Coursework... yeah...

I'm meant to be working on an important, scary, nowhere-NEAR-finished presentation (which, by the way, is to be ready, rehearsed, and really impressive... BY TOMORROW)

I got sidetracked. And I'm finding some absolute e-gold. E-xcellent.

This ('though an old vid) made me snort with laughter:



This is amazing, and in Dublin! Look at the rest too. No joke. They're class.




One of the other protesty pics caught my eye;
"Huh... a protest against video games?"
Intrigued, went to find out who the mentallers were...
*gasp* It was EA! Staging a fake protest! Scannal! Couldn't effing believe it. And had a good laugh at this, which has a little bit about the aftermath...
And, on that page, I rambled down to the comments... And remembered why I love the internet.
I mean, look at that mad angry argument!

Reading through it, found this super-snarky gem:

"Hey guys, there's a whole lot of scholarship on this issue. You might want to peruse some of it - you know, the parts that aren't in make-you-feel-better-for-being-a-smart-atheist documentary form - before making wild irrelevant generalizations.

And the cross is an "ancient death symbol?" Yeah, no shit, because they fucking nailed people to them."

The same extremist, to-and-fro arguments break out on a billion threads every day. Everyone on the net is up for a fight. Imagine real life being as volatile... everyone would have to be drunk all the time or something...
And, ok, this story was bound, obviously, to start such. I understand that...
But how did THIS cutsey thing get a vicious political debate started?

Really?

A funny doomed feeling..

Watching the NAMA thing in the Dail on telly - stressful. Not able for it, but can't look away. Between this and Lisbon 2, I've got an awfully sickly sinking feeling - but all I can do is watch as it all goes to pot. A lot of talk going on, all quite hopeless to be honest.

Christ. Recessions happen! It's natural; crap, and tough, but natural. The economy ebbs and flows and none of this knee-jerk panic is going to help - this bizarre plan is insane, and too risky to justify. Yet I'm listening to the bastards try and fail at doing just that... and wondering how they sleep.

I s'pose Cowen probably drinks himself into a coma, his huge red nose swelling with saturation, and whatever guilt he SHOULD feel, numbed. My mum said she feels sorry for him - Bertie having landed him in this, and all. But, I'm sorry, who was the Finance Minister under Bertie, again? Rudolf himself.

Anyone else up for a sesh on Lisbon night? Either to celebrate or mourn - whichever.

"May you live in interesting times..."


Bollox.

Btw..

I didn’t mention this (mainly because I forgot) but, the other night (with the haunted house and the antics in Dave’s living room), Helen* decided to have a little heart-to-heart with me.

Aoife, I’m drunk enough now to say this – I’m really sorry if I was mean to you in Primary School.

Err… shut your face! Ha. No, seriously, we don’t need to talk about it. Water – bridge – all that!


No but, I don’t really remember, but I know I was horrible – etc etc etc
She seemed a little ruffled and verging on upset.

I assured her - don’t worry about it! Honestly, of ALL of them, she was the least. All she did was what she had to do – going along with them. Unlike the rest, she was never actually cruel to me.

Like, even those who were, I couldn’t care less about, and wouldn’t even accept an apology from. Not because I’m angry – far from it! But because I genuinely don’t care – we were kids. I was the new girl, I wasn’t liked. But kids are cruel and kids are stupid because – whether or not they turn out to be bad people later– they have their reasons and/or they don’t know any better. They don’t think. I barely remember, anyway. I’ll admit I don’t wanna rush out and make best best friends with them or anything, but I don’t resent anyone. (Despite the odd little rant…)

It was good of her, I guess, and (though drunk) she insisted that, had she the mind she has now, she’d have acted differently. But, sure, we can all say that. We can say that the very day after something happens. We can say it mere MOMENTS after. We’d do it differently. That’s my point, 'though; that’s why she oughtn’t feel bad.

Which, btw, is something I should probably apply to myself.

I did things wrong too, ‘though. And I was just a kid. And kids are stupid. So I should forgive me like I’ve forgiven and forgotten them. It wasn’t MY fault, either.
But I kicked myself for years – convinced it was my fault: I moved to Limerick and was picked on and was convinced it would have been different if I’d acted differently. If I'd been different, I'd've been accepted - I told myself. So, I'll be different.

I’ve said this before – I was convinced that only by moving to Dublin could I prove to myself that, whatever I did wrong then, I wouldn’t do again. With the mind I have now. But that’s stupid for lots of reasons. One being that peoples’ opinion of you isn’t something you can control – no matter what front you adopt or what you say. Neither can you control how you’ll get on with each other – some people click, others don’t. (And some who click end up hating each other, and some who don’t end up loving each other) It’s not something you can control – and yet I fight that reality with everything I’ve got – I have for years!

After moving to Limerick, I learned to mask my real self. Trying (too hard) to come across as smart/bubbly/friendly/confident/cool/outgoing/whatever in varying company – never quite relaxing and never quite honest until truly comfortably with a person. When I would drop the act(s), I’d suddenly become very aware of the fact I was ”gone all quiet” – and I’d be so distracted by my lack of input that I’d almost be too busy (thinking of something to say) to listen to anyone else!

And if, naturally, I AM quiet and a little reserved, and shy away from the centre of attention, then so be it. But I don’t feel I am. I, for some reason, believe I need an act in order NOT to be… but I still don’t feel that’s me. It wasn’t before Limerick, anyway. But that was a long time ago. And I doubt I’m half as inept as I’ve convinced myself I am.

I don’t really know anymore, to be honest. Really, I think it’s ALL me. Rather than putting on a front, it’s that I'm putting a facet of myself forward… maybe? That’s a nice way to put it. And, at least, absolutely everyone does it.

“Be yourself”? Silly expression. I say, which one?? Personalities are changeable – you are who you are, added to who you want to be, multiplied by who you’re around.

Or...something!

*Fake name. Which is pointless. As the readers of this blog will either have never met her, or know exactly who I’m talking about.

Highlighting what's important...

Earlier, was in Galway bus station, queuing for a ticket, smacking my lips and preparing to say “Student single to Dublin”... Then I changed my mind. I am now in Limerick. (Which is a bit of a surprise even to me)

I like it! Good to be home. Home-Home, not Dublin-Home.. Home-Home’s where the heating works, and the fridge is always full, and there’s a big tv, and a house phone, and a dog.. It’s where my room is. I love my room. I still have my Lion King curtains up, simply because I LOVE the strange red hue they throw on my (densely teddy-bear-populated) bedroom every morning... then there’s those kickass posters to remind me of my “crap” (ie. awesooome) early music tastes..

I spent the week in the Connemara Gaeltacht to improve my spoken Irish and… know the funniest part?
I spoke less Irish this week than ANY other week since… I dunno… September of last year? Apart from perhaps Christmas time, and the week I spent in Virginia this summer.

It’s only recently occurred to me that most of the friends I’ve made since coming to Dublin have, or are involved with, An Ghaeilge. I work trí Ghaeilge. I live in Irish-language accommodation. Most of the texts, calls, and about 30% of all emails I receive, are as Gaeilge. As for a base/home/comfort-zone community type thing? Rather than my college campus, it's that old madhouse on Harcourt street!

The hell..? If you’d told me Irish would become this big a part of my life two years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.

I pulled a Des Bishop before Des Bishop pulled a Des Bishop. True, I had the advantageous 13 years of groundwork (not that it counts for much) and, true, my tv series wouldn’t have been half as entertaining (being a far, far less successful comedian)… but I still can’t get my head around how far I’ve come.



I was thinking back… trying to figure out how it all started… how I went from grumbling about how annoying Irish "The School Subject" was, to raving about how vibrant and fascinating Irish "The Language" was.

Y’know what started it all?

A free highlighter!

It was societies sign up week in my first year in DIT. September 2006. And all the college societies were desperately pleading their case to new members – vying for the firsties’ attention – waving bags of freebies. Great buzz.

Anyway, I spot the free highlighters immediately. I love highlighters – cannot study without them. Pink is the first go-over, then yellow over the pink, so I know that the orangey bits are all I really need. Then I rewrite orangey bits onto new page, highlight, take out the orangey bits, and repeat until all I have left is one page full of mismatched words that make no sense to anyone else, but are all I need to glance at going into an exam. Each one stands for a whole paragraph - or a whole chapter, sometimes!

Anyway, these were great ones. Dual-headed! Pink and Yellow! AAAAGH!

Over I went, and I was assaulted by the most chirpy, friendly, and impossible-to-understand person I have ever met. Dazzled by her incomprehensible Donegal Irish, I took everything she handed me and hurried away.

Ended up really liking the Irish Soc (Cumann Gaelach - in fact, I'm now its Chair..) When they text me saying there was a “Léamh scripte” (or something) on, I was like, oh how nice! They’re going to read a script to me! :)

I turned up. Roomfull of actors. Not a word of English being spoken. And I was handed a script. Uh oh.

Despite not even understanding the title of the play, and not being able to pronounce a single one of my lines correctly, I was offered a small part – I looked the part, apparently! (I was told this, smiled dimly, half-memorised what was said, had someone translate later, and was THEN delighted.)

Weeks, then months, of rehearsing, and going to the pub afterwards, straining to get the gist of the conversation… most of the jokes went over my head… most of what I said made no sense and made me look like an idiot. But.. I gradually got better.

I’m thinking of doing one of the TEG (Teastas Eorpach na Gaeilge) exams to see exactly what my standard is at these days. I have no idea (it’s been so gradual and mostly hit and miss-style learning) but I’m told I’m quite good. And I speak it every day these days. As much (or perhaps more) than English.





I actually.. sincerely.. utterly.. undoubtedly... did NOT miss the fucking internet this week. They HAD a computer room. I was there once. That was plenty.
I felt like I’d woken up.

And now… I’m back online. And have just wasted an hournahalf on facebook/twitter/gmail/here.

Enough! I may just go for a walk.

What's in a dream?

Now,
I don’t believe in dream interpretation or similar hippy-crap, but I just woke up and would LOVE some opinions on last night’s mental dream.



I’m collecting money at the door to some event, that’s in some sort of weird run-down castle – but the background’s pixellated like an old N64 game… No. More like the first Tomb Raider for PC. The tickets I’m selling are bright, bright pink and people keep passing them around to let other people in.


The event’s like, a book launch – or, well, that’s how it started out... The guy running it was the cute bodhrán player from the gig last night – I think he was supposed to have wrote the book or something..?

I open the book and, for the first 3/4s of it, it’s a fairly normal-looking encyclopaedia-style book –about a fictional museum. Everything’s in it! All the fictional artefacts, the architecture of the building, the non-existent history of the building, even the people who work there and all the visitors. Big colourdy pictures – kinda like one of those children’s nature books. Know the ones I mean?

Then the last few pages are a play – set in the museum – but it doesn’t seem too interesting; it’s literally just about a bunch of weird character’s experience in the museum; taking a tour, stopping at the cafe, strolling round the bookshop, talking shite, in baaaadly attempted accents and costumes that were waaay over-the-top..

There was such a buzz that ALL my friends (from school, college, work) heard about it and arrived. Everyone decided to perform the play immediately (the book was such a smash) and no one would let me join in. My mum left early, so I took her book and started flicking through it while everyone got changed into their mad outfts. I’d no interest in it anyway – but I saw in the book that there was one particularly interesting artefact – a big freakin’ independence-day style alien in some sort of plastic restraint/display-box thing.

Oh yeah, at this point all the stuff was real. Dreams, eh?

So I run off to find it – how cool?! And everyone’s giving out and roarin’ at me ‘cos I’m supposed to be letting people in and the crowd’s getting bigger… but I don’t care! I finally find it and it’s the coolest thing ever. Not moving. Presumably dead. I just gawked at it, and someone (my brother/cousin? Don’t remember) suggests I “plug it in.” Low and behold there’s a remarkably normal-looking cable and plug coming out of the alien’s armoured wrist, and I plug him in to a conveniently close socket.

And then it comes to life and tries to kill everyone.
Actually, it only seems to be chasing me… no one else seems to notice and are goin’ about their business practicing the play and talking shite about how incredible it is. Whenever I pass any of them (fleeing from giant alien shooting lasers at me and making shit of the Tomb-Raider-y background) they shout after me “Hey! Get back on the door!” And I shouted back “I just have to sort this out first – gimme two minutes.”

Bodhrán boy is especially annoyed at me, and my friends who can’t get in – all glaring at me but no one helping, but that’s cool ‘cos if they helped the alien would see them (or so was my logic in the dream) – and it was me plugged it in. I was just like, fuck sake, can’t someone else let people in??

I woke up before I sorted the alien out.
*shrug*

Well?

Deep in the Dip

Well. Here we go again. The lower point of the wave. All this bouncing and crashing’s making me a little ill. But I’ll keep going from this, and zip back to the top, and stall briefly, and it all starts again. And that’s how it’s going to feel. And that’s ok.

The only person I can control is myself. And that’s exactly what I’ll do. If I keep my head, I’ll beat this. I’m a tough cookie! Not at the moment, sure, but in general.

I’m angry. At myself and at other people. Other people never make me as angry as I make myself. And maybe that’s my problem, not theirs. And maybe I really can do this.

“Speak your truth quietly and clearly”
Desiderata – I’ve always tried to live like that; time to try a little harder. Especially with that line.

It’s ok to open up, to let the world see me. I have nothing to hide! I have nothing to be ashamed of! I have nothing to lose. And I certainly would hate to miss out on a once in a lifetime opportunity. Again!

Come on, Aoife.

Genius!!

Y'know how a couple of posts ago, when I did my little new year quiz, I couldn't think of an answer to the last question? Instead of goign back and answering properly, I've decided to post a list of some of my all-time favourite quotes. I love these because they're inspiring, or delightfully, hilariously true.. all are just plain genius.

"A long-term relationship is, at its core, two people struggling to put up with each other’s bullshit—day in, day out, year after year—in exchange for things intangible (love) and things tangible (sex)." - Dan Savage

"If I heard a speaker use (downplay) I would upget and outwalk." - Peter De Vries

"A mistake which is commonly made about neurotics is to suppose that they are interesting. It is not interesting to be always unhappy, engrossed with oneself, malignant and ungrateful, and never quite in touch with reality." - Cyril Connolly, The Unquiet Grave

"Be Yourself, especially do not feign affection, neither be cynical about love for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass." - Desiderata, Max Ehrman

"He who has a why for life can bear with almost any how" - Nietzsche

"Its not that the Irish are cynical. Its rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody." - Brendan Behan

"It's not like buying a car you know." "I know - it's gotta be that can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence world series kind of love!" - It Takes Two (crappy movie - great quote nonetheless)

"If you can find someone who loves the you YOU love, well, that's just fabulous!" - Sex and the City

"Good things don't come to those who wait, but to those who dare." - An old friend who I miss quite a bit.

"We're ridiculous"

Yes we are.

Oooh, it's gonna hurt alright. No matter what we decide, whatever happens, it's going to hurt. I have some idea how much, too... so it's more than a little terrifying. But I've been thinking about it and I've decided - fuck it - it doesn't matter if it lasts a week, or a few weeks, or a few hundred weeks. Or even just a few more hours!
Even just one more hour like that would be...

Fuck!

How did this happen? How has everything changed?

I want.......... what do I want? Nnnnnngh I don't KNOW!!


No, I think I DO know what I want. "Think" is the wrongest of wrong words - I KNOW what I want!
I want whatever I can get.
No more. That's ok. More than ok! And even though I'm scared, I'm not feeling weird about it at all. It's petrifying - but it comes so easily too. Does that make sense? Anyway, no amount of nerves or uncertainty or time-restrictions can stop me enjoying it - all of it - every second until...
...


I go from wanting to throw up, to wanting to sing, to wanting to scream, to wanting to dance, to wanting to drink, to laughing at all the aforementioned madnesses.

To sum up: This is the BEST mistake I'll ever make.
:)

Setanta Murphy le Garret Keogh

"Setanta Murphy Part 1 - A Comedy In Which Nobody Dies"

Níor chaoinigh mé in amharclann riamh roimh sin ach, an Sathairn seo caite i Bewleys Cafe Theatre, bhí cupla deoir i mo shúile. Níor lean an léiriú ar aghaidh ach ar feadh daichead nóiméid nó mar sin de, ach ní fhaca mé dráma níos láidre nó níos cumhachtaí ná Setanta Murphy le fada agus bhí iontas orm go raibh sé in ann cur isteach orm comh mór sin. Is dóigh gur chur sé mo sheanmháthair i gcuimhne dom... Bean uasal a bhí inti... Cinnte... Agus í uaigneach ag druidim chun deireadh... Bhí a lán sniffles le chloisteáil ón lucht féachanna agus táim cinnte go raibh an cuid is mó dóibh ag smaoineamh ar duine áirithe comh maith!

Sa dráma, níorbh ann ach beirt charactair; Setanta é fhéin agus a sheanuncail. Bhí ar an seanfhear dul isteach i Nursing Home, agus dúirt sé: “It’s not what I expected at all. They’re all so old.” Agus é ceithre scór is deich mbliana d’aois é fhéin! Sé an radharc sin (an radharc dheireanach) an ceann is éafachtaí agus brónach sa dráma - dráma a bhí lighthearted go leoir taobh amuigh de sin. Gach uair eile ina raibh a chuid uaigneas á thaispáint dúirt an seanfhear rud éigin greannmhar, nó d’athraigh sé an ton i bhealach éigean, ach an uair seo bhí a chuid éadóchas comh láidir gur líon sé an amharclann bheag sin, agus bhog sé chuille duine a bhí istig ann. Bhí sé deacair breathnú air, fiú... agus na haisteoirí ag gol comh maith... Bhí eagla uafásach air roimh an áit - roimh an todhcaí sceirdiúil a bhí in ndán dó...

Sé seo an chéad oíche ina raibh an seanfhear chun fanacht san áit. Díreach landáilte, scanraithe, déistin air faoi stad an áit… Bhí an intercom ag rá go raibh ar cuairteoirí imeacht abhaile, ní raibh Setanta réigh chun fágail go foil, d’iarr súile an sheanfhear air: don’t go! Ach bhí an drama fineálta go deo – níor éirigh sé ró-maoithnach ar cor ar bith.

Bhí Setanta go han-mhaith. Luke Griffon a bhí sa pháirt. É ag caint leis fhéin don chuid is mó, agus ag samhlú é fhéin mar laoch. Chasamar lenár laoch agus é lasmuigh de doras an Nursing Home, agus tríd a chuid ramblings atá ar nós go bhfuil sé ag smaoineamh ós ard, fuair muid réamheolas éigin don scéal, agus don caractair Setanta agus an cineál duine a bhí ann. Sé Setanta an t-aon gaol atá fágtha ag an sheanfhear, ghlac sé an freagracht agus cé go bhfuil fustrachas air, déanann sé a chuid.

An-scríobhneoir é Garret Keogh, agus an-aisteoir é comh maith! Agus nílim just ag rá sin de bharr go bhfuil aithne agam air. Níl sé 90, obviously, ach bhí sé go hiomlán sochreidte agus rinne mé dearmad gur é fhéin a bhí ann (chabhraidh an feasóg bréagach le sin is dóigh!). Ar aon nós, I was blown away. Bhí an dialóg comh nádúrtha, ní chreidfeá é! Bhí nósanna agus tréithe éigsúla ag na charactair, bhí a bhfórsa bheatha féin acu, ar bhealach. Pearsantacht an-láidir a bhí ag an beirt acu, agus gné dhaonna nach fhéadfach cuma as an spéir, y’know? An argóint faoin radaitheoir a bhí briste, an comhrá ar an fón a d’fhéadfadh do chroí a bhriseadh... bhí an gaol eatharthu faoi straidhn uafásach agus bhí sé seo le chloistáil sa “banter” a bhí ag dul ar aghaidh, ach bhí teolaíocht idir an bheirt acu agus atrua ag Setanta don seanfhear agus bhí sin le feiceáil go soléire comh maith.

Níor chreid mé conas go raibh Garret in ann an réalachas seo a chruthú sna charachtair... Mar a tharlaíonn sé bhí an Seanuncail bunaithe ar a sheanuncail féin ar bhealach, agus thánaig an scéal as meascán de stair na teaghlach, eachtraí a tharla, agus ficsean. Suimiúil!

Déarfainn go mbíonn sé deacair ar daoine siad fhéin a shamlú ina tseandaoine... nó mar cuid de haoisghrúpa ar bith. Is furasta crá croí an charachtair a aithint i daoine áirithe a bhfuil aithne agam orthu. Thuig an lucht féachanna go ghortaíodh Setanta nuair a bhí air an seanfhear a thréigeadh san áit lofa sin.

Bhí an stáitse an-bheag, ní raibh ach prop nó dhó in usáid ag aon am amháin, ach ní raibh gá le aon rud eile. D’oibrigh an aisteoireacht agus an script le chéile, agus ní raibh rud ar bith eile ag teastáil...

Tá an “run” sin i Bewleys críochnaithe anois, ach tá Garret ag smaoineamh ar leath eile a scríobh (“Part 2”) agus a cur leis agus dráma lánfhada a dhéanamh as... Mollaim daoibh dul ag breathnú air. Corraitheach, greannmhar, an-thaitneamhach!