dodgy ticker and swollen prostate...washed up, mumbling in the corner of an empty bar about how i touched janis joplin's shoe at woodstock in '69....

i think i'll make do with the ipod and what ever old guy concerts are available these days...

can anyone say the 'c' word...?

2006-02-28T18:32:00.000-05:00

so after a delightlful, restful and tummyful break in san francisco over the weekend i was forced to return to temperatures 35 degrees lower, a heavily laden inbox and a rather scandalous account of a girl really screwing over a buddy of mine. as we all know, mardi gras in new orleans is a time for drinking, dancing and general debauchary and, for one friend of mine, a time for meeting -at least at the time she appeared as such- the perfect girl. hailing from louisiana, this girl had the cute southern drawl, a vivacious persona and a pair of gazoonkas that star jones would be proud of.

however, the first alarm bell went off in my ever pellucid head when i was informed, about 6 weeks after the creole adventure, that miss mardi gras was relocating her 28 year old ass to new york, more specifically into my bud's apartment. alright i say, let's let it slide for now, maybe she's up for some adventure, needs a place to crash for a while and is keeping the man happy in the four post inn. this set of circumstances continues for a few months, and gradually, thanks to several nights out, some tete-a-tete interchanges with said louisiana exile and many reports from said bud my opinion of the lady in question went from 'new-in-town southern belle' to 'kicked-out-trailer-park free loader'.

it subsequently transpired that this conniving trollop was not only offering zero green towards rent, bills or any other expenditures but that she accepted, or should i say, expected an all expenses sojourn in ireland for a month over christmas! the poor guy hadn't seen home in near four years and he had to endure his welcome home hugs with lurchio hovering nearby!

so, it needn't be said, but i, and many more concerned friends were recommending, for some time, all sorts of ways of severing the link with this harbinger of bankruptcy and my friend had finally reached a point of realization where he knew it must happen soon. little was i to know the events would unfold while i was kickin back with a couple of sierra nevadas in a hot tub 2 and half thousand miles away. anyway, i called mister lightpocket this morning for a quick catch up on the local weekend news and he proceeds to inform me of a blazing hot fight with miss loafer on saturday that prompted him to persue a night of drinking, a drunken hook up with some bit on the LES and finally a bedroom stumble-in at 7am sunday.

my man is a dedicated athlete it must be said and amazingly hauled his toxic carcass out of bed and off to football practice at 9am....when he returned at 12pm....tired, dirty, sore, broke and very likely at the end of his frayed rope he finds what? an apartment, wonderfully relieved of the personage of "short-of-arm-deep-of-purse" and also his tv, dvd player, play-station and myriad other objects including footwear and other articles of clothing given to him as gifts over the last year...

let that soak in folks...

what a prize fucking bitch!...not happy with living rent free, ten minutes from manhattan....trips to lake george, ac, ireland and others, no financial input in terms of apartment accoutrements...a guy who doted after her for months till the inevitable white trash virus started to ooze out of her greazy, southern fried pores...now, i know people will consider him a pussy for ever letting it get as bad as it did...but i assure you he's not...he may have been duped but girls have the power to do that...even trailer park, banjo plucking, "ma mom's ma sistuh" ones.....c@*t!!!!

i want to work in a meat plant...

2006-02-22T16:16:00.000-05:00

it's not a very original wish and i'm sure it has come across the mind of pretty much everyone once in a while, but to read about eight meat processors in nebraska winning over 15,000,000 each on the powerball lottery gets the old grey matter working and perhaps tinges it a shade of green.

i mean, i know i should be happy for these people but, and you can call me bitter, i can't help but feel a tad resentful. ever since i was young i have memorised a pretty extensive list of "lottery intentions". things i will do and buy once i acquire the required 10 or so million. from the yacht to the 'every country in the world' tour to the carefully allocated money to friends and family.

i can't help but think that the cow killers from nebraska will settle for a new dodge hemi, multi pack of skoal and weekend in vegas with the whole family (the whole trailer park)...and to confound the situation there are three of the eight STILL working their night shifts at the slaughter house! are you fucking crazy??? don't give me any crap about "sure, what else would i do?" or "i can't just let them down at work." don't worry buddy, they can train a blind, one-legged chimp to slice the ass off dead pigs in about 2 hours...go give a million to cancer research ( but not that armstrong fools charity) and stop acting like a retard.

one dude is a 56 yr old blow in from vietnam...this guy leaves a no doubt poor vietnam and moves 16 years ago to a no doubt poor nebraska where he spends the next 15 years lopping heads off little calves...are you telling me that such a guy will be able to fathom anything over 5,000 bucks? i don't think DB9 is even in his vernacular!!

right, that's it. i'm headin out to buy a bunch of mega million tickets. you'll all get 10,000 each i promise. just leave the contact info and the dosh will be yours...and you can all party on my yacht too...but no driving the DB9...

bush, bombers, boats, ben...brainless?

2006-02-20T15:46:00.000-05:00

so the latest in a litany of loony moves by bush and his bozos is signing off on a $6.8billion deal that gives control of the ports of new york, newark, phili, baltimore, miami and new orleans to a united arab emirates owned company. the investigation into the company was at best shallow and the entire deal seems to hinge on a 'promise' that the company can keep osama bin laden from infiltrating it. does that just sound completely fuckin nuts to me or what? and all this just days after the promise of more attacks on american home turf and a new audiotape from bin laden himself stating he will never be captured alive despite the $50 million on his head...

it is mind-boggling that such a deal can go down without a word until after the ink has actually dried on the contract...i reckon dick the dick cheney shot that old timer on purpose, its was genius! what a master puppeteer!, a superb effort in keeping a retarded media focused on a dimestore piece of news while a monumental, turban-topped dildo was being simultaneously rammed into the the ass of the entire US population by way of this port control deal. do they really believe that they can keep out weapons of mass destruction when the guys now checking cargo holds on US bound ships are the cousins and brothers of the 9/11 maniacs? (2 of them having been citizens of dubai)

i remember once catching some of a ben affleck movie (shame on me, i know); the premise was a nuclear bomb coming over to the states in the shell of a soda can machine...and a graphic scene of a football stadium being atomised...after reading the news today i just hope to fuck that pepsi and the like are fast checking where they get their supplies from...

snow, mc sorley's, theatre electricians and more...

2006-02-13T13:05:00.000-05:00

so its 10pm, saturday night. a buddy of mine and i are are lazing on my couch sipping a couple of amstel's, salsafying some tostitos and generally being bums. the snow was falling, the phone was quiet and i figured that we would have to make do with what had been a damn good friday night spent in the red lion as our weekend.

but low and behold the dog and bone starts jingling and the news is that a bunch of the guys are en route to doc watson's and for the two of us to get the ass in gear and come on down. so, seven minutes, a shower, shave and shot of JD later we are in a traction defying cab, UES bound. to keep it short, the mothership gang of guys started to split into several satellite pairs and triplets and proceeded to disperse themselves about the town...a good thing i always think, a marauding gang of dude can be fun, raucous and good for gettin kicked out of bars but when it comes to chatting up members of the opposite sex it tends to be as successful as something akin to an ashtray on a motorcycle.

we tried social on 48th, it was quiet. we tried tempest on 29th, it was quiet. we finally settle upon going to central bar on 9th and agree that even if we are to be the only people in the joint we would stay. now, astor place, at 1230am, in the midst of a record breaking blizzard is both confusing and lip splittingly cold...we stumble with eyelashs laden with the white stuff and manage to make it to mc sorley's. we're wet, cold and 2 blocks south of our desired destination.

some people probably find mc sorley's quaint, historic and cozy. and judging by the many bookwormish, hair-productless, back clapping, accountant looking dweebs in the bar...it is a certain type of people too. i, on the other hand, believe that a saturday night deserves, by law, a button down shirt, something to fix the hair in a stylishly ruffled look and some shoes that once said moo. gap v-necks, boston red sox hats and converse are just not cool on a saturday night...unless you are pulling the all nighter at the local mobil station...and by the way, chugging a glass with a dribble of beer and a two inch foamy head is not impressive, stop fucking shouting about it!!

needless to say, i mustered the two guys with me and did a captain oates on it and braved the swirling night once more...making it to central bar without losses and ready for some serious boozing. we had a great night in central, it was jam packed with the clientele i desired, heel wearing girls and capless gents...i even got talking to a girl who works the lighting in an off-broadway theatre...i thought it was cool anyway.

we hit mc carthy's as our chosen late bar before venturing out once more at nearly 6am in search of what we fear will be a taxi cab as easy to find as chicken's teeth. but we hit the jackpot, a dude willing to head westchester way and for a minimal bribe too. my companions pass out...i keep our driver company with confused ramblings about the importance of dax wax and dusting the antiques in old famous bars.

its 645am before the weary warriors fall in through my door. the pullout is extracted, the glasses of water are consumed and the sleep commences. 1138am comes round like a flash and i peel my self out of the warmth and head, shovel in hand, to dig out the trusty bronco... t'was a good weekend...

craic...

2006-02-11T18:23:00.000-05:00

so here it is, a gem of literary lunacy with the aim of explaining the strange phenomenon referred to by the irish as craic! what is it? where does it come from? how is it created? it’s a difficult thing to explain that’s for sure, for craic is a fickle, short-lived creature and impossible to capture.

loosely, it means to have fun with good friends, accompanied by the preferred, though not entirely necessary, elements of wild music and bellies of drink. craic can happen anywhere, on a sunday morning at mass (though rarely), during lunch at work, even at a funeral or just simply a-sitting on your ass watching the world go by. one essential factor is that craic must be spontaneous: planned craic is pathetic and useless, as much fun as being kevin federline's press secretary. you can diligently assemble all the most desirable ingredients – friday night after work, a bunch of the lads, a rake of pints, some classic rock blaring in the background – yet the result can be as satisfying as a white castle quarter pounder and as exciting as a chess match on a rainy wednesday evening. you could take all the craic in the world and get rid of it, and that’s how much craic there would be.

but drop in for a quick one, the “i’ve got to work in the morning” drink, not a drop more, and you will probably be in for the best night of your life. the craic, as we say, will be 90.

in the same way you can’t be too objective, too judgemental, and too self-congratulatory; if at any time you stand back from the group and think to yourself, “ain’t this mighty craic…” you are committing the ancient sin. pride goes before a fall and you are in grave danger of losing the spirit. you must yield completely to the experience, allow the waves of laughter and shouting, the repartee and little one-liners to wash over you, and resist any temptation to actually start thinking.

quantum physics helps us to understand this phenomenon; heisenburg’s uncertainty principle explained that looking at the nba league tells us very little about its position, as by the time the light arrives back at our eyes there will have been more losses, sexual harressment scandals, bloated manager salaries and the knicks will be fucked for another year. and similarly, by the time you comprehend you are having a bit of craic, the craic will have moved on and you won't part of it no more. and by withdrawing your own mindless input you may have fatally damaged the vital chemistry for everyone else.

so it seems the universally accepted way of having craic is to not acknowledge having it in the first place. it appears that we can alter not only what we touch but even what we think of. ah, the frail world we live in!

last of the independents...

2006-02-11T17:03:00.000-05:00

about 20 miles from my home place in ireland is a town called ballyshannon. meaning "mouth of the shannon" this town is famous for two things. first, it claims the title as the oldest town in ireland and secondly, on march 2 1949 it became the birth place of a legend, one rory gallagher.

rory lived in this area until his family relocated to cork when he was 9 years old. it was in cork that he first started listening to blues music on the radio. in the same year he got his first guitar, taught himself to play and started performing at local talent shows. at the age of 15 he bought is now famous 1961 sunburst fender stratocaster, reported to have been the first such guitar in ireland at the time. this guitar would become rory's most recognisable trademark over the next 30 years.

he played in the fontana showband and the impact before forming 'taste' in 1966. for four years taste toured europe and the states before rory formed his namesake solo band in 1970. it was with rory gallagher and his band that rory expanded and cultivated his gift for electrifying guitar work and rich blues music. in 1972 he won the melody maker musician of the year award, knocking eric clapton off the top spot.

off stage he was a shy, humble man, ever aware of his talents and true to his blues calling. on stage though, there lived a different person. he was a tornado of energy, passion and excitement. marathon live shows highlighted a career that saw him sell over 30 million albums and tour dozens of countries. the faces, deep purple, jimi hendrix, and a youthful U2 were just some of the bands that played on the same bills as rory gallagher.

unfortunately the lights that burn brightest tend sometimes to go out quickly and during the late 1980s and early 90s rory's life was marred by ill health. he continued to tour nevertheless and his last performance by a visibly unwell man was in the netherlands in february 1995. rory gallagher died on june 14th in london following complications from a liver transplant. he was 46.

you may be wondering why you have never heard of rory gallagher. surely someone of such musical stature would be a well known figure, even after his death. well in reality, rory's conviction to pure music has also made him the best kept secret in the business. he never released a single, refusing to pander to the commercial aspect of the industry. in 1970 he was asked to join the rolling stones as their permanent guitarist. rory said no, again citing his rhythm and blues calling as something he must remain true to.

rory gallagher continues to make top ten guitarist lists and his 2005 release of songs named 'big guns' was voted in at number 5 of the best classic rock collections of the year.

"An uncompromisingly serious musician" - The Times, June 16 1995

"I was with Free when I first saw Rory, and I remember thinking: "God, what I wouldn't do to have that guy in this band."

Paul Rogers, Bad Company

"A beautiful man and an amazing guitar player. We'll miss him very much".

The Edge, U2

"Rory was a really big influence. One of the all-time great guitar players. Playing with him in LA was one of my biggest thrills ever".

Slash

"Rory was a beautiful man. I've never met anybody who has spoken badly of him".

Mark Feltham, Rory's harmonica player during his final years of performing

"Rory's death really upset me. He was such a nice guy and a great player".

Jimmy Page, Led Zeppelin

"One of the top ten players of all time, but more importantly one of the top ten good guys".

Bono, U2

"Rory was such a purist. He wouldn't sell out. He wouldn't do singles, he didn't want to do videos. How many people in the music business today would have that kind of stand? It's so dangerous".

Gary Moore

weekend in limbo...

2006-02-10T15:37:00.000-05:00

its friday, the 'feeling' is kickin in and all i want to do is hit the city and let the good times roll. however, a drawback to being an out of towner living in new york is that from time to time you may have to return home in less than happy circumstances. and for the past couple of days i've been in the midst of such a scenario. grandmothers, by very nature of their positions, tend to be a bit older than the rest of us and as such are a few places further up the queue and therefore closer to the check out. back in the rural west of ireland i have such a grandmother; who now appears to be ready to say adios to the rest of us poor, overworked soldier ants and go to her eternal rest.

i had an excellent upbringing and am lucky to have a wonderful family back home with all of whom i am close to. however, death is something that has never upset me in the way it can others. this often leads people to think i am (a) a cold hearted asshole or (b) a result of regular childhood beatings. neither are true. i just think of the whole process of life and death with a rational outlook and as a result it tends not to effect me. to be honest it would not bother me to stay in new york if and when my grandmother dies...however, i fear the desicion could possibly result in some resentment and hurt on the part of my mother. something that must be avoided.

therefore, i am in a limbonic state of mind as i enter the much needed weekend. my ear is ever constant in its wait for the sound of the phone and the inevitable news that her time is over. then, i must race to find the next flight back to ireland, attend to my duties as a member of the grieving family before racing back to new york to achieve a minimal loss of work time. i also want to enjoy my weekend as normal, comprising plenty of JD and coke, good movies, good (female) company, bar hopping through a multitude of 100 zip codes and generally letting the proverbial hair down...what to do!

and yes i'm quite bloody sure there is no such word as limbonic but i think there should be...."limbonic" lim-bon-ick being in a state of limbo....sounds good anyway....limbonic, limbonic, limbonic.....limbonic.........it has lost all meaning, wait, it may never have had any...hmmm. a word that never existed...is that possible? i mean even if it is made up...its still a word right? so then it did exist. or is there a really rigid definition of a word, or like a wordmaster who has final say or something? uh oh, here come the men in white coats............

infame in the membrane...

2006-02-09T18:52:00.000-05:00

so bobby de niro's housekeeper just pleaded guilty to pilfering some goodies from the bedroom of the former raging bull. a pair of diamond earrings to be exact...worth a cool $95,500. the report of the sticky-fingered bed-maker got me thinking about what would drive a person to steal from the famous. i mean surely the thieving polock should have enjoyed her prestigious position and kept her roaming digits firmly wrapped around her broom...however, i happen to know that de niro is, in person, quite the prima donna...to the point of dickness and the dog puke wiper-upper was probably well pissed off by the time she decided to nab herself some booty.

the construction industry in NYC is often quite fascinating and a catalyst for some interesting situations. personally i've worked for clients such as the army, pfizer, the empire state building, columbia university and tons more. one particular job i was involved in was the renovation of a palatial mansion on 5th avenue. this building contained 4 apartments each going for around 22 million a piece!...such a plush address brought some upper end clientele. yankee slugger a-rod visited one day to inspect a possible investment, lenny kravitz came too for a look at another pad to splash his cash on.....he's quite a friendly guy i must say. and of course we had old bobby boy arriving one sunny summer afternoon, complete with some hired beef as security. but don't be thinking mr fuckin meet the fockers is happy in his quest for a multi million bucks pad. no no, he is quite the pissy little bitch...and why is that? because there are men working there, i mean on a construction job, in the middle of the day!! how dare they? and they are actually looking at him as he surveys the rooms, what idiots we are, i mean you're only the fucking biggest actor in the last 30 years!!...finally he can take no more and storms off, promising never to set foot in the place again! am i wrong in thinkin that this guy is a prize nut job? are we supposed to have taken the day off work so that taxi driver can have the place to himself?

i guess its a fairly pointless rant today but the news article reminded of this experience. i'd love to know exactly what went on in de niro's house on a daily basis. that poor woman was no doubt down on her hands and knees scrubbing the deer hunter's scuzzy toilet bowl with a tooth brush and for a bout $5.25 an hour too i bet...stealing isn't cool, but thanks to a few honest guys doing a day's work de niro has about $22 million burning a hole in his goodfella pocket....that's a lot of earrings huh?

the difference a year makes...

2006-02-09T18:47:00.000-05:00

just about this time last year i was edging my way north, along the east coast of australia. in a misty blur of castlemaine xxxx and rollies of questionable content (passively of course, smoking is a mug's game!) i bounced from beach to beach, hostel to hostel during a trip that quite aptly sustains the suffix "of a lifetime".

when i first breached the different shores of another eastern seaboard in 2001 i came to NYC expecting a city driven by the work ethic, a labyrinth of labour and endeavour. i was not to be disappointed. work is number one in this city, there is no question. be it the early risers of the blue collar brigade or the midnight oilers of the white collar posse there is a universal drive in all; to work hard and work a lot. family, friends, health and fun all come a lowly second, third or worse on the list of life. however, to some this is tantamount to nothing else.....to them work must come first. i however, though a willing member of this general mindset at present, am, quite frankly, not one for life.

it was during my few months lazing around in the southern hemisphere, oz and new zealand to be exact, that i first came to realise that the NYC work ethos is not the only one, probably not the healthiest one and definitely not the most enjoyable one.
in australia the lifestyle is one of a slower pace, laid back....less stress. the aussies work, as all creatures must, but it is not the most important thing in life. the weather, the beaches, the proximity to such gems as fiji, thailand and tahiti.....it all adds up to a one thing....fun.
instead of trudging homeward in the gloom of night the natives are home at 4pm.....tying the surfboard to the roof of the truck, filling the cooler with cans of toohey's new and heading off with the gang for a barbie (and thats got nothing to do with dolls). instead of working weekends they head up the coast to party meccas like byron bay, frazer island and cairns. and its year round!! no winter to speak of......sun all the time.....warm pacific water to sooth the soul....i miss it.

but here i am, little less than a year later i am back in the rat race. just another donkey chasing the proverbial carrot......and hey! the donkey thing has nothing to do with being irish. fielding bullshit phonecalls a hundred times a day, driving 30, 000 miles a year around the busiest streets in the world and generally not reclining in a sand armchair while sipping a jack and coke on the rocks and enjoying a panoramic of bondi beach and scantily clad scandanavian chicks. what a difference a year makes...

prancing lance...

2006-02-09T18:42:00.000-05:00

i'm fairly sure not many people will agree with me here but i simply cannot stand the very existence of lance armstrong. a friend of mine was surprised yesterday when we agreed on this point after his mug was on the news again after the break up with that tour de france groupie sheryl crow. don't worry, this won't be a long rant; as currently i'm feeling like 2 lbs of crap squeezed into a 1 lb bag as a direct result of a long night touring multiple bars in manhattan....a tour that took in such gems as the nassau bar, mike's pizzeria and higher end establishments like the gaslight.

anyway, back to armstrong. do the words sanctimonious, narcissistic or self-congratulatory mean anything in texas? the world already has to put up with that bush idiot but for the past few years we've had to endure prancing lance as well. so you beat cancer? well done, get over it already! and the whole bicycle thing? i mean for fuck sake, richard simmons wearing a face mask while watching queer as folk is less gay than cycling for a living. with the spandex, the sperm destroying saddle, and the dumb little hats, its just not cool.

now if that isn't bad enough we have the bracelet thing. that concept has got to top the most retarded list of things in the world, ever. fools running around wearing yellow rubber bangles, pretending to care about cancer research? what the fuck is that about? people actually buy these things on ebay!!...anyone caught wearing a yellow band should first of all be shot repeatedly with balls of their own shit and then made give a whole pay check to actual cancer research...morons, the half of them don't even know what the band represents!

the problem is you can't really blame the general masses, i mean after all, such crap as american idol, britney spears and tofu remain popular because of those very people. so, the bottom line is that its armstrong's fault for inventing the bloody things....with the yellow band brainstorm he has propelled himself into the elite group of people that i truly detest, rubbing shoulders with the likes of haley joel osmond, kevin federline and dakota fanning.

so stop with the bicycles lance, quit trying to elevate yourself to celebrity status by dating flaky, pseudo rock stars, and finally, please go on global television and ask for every yellow band in the world to be burned before settling on an island somewhere....far, far away.

an island, a stag do & oiled boobs...

2006-02-09T18:35:00.000-05:00

back home in the emerald isle, we irish use different terms for everday things that are used here in the U S of A; sidewalk=footpath, hood of a car=bonnet of a car, stove=cooker...the list goes on. another of these anomalies is the bachelor party. back in the land of poets, painters, priests and perverts (the last two, being quite often an almalgamation) we call the bachelor party a "stag do". don't ask me why, i'm sure there is some rambling, bullshit history about the derivation of the term somewhere in the depths of the internet but right now that's not my beef.
my beef, gangster talk for problem, is a particular stag do that i was supposed to be helping plan. my friend from school, as in grammar school, paddy, is the first fool in my gang of growing up friends that is getting married. the grand day is july 11 of this year and the arranged stag do date was agreed upon as april 29, or that weekend anyway. irish stag dos tend to be something more than a one night affair.

anyway, to get back on point. during my christmas vacation back in ireland i managed to reignite a friendship with another buddy of mine, eamonn, whom i had sort of slipped out of contact with over the past couple of years (for reasons that will make for riveting reading at a later date). we resurrected the camaraderie and agreed that we would be the main organisers of paddy's stag do...job's a good one, deal done.

now, for a stag do, i prefer to follow the lines of top shelf alcohol, kegs of guinness, pussy ping-pong and well oiled boobs. so the first ideas that came to me were along the lines of a weekend in amsterdam, prague, berlin or some other european getaway. this was instantly shot down by the groom himself. "no, i want it in ireland"....ok, so we agree on ireland, after all, we do know how to throw a party! so i said to eamonn, "it has to be a city then, galway, cork, belfast...maybe dublin" (though i hate the place).
so at the time of my departure from ireland after christmas, back to the grind in NYC, we had at least sorted out what country we would experience the debauchery.

i was still thinking about getting some strippers on board, some good ones, willing to get up to crazy shit, some super-soakers maybe, white t-shirts, k/y wrestling...i mean its a man's goodbye to singlehood, it has to be raucous and memorable right? well, imagine my serious disappointment today to learn, not via the groom, nor even my supposed co-planner but through a completely different third party, that the stag do was to be held on an island, off the coast of donegal in north western ireland!

an island? off the coast of ireland? with the wind and rain and not even a fuckin shrub between there and america to protect us!! fuck me, isn't that where they send lepers and goats? where there lives about 23 people, 18 of whom are over 86 and the other 5 are paid help to change the sheets? i honestly couldn't believe it. i mean how are we to have any craic in a place like that (craic as in fun...another irish term). am i to smuggle in some divas under cover of dark in a goddam trawler? someone smell fish in here?

its a sad day i suppose, it appears paddy has already checked in his balls to hotel matrimony, not even his last hurrah to the concept of "another woman's breasts" is to happen. the future bride is already wielding the axe of doom that usually befalleth with "i do" and by the way i don't mean anything wrong at the stag do, nothing improper, i respect the honour of the engagement, in fact i don't give a crap if the paddy doesn't even look at a stripper, but the rest of us, we need fun, gettin the groove on sorta stuff.....beer caps off with butt cheeks sorta stuff, ya know? its just not fair waaaaaaa:(

god i need i drink, i'm hittin the bars early tonight....nassau maybe for a while, doc watson's later......mmmm well oiled boobs:)

a deadly sin that keeps us fit...

2006-02-09T18:21:00.000-05:00

i have just returned from a fairly arduous 3 mile run. yes, i know 3 miles is nothing to write home about but i get so bored running you have no idea, i find a heart busting 3 mile grunt is both rewarding and less mind numbing than its 5 or 10 mile cousins, so for now, desist with the tutting. now, i must confess i am a bonafide member of what i like to call the "fake/real runner's club". how so, i hear the cry! fake and real at the same time? well, any of you who do a bit of running know fine well that a run on a deserted beach, or down the leaf strewn country lane or through the empty park never gives the same workout as a dash around some local streets. with plenty of fellow joggers and passersby, the local route always coaxes that little extra out of the winter stiff limbs. it all stems from that age old sin of pride.....let me explain, when i am at my wheezing worst i refuse to let that balding, greek looking guy coming back from the corner deli with a quarter pound of turkey and a pack of red man know that i am about to die of a heart attack! no sir, i am robust, i am a machine, i grit the teeth, crank up the ipod and storm past him for a good twenty paces. then the heart screams in disagreement, the lungs groan with discomfort and the legs start a decline toward snail's pace. but hold up!! is that a 15 year old punk with zits and a look of slyness that is very likely accidental hanging out in front of the pizza place? by jove it is!......come on pulmonary artery, no point crying about the 13 jack and cokes last friday eh? get on with it!!......speed increases again, all bodily functions maxed out......there are little red lights flashing in front of my eyes, the oil lamp is on! the battery is flat!! i am nearly out of gas!!!......but past the skulker i go, like the wind i round the corner and like an emphysemic retired miner i grind to a shuddering halt under the cover of a dark street.
my face is a red usually reserved for well thrashed arses but the pride is intact....i have just completed 3 miles several minutes faster than ever would be possible on a more secluded thoroughfare.......and impressed not only the greek and the thief but also my own wicked little jiminy cricket......don't knock the deadly sins just yet.....some at least are keeping us fit.

the chastity belt is off...

2006-02-09T18:13:00.000-05:00

i've been hearing about blogs, bloggers and all things from blogville for a couple of years now but never really considered myself a member of the blogable brigade. we like alliteration round these parts as you'll notice. i mean, i still have reservations regarding the purpose of the things, the need for them or the interest in them.....yet here i am, a blog virgin, shakily disrobing myself of my protective blog resistant garments and climbing into a bed with a temptress who knows no limits when it comes to revealing my inner workings.
what's more, i'm going to stick at it, i intend to add, to expand, nay, to culture my little plot of ramblings and commentaries. I don't aspire to be funny....to be informative or even interesting. what i will provide is a view on New York through the eyes of an Irishman, an immigrant, a man away from home.
i love this city and all it has to offer. here's what i think.