slang and the pigeons

moving

2007-12-07T21:30:00.001Z

All the content from here, (and some new stuff besides) is now mirrored over at The Boo Galaxy.

La bibliothèque Gusteau.

2007-11-15T10:06:00.000Z

FRENCH CUSTOMER: Hello. There are two books I can't find on the shelf.

LIBRARY GUY: Tell me the titles and I'll see if I can find them. (Consulting online catalogue:) Here, you see. Both of those books are out on loan. One is due back the day after tomorrow and the other one is due back next week. Here's how you can look up the due dates yourself.

FRENCH CUSTOMER: Okay, thanks.

LIBRARY GUY: Wait, I can put a hold request on those books in your name. That way, we'll keep the books for you when they come in, notify you by email and you can come in and collect them.

FRENCH CUSTOMER: Thank you very much. This is a great service. French libraries don't do this for their borrowers.

LIBRARY GUY: Don't they?

FRENCH CUSTOMER: Irish libraries are much better than French libraries.

LIBRARY GUY: I don't know about that, but at least in France they have proper food.

FRENCH CUSTOMER: C'est vrai.

Sharing the love.

2007-10-10T10:34:00.000Z

Hi. I'm having trouble finding a book. I don't know the title or the author. It's about geography and it has a blue cover.

I'm doing my thesis on the works of Flann O'Brien. Why can't all his books be in the same place? It doesn't matter if some of them are in different languages. I don't see why I should have to walk 20 feet to get a book just because it happens to be under a different classification. What the hell is wrong with you people?

Could you please ignore the line of people trying to borrow books for a moment, and just look something up on Google for me for a second? It's perfectly okay, you see: I'm a Ph. D. student.

I'm going to be a lawyer next year, and I'd like you to look up this citation for me. When I qualify, I'm going to have a secretary to do that for me, so why should I waste my time now?

Yes, I'd like to request a book that's on order. It says the publication date is March 2008. Is there any chance you'll be getting it in the next couple of weeks?

This is just not good enough. Why can't I get one of the only two extant copies of a manuscript from 1624 that's being kept in a sealed chamber in British Columbia by tomorrow? Why does my department have to pay for it? Why can't I just get it for free?

I don't have to pay a fine on this book, because the label clearly states that the fine is 30 pence per day, and we've been using the euro since 1999.

Look, it's perfectly okay. Contact my department. I realise it looks a bit dodgy going out a side exit with a bunch of expensive library books in my hand, but there's a perfectly rational explanation. I'm a Ph. D. student, you see.

I can't remember his name, but he wrote a report about fisheries in the 1970s sometime and I think he may have worked here. I don't know the title of the report or the name of the author. Can you find it for me?

I was supposed to meet a friend of mine here. Have you seen him? His name is Michael and he's from Cork.

I'd like to order a book. Here are the details. The book is already on order? Yes, I realise that. I would like to order it for when they're finished with it. I think their name is Starkmann. It says Starkmann there, under "vendor". Vendor means the person borrowing the book, doesn't it?

Yes, I know the book was on 3 hour desk reserve. But I'm a Ph. D. student.

I live in Limerick. I would like your library to get a 348-page thesis from Dublin on interlibrary loan for me. Since I won't be able to come in to collect it, could you fax me the thesis please?

Could you please organise the library tours for another time? They're very distracting. I can't even hear the person I'm talking to on my mobile.

What do you mean the book is out of print and unavailable from every supplier you've tried? I'm a staff member, doesn't that count for anything?

Shelf number: 306.7662 BUT

2007-09-20T07:44:00.000Z

Thirty years ago...

2007-09-17T21:20:00.001Z

I was on a plane to France
when we heard the news.
About Zinc Alloy and his motorway blues.
He got too close to some old tree
And now the boy is history.

But history is no bad thing,
As we shall hear, and he'll still sing:

Remembered, feted, not forgot
Or left behind to ruin and rot -
Infected with his boogie flu
The youth today can jive, and do
Electrically they jive anew
They jive, and yes, they boogie too.

They hear the words - like these, they're dumb
But leavened with his Les Paul strum
And still those words ring, clear and light

Because we love to boogie

We love to boogie

We love to boogie
On a Saturday night.

Thus We Refute Darwin, #3,422.

2007-09-10T14:02:00.001Z

Customer: I'd like to get an interlibrary loan please. How long would it take?

Dogsbody: An interlibrary loan? Typically, about a week to ten days.

Customer: That long? I wouldn't be able to get one by tomorrow?

Dogsbody: Er, no. Unless you can find a library anywhere that could get a book to us by tomorrow.

Customer: Oh - you mean the books actually come from other libraries?

I want my, I want my, I want my N. D. E.

2007-09-10T13:15:00.000Z

THE BIG GUY: I definitely don't feel well. But now I seem to be floating... floating... up to the ceiling. Yes, I'm up on the ceiling looking down on some fat fella... oh. That's me. I've definitely looked better. But what's that up there? A glowing white light... a light of uncommon purity. And who's that coming out of the light?

GOD: Hello Luciano. Are you ready to come home?

THE BIG GUY: Is that... really you, God?

GOD: Most certainly.

THE BIG GUY: Has anyone ever told you you look a lot like Marianne Faithfull?

GOD: I do get that sometimes, yes.

THE BIG GUY: So... so this is it, I suppose.

GOD: "It"?

THE BIG GUY: The end. The end of my life on earth and the beginning of... I don't know, really.

GOD: "Life everlasting", you mean?

THE BIG GUY: Well, I suppose that's up to you, isn't it? I get judged on the good and the bad I've done, and if the balance turns out right, I go up to heaven. And if not, I suppose I get sent to... that other place.

GOD: "Other place"?

THE BIG GUY: You know, the place Down Below. With all the fire and brimstone and multiple piercings and eternal punishment and heavy metal records played backwards.

GOD: I don't think there's any fear of that, Luciano my dear boy. You've done plenty of good in your time. You've raised money for charity. You've uplifted and inspired people with your music. You've kept thousands of restaurants financially solvent. Have no fear, when the time comes you'll be coming up to Heaven along with all the other bright shining souls. We are short a few tenor voices in the celestial choir, after all.

THE BIG GUY: "When the time comes?"

GOD: Well, this is it, you see. You've been a great example to the rest of humanity and now here you are, terminally ill, in pain, living out your last few days. The least I can do is give you a little slack time. I think it's only fair that you get time to end your days with a sense of noble finality, blessed with the knowledge that when you finally do pop your clogs, you'll be up here with me for the rest of eternity.

THE BIG GUY: So my time has not yet come?

GOD: Oh, it'll come sooner rather than later. It's up to you, really. All I'm offering is a few days at the most, to say goodbye to your family, friends and loved ones.

THE BIG GUY: Well, that's wonderful. So I can stay a few more days, put a full stop to the sentence and make a dignified end to my life, is that it?

GOD: If you want. Or you can come with me now if you prefer.

THE BIG GUY: That's a very kind offer. But I've made my peace with everyone. I've been unwell for over a year now and it's no picnic, but I've been a lucky man in life. I've had a good family, plenty of friends. I've said goodbye to them all, really.

GOD: Well, what about that Irish fellow you used to hang around with?

THE BIG GUY: You... you mean Bono?

GOD: Yes, indeed. Good old Bono. Lovely boy.

THE BIG GUY: Bono's back down there waiting for me?

GOD: It looks as though he might even start singing, any minute.

THE BIG GUY: All right, God. You can take me now then.

Four minutes and thirty three seconds.

2007-07-19T14:36:00.000Z

"I have spent many pleasant hours in the woods conducting performances of my silent piece... for an audience of myself, since they were much longer than the popular length which I have published. At one performance... the second movement was extremely dramatic, beginning with the sounds of a buck and a doe leaping up to within ten feet of my rocky podium."

- John Cage: Silence: Lectures and Writings.

Best? Episode? Ever?

2007-05-31T15:13:00.000Z

Alan Moore to guest star on the Simpsons.

(July update: Daniel Clowes and Art Spiegelman will be appearing too.)

Seen and not seen.

2007-05-03T11:58:00.000Z

Seen: Mark Eitzel in The Crane last night. No complaints there; in spite of a couple of unwelcome technical hitches, Eitzel is still an absolute genius. Why? Because when the PA starts acting funny, he stands away from the mic and sings and plays without any amplification whatsoever. The songs actually have more impact that way (though there are probably not many places where you could get away with it). And Clive Barnes, who played support, was fine too. (Here's an old interview with Eitzel by Dave Eggers.)

Not seen: I've got an artsfest, you've got an artsfest, everybody's got an artsfest. But the Drogheda Arts Festival, happening this May Bank Holiday Weekend, is the only one that has Terry Riley playing at it. (With his young fella on guitar, no less.) Sadly, chances are slim that I'll be able to go.

OB-seen: ...But I bet the tickets will be a lot cheaper than the upcoming Streisand gig in Kildare. (There are a lot of very useful and practical things you can buy for 550 euros, thank you very much.)

"Pirates of the Corribean," it says here...

2007-04-27T08:40:00.000Z

The Galway Early Music festival, with a hey-nonny-no and a fol-de-rol and a couple of howsyourfathers. A quick look at the programme shows that they'll be putting on a few things here in Queen's College as well as around ye olde towne.

Real old-skool stuff, from back in the long-ago days when you could drink the water...

Songs for swinging scribblers.

2007-04-23T10:36:00.000Z

Nenagh's favourite son, Julian Gough, has just scooped up the British National Short Story prize for his short story The Orphan and the Mob. (Link is to the full story, now amn't I too good to you?)

Gough is not only the author of the darkly comic and brilliantly human novel Juno and Juliet, he also used to be the singer of Toasted Heretic - the rock and roll band that the Tayto man doesn't like.

And yes, the band's original site is down, and typing doubleyou-doubleyou-doubleyou dot toastedheretic dot com now redirects you to Gough's own site. Presumably because the evil Tayto man said so.

Shame on you, Tayto man.

Last week I met one of those proper writer people, one of those people who actually makes money for writing words that real people actually read on paper, and 'twas far away from them fecken blogs he was raised. He was on his way to a launch and asked me to come along, but for one reason or another I couldn't do it. Pity, because it was the opening of an ongoing exhibition of the work of Joe Boske - the German-born artist whose posters, prints and general visual flair have made Galway a damn interesting place to live in for the past couple of decades and a half.

What was it they used to say back in my college days? Drink Guinness and the world looks like it was created by Flann O'Brien. Smoke dope and the world is like something out of a Freak Brothers comic. Take mushrooms and it's not unlike living in one of Joe Boske's fabulously fantasmagorical arts festival posters from way back when. That's what I heard, anyway.

The Works (Images 1972-2007) is running in the Arts Centre on Dominick Street, and if in the locality, you should do your third eye a favour.

A foodie blog for the rest of us?

2007-04-15T09:20:00.000Z

A lip-smackingly good guide to diners, greasy spoons and caffs throughout the UK? Or maybe just a excuse for a bit of breakfast porn? Any road up, Egg Bacon Chips and Beans is fascinating stuff. (Yes, I said breakfast porn).

(Sigh.) The proverbial heart attack on a plate.

(Those links are safe for work as long as no-one minds you drooling over fetching shots of high-cholesterol yumminess.)

Discovered via the ever excellent London blog, Diamond Geezer.

Lonesome no more.

2007-04-12T14:14:00.000Z

Somehow it seemed appropriate, on learning this morning of Kurt Vonnegut's death, to go and put my hands on some of his books as soon as possible. One of the advantages of working in a library is that you can do that straight away. So I did. I got ten of his books off the shelf and piled them up on my own desk.

As co-workers walked past me they'd take note of the pile of books. Some had heard of him, some had read one or two of his books. Some hadn't but asked about him our of curiosity. Since they weren't really my books, a couple of people even took a book with them, to read or maybe just to skim. But that's good, I guess.

I suppose it's strange to be typing away with a lump in my throat for someone I never actually met. But from the age of 12 onwards Vonnegut and his simple, brilliant stories and novels were a major influence on my life, and the lives of many of my generation and background. I once became friends with someone simply because we'd struck up a conversation about the slogan on the back of their leather jacket - it read: "Schlachthof Funf".

If I were still a smoker, I would have probably sparked one up in memory of Mr. Vonnegut, who chain-smoked untipped Pall Mall most of his life. But, the little plastic nicotine inhaler is as far as I go these days. So instead I spent my lunch break reading his latest book, A Man Without A Country. Though not a "book" proper, more a collection of essays and speeches, it's as warm, funny, moving, bittersweet and ultimately human as anything he ever wrote. This particular bit jumped out at me.

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC
Fair enough.

We all dance the poot.

2007-04-04T12:52:00.000Z

The eyes in his head see the world spinning round.

2007-04-02T09:54:00.000Z

A bit of April-themed pleasantry from the Fab Four (cross fingers, hope this works).

One feels even more of a fool than usual, at this point, actually. Having got up early, done the usual shaveshowerquickcuppatea thing, and cycled into work on a gorgeous sunny morning. And then arrived to work only to realise that, as Dante Hicks once said, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"

Because, owing to an administrative snafu, I'm supposed to be taking my Easter holidays a week earlier than originally intended, and nobody bothered to tell me.

This isn't too bad, at the moment; all may yet be well. I'd had plans to head off somewhere, but they didn't materialise for one reason or another. Plus, the beauty of flexi-time is such that I now have an extra half day in my favour.

So now, a whole week (and a bit) to play with. Time for some spring cleaning I guess.

A blonde and a redhead I met down the pub...

2007-03-27T10:00:00.000Z

One meme, found around the place, several previous careful owners...

2007-03-27T09:54:00.000Z

1. Elaborate on your default icon.
(So I'm guessing this meme came from LiveJournal...)
Over at my (sparsely-updated) LJ page, the default icon is pinched from Magritte and I suppose serves as a kind of a comment on my current (and hopefully ongoing) abstinence from tobacco. Or maybe just because Magritte is cool. The Blogger eye-con on the profile page is just something I snapped with my webcam and posterised. (PhotoBooth, yet another great way to waste your time.)

2. What's your current relationship status?
Never you mind.

3. Ever have a near-death experience?
I'm still hoping for a near - life experience.

4. Name an obvious quality you have.
Helpful to a fault. Sometimes I end up doing three peoples' jobs for them.

5. What's the name of the song that's stuck in your head right now?
Do You Love An Apple? by the Bothy Band.

6. Any celeb you would marry?
Not particularly. I'd imagine that being married to a celebrity would be a complete bummer.

7. Who will cut and paste this first?
I will, then I'll hit the "publish" button and someone else will (hopefully) come along and cut and paste it themselves.

8. Name someone with the same birthday as you.
Jerry Hall, Lindsay Lohan and Larry David, apparently.

9. Do you have a crush on someone?
No.

10. Have you ever vandalised someone's private property?
Private, no.

11. Have you ever been in a fight?
Once or twice. Usually I can front my way out of a confrontation pretty well. You learn how to do that when you're short and not particularly strong.

12. Have you ever sung in front of a large audience?
Plenty of times. Then I go home, have a cup of tea, and go to bed. Just like everyone else.

13. What's the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Depends on the person really, but I'm first and foremost a leg man.

14. What do you usually order from Starbucks?
Starbuck's hasn't infested my part of the planet yet, praisethelord, but from my local emporium it's usually good old ground coffee. When I feel indulgent I might go for a big latte.

15. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose?
Banged head against the wall a few times, yes.

16. Say something totally random about yourself.
Somebody just asked if I was married.

17. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Yes, chiefly people who are blind as the proverbial bat. Because of the hair, I usually get Marc Bolan or Tiny Tim. :-P

18. BONUS QUESTION!
I'm just so gobsmacked at getting this bonus question I can't think of a question.

19. Do you have anything pierced?
Yes.

20. Do you have any tattoos?
No. Not anti-tattoo or puritanical about it, but I just don't care for them.

21. Do you like pain?
Not particularly. Try suffering a succession of dental abscesses, consequent septicemia, and a nagging dose of fibrocytis, and then tell me how much fun it is.

22. Do you like to shop?
It's a necessary evil I guess.

23. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
A nice big fat cup of coffee, and some custard creams.

24. What was the last thing you paid for with a credit card?
Some software.

25. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?
My bruvver.

26. What is on your desktop background?
A very pretty spaceship. Even my Trekkie mates agree that this one is prettier.

27. What is the background on your cell phone?
A picture I took at work.

28. Do you like redheads?
I'm forced to. Apart from myself and two of my brothers, just about everyone on both sides of the family is a redhead. No, red hair isn't an innately Celtic characteristic - it's something the Vikings gave us to remember them by. Thanks, lads. For that and the spam song.

Maybe we had a Spanish milkman, or something...

29. Do you know any twins?
Quite a few, come to think of it. Plus, I've been in relationships with two different girls who've been twins. Actually, there's an interesting story there I'll get to some other time.

30. Do you have any weird relatives?
Plenty. They make me look normal.

31. What was the last movie you watched?
Once. Not earth-shaking, but not bad either. The music is good, and Markéta is gorgeous.

32. What was the last book you read?
The Pythons' Autobiography By The Pythons.

...Jayzus, the class of spam we're getting these days...

2007-03-24T21:28:00.000Z

"You assume right. A concert it is-and now. We havent had any live he left, he made this recording. Told me to give it to you. Told me clue now to the whereabouts of the alien artifact. A clue that was be certain. Were not taking a chance on that. Lets show them what a pack of real rats can do! any possible tails the Admiral had put on me. I was risking my life-in and dropped onto the couch. Oh-so we have remembered it at last. Dont you want to know what it at war we seek only peace. We survive. They will kill themselves, but Applied technology, he said. Perhaps this lot isnt as bad as the Always good to meet a true fan. We all bowed now since this was not me as I fled. I was the last to arrive and I collapsed and joined the up, yawned and stretched. With great reluctance the sun had finally I thought you said computer? was my baffled response. have been thinking about the poison and counting the days before I"

But have no fear, darlingest lecteur. Spam is only a bad dream you had once, on a summer night when the lightningbugs throbbed outside your window and it was way past beddiebyes time. You are here, this is now; all is good. Feel no shame over the state of your inbox, for it is a clean and pristine place. The streets are safe. Honest. Really.

So, what's it going to be then, eh?

2007-03-21T11:12:00.000Z

Let's see, there's

or even the more obvious

but let's face it, the most accurate description of this particular bit of online muck you're reading would probably be more along the lines of

(Blog threat levels courtesy of sedition.com.)

Barr an mhaidin chugaibh...

2007-03-16T14:07:00.000Z

Where else could it happen, and at what better time than St. Patrick's weekend? At this writing, the water in my hometown is being tested for possible contamination with Cryptosporidium, so we've all been advised to boil water before using it - even before brushing our teeth. So there's been no coffee (because coffee urns don't boil water), no tap water, and I've had to be creative with the usual morning dental ablutions. I did my customary session at the gym this morning (40 minutes of cardio and some weights) and, cheap bastard that I am, I usually bring in an empty water bottle and top off from the water fountain. Today, though, I actually had to pay 90c for a litre bottle of Volvic... boo hoo.

Fortunately, this is occurring (ahem) at a time of the year when very little water will be consumed...

More importantly, tomorrow is my dad's birthday, he'll be 74 this year. Happy birthday, pops! :-)

Canal and street.

2007-03-15T09:17:00.001Z

Twenty-five days now...

2007-03-11T12:07:00.000Z

...without a cigarette that is. I never thought I could do it, but there you go. Now I just hope I can stay off the things for good.

I'm not completely out of the woods, mind. I'm using a nicotine inhaler, so there's still nicotine in my system, but I've been using it less and less. They say you're supposed to use between 6 and 12 cartridges a day, but I've been getting by with five at most. I do get cravings, but the inhaler keeps them at bay.

On one particular night I lost the inhaler in the pub, but got by fine that night and most of the next morning. Then, around 11 o'clock, coffee break time, I started feeling pangs that you wouldn't believe. Like hunger, but worse. Fortunately there was a chemist just around the corner, so I got myself another inhaler and topped up without any trouble.

People have said, btw, that the nicotine inhaler/cartridge thing is too expensive for them to even consider giving up. To which I smirk, with the newly-found zeal of the converted: Yeah, right. A week's supply costs 20-odd euros. A week's supply of tobacco (and I wasn't the heaviest smoker in the world) was at least three times that. Get real. I've already saved enough money for, say, a nice practice amplifier, or a decent external hard drive. Or maybe an ounce of top quality bud.

I'm definitely eating more - I actually have an appetite again. Fortunately I go to the gym every other day so I'll hopefully be able to keep any unwanted weight gain in check. And the benefits are most readily felt in the gym - I have loads more energy, though I sweated copiously the first few times after giving up cigarettes - must have been getting all the muck out of my system.

It's amazing how supportive people have been. Non-smokers and smokers alike. As I said before it's the prison break syndrome - you're making your bid for freedom and the other inmates are cheering you on. Believe me - I was a moderate to heavy smoker for just over thirty years. If I can do it, anyone can.

Hey, at least it gives me something to write about.

Many are called, but few are chosen, and a bloody good job too sez you.

2007-03-11T09:54:00.000Z

Time for you to meet some of my friends. People who make my life the immeasurably wonderful, bristling-with-possibilities thing that it is. With the aid of these fine folks, I would never have been able to improve my sex life, get myself a Ph.D. without even having to study, become rich beyond my wildest dreams (simply by depositing some money in a Nigerian bank for a few months), get cheap jewelry, medication and "handbag replicas" or "make [my] dick bigger than a (sic) Statue of Liberty..."

Where would any of us be without these fine people? Are they not truly the Florence Nightingales, the Mother Theresas, the Mahatma Gandhis even, of the interwebbity? For they keep our inboxes well provided with material that is often likened to a cheap, pork-based foodstuff much celebrated in Viking song. And all our lives are enriched tenfold, thanks to them.

Their nomenclature is somewhat distinctive also, because many of their names sound like the sort of multicultural hodgepodge delineated in cyberpunk fiction. Yet another sign of the dynamic, ever-changing world in which we live in. Here are some of them. Perhaps you too have encountered several of these people. Or you may run into them sometime in the future. If so, please pass on my sincere thanks to such sterling souls as:

Williemae Yoshie
Medusa Tynes
Rusty Berger
Alana Aguirre (As in "Wrath of God", eh? Just what spammers deserve I suppose.)
Cadwallader P. Hustings
Reginald
Lorenzo Martin
Bauer & Whitlock Fontenot
Dixon Marcelo
Louella Diaz
Emerson Lesley
Margret Felicia
Weston Delmer
Sophie Clayton Ragland
Pedro & Rigoberto
Eugenia Roxana (Got to be a porn star, this one.)
Gaye Kayla (Ditto.)
Sommer Delaine (Ditto ditto.)
Delfuego Borg
Miguel McCribben
Radhakrishnan Belmondo
Refugio Leblanc
The Vincent Marino

Thanks to these and many other fine people, my life has changed beyond all recognition. For now I amble around the place in bootleg designer clothes. My digits twinkle with cheaply obtained jewelry. My neck also is hung, festooned even, with cut-price bling. My libido has heightened to the degree where I now require several partners a day.

My eyes sparkle with pharmaceuticals purchased at knock-off prices. I hold three Ph. D.'s, five M. A.'s, two M. B. A.'s, and licenses to practise law, medicine and chartered accounting in most civilised countries. Sometime soon I shall be receiving bank draughts worth millions from several African financial institutions. And speaking of "hung", I can no longer wear short trousers, because my penis now reaches below my knee, and is as thick as my forearm.

With appy polly loggies to the divine Ms. W...

2007-03-01T12:34:00.000Z

(To the tune of REHAB by Amy Winehouse.)

They told us we could stay with Rahab
We said, "No, no, no."
They said "you gotta spy, give it a try,
Just go, go, go"

She used to be a pro
But that was before we took Jericho
And now we've put her in the Bible
So you'll know, know, know.
She said, "Just hide beneath this flax
I'll keep the soldiers off your backs"
She told them "Sorry, I ain't seen no spies today
They must have gone... that-a-way..."
So now we owe it all to Rahab,
Don't you know, know, know
She gave us all the skinny, so we could win
At Je-Rich-O
When Joshua blew his horn
That poor old wall was torn
Now she can get another job
And stop being a ho', ho', ho'.

(Joshua 2:1-27)

Mega thrill-power alert:

2007-02-22T12:17:00.001Z

2000AD - the comic that brought us Judge Dredd, Sláine, DR and Quinch, Nemesis the Warlock, Strontium Dog, Rogue Trooper, Ace Garp, Halo Jones, Zenith and many other masterpieces of sequential art and storytelling, the comic that introduced an unsuspecting world to the talents of Pat Mills, Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, Dave Gibbons, Peter Milligan, Neil Gaiman, Bryan Talbot, Massimo Belardinelli, Ian Gibson, Andy Diggle, Carlos Ezquerra, Alans Moore and Grant, Kevin O'Neill, Garth Ennis, Simon Bisley, and way too many more to mention, turns 30 today.

More hyper-scrotnig info at BBC News.

(Sigh.) It feels like only yesterday that fifteen-year-old me sat down, put on the radio, sipped a cup of coffee, and flipped through the pages of this most zarjaz piece of literary/pictorial wonderment. Before long I was a fully-paid-up Squaxx Dek Thargo. My mind has been irrevocably warped ever since, and I thank Tharg The Mighty himself for it.

Splundig Vur Thrigg!

With apologies to Messrs. Lennon, McCartney, Palin and Cleese.

2007-02-22T12:17:00.000Z

I bought me a bird
It cost five and two -
Norwegian Blue
She sat on her perch
And didn't stir
Shame about her

I prodded this parrot, and thought she might shuffle at least;
But she didn't move and I knew then that she was deceased

Went back to the shop
With parrot and cage
Half in a rage
They said it was "stunned -
After a squawk"
(Strange kind of talk)

I didn't agree but they said she just pined for the fjords
Then I pointed out that her feet had been nailed to the boards

Poor Polly's no more
Her plumage so fine
Has ceased to shine
They sold me a dud
Dead of the flu -
Norwegian Blue...

Trash the ash.

2007-02-15T15:32:00.000Z

I smoked my first cigarette when I was twelve. I'd pinched it from one of my parents. They both smoked, though they both gave up a few years later. I bought my first packet of cigarettes when I was fourteen: ten Carroll's. Sooner or later I settled on Major as my brand of choice - it was a guy thing. Major were the hard man's cigarette. Deceptively mild tasting but strong as fuck. I got a weekend job in a local hotel (okay it was this place) when I was fifteen. We used to raid the night porter's stash for cigarettes and puff away on our breaks.

An older guy in school taught me how to blow smoke rings. Before we discovered the pub, cigarettes were the social lubricant. That was how you bonded with your friends at break time.

There were two types of people in the world: smokers and non-smokers. There was nothing wrong with non-smokers, of course. They just had less in common with us. They were, quite frankly, missing out on one of the great pleasures of life.

Cigarettes went well with everything. They took away that bloated feeling after a heavy meal. They were the perfect accompaniment to a cup of tea or coffee. Once we got a little older, we realised that cigarettes were also custom made for the pub. You'd take out your packet and leave it out next to your drink. In the same way that people bought rounds of drinks in turn, we also adopted the practise of "flashing the ash" - offering your cigs around to the general company, in the hope that everyone else would do the same when it came their turn.

Cigarettes went with beer, and they went with hash as well. Break up the ciggy, crumble in some hash, roll it all up in some papers and Pink Floyd or The Mighty Diamonds or The Cure would sound better. Sooner or later, we discovered that cigarettes went with sex as well as drugs and rock and roll. The shared cigarette after lovemaking was the utmost in intimacy, an act of mutual trust.

I gave them up for the better part of a year when I was in college. No cold turkey, no particular strategy, no patches or vile-tasting gum: I simply had no money and couldn't afford to smoke. After a couple of weeks, I began to feel the benefits. I'd been running and exercising and found I could get more out of it. I enjoyed food more. I enjoyed spending time with my (non-smoking) girlfriend more. I could sing better. I had more energy.

Then one day, before an exam, a friend offered me a cigarette. I was pretty nervous so I accepted. Before I knew it, I was back to my usual ration of ten to fifteen a day, as if the past year had never happened.

And that's been pretty much it ever since. I developed a preference for rolling my own; roll-ups weren't as full of chemicals and crap. I always thought it was funny when I'd produce the tobacco and papers in company with other smokers and they would offer me their "ready-mades", pitying me, as if rolling your own was a sign of poverty or embarrassingly plebeian. "Here, have a real cigarette," they would say, as though something made in a factory and dosed up with chemicals was more "real" than something you made yourself out of the raw materials.

I've always tried to maintain a reasonable level of fitness. Cycling, yoga, swimming, doing light weights. Whenever I went for a chest x-ray, my doctor would always tell me I had a good chest for a smoker. A couple of years ago they banned smoking in pubs where I live. I didn't mind. It even introduced a new social dimension. We'd head out in twos or threes for a puff. There'd be occasion to chat, to bond with other smokers. To get a bit of fresh air. To pull out the phone and grab silly pictures, viz:

We'd gravitate towards pubs that provided outdoor smoking areas with decent heat and shelter. Besides, the pubs were tidier now and didn't smell so bad.

And then I woke up one day and realised that cigarettes were running my life. What was once one of life's pleasures had become a compulsion. Fuck it: an addiction. Something that was ruining my health and compromising my will. Something that could make me cough so hard my guts would wrench, and then light up again straight afterward.

Reg is had been one of my smoke buddies. We work in the same place, and we meet up most Fridays for a few pints of the black stuff after work. We go out in tandem for ciggies. Well, we used to. Last autumn Reg got himself a nicotine inhaler and managed to wean himself off the cigarettes slowly but surely. And he hasn't gone near tobacco since. His life is demonstrably better. His wife has to find something else to nag him about. He doesn't feel guilty about nipping out for a cig when he should be playing with his kids.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I'm not particularly religious, but it's also National Non Smoking Day in this part of the world. I've said to Reg, as I've said to other friends trying to give up smoking, that whenever I see a friend giving up smoking, I feel exactly the same way as the inmates in the prison yard feel when they see someone making a break for the perimeter, trying to scale the fence even though guard dogs are nipping at their heels and heavy blokes in uniforms are taking potshots at them. I'm cheering them on. I'm hoping they make it.

And today, like Steve McQueen, Papillon, The Count Ov Minty Crusto, the fellas in Down By Law and all the rest of them, I'm making my bid for freedom.

I cannot tell a lie: I smoked two cigarettes this morning. Before I'd had anything to eat or even a cup of tea. I coughed myself silly. Then I threw out the rest of the fucking things. When break time comes around, I'm going down the street to the chemist and buying myself an inhaler. That's it.

So maybe this new blog of mine finally has a purpose after all: a chance to chronicle my escape from the nicotine prison. So be it.

Earlier I mentioned the older guy in school who taught me how to blow smoke rings. His name was Liam and he had the same last name as me. Everyone assumed we were related, though we weren't. He was a decent guy, and a very talented musician and actor.

Liam died of cancer before he was thirty. This post, and this desperate attempt to climb over the prison wall, is dedicated to him.

"sous le pave: la plage"

2007-02-02T09:42:00.000Z

Pavement art by Julian Beever.

Varieties of Unreligious Experience (via Blogs of Note).

How does Ry Cooder use iTunes? (via Kill Ugly Radio).

"No one knows... who they were... or... what they were doing."

2007-01-29T10:13:00.001Z

Well, we know a bit more now:

Neolithic site found near England's Stonehenge

LONDON (Reuters) - Evidence of a large settlement full of houses dating back to 2,600 BC has been discovered near the ancient stone monument of Stonehenge in southwest England, scientists said on Tuesday...

And I bet this one was never in danger of being crushed by a dwarf.

“You could easily picture this in the current top ten…”

2007-01-29T10:13:00.000Z

the-drift.net
Microsite dedicated to one of my favourite albums from last year, The Drift by Scott Walker.

One of the things that made the 20th century worthwile.

2007-01-24T17:07:00.001Z

(Er, besides jazz, rock, movies, literature, impressionism, universal sufferage, the twist, the theory of relativity, certain convenience foods, and most of the people I know.)

I Go Pogo. (via MeFi.)

By way of explanation for the January blues...

2007-01-24T17:07:00.000Z

What is this miraculous beverage of which they speak?
More info here.

Massive Attack - Daydreaming

2007-01-21T16:37:00.000Z

A good omen, but a sad loss too.

2007-01-20T23:51:00.000Z

First things first: the good omen. I spent most of the day lounging around, getting to grips with some new music software. (The fruits of this may even end up getting posted here. If they're any good.) Then headed out to this fine pub for a quiet pint or two. Bumped into my pal the Osh and listened to him talk to some folks about Munster's recent defeat in the rugby. Since I know absolutely nothing about rugby, I kept my mouth shut (for once).

At least, I kept my mouth shut until one of the bar staff came up and informed me that I'd won this week's bonus ball. In other words, we'd had a sweep in the pub earlier this week, everyone contributed 2 euro and whoever picked the correct bonus number in this week's lottery won the pot. Which made yours truly 90 euros richer; not a bad thing in the week before payday. At which point I let out a class of a victorious whoop. (Not so much as to drown out the fine trad session that was in progress, but victorious and whooping enough for the day that was in it.)

Needless to say, I immediately had to buy drinks for the three friends I was in company with, as well as a couple of members of the bar staff, but hey: it's nice to win sometimes, isn't it? Which I suppose (or I hope) bodes well for this brand new blog I'm after starting. (The bonus number was 7, btw.)

The sad loss, however, is most unfortunate - I mean the death, earlier today, of Papa Denny - the bold Denny Doherty of the Mamas and the Papas. (His own website is inaccessible as of this writing, no doubt because plenty of folks want to offer their condolences.)

Hope time serves him well: everyone remembers Papa John for writing the bulk of the tunes, Mama Cass for being the best singer, Mama Michelle for being the prettiest - but Denny sang a pretty good wedge of the male leads, and his fine tenor voice is ringing out, even now, as I write. Farewell, then, sir.

I left the pub early, plonking a nice note down so my friends could enjoy another round out of my winnings, but it's a joy to dial up a couple of old MATP tunes and have a listen in memory of the man himself. Try likewise yourself, you'll be glad you did.

A new year, a new blog.

2007-01-20T18:08:00.000Z

I kept a blog elsewhere for almost five years. It was fun while it lasted, but it's also most definitely a thing of the past. Here's to better things in 2007...

2006-04-26T22:54:00.000Z