K8 the GR8

I had two budgies until recently.  The blue one was a male called Waldorf, and the yellow one a girl; Sunny.  Sunny flew away when I accidentally left the window open two days ago.  I wandered around the road a bit to feel like I was doing something constructive, knowing all along that she is most likely fucked.

Waldorf was very quiet yesterday.  Today though, I see that he’s bought in a 6 pack and now appears to have a tiny hash plant and an ugly leather chair in his cage.  That didn’t take long. 

I’m writing this post just in case Sunny has found her way into a house somewhere and has found an internet connection.  If she finds this post maybe she’ll be more inclined to come home and kick his ass. 

There’s an arts group here in Wicklow that encourages local talent and gives a leg up to poets, artists and musicians alike.  Their ‘Space Inside’ magazine can be found free on various shop counters around Wicklow and advertises local theatre, exhibitions and various music shows with the odd book review thrown in.  The group also holds a ‘Live Night’ on the first Wednesday of every month down at the Sailing Club in Wicklow Town.  It comes with my badge of approval.  (Jefferson Davis, I’m still mulling over your email… I think this place would be well worth a visit on your travels!)

I’ve been meaning to drop down to one of these live nights, but somehow never got around to it until last night.  I was so glad I went, and will certainly be going again. It was fantastic, and this particular session drew a large crowd because of a promised performance by local singer heroine Robyn Kavanagh of ‘You’re a Star’ fame, so the atmosphere was electric.

The evening started with dimmed lights and poetry.  Various people stood up and read their pieces while the audience listened and basked in the atmosphere.  Heaven knows how the eight year old Robyn-devotees up at the front row stayed still for so long- perhaps it was a testiment to the quality of the poetry?

After a short break, a young lad named Neil Tierney sat down with his guitar and began to play the most capturing music, it was Jazz-Blues style, but what made it so unique was the rhythm he incorporated into the music by thumping the body of his guitar while demonstrating extremely complicated finger-styling at the same time.  It was seriously hypnotic, seeming as though there were seven musicians playing instead of just one - he held the audience in the palm of his hand and recieved an ovation at the end of his set.  I’d seriously recommend you keep an ear out for this chap- his music is a feast for the senses.

Suddenly the room filled to capacity and I knew it was Robyn’s turn.

I hadn’t heard her sing before, not having RTE at home, but I had heard rumours that she was a great singer with a strong chance of winning this ‘You’re a Star’ extravaganza.  I had also heard vicious rumours circulating regarding her ‘knacker’-like accent, and was curious to hear her speak. 

The strange thing about Ireland is the enigma that is the changing accent.  Once you’ve gotten used to the Cork accent for example (which is no mean feat), you could travel thirty miles up the road and find yourself listening to completely different intonations.  You have the sing-song style Kerry accent, which sounds worlds apart from your northern lilts, and Wicklow is just as unique. 

I found it hard at first to understand the Wicklow accent, it’s like somebody a long time ago told Wicklonians to choose two notes and see-saw each word around them… remember the ‘Pirates of Penzance’ song; ‘I am the very model of a model major general’?  Wicklonians sing their words much the same way.  Once you’ve become accustomed to it, it’s quite pleasant to listen to.

Robyn’s speaking voice is possibly the cream on top of this accent.  It’s pure and sweet and innocent and absolutely nothing like the accent of a traveller, and trust me, I speak from good authority here.  Those that choose to make fun of the way Robyn speaks truly haven’t a clue.

She launched into ‘Feeling Good’, and ‘Natural Woman’, and though her nervous voice faultered slightly on lower notes, the power behind her voice at the emotionally laden choruses was awesome.  The girl has the sort of voice that makes your breath catch, and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up.  She smiled after the song and fidgeted nervously.

“I’m going to sing Summertime, now, so I am…” 

She smiled shyly while I wondered how on earth such a young innocent would pull off such a tough song.

Robyn did indeed pull this off in such a way that if you were to close your eyes, you could imaging Ella Fitzgerald herself, sitting on a stairwell nursing a bottle of Gin and singing with her tortured soul wide-open.  Robyn Kavanagh is a girl that sweats talent, and I’m starting to think that if she doesn’t win this ‘You’re a Star’, it’s because she’s far too good for it.  Kudos to her, I know she’ll go far.

Sorry, but I just have to jump on the band wagon here, because I’d love to know why people are getting their knickers in a twist about the standard of blogs.

I don’t understand… when we sit down to write a post and suddenly realise that it’s not going to make headlines or make a huge difference to the world, should we just give up?  I thought blogging was a skill, much like journalism.  Was John Waters a child prodigy?  Did Kathy Foley always write such excellent articles?  I’m thinking not.  I’m thinking that they started at the bottom of the ladder much like the rest of us.  If somebody came along and slagged their work from the offset would it have been helpful to their careers?  Would they have cried into their pillows at night, or just ignored it?

I’m wondering if these journalists are fearing for their futures… I certainly don’t buy newspapers as often as I used to because I find everything I need, right here on the blogs.  Sure, it’s biased to an extent and it’s un-censored, but at least I feel like I’m getting a far wider picture.  Newspapers won’t publish certain items of news for political reasons or just because they aren’t interesting enough, but blogs sure as hell will.  Perhaps journalists will soon become obsolete?  I don’t know, but I don’t care.  I do hope that blogging remains as it is- common folk with open minds, a tap into the underworld that is humanity.

Perhaps it’s jealousy?  I can certainly recognise the green-eyed monster with regard to Twenty Major.  He scored a hat trick and published a book, fair dues to him!  If the rest of us feel like we can’t overtake him on the fast lane, why sit behind him and flash our lights angrily?  Why tell him to his face that his work is shite?  I might be naive, but I can definately recognise the bigger man in this situation.  Hey, if the material isn’t to your taste, then don’t bloody read it.  A DIY colonic irrigation would be a far better way of spending your time by the sounds of things.

And hey - so what if the standard of Irish blogging is lower than our American counterparts?  Isn’t it all starting to sound like conversations on a playground?  Is there somebody out there who is making a balanced decision by reading every single one of the 2,000+ Irish blogs?  I don’t think so.  I think there are a serious amount of posts written by bloggers all over the world that are slipping past the bar, like this one.  Okay so it’s not political, but… what’s that expression about the hand that rocks the cradle again?

Who are they to judge?  Who are we to judge?  Shouldn’t we all skip the bullshit and join forces? 

I’m aware that this is a crap post, just a meaningless rant, but to those oh-so topical journalists out there who also know that you’re only as good as your last article, um… keep writing… you’re bound to make sense eventually.

First of all, I’d like to thank Sue Doe Nim from the heart of my bottom for recognising that it is tough work growing up a relatively normal person given the fact that my parents are both complete nutters.

I’d also like to thank her for this:

It gives me warm fuzzies to think my printed brain farts are making a difference to her day!

I’m going to pass it on to ten of you fellow brain-farters, just because your blogs cheer me up and get my cogs grinding.  Youz all rock so you doez.

Baino, because I’m raging you live so far away and the Blog Awards gave me a hankering to share a drink with you.
Hailey, for being real in all senses of the word!
English Mum, because I love your blog and your Bert.
Jenny, because your posts are always interesting and I like the way you think.
Manuel, because I like the cut of your jib.
Hairyfish, you are the King of funny quickies!
Dad, because you could do with some iron, and you’re my bloggy idol as well as my reality idol!
Medbh, for keeping it real and because you’re so pretty.
Moo-Dog, because I can’t believe I haven’t discovered your genius earlier!
and
Brian, because you were there from day one :)

I’ve noticed, though, that the award itself is very pretty.  While us ladies love this sort of thing, I’m worried that the blokes will think it a little too… umm… ‘quaint’.  So for you gents who would prefer something slightly more butch, I give you this:

This next meme is from Brian who I would also like to thank because his meme is easy-peasy and da’cent craic.

Four jobs I’ve held:
-Pharmacy Technician (Unqualified! I lied my ass off to get that job)
-Dunnes Stores Checkout girl
-Pint puller in a hotel near Bray
-P.A. to the M.D. of a glazing company (This sounds impressive, but there were just two of us working for the company.  Christmas parties were really quiet.)

Four movies I’ve watched over and over again:
-The Snapper
-The Power of One
-Stand by Me
-The Labyrinth

Four places I’ve been:
-Stonehenge
-Skinnydipping in the sea on a Donegal beach at night-time surrounded by thousands of tiny glowing swimming ameoba
-In a cave in France with a candle and my dad, surrounded by bats, cavepaintings, and huge white spiders
-Trabolgan (exotic, ooooo!)

Four places I’ve lived:
-Dun Laoghaire
-Kilpeddar
-Wicklow Town
-Terenure
(Not too well-travelled, me)

Four tv shows I watch:
-The Shield
-The Wire
-Weeds
-Sopranos

Four radio shows I listen to:
-Ray D’Arcy (Today FM)
-Jenny Huston’s The Waiting Room
-Rick O’Shea (2FM) and I’m not ‘just saying’ that because he’s a bloggerer!
-Matt Cooper’s The Last Word

Four things I look forward to:
-Moving house
-The smell of the first lawn-cut of the summer
-Having money to spare again
-Brushing out the dog’s winter coat

Four favourite foods:
-Prawn Curries
-Black Olives
-Spreadable Chocolate Sauce
-Chili Con Carne

Four places I’d rather be:
-Living in my new house
-Thailand
-In the pilot seat of an F14 fighter jet
-Camping in the Grand Canyon

Four people I email regularly:
-Me aul ‘fla
-My buddy Lou
-The Chairman of the local resource group I belong to
-Mathilde, an ex-French student of ours

The rules say that I have to pass this meme on to four people, then comment on their blogs to let them know.  I am however, in Sue-Doe-Nim style, going to break the last part of this rule because I’m on a dial-up connection which has to be disconnected now for the good of my bank balance.  Don’t worry though, I’ll be reminding you in due course…

I pass this meme forward to Me Mammy, Eire Rules, Jenny in her Living Room, and Curly K!  Have fun, ladies!

How excellent the Blog Awards were last night!

Best Bud attended, probably expecting a real geekshow, but was so obviously impressed by the crowd, the presenter, and the humourarse George Dubya preludes.  Not to mention her winning a DVD player!  ‘*sigh* I never win anything…’ came from her disillusioned lips just as her numbers were called out.

You know what was the strangest part?

Normally at a party, you’ll find yourself gazing upon a sea of unfamiliar faces.  You look at a person and wonder what their story is, so you talk to them to find out.  Last night, however, I felt like I knew at least half of the people quite well already from reading their blogs, but I had no idea how to tie these personalities to the faces!  Name badges were supplied, but a dry-wipe board in one corner of the room would’ve helped- a blank grid perhaps, with the heading: ‘Who are you and what are you wearing?!?!’   Sincere thanks to the bloggers who came over and chatted to me, for I was painfully shy!

There were, however, some people who had no need for nametags at all at all…

‘Isn’t he sooo pretty?’

I stuck by Hails and her sister and together we gazed at tits at a vague attempt to read the small print, but it was pretty tough going - this would explain my uncharacteristic rapture at recognising Medbh thanks to her patent yellow slingbacks, then my double rapture to find she was chatting to Gimme.  I truly apologise to the poor bloke they were talking to for interrupting their conversation so unbelievably rudely!

I had to split shortly after before my ballgown turned back into a Van Halen t-shirt at the stroke of midnight and TAT turned back into a badger.

I hope there aren’t too many heads suffering from backwards rollercoaster syndrome today.

Me?  I am a little delicat…

(for the record, I swear this picture is not photoshopped!)