K8 the GR8

This is how conversations are going lately:

-o-

*bland conversation happens while I fidget, gasping for an opportunity to brag about being shortlisted*

-break in conversation flow…-

Other party: “So anyway enough about me!  Have you any news yerself?”

Me: “Uhhh, not really,” *feigns casual but entirely fake joggage of memory* “Oh!  Apart from this award thingy I’m going to on Saturday!”

Other party: “Award thingy?  What award thingy?”

Me: “It’s a blog award ceremony in Town.”

Other party: “A blog?  Blololog! *giggle* What’s a blog?  Sounds like something you’d read on a toilet (ha ha ha)… like ‘Please flush your blog’!  (ha ha ha ha)

Me: (Vaguely insulted) You haven’t heard of a blog yet?  Psht, you use the internet don’t you?  You must have heard of blogs!”

Other party: “Uhh no.  Enlighten me.”

Me: “It’s like a soapbox, or a magazine article that you write and publish onto a website.”

Other party: “Like Bebo?”

Me: “No, sad sap, not like Bebo.”

Other party: “What the fuck is a soapbox?”

Me: *sigh* “A medium for public announcement I suppose.”

Other party: “What do you have that’s worth announcing?!”

Me: “I don’t know, stuff I guess.  You read magazines!  If you read magazines you’ll like reading blogs.”

Other party: *Starts to lose interest* “So tell me about the awards… you know someone up for one?”

Me: “Me!”

Other party: “No way… seriously?  There can’t be that much competition so, is it a small function?”

Me: “Fuck you!”

Other party: “Sorry I didn’t mean it like that… *shuffles nervously*”

Me: “It’s ok.  So anyway, if you want to know what a blog is, why not visit mine?  It’s a bit mental but you might like it, especially as you’re into creativity and all that stuff yourself…”

Other party: “Uhh, ok, what’s the address?” *Examines nails*

Me: “Search for ‘Kate the Great’ but replace the ‘ate’ bits with the figure 8.”

Other party: “What?”

Me: *repeats the concept* “Or just cackaloo.com, that’s easier.”

Other party: “Whatever… so are you going out this weekend?”

Me: “Yeah, dude, I’m going to a sodding blog award ceremony!  Hey you know what?  I never get awards for stuff, let alone being nominated for one.  Where’s the love?  Where’s the friendly support? What sort of sodding friend are you?”

Other party: “Jeez, relax!  I’ll look at your site, ok?  Feel better now?”

Me: *scowl* “Tell me how to find my webpage, smartarse!”

Other party: “Uhhh, I search for ‘crackapoo’, or ‘Kate has eight’, right?”

Me: “Screw you, fuckface!”

Other party: “Whatever.  Hey did I tell you I got new shoes?”

Me: “I hope you fall over and break your legs and I hope your new heels end up stabbing you in your cold, cold heart, beeeaatch!”  *I walk off sulking*

 -o-

This is a pretty accurate conversation.  You might think ‘What a sucky friend that is!’, but the funny thing is, this conversation happens with pretty much everybody.  What exactly is so naff about blogging?

Take my best bud, for example.  I asked her to come with me on the night, and she said ‘Sure, whatever… hey why don’t we just show our faces for a bit and then go out to a proper pub?  X and X are in Dublin on Saturday night, we could catch up with them and have more fun!’

Where’s the love, people?  Where’s the love?!?!?

Another addendum:

You know what?  That was bang out of order my slagging Best bud, in hindsight it’s well exaggerated, just the product of a scorned lady.  If you should ever read this, Pooh, know that I totally understood the plans, but used you cheaply to further a point because I’m that sort of friend.  I look forward to your slaps unless you don’t end up reading this, in which case- Nice one! 

I don’t understand politics, mainly because I’ve never tried to.  It’s not something that upsets me much, at least it didn’t until I started reading blogs and found I had to skip over the political ones - my brain just can’t process the sattire or the original point.  No offence to political sattirists, it’s just the way I am.

I do, however, understand children very well, and it wasn’t until this morning when little Sally next door came in to play with Puppychild that the truth suddenly hit me.  The parallells between the infant world and the political world were right in front of me all the time!

To demonstrate this theory, for this next part I will assume the position of both a child between the ages of two and five, and a political bigwig.

~*~

- If you are doing something interesting, I will butt in and do it with you until I am better at it than you are, unless you get bored with it and go on to do something else.  At this point I will change too and continue proving I am better than you are, until such a time that I fall asleep or a body of greater power comes along and stops me.

- Hello, I see you’re new to this neighbourhood!  See this kid/country here?  This is my friend.  You can’t play with us until you provide evidence that you have a stash of Smarties/Weapons of Mass Destruction.  That’s just how it works.  Ok?

- If you push me, I will not ask you why you pushed me, I will just go ahead and push you back.  I will continue fighting with you for no underlying reason until such a point where a body of greater power intervenes or one of us starts crying.  If there is no body of greater power around, then I guess we are both fucked.

- Hey!  Where did you get that ball/space exploration equipment?  That is MINE.  Not going to give it up?  Fine, I’ll just ask my mum to go and buy me one, and if that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll just draw a picture of it and put it against my bedroom window so you’ll think I have one, then you won’t want yours any more!  HA!  No wait… easier yet… I’ll get the other kid down the road to steal it for me.  Yeah.

- Where did you get that money?  What?!  You found it on the ground?  Well, then it’s my money, because I dropped it yesterday, and no, I won’t tell you where because I don’t have to prove myself to you.  Not going to give it up?  FINE!  I’ll tell my mom/the media!

- So you want to play our game?  I don’t know whether or not you’re allowed - you’ll have to ask the leader.  What do you mean he already told you to ask me?  I’m not the leader so it’s not my problem… go ask… somebody else, OK? ‘Bye!!!

- If you see a tree full of apples and think it’s pretty, you’re wierd/left wing.  Me?  I see a tree full of apples, I get my dad to chop it down and bring it home.  I’ll then pick all the apples, shout; ‘I’m going to turn you into poo!’ and eat every last one without sharing with you, just because I can.  And you know what else?  If I feel sick afterwards I will come and throw up all over you because it’s your fault for not stopping me.  So there.

~*~

There you have it.  My stab at politics.  I know now, that when I read a headline in the papers like:

“Ahern insists he will stay on until 2012″

I’ll know to translate it roughly as…

“Bertie needs a nap.”

Beat that, Marx-y baby!  I finally understand…

Rainy day boredom + 4B Graphic pencil + mirror=

This is what I almost look like.

 (Actual letter from a little girl on a Quantas flight) 

Why medicine cabinets were invented:

Serious tempatation:

This cereal tastes different somehow…

…and the overall ‘Little Bollix’ award goes to:

You’ve read, I’m sure, plenty of material on this here Bloggysphere slating Pat the Plank and his Late Late show.  When I moved into this here house of no cable, let’s just say that the Late Late show wasn’t a sorely missed programme.

Tonight is different though.  Tonight, there will be a tribute song of epic proportions for our most loved singer Ronnie Drew and I am pretty sore about missing it.  Written by Robert Hunter of Grateful Dead fame with Bono, The Edge and Simon Carmody, the song will be performed by U2, Sinead O’Connor, Kila, Christy Moore, Andrea Corr, Moya Brennan, Shane McGowan, Bob Geldof, Damien Dempsey, Gavin Friday, Jerry Fish, Paul Brady, Paddy Casy, Mick Pyro from Republic of Loose, Mundy, Chris de Burgh, Ronan Keating, Jack L, Eleanor Shanley, Mary Black, Declan O’Rourke, Mary Coughlan, The Dubliners and The Chiftains!  I mean seriously… barring one or two lemons from this bunch, my cup overfloweth!

Ronnie is a smooth Irish folk singer with a unique honey-sweet gruff Orish voice whos beard is now a household name.  Born in Dublin in 1934, he spent a spell in Spain teaching English and learning flamenco guitar before returning home and forming the well known band ‘The Dubliners’ with Luke Kelly, Barney McKenna and Ciaran Bourke.

Ronnie himself was originally to be part of this crew, but is unfortunately a very sick man.  Diagnosed with Throat Cancer in November 2006, he is fighting strong in typical stubborn Irish form;  He has appeared a few times on the Late Late and was interviewed on Ryan Confidential sadly missing his signature beard in 2007. He was due to perform his comeback ‘Legends of Irish Folk’ concert in June of the same year which was sadly thwarted by the death of his wife, Deirdre. 

Ronnie is truly a legend, and his music will live on for all time in the eyes of us Irish.  In Bono’s words:

“The idea was that we would all try to write a song for Ronnie to sing, but then it changed to writing a song about Ronnie himself. Ronnie is like the King of Ireland, and we are his subjects. This is a big fight for him. But like any fighter, it’s easier if there’s a crowd cheering.”

The Accidental Terrorist himself even claims that Ronnie turned up for many a session at his his dads grandmothers house in Monkstown. 

The song will be released on CD from the 29th of February with all proceeds going to The Irish Cancer Society at Ronnies Request.  Fair play to him, and long live the King.

Late Late Show.  RTE1 tonight. 9.30pm.  Turn on, tune in, and cop out.  Man I never thought I’d say those words…

Let’s hope the Plank doesn’t fuck it up!

Addendum in hindsight:

I’ve just found a link to the song’s download: HERE

I’m annoyed.  It’s really nothing new, just a standard Irish tune that happily garnishes itself in the usual cheezy dip.  I stopped downloading when I heard Shane McGowan sing “Awatch inyer win nerinall, Willer yer eyes in yer willer prin schwimmer…”.  I nearly puked with embarrassment.  *sigh*  Oh well.  I’ll buy the single anyway, it might grow on me.

I’m now happily back in the world of not missing television one little bit…

I had a bloody interesting conversation with a litter warden a few days ago.  It was the sort of conversation that left me thinking, the sort of conversation that could even be excellent thesis material.  It went something like this:

-Why is it that we Irish insist on emptying our ashtrays out of our car windows, even though we’re proud of our country?

-Why is it that we keep smoking even through the drastic price hikes and the knowledge that it’s killing us?

-Why do we keep speeding on our roads when we know we’re putting ourselves and others in grave danger?

-Why do we have appalling statistics for underage drinking?

I’ll tell you why.  It’s because we Irish are born rebels.  Rebellion still flows through our veins; we have, after all, only been independant for just over two generations.  It’s a latent feeling that we don’t deserve to be spoken down to, to be ruled by anyone other than ourselves.  We want to be our own boss and have ample intelligence to know what is or is not good for us.

Moreover, I bet if somebody was to analyse statistics, they might find similar trends in other historically supressed countries.

The people holding the purse are worried and embarrased.  They want to stop us from killing ourselves and prepetuating our bad reputation, but they are unfortunately going about it the wrong way entirely.

We are sick and tired of people in authority wagging their chubby fingers at us and shouting ‘NO, NO, NO!’  Price hikes aren’t working.  Restrictions aren’t working either.  Fines are possibly the worst way to solve this problem… they just fatten the hate and disrespect.

You know what the government should be doing?  They should be re-inforcing the original Irish pride, yes, the stuff they named the sliced pan after!  For example, the litter warden I was talking to doesn’t hand out fines to litter offenders.  She goes to the source.  She encourages school kids to take part in recycling programmes, gets them to pick up the rubbish on the streets left there by their ignorant elders.  They see the fruits of their hard work and they are proud kids.  She is respectfully teaching them instead of punishing them.  It’s so simple.

Wouldn’t it be radical for bill board posters to say something like…

‘Go ahead and speed if you want to, but you’re killing your own people.  Your ancestors fought for their freedom, so why undo their hard work?’

Or

‘Congratulations, thanks to you and your fellow Irish people, Ireland could have the lowest rate of alcohol related deaths in the world!’

Instead of supressing our kids, we should be encouraging them!  Don’t tell them they’re stupid for drinking, tell them that they are the much-needed brains of our future.  Ask them with respect to preserve those brains, and listen to their needs for alternative entertainment during their wilderness years.  Respect goes a lot further than bullying, but I’m afraid bullying is the only tactic being used these days.  Our government seems to have lost faith in us, in our ability to take care of ourselves.

We Irish need to learn how to respect ourselves, to re-kindle the pride.  We should stop whingeing about the government and infecting our young’uns with hatred, and take matters into our own hands for we are indeed big and ugly enough. 

Coincidentally, I’m listening to ‘Warning’ by Incubus at the moment.  Brandon Boyd just sang these words to me:

“I suggest we learn to love ourselves before it’s made illegal”

Guess who’s birthday it is today!!!

I’ll give you a clue:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLD FART!

… Who’s the most likely candidate for a thrashing from the fashion police of them all?

There’s a ship over there; out at sea, out of reach
Though I’ve stood on her deck once or twice.
It sails its free course; while here on my beach,
The people seem bound by advice.

There’s word on the street of this boat out at sea
How the blazes and curses burn wild!
Their fear and distrust is too heavy for me,
I revolt by the phrase of a child.

How loud they proclaim that I’m burning my hands
While their courage is turning to ice,
And I know faith of heart drives me out of these sands
By my trust, not some dangerous vice.

Such promise I see on that wind-swept ship,
How the sun turns her splinters to gold.
And I watch as the waves kiss each climax and dip
While the sails let old secrets unfold.

If I swim out to sea like I’ve done once before
Will they cannon her stern out of fear?
Should I wallow in incubus here on the shore
I know courage would soon dissapear.

Too long did I stay as I pondered my fate
For I see the horizon’s in flames,
So as Zion is lost through a watery gate
I start to search for yet another bright idea…

Addendum; Ummm, it’s been pointed out to me that I should probably take some sort of credit for this blah.  Indeed and I did not rip it off the internet.  I take full shame and responsibility for I did write it my very own self.

The following is taken from the book ‘211 Things a Bright Boy Can Do’ by Tom Cutler.  All information taken directly from the book is marked by quotations, otherwise the material is summarised by Yours Truly.

1. This is the well known trick of slicing a banana without peeling it.  If you stick a needle through a dark spot and rotate it sideways repeating on the opposite side, then do the same at various intervals, you’ll have an unpeeled sliced banana.  Leaking is involved, so it’s best to have this trick prepared in advance.  “You can leave it in the fruitbowl for an unsuspecting victim, or pretend to cut it with an invisible knife, before peeling it yourself.  Children find this particularly mysterious.”
2. Get two blindfolded partyfolk to feed each other bananas.  “This can be highly amusing, as you might suppose, and there are many interesting variations possible - which I will leave to your imagination.”
3. There is a trick you can do with either a peeled hard-boiled egg or a (partly peeled) banana, a wide-necked bottle, and a piece of burning paper.  The idea is to block the neck with the foodstuff of your choice, trapping the flame inside.  The fires need for oxygen should then suck the banana inside, thus peeling it for you.  “But, in all my years of trying this interesting sounding stunt, I have never made it work.  The amount of energy required for the job is apparently just too great.  Nevertheless in the spirit of scientific enquiry, you could try it yourself.”
4. Planning a boring day out with relatives in a stately home?  Conceal a banana up your sleeve and keep a hold of the top part with thumb and forefinger.  As you pass a small tree, turn your back to the relatives and grab a small branch, pinching the banana against it.  “With great seriousness, draw people’s attention to it saying: ‘It’s amazing what grows here now.  It must be global warming.’  Pretend to tear the banana off, then peel it and eat it.  Gets a laugh every time.”

Mr. Cutler then follows with a wee snipped of banana trivia; “A 1982 law forbade joking about Zimbabwean president Canaan Banana’s name.”

As my own personal number 5, I would like to offer Baino’s further suggestion as it is a classic… “they’re handy for demonstrating the application of a condom!”